Hellfire

by Richard Turner

  Jen said, “On the screen is a picture of Valery Tokarev, junior mission planner for the Luna 15 probe. He is the only surviving scientist who was present in the command center the day the probe landed on the Moon. All of the other men have either died of old age, or in accidents over the years. He is now eighty-one years old and lives in Saint Petersburg with his wife of fifty-three years. Using one of our Russian speakers, I was able to have a pleasant chat with Mister Tokarev. For a man of his age, he is quite talkative and his mind seems as sharp as a tack.”

  “What were you able to learn about the probe?” asked O’Reilly.

  “Sir, Mister Tokarev didn’t seem the least bit perturbed when I asked him about the probe landing on the Moon and gathering a sample of rock to be returned to the Earth. In fact, he stated that he was surprised that it had taken this long for someone outside of Russia to come along and ask about the mission.”

  Mitchell asked, “Did you find out why the Soviets decided to terminate the mission rather than allow the probe to return to Earth?”

  “Unfortunately, no; however, Mister Tokarev told me that he has kept in touch with the son of one of the other scientists on the mission,” said Jen. “He claims that his friend was a meticulous note-taker and managed to smuggle out his books before the security services took over the mission and told everyone to go home. The man’s son claims to have all of his father’s work.”

  “Can Tokarev get his hands on the books?” asked Jackson.

  Jen shook her head. “He isn’t as mobile as he used to be, and the books are in the son’s home in a village about ninety kilometers east of Saint Petersburg.”

  “Why don’t we just pay to have the books shipped to him?” said Fahimah.

  “I asked about that,” replied Jen. “The problem is the son; he won’t let the books out of his home.”

  “What about Yuri?” asked Jackson. “Why don’t we just have him deal with this?”

  “He’s not returning my calls,” responded Jen.

  “If he’s gone to ground, he’ll be next to impossible to get a hold of,” said Mitchell. “I’ll see what I can do, but I wouldn’t put much hope in getting him to help out.”

  “So it would appear that if we want to know what is in those books, we’re going to have to take Mister Tokarev to them,” said O’Reilly.

  “Precisely, sir,” replied Jen.

  O’Reilly placed his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. A few seconds later, he brought his hands down, thanked Jen for her report, and asked her to take a seat.

  O’Reilly drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds before speaking. “Okay, folks, I want to get to the bottom of this mystery as much as anyone in this room, so this is how I’d like things to proceed. This is strictly off the books. We won’t be billing Houston for this one. Jen, I need you to head to Russia right away. When you get there, escort Mister Tokarev to these books so he can take a look at them. It may end up being a fool’s errand. However, recent events would say otherwise and I want to know what we’re up against.”

  Jen nodded.

  O’Reilly continued. “Fahimah, I know you don’t want to hear this, but with Mike away, I can’t afford to have you out of the office. I need you here to run his department. I want to know the instant that the authorities learn anything new about McMasters or the people he was working for.”

  Mitchell leaned forward in his seat. “Sir, don’t you think it would be better if Nate and I went to Russia? The people who stole the probe could come after Mister Tokarev to keep him quiet.”

  O’Reilly shook his head. “Ryan, I see where you’re coming from; however, I’ve been asked by David Houston to have you and Nate visit him at his ranch in Dallas. Jen will be fine. I intend to send Sam and Cardinal along with her.”

  “Sir, with all due respect, Houston can wait; finding out the truth behind the disappearance of the probe is far more important in my books.”

  “Ryan, I share your concerns as well. However, as Houston is still paying the bills, until he fires us, we’re going to play nice with him,” said O’Reilly. “Sam and Cardinal are more than capable of looking after Jen.”

  “I guess you’re right, sir,” responded Mitchell, still not happy with the direction things were heading.

  “I know I am,” replied O’Reilly firmly. “Now, you and Nate had best head home and pack as you’re flying down to Texas in the morning. A private jet will be waiting for you at the airport at five in the morning. Don’t be late, gentlemen!”

