Repairman Jack 02 - Legacies

by F. Paul Wilson

  I wouldn't be surprised if it was the other way around, Alicia thought. You promising to keep mum in exchange for cash.

  "But I thought Dad's thinking was backward. If patent disputes were going to get in the way, he should come up with a way to make all those patents irrelevant. If going public with it meant losing all your profits, then find a way to profit from not bringing it to market. So I started asking myself: who stands to lose the most from broadcast power? And that gave me my answer: Sell the technology to OPEC."

  His head swiveled back and forth, looking for approval. Alicia wasn't going to give him any, and Jack's face might as well have been cast in bronze.

  "It's as brilliant as it is obvious, don't you think? I figured the Arabs'd be willing to pay billions to keep broadcast power off the market. So, without telling Dad, I 'borrowed' one of his lamps and booked a flight to Saudi Arabia. But I never got there. During the layover in Frankfurt, I discovered that the lamp didn't work. Panicked, I hurried back to the U.S.—where I found it did work. So there's a limit to how far the power can be broadcast."

  Idly, Alicia wondered about the range, about what wave-form was used… but what she remembered from her one undergraduate physics course was woefully inadequate.

  "So I took the lamp to OPEC's UN mission but they refused to see me. Would you believe it? Here I was offering them a way to save their collective asses, and those idiots didn't want to listen. Fortunately I found another group, almost as wealthy—"

  "Iswid Nahr," Jack said.

  Thomas jerked as if he'd been slapped.

  "Who are you?" Thomas said, staring at him. "How do you know that?"

  "Keep talking," Jack said, pointing to the fire. "And keep feeding."

  "All right, all right. Anyway, Iswid Nahr must have taken that lamp apart and put it back together again about a hundred times, but finally they were convinced. They contacted Dad and made him a fabulous offer. But instead of being grateful, he pitched a fit, going on and on about how he wasn't going to let anybody bury his invention. Billions of dollars on the table and he's in a screaming rage. I couldn't believe it. I still can't."

  "I can," Alicia said. "I haven't spoken to the man since I was a teenager, and it couldn't be clearer."

  "Well, then, dear sister," Thomas said acidly. "Pray enlighten me."

  "Half sister," Alicia said. "And don't forget it. As for your father, he wanted more than money—he wanted glory. He wanted to go down in history as one of the great men of all time, someone whose genius had transformed the world. And more than that, he wanted to control his technology. What a power trip that would be: control the power that powers the world."

  "You could be right," Thomas said. Was that a note of grudging acquiescence in his voice?

  "But once his secret had been leaked, especially to people who wanted to suppress it, he had to move fast. The only way he could see to keep the credit and the riches was to take it to a country that had no oil, that would agree to almost anything to cut its oil imports. I'll bet Israel was his first choice, until he realized Japan had more money. And with a technology in hand that would not only reduce their dependence on oil, but give them something more valuable than oil to sell to the world, the Japanese government would dispute any patent claims that would arise. Ronald Clayton would be unimaginably rich, and guaranteed his precious place in history."

  "Except he never made it to Japan."

  "No," Jack said. "Your Iswid Nahr buddies saw to that."

  Alicia thought she saw Thomas flinch. Didn't he know? Or had he merely suspected.

  "That was an accident," he told Jack.

  Jack shook his head. "The Japanese found explosive residues in the wreckage."

  "How do you know?"

  "Same way I know about Iswid Nahr."

  Alicia guessed Jack didn't want Thomas to know about the Japanese agent. She watched Thomas mull this new information a moment.

  Then he shrugged. "Oh, well. He never cared about me anyway."

  "Only about himself," Alicia said.

  "How can you say that? Look what he left you. Before he left for Japan he hid all his records and cut me out of the will. He left everything to you, dammit! Why?"

  "I couldn't tell you," Alicia said. "I wish he hadn't."

  "Then tell me what you know," Thomas said, leaning over the flames. The shadow of his large nose flickered back and forth across his forehead. "I'll cut you in with the Arabs."

