Plot counterplot, p.19
Plot/Counterplot, page 19
Home. The word thudded into Xavier’s head with a resonance he could not have anticipated. This was their home.
He’d had a home, once. Only time in his life, unless you counted that orphanage that was not really an orphanage. He’d had a wife not unlike the woman in the photograph, beautiful Middle Eastern features, high cheekbones, full lips, hair that flowed like an ebony waterfall.
And a daughter. Almost the same age as this one. Until that bastard called in the air strike.
Of course, he undoubtedly told himself he had no choice, too.
A soft sleepy voice emerged from above. “Is Emily down there?”
“She is,” Bakersfield replied. “I think she’s been sleepwalking again. I’ll bring her up in a minute.”
Bakersfield looked at Xavier and whispered. “Let me put her to bed. I’ll assure my wife everything is okay. Then I’ll tell her I have to go out on business. I’ll be back down in five minutes. I promise.”
Xavier still pointed the gun. His hands still trembled. “She saw me.”
“She won’t remember. She sleepwalks, but she never remembers it the next day.”
Xavier peered at the girl standing before him. Then he glanced at the photo on the end table.
He lowered the gun. “You have one minute to get her back in bed. I will go with you to make sure you do not try anything. Do not speak to wife. If you do, I kill her. I take girl back to friends in Middle East and sell her.”
Bakersfield scooped his daughter into his arms. Her head dangled over his shoulder. “Come on, darling. I’ll sing you a lullaby. You go back to sleep.” He carried her up the stairs and started singing quietly. “Baby mine, dry your eyes...”
Xavier followed him. When he was done, they returned downstairs together.
“You were really going to kill my daughter,” Bakersfield said, as he slipped into the Hummer. “A harmless toddler. Weren’t you?”
“Of course. Still might.” Xavier had made a mistake. He knew that. But it might work out. Bakersfield’s family wouldn’t talk. They had nothing to say.
Probably. He would put a tail on the wife, just to make sure. And when he made his report, he’d leave out a few details.
This kind of sentiment made a man weak. Ineffectual. Like tonight.
A man in his position could not afford such feelings. Not now. Never. Never again.
Chapter 39
“I tried to talk to you!” the man shouted at Leilani, shoving the gun against the side of her head. “Now we have to do it the hard way!”
Leilani clenched her eyes shut, bracing herself against the agonizing pain she knew was only moments away. She hoped it would be quick. “Goodbye, Dylan,” she murmured under her breath.
The crash was so loud she initially mistook it for the report of a gun. She literally rose off the ground, her heart racing. It took her several moments to realize she had not been shot.
Someone had knocked the door down.
The gunman whirled around, firing, but the figure in the doorway did a low somersault and rolled into the room under the spray of bullets. He sprang up onto his feet, knocking the gun away.
“Seamus!”
He did not stop to say hello. Seamus gave the gunman a knee strike to his upper thigh. The man screamed and crumbled to the floor. Leilani realized he must’ve hit the common peroneal nerve, rendering the man incapable of standing.
For a desk jockey, Seamus was pretty good in a scrap.
The tall man raced forward, but Seamus crouched low and rammed his shoulder into the man’s stomach. He fell backward, tumbling into his partner.
Before either man could so much as roll over, Seamus had his own gun trained on their collective heads. “I’d suggest not moving,” Seamus growled. “I’d love to blow a hole into both of you.”
They didn’t move.
“You okay, Leilani?”
“I’ll be fine.” She brushed herself off. “These creeps knew I was asking about Karelis. They wanted to know why.” She paused. “They threatened to finish what their friends started.”
She saw a brief grimace cross Seamus’ otherwise impassive face. “Can you hold the gun on them?”
“With pleasure.”
“Don’t fire. Unless they blink.” He passed the gun to her, then reached inside the gunman’s jacket and pulled out his wallet. “Now this is interesting.”