  “Great, a month away and now I’m heading off down south,” moaned Jackson. “My wife is gonna kill me.”

  O’Reilly ignored the comment and looked over at Jen. “I’m sorry Jen, but this means that you’ll have to forego attending the funeral. I’d like the three of you on the first flight out in the morning to Saint Petersburg. Sam and Cardinal are on their way in as we speak; they should be here in the next hour and a bit. You can brief them up when they arrive.”

  The speed things were unfolding even surprised Mitchell, who was used to making things happen on the fly.

  “Okay, then, I think that covers everything,” announced O’Reilly as he stood up. To Jen, he said, “Good luck in Russia and keep me updated with daily situation reports. As for you two,” he said to Mitchell and Jackson, “I’ll see you in Baton Rouge on Sunday.” With that, he left the briefing room.

  Fahimah reached over and placed a hand on Jen’s shoulder. “I’ll look after the travel arrangements for all of you. When Sam and Gordon get here, I’ll fill them in. Why don’t you and Ryan nip home and pack?”

  With a devilish grin on his face, Mitchell said, “Smartest thing I’ve heard all day.”

  “Well, ain’t that grand,” complained Jackson. “You two get to go home and play house while I try to figure out a way to tell Kelly that I’m leaving her alone again.”

  “Good luck with that,” replied Mitchell as he slipped his arm under one of Jen’s and escorted her out of the conference room.

  “I wonder if there’s decent florist nearby,” muttered Jackson to himself, knowing that he’d have to make it up to his wife one way or the other.

  16

  David Houston’s Ranch

  Dallas, Texas

  Located just over forty kilometers outside of Dallas, David Houston’s ranch was not what Mitchell had envisioned it would be. For all of his wealth, Houston’s home was a subdued grouping of homes built in the style of a log cabin. The main building was a three-story home that was set back from the other smaller dwellings. In front was a small, man-made lake. Several swans floated on the dark-green water. As their limousine drove up the long driveway, Mitchell could see three horses running free in a field beside the road.

  The limo pulled up at the front door.

  Mitchell and Jackson didn’t wait for the driver to get out of his seat; they let themselves out. Although it had been snowing when they left New York, at Houston’s home it was a warm and pleasant day without a cloud in sight. Both men instantly regretted not checking the forecast before leaving, as they were dressed for cooler weather—not the warmth of a December in Texas.

  The front door to the home swung open and out stepped Houston. He had on a pair of blue jeans, a partially-undone white shirt, a tan-colored vest, and a pair of well-worn cowboy boots. He looked more like a man about to go for a horse ride than the owner of a multi-billion-dollar corporation.

  Houston walked over and stuck out his hand in greeting.

  When he shook Mitchell’s hand, he said, “Please let me pass on my condolences for the loss of Miss Vega. I can assure you that this heinous crime will not go unpunished. I asked my attorney this morning to offer the sum of one hundred thousand dollars for any information that leads to the arrest of the people involved.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Mitchell. “That means a lot to Nate and me.”

  Houston let go of Mitchell’s hand and quickly shook Jackson’s. He turned around and inv
ited them inside.

  The interior of the home was breathtaking. Tall, arched windows all around the room let in the sunlight. A large stone fireplace, built into the wall at the other end of the wide-open living room, had a small fire going. It may have been warm to Mitchell and Jackson, but to the people who lived here year-round, it was downright chilly. Mitchell guessed that the room was used for entertaining Houston’s rich business clientele.

  “Drinks, gentlemen?” asked Houston as a beautiful young Hispanic woman in a white shirt and long, flowing, blue dress entered the room.

  “It’s past noon back home,” replied Jackson. “So why not?”

  “Sofia, three glasses of Kentucky Bourbon.”

  With a bright smile, Sofia turned around, walked over to the well-stocked bar at the other end of the room, and poured the drinks.