  "No thought of releasing it and making the world a better place?"

  He looked at her as if she were speaking in tongues. "Trust me, when I have so much money that it'll take me a year to spend a day's worth of interest, the world will be a better place."

  "I recall an old saying about the distance an apple falls from a tree…"

  "You'll be rich, Alicia. You've always hated him, always wanted to get even—"

  "That's not true." But of course it was. She'd known times when it had been all she'd thought of.

  "Who're you kidding? The only person in this world you hate more than me is him. Now's your chance to settle the score. We sell the technology to the Arabs… and they bury it. Isn't it delicious? We get his money, and he gets no credit. His only claim to fame is that he was just another unfortunate passenger on JAL 27. You've got to love it, Alicia."

  She had to admit she found a certain sour appeal in Thomas's scheme… but the thought of conspiring with Thomas on anything…

  "Forget it."

  He leaned back, obviously frustrated. "Suit yourself. But it's only a matter of time before we find the transmitter, and then it'll be too late. You won't have anything to bargain with."

  "Are you as bored as I am?" Jack said looking at Alicia.

  She nodded.

  "Then, let's speed this up."

  He grabbed a box of photos and started tossing them into the flames.

  Alicia watched them blaze and turn to ash. And then there were no more.

  "All right," Jack said. "That does it for this box. Any more?"

  Thomas shook his head. "No."

  "There'd better not be," Jack said, jabbing a finger at his face. "Because if I ever find out you held something back—"

  "That's all. I swear."

  Alicia jumped as she felt Jack take hold of her upper arm, but she let him guide her away from the fire.

  "Good. Then, we're done with you."

  "That's it?" she heard Thomas saying as they walked up the slope away from the river. "You drag me out here and squeeze me for information, and that's it? What do I get?"

  "You get to warm your hands," Jack said without looking back.

  "Doesn't matter that they're burned," he called. "You can burn all the paper you want, but it means nothing." His voice rose to a shout as they moved farther away. "Ever hear of the Internet, Alicia? We're on it. In lots of private places. And you know what? We're stars, Alicia. How do you like that? We're stars!"

  Alicia pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.

  Beside her she heard Jack say, "Excuse me. I think I forgot something. Be right back."

  Fighting the nausea bubbling just below her sternum, Alicia kept walking, breathing deeply. She didn't turn around to see what he'd forgotten. She hoped it was nothing tangible…

  15

  Yoshio watched Jack-san and the Clayton woman walk up to Eighth Avenue and turn downtown. He would have given much to have been able to overhear their conversation with the brother.

  He followed them, slipping from shadow to shadow.

  Perhaps I'm being overcautious, he thought.

  Dressed as he was, he doubted Jack-san would recognize him even in full daylight. He had considered disguising himself as a sidewalk Santa. That might have worked in the more crowded streets, but would have made him more noticeable elsewhere. Reluctantly, he had settled on this alternative.

  Still, he would take no chances. Watching the brother's house had been a long shot, but had paid off handsomely, and he wasn't going to squande
r this opportunity.

  Now… if he could just keep up with them until they reached the place where one or both were staying. He was prepared to follow them anywhere, and with this disguise, even a subway trip would not deter him.

  Only walking posed a problem…

  Because these high heels were killing him.

  16

  "Jack!" Gia said as he opened her front door. "What are you doing here?"

  "Can I come in?"

  "Sure."

  She wore a quilted robe over a long flannel nightgown. As soon as the door closed behind him, Jack wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Gia returned the embrace and they stood entwined in her foyer for a long time.

  "I needed this tonight, Gia," he said, absorbing her warmth. "Really needed it."

  "What's the matter? What happened?"

  "Stuff," he said. "Please don't ask me to talk about it."

