by Seeley James
I said, I’m not going to marry Ms. Sabel.
The credentials waited for me at the front desk, just as Major Pavard promised. A lanyard with photo ID sealed in a plastic holder and some papers. He’d included a note on procedures: No weapons, no unauthorized baggage, and phone verification of employment would happen at the checkpoint. All of which were problems for me. I’d rather swim in a pool of vipers than chase down Mr. Baldy without weapons. Pavard had listed my employer as Sabel Security, which had been accurate up until I quit. And I was carrying a forty-pound rock.
Miguel strolled out of the breakfast buffet and crossed the lobby to me. He punched my shoulder and grinned the way old friends do. He looked at the lanyard. “Contractor for Major Pavard? Didn’t he want you dead?”
“No one can resist my charms forever.”
His eye stopped on the listed employer. One eyebrow went up. Slowly, his gaze turned to me.
“Say,” I said, “would you do me a favor?”
“No.”
“They need phone verification of current employment.”
“No.”
“C’mon, just get me on the payroll for one day.”
“No.”
“You’re going to make me call her?”
“Yep.” He turned and walked away.
There was only one person at Sabel Security who could get me a job for a day. I looked at my phone for the time. I didn’t have any. If I flew, I would have thirty seconds to spare before the train—and Pavard—left the station. It took me all of that to screw up the courage to call her. I took a deep breath and dialed. While it rang, I heard Miguel’s distinctive laugh coming from the elevator banks around the corner.
Ms. Sabel answered my call by saying, “He just told me. I’ll make it happen. I’ve got to run.”
She clicked off.
Mercury leaned against the front desk. She’s not such a bad person, homie.
I said, It’s an abusive relationship.
Mercury said, She never abused you.
I said, She shot me. That’s abusive.
But did you die? Mercury held up his hands.
Take it from me—arguing with gods never gets you anywhere.
I grabbed my backpack and caught a cab. Dark clouds covered half the sky, moving into the valley like an invading army.
Running from the cab to the train, I squeezed through the door as it started to shut. I found Pavard in the forward cab. His men filled the rows behind him. The only seat open was next to him.
I dropped in with the pack on my lap. “Thank you, Major. This means a lot to me.”
He eyed the backpack suspiciously. His gaze rose to me skeptically. With an eye roll of resignation, he took the pack off my lap and put it on his. “Tell me it is not a bomb.”
“It’s a rock. It looks exactly like another rock that—”
“I don’t want to know.” He sighed. “Things for you … they always work out. Crazy things that make no sense. Maybe the gods make fun. But in the end, everyone think Jacob Stearne is the big hero. Let me know when you need it.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence.
When we pulled into the station, Pavard gave his men a pep-talk. I wandered nearby, watching the working class streaming off the train and up the steps to their jobs. Half were security personnel; the other half were service staff. Of the security people, most were Bundespolizei—BPOL, the federal police. They coordinated with a small number of BND officers. The remainder were small contingents from the individual countries like France.
I heard my name shouted out across the platform in a Southern accent. I tried to ignore it because it sounded familiar. But Brynn Pickett was insistent. “Jacob Stearne, get yourself over here. Let me have a look at you.” Only it sounded like, “lemme hava look itchoo.”
I turned in her direction. Brynn waved her hand high in the air. She stood with her cameraman and two extras. A young woman brushed her face with makeup. Brynn, a reporter for French TV, did me a solid when I needed it back in Paris. I couldn’t refuse her. I ambled over to her corner of the platform while she spewed French to her crew. They parted for me, looking me up and down with typical Parisian disdain. Hero of Paris only works with certain classes.
I tracked around behind her to keep a clear view of everyone on the platform. My position forced her to turn. Which made her makeup girl crab around with her. And that earned me a second dirty look.
“What in the world are you doing up in these parts, Jacob?” Brynn asked.
“Sightseeing.”
She pulled my lanyard and read it. “For Pavard? Are you two sweeties all a’sudden?”
I tugged my lanyard back.
