With that thought Isaiah measured the odds of looking into this without getting an international hit team sent to deal with him and this woman. His second thought was how Switzerland might handle a lot of dead hitmen if that happened. But he had chosen his path a long time ago and couldn’t, or wouldn’t, change.
Isaiah said deliberately, “Write down your sister’s name, address, date of birth, social security number, and her bank account numbers and credit card numbers if you have them. Write down everything you can think of.”
“Will you help me?” she asked.
“First things first, Amanda.” Isaiah smoothly rose and walked to the checkout counter where he retrieved a legal pad and pen; he gave them to her. “Write down everything you know including her friends, pets, the last time she changed her locks. And I want to know what her specific job was at the supercollider.”
“But I told you. She was a physicist. A scientist.”
“I remember. But there are theoretical physicists, mathematical physicists, sub-atomic physicists and cosmological physicists that specialize in astronomical radiation. I want to know what her specialty was at the collider. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” Amanda began writing. “And she had several specialties, but I believe her job at CERN was cosmology.”
“Do you have your cell phone with you?” asked Isaiah.
“Of course. Do you need it?”
“Yeah.”
She fished her phone from her purse.
Isaiah studied it, then snapped it open and removed the battery, broke the SIM card in half, and tossed the pieces in a trashcan. “Sorry,” he said, “they can track you by that, so you don’t need to be using any cell phone until I say so, okay? Are you staying at a hotel?”
“Uh huh.”
“Okay. Don’t use your credit cards and don’t make any phone calls from your room or the lobby.”
“But can’t they trace the credit card I used to get the room?”
“It’s too late to fix that, and it won’t do you any good if I put it in my name. If they’re tracking you, they already know you’re here. We’ll have to live with that one. But don’t borrow anybody’s cell phone to call anyone you know. Or anybody else, far as that goes. Not until I get back to you.”
Amanda paused. “Isn’t that a little paranoid?”
“I’m too cautious to get paranoid.”
Isaiah rose and strolled back among the shelves. “I’ll be right here if you need me.” He paused. “And, yes, I’ll help you.”
Amanda smiled, and imagined that she felt a pleasantly surprising relief. In the moment she realized that asking for his help had been as nerve-wracking as the dread of what she would have done if he had refused. But he hadn’t refused.
“Thank you,” she said.
***
Leaving staff to lock up the shop, Isaiah saw Amanda back to her room at the Motel 6. After closing the door and setting aside two sacks of groceries that he’d picked up along the way from a conveniently located food mart, Isaiah removed three small, steel wedges from his knee-length leather jacket.
He gave the wedges to Amanda.
“Okay,” he began, “I should be finished with your information by morning. Until then, I don’t want you to leave this room and don’t order anything. When I go, kick two of these wedges into the foot of the door and push one into the casement. It’ll make it almost impossible for someone to get in here without causing a commotion. And don’t answer the door no matter who it is. Not even if it’s the police. They can get a card from the concierge if they’re legitimate. If they’re not, they probably don’t want their faces on camera or in anyone’s mind and they don’t want a high body count, either, so their options are limited.” He placed a hand on the door. “Do not be unduly alarmed. I’m always this careful. And I’ll be back first thing in the morning with some breakfast. What do you prefer? Coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please. Are you always this polite?”
“Depends on the company.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Just make sure you double-lock and then triple-wedge this door. You have to do it all or you won’t be as secure as I need you to be.” Isaiah pointed toward the parking lot. “And don’t be alarmed if you see a very big, very mean-looking Korean dude sitting in a silver Cadillac in the parking lot all night. He’s a friend of mine and that makes him a friend of yours. He’s just watching your door to make sure you’re okay. If anything looks unusual, he’ll call the police or handle it himself. And if he handles it himself, I’d advise you not to watch.”
Amanda blinked. “Should I be afraid?”
“I’m very protective. Remember?”
She nodded, “I’ll take care of the door.”
Without another word Isaiah was gone.
Amanda forcefully wedged the door shut at the base, the side, and then studiously double-locked it and backed away, arms over her chest like she had suddenly entered a gray, fast-moving dream. But it didn’t feel like a dream.
It felt like a nightmare.
***
After they convened in the war room the next day everyone sat stoically until Whitaker gestured, “Mike, would you please hand out the files?”
In a moment everyone opened another file covered with a red Eyes Only qualification inside a red rectangle. No one spoke as the moments passed in silence. Then General Atol Jackman closed his file and gazed at Whitaker. “I thought you morons were gonna come up with a simple plan, Whitaker.”
“This is as simple as we could make it, Atol. And, believe me, about a thousand simple plans went down the crapper.”
Jackman lifted a sheet of paper, “‘Blow it up?’ This is what you call a simple plan?” He dismissively tossed the file with a laugh. “Jesus, Whitaker! A monkey could have come up with this!”
“It’s the best idiotic idea we’ve got after going through a very long line of tragically idiotic ideas.”
