Death and Deception

by Seeley James

  “What does the Poison Stone do?” Pia asked.

  “What you call ‘poison’ others call freedom,” he said. “What you’re facilitating here today is the release of leaders from the restraints of mob rule. You’ll be proud of this moment, Pia. This is the day you stepped up while others wavered.”

  “So glad I could help.” Her gray-green eyes settled on him. Her jaw flexed. He was looking into the eyes of a caged tiger. He flinched.

  A security officer checked their lanyards and waved them through. They crunched onto the snow.

  “What do you expect it to do to the Prime Minister?” she asked.

  “Amaze him,” he answered.

  Her tone bothered him. He wondered if she needed another reminder of her $28 million problem. Better to hold the stick in reserve. He said, “You’ve heard the carefully-crafted lies coming from the government. You’ve heard media outlets sensationalizing stories to confuse us. Decades of law and order have been shredded in the name of political correctness. No one cares about a safe society anymore. Crime is up sixty percent around the world. In every country, immigrants are invading. Syrians in Europe, for god’s sake. Mexicans in America. Uighurs in China. Why should we sacrifice our children to give a terrorist a warm place to sleep?”

  Pia raised a brow and didn’t move a muscle. Those damned eyes bore right through him.

  They reached the front of the line as their snowcat arrived. It was awkward, but they climbed aboard. The big Indian stood at the open door, not speaking, and not getting in.

  Finally, the Indian said, “Something’s wrong.”

  “Check it out,” Pia said. She pulled the door closed without another word. The Indian jogged back toward the building.

  The snowcat lurched forward. They rode in silence. Her stare became annoying. He had explained things politely once, his patience wore thin. It was time to remind her of his stick.

  “What did you pay Yeschenko to do?” he asked.

  “I stole it from him a couple years ago and gave it to charity. The man has no sense of humor. He recently threatened a friend of mine about it, so I covered it.”

  Her smug answer pissed him off. It was all he could do to stop from lashing out at her. “Flaunting sanctions just to help a friend. Was it worth it?”

  Pia tightened her lips and turned to the window.

  Now he had her where he wanted her. A tiger on a leash.

  The snowcat clattered to a stop. They hopped down and went inside. Policemen checked them again. A young man in a suit met them. He gushed about Sabel’s recent consideration of Winnipeg for her new satellite manufacturing site. He led them down a long hallway with glass windows. They stopped and admired the view of the Alps, the glacier, and the valley far below. Black clouds obscured half the region and moved toward them like a plague. They continued to a meeting room. The young man opened the doors.

  This was it. This was his moment.

  Pia stepped ahead of him and through the entrance. In a booming voice, she said, “Justin, so good to see you.”

  CHAPTER 55

  Pavard found the monocular periscope amazing. Three times I explained how the laser formed an invisible mirror, but he didn’t care. He kept looking at people around the corner and up the steps like a Peeping Tom.

  “No, really,” I said, “it’s all yours, Major. I’d be in a German jail if you hadn’t rescued me from that little misunderstanding in the toilet.”

  As handy as having a top official in my pocket was, I didn’t want him following me on my last quest: The hunt for Mr. Baldy. Officers of the law had a bad habit of objecting to my plans for summary execution. I patted his shoulder again and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  Marching through the station, I saw Miguel coming the other way. We exchanged nods, telepathically communicating what would happen next. He swung by Pavard and greeted the Major in French. They chatted. I went on with my mission.

  I waited until Brynn Pickett’s cameraman flicked on his light and started live-casting an interview with someone from Argentina. With her distracted, I slipped into the crowd getting off the latest train and made my way toward the end of the platform.

  Across a handful of people, I saw Jenny standing alone against a wall. Our eyes met. What in the name of Jupiter was she doing here? I left had her at the hotel for a reason. Besides, she would insist Mr. Baldy go to jail, same as Pavard. I put my finger to my lips and pointed, indicating I was following someone. She nodded and stayed put.

