By midafternoon the boys were dropped back at the dorm. Senator Harrison had to catch a flight to D.C. that evening and Brian’s father wanted to get on the road back to Longview. They all expressed enjoyment at meeting and the boys seemed ready for some time to get to know each other away from their parents.
Freshman year went very well for the boys. Although Brian was settled on finance as a major and Harry was interested in political science, their first year was mostly basic courses, pretty much the same for everyone regardless of his ultimate major.
By the time summer came around the boys were fast friends, had joined the same fraternity and committed to room together the next year in the frat house. Brian spent that summer working outdoors at an operating cattle ranch in east Texas his grandfather owned and Harry Harrison was in Washington interning for a Congressman from Arizona who was a good friend of his father’s. Harry and Brian spent their sophomore and senior years as roommates and best friends. The only break in their collegiate time together was when Harry was selected as a Rhodes scholar and spent his junior year in England. Even then he and Brian corresponded weekly, giving each other the latest information in their lives.
After graduation Harry was accepted at Harvard Law School while Brian landed a job as a stockbroker at Merrill Lynch in Dallas. They stayed in close touch as Harry’s career moved up. Harry graduated with honors from law school and returned to Oklahoma City where he was elected a U.S. Representative, the youngest in Oklahoma history. His father retired from the Senate and Harry ran for his seat, winning by a landslide over the Democratic opponent.
While in law school Harry had met a girl named Jennifer Todd who worked for the Department of the Treasury. It was only natural that Brian Sadler served as his best man at the wedding and as godfather to their first child. They had two girls and often kidded Brian about when he was going to settle down and marry Nicole Farber, the Dallas lawyer who wass Brian’s girlfriend.
Not long thereafter John Chapman became the Republican candidate for President and picked Senator William Henry Harrison IV as his running mate. The election was decided by less than a hundred thousand votes and not until well after midnight. Brian Sadler was in Washington for the watch party at the Willard Hotel. By 3 a.m. only two people remained – Brian and Harry shared a celebratory snifter of brandy in Harry’s suite, Secret Service agents standing guard in the hallway and his wife sound asleep in the bedroom next door.
Likewise, Brian was invited to the inauguration and Nicole accompanied him. After a night of dinner and dancing they went back to Harry’s home in Georgetown. Soon Harry would move into Number One Observatory Circle, a beautiful place on the grounds of the U.S. Naval Observatory that had served since the 1970s as the residence of the Vice President of the United States. But that move wouldn’t happen for about a week so the morning after the inauguration party Brian and Nicole, Harry and Jennifer sat in the den of the Georgetown home having breakfast. They laughed about how close the two men had always been and Brian had said, “You’re not going to forget me, are you?”
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Brian listened closely as Harry Harrison gave him the few details about President Chapman’s disappearance that were not known to the public. “I need you to come down here to Washington tomorrow,” the President said, “get fully briefed on everything then go to Palenque and see what you can find.”
“Why me, Harry? I’m not a detective. I’m not even an archaeologist. I’m just a guy who dabbles in all that stuff.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re more than a dabbler, Brian. You have a burning interest in Mayan sites like Palenque and you’ve got a good, intuitive thought process. Most importantly, I trust you implicitly. That last part is more crucial than anything right now. You wouldn’t believe some of the strange stories that are circulating around this town. The kooks come out of the woodwork when there’s a mystery. The FBI’s gotten tips ranging from an ancient curse to Al Qaida to someone thinking he’s fallen into a cenote in the jungle. I need to get your input and fast. Every hour that goes by throws this country deeper into confusion. He’s somewhere, Brian. I need to know where. The people need to know where.”
Chapter Eleven
Saturday
Nine days after the disappearance
Brian sat in the First Class lounge at Penn Station at 6:15 a.m., ready to catch Amtrak’s Acela Express to Union Station in D.C. He’d be in the capital by 9:30 and Harry’s appointments secretary had told Brian to watch for FBI agents who would meet him.
The train pulled in to the massive Washington railway station on time. Brian saw two men in black suits approach as he stepped off the train car. “Mr. Sadler, I’m Special Agent Foster,” one said. “And this is Special Agent Farmer.” They both produced IDs that Brian gave a glance.
“How did you recognize me?”
“Sir, that’s our job. We have a sedan waiting just outside so please follow us.”
They left the station and eventually turned onto the broad expanse of Pennsylvania Avenue. Brian had been to the Visitor’s Entrance of the White House several times since Harry became Vice President. This time things were different – the car passed the familiar guardhouse where he had expected to enter and pulled into a driveway further down. Past a security guard and fence there was nothing but what looked like a heavily fortified garage door, which was closed. The agent who was driving showed his credentials to the guard as another with a dog circled the car and looked under it with a mirror. The garage door opened at the same time as the gate – inside Brian could see a ramp heading down.
The car pulled through the gate and down the ramp into an underground parking garage. There were only a dozen cars there, including the armored limousine that the President used. It appeared they were in the Chief Executive’s private garage. The sedan pulled forward and stopped where a man in a suit was standing. He opened the rear door and said, “Good morning, Mr. Sadler. I’m Bob Parker, the President’s Chief of Staff. Thanks for coming on such short notice.” He led Brian through automatic glass doors to a small elevator. They rode up one floor and exited into a narrow hallway. Turning right, they stepped into the President’s secretary’s office. She introduced herself, wrote a message on her computer and said, “Please go in. The President is waiting for you.”