“Someone else you know? Another professional terrorist?”
“Not exactly.” He turned the ID so she could read it. “They’re with the United States Navy.”
* * *
Seamus steered his Expedition toward the coast, trying to ignore his passenger’s fury. She made that challenging.
“I can’t believe you let those thugs go!”
“I had no grounds to hold them.”
“They hurt me!”
“Technically, you hurt yourself.”
“Trying to escape. Okay, they threatened me. Pulled a gun on me.”
“They’re military investigators working on a national security matter. Not trained to be sweet-talkers. And authorized to use force. Particularly against ‘persons of interest.’”
“They said they were going to finish what their friends started.”
“They know you were recently assaulted. They were trying to scare you.”
“He put a gun next to my head and threatened to shoot!”
“Still trying to scare you.”
“It didn’t work.”
Seamus glanced at her out the corner of his eye but said nothing.
“How did you find me, anyway?”
“You remember that tracking device Dylan’s abductors put in your head?”
“Yeah...”
“I put one in your purse.”
“You—!” She stopped short. “I guess I can’t complain, given the circumstances.” Leilani pounded her hands down on the dash of the Expedition. “Couldn’t you have...I don’t know. Sent those creeps to the brig? Put them on bread and water rations? Called their superior officers?”
“You saw what happened when I interrogated them. They weren’t talking. I can’t torture members of the US Navy. Technically, we’re on the same team. And I did call their superior officer. All I got was a runaround. Same line I got when I wanted to talk to Karelis’ partner. National security. Threat to domestic tranquility. Classified. Yadda, yadda, yadda.”
Leilani fidgeted with the car-radio dial, even though it wasn’t turned on. “Why did they grab me?”
“I think your ex-boyfriend turned you in.”
“My—How did you know—”
“The Navy has Patrick on retainer. Anyone asks him any questions about Karelis, or Scheimer, or anything relating to their work, and he sends a signal to them.”
Leilani turned her memory backward. “He did fidget with his cell phone, come to think of it. Right after I mentioned Karelis.”
“That’s why they grabbed you.”
“But why do they care? Patrick told me these crusty old physicists were obsessed with...neutrinos. Said it was all theoretical. Couldn’t harm anyone.”
“That’s funny. Because Scheimer thinks he’s the ‘destroyer of worlds,’ though he declined to provide any details. I’m seriously confused. Someone drowns Karelis, destroys the building where he worked, then grabs Dylan Taggart, a writer, who probably never took Physics 101. Makes no sense. But there must be a connection. And I intend to find out what it is.”
“I thought their superior wouldn’t talk to you.”
“Their boss in Navy intelligence wouldn’t. Hit the same stonewall I got with Scheimer. So I came at it from a different direction. I found someone else in the Navy who would talk. Someone who has a keen interest in this situation. Almost as great as yours.”
He pulled over beside the safe house where Leilani had been staying since she left the hospital. Seamus didn’t think her house was secure. This location was monitored both physically and electronically twenty-four hours a day. “This is where you get out.”
“You’re dumping me?”
“I have no choice. You can’t go where I’m going.”
“And where would that be?”
“The United States Pacific Command Headquarters.”
“That’s the top naval installation in this half of the world. Who’s your contact?”
Seamus unlocked her car door. “Dylan’s brother.”
Chapter 40
Seamus drove through Camp H. M. Smith near suburban Salt Lake and Moanalua till he spotted the metal gate stretching before the long flat pinkish building with a raised tower in the rear. He’d reached his destination. The Nimitz-MacArthur Command Center, headquarters of the Pacific Command—PACOM.
He pulled his Expedition to the guard post and rolled down his window.
“Seamus McKay,” he said, flashing his NCTC identification. “I have an appointment.”
The puffy-faced lieutenant glanced down at his clipboard, then made a checkmark in the appropriate box. “We’re expecting you, sir. Please pull up to the next stop, where you and any containers you plan to take inside will be screened by a magnetometer. Park in designated spot B-4. An escort will be waiting for you.”
