“So to speak.”
“You’re telling me that ASA is interested in the effects of neuro-inhibitors? Is that what you are saying?”
“ASA develops more technologies than missile delivery systems, Agent Toles. You know that as well as anyone.”
Alex smirked. She did know that. ASA and Technologie Applique had both been at the forefront of subliminal testing all the way back to the nineteen-fifties. That research and testing had continued well into the twenty-first century. It was no secret, at least not in Alex’s circle. She had encountered multiple programs at the NSA that sought to embed messages in what appeared to be benign communication. For her part, Alex found the entire notion absurd. She didn’t doubt that there was interest, or perhaps even a marker of merit in the programs, but she doubted seriously that they had any real impact. To Alex, it was simply another means of generating capital and spending that capital. People would believe anything, even some of the most intelligent and educated people Alex knew fell into that category. The truth was, people did not like to challenge their already strongly held assumptions on any topic. Programs like these simply fed those assumptions. Alex suspected what Gray was alluding to crossed a different line.
“If you are suggesting that somehow MyoGen is tied to research that goes beyond the basic applications for psychotropic drugs….”
“We are all involved in that. You are not that blind,” Gray interjected. “The issue, Alex is that you have a reputation for putting an end to those programs—programs that lay at the core of both MyoGen and Rand.”
“I should think that would make your bosses happy, Bob,” Alex observed.
“As I said, that depends on which bosses you are referring to.”
Alex pursed her lips and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked directly at Gray and made her assumption known. “And, should I be familiar with those entities, Agent Gray?”
Gray smiled. “I would think they are known to you,” he answered her evenly. “You pose a threat to years of work,” he told her.
Alex chuckled. “I certainly hope so.”
“I understand, Alex. I’m not sure you grasp what I mean. They are not going to let go that easily on this one.”
Alex’s patience had reached its end. She was a master at solving puzzles, but she had no desire to stay on this merry-go-round that Gray had her spinning on. So far, he had told her nothing that she considered enlightening. She moved to end the conversation. Alex took a step forward. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked Gray pointedly.
Sensing her shift, Gray sighed. “Alex, you do not understand me. We are on the same team here. Rand and MyoGen hold answers to…”
Alex held up her hand. “I will assume that I can thank my good friend, Mrs. Merrow for this circular talk of yours. I will take that up with her later,” Alex said assuredly. “If there is nothing else…”
“They won’t let you interfere, this time, Alex—not with this. They will employ whatever means necessary to secure what MyoGen has. You have ties to Wade, Speritus, and Solomon now.”
Alex’s temple began to twitch noticeably. Speritus and Solomon had been close partners with Carecom for decades. One of Speritus’ major projects was innovating methods for the disposal of nuclear waste and the storage of nuclear material. The Cesium that Brackett had liberated over a year ago from a warehouse that Carecom utilized was a Speritus sample. Solomon was a new acquisition for Carecom. On its face, it was a pharmaceutical company that developed immunosuppressant drugs. The application for control of the human immune system was being explored both as a potential biological weapon as well as a means to counteract any number of biological weapons that might be employed. Alex and Krause had spent many hours reviewing the programs at Solomon. There was promising research regarding the ability to both suppress and stimulate the immune system. She also understood that if Solomon possessed that technology, it stood to reason that so did others, perhaps others with a much different agenda than Carecom’s. Gray’s statement was clear. The Collaborative would use Alex’s acquisitions against her. That did not come as a surprise. If Jane had thought this visit necessary, Alex surmised the threat was growing.
“Is that a threat?” she asked Gray directly.
“Not from me. It is a reality. You acquire MyoGen and the gloves are off,” he told her. “If that means some type of nuclear compromise or misstep in your chemical and biological divisions….I can’t…”
Alex had just begun to address Gray when a loud beep sounded in the room. Gray turned on a monitor and shook his head. “Friend of yours?” he asked.