  After their nice little chat with her sweetheart of a brother, Jack had taken Alicia back to the town house, then he'd headed straight for home. But after a few subway stops, he'd changed his mind. He made a couple of unnecessary transfers to make sure he wasn't being tailed, then walked down Fifty-eighth to Gia's place on Sutton Square. She'd finally given up her apartment and moved into the elegant town house Vicky had inherited from her aunts.

  He'd found that session with Alicia on the other side of town far more harrowing than some of the tight spots he'd got himself into over the years. Jack saw a lot of the underside of city life here, but he'd only heard about what Alicia had been through. And all the while as he'd sat there watching her shred those pictures and negatives and talking ninety miles an hour, he'd kept wondering if she might go blooey and start jamming her fingers into the shredder. But she'd held it together.

  The whole thing had exhausted Jack, though.

  Seeing those pictures, being in the same room with Thomas Clayton… the whole thing had left him feeling dirty. Pounding on the bastard's face a few times had helped him feel a little better, but Jack felt he couldn't end the day without seeing Gia.

  He heard running footsteps and a little voice crying, "Jack-Jack-Jack!"

  Vicky.

  "What're you doing up?" he said, breaking free of Gia to catch Vicky as she leaped into his arms.

  "Christmas vacation started today," she said. She threw her arms around his neck. "No school tomorrow! Isn't that neat?"

  "As neat as can be," he said, hugging her.

  He couldn't help but think of how Alicia had been about Vicky's age when her father… If anyone ever even thought of trying—' "Jack, you're holding me too tight," Vicky said.

  "Sorry." He loosened his grip and stared at her innocent face. A sob nestled in his throat. His voice sounded thick as he pushed his words past it. "I just missed you, is all, and I can't tell you how glad I am you're up."

  "She's got A Charlie Brown Christmas on for the umpteenth time," Gia said, watching him closely.

  Still holding Vicky, Jack put an arm around Gia and pulled her close. Her sky-blue eyes asked if he was all right.

  Jack shrugged and nodded. He was fine. His ladies, the two most important people in the world, were here with him, where he could watch over them and keep them safe. Everything was fine.

  "Can I watch A Charlie Brown Christmas with you guys?" he said.

  Vicky clapped her hands. "Yay!"

  "Not again," Gia said, rolling her eyes.

  "If nothing else, you've gotta love the music." They followed the scampering Vicky down the walnut-paneled halls to the library. Gia hadn't changed the place much yet, except maybe for removing the antimacassars from the velvet chairs. It took a whole twenty minutes of sitting snuggled between Gia and Vicky on an overstuffed settee before Jack felt clean enough to doze off.

  17

  "So," Kemel said. "You've had all day to find out who this man is, and you have no idea."

  Sam Baker looked flustered as Kemel watched him pace back and forth in the living room of his apartment. And well he should. He deserved to be more than flustered; he should look dejected and suicidally ashamed. Not only had he been made to look foolish by this nameless stranger, his bloated bonus was in serious jeopardy.

  "It's like the guy doesn't fucking exist."

  "Oh, he exists, Mr. Baker. The few remaining survivors of your team can attest to that."

  "Yeah, but a guy with those kind of finely honed chops should have a rep, a name, a signature. People like me, or people I know, should have heard of him. He's obviously a merc, and if he's a merc, I should know him. Guys like that don't appear out of nowhere. They don't pop onto the street full grown. They gotta come up through the ranks. But not this guy. He's like some kinda ghost, coming out of the woodwork, fucking things up, then disappearing."

  "I do not care about his name," Kemel said, controlling his anger. This man was such a fool. Why hadn't Nazer assigned him someone more competent? "I merely want you to deal with him."

  "Can't deal with him if I can't find him."

  "Perhaps he will find you."

  He caught a flash of uncertainty before Baker's expression hardened. "I'm ready for him. I see him, he's dead."

  "Let us hope so," Kemel said, and turned away.

  He had spent an anxiety-ridden day, monitoring the news—a radio or television on in every room—waiting to hear the dreaded announcement of a revolutionary new power source that would change the world. But he had heard nothing. What was the American expression? No news is good news. Yes, in this case, that was most certainly so.

