Sons

by Michael Halfhill

  Jan looked at Joachim and then to Amal, who had just joined them. Then he whispered the name, “Al-Qâdi.”

  Amal and Joachim exchanged puzzled glances.

  “What does Iceland have to do with al-Qâdi?” Joachim asked.

  Jan leaned on Amal’s arm. Frantic, he gasped the name—“Al-Qâdi!”

  Stunned into disbelief, Jan’s mind stabbed at the reality. They had his son! What could he do? Where could he turn? He was one of the most powerful men in the world, and yet in this crisis, he felt as impotent as a eunuch. The vision of Soo Kwon weeping, begging for his life, swirled in his brain. The room was quiet, yet something, a soundless message, boomed in his ears. The curse of the al-Qâdi leader dragged itself from the corners of Jan’s fearful memory.

  We know who you are. Your house will be pulled down, and you will weep for your lost sons.

  The threat Sebastian Faust so cavalierly dismissed was now a reality. At the time, it appeared to be hollow bravado, but that was before Colin. Now nothing else mattered, only Colin.

  “Jan, I don’t understand,” Joachim said.

  Jan whirled around and grabbed the Israeli by his jacket lapels, and shouted, “Al-Qâdi has taken Colin! Those savages have my son!”

  Forty

  “COME with me!” Jan said as he raced up the spiral stairs to the top floor of the building. There, at the end of the long hallway, a door of polished stainless steel stood closed against a secret room. Amal had often wondered about this cold metal panel. There were many doors in his master’s house. Some were wooden, some were made of paper, and others of cloth in the Japanese style, but they all had one thing in common, he could open them. This door alone, with its seamless face, was locked.

  Jan turned and saw that the Egyptian had followed. Could he let this man, who up until now he had trusted with his life, enter? Time was too precious to debate the matter now.

  “Joachim, Amal, what you see in this room is never to be spoken of outside this door. Do you understand?”

  Both men nodded gravely.

  “Say it. Say you understand and agree.”

  “I agree,” Amal said with tear-rimmed eyes.

  “I also agree,” Joachim said.

  Jan nodded and inserted a small key into an equally small slot in the door. A panel opened, and Jan placed his palm on a black screen. The black screen faded into a light green color. Jan removed his hand, and the door slid silently open.

  Joachim and Amal followed Jan into a large rectangular room that was swathed in dim black light. Three of the room’s four walls were paneled with computers the color of crude oil. Dozens of tiny parti-colored lights blinked randomly as the giant mainframes captured and processed data and then regurgitated it in human friendly terms. All was absorbed, analyzed, and posted to sister stations around the world. Only six others like it existed.

  Joachim looked around the windowless room.

  Impressed, he said, “Well, well, who would have thought all this was up here?”

  “Effendi,” Amal said nervously, “what… what is this place?”

  “Amal, this room is where I access the Mundus command center for North America,” Jan said.

  Jan turned to the two men.

  “I need you both to understand what I’m going to do. For that, you’ll have to see how I’m going to do it. I don’t have time to explain everything in detail, so pay attention.”

  Amal looked on wide-eyed. Joachim Nussbaum merely watched.

  Jan pulled a chair back from a workstation and typed in a password. Seconds later a flat-screen monitor sprang to life. More keystrokes and the coordinates for Reykjavik, Iceland, appeared.

  I’d better be right, or my son is lost.

  Jan picked up a slim-phone headset. His fingers pecked at the keypad like a hungry crow. He turned on the external speakers and waited for a wide-screen monitor to come to life.

  Phoebe Threefoot’s face suddenly appeared. Daughter of a Lakota medicine woman, Phoebe was lecturing on terrorism and its impact on minorities when Jan met her at the University of Toronto. Jan was taken with her insights and passion on the subject, so he offered her the opportunity to become part of Mundus. Although Phoebe gave Jan a weekly digest of Mundus operations worldwide, they rarely met face to face.

  “Phoebe, this is Jan Phillips. The snow leopards are awake.”

  “But they will sleep tonight,” she replied.

  “There’s always tomorrow,” he answered.

  After a short pause, Jan’s Mundus station chief said, “How may I help you, sir?”