  Mitchell took a sip of the bourbon and was surprised by how smooth it tasted. He wasn’t much of a drinker; however, he had to admit that Houston seemed to have good taste when it came to his liquor.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” Sofia asked Houston.

  “No, that will be all for now,” replied Houston. “Please tell Geneviève that there will be four for lunch today.”

  “Very good, sir.” Sofia turned to leave. With an alluring smile at Mitchell, she slowly walked out of the room.

  “Are all your staff female?” asked Mitchell.

  “Yeah. I never married; it keeps me feeling young to have a houseful of young women to look after me,” answered Houston. “And before you two gentlemen get any ideas, they work for me and that’s it. I’m way too old to be chasing after fillies their age.”

  “I’m going to leave this part out when I tell my wife about this trip,” said Jackson.

  “I hope you gents don’t mind if my nephew joins us for lunch,” said Houston. “He’s in town and asked if he could meet you.”

  “No, not all,” replied Mitchell.

  “The more the merrier,” added Jackson.

  Mitchell set his drink down and looked over at Houston. “Sir, I don’t know if the police have already spoken to you about what happened; however, if you have any suspicions about who could have been behind Maria’s murder and the theft of the probe, I’d really like to know.”

  “Ryan, please stop with all the formalities and please call me David.”

  “Sir, you can take the boy out of the army, but you can’t take the army out of the boy. It’s force of habit, calling you sir, and it’s not likely to change.”

  “Fair enough,” replied Houston. “As for your question, no, I haven’t been interviewed by the police. My lawyer spoke to them on my behalf. Son, you’ve got to understand there’s an awful lot of people out there who would like to get a jump on me. I have my suspicions about who could have pulled this off, but they’re just that, suspicions. I have no real evidence to back them up.”

  “Well, if you think of anything, please keep us in mind.”

  “Of course.”

  “Sir, lunch is ready,” announced Sofia.

  “You’re in for a real treat. I had Geneviève prepare a healthy meal for us,” said Houston.

  “Healthy,” repeated Jackson.

  Houston patted his midsection. “I’ve got to watch what I eat as I get older. Every meal can’t be steaks and spare ribs.”

  “Today’s could have been,” muttered Jackson under his breath.

  Outside, a man in his early thirties with short, blond hair and a well-tanned face, wearing a light-gray business suit, waited beside a large wooden table. The family resemblance was obvious.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce to you my nephew, Owen, my brother’s oldest son and the CEO of Olympus Space Technologies,” said Houston proudly.

  “Gentlemen,” said Owen, firmly shaking hands with Mitchell and Jackson.

  They all took a seat at the dining table. Mitchell grinned when four young women came out and served them lunch. They were all different. One was African-American, one was Hispanic, while another was Asian and the last girl had very pale skin, blonde hair and bright-blue eyes.

  “Your staff, are they from all over the world?” Mitchell asked Houston.

  “You have a good eye,” replied Houston.

  “They’re hard to miss. Most of them could easily make the cover of a fashion magazine.”

  “I think an international flavor helps brighten up my home.”

  Jackson shook his head and mumbled to himself, “The rich sure do things differently.”

  “I hope you like Caesar salad,” said Houston. “It’s one my favorite dishes.”

  Owen wasn’t very hungry. He took a couple of bites of his meal and looked over at Mitchell. Clearing his throat, he said, “I suspect that my uncle has already conveyed his deepest sympathies for the loss of your colleague on Bouvet Island. I would like to add my condolences as well.”

  “Thank you,” replied Mitchell.

  “My uncle has over thirteen thousand employees. Accidents, unfortunately, do occur from time to time, sometimes with tragic results. However, this is the first time I can remember that someone working on our behalf was murdered,” said Owen, his voice full of emotion.

  “Trust me, I intend to get to the bottom of this and make whoever is responsible for Maria’s death pay,” replied Mitchell.

  Owen handed Mitchell a business card. “If I can be of any assistance, please do not hesitate to call on me.”

  “Thanks,” said Mitchell. “I may take you up on that offer.”