“Listen up, Whitaker. I know you work for the CIA, so you’re an idiot from the get-go and you have my sympathies just like I have sympathy for insane people and lepers. But penetrating one of the tightest security systems in the world and starting a chain reaction of liquid nitrogen and liquid helium explosions in an underground tunnel, and surviving, is not a simple plan.”
“Well, that’s why you make the big bucks, Atol.” Whitaker slightly swiveled his chair. “We’ve come up with a plan. How you implement it is up to you. After all, we’re just civilians. You’re the professional so you should be able to figure out how to do it. I mean, if you can’t fly it, drive it, or shoot it, you blow it up. Isn’t that the motto?”
Jackman’s tone dropped. “‘Surviving’ does have a little something to do with it. What’s wrong with just dropping a Massive Ordinance Air Blast Bomb on it and denying any responsibility? When I suggested that we destroy the place, that was my first thought. Sending in a team was the admiral’s idea. And to be honest I never liked it in the first place.”
“Because hitting the facility from the surface won’t do the job,” Whitaker replied, unfazed. “You have to destroy the collider itself and that thing is located three hundred feet underground. And some parts of it are six hundred feet underground so you have to get your men through the most hellacious security system in the world and inside the corridor that contains the ATLAS itself.”
Jackman wearily swept a hand down over his face. He gazed to the side before he stared again at Whitaker. “And this is the only directive? Destroy the thing? We don’t need to clear any last-minute details on how we do it? And you do have two hackers in the Observation Room monitoring the security system?”
Whitaker nodded, “Affirmative. And you have an official sanction from the highest authority to use the warhead at your discretion. So, as of this moment, you have full command and authority.” He slid an envelope across the table. �
�These are the access, clearance, and detonation codes.”
Jackman pocketed the envelope. “I’m making the requisition through the Department of Energy. And I’ve picked four Delta operators. Here’s their files.”
Whitaker simply received and consequently slid the files across the table. “Mike, have the NSA issue four passports per man with matching credit cards and driver’s licenses by morning. See that the cards are covered by Pacific Oil Company.”
Jackman asked, “When do you want them squared up?”
Whitaker leaned back. “A disguised civilian flight will leave one week from today from McNair. Your team will covertly obtain any equipment you requisition at the American Embassy in Geneva. But, after that, there will be no further contact with American resources. You are to complete the mission and then your men are to make their own way home with their cards and IDs. And there’s no budget because the money is unlimited.” He emphasized, “Just make sure everyone is crystal clear on the one unbreakable rule.”
“We were never there?” asked Jackman.
“Exactly,” Whitaker nodded. “You guys were never there in the first place and iron-clad alibis will be provided by people who wrote the script for this rodeo. And if you wind up in heaven—hopefully, I mean, in heaven and not where we all deserve—and God sees your alibi, even God will say you weren’t there.”
“That’s no problem,” Jackman stated with a bitter edge. “Got the tattoo and the T-shirt.”
Whitaker asked with noticeable hesitance, “Atol, and don’t take me wrong, but are you going over there, too?” A pause. “No offense, buddy, but aren’t you getting a little long in the tooth for this?”
“You don’t give someone a mission that you’re not willing to do yourself,” said Jackman with a frown. “If my operators on this suicide mission don’t come back, I don’t come back. So bury my heart at Wounded Knee.”
Whitaker sighed with a shake of his head. “I know you’re a full-blooded Sioux, Atol, and fighting from the front is your natural warrior instinct, but that’s how Stonewall Jackson got himself killed, man. And he was a general, too.”
Jackman said nothing.
“All right, then.” Whitaker shook his head, “Just remember; the same goes for you. If you get killed, there won’t be any medals conferred, no combat benefits paid to your family. You and your guys won’t even get a five-dollar funeral. And you won’t be buried at Wounded Knee. You’ll be buried in some cesspool in Switzerland. And, man, that’s about as buried as buried gets.”
For a good minute Whitaker tapped a piece of paper that lay separate from the files. “And, also, Atol, I think it’s fair to tell you that there’s something of a wild card involved in all this. And it might prove complicated.”
Jackman straightened. “What kind of wild card?” He shook his head. “We don’t need no wild cards, Whitaker. This whole damn thing is a wild card. We sure as hell don’t need another one.”
“It’s a civilian affair and it’s not easy to shut down without raising a few flags,” Whitaker answered. “There was one American working in the Observation Room at CERN when all this crap went down. Her name was Cynthia Deker. She was a physicist. And, of course, she has a very inquisitive and protective sister. Her name is Amanda Deker. It’s all in your addendum. Now, Amanda Deker isn’t rich so she can’t hire a big legal firm to find her sister. But she has approached a mysterious character who’s in our DHS files and it might be a grave mistake to underestimate this guy.”
“Christ,” muttered Jackman, “what does this mystery man do for a living?”
“He owns a combination bookstore, coffee shop,” Whitaker said blandly. “But he also has a bar and makes some pretty good ham, turkey, and cheese sandwiches on toast. Or, at least, that’s what the guys told me.”