She frowned. “Hold up. Are you meeting your buddy, the Pres-i-dent of France?”
“We’re not buddies.”
“Oh, Jacob. Y’all gotta let me in on that one. You owe me.” She waited for me to promise her an interview with the French president. Then her expression changed. She realized she had it wrong. “Y’all found a threat to the G20, haven’t ya? Pavard wouldn’t call you in to chase pole cats. What is it? Terrorists? Arms dealers? More of them Red Jackets still lurking around?”
She twirled around in a full circle, looking over the platform at the people heading up the stairs. The makeup girl tried to follow.
“The Knights of Mithras,” I said.
Brynn twisted back to me with her don’t-bullshit-me scowl so fast she knocked the makeup girl over. While the girl scrambled to her feet, she gave me a third nasty glare.
“I’m not kidding.” I kept Brynn staring up at me while I used her for cover. In this position, I could see the entire platform. “They’re a bunch of whackjobs who believe in a magic meteorite. They’re probably harmless, but I thought I’d check it out just in case.”
She studied me while my eyes roved the crowd milling about behind her.
“They handle plenty of whackjobs without a guy of your caliber.” She brushed the makeup girl aside. “That means you know something about these … knights? What did you call ’em?”
Right then, I saw someone clawing his way up from the blackness of the track bed to the platform. It was four feet from the track to the platform. The figure placed his palms on the concrete and pushed up. His knees landed on the deck. A thick messenger bag lay next to him. He pushed to his feet. Artur Titow, in his BND uniform complete with lanyard.
Brynn rattled off words intending to spark a reaction. She snapped her fingers for her cameraman to start rolling.
I kept an eye on Titow. He picked up his heavy messenger bag, slung it across his chest, and walked calmly toward the exit. I looked back at the train track. He’d come out of the tunnel. My hunch was right. Titow was the one responsible for taping the caves closed. Which gave him access. And that meant I could find Mr. Baldy.
But where was Titow going? Should I follow the Poison Stone he carried or go kill Mr. Baldy?
“Excuse me, Brynn.” I grabbed her shoulders and moved her aside. “Stay here and I guarantee you first interview. But I’ve got to hit the men’s room first.”
I pushed off, grabbed my bag off Pavard’s shoulder, and followed Artur Titow up the stairs into the main building. People scattered in different directions. Titow paced directly to the men’s room. I scanned the area for anyone looking vaguely Turkmen-like and saw mostly Germans. He had no backup.
I gave Titow a few seconds’ head start, then strode in and went straight to the first stall. I pulled my monocular periscope with the laser-mirror and stood on the toilet to rise slightly above the partitions. It was a busy morning. A guy in the stall next to me sat on the toilet reading his phone. The one after that was empty.
I found Titow in the second from the end. He had the trash receptacle taken apart. Using what looked like gloves for handling molten ore, he placed the Poison Stone at the bottom of the trash bin, put the gloves on top, then replaced the plastic bag. He pushed the assembly back together and covered the hinge with official yellow
inspection tape.
The door to my stall slammed open. Two BPOL officers shouted at me in German. I didn’t know the language, but the last sentence was easy enough to figure out. “Du verdammter Perverser!”
CHAPTER 53
Jenny stood on the balcony, staring at the knives of morning sun striking through dark clouds to Zugspitze’s snow-covered peak. Her insides churned like berries in a blender. Pavard had backed up Jacob’s story about having only one set of credentials. But then guys always stick together. She tried Brandt, but the German was all-German and refused to break the rules. She could only get Dalsgaard’s voice mail. She paced while thinking about going up the hill anyway. Nah. They wouldn’t let her on the train without credentials.
She shivered in the cold morning air and went back inside, where the food on the room service cart held no appeal.
Someone knocked on her door. When she answered it, she found Cherry standing in the hall looking downcast and depressed.
“You need to talk?” Jenny asked before deciding not to wait for an answer. “Come in.”
Cherry trailed her to the couch and sat on the opposite end. Jenny jumped up to retrieve the tea service from the breakfast cart and poured cups for them both. Cherry took hers with a nod of thanks.