  After pushing through a herd of photographers festooned with cameras, I made it to the end of the platform and jumped down. The track bed was rough stone, the crushed remnants of the tunnel walls. A hundred yards down the line, there was a small, shallow cave. Inspection tape stretched across the opening. I easily ducked under. Inside were three shovels and a sledgehammer. I wondered if they were the tools Mr. Baldy and his crew used. The back and sides of the spur tunnel were solid rock. No connection to the Knights’ tunnel. Twenty yards farther down the tracks was another shallow cave with no tools and solid walls. Another hundred yards down the hill, there was a siding where they could stash extra train cars. From the look of the rusty switch, it hadn’t been used in my lifetime.

  At the end of the rail spur was a set of railroad ties standing upright with a large reflector attached. An assembly from the early postwar era. Beyond it, a chain link fence sealed off the remaining depth. The inspection tape hung loosely across the fencing and made a sad attempt to stick to the rock on the right side. Many footprints marched to and from that side. Both boot prints and dress shoes, an unlikely mix. Artur Titow would be wearing dress shoes.

  The fencing peeled back easily from the right and rolled up toward the left. The inspection tape stayed with it. The right side was secured with a series of magnets made to look like bolts. If a security officer didn’t tug on it, they would expect it to be shut down tight. Clever.

  A cold breeze whirled around me. My jacket and t-shirt combination wasn’t working any better than the last time I’d tried it. You’d think my favorite deity would remind me to check the weather.

  If this tunnel connected to Mr. Baldy’s, the narrow space formed a venturi. With cold air freezing my ears, I knew this had to be the place. I needed backup. I called Miguel. He answered but the signal was less than weak beneath that much rock. After not getting much across, I texted him to find me at the spur. A few seconds later, the message failed to send. Perfect.

  I hung my lanyard on the reflector. Any Ranger looking for me would see that and know what it meant.

  I peeled back the fence and ducked into the opening. Another bit of cleverness by the Knights: the first thirty feet formed a letter S. Anyone shining a light into the space wouldn’t see the turns or the main tunnel beyond. Combined with the fence and the inspection tape, they could fool the best security sweep. These guys were not amateurs.

  I moved through the tight passage into a larger space and stopped to reconnoiter. Indirect light came from a distant opening. Judging by eye, it was a fifteen-hundred-foot tunnel. The Austrian end was open, letting in weak daylight. The tunnel took advantage of caves in the karst sections. The walls and floor were rough and rocky, built for purpose, not for show.

  There was a wider area near my position. Something moved in the dark. I couldn’t make it out. I didn’t sense any Knights nearby, it was too quiet, and my senses weren’t tingling. I crept out from the S portion into the straight part of the tunnel. I kept my back to the wall and felt my way along. The rocky floor slowed my progress. As I reached the wide spot, I noticed a camera mounted on a tripod to my left.

  Across from me were three large objects, one of which thrashed against bindings.

  A male voice said something muffled and desperate in what I guessed was Japanese. I didn’t answer. Neither did anyone else. The Japanese speaker stopped moving, hoping to hear a response in the brutal silence. I joined him. I heard nothing. No movement, no spoken words. Only the breathing of four people. Me, a
Japanese guy, and two others whose breathing was ragged.

  I strained to hear anything else. If the Knights were aware of my presence, they could be lining up a shot through the Sumrak’s infrared scope right now. I could be dead in an instant. Unlike the movies, the bad guys don’t pop out and explain their whole evil plan, then leave you hanging over a shark tank from which you can escape. They just shoot you. Dead. Why explain anything to a guy you’re going to kill? What’s the point?

  I waited a few more seconds, listening and wishing I’d brought a Sabel Visor. The monocular was hard enough to get through security; I couldn’t imagine explaining what I needed with night vision during a daylight meeting on a bright-white glacier. Still, I listened. When up against pros, it’s important not to underestimate them. Using my ears for radar, I zeroed in on the breathers in front of me, then tuned out those frequencies and listened for any other movement in the tunnel.

  Nothing.

