“And if we take casualties?”
“You are ordered to dispose of our personal casualties at the most covert site available with no ID and no possibility of identification.” Whitaker stared. “In other words, if you don’t live, you get dumped in the woods.”
Jackman leaned back. His left hand was clenched in a fist. He stared at nothing long enough for everyone to shift, watching him.
Finally Whitaker exclaimed, “Good grief! What is it now, Atol?”
“Nothing I haven’t dealt with all my life,” Jackman muttered. “A typical government operation. Find a way to fit a square peg into a round hole. And the suits don’t want a body count, but I can promise you there’s gonna be a damn bloody body count, Whitaker, and there’s gonna be just as many dead civilians as dead soldiers. So you and the president can expect to count a lot of casualties. Including us.”
***
After Isaiah had brought Amanda breakfast with tea in the morning, he told her that she was now free to go to and from the hotel and his shop because she would be heavily guarded by a team the entire way. And since waiting at the hotel had become painfully monotonous, Amanda had decided to pay a visit. But as she walked through the door of the bookshop, Isaiah was nowhere to be seen.
“Isaiah?” she called.
Footsteps were heard on the staircase behind the counter and Isaiah descended. He was dressed as before; blue jeans, a black T-shirt, a thick leather belt, lightweight-hiking boots. He smiled, “Sorry. Everything going okay at the hotel?”
“Yes. Your friend is really quite diligent. He’s like a shadow. I haven’t even talked to him but I know he’s always there. And you mentioned a team guarding me from the hotel to this place but I haven’t seen any of them, either. And I was looking.”
“Well, they’re pretty good at what they do. Come on upstairs. I live up here.”
Amanda waved at Isaiah’s small staff of clerks and waitresses and climbed the stairs behind the counter. “Save a little on rent, huh?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he replied easily, “every little bit helps.” He hesitated. “I started this place five years ago with some used books that I’d picked up at auctions and built it up from there. I wasn’t making any money, though, until I finally got my permits to serve alcohol and food. Then I turned this place into a combination bookstore, bar, restaurant. And I’ve stayed in fair shape with the cops, firemen, and city employees by giving them a discount on everything from sandwiches to beer, so things aren’t too bad right now. And if you’re looking for work, I could always give you something part-time.”
“Oh, thank you,” Amanda answered, “That’s very nice of you but I’ve already got three good offers. I just haven’t decided on which one I want to take yet.” She laughed. “In any case, I’d hoped my waitressing days were behind me.”
“Fair enough. What’s your line?”
“My line?”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Oh.” Amanda muttered, “well, I earned my master’s degree in friction variations for aerothermal fluid dynamics after I got my bachelor’s in aeronautical engineering. My childhood dream was to work for NASA on the Mars program. But I’ve been a risk appraisal officer for the last eleven years.”
Isaiah glanced over a shoulder. “That’s quite a career switch, isn’t it? From rocket scientist to banker?”
“Not really,” Amanda answered dully. “It’s just numbers, in the end. Physics is just numbers. Risk appraisal is just numbers. It’s all just equations.”
“Why’d you switch? Seems like Mars would be more fun.”
“Well, it might not seem like a good reason but the money’s a whole lot better in risk appraisal.”
Isaiah laughed, “That’d be a good enough reason for me.”
“Yeah, but I resigned my last job two years ago to help Cynthia get situated in Geneva, which used up a heartbreaking amount of my money, and now I’ve got to get back to work. But I’m looking for a stronger company. My last employer never truly recovered from the bailout. They didn’t go under but they’ll never come back, either.”
Isaiah glanced down. “Did you see all that coming?”
“Oh, yeah. I wasn’t even in risk appraisal then. I was still studying rocket science. But I saw that coming. A blind mule could have seen that coming. Why? Did you lose anything in that mess?”
“Nah,” Isaiah shook his head, “I spent seven years in Japan when I was younger, then I just wandered the world for a while so I was barely back in America when the bailout went down. And with what little money I had, I started this store. I only had enough to invest in some books, shelves, rent, and food.” He shrugged, “Of course, I have a good little business now but it’s still a small business. And the profits prove it. But I’ve got a roof over my head and I’m not hungry and that’s good enough.”
“What did you do in Japan for seven years?”
“Studied.”
“Studied what?”
“Kendo.”
“That’s interesting. Why kendo?”
Isaiah’s tone was perfectly casual. “Because I believe survival is an art everyone should master in their own way.”
Isaiah’s second-floor apartment was a spartan one-room efficiency with a kitchen and small bathroom. No bathtub, just a shower. It reminded Amanda of a so-so camper. An old-fashioned Murphy bed was folded against a wall. There was a TV and photographs of what Amanda assumed were friends, but there were no diplomas, degrees, or awards. A quick glance along the single wall of his wide-open kitchen confirmed that Isaiah lived a very sparse life indeed with few, if any, luxuries.
“Do you keep up with the news?” Amanda asked, touching the TV.
Isaiah shook his head, “No, but I like old movies.” He began placing items in a black duffle bag. “I don’t pay much attention to politics that change like the wind of the sea, unstable in every direction it goes. And I don’t like commentaries with a lot of parrots reciting bullet points and can’t answer a simple question. Basically, I’m not entertained by bigots and badly veiled prejudice.”