“Thank you.”
Seamus advanced to the next station. First they ran him through the security screen, then they scanned the silver attaché he carried. They were efficient but thorough. Seamus knew they did this dozens of times every day, but no sloppiness had crept into the routine. After they were finished, he threaded his way through the parking lot till he found his designated spot.
His escort met him at the door. “Good morning, sir. I’ll take you inside.”
“Thank you.”
“Commander Taggart asked me to bring you to the briefing room. If that’s convenient.” It was not a question. The young man led him to the front door, then down the main corridor.
Security here was tight. Took him fifteen minutes to get through the front door, perimeter guards watching him at all times, metal detectors flashing, video cameras blinking, guards doing everything short of a body-cavity search to make sure he wasn’t carrying anything dangerous. The hallways were busy, as he would expect. Over three hundred officers and enlisted personnel were stationed here from all branches of the military, not just the Navy but the Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, and Marines. PACOM had jurisdiction over half the world, including Indonesia, North Korea, China, Japan, Russia, and India—most of the world’s trouble spots and the area military analysts thought most likely to generate the next major threat to the United States.
They arrived at the primary PACOM briefing room. “He’ll be with you shortly,” the escort explained. He turned on his heel and departed.
Seamus loved this room. The design was fabulous, so 1960s, so obviously influenced by the movies. It looked like something out of an early James Bond picture, with its illuminated maps and mahogany finishing. Seamus had never objected to a touch of the theatrical, even when he was doing some of the dirtiest work imaginable in some of the dirtiest places on earth.
The room was dominated by a huge map of what they once called the Pacific Theatre. It had been digitized and modernized, but there was no denying the dramatic power of seeing half the world presented in dynamic, back-lit colors. Above it, a row of clocks showed the time in various world capitals. Was that really necessary? Could they not deduce one from the other by adding and subtracting? Of course they could, but the clock display conveyed a sense of power and global scope. It said: this room rules the world. Even time is not beyond our grasp.
“Makes you wish something big would happen, just so you could see it play out on that wall, doesn’t it?”
In the corner, Seamus spotted a sturdy man wearing a khaki-colored working uniform and a star and three stripes on his sleeve.
“Commander?”
He was in his early forties, Seamus judged. The black half-moons under his eyes made him appear older than he was.
“Robert Taggart.” They shook hands. “Hoping to see some action?”
“Not really. I’ve got enough to do. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Always happy to liaise with you boys at NCTC. That’s what you’re there for, isn’t it?”
Technically, he was correct. President Bush had created the NCTC to collect and coordinate intelligence information. In the wake of 9/11, some criticized the intelligence community for failing to share critical data. The NCTC was supposed to prevent that from recurring. But Seamus knew most military officers considered them desk-jockeys and thought the world would be safer if the paper-pushers stayed out of their way and let them do their jobs.
“You’re investigating the Cartwright incident?” Taggart asked.
“Yes. And a murder at the Mahoe Assisted Living Center. A murdered security guard and lawyer. And the assault on Leilani Kahale.”
Taggart tilted his head. “Who’s she?”
Seamus hesitated. “She’s...your brother’s girlfriend.”
“I didn’t know Dylan was seeing anyone. How long have they been together?”
“Two years.”
He nodded. “And you believe these incidents are related?”
“I know they are. Commander—are you aware that your brother disappeared about a month ago? I have reason to believe he was taken by extremely dangerous freelance operatives. Leilani was tortured in an effort to coerce your brother into doing...something.”
Taggart’s expression remained frighteningly phlegmatic. “What do they want him to do?”
“I don’t know. But I know this. If we don’t find him soon, they’re going to kill him. If they haven’t already.”
“I don’t understand. How does this relate to the incident at the Cartwright Institute?”