Brian was surprised to see that it appeared to be business as usual even though it was a weekend. I guess things don’t stop just because it’s Saturday. Especially when you’re running the United States of America.
Bob Parker ushered Brian through a door into the Oval Office. It was Brian’s first time to see the famous room and he found himself a little lightheaded at the experience. “Brian,” President Harrison’s voice boomed from across the room. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!” He came from around his desk and gave Brian a bear hug. “God, I’m glad you came.”
Harry Harrison glanced at his Chief of Staff. “Bob, we’ll be fine now. Ask Marcia to have some coffee sent in, please.”
When they were alone, Brian said, “Uh, Mr. President…”
“Dammit, I told you on the phone to knock that off, Brian. I may be ‘Mr. President’ to everyone else but when it’s just us let’s try to keep some sense of the normal in our relationship if we can.”
“That’s a challenge, Harry. I’m not just sitting here shooting the bull with my old fraternity brother from OU. I’m in the Oval Office talking with the President of the United States. I doubt you could ever understand, but it’s a very unusual feeling. You’re the top dog of the whole world and I’m the guy who knows you wore red panties under your tuxedo to the Christmas Dance at the frat house, just because I bet you twenty bucks you wouldn’t do it. This is kind of hard to process in my brain.”
“Well, get over it. We’ll invite you and Nicole back to D.C. on a lighter occasion sometime soon, I promise. Today we have a lot to talk about and only a few hours to do it. I promised I’d have you on the six o’clock train to Manhattan and I’m trying to keep
us on schedule. I’m going to bring some people in to brief you about the situation with President Chapman so you can get a better handle on what we know…which sadly is very, very little. Then we’re going to strategize on how we can find out more. You’re going to hear a lot today, some of it top secret. I’ve gotten you temporary clearance for this one project.”
Except for a half hour break at one p.m. for lunch in a dining room two doors down from the Oval Office, the men worked nonstop until five. The Directors of the National Security Agency, CIA and FBI joined Brian and the President at various times during the afternoon. Much of what Brian learned was public information because, as Harry Harrison had pointed out, there wasn’t much else they knew.
Once he and Brian were alone again, Harry turned the conversation to Sussex University and its permit to dig at Palenque. “One important reason I asked you to help, Brian, is that you know Cory Spencer. That connection should help you gather information.”
“I didn’t know he was involved but I’m not surprised. I’ve followed his work since he left my gallery. From what I gather he’s making a good archaeologist. I presume he’s part of the dig there?”
“Spencer’s led several Sussex teams recently and he was handpicked by Thomas Newton Torrance to supervise this one. Speaking of which, what do you know about this character they call TNT?” the President asked.
“I’ve never met him but I’ve heard of him like everyone else who reads the news. He seems to make his money robbing from companies to enrich himself but so far he hasn’t been convicted of anything. At least as far as I’ve heard. And about his putting up ten million bucks to back this project – that’s commitment.”
“You’re right. The FBI checked his background, just as we’re doing for anyone who’s even remotely connected to this story. Torrance has managed to stay clean even though he’s a frequent visitor to court and deposition rooms on both sides of the pond. His tactics are questionable for sure but so far no one has proven they’re illegal. Had you ever heard before now that he was interested in ancient sites?”
Brian shook his head. “I’ve never seen his name associated with anything in this field – no sites, no artifacts, nothing. Wonder why he suddenly became so interested in this one particular project that he was willing to fund it for millions? Have your guys talked to him yet?”
“Yes and no. The FBI contacted him and asked for an interview to see if he could give them any clues to President Chapman’s disappearance. TNT politely said he was a busy man, had no knowledge of anything he felt would help them and barring a subpoena he wouldn’t agree to meet with them. Since the FBI director doesn’t have anything he could use to get a subpoena that’s pretty much it unless something else turns up.”
“Do you think he’s trying to hide something?”
“The FBI doesn’t see anything worth pursuing, and believe me, they usually think everyone is trying to hide something. There’s just nothing linking TNT and the former President at all. They’ve never met, Chapman’s records don’t show they’ve ever spoken by phone, and there just doesn’t appear to be a connection. So I don’t think they’ll pursue their attempt to interview him.”
“Speaking of that, so you all have records of every phone call the President makes or receives? That might be helpful.”
“Not really. We have logs that are supposed to include every call, but there are ways around it. Only calls made through the White House switchboard are logged. And every President in recent history, including me, has a cell phone. Obviously only a handful of people know the number, but we use it to make calls that are private or sensitive. The guys hired to protect us hate it because they don’t know what we’re up to, but it serves a purpose. For instance, John Chapman used his when he was having an affair. More than one affair, actually.”
“I think I read something about that,” Brian said. “I guess his wife was aware of his indiscretions.”
