So much for my decision of getting out of the business, I thought.
Pippa took the phone and held it to her ear. Her brow furrowed; she looked nervous. While she was having what was probably a similar conversation with the president, I used the time to peer into Baltimore’s mind.
There was nothing unsettling going on that I could read; no red flares, indicating he was being anything but truthful. What I did detect was fear. Whatever was happening in Europe, the reason for this new mission, he was not optimistic about it. Bringing Pippa and myself into the mix might very well be a last-ditch effort before something cataclysmic took place.
Pippa handed the phone back to Baltimore. Her expression was one of concern; she looked to be carrying the world’s weight on her shoulders.
Baltimore leveled his eyes on me first, and then on Pippa. “Ms. Rosette, you will be leaving Arizona within two hours. You are booked on a direct flight to Dulles. You have a meeting in Washington, where you’ll be debriefed.”
“Mr. Chandler, please think about what resources you’ll require to complete your assignment in Kingman. In a few days, as soon as you’re done here, you’ll meet Ms. Rosette at a still-undetermined location somewhere in Europe. I have some reading material for both of you to get up to speed on. You’ll also find a burner phone, flight itineraries, your new identities, passports, and credit cards.” Baltimore handed a packet to each of us. “I’ll give you a few moments to say goodbye.”
Baltimore was off his chair and heading out of the room before we knew it. The security team followed on his heels.
“What the hell was all that about?” Pippa asked me.
I shrugged. “All I can tell you is that both Calloway and Baltimore believe what they are doing is the right call. There’s no apparent deception going on here,” I replied.
“What’s this mission we’re being deployed into?”
“Baltimore has less faith in our abilities to succeed than Calloway. It’s a dire situation, whatever it is. Neither of us is expected to survive, in any case.”
“Now you tell me!” she exclaimed.
“Hey, the president of the United States just asked for our help. You going to tell him no?” I asked with a smile. I stood up.
Pippa got up and shook her head. “This is all happening too fast.” She turned and looked at me. A long moment passed where neither of us spoke. She looked away first and headed off in the same direction the others had gone. Still walking, she looked back over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to tap in once in a while, Rob … see ya.”
“See ya,” I replied.
PART 3 — MAD POWERS
Chapter 27
There were a few specialty items I needed from Curtis Baltimore and his SIFTR organization, in regard to me keeping my promise to Ladislav Skykora. It actually made no difference that Skykora was associated with SIFTR. What I was going to do for him was personal. If the story was true, Drako Cervenka had taken something profoundly precious from my friend—the life of his sister and her daughter.
According to the paperwork Baltimore had given me, I was booked into the Kingman Best Western, here in town. Although a step or two up from Motel 6, I stayed with Motel 6—and my already established access for tapping in. I spent the afternoon running errands. I needed new clothes, shoes, and a few specialty items for tonight. I’d driven by Drako’s estate and surveyed the surrounding landscape. Literally built into the jagged cliffs, along the furthest outskirts of Kingman, Drako’s estate was a formidable property. Access via the cliff behind it would be nearly impossible. At the top of the ridge-line, set back and out of view from the street level below, was an electrified, twelve-foot-tall fence. Multiple roving sentry/canine teams patrolled 24/7. At the single-entrance driveway was a metal gate and guard station. Armed guards could be seen patrolling on the grounds below as well. The house itself was a modern affair, with eight adjoining glass and concrete platforms jutting out from the cliffs at varying heights. An eight-car garage, testimony to Drako’s love of cars, was the only ground-level structure.
It didn’t surprise me that Drako had covered his bases, with ridiculously tight security perimeters, and very limited access to the property’s interior. In the end, I wouldn’t be sneaking into this fortress—I’d simply knock on his front door.
I’d rented a new car with my new I.D., credit card, and license, provided by Baltimore. I showered, dressed in my new clothes, and tapped in on my way out of Motel 6. By the time I arrived at the guardhouse at the end of Drako’s long driveway, it was close to five in the afternoon.
I pulled up to the gate and smiled and waved in the direction of a camera mounted on a ten-foot-high pole. A stern-faced, all business guard came out of the small structure. He had a clipboard in his hand and was looking at it as he approached my driver’s side window.
“Who are you?” he asked, bending down and looking first at me and then into my rental car.
“Name’s Rob Chandler.”
“What do you want? This is private property.”
“I know it’s private property. I’m here to see Drako.”
“You’re not on the list.”
“That’s correct.”
“Turn your car around. Don’t bother Mr. Cervenka again.”
He rose up and stepped back, waiting for me to back up and leave. I stayed where I was. Irritated, he came closer and bent over again. “Did you not hear me? Get out of here.”
“You need to go back in that little house of yours and call the boss. Tell him his good friend from the park is here to teach him again how to play chess.”
“You’re a friend?”
“Yes.”
The guard stared at me for several long seconds, looking indecisive. I imagine Drako had few, if any friends who dropped by uninvited. This was uncharted territory for the guard and he didn’t want to make the wrong move.
