She looked at Morgan, who nodded. “Yes,” and she recited it.
“I assume that it goes to an independent sever. If not, it should.” He waited for a second. “Hey, Skip. Do me a favor, and e-mail the Morgan/Morgan Natural Energy file to this address.” He repeated what Horner gave him, then signed off, returning the phone to his pocket. “In a few moments, you will receive a large file. It contains everything I’ve learned about you and your company, as well as your operations. You will find a document in there of great interest. It will change your mind about whether you have enemies or not.”
Morgan looked at Horner, who disappeared though a side door.
“Please, Mr. Morgan. A private moment.”
Morgan looked to Donny. “It’s okay.”
Donny’s face reddened. “I’ll be just on the other side of the door.” He traced Horner’s steps.
Jaz leaned forward. “Do the security monitors have audio?”
“No. I don’t like people listening to my conversations.”
“Good for you.”
“I also don’t like being worked, Mr. Davidson—Mr. Kinkade. So maybe you should get right to the point.”
Okay, we have the room to ourselves, and I’ve given you my word that no one is listening—that is, if my word is good enough for you.” Something about the man across the desk made Morgan uneasy. Morgan had always leaned to the suspicious side anyway, but the cryptic message about Robert Quetzal and his visitor’s free admission that he had lied about a few things gave Morgan a reason to be suspicious.
“Of course, your word is good enough for me, Mr. Morgan. I have not been sent here to give you grief, but I have been directed to limit my contact to just the essential people. In this case: you.”
“So you win people’s confidence by lying to them?”
The man smiled. “The only people I’ve lied to today are your security people. I have been straightforward and honest with you about everything else.”
“And that will continue?”
“Yes. We are, after all, on the same side.”
“Are we?” Morgan watched Jaz’s eyes, attempting to detect any indication the man was lying again.
“We are. Let’s get down to cases, shall we, Mr. Morgan?”
Morgan answered with a sharp nod.
“I told you on the phone that Robert Quetzal sent me. I am here to make an offer, one you are certain to appreciate.”
“We’ll see.”
“First, let me level the playing field. You have been following Mr. Quetzal’s work for some time. You have visited his oganization’s website many times, both from your office here and from your home.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Any time you go online, you leave a traceable trail. It’s not unusual or even that complicated. All visits to the website are recorded.”
“That sounds a little like Big Brother.”
Jaz shook his head. “Not at all. It’s true for all websites. Call the people that manage the websites for your corporation. They’ll tell you the same thing. In fact, if they’re any good, they will find the number of times I check out your sites.”
“Okay, so you know I’ve visited Quetzal’s site. So what? That’s what it’s there for, right?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Morgan, but there’s more. We also know you were at his presentation in Roswell.”
“I want to know how…The tickets I purchased.”
“Yes. You gave your name and address. In your case, you gave a PO box within your firm. Your name, the business address, and the video of the audience we took helped us nail down the fact that it was you, the CEO of Morgan Natural Energy, sitting in one of our seats.”
“You videotape the audience?”
Jaz raised a hand. “Don’t read too much into that. It’s used to judge the effectiveness of Quetzal’s methods so he can improve his delivery and content, but occasionally we can use it to identify the special people.”
“Special people? What makes me so special? Wait, let me guess: my money.”
“That’s a big part of it.”
“Well, at least you’re keeping your promise to be honest.”
Jaz shifted back in his chair and crossed his legs, as if he were sitting with a friend talking sports. “Don’t read into that. There are many nonprofits that will do almost anything to get into the pockets of their supporters. The fact that you are rich isn’t why I’ve been sent here.”
“The offer.”
“Yes, Mr. Morgan. You have shown a keen interest in the truth being told by Quetzal and the Mayan 2012 organization. We think you’re a believer. Are you a believer, Mr. Morgan?”
“In what?”
The smile on Jaz’s face melted. “Mr. Morgan. I’m a busy man, and I have several more people like you to visit. If you’re not going to take this seriously, then I’ll just tell Quetzal that you are nothing more than a curious seeker and to give your spot to someone more—committed.”
“Are you asking if I believe the world is going to come to an end in 2012?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking.”
“I’m undecided.”
Jaz looked sad. He stood. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. Have a good day.” He started for the door and then stopped. “Do I need an escort to leave?”
“No.”
With a nod, Jaz started for the door. Morgan waited until the man’s hand touched the doorknob before calling him back.
“Mr. Morgan, we’re talking about the end of the world. I’m a betting man, and I’d lay my mortgage on the table that you have been researching this for a long time. Am I right?”
“You are.”
Jaz returned to his seat. “Let’s cut through the nonsense, shall we?”
“That’s an odd tone coming from a man trying to recruit me.”
“I’m not attempting to recruit you. I’m trying to save your life.”
Lisa had been nervous about this request all morning. She had come into the office early to begin the research needed to write the article on the wealthy and influential 2012 believers, but she was hitting a dead end. The only real contact she could come up with was Andrew Morgan, and he wasn’t returning her calls.