“I understand completely,” said Amanda somewhat wearily. “So what are some of your favorite old movies?”
Isaiah laughed, “I guess I like westerns like True Grit. Shane, Wyatt Earp, High Noon. I sort of identify with the underdog.”
“I would think that, owning a bookstore, you’d be reading all the time.”
He dropped what looked like a sharpening stone on the bed as he answered, “Yeah, I read a lot for sure. I like honest history and good biographies. And I’ll occasionally pick up a newspaper to see if we’re at war again. But despite what a lot of people think, running a small business, even one as small as this, takes a lot of time.”
“Oh, I imagine it does,” Amanda agreed. “Why do you say you like honest history books?”
“Because too many history books are just propaganda. Biographies, too, far as that goes. And I’ve heard and seen enough propaganda for ten lifetimes. That’s another reason why I don’t watch the news.”
“Do you remember everything you read?”
“No, it’s like I said, there’s no such thing as a photographic memory. There’s a memory continuum of sorts. Some people can memorize a few pages. Some can memorize an entire book with interesting accuracy. But nobody has the native ability to photograph everything they see. At least, nobody that science has ever verified.”
“Not even you, huh?”
Isaiah laughed, “I can photograph a page if I concentrate. But that’s not a legitimate photographic memory. Frankly, I think a photographic memory is just an urban myth. And not many doctors believe in it, either.”
“How many people are there like you?” Amanda sat, leaning forward. “I mean … what did you call it?”
“Psychiatrists call it as a Highly Superior Autobiographic Memory. And I don�
��t know how many people have it. The psychiatrist that diagnosed me said that there were three other bona fide cases in the world. But that was a while back.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you go to a psychiatrist?”
“Because I was worried about whether I had something wrong with my brain or if I just had an unusually good memory.”
Amanda paused a long moment. “Is it a pain? I mean, does it cause you more trouble than it’s worth?”
“No,” Isaiah shook his head, “I can turn it on or off. If I couldn’t, I’d probably be insane. It would be hell walking around with ten thousand restaurant menus in my head.” He raised a gaze. “Have you finished packing?”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t bring anything you want to keep.”
“Why not?”
“Because we probably won’t be coming back with it. Just bring stuff you were planning to give to Goodwill, anyway.”
“How long will we be gone?”
“Until we know.”
Amanda folded her hands. “You know, you never did tell me what you found out with all that information I gave you.”
“I found out that Cynthia lived alone,” said Isaiah. “About like you, I suppose.”
“You checked on me?”
“Just guessing,” he shrugged. “You don’t wear a ring. You don’t mind talking about yourself. You don’t assume a defensive posture, so I suppose you’re single. And I don’t see any stray hairs on your clothes so I don’t think you have a pet.”
“That’s about right,” Amanda conceded. “I’m single and I don’t even have a cat. Anything else?”
“You’re smart. Ambitious. From the smoothness of your right sleeve, you write a lot, and you’re something of a workaholic. But you do have a long-term plan for your personal life. It’s just that you’re not close to achieving it.”
“Good grief! Why would you guess that?”
“Because you have highly refined social skills, which means you want to make a good impression if you might stumble into somebody’s who’s lucky enough to interest you. Also, you’re more than just a brainiac. You work out hard with a combo of heavy resistance training and cardio. You do interval training like a pro. So you either just like to stay in primo shape for whatever comes down the pike or you’ve just got gold-plated genetics. And my best guess is that it’s a combination. But you don’t take anything for granted, which is another reason why you work so hard. You don’t cheat yourself. You fully commit yourself to everything you put your hand to do, which is typical of obsessive-compulsive personalities. And that’s going to include finding your sister.”
Amanda grunted, “You like reading people, don’t you?”
“Not so much,” Isaiah shook his head. “It’s just a habit that I developed for self-preservation. Like always being aware of people and my surroundings. I’ve been doing it for so long I do it without thinking about it. Now, Cynthia did have a cat but it was rescued by the landlord when her neighbors didn’t see her come home for a few days. Out of concern they called the police, then the police called the landlord and the landlord let them in where they found one very hungry cat that the neighbors adopted. But she had no real friends. According to her neighbors, she worked most of the time. And, yes, she was a genius in cosmological physics just like you said and it doesn’t get any more complicated, so there aren’t a lot of people like her in the world. She must be a genius.”
“She is. Do you have any idea why she’s missing?”
“Not yet. And neither does anybody else including the Swiss and French police and Interpol. And the FBI won’t get involved because of a territorial dispute.”
Amanda scowled. “What kind of territorial dispute? The FBI just told me that they didn’t do missing person cases. They told me that they do foreign kidnappings, murders, terrorists, bomber plots, all that stuff. But they don’t go looking for American citizens who don’t happen to show up for work for a couple of days. At least, that was their excuse to me. That’s not what they told you?”