Jenny gave her guest time to think up a way of presenting whatever news brought her to the door.
After her third sip, Cherry set the cup down and tossed her hair back. She said, “I did a terrible thing and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Jenny stayed quiet.
“My uncle is not who I thought he was.” Cherry reached for a tissue and started crying. “I spoke to my mother last night. She told me the truth about why she disowned him. It was the war crimes. The charges were true.”
Cherry broke down in sobs. Jenny gave her time, then reached for her hand and squeezed it.
“I know how it feels to have your world torn up.” Jenny felt like crying herself. Her parents’ recriminations and angry denunciations of each other coupled with demands to take sides came back to haunt her. But Cherry had taken sides and apparently chose poorly.
Cherry brought her sad eyes up. “A village had been helping his rebels. The government soldiers came and threatened to kill the villagers unless they revealed Uncle Rafael’s base. He and most of his men survived the government attack. They went back to the village and slaughtered every man, woman, and child—on his orders.”
Jenny felt bile rising. She shook her head, unable to reconcile the calm professor with a ruthless rebel leader. She squeezed Cherry’s hand again. “You didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“The government gave him amnesty when they negotiated peace. Only a few Central American countries honor that pardon. The International Criminal Court doesn’t recognize it. He can’t, or shouldn’t, travel outside Guatemala or Mexico. If they know he’s here, they’ll arrest him.”
“Then why did he come on this trip?”
“He said he wanted to help Gu Peng. I believed him.” She started crying again but pulled herself together quickly. “Back in Chicago, Joe Griffith made me a deal. Griffith and my uncle once worked together at the Keepers. He told me if I helped him find the Poison Stone, he would get Uncle Rafael’s charges dropped. I thought I could trust him. But he lied. Griffith made it look like it was all going through, that the ICC would honor the Guatemalan pardon, but he called Uncle Rafael this morning. Griffith threatened him unless he stops Peng.”
“Stop her how?”
“I don’t know. He told me about Griffith’s demands and left.”
Jenny rose and paced. “What was that about the Keepers? What are they after?”
“What is everybody after? The Stones. Power. Control. They see themselves as the Keepers of the Stones. They have three safely hidden somewhere and they want the rest. They’ve all been revolutionaries like Spartacus, Robespierre, Trotsky; the list is long.”
“Not terribly successful.”
Cherry shook her head. “They’re the ones who didn’t have the Stone. Babylonian King Nabopolassar used it to overthrow the Assyrian Empire. Arminius used it in the successful Germanic revolt against Rome. The list goes on.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Jenny hugged herself as she thought about what Rafael might do and how to stop it. Or had Jacob been right all along? This wasn’t their fight. “Do you think Peng can free China with it?”
Cherry wrung her hands. “I don’t know. Uncle Rafael believes in it. Griffith believes in it. Peng believes in it. But it’s just a fucking rock. I can’t believe Uncle Rafael would do anything bad to Peng. I hope he … All this killing and death …”
She broke down in tears again.
After a few minutes, Cherry blew her nose and rose. “I can’t believe I trusted him; can’t believe I’m related to him. I screwed up in Chicago. All of you risked your lives for me and it was all bullshit. I was wrong. Everything I do just makes things worse. I’m going home.”
Jenny gave Cherry a hug. The girl was broken. Her carefully curated world turned upside-down inside a week. Jenny walked her to the door and waved goodbye.
It was time for action. She couldn’t sit in a hotel room and let things unfold. She needed to be on the mountain, tracking down whoever Rafael and these Keepers really were. She dialed Jacob. On the fourth ring, a strange voice said, “Guten Morgen, Bundespolizei.”
“Where is Jacob?” she asked. Jenny checked her phone to make sure she dialed right and confirmed it was Jacob’s number. “I need to speak to Jacob.”
“American? Ja. He is not coming to the phone right now. I am officer Sven Kroos. Who is calling him?”
“His fiancé, Jenny Jenkins.”