The phone on her desk buzzed. She answered, listened, hung up, and made her way to the boss’s office. She knocked on the door then stepped in.
Rodney Truffaut sat behind a desk that had seen many years of use. He loved to tell all new employees how he had bought the desk from the Chicago Tribune, where he first worked. The desk had belonged to a famous reporter Lisa had never heard of. At least the man was famous in Truffaut’s mind.
“No luck with Andrew Morgan?” Truffaut put his feet on the desk as Lisa sat in a worn chair next to the worn desk. She had to move the chair to see around the editor’s feet.
“I’ve tried calling, texting, leaving messages, and even badgering their public relations office. I’m starting to think he might not want to talk to me.”
“Ya think? What did you do to get his knickers in a twist?”
“Knickers? Really? No one uses that phrase anymore.”
“I think it’s a keeper. Now answer the question.”
Lisa sighed and slumped back in the seat. “I poked my nose in where it didn’t belong. But isn’t that what a good reporter is supposed to do?”
“Were you gathering info for a story?” He raised a bushy eyebrow.
She pursed her lips. “Not really. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.”
Truffaut nodded slowly.
“What? You’re just going to sit there and agree with me?”
“Truth is truth.” He followed the words with a broad smile. “Since you asked for this little meeting, I assume you have an idea percolating in that devious mind of yours.”
“I do. I want to fly to Oklahoma City to see if he can turn me down in person.”
“I don’t think he’d have a problem doing that.”
Lisa straightened. “I thi
nk he’ll see me.”
“You’d better explain that to me.” Truffaut retrieved a pencil from his desktop, held it near the pointed end, and tapped the eraser against his leg, something he did when he was warming to an idea. Lisa had his attention.
“Look, we met in Roswell and sat next to each other for Quetzal’s presentation. I got the sense then that he was a gentleman. You know, a man who grew up in a home that emphasized Southern civility. When he saw me in the airport, he was polite enough to make conversation, and then when he learned I was stranded, he offered to fly me to San Antonio, even though it was out of his way and would cost his company money.”
“If I follow your logic, you think he’s too much of a gentleman to ignore you if you’re standing at his door.”
“Yes.”
“You know how big a stretch that is?”
Lisa cut her eyes away. “Yes, but I think it’s a possibility we should pursue. Besides, he’s my only lead at the moment. I’m stuck trying to find wealthy people who have signed on with Quetzal. It’s not the kinda thing people announce with banners and PR releases.”
“Okay.”
“If I can interview him, it might open doors to…what did you say?”
“I said, ‘Okay.’ We don’t have much of a travel budget, not like the big news outlets, but I think I can scrape together enough for a flight to Oklahoma City. Coach, of course.”
“You know what I heard the other day? People choose their airline based on who abuses them the least. Not who provides the best service, but who is the least bad of the worst.”
“Coach. Take it or leave it.”
Lisa smiled. “I’ll take it.”
“Good. Now tell me how Garrett is doing.”
Lisa hesitated.
“What? Don’t tell me he’s already made a mess of things. This is just his second day.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s…he hasn’t shown today.”
Truffaut jerked his feet from the desk and sat up straight. “Did he call? Why isn’t he here?”
“I don’t know, and no, he didn’t call.”
“Did you call him?”
“No, sir. I don’t have his number.”
Lisa tried not to wither under her boss’s stare. “Besides, it’s not my place.”
“Did you say something to offend him?”
Anger rose in Lisa. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”
Truffaut raised a hand. “No, of course not. I’m sorry. I’m just a little miffed. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted, and if it’s all right with you, I’m going to leave before your head explodes.”
“That might be a good idea.”
“How do I know this isn’t some joke or scam?” Morgan was doing his best to appear detached, but what he had just heard was too much to swallow.
Jaz looked serious, as if offended by the question. “I deal with doubt like this all the time. I don’t blame you. It is too much to believe, but I’m asking that you open your mind to the possibility. The offer is for you and one other person. We’re talking about a horrible end becoming a new beginning.”
“But you can’t guarantee success.”
“Nothing in this life comes with a guarantee, Mr. Morgan. You of all people should know that.”
Me of all people. Does he mean my family? “What is this going to cost me?”
“A lot, Mr. Morgan. What Quetzal is doing is extremely expensive, and time is short. To be ready by mid-December is going to take round-the-clock work. It’s close to impossible, but still possible.”
“How long do I have to decide?”
“The end of the day. Once you agree, Charles Balfour or Quetzal himself will contact you. You were at the Roswell presentation, so you know who Mr. Balfour is.”
“The end of the day! That isn’t much time.”
“Mr. Morgan, let me be blunt. As of this morning, there are 3565 people who want your spot and can pay for it. You won’t be the first to say no. You won’t be the last.”
“Who else signed up? I know many of the movers and shakers in the business world.”
Jaz looked disappointed. “I can’t tell you that. We won’t tell anyone about you, and we won’t tell you about them. At least not for now. Things will change as we get closer to Threshold.”
“Threshold?”