“The FBI told me that Switzerland is saying that there’s no indication Cynthia went missing on Swiss soil and so they’re not granting permission to the FBI for any kind of investigation in Swiss territory. The French government is saying the same thing. So it’s a jurisdictional dispute.” answered Isaiah “The Hadron Supercollider is located in both France and Switzerland. It doesn’t matter where it’s incorporated, and in order for the FBI to investigate in a foreign country they have to obtain official permission from that country. And at the moment both France and Switzerland are refusing to grant permission.” He paused. “It’s logical that whoever’s behind CERN purposefully built it on the border in case they ever needed to complicate an investigation, and that’s probably what they’re doing.”
“Does that make it more difficult for us?”
Isaiah tightened the chain at the top of the duffle bag. “That’s going to be the least of our problems since I don’t give a damn about laws or jurisdictions. The hard part is that these people do have a well-earned reputation for ‘disappearing’ anyone they feel is a threat. And that includes Supreme Court judges, FBI agents, generals, lawyers, or just people like you and me. So, obviously, someone wants to keep whatever is happening in that place a secret. And they don’t mind vanishing people from the planet to do it.” He set the duffle bag on the floor. “I want to warn you before we leave.”
“Hit me.”
“This could get dangerous, Amanda. And I’m not talking about a broken foot or a busted tooth. I’m talking about getting buried in a cave because these people have already killed a four-star army general and a Supreme Court judge. And if they have the will to kill those guys, then they have the will to kill anybody in the world. Plus, they’re obviously very capable at making people real dead real fast.” He sighed. “A general who even suspects that he’s on the hit list of some conglomerate like CERN is not an easy target. Survival is an art he’s cultivated all his life and he knows how to protect himself, so snuffing out a general requires operators that can reach anybody, anywhere, anytime.”
Amanda didn’t blink.
“And if we get put on this list?” she finally asked.
Isaiah shrugged, “I’ve been called a hard target. But there’s a gun behind every corner. And bullets don’t have a name. They end up where they end up. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He straightened and stared steadily into her eyes. “Trying to find your sister can get you killed.”
“It might get you killed, too,” Amanda said. “And you’re still going. Why?”
“Because I believe the poor and weak deserve the same protection as the rich and powerful,” Isaiah remarked. “Also, I don’t fear what might happen to me—or, at least, not like most people—because I’ve always considered myself as good as dead, anyway. But I wasn’t in the mood to die then and I’m not in the mood now.”
“Is that a Zen thing?”
“It’s just an attitude I learned when I was a kid and it’s gotten me through the bloodiest battlefields this world has ever seen.” He walked to the closet and removed an aluminum case about four feet long and six inches wide. He sat it on the floor beside the duffle bag. The case had “Diplomatic Pouch: United Nations Property,” written in bold, bright orange letters across the top.
“What’s that?” asked Amanda as Isaiah dropped a metal clipboard with official-looking, multicolored documents onto the bed.
“Call it a walking stick,” he said.
“It doesn’t look like a walking stick.”
“It’s something that’s come in handy in the past.” Finally Isaiah sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed. “But maybe we won’t need it.”
With a curious grunt Amanda stood and lifted her purse. “Okay, well, I need to get back and finish packing. What time do we leave?”
“The day after to
morrow. I’ll book us on the earliest available flight. But, first, I’ll have to find people to cover for me. Then we’ll go to Switzerland and find Cynthia and we’ll all come back alive.”
Amanda muttered as she walked toward the door.
“The ‘alive’ part sounds good to me.”
***
Dressed in civilian clothing General Jackman and his four-member team arrived at Geneva International Airport at sunrise. They dismounted the jet separately and did not make eye contact inside the heavily guarded terminal. They each took separate taxis to various bus stops, changed modes of transportation, repeated the procedure two more times and three hours later they checked into separate rooms at the Hotel Beau Rivage Geneva.
Jackman had chosen the five-star dwelling instead of a fortified CIA safe house because this operation was, after all, off the books even to the CIA. The two agents that had been loaned from the Company had been sent here “on vacation” and, gazing about his genuinely ritzy hotel room, Jackman mumbled, “Holy crap. What a place to go on vacation. No wonder it’s costing an arm and leg.”
The Hotel Beau Rivage was located only a mile from a CIA safe house if this tour took a tragic left turn. It also provided direct access to the river, which snaked all the way through Geneva. Plus, it was next door to a dozen ports for a last-chance escape by sea. And the customized crowd was a highly affluent array of sultans, princes, ambassadors, and gunrunners each with their own entourage of heavily armed bodyguards. With so many hired guns on the property it would be complicated for a team of hitters to infiltrate and attempt an attack without half the building shooting back.
Five hours later the entire team, including the two female CIA operators, had checked in and at midnight they convened one by one in the general’s suite. Jackman poured himself a scotch and glanced up. “Anybody want a drink?” he asked. “We’re making our own rules on this one and I’m having a drink. In fact, I might have a couple of them.”
Everyone wandered to the bar. In another five minutes they sat casually, all silent, placidly sipping, as Jackman pulled up a chair. He grimly gazed over them. “You do not know the full details of this operation,” he began. “The cover story you were given was a fabrication for your families in case you don’t come back and it’s not the first time that you operators have been deployed in such a way, so we can skip the explanations. Now I’m going to tell you what we’re really here to do.”
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