Alex looked at the screen. “Fuck. What the hell is she doing here?” Alex watched as Charlie Hawkins crossed the screen. She inched closer and brought the two men following her into view. “Brady? What the hell?”
“I don’t know what they are doing here,” Gray commented. “But, I do know they are headed straight for a section they will never get out of.”
“How far?” she asked.
Gray was already on the move. “Follow me,” he instructed her.
“Goddammit,” Alex mumbled as she ran. “What the hell are you doing, Hawk?”
Chapter Eight
“Jesus, what is this place?” Eleana asked.
Krause shook his head and kept moving forward. To his trained eye, this appeared to have been some type of hospital or research facility at one time. Krause had to admit it had the air of an asylum. They had passed several rooms with equipment that he recognized immediately. Krause had seen electroconvulsive therapy at work. He’d been subjected to it as part of his training. This place, whatever it had been, had clearly utilized methods Krause was well accustomed with. He kept moving forward cautiously, looking in each room that they passed for any clue as to what the purpose of this place had been or continued to be.
“Jonathan, there is no one here,” Eleana observed.
Krause ignored the comment. Something was pushing him forward. If he had taken even a moment to analyze it, he would have found his inclination to press on peculiar. By all indications, Eleana’s assessment was correct. A persistent nagging in the pit of Krause’s stomach told him there was more. He rounded a corner and stopped abruptly at the lights hanging at the far end of the corridor ahead. Until now, he had required the aid of his flashlight. Krause took a deep breath and turned to Eleana.
“Just stay close,” he told her.
Eleana nodded her understanding and followed Krause’s direction. He looked left and then right again before proceeding down the narrow corridor. He passed several doors and tried the handles—locked. He peered in the small windows that were fixed in the doors—empty. Each room was completely empty. Strange, he thought to himself, that these rooms would be locked. He continued on toward the beckoning lights. He stopped just shy of the next door and reached out for the handle. He pulled gently but again the door was secured. Krause looked down the hallway and then stepped in front of the door. This room differed. There was no window in the door. Instead, a narrow slot sat midway in the center of the steel. Krause knelt down and pried it open gently. He peered through and strained to see into the darkened room.
“What the….”
“What is it?” Eleana asked. Krause stood and reached into his jacket. “Jonathan?”
Krause retrieved a small pick and set about working on the lock in the door. Expertly, he manipulated the mechanism until he felt the signature pop. He turned to Eleana with his unspoken question. She nodded her assent and Krause opened the door. A chair sat at the far side of the small, darkened room. Krause noted the hands tied behind it. He approached slowly and methodically, controlling his heart rate and breathing as he had been taught over many years. He stepped up behind the chair. It was heavy, almost immovable. Krause took a deep breath and stepped around it to face its occupant. A bloody cough greeted him.
“Huh, look like you’ve seen a ghost, Jonathan,” a raspy voice crackled.
“What the fuck? What the h
ell is this?”
“I see you’ve met my guest,” another voice sounded from the doorway.
Krause looked across the room as Eleana turned to the direction of the voice. “I should ask why you are entertaining a dead man. Who the hell are you?” Krause asked.
“Another ghost,” O’Brien coughed. He caught the surprised expression on Krause’s face and laughed through another coughing fit.
“Not who you expected, I take it,” McCollum guessed.
“What the hell is this?” Krause asked.
“Vy Khotite skazat' yemu, ili ya dolzhen? (Do you want to tell him or should I?)” McCollum directed his question to O’Brien as he made his way past Eleana. “Eleana,” he greeted her with a smile. “Vy pohoza na svyu mamu (You favor your mother),” he told her.
Eleana looked to Krause in bewilderment. Krause returned his gaze to the older man who was approaching. Instinctively, he reached for his sidearm.
“You don’t need that,” McCollum assured Krause. “Does he, Christopher?” McCollum asked. O’Brien laughed hoarsely. “Vy khotite skazat' yemu? Kristofer? (You want to tell him? Christopher)?” McCollum asked again as he rounded the chair to stand beside Krause. McCollum leaned over and whispered in O’Brien’s ear. “Come now, Christopher. We are all family, after all. I’m sure Jonathan will understand.”