  “Phoebe, get me data on all noncommercial aircraft leaving Philadelphia area airspace after nine o’clock this evening. Concentrate on any plane making for 64° 8’ N 21° 56’ W. Please.”

  Jan could hear Phoebe typing at her keyboard.

  Miles away, in a secure bunker buried beneath a peak known for its ski slopes and exclusive resorts, Phoebe read the encrypted line, and then she looked up and scanned a huge monitor devoted to tracking global events. Land and sea masses glowed and then dimmed as passing satellites crisscrossed high above them. Banks of computers recorded every occurrence, from an undersea earthquake to the thundering ordnance of human conflict. Even the birth of an heir to some forgotten throne was noted.

  Phoebe said, “Well, sir, you’ve got one hit, a Beechcraft Hawker 800XP. She’s cruising at 35,000 ft. Satellite tracking has her making five hundred miles per hour. That’s her top speed. Hmm, she must be in a hurry to burn fuel like that.”

  Phoebe finished reading the coded text. “Assuming she doesn’t change course, she’s headed for… Iceland!”

  The station chief arched her eyebrows. Iceland was highlighted as a red-code watch.

  “Anything else?” Jan probed.

  “Yes, her location and speed indicate she’s been aloft for just over four hours. I give her ETA at about another hour and a half, give or take.” Phoebe hastily added, “That’s assuming no headwinds. She’s also ignoring the northern arc. The pilot is either very experienced, or he’s a cowboy.”

  Deep in harried thoughts, Jan ignored Phoebe’s last remark. He checked his watch and frowned.

  Amal wondered what would be expected of him? Would he be able to meet whatever task Effendi assigned? He had always been aware of his master’s secret Mundus world, yet until now, it had not touched him. At this moment, Egypt, with all its present day dangers, seemed safe as a baby’s crib.

  For his part, Joachim Nussbaum became concerned that Jan intended to use Mundus resources for a personal project, a violation of the spirit, if not the charter of the organization.

  “Sir,” Phoebe prompted, “is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “I have to meet that plane in Reykjavik. What aircraft do we have flight ready?” Jan said.

  Phoebe typed another line, thinking, Something’s got the boss upset!

  “Umm, well, we have a Beechcraft Hawker 800XP, same as the one in the air now. We have a LearJet-60 that can make Reykjavik in just under six hours, again assuming no headwinds. Let me check the wind current forecast for the next forty-eight hours.”

  Phoebe moved to another computer and brought up a weather icon.

  “Sir, the latest from CNN is—”

  “CNN! Can’t we do better than that?” Jan complained.

  Phoebe breathed an indulgent sigh, keeping her focus on the weather monitor.

  “Actually, sir, they’re pretty accurate,” she said. “Hmm, that airborne Hawker is in luck. She’s got strong tailwinds. If her pilot is any good, he can make Reykjavik in less than six hours, or five—maybe less, if he’s lucky.”

  Jan’s station chief felt entitled to know what was happening. Finally, she asked, “Excuse me, sir, what’s this all about? This isn’t a drill, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Sir, I’ll need an authorization code to complete the request for the flight.”

  Once again, Jan ignored her. Once again, he checked his watch.

 
Joachim’s eyes shifted from the monitor to Jan. Why the hell isn’t he answering her?

  “What else?” Jan said anxiously.

  “Sir?”

  “My God, woman, what have we been talking about!”

  Joachim reached out and took Jan’s upper arm in a firm grip.

  “Steady, Jan—steady.”

  Jan acknowledged the big man’s caution with a stiff nod. Softening his tone he said, “Aircraft, Phoebe, aircraft—what else do we have on hand?”

  Phoebe brushed aside her hurt feelings. With just a few keystrokes, she brought up a screen listing the station’s current assets and their status.

  “The MSST-3 Delta wing is in the Philly hanger. It’s just finished air trials. It’s the one that can fly vertically like the British Harrier. Theirs isn’t supersonic,” she added smugly. “But, sir, that plane isn’t fully vetted yet. I….”

  Jan nodded. “Okay, have it ready in an hour. I’m on my way now.”