“I personally have no idea but I figure she must have been. Apparently he’s had several affairs; the last one I know about was a few years ago. At least publicly the Chapmans appeared to have moved on so everybody else did too. Not like other presidents haven’t stepped out of bounds now and then.”
“Any way that latest girlfriend could be involved?”
“The FBI talked with her. Trust me, they’re leaving no stone unturned. They say she’s not. She went on with her life and is out in California somewhere working in the film industry.”
President Harrison changed the subject. “Enough background. I want to get to the real reason I asked you to come today.
“We have all the experts we can handle on this case. The best of the best. Mexico has allowed us to send agents from every damned agency we can think of and no one’s found a thing. You know those puzzle things you read about when you’re a kid – where a person is in a locked room and dies of a gunshot wound or something, but there’s no gun? And you have to figure out the mystery? That’s what this reminds me of. It looks like there was no place for John Chapman to go, but he’s not there any more. So where is he?
“John Chapman has a dark side, Brian. I’ve seen him tear subordinates to pieces, figuratively speaking of course, in front of a roomful of people when they said or did something he didn’t like. He’s got a horrible temper. Rumors are that he and Marianne’s marriage is a sham but I don’t know that for sure. I do know that she sleeps in a different bedroom. Not occasionally, but every night. He’s not a nice guy. That’s it in a nutshell. He’s a cruel, cold, ruthless man who has the money to push his way into anything he wants.”
The President continued. “What does all this have to do with Palenque? I have no idea. But in you I have someone I trust implicitly, who’s got a brain and knows how to use it, who will travel with the full authority of the President of the United States to ask questions and get answers and who knows enough about archaeology to decide what to look into. I can’t figure out what’s up, Brian, but we’ve done everything we can through official channels. I decided to see if you could find out the answer. Maybe you can, maybe you can’t. Please go try.”
Before ten that evening Brian was back at his apartment in New York. Even on Saturday the train had been packed. Some of the travelers had been working in Washington just like Brian. Others were families, tourists too probably.
On the crowded train he had tried to reach Nicole. Her cellphone went straight to voicemail without ringing; he figured she was at dinner and had turned off her phone. He left a message that he had been in Washington all day but would call her when he was back in Manhattan.
Arriving home exhausted mentally and physically from the long day, he tried Nicole again with the same result. It was an hour earlier in Dallas so he left a message for her to call if she got home soon. He told her, “I met with Harry today. I’m going to Mexico day after tomorrow as part of the search for President Chapman. I’ll fill you in when we talk.”
Two days later Brian was in Mexico standing on top of a Mayan ruin, alone. He could see jungle for miles around him. Behind him he heard a noise. He turned and saw President John Chapman ten feet away, wearing the clothes of a priest – a robe and a feathered hat – and holding a scepter. He looked at Brian.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he said evenly in the ancient Mayan dialect. Brian knew it was Mayan but somehow he understood it clearly.
“Mr. President,” Brian said, surprised that his words were also in the Mayan tongue.
“No longer. I am K’inich Janaab Pakal. I am the ruler of Palenque.”
As Brian watched, the President’s face changed from the one so familiar to every American. It metamorphosed into another face Brian recognized – the one depicted on the lid of King Pakal’s coffin. President Chapman was the ancient king.
“Bow to me!” Pakal screamed as a bell began to ding quietly. Brian fell to his knees, his face on the stone floor. He heard the bell ring again and again. Brian looked up and suddenly saw his bedroom ceiling. His
cellphone was ringing.
“Uh, Nicole,” he stuttered into the phone, confused by the dream from which he had abruptly awoken. Glancing at the clock beside his bed he saw that it was nearly midnight. He was on top of the covers, his naked body sweating profusely. Suddenly freezing, he dived under the covers and pulled the sheet up to his neck.
“Babe. Sorry I missed your call earlier. Big dinner with a big client. You know how it goes.”
Brian didn’t respond. He was trying to exorcise the dream and focus on reality.
“Hey Brian. Are you ok?”
“Yeah…give me a minute. I was asleep. I was dreaming about President Chapman and a Mayan ruin.”
“Of course you were, Brian. It would have surprised me a lot more if you were dreaming about me!” She laughed.
“I dream about you all the time. Did you have a good dinner?” His questions were cautious, careful.
“It was good. Mr. Carter had cocktails and dinner with Richard Stewart – have you heard of him? Randall asked me to come along since I had no plans for the evening, as usual. We ate at Sevy’s on Preston Road.”
“That’s one of my favorite restaurants, as you well know. Richard Stewart. The name sounds familiar. Should I know him?”
“He’s a patent troll. Or a ‘patent assertion entity’ if you want to be nice about what he does.” She explained that Stewart, an attorney from Las Vegas, started a company and bought up several obscure patents in the technology field from small companies that had no use for them. One of the patents was for a small semiconductor device that was a minor part of the avionics package used by private airplanes.
“Asserting his patent rights, he threatened to sue the suppliers of the avionics, the manufacturers like Beechcraft and Cessna plus the people who bought the planes. Almost all these companies would rather settle than go to court, even if the suit is groundless. Why spend years and millions of dollars fighting when you can pay a hundred thousand now and get a full release?”
Brian Sadler Archaeology 03 - The Strangest Thing Page 6