by A D Davies
Jules wasn’t entirely sure about his lineage, having never met his grandparents on either side, and never curious enough to ask. He’d only ever been told they were all deceased, passing before he was born.
“I’ve learned a bit about Jacob Carr,” Jules said. “He’s Bridget’s… Great great great… What is it? Fifth or sixth great?”
“Fifth,” Bridget replied.
“Right. Great grandfather the fifth. Fifth-great grandfather. He was a slave owner before switching sides, helping the Union folks, right?”
“Yes.” Roger picked up his lemonade, glass sweating, moisture pooling above his fingers. “He kept slaves in the late 1700s, and into the early 1800s. My understanding is he treated them well. He even collaborated with the on-site preacher over their health and faith needs. Hoped to keep them safe on his land. He even established renumeration for them to be used once they were freed. Accounts show he was instrumental in aiding slaves forced into labor to escape, and his farms were a common stop off on the Underground Railroad to the North.”
“His first wife died before emancipation,” Bridget said. “He married a black lady after that.”
Dan showed them his palm and smiled as he sipped the lemonade. “Nobody is going to deny he was a hero. No wonder you want to fund places like the Alabama Freedom Museum.”
“That said,” Jules added before he could stop himself, “your family’s wealth is still built on the back of the slave trade.”
Roger halted mid-sip. He said nothing.
Jules might not have been the best at social cues, but he didn’t consider this a social visit. His brain was tuned into deception indicators and anything that could turn aggressive. “I just mean, there’s still a way to go before the country can say the legacy is done.”
“Jules,” Bridget said. She sounded shocked, almost offended. “It’s the 21st-century. Our generation can’t be held responsible for the evil perpetrated by previous ones.”
“But with the repercussions still hurtin’ folk, can we really move on?”
“We have to.”
“Then when is it time to move on?”
Dan shifted in his seat. “Isn’t this a discussion for another day? It’s not what we’re here for.”
Jules switched his gaze to Dan. “Then I guess we’ll move on from 9/11, too. How about we forget the world wars?”
“Make no mistake,” Roger said, keeping his voice even and calm, “it was evil. What was done to your ancestors.”
Roger then held Jules’s eye, as if assessing whether to fling him off the property. Jules refrained from pointing out not every black person in the United States was descended from slaves.
Dan was correct, though, and Jules was screwing this up. He rarely got emotional, but with so much going on in the world, from the people who tried to unleash the Eagle Plague through to law enforcement and elected officials in his own country, even someone as disconnected as Jules found such subjects difficult to treat without anger and a drive to put right. At that moment, though, the man before him was not a bad person. Jules was certain of that. He could even be an ally.
“You do a lotta good work,” Jules said. “Not just here, but around the world. I heard you invested in some South American projects, renewables in Africa, philanthropic projects in China.” Jules sensed his own accent was ebbing, losing the New York twang, and adopting a more formal tone. He relaxed his shoulders and tried to return to his own voice. “The China thing? That helps smooth the way for business?”
Roger barely altered his expression, placing the glass down without additional movement. He licked the remnants on his lip and crossed his legs.
Jules sensed he had maybe thawed the ice that he had set over proceedings. “You’re funding restoration work of the terracotta dudes, right?”
Roger nodded, still focused on Jules rather than Dan. “It’s not too famous at this point, but… I assume I can trust my daughter’s friends to be discreet?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Dan said, almost as if addressing a senior officer.
“Yes,” Jules said.
“This isn’t an additional find alongside the terracotta warriors that are well known around the world. This is more than a hundred miles north of there, and the people on the ground are eager to explore further. Bridget even asked if she could intern out there, possibly part of a PHD.”
Bridget cast her eyes into her lap.
“It’s something we will consider,” Roger went on. “As long as we see progress in other academic fields. Maybe we’ll allow her to accompany you to the museum land, help smooth the way if needed. But first you need to convince me it’s worth putting off her future.”
It was an impressive about turn. Yet, the controlling nature of Roger’s instructions still sat heavy with Jules. Bridget was a twenty-five-year-old woman, not a prepubescent child. She was only here, obedient and pliant, because of the deal she’d made with them regarding LORI; going back on it would diminish her in her parents’ eyes and—possibly—her own too. Now Roger was tempted to ease the conditions he’d been strict about enforcing. Perhaps the thought of enhancing the family’s heritage was a worthy pursuit in his mind.
“We are looking for a shield,” Dan said. “There’s a group, soldiers, not written about in history books, but we found several references to them. Stuff written at the time. They’d engage with people who needed help. Villages under siege, preventing the genocide of smaller groups, anything they could handle. Mostly small scale but significant on a regional level.”
“Like the A-Team,” Bridget said.
Roger sat up, his eyebrows popping. “We have a full set of Blu-rays.” He quickly resumed his stoic poise, the hit of nostalgia for this TV show yet again prodding someone in a way Jules did not understand. Perhaps he should ask for a loan of the series once they concluded the shield business. “But go on. You think they were involved with Jacob Carr?”