“Let me make this easier for you,” I said. “Give me the phone and I’ll talk to him myself. That way you don’t have to man-up and talk to your own boss.”
Anger flashed over the guard’s face. He moved closer and peered down at me. “Stay here.”
He went back into the guard shack. He was on the phone less than thirty seconds before he hung up and was standing back in front of me. “Drive forward until you are signaled to stop. Park where directed. You will be searched and checked for transmitting devices. Your phone will be temporarily held by security. Is that understood?”
“Uh huh. Just open the gate as your boss instructed you to do,” I said, looking straight ahead.
I drove up a long, tree-lined avenue that must have cost a fortune in water bills to keep so lush and green beneath the hot desert sun. Up ahead was a circular turn-about. As the gatehouse guard had implied, there was another guard waiting there for me. Using hand motions, he directed me to park near the garage structure. I collected a small black satchel from the passenger seat and got out of the car. The guard walked toward me.
“Please stay where you are,” he said.
I did as told. This guard was the spitting image of the other one. “Weren’t you just down at the guard shack?” I asked.
“No, that wasn’t me,” he replied.
“I bet you get that a lot, huh?”
He gave a half-hearted shrug and brought up a long metal wand. “I need to check you for transmitting devices. Please hand me your phone.”
I did as he asked and placed my phone in his outstretched palm, and he pocketed it.
“Please turn around and hold out your arms,” he instructed.
I felt the wand brush against my arms, down my torso, and then up the insides of my legs. “Easy there, partner,” I said. “Not without dinner and a movie first.”
He took my leather satchel and unzipped it—looked inside—then passed it back to me.
Content with his search, he nodded and gestured toward the front door. “Mr. Cervenka is waiting for you inside. You don’t need to knock, just go right in.”
Two wide, ten-foot-high wooden doors stood atop a three-foot rise. Standing on the stoop, I noticed both doors were intricately carved, depicting some battle scene—a story—Chinese, or perhaps Mongolian. There were horses and men holding spears and swords. A warlord, larger than anything else, was carved into the center of the two closed doors.
“I said just go on in!” came the irritated voice of the guard still standing on the driveway.
I gave him a perfunctory salute, grabbed one of the wrought-iron door latches and pushed open the door on the right. I entered into a wide vestibule. A massive glass staircase rose in the distance, flanked by sheets of thick glass and water cascading into two identical-looking koi ponds.
A woman stood at the base of the stairway. She was black and dressed in a tan business suit and a dark brown tie. Her black hair was trimmed close to her scalp. She smiled, showing perfect white teeth between glossy red lips. “Please. This way, Mr. Chandler.”
I followed her up the glass stairway. She turned and spoke to me over her shoulder. “My name is Cassie; please let me know if there is anything I can get for you while you’re here. Mr. Cervenka is by the pool.”
The stairs led up to what I guessed was the main formal living room. Plush leather furniture sat before an immense rock fireplace. Light streamed in through fifteen-foot-high plate-glass windows that stretched the width of the fifty-foot-wide room. The view of the desert below was extraordinary. A cantilevered ceiling thirty feet above had several thick wooden beams that continued on outside, through the front glass windows.
Cassie led me to another set of glass doors; these were opposite to the front of the house. As we stepped through the doors I realized I was looking at the far side of the rock cliff. We had walked through a tunneled-out opening and onto another massive concrete platform—one that was, somehow, cantilevered high above the desert floor below. A royal blue Grecian pool was flanked by eight thick marble pillars, which jutted into the air at varying heights. On the right was a gazebo, also made of marble, and there sat Drako, on a lounge chair. He waved for me to join him.
Cassie continued on in the opposite direction as I walked toward the right side of the pool. I approached Drako and stood before him. He was wearing dark blue swim trunks, a T-shirt with a design of different colored surfboards across its front, and Ray Bans. A MacBook Pro sat open on his lap.
“You surprise me once again, Rob.”
“You did say you wanted a rematch,” I said, holding up the leather satchel in my hand.
He smiled broadly and gestured me to take the lounge chair next to his.
Chapter 28
Cassie was back, holding a tray with a pitcher of iced tea and two ice-filled glasses. “Would you like a lemon slice, Mr. Chandler?”
“Lemon would be great, thanks.”
Cassie deposited the drinks and hurried off. I unzipped my satchel, removed the folded up chessboard and, laying it out flat on my lounge chair, I positioned all the pieces.
“You know, Rob, I returned several times to the park, hoping to find you there.”
“Haven’t been back,” I said.
“I take it your memory has returned?” It was more of a statement than a question.
I smiled. “Came back all at once. Pretty amazing, actually. Feels good knowing who I am again.”
Drako nodded slowly. I was well aware he knew exactly who and what I was. Equipped with my full name, he would have had his people checking all national and international databases. By the time it took me to walk through his house and be poolside, he was up to speed.
“This is quite a spread you have here, Drako.”
