The Fourth Law

by Paul Stein

  “Colt’s with me,” Rafie,” Kilmer replied. “He’s got Dallas and I’ve got the cargo…we’re off in two minutes.”

  “We don’t have two minutes,” Nuzam urgently shouted. “There’s a shitload of guards out front. We can’t hold them off that long. We need you and Colt up here now!” he yelled. “Fuck the cargo!”

  Nuzam and Ventura loaded Krilenko into the Humvee and were awaiting Starkovich and Metusack. Guards were raining bullets from automatic weapons down on the Hummer. The men inside were completely protected, but couldn’t return fire without opening the doors. In any case, they would be vulnerable when the doors were opened to admit the rest of the team. Their situation looked bleak.

  “Can it; we ain’t squibin’ out,” Kilmer replied, shocked that Rafie would dare suggest they abandon the plan at this juncture. Clearly, the op was in chaos, but this was exactly what these men had trained for. “We’re at the lift…give us cover. And we’re haulin’ the cargo. Out!”

  “Team Leader, Tooz…Stark’s with me. We’ll provide cover while you get Dallas squared away and load the cargo. Leave us if necessary…we’ll take a van out o’ here. Do what you gotta do, Boss…”

  Typical of Tooz, Kilmer thought. Bravo! He never thinks of himself, just how to get the job done with the least amount of difficulty. Good bloke!

  “Yer blood’s worth bottlin’, Tooz, but negative, we leave t’gether. Now lay the lead mates ’cause we’re blowin’ through…”

  Stark and Tooz held their positions and began pumping lead at the guards closest to the Humvee. Their night vision was still a huge advantage. The guards were merely aiming in the general location of the black Humvee. They had the advantage of firepower, but without lights their effort was unfocussed and largely ineffective. It was relatively easy for Tooz and Stark to stave off their assault, buying precious time for the men loading into the Humvee.

  Rafie opened the rear of the vehicle and helped Kilmer load the container. Meanwhile, Ventura opened the side panel and assisted Colt with Weaver. This done, Colt shut the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. He fired up the Humvee and jammed it into reverse, speeding backward toward the guards, who were again bringing heavy gunfire.

  “Tooz, where are you, man?” he asked, trying to close the distance between their location and the vehicle.

  “Stop now or you’ll pass us,” Tooz yelled back.

  Both he and Stark bolted from their secure locations, exposing themselves to the guards, who could now see the Humvee more clearly with the headlights. They made a mad dash toward the open side-door that Colt had correctly positioned on the opposite side of the gunfire. They dove into the opening, which Rafie promptly shut behind them.

  “Hit it, Colt!” Kilmer yelled. “Git us the hell out o’ here!”

  Colt stomped down on the accelerator and the Humvee sped away, leaving a wake of dead guards and destruction as they disappeared from the scene.

  “Tooz, have a gander at Dallas. What can ya do for ‘im?” Kilmer asked as they both converged on him at once.

  “Nothing,” Tooz replied, his face stone-cold as he pressed his ear against Weaver’s chest, unable to check for a pulse from the carotid artery. “No heartbeat, Boss…we’ve lost him.”

  “Shit! Bugger me…” Kilmer said, slamming his fist on the roof of the Humvee. “Good oh…check on Ivan,” he said next, more upset than he wanted to let on. Weaver wasn’t just a valuable team member, but one he considered a friend. Colt was dead-on accurate. There was going to be a reckoning for his death.

  “I’ll be okay,” Ivan said, as Tooz began inspecting his leg wound.

  “Looks like the femur’s broken, but the blood flow’s manageable. I can get him stabilized at the warehouse, but he’ll need a doctor,” Tooz replied.

  Colt was speeding away from the Lawrence Livermore Lab and bearing down on the location of the Peterbilt tractor-trailer he left parked about three miles away. So far, there was no response from the local police, but he knew there was only a limited time before they would respond to the 911 call for backup. He brought the Humvee to a skidding halt as Kilmer and Rafie jumped out to open the doors of the semi-trailer and extract the ramps. Meanwhile, Tooz, Ventura, and Stark leaped out and headed to the SUV that was also parked on the street. The ramps extended, Colt guided the Humvee into the back of the trailer.