  I clicked on my phone light for a split second to process the scene. It was risky, but I couldn’t think of any other way to figure out what I was up against. Three men in business suits were splayed out on giant Xs. Chains bound their wrists and ankles. They were tightly gagged. One man was passed out. The next had been savagely beaten; a backpack lay at his feet. The Japanese man had a bloody nose but was alert. They looked like important guys. Their suits were not politician or uber-rich-guy material, but a step or two above pencil-pusher and three steps above journalist. Hostages of some importance. But who?

  The Japanese guy started talking into his gag again. He was trying English but he had too much cloth in his mouth.

  Mercury said, What is the G20 all about, homie?

  I jumped out of my skin. Then took a deep breath. I said, Don’t sneak up on me like that.

  Mercury said, I didn’t. I’ve been waving at you for a minute. I’m always with you but sometimes you don’t see me. Anyway. Answer the question—what’s it all about?

  I said, Rich countries exploiting poor countries?

  Mercury said, Yeah, duh, but who and how does that work?

  I said, Rich people like Pia Sabel talk to prime ministers about who has to get bribed to build a factory where lots of poor people will work cheap without a union?

  Mercury sighed. I coulda used you back when Trotsky was on the rise, but you missed the era by decades.

  I said, Yeah, well, it didn’t go so well for him.

  Mercury said, We’ll get you enrolled in Capitalism 101 later. Right now, who do these guys look like to you? I’ll give you a hint: They’re not politicians so they didn’t have tons of security.

  I said, Which made them ripe targets for hostage taking. Which means, they’re bag men?

  Mercury slapped his palm to his face. Dude, when you get to the Caesar-level, they’re not called bag men, they’re called…

  I said, Bankers! Oh, these guys are central bankers for Japan and—I tried to remember which countries were part of a global cabal that meant nothing to me—a couple other places.

  Mercury said, Which means Mr. Baldy is going to do what?

  I said, I don’t know. Hostages are taken for ransom. What would that have to do with the Poison Stone?

  By asking, I answered my own question. Mr. Baldy would hold these guys until the leaders touched the Stone. An odd request but impossible for the leader to turn down when the life of his bag man, I mean, central banker, hangs in the balance.

  I crossed the space toward the chained men. As soon as I stepped forward, a bright light next to the video camera came on. Motion sensor. Not a great thing to miss when you’re sneaking around. But it was too late. The area was lit up like a TV studio.

  I pulled the gag from the Japanese guy’s mouth

  The Japanese guy nodded at the floor and said, “Bomb.”

  I glanced at the backpack on the floor. A few dim LEDs flashed inside it. It wasn’t just a bomb. It was a remote-controlled bomb. Beneath the controller, it looked like a twenty-pound sack of ANFO, the most common industrial explosive in use today. That much would kill anyone and everyone within a thousand feet. That meant everyone in this end of the tunnel would die. Due to the far end being open, allowing some of the blast to escape, they wouldn’t collapse the mountain on top of the bodies.

  Mr. Baldy wanted to threaten the lives of these three so their corpses could be found later. That indicated a level of evil intent I’d rarely seen in my wanderings. Knowing the authorities would scour the world for the killer, he had enough confidence to know they would never find him.

  Then I remembered something Danny had said: The Knights are protected around the world. Mr. Baldy had no reason to fear an international manhunt. His organization had global resources. Which he proved by getting his hands on a rocket launcher in Flores, Guatemala. And that meant he could kill with impunity. So how was all this going to work?

  My head swiveled fast to the camera on the far wall. Looking past the bright light, I could make out speakers and a transmitter. A two-way communication system.

  I sensed someone behind me. Few people in the world could get the jump on me. I turned in time to see Dhanpal—my former co-worker and friend—swing a bat at my head. It hit me. Hard. Black stars twinkled in my vision.

  I collapsed.

  CHAPTER 56

  I struggled to remember where I was. Somewhere dark and freezing cold. Europe. Pyrenes? No, Alps. My head throbbed. So did my wrists. Which was a strange sensation. On closer examination, I realized they were chained next to some guy’s ankles. Nice shoes though. My arms were spread wide. My legs sprawled on a cold stone floor. A cave in Bavaria. Bayern, in the local language. Germany. I took a deep breath.