“It’s possible,” Jules said. “Toby Smith has the bulk of the research. They had this reputation as fierce warriors, to the point where their enemies made legends out of ‘em. The Lost Origins guys found accounts dating back to the times of the conquistadors. Sounds like your great, great, great, et cetera, grandpappy was in touch with ‘em. But this was the last place they were heard of. Jacob Carr’s journal.”
Dan took over. “Actually, sometime before the Civil War broke out. After that, Jacob moved on to aiding the North wherever he could. There’s not much mention of the shields or the Guardians after that. As far as we can tell, Jacob Carr is where the trail goes cold.”
Roger considered it. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Bridget said. “It’s no more far-fetched than a dozen other things we found.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard your stories.” He adopted the kind of expression parents take with children who have an overactive imagination regarding monsters in the closet. “But can you honestly tell me nothing was exaggerated?”
“If anything, dad, I held more back than I gave you.”
Jules suspected she would have omitted the life-threatening situations they had encountered. He knew she’d lied about how she got part of her leg burned; no way she revealed it was a glob of burning oil spat out of an imploding pyramid. Otherwise, there would be no way to change their minds about stifling her ambitions.
“Sir,” Jules said, “if you were to grant us permission—”
“I can’t grant permission,” Roger replied. “It’s not my land. I just make generous donations. I can’t force them to do anything. I won’t threaten them, either. I want to keep funding their work.”
The four waited in silence, each expecting someone else to speak. Jules sensed the day slipping away and expected it would fall to him to infiltrate their target in the near future. Perhaps that was another reason for his involvement.
He hadn’t yet decided whether he would go along with it.
As it happened, Roger had made a decision. “Okay, i
t seems you have a certain amount of luck and success with this sort of thing. If there’s more to be found on that land, go for it. You’ll get credit for the find, but the museum keeps anything you unearth—both cultural and financial. Clear?”
Jules held back the notion that LORI was in dire straits. Would the obligatory finder’s fee be enough, rather than selling it to Alfonse, who would likely donate it to the Vatican?
“We’ll need to document it,” Bridget said. “We’ll get time to study it, won’t we?”
“We?” Roger said. “Who’s we? All I see is they.”
Bridget slapped her hands on her thighs, firing the brightest smile in the world at her father. “Oh, come on, daddy. This is the chance of a lifetime. It’s not some trinkets in a jungle a thousand miles away. This is about family.”
“It means that much to you?”
“It does. What will it take?”
Roger thought for a moment, then held his daughter’s hands. “A contract. Your re-commitment to your own future. Once this matter is over, you commit within forty-eight hours to a specific course. Business related or hard science, something useful in the real world. And you give it maximum effort. No dropping out, no slacking. After, if you still think this type of work is important, it’ll be up to you to fund it. For now, as long as you abide by the terms of our agreement, we will allow your friends to continue working from our property in Brittany. Nothing changes there. But you will commit. Clear?”
“You want it in writing?” Bridget asked.
“This time, yes.”
Jules wondered if he had maybe overheard him and Dan suggesting Bridget should go back on the original agreement.
Bridget didn’t even hesitate. “Fine, draw it up. I’ll sign it. But I get free rein until this over, and full access to the family’s pretty much unlimited resources. Okay?”
Roger gave a low, appreciative whistle, impressed with the negotiation. “Sounds good.”
“Then we need to get going.” Bridget stood and checked on Dan and Jules. “If I’m right, Toby is out pulling up new data, and we need to be in position when he delivers it.”
“Something like that,” Dan said.
Jules stood as well, downing the rest of his lemonade. “Thanks for the drinks, sir. Would it be okay if I changed before headin’ out?”
Roger got to his feet, so they were all standing. “Just look after my baby girl.”
“One hundred percent, I will,” Dan said, shaking the older man’s hand firmly. “Although how much trouble can we get into in a museum?”
Chapter Nine
Arnold, Southern California
“I knew it!” Sally Garcia pointed vigorously at Harpal, Toby, and Charlie in turn. “They call it paranoia, but I was right all along.”
Toby never wanted it to go this way. He wanted to bring her onside first, then slowly reveal that they had more knowledge than they should have. He’d hoped to be a friendly colleague.
He said, “It’s not like that. We’re not here to do you harm. We need to—”
“I know what you need to do. People have tried to silence me before.”
“She’s right,” Tane said.
“What does SIS want with a cuckoo professor?” Harpal asked.
“NZSIS is on the professor’s side,” Tane insisted. “And she is eccentric. Not cuckoo. People have tried to smear her, in more ways than mocking or sabotaging her research.”
“Such as?” Charlie said.
Toby barely wanted to hear the answer. “Just because others are interested, doesn’t mean there’s a threat. We certainly are no threat.”
Tane shored up his grip on the snub-nosed Glock. Although compact and less accurate than the model with a full-length barrel, it was perfect for concealed carry—and more than sufficient for short range combat. Not that there would be much combat if he opened fire in the office.
The intelligence officer said, “Then why have we chased the last hack of Sally’s equipment back to Greenwich? A coincidence that that’s where your tech angel lives?”
“How did you trace it there?” Charlie demanded. “There are military grade encryptions—”
Tane flashed a grin. “You just told me.”