Jackman stared a long moment. “A bookstore owner.” There was another, and even longer pause. “Are you telling me that some chain-smoking, out-of-shape bookstore owner could be a problem to me? When I’ve got four operators?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Atol.” Whitaker opened a manila envelope, removing a photograph and an attached sheet. “To begin with, this man, and the only reliable name we can confirm for him is ‘Isaiah,’ was approximately six years old during the last days of the Vietnam War. He basically grew up during the most murderous stage of the killing. And he somehow fought his way out of that bloodbath. Then he survived the wholesale holocaust of the Khmer Rouge like some kind of six-year-old Tarzan and made his way through Cambodia before he crossed into Thailand, so we give the guy credit for being real smart and tough as a nickel steak. And, nowadays, he does favors for people no one else will help. People who can’t afford a highly trained team of professionals. Only, this guy is highly trained and he is a professional. It’s just that he works for free. And, from what we understand, he’s agreed to help Ms. Deker find her sister.”
“So how is this a problem?” asked Jackman bluntly. “They have no creds. They have no foreign access to guns or explosives. They probably can’t even get through the front door of this Hadron Supercollider.” He shook his head. “Having a couple of amateur gumshoes asking the wrong people a bunch of questions ain’t no problem. And we probably won’t even see ’em, so I ain’t gonna worry about ’em.”
“Well,” Whitaker answered, “I still have an obligation to make you aware of this potential threat because this man’s no joke, Atol. DHS says this guy’s IQ is off the map and he’s very capable.”
Jackman hesitated. “What do you mean by very capable?”
“We’ve attribute forty-seven deaths to him and almost all of them were KGB, Spetsnaz, Romanian Secret Police. All of them were shooters with serious trigger time, experience, and skill sets. He’s also planted a fair share of corporate hitters and mercenaries. None of them were civilians. All of them were pros. So this guy can kill like lightning but he’s never killed a noncombatant. Or not that we know of, anyway.”
“So this guy does have access to foreign weapons?”
“All we know is that he uses some kind of edged weapon. We don’t know what it is. But we know he’s very, very good with it.” He coughed. “For some reason, he’s never used a gun. Or, yet again, not that we know of. Our best guess is that he just doesn’t like guns. To tell you the truth we have very little intel on the guy. We know what happened to him when he was young. Then he became a naturalized American citizen and vanished.”
“Any record of training? Bosnia? Israel? Russia?”
“No record of it. Not with us or anybody else. And, believe me, we’ve checked.” Whitaker’s countenance was vaguely worried. “So nobody knows what he did, or was, between the time he was sixteen and when he opened his bookstore. Social security has no record. Customs only has a smattering. All we know with anything close to concrete is that he was raised in the bloodiest killing of the Vietnam War. We know he survived the last of that insane rampage all by himself and then fought his way through the Khmer Rouge at six years old—I say again—and then made his way through that hellacious, mine-laden, booby-trapped inferno called Cambodia and crossed the border into Thailand.
“Now, gentlemen, I give credit where credit is due. Call it noblesse oblige. I think that escaping those homicidal maniacs of the Khmer Rouge after the downright insane bloodbath of the Vietnam War speaks to this man’s determination and intelligence and a whole lot more. I think it goes without saying that he’s a freaking genius, he’s got some real hard bark on him, he’s incredibly resourceful and he can probably disappear at will. And I don’t know how he might play into this but I wouldn’t underestimate him.” He paused. “My guess is that he will almost certainly be in Geneva searching for this woman’s sister and probably with Ms. Deker. And it goes without saying that we might cross paths with them. But make no mistake. Isaiah and Ms. Deker are noncombatants. There is no green light on them. You can detain them for their own safety
or the success of this mission but, and I stress, they are not to be harmed.” He waved. “Otherwise just get the job done.”
Jackman asked, “Rules of engagement?”
“Our target is the supercollider and the usual rules of engagement apply,” Whitaker continued, more relaxed. “We defend ourselves in accordance with the normal force continuum. If they pull a knife, we pull a gun. If they pull a gun, we kill them. But remember, we are not officially there. We do not have diplomatic immunity and so the embassy can’t do a thing if any of you get nailed by the Swiss police for killing a civilian. Or anybody else, for that matter. You will rot in a Swiss prison. And, lastly, the president would prefer a zero-body count.” He cleared his throat. “If that’s possible.”
“Listen up, chief,” Jackman immediately stated. “Does the president want this demonic son of a bitch destroyed or not?”
“He wants it obliterated, Atol.”
“Then I can’t promise no zero-body count.” Jackman stared. “We can try. That’s the best I can do.”
“Just try not to leave a trail of dead bodies all the way to our doorstep, all right? The main objective is to disable the thing so that it’ll take them ten thousand years to get it up and running. We’ll deal with the other supercolliders as they come.”
“What about final approval on the bomb?”
“There will be no approval for you or anyone else. As I stressed, there will be no sanction, no orders, no history of room service or even a phone call much less any authorization to use a nuclear weapon. I cannot stress enough that this is not a righteous mission. This is a black ops mission to the horizon. You guys are so off the books, you’re not even listed as off the books. But as far as the bomb goes, you have full authority and command. You make the call at your discretion.”
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