“I will tell him of your call.” The man clicked off.
Jenny stared at her phone. What the hell happened to Jacob? That man could get in more trouble than an unsupervised five-year-old in a candy store.
There was only one option left. The one option last on her list to try. But only one person could still get her in. She dialed.
Pia answered on the first ring. “Jenny, what’s up?”
Jenny spilled everything Cherry had told her in a single gush.
Pia was silent for a moment. Then she spoke to someone before muting the phone. A few seconds later she was back. “Meet me at my suite. We’ll have Dhanpal’s credentials changed over to you. We’ll figure it out on the way. But I’m leaving in two minutes, so run. Oh, and welcome aboard. As of right now, you’re an employee of Sabel Security.”
CHAPTER 54
Joe Griffith waited for Pia on the platform at Gletscherbahnhof. She was dressed better than a queen today. Same conservative, yet tasteful dress, this time with more decorative embroidery. Flashier. On the platform around him industrialists, reporters, and cabinet ministers did their so-good-to-see-you greetings. He felt sweat on his palms. He wiped his forehead just in case it was showing. Calm would serve him better, he told himself. But time was running out and Pia had chosen this moment to pick a fight with the BND over a new employee. Did she expect everyone to bend over backwards just because the great Pia Sabel decided to hire one of her rich-kid playmates at the last minute?
He glanced at his watch again. Amanow told him the security sweeps of the restrooms happened at random intervals at least once every half hour. And Pia’s big Indian never took his iron gaze off Griffith. That added to his concerns.
“I’m going to the men’s room,” Griffith told Miguel. “I’ll meet her back here. It doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere soon.”
As soon as the Indian nodded, he trudged off. He hiked up the strap of his day pack as he slid through the crowd. In the restroom, his memory failed him. End stall? He pushed open a door. No trash bin. He pushed on the next one, but it was occupied. He tried the third. No trash bin. Sweat formed on his forehead. If only he had thought up a different way to become the next Protector. This kind of stress was not his preferred method of doing business. He could negotiate and argue
, but carrying what looked like a bomb to a world leader? He could be shot on sight.
He ordered himself to get a grip. If Amanow could handle this kind of pressure, he could too. Besides, he had Pia Sabel over a barrel. No one suspected her of anything. And they always listened to her.
Then he found the bin, second from the end. He stepped in and closed the door. He dropped the toilet cover and set his pack on it. With the hidden razor in his fountain pen, he sliced the seal. The key fit as promised. He swung the bin outward and removed the trash bag. He put on the special gloves and pulled out the Poison Stone.
He admired it for a moment. It was lighter than he expected. And there were more flakes of gold than he thought. But it was beautiful. He placed it in his day pack, tossed the gloves on top, zipped it closed, and hoisted it to his shoulder. Putting the trash bag back in place, he shut the bin, locked it, and sealed it with the piece of tape provided by Artur. Done. He sighed a breath of relief.
Exiting the men’s room, he passed three officers on their way in. Just in time. The gods favored him.
Pia Sabel hadn’t waited for him. He found her marching up the stairs from the platform. Her Indian shrugged at him. No apologies would be coming from her. The Jenkins girl wasn’t with them. He could thank the gods for some things in life: The great Pia Sabel couldn’t pull every string. He caught a glimpse of Jenkins looking nervous at the bottom of the steps.
Griffith fell in line with Pia. They made their way through the building to where a herd of luxury snowcats idled. A queue of dignitaries waited for a second round of credential checks before climbing in for the ride to Schneefernerhaus.
“What’s in the bag, Griffith?” Pia asked.
“A chunk of meteorite of incredible beauty. World leaders love people who present them with rare and unusual gifts.”
He watched the security people. No one was being searched. Good news. He inhaled the cold mountain air and felt his confidence building. In a few minutes he would make his first conversion. And Pia Sabel was trembling in his palm. Was it luck or hard work that uncovered her little end-run around international sanctions for Mikhail Yeschenko? Whatever it was, the boys in research deserved a bonus. He smiled to himself.