  “You gonna be okay in here for awhile?” he asked, turning to face Ivan as he stepped out of the Humvee. “I hate to leave you with Dallas, but we’ve got to get our asses movin’.”

  “No problem,” Ivan replied, his jaw set, a resolute look on his angular face. “I’ll keep him company. Dallas shouldn’t be back here alone.”

  “Good man,” Colt replied. “Sit tight…we’ll be at the warehouse in a jiffy.”

  “We’re back on plan,” Kilmer said, as Colt exited the semi-trailer and they closed and bolted the doors. “Rafie, we’ll square up later, as planned. Ya follow?”

  “Sure thing; we’ve got a lot to discuss,” he said, facing Kilmer with a scowl. There was no mistaking the unspoken meaning behind his comment. Rafie would hold him accountable for an op he warned was folly from the start.

  Kilmer jumped into the tractor-trailer and looked at Colt, who coaxed the semi away from the curb. Neither of the men said another word. There was nothing to be said. They heard the far-off sound of sirens wailing in the distance, disturbing the peaceful night air, and knew that police vehicles were bearing down quickly on the Lawrence Livermore Lab. The mission was successful, considering they had extracted the atomic fuel Holloway commissioned them to procure, but it was also an abject failure from the standpoint that they had lost a valuable member of their team. Indeed, Dallas Weaver was an integral and irreplaceable member. There was none other like him.

  The two men sat in silence, stone-faced, their hearts heavy, and gripped with the terrible realization of what their success had cost them.

  THIRTY

  STANFORD UNIVERSITY

  THE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR following Jeremiah Marshall to Stanford University was disturbed when his subject disappeared inside the home on Lomita Lane. He crept slowly closer to the house, hoping for a better look at what might be happening inside. The blinds were partially drawn, but he could just make out his two subjects conversing with another man in the center of the room. Whatever they were discussing, the young man was quite animated, wildly flailing his arms as he presumably explained the reason behind the unexpected late-night visit.

  Just as the man was stepping past the corner of the house to get a better vantage point, he suddenly encountered another man crouched low below a window, dressed in black, a hood covering his face. He was startled and the man’s presence caught him off-guard.

  “What the hel…” was all he could mouth before the man brought a crushing blow down on his skull. He immediately crumpled. The man in black searched him quickly, confiscating his wallet, and then dragged him around the side of the house, hiding him beneath the bushes. The assailant happily noted that his quarry’s head was bleeding profusely, which assured he’d be no more bother. He would survive the assault, but would need several stitches to close the wound when he awoke.

  The man in black swiftly resumed his surveillance along the side yard of Dr. Jarrod Conrad’s house. His original assignment had been to kill Conrad, making it look like his cousin Ryan Marshall had committed the crime, but the order had drastically changed. His new orders were to have no contact with either man until the time arrived to bring Conrad to the Bayshore warehouse, which seemed simple enough, until these additional people complicated the matter. First it was the big fella; but now two unexpected bystanders, with a tail, had also descended on Conrad’s house. He didn’t have the luxury of consulting with Kilmer as the Livermore job was already underway, but conditions here were rapidly deteriorating. He would have to improvise and deal with the consequences. No other choice, the man thought. Just the way I like it.

  Jarrod Conrad had closed his office
door to further silence Ryan’s muffled protests on his way to answer the doorbell. He was troubled by the interruption, wondering who could be calling at such a late hour. Leaving Ryan unattended in the back room was not a welcome idea. He planned to quickly dismiss whoever was the cause of this untimely disturbance, and resume the startling discussion with his unruly captive.

  “Yes,” he said opening the door to the two people standing on his porch. “What do you want…it’s awfully late…don’t you know what time it is?” he asked inhospitably. He flipped on the porch light as he spoke.

  “Jarrod, its Sarah and Jeremiah. We apologize for bothering you. Can we come in?” she asked, stepping closer to the doorway.

  “Wonders never cease!” Jarrod exclaimed, trying to disguise his utter shock at finding Ryan’s ex-wife and son standing on his porch. Even though he fought to maintain his composure, a frightened look betrayed his distress. His heart was racing as he exclaimed, “My goodness, what a surprise! Yes, by all means…please come in.” What the hell! How can they be here, too?