  “An hour!” Phoebe protested, “But… but, sir!”

  Jan was already on his feet and headed for the door with Amal and Joachim following. He wheeled around and yelled to the still open line, “Tell whoever’s on duty tonight he has one hour to be flight ready!”

  “Yes, sir. Good Luck.”

  Phoebe broke the connection and thought, Well, this is what I trained for. I wonder what it’s all about?

  OUTSIDE the steel door, Jan reset the lock by entering the alphanumeric code Dragon4. It was Michael’s Chinese birth date. As he did so, Jan realized that in his haste he hadn’t seen Michael anywhere.

  “Amal,” he said, “where’s Michael?”

  “He is in Chinatown visiting his sister and her husband.”

  Jan leaned his back against the wall. He needed a plan. The SST delta wing was one of Mundus’s biggest assets. He’d have some tall explaining to do when this was all over, but that would have to wait. Then his mind turned to personnel. Who should be involved? Marsha? Yes, he owed her and Tim that much at least. Joachim? Jan knew he needed muscle combined with brains. The ex-Mossad agent fit the bill perfectly. Michael? Absolutely. Whatever the outcome, he would need Michael’s loving arms to comfort him. Amal? Yes, he needed someone he could rely on to take care of the lesser details.

  “Okay then, Amal, here is what you must do. Get Michael’s passport from his desk, and be sure to bring yours too. Pack bags with warm clothes. Have Guthrie drive you to Chinatown. Call ahead and tell Michael what has happened and that you will be coming to get him. After you get Michael, go to Rittenhouse Square and pick up Alexandra’s mother. I’m sure she will want to be with her daughter when we find her. I’ll call her and have her ready to meet you. From there, Guthrie will take you to hanger T-9. A jet will be waiting. I’ll phone ahead and have the plane ready. I want Michael and Alexandra’s mother to follow me to Iceland. You come too. Joachim will be coming with me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Effendi, I understand,” Amal said solemnly.

  “Good luck to us all, then,” Jan said as he and Joachim Nussbaum descended the spiral stairs.

  “I need to go to my apartment and get some warm clothes,” Joachim said.

  Jan glanced at his watch, mentally calculating the speed of the stealth plane.

  “I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

  Joachim nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

  Jan hurried into the bedroom where he snatched a parka from the closet. He sat on the edge of the bed and changed from street shoes to thick-soled hiking boots. He paused and looked at the phone.

  You should call Victor Carew, his angel said.

  Screw that son of a bitch! He’s made his son what he is. You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for that asshole, Jan’s devil chided.

  Jan drew his corporate phone book from the nightstand drawer and quickly found Victor Carew’s private phone number.

  The conversation was brief and one sided. Jan explained the situation in detail, devoid of the hatred he felt toward Victor’s son, much in the form a lawyer would use in a brief. His better self resisted the urge to pile invectives on the man’s suddenly wounded spirit.

  “If I can bring Louis back alive, Victor, I will, but I make no promises except one—if he harms my son, I’ll kill him!” Jan said.

  “Phillips, wait! Please don’t hang up. Take me with you.”

  “Are you crazy!”

  “Please, I’m begging you as one father to another. Let me come with you. Please.”

  “Victor, your son has kidnapped my boy. He’s involved in the Bocalora affair. Jesu! Carew, how can you defend him?”

  Jan couldn’t see the tears, but he could hear the overwhelming sorrow in Victor’s voice.

  “Do you think Judas’s father loved his son less than Joseph did Jesus?”

  Son of a bitch! He always did know how to hit below the belt.

  Jan’s heart softened, but not his tone. “Victor, do you know where Jerusalem Plaza is?”

  “Yes, it’s a restricted area down by the river. I guess it has something to do with the government.”

  “It is restricted but it’s not a Fed site. Go there. Stay in your car. I repeat, stay in your car. I’ll come to you when I arrive. I repeat, I’ll come to you. Do not approach me. You’ve got thirty minutes. I won’t wait. Victor, don’t forget your passport. Do you understand these instructions?”

  “Yes, Thank yo—”

  Victor spoke his gratitude into a dead line.