  My brain kept fritzing out. I caught snatches of the situation.

  I was in big trouble. I just couldn’t remember why.

  Nausea came in waves. I felt like puking. But I didn’t. I needed to concentrate. Because … Why?

  It was dark. A dim light in the distance to my right. In front of me, a video camera and speakers. Then I remembered one word: hostages. Were they my hostages? Nah. That wasn’t my style. Usually.

  I tugged my chains. “Hey! What the fuck, man? Anyone there?”

  There were two other guys chained next to the guy over my head. One of them grunted. The guy above me tried to say something but he was gagged. Blood dripped from his face onto my shoulder.

  Danger.

  What was it? Who was it? I couldn’t remember the name of the town we were in, much less what posed a danger to me. I rolled through the few things I could remember. A mountain. A train. A glacier. A Frenchman. Pia Sabel. Damn it. Did she do this? None of that jogged my memory of a cave.

  A bright light came on, directly in my face. The speakers in front of me crackled. A British-accented voice I recognized—but couldn’t place—started talking. “Jacob Stearne. You owe me your miserable life! Yet instead of showing even a modicum of gratitude, you come here to sabotage my brilliant endeavor.”

  “Guess so.” I desperately wanted to put the pieces together. I knew that voice. A bald guy named … I had nothing.

  The Japanese guy tried shouting through his gag again. Sounded like “mom.”

  “Why couldn’t you leave it alone?” the voice on the speakers asked. “We are men, just like you. We bleed when cut. We die when poisoned. But when we are wronged—we will have revenge.”

  “Shakespeare,” I said. “Misquoted, but you’ve got the gist. You know, Marcus Aurelius said, ‘The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.’”

  At least I remembered Mercury’s teachings. Not that it helped with the chains or anything. Where was that delinquent god of mine anyway?

  The Japanese guy kept repeating his word through his gag with a lot more urgency.

  “Such a grasp of the classics,” Mr. Baldy said. “Aurelius is philosophically advanced for a little man of your breeding.”

  That was good. I remembered calling him Mr. Baldy. A step in the right direction. Didn’t
care as much for him disrespecting my ancestry, though.

  “Bomb.” That’s what the Japanese guy kept saying.

  It brought my brain back from the edge. I glanced over at the backpack a few feet away from me. It wasn’t my backpack. I remembered thinking it held a bag of commercial ANFO. Mr. Baldy planned to blow up the Japanese guy. Since I was chained to the Japanese guy’s feet, I had a problem.

  “It’s the saddest thing of all,” Mr. Baldy said. “I trusted your friend, Dhanpal to kill any intruders. He couldn’t bring himself to kill you, though. I assure you; he has been appropriately chastised. But it leaves me with the irreconcilable situation at hand. I can’t kill you until I am ready to dispatch the rest of my hostages. As much as it grieves my soul, the bigger picture requires that you live a little while longer. It will all be over soon enough, I suppose. I shall have to live with that.”

  The speakers stopped rattling. The light went out.

  The Japanese guy repeated his complaint.

  I kicked at the bag. It lay three inches beyond my outstretched toe. I looked up at the Japanese guy. “Believe me, brother, I’d love to do something about it.”

  I heard running behind me. Hard breathing. The motion sensor tripped the light. A woman’s silhouette appeared to my left. Jenny.

  “Jacob!” she screamed.

  “Run,” I said. My brain wasn’t working fast enough to explain the danger. “Get out.”

  She burst into tears and ran to me. She tugged on my chains and quickly realized they weren’t coming off.

  The Japanese guy said, “Mom” again but Jenny didn’t get it any quicker than I did.

  “Get out of here,” I said.

  “Yes, I’ll get you out of this,” she said. “I need bolt cutters.”

  She looked around the jagged floor for tools and found nothing. The Japanese guy repeated his single syllable word over and over. She ran a circle around all three X frames before coming back. After nearly stumbling over the pack, she peered inside.