  Sarah and Jeremiah stepped hesitantly into the coziness of Jarrod’s living room. One could immediately tell he lived alone and loved to read. There were stacks of medical journals on the couch, end table, and at several locations on the floor next to what was certainly his favorite reading chair. While the room didn’t look overly untidy, it definitely had the feeling of a bachelor’s quarters. There was an open pizza box that contained the remaining half of a vegetarian pizza alongside several crumpled diet Coke cans, and a framed autographed photo of the women’s gold medal volleyball team prominently displayed on the wall. Several articles of clothing were draped carelessly over the dining room chairs. Only one person lived in this home.

  “What brings you to Stanford?” Jarrod asked, nervously rearranging the stacks of journals on the sofa and offering a seat with a wave of his trembling hand. He felt flushed; perspiration was breaking out on his forehead.

  “Have you seen Ryan?” Sarah asked, hoping her question didn’t set off any alarms.

  “This isn’t a social visit, Uncle Jarrod,” Jeremiah cut in intemperately, interrupting his mother. “We know about what’s happened at Dad’s job site in Taos, and the accusation that he broke into your lab. He’s on his way to confront you and I’m here to stop him from doing something stupid. It’s time this idiotic hatred you have for each other is brought to an end,” he said, wildly gesticulating and pacing the room as he spoke.

  “Listen, Jarrod, this feuding between you and Ryan has got to stop,” Sarah said, stepping between Jarrod and her son as she spoke. “For years it’s been eating at both of you and tearing this family apart. When’s it going to be enough? Now the authorities are involved. I’m so upset, I could just strangle you both. I’m sick of it,” she said, lashing out with her arm to emphasize her contempt.

  “Both of you need to just settle down,” Jarrod said, offering up a meager defense. “I don’t appreciate your insinuation that I’m responsible for what happened at Ryan’s job site. I can assure you…I had nothing to do with anything that happened in Taos. Your blame is misplaced. On the other hand, the police have found evidence placing Ryan in my lab, and very valuable research is missing. Now you tell me…” he paused, “what would cause Ryan to come after me when he’s created this problem?”

  “I don’t know, Uncle Jarrod, but we know he means to confront you. That’s what he told Mom and that’s why we’re here. If we don’t stop him, something much worse is likely to happen,” Jeremiah said, the emotional strain cutting deeply into his face.

  “So you haven’t seen him, then?” Sarah asked hopefully.

  “I didn’t say that,” Jarrod replied.

  “What do you mean…what have you done to him?” Jeremiah demanded, clenching his fists. “You’ve known all along why we’re here.”

  “I haven’t done anything with him. It’s what he tried to do to me that should concern you. Follow me…both of you,” Jarrod said, waving his hand and guiding them down the hallway to the backroom of the house.

  “Pop!” shouted Jeremiah, entering the back bedroom to discover his father tied to the chair, a swath of tape across his mouth. He hurriedly tore off the tape and pulled at Ryan’s restraints, only to find the snap ties much too strong to break by hand. Ryan sat silent, a dumbfounded look on his face as he stared at his wife and son.

  “For the love of God, look at you two,” Sarah began, shaking her head at the pitiful sight. “Do you have any idea how pathetic you look at this moment? You should both be ashamed, but unfortunately you’re not even smart enough to know that. Jarrod, cut him loose…immediately.”

  “Hel...hello, Sarah…Son,” Ryan said sheepishly. Wha…what’re you doing here?”

  “Sarah, I can explain this,” Jarrod interjected, moving toward Ryan with scissors to cut the restraints.

  “Oh, shut up…both of you,” Sarah replied in as shrill a voice as the three men had ever heard. “I don’t want another word from anyone right now, is that clear?” She closed the door of the office. “For once in your lives you’re going to listen to someone with some common sense. That goes for you too, mister,” she said, pointing to Jeremiah. “Now, get comfortable…no one leaves this room until we work this out once and for all, capisce?”