  After lunch, Houston led his guests to his private office at the back of his home. Filled with computers and television screens, it was the one place that reflected the true nature of the home’s owner. He asked Mitchell and Jackson if they wanted another drink.

  Both men politely declined.

  Houston took a seat behind his desk, while Mitchell, Jackson, and Owen sat down facing the desk.

  Houston began, “Gents, as much as the loss of the probe pains me, it has forced my nephew and me to re-evaluate some of my company’s security protocols. This never would have happened if I had people with the same skill sets, like you gentlemen, working for me. I could have sent them and Miss Vega would still be alive today.”

  “Sir, it’s not your fault. One of our own is to blame for what happened,” said Mitchell, having a sense of déjà vu with the conversation.

  “Still, I somehow feel responsible and that’s part of the reason I asked you two to come down here today. You see gents, Owen and I have talked about this, and we would like to offer you both a job with my company. Whatever you’re being paid now, I’ll double it.”

  Mitchell grinned. “Sir, I’m sure that I speak for both Nate and me when I say that your offer is most generous; however, we both like where we work right now and don’t see a need for a change of employment.”

  “I’ll triple your salary,” said Houston forcefully.

  Mitchell looked over at Nate.

  “Sorry, sir, but I couldn’t move my boy right now,” added Jackson. “He’s had some trouble in the past and needs stability in his life. A move would be too disruptive, and I’m not going to leave him and his mother behind to come and work down here. Like Ryan, I truly do appreciate the offer, and believe me, it’s mighty tempting, but I must also respectfully decline.”

  “I don’t believe it,” said Houston, “two men who can’t be bought. You’re killing me.”

  Mitchell shrugged as if to say sorry.

  “Well, that’s too bad. I had hoped that you’d accept my uncle’s offer,” remarked Owen.

  “Sorry to disappoint you both,” said Mitchell.

  Houston stood. “Well, that didn’t go as I’d hoped. I guess you’re both in a hurry to get back home. I can have my driver take you back to the airport, and you’ll be home in no time.”

  “Actually, sir, we’re not heading home, at least not right away,” said Mitchell. “Nate and I are heading to Baton Rouge to attend Miss Vega’s funeral tomorrow morning.”
r />   “I’ll instruct my pilot to fly you there. He’ll remain on standby to fly you home after the service.”

  “Sir, that would be greatly appreciated,” replied Mitchell.

  “It’s the least I can do for you two.”

  Houston asked Sofia to see Mitchell and Jackson to the waiting limo. He energetically shook their hands one last time and waited until they had left his office before taking his seat behind his desk.

  “Well, it was a nice try,” said Owen to his uncle. “Perhaps in a few years, they’ll think differently.”

  “Owen, time is not on our side,” replied Houston philosophically. “We need men who can think and act decisively working for us now, not in a few years’ time. By then it could be too late. Our competitors have shown that they will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

  “Yes, I always knew that espionage was a threat, but not murder. It chills me to think just how far our rivals will go to supplant us.”

  “It doesn’t get much worse that murder.”

  Owen checked the time. “Uncle David, I hate to run off, but I have a flight to catch.”

  “Where are you heading now?”

  “Washington, D.C. I’ve got a meeting with several congressmen who are friendly to our proposals for greater civilian access to the International Space Station. I’m hoping to convince them to lobby the Kempt administration on our behalf.”

  Houston smiled. His nephew knew how to play the game well. Half of everything in business was about whom you knew and what they could do for you.

  Owen stood, looked over at his uncle, and then hesitated as if trying to find the right words.

  “Is something wrong, Owen?” asked Houston, seeing the look on his nephew’s face.

  “Sir, I was approached by the Chief Financial Officer. He was concerned about a couple of irregularities that he had recently identified,” said Owen.

  “What irregularities?”

  “Well, it would appear that certain discretionary funds managed by yourself have recently become secret. Uncle, I know that it’s your money, and you can do as you please; however, as your CEO, I would like to know what is going on.”