Charlie blushed, then ground her teeth in annoyance at herself. “My background shows my address, but not my IP info. Very nice.”
“Seriously,” Harpal said, “what is NZSIS’s interest in this?”
Silence.
“You haven’t shot us,” Toby said. “You haven’t called the police yet. If you deem us a threat, why have you done neither of those things?”
Tane tilted his head towards Sally Garcia. “It’s her call. She’s the boss.”
Professor Garcia twitched, life blooming in her face as if the notion was a revelation to her. “Oh yes, I am the boss, aren’t I?” She placed her hands on her hips and raised her chin to appear somewhat imperious. She also adjusted her tone to that of a child playing a monarch in a school play. “I am in charge, and you will do as I say.”
“And what do you say we do?” Charlie asked.
Garcia looked over to Tane. “Did they find out anything we haven’t planted?”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Tane replied.
“Good. Then, should we send them on their way? I mean, if you want to kick some ass a little bit, I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’m not sure kicking little bit of ass is in anyone’s interests. But I would like to know what they want before setting them loose.” Tane lifted the gun a quarter of the way, emphasizing it without bearing down on anyone.
“A plant?” Toby said. “Leaving information around that looks intriguing but doesn’t give away the real secrets. Marvelous.”
Harpal took a step forward, but reversed path as the gun twitched. “And how the hell does an intelligence service embed itself as a personal bodyguard in the United States?”
Toby was glad Harpal was here and not in Alabama. Although Toby was no stranger to the antics of international espionage, Harpal was far more up to date with the machinations of various intelligence agencies.
Tane looked to Garcia, receiving a nod to go ahead. “We have our own networks. Our own interests. Sally’s name comes up more often than any other person studying this field.”
“NZSIS is interested in the cover-up of giants existing?” Charlie said, dripping with sarcasm.
“The legends of giants,” Toby said. “Am I correct?”
“That,” Tane said, “and the fact that so many undesirable people have hacked Sally’s work. They’ve taken the spoof intel and stepped up their activities. When they snag on the bait, we watch to see who shows up. In person.”
“In other words,” the professor said, “you swallowed the tidbits, but the important stuff can’t be hacked. Because it’s in here.” She tapped her head with two fingers. “In my brain.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, “let’s recap. You work for NZSIS, New Zealand’s intelligence service, and you pop up here four months ago, claiming to be ready to protect and serve the professor.”
Garcia nodded along. “Exactly what I needed.”
“You sweet-talked her, delivered the paranoid conclusions that she’d been harboring—”
“Just wait a minute,” Tane said.
But Charlie didn’t wait a minute. “Informing her of foreign governments’ interest, plus any number of additional morsels of potential confirmation bias, the university board trying to block her tenure, the computer hacks, the disappearing evidence. You needed to get close to her, because if everything is up in her brain, I’m guessing the NZSIS couldn’t get what they wanted from her computer. Which means…” Charlie held firm on Garcia, addressing Tane. “It means you want something she hasn’t given you yet.”
Tane shook his head. “No.”
“Oh yes,” Toby said. “She even told us she had to pull the curtain back a little more for you. You’re playing her.”
“Classic recruitment,” Harpal said. “Gain he
r trust, take what you need.”
Professor Garcia scratched her head, took one step away from Tane. “That’s not how it is.”
“No,” Tane said. “It isn’t. There are bigger things at stake than any single government.”
“And if you’re a friendly foreign power,” Harpal put in, “why are you undercover? Why not take this to the United States authorities? You mentioned Korea. I’m guessing it isn’t South Korea. An ally.”
“No, no,” Garcia said. “We’re sure it’s the North. The bad guys.”
Toby inched to his left, bringing himself closer to Garcia but not a threat to Tane. “If you’ve investigated us, you know we aren’t here to do harm or steal anything from you. You know we’re not assassins or murderers, otherwise I’m fairly certain the gentleman with the gun would be proficient enough to frame this as an attempt on your life. So, if he hasn’t gone to the authorities either, the question is: why not?”
“Could it be because he hasn’t been honest with you, Sally?” Charlie asked.
“New Zealand might be a friendly foreign power,” Harpal said, “but they’re still a foreign power.”
Garcia was staring at Tane, her mouth turned down and her hands working, forming claws, slackening off, forming fists, slackening. “Tane?”
But Tane had already moved towards Charlie again. He held out his arm, so she remained too far away to reach his gun, but this time he pointed it at her, positioned near his hip. “Take out the earpiece.”
“Not so amateurish when we’re figuring things out in real time.” Charlie raised her hands to her shoulders but did not put her fingers near her ear.
“Don’t make me.” Tane swallowed.
The motion made Charlie smile. “You’re not going to. So, answer the professor’s question. Why are you undercover instead of going to the authorities here? If you have her best interests at heart, and you aren’t working against the United States, why the subterfuge?”
Tane backed away, the gun remaining where it was. But his drooping shoulders and resigned, sad chuckle said he was unable to make good on his threat of lethal force. He looked over to Garcia, who had now put the length of her desk between them. “I never lied. We are completely in sync with you, and what you are trying to achieve. More than that. We know about the offers that the Koreans made to you when you were in Iran, and that you turned them down flat.”