  AUGUST SIXTH

  THIRTY-ONE

  STANFORD UNIVERSITY

  MIDNIGHT

  SARAH MARSHALL glowered at Jarrod, who cut the snap ties restraining Ryan’s hands, and then leaned over to cut the remaining ties from his ankles. She watched as Ryan vigorously massaged the blood flow back into his hands, fighting back thoughts of what could have happened if Jer hadn’t convinced her to come to California. The cousins’ years of bitterness was starkly dramatized before her disbelieving eyes. There was no possible way to grasp the depravity of their behavior: Ryan, breaking the law to hunt down his cousin, and Jarrod, holding Ryan captive by tying him to a chair. My God, she thought, this is much worse than I ever dared imagine.

  “Okay, Jer, it’s your show now. You insisted on this confrontation…what’s next?” she asked, enthralled by what her son would do. She was certain he never considered that both men would be together in the same room. With no place to sit, Sarah plopped herself in front of the door, creating a blockade against anyone trying to leave the room.

  “Can I say one thing first?” Ryan asked meekly, standing, still trying to circulate the blood back in his legs and feet.

  “No. You’ll listen to me now,” Jer responded firmly. He realized he sounded disrespectful, but didn’t care one whit about it. “Mom and I have been traveling for the past twelve hours and I’m in no mood for excuses. Since Mom gave me the news, I’ve given a lot of thought to what I’d say to you if given the chance. The opportunity to talk to you and Uncle Jarrod together is better than I’d dared hope. Now, if you’d please sit down and listen....”

  Jer scrunched up his face, looking pensive as he searched to gather his thoughts. “My feelings have been building for a long time. For years I’ve felt like an outsider in our family. I’ve never been a priority in your life, Dad. First it was Jacob…I loved him, too, more than you realize. It hurt me deeply to lose him…still hurts. He was my twin brother. Nothing can replace that. But when he died, it seemed you forgot your other son…me, Dad…I’m your son, too. You slipped into another world, one of depression and grief, and wouldn’t let anyone console you or share the burden. I’m sorry you can’t love me as much as Jacob, but we can’t go on like this any longer,” he said, struggling to express the hurt feelings that were locked deep inside him.

  “Second, your intense hatred for Uncle Jarrod has got to stop. Now! We’re family! It’s seems you’ve forgotten you’re even related. You waste too much time on bitterness, always on the lookout for ways to retaliate. Can’t you see what it’s doing to you? Don’t you wonder why your close friends have drifted away? The hatred—coupled with guilt and remorse—is killing you, Pop. You’re emotionally bankrupt and now
it’s affecting your reason. Look at your situation—on the run to confront Uncle Jarrod for something you suspect he’s done. Don’t you see how crazy this is?” he asked, turning his hands up to show the absurdity of his father’s recent actions.

  “Well, it’s not just my behav….” Ryan tried to interject.

  “Please, don’t say a word. Let me finish,” Jer reprimanded, holding his hands out, looking perturbed. “I’m going to get everything out. It’s time for another man in this family to have some say.

  “I can’t begin to describe how disappointed I am about you and mom,” Jer continued, “and, yes…I know Uncle Jarrod had some part in what went down in New York.” He paused, pointedly scowling at Jarrod. “But it doesn’t excuse your behavior. You were vulnerable to being conned precisely because you had walled off your feelings. You won’t share the pain of losing Jacob with anyone, including mom. Nobody can forgive your mistake precisely because you can’t forgive yourself, Pop. To compensate, you’ve thrown yourself into work, keeping numb and detached, rather than making amends. Have you ever wondered if there’s a way to overcome our differences? It’s not too late. I’m willing to move forward…but you have to meet me halfway,” he said, staring at Ryan with such intensity that there was no mistaking his resolve.

  “And, lastly, Uncle Jarrod, you owe everyone in this room an apology… especially my mother. I’m not sure what you did except I know it’s disgraceful. You even had the gall to send her pictures! I’m ashamed we’re related. If I could disown you, I would,” he said, slowly shaking his head in disgust.

  “But this evening…tonight…is about forgiveness. This moment can be a new beginning for each of us. Uncle Jarrod needs forgiveness; Dad, you need forgiveness; and, yes, Mom and I should be forgiven for walling ourselves off to you both. The healing starts with you two. I can’t do any more than to extend a hand,” Jer said, reaching out toward both men with his hands, waiting for them to reciprocate. “It’s up to you to reach back. Please, let’s embrace our Italian heritage and put family first against our enemies. I’ll be the first to say I’m sorry…to each of you.”