He turned to face me and scooted down on his chair where he could reach the chessboard. “Spoils of business, my friend. I conduct business similar to how I play this game … always several moves ahead of my opponent. You, of course, may be the exception, Rob.”
“Go ahead, Drako. I’ve put the white pieces on your side.”
We opened with a standard Sicilian move: his white pawn to e4 followed by my black pawn to c5. This led to white pawn d2 to d4.
Drako glanced up and smiled. “Don’t expect me to be as easy on you as I was before, Rob. Friends or not, I play to win.”
“I’d expect nothing less from you, Drako.”
“Would you like to add a little spice to the game?” he asked.
“What do you have in mind?”
Drako removed his Ray Bans. The smile on his mouth had not reached his eyes. He seemed to ponder the question and then said, “I have more money, riches, than I could spend in ten lifetimes. You, though, have little I would consider to be of any value. No offense, Rob.”
“None taken.”
“Information has value. Would you not agree?”
I nodded. “Sure. The right information most certainly has value. It’s relative, though.”
“Exactly! The information that would be of interest to me would be worth many millions.” Drako leaned back, his arms outstretched. He looked off toward the back entrance of the house and then at the pool. “This house has an estimated dollar value of forty-three million.”
“No shit?” I replied, then whistled.
“It’s yours. If you win.”
I let that sink in for several seconds. “The taxes alone on this place would bankrupt me.”
“Part of the deal. House paid for, plus all taxes, all upkeep; everything paid up in advance, for thirty more years.”
“And what’s the other side, Drako? What on earth could I possibly tell you that would be worth such a grand offer?”
“I already told you. Information. The right information is priceless to me.”
“Sure. Why not? What do you want to know?”
“You’re not taking this seriously, Rob. That disappoints me. That means you’re discounting me and our friendship.”
“You’re serious?”
“Quite.”
I saw Cassie and another man heading towards us. He was carrying a briefcase.
“That’s my lawyer. I hate lawyers. Hey, you know what an apple and a lawyer have in common?” Drako asked.
I shook my head.
“They both look great hanging from a tree.” Drako laughed at his own joke as the man holding the briefcase joined us. Cassie smiled, waved, and walked off on her own.
“This is Mr. Chapleau,” Drako said, without looking up at the lawyer. He was a stocky man with gray hair; his shirt displayed dark perspiration stains under his arms. He looked around for a place to set down his briefcase and settled, instead, on the concrete at his feet. With two jerks of his thumbs, latches snapped open and he raised the briefcase lid. Chapleau handed Drako two packets of papers the same size.
“Stay here and notarize our signatures.”
“Yes, Mr. Cervenka.”
I looked from Chapleau back to Drako. “You’re serious about this? How could you possibly have all this prepared … in what, the fifteen minutes I’ve been here?”
“Who said anything about fifteen minutes?” Drako replied, still looking over the paperwork. He gave a curt nod and held out an open hand to Chapleau. The lawyer gave him a pen and Drako signed his name on several pages, then repeated the process on the duplicate set. Satisfied, he looked up at me. “Your turn.” He handed me the pen and both sets of documents.
“What is all this?” I asked, perplexed.
“Simple. It’s all laid out in the documents in your hands. Winner takes all. Three matches played right here, right now. You win, the house, everything is yours. I win, I keep my house and you provide the specific and thorough information that I require. This is a legal and binding document.”
I was listening to Drako talk as I read through the pages. It was a binding contract. Sure enough, he was handing over the property if, in fact, I won two out of three matches. I read down to the section relating specifically to the information he required. There were several questions I would need to answer truthfully:
1) Which government organiz
ation or agency did you meet with this morning?
2) Who is currently the person in charge of this agency? Specifically, who, at this organization or agency, do you report to?
3) To what higher power within the U.S. government does this organization or agency report?
4) As an agent of this organization or agency, what is your current specific objective, and or mission?
5) Specifically, where is the headquarters of this organization or agency located?
6) Provide a list of names of all the known people working at this organization or agency.
I looked up at Drako. “This is quite a list. How long have you known who I was?”
“I’m going to be one hundred percent honest with you, Rob. Understand, I expect the same honesty in return. I have friends within the Kingman PD. Your DNA and photograph were all I needed to access your CIA docs. Over a year ago you went to ground within Russia. I still do not know how you accomplished that. Impressive. This morning you were spotted talking to a Mr. Curt Baltimore in the back parking lot of the Beale Hotel. I am familiar with the man. There are only a few black-ops organizations that I do not know about, or work with, on a regular bases. Baltimore and the people he works for are involved in something new. This new organization has already caused me, as well as my associates, far too much trouble.”
“Maybe we should forget the match. Call it a day.” I said. All of a sudden, I doubted my own convictions. When I’d played against Drako before, he was distracted and playing multiple games at a time. His mind was amazingly quick and he was, beyond doubt, the superior player. By losing, I’d be providing classified information to a known criminal and, not to forget, I’d be a traitor to my country.
Mad Powers (Tapped In) Page 13