Would he really rather talk about that building than his own brother? “I think the Institute was attacked by the same people who went after Dylan. Forgive me for saying so, but—I can’t believe you don’t know more about this. Are you and your brother close?”
For the first time, Taggart hesitated. “Not as close as I’d like.”
“Even though you both live in the same city?”
“We grew up here. Our father was stationed in Honolulu when we were kids.”
“Your dad was military?”
“Navy. Some work with coalition special forces. He retired a Rear Admiral.”
“Do you know why anyone would want to abduct your brother?”
“I don’t. But as I indicated, I don’t see him much.”
“Who in Navy intelligence is investigating the Cartwright matter?”
“I think it’s mostly Homeland Security’s baby now.”
Seamus let that pass for the moment. “You’re aware that the Cartwright Institute for Hawaiian Antiquities was a cover for a high-tech scientific-research laboratory.”
“I am. But I don’t know much about what went on there.”
“And you are also aware that the story about a gas-line explosion was a cover. The installation was attacked by terrorists of unknown affiliation.”
“Right.”
“There was a scientist working there. Dr. Johann Karelis.”
“What was he working on?”
“I haven’t found anyone willing to answer that question for me. Including his colleague, Dr. Louis Scheimer. I was hoping you might be able to fill me in. Because your brother’s life may depend upon it.”
“Even if I had clearance to give you that information—which I don’t—I couldn’t, because I don’t know and I have no way of finding out. Scientific research is totally outside my department.”
“Seems to be outside everyone’s department. At least everyone who will talk to me. I realize the relationship between military brass and scientists is often guarded. They need scientists, but they don’t really trust them.”
“Sadly, that is often the case.”
“But Leilani Kahale—Dylan’s girlfriend—was accosted by two Navy intelligence agents. Because she was asking questions about Karelis.”
“I assume they were making sure she’s not an enemy agent. Protecting the viability of the project.”
“But you don’t know what that project is?”
“No.”
“And you have no involvement in the Cartwright investigation?”
“I’m mostly in finance these days. Number crunching. If anyone is investigating, it would be Captain Randolph’s people.”
Seamus made a mental note. “Do you know this person?” Seamus passed the photo he’d retrieved from the navy database. “Currently using the code name Xavier. He’s had others. He’s Russian in origin, but he’s worked for about every enemy America ever had.”
Taggart glanced at the photo. “Doesn’t ring any bells. Sorry. I’m sure the Admiral would allow you to review our computerized photo files.”
“I did. Found the guy at a Navy function. Bunch of dignitaries about to board the Admiral’s barge—and I know you can’t sneak onto that yacht.”
“The Admiral allows the boat to be used for special occasions. We don’t run extensive security scans every time it ships out. It has no national security applications. Strictly for PR.”
“Well, this time, the Admiral’s PR people entertained one of the most vile terrorists on the face of the earth. And he was wearing a Navy uniform.”
“Intriguing.”
“This man was involved in your brother’s disappearance. And I would think that would interest you, even if you aren’t close and never have been.”
“That last part isn’t true.” Taggart chuckled. “There was a time when we were quite close. Did everything together. I could get my little brother to go along with anything. We were a team. We two against the world.”
“And your father?” Seamus hazarded.
Taggart rubbed the back of his neck, twisting it from side to side as if it were cramped. “Have you talked to my father?”
“No. I haven’t been able to reach him.”
“He travels a lot. Lost his house and his pension. Gambling, I think. So he stays on the road. Doesn’t send postcards.”
“Hasn’t lost his steam?”
“Oh, no. He still keeps his fingers in. Calls the admiral with unwanted advice. He did some hard time in Vietnam, back in his younger days. Behind enemy lines. Went through a bad patch afterward, but he also won many commendations and is now considered one of the top military advisers on Indonesia. Dad used to be on the President’s staff, you know. So you can imagine how he got along with peace-loving Dylan. Who protested against both wars in Iraq.”