“December 21, 2012. Join us, Mr. Morgan. Be one of the few still alive on December 22.”
Charles Balfour’s chest swelled with pride, and he did his best to hide it. By plan, Quetzal was the center of attention, not him. That didn’t matter. His was and would be for some time a secret pride. He stood at the front of the refitted 747’s passenger cabin. Everything he could see looked new, and the sixty-year-old bald, beer-bellied engineer standing next to him was explaining what else was new. The man, like engineers everywhere, wore a white shirt with a pocket filled with pens, pencils, and, to Balfour’s utter surprise, a small slide rule. The engineer, Ron Presnell, explained that the rule had belonged to his grandfather and had been passed down to him. “It’s a great conversation starter.”
“As you can see in this prototype, the interior has been gutted and replaced with seats in a first-class style. That lowers the aircraft’s passenger capacity but allows us to carry more fuel, just in case we need to stay airborne longer than expected.”
“Seems wise,” Quetzal said. “Of course, that also means—”
“What else?” Balfour interjected quickly before Quetzal could say something stupid like, “—fewer paying customers.”
“Well, we’ve updated the galley and food storage, so no one is going to go hungry while airborne. The forward heads as well as those aft have been enlarged for greater comfort. The aisles are wider so people can move around to stretch their legs. All the seats recline like those on overseas business class flights.”
“Very good, very good.” Quetzal seemed genuinely impressed.
Presnell seemed to stand a few inches taller. “Thank you. We’ve also made structural improvements. We’ve been very selective in the planes we’ve chosen. It’s one thing to replace fatigued metal skin, but it’s an entirely different thing to rebuild a wing. Did you know the wings of commercial aircraft are the most intricate things on the plane?”
“I didn’t know that,” Quetzal said. “We are blessed to have someone so knowledgeable.” Presnell grew another inch. “We can’t be too careful.”
Now that’s the Quetzal I know and love. Balfour kept his smile to himself.
“I agree. I’ve set up a triple-check system in which foremen inspect the work of craftsman and technicians, and two engineers check them.”
“How does that impact the production schedule?” Balfour touched one of the purple-fabric seats. Each headrest bore the logo of a phoenix, the mythical bird that rose from its own ashes and the universal symbol of new beginnings.
“It slowed us at first, but we have it down pat now. Since the work is largely repetitious, we have been able to speed up production. Every worker has become practiced in his or her personal activity. We gain time with each refitted aircraft. For the most part.”
“For the most part?”
“Big birds like these are very complicated machines and each presents its own challenge. Some engines require more work than others; some hydraulic systems need to be replaced while others just need maintenance and new fluids. Every beast is different.”
“Avionics?”
“We’ve updated crucial electronics and hardened the indispensables against electromagnetic bursts. If the sun shoots an EMB our way when we’re aloft, the avionics will be unaffected.”
“Now the big question.” Balfour waited until Presnell had made eye contact. “Are you on schedule?”
The man didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“No?” Balfour clinched his jaw. “How far behind are you?”
“I didn’t say we were behind.” Presnell’s smile revealed a smoker’s teeth. “We’re a week ahead. You’ll have your pl
anes, and if I have anything to say about it—and I do—you will have them early, fully tested and ready to fly.”
“You don’t know how good that is to hear.” Balfour set a hand on the engineer’s shoulder.
“I’m highly motivated, Mr. Balfour. The money is good; the challenge is noble; and my family and I have seats on one of these babies.” He paused. “We do have seats, right?”
“Absolutely, Ron. Absolutely. We couldn’t do this without you. We will not leave you and yours behind. Just remember, we can’t take everyone, so keep that to yourself.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Balfour followed Quetzal into the Bombardier. Before one of the cockpit crew closed the door and entered the flight deck, Quetzal quickly found his seat, pulled a glass tumbler and a small bottle of Chivas Regal from a side compartment, and poured two fingers’ worth. “You want a hit?”
Balfour grimaced. “You know I don’t drink.”
Quetzal raised the glass to his lips and sipped the golden fluid. “That makes me suspicious of you. I don’t trust men who don’t drink.”
“Yet here we are, linked at the hip.”
Quetzal chuckled and raised his glass. “To destruction and fear.”
“I hope you’ll put that away before takeoff. I’d hate to see that glass flying around the cabin.”
“If this is flying around the cabin, then we have bigger problems. Not to worry. I’ll put it back where it belongs. I have time for one drink.”
Balfour studied his partner. The problem with him was that one drink led to several others.
The cell phone in Balfour’s pocket sounded. He retrieved it and pressed it to his ear. He listened for a moment, then said, “Details.” He listened carefully. “Thank you, I’ll be in touch.” He returned the phone to his pocket.
“Problem?” Quetzal swallowed the last of the Scotch.
“Nope. Good news, really.”
“Judging by the cheesy grin plastered to your face, it must be fabulous news.”
“It is. A killer asteroid is headed for Earth. It could impact our planet in December of next year. Now that’s worth smiling about.”
The Mayan Apocalypse Page 12