  Jan calmed his anger long enough to phone his law firm’s airport hangar and arrange for the corporate jet to be made ready for a flight to Reykjavik. Just as he hung up, his phone rang. Marsha’s frantic scream assaulted Jan’s ear.

  “Jan! It’s Marsha. Is Alexandra there? She wasn’t home when I got in. Nobody’s seen her. I thought about calling the police, but then I thought she might be there and….”

  “Marsha, I was just going to call you. Colin and Alexandra have been kidnapped by Louis Carew.”

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  “Calm down and listen. I know where he’s taken them. I’m sending my limo to get you. Pack some warm clothes and your passport.”

  “My passport? Why?”

  “You’re going to Iceland. Be ready when the car arrives.”

  “Jan, you’ve got to save my baby,” Marsha said breathlessly.

  “Yeah.”

  Next, Jan went to a small table, drew open a tiny drawer, and grabbed his passport. As he did so, he noticed the barrel of a pistol protruding from underneath a sheaf of blank paper. Jan pulled the gun out and passed his hand over the weapon’s slick metal. Frowning, he returned the gun to its home in the drawer and left the room.

  Forty-One

  COLIN felt the Beechcraft tip sharply to the left, level out, and begin a bumpy descent. He glanced at Ben. The Arab was reading a book and mumbling to himself.

  Colin then looked over at Alexandra.

  “Zan, Zan,” he whispered.

  Alexandra’s eyes fluttered open.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “I think we’re gonna land soon. The plane feels like it’s dropping down.”

  “Yeah, I thought I felt something too… where do you think we are?”

  Colin’s voice trembled. “I don’t know.”

  “Can’t we try to get away?”

  “Do you want to get zapped again?” he said.

  Alexandra pushed her forehead deep against the plane’s rough carpet.

  “Colin, I think they’re going to kill us.”

  “If they were going to kill us why would they take us flying?”

  Colin’s clumsy humor only served to make Alexandra cry.

  “Zan, please don’t cry. I’ll think of something.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, we have to land someplace, there will be people around, so we can just make a lot of noise, and they will come, and we can explain what happened, and that will be that.”

  Alexandra brightened. She tur
ned toward Colin with a faint smile. “Hey, that just might work.”

  Colin said, “Shh, he’s coming back.”

  “We will be landing soon,” Ben said. “You will take a seat and strap yourself in. You will remain silent.”

  Ben motioned with his stun gun. “You, boy, you first.”

  Colin stood and slid into the plush leather seat and buckled the safety belt. Alexandra followed. She began to cry again.

  Colin’s heart was breaking for her. He glared at their tormentor.

  “Why are you doing this to us!” he demanded.

  Ben’s answer was a backhand across the teen’s cheek.

  “I do not answer to you!” he said.

  A soft warning bell sounded throughout the plane, and the Arab took a seat facing the young lovers and strapped himself in.

  Louis guided the Beechcraft to a bumpy landing on a small airstrip near the foot of the Murderküll glacier.

  Colin and Alexandra looked out of the side windows, eager to see crowds of people at the airport, strangers who’d help them, who’d rescue them. Colin’s heart raced, first with expectation, then with panicked disappointment. He looked at Alexandra and shook his head. No airport. No crowds. No police. No rescue waited for them.

  From his window, Colin saw a broad meadow of green turf and patches of loose shale-like rock that stretched far away to a ridge of hills. Looking across the aisle through the opposite window, he saw a wall of whitish-gray ice soaring high into the cloudy sky.

  Louis cut the engines and set the brake. He quickly exited the plane to set the wheel chocks. He looked around at the barren landscape and spied a Jeep parked across a patch of ice and rock. He had seen the all-wheel drive vehicle as he brought the plane down for landing. There was no welcoming committee, but he assumed the Jeep was left for them. Louis breathed in the clean Icelandic air. He coughed and instantly regretted he had quit smoking.

  Back in the plane, Ben kept watch on the teens. He spoke no words but sat transfixed. The final act would come soon. His mission as a loyal member of al-Qâdi was nearly completed.

  Louis climbed back into the plane and said, “There’s a Jeep parked about a hundred yards off the tarmac.”