  And the longer the span of no news, the better.

  Dare I hope? he'd wondered.

  If Alicia Clayton had proof of something so awe-inspiring as her father's technology, surely she would be acting on it. Surely she would be trumpeting it to the world.

  The longer the silence, the more likely that she and her hireling—her "merc," as Baker called him—had found nothing in the house.

  Kemel had spent the day fasting, praying that it was so. And then, wonderful news. A call from Gordon Haffner saying he had heard from the Clayton woman's attorney and the sale of the house was proceeding.

  Kemel had been jubilant. Now he could return to Riyadh and help extricate Ghali from the criminal charges against him.

  But then suspicion had reared its head like a desert rat. What if her desire to proceed with the sale was a ruse, a ploy to dupe him into dropping his guard? Kemel had checked with Baker, who had been busy disposing of the bodies of his men, and instructed him to use the transponder in the Clayton woman's handbag to track her movements. So far she had not left her workplace.

  Perhaps she truly meant to sell the house after all. Ten million dollars was, after all, ten mill—

  The phone rang. Kemel answered it and recognized Thomas Clayton's voice, although it sounded more nasal than usual.

  "They were here!" he said. "They know!"

  Fear sank its cold talons into Kemel's shoulders. "Who? Who knows?"

  "Alicia and her bully boy. He broke my goddamn nose!"

  "You said, 'they know.' What do they know?"

  "Everything! More than we do!"

  The room spun. Everything! Oh, no. This could not be. Allah, please—

  "The transmitter?"

  "No. I don't think they have that. At least not yet. But I've got a bad feeling they may know a way to find it. What do we do?"

  Kemel closed his eyes and reached for calmness, found the hem of its thobe, and clutched it.

  "I will tell you soon."

  He hung up and gave Baker a quick summary, omitting, as usual, the nature of what they sought.

  "Simple enough," the mercenary said. "We go get the girl and make her tell us. And believe me—let me at her, and she'll talk."

  Kemel closed his eyes again. This man was such an idiot.

  "What if she doesn't know how to find what we seek?" he said softly. "That will surely change her mind about selling the house. And what if her hireling is there and disables what f
ew men you have left? What if, in your infinite clumsiness, you kill her before you learn what we need to know?"

  "Hey, listen. I—"

  "No. You will not touch her. But you will use the transponder to track her. If she makes any move to leave the city, you will inform me and together we will follow her. Together. Is that clear?"

  "Yeah, but—"

  "IS… THAT… CLEAR?" Kemel shouted the words.

  "Clear," Baker said.

  "Good. Start tracking her immediately. And keep me informed."

  He turned back to the window and stared unseeing at the night. He asked Allah to forgive him for the instant of doubt when he thought his God had deserted him. Now he saw Allah's plan. Alicia Clayton was His instrument, and would guide Kemel to her father's secret. Praise Allah.

  THURSDAY

  1

  Yoshio shrank back and hurriedly swallowed the last of his sausage-and-egg Croissan'wich as he recognized Jack-san in the blue Taurus pulling into the curb across the street.

  After following him and Alicia Clayton back to this elegant town house last night, Yoshio had assumed that this was where Jack-san lived. But then he had seen the ronin leave moments later. He had tried to follow but, hampered by the woman's clothing, he had been unable to keep up with him. He had lost him in the confusion of Fourteenth Street.

  So he had quickly returned to his own car near Thomas Clayton's apartment building and moved it to a position across the street from the town house. He had changed back to his usual attire and had spent the night here.

  And now Jack-san was quite obviously taking Alicia Clayton someplace. Yoshio was guessing that no romance existed between them, otherwise Jack-san would have stayed here last night. Therefore they were not meeting merely to share each other's company. They must have a purpose in mind, and that purpose most surely involved the Clayton technology.

  And just as surely, that purpose was taking them out of the city. Else, why the car?