The closeness of Jim McCollum made O’Brien seethe. McCollum had interrogated him for hours. He had the marks to prove it. He had not broken to the older man’s will. Now, all eyes were upon him. O’Brien was less a fool than he knew many supposed. His time was limited and he knew it. He felt McCollum’s hot breath on his face and lifted his eyes directly to the older man.
“Vam povezlo shto ya s nej perespal. Eto spaslo yey zhizn' (You are lucky I bedded her. It saved her life),” O’Brien spat.
Krause’s surprise was evident. He caught Eleana’s shocked glance and looked at O’Brien. The words were clear. Russian? Why was O’Brien speaking Russian? The meaning was obvious to all in the room. Krause’s shock morphed into unbridled anger. O’Brien’s crass assessment of his marriage to Cassidy infuriated Krause. He cocked his fist, aiming it directly for O’Brien’s bloody face. “You son of a bitch!”
McCollum caught Krause’s hand midair. He spoke softly. “Easy, Jonathan. Easy.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Krause blared.
O’Brien cackled. His laughing caused another round of coughing accompanied by small sprays of blood. “Legche bit ubitim, chem umeret'. Kessidi skorbit za mnogimi muzhchinami v yeye zhizni. Mozet bit eto i khorosho, ona i Aleksis. (Easier to be killed than to die. Cassidy mourns many men in her life. Good thing maybe, her and Alexis),” O’Brien laughed.
Krause’s eyes lifted back to McCollum. “Where is my father?” he asked the older man expectantly.
Sadness painted the older man’s eyes. “Not everyone becomes a ghost, Jonathan. Some of us just die. I’m sorry.”
Eleana studied the older man in the distance. She had been thrown by O’Brien’s use of Russian. It was perfect, the accent, the phrasing, it had been flawless. She was widely considered one of the most fluent and polished Russian translators in the world. It was the skill that had ensured her placement within the Central Intelligence Agency. It was evident to Eleana that Russian was, at the very least, frequently used by the former congressman. O’Brien’s command of the language rivaled hers. She suspected it was native to him. That realization caused her to look at the older man with fresh eyes. Who would have suspicions about O’Brien? Who would have an interest in O’Brien at all? The pieces fit. She looked at the older man. The eyes, she had seen those eyes before. Recognition came to her—Cassidy. “It’s not possible,” she said softly.
“Observant,” McCollum said to her. “Edmond must be proud.”
O’Brien snickered. “All this reminiscing,” he said dryly. “What will you tell your daughter?” he asked McCollum in amusement.
“Jesus Christ,” Krause said.
“Not really,” O’Brien laughed.
“Shut up, you son-of-a-bitch!” Krause yelled. Before McCollum could intervene, Krause had backhanded O’Brien forcefully.
O’Brien spit out a tooth, a red pool landing at his feet and trickling down his cheek. “Feel better?” he spit out again. Krause cocked his fist for another blow.
“Enough!” McCollum bellowed. Krause froze and stared at him. “We don’t have time for this,” he said. He lowered himself to O’Brien again. “Last chance, Congressman. Kto poslal vas k Nikolayu? (Who sent you to Nicolaus)?” McCollum asked.
“Come on now, Dad,” O’Brien answered smugly. “I thought we were all family?” he chuckled. “I’ve been dead a long time,” O’Brien observed. “What are you going to promise me? Resurrection? Fuck you, McCollum.”
“Peace,” McCollum said. “I’ll offer you peace.”
“I had a piece,” O’Brien retorted. “A piece of yours, a piece of The Admiral’s,” he gloated. “Missed that piece behind me,” he said. “Chto by vash papa skazal, Eleana? (What would your daddy say, Eleana)?”
Krause lunged at O’Brien and McCollum pushed him back. McCollum withdrew a pistol from his pants and placed it to O’Brien’s head.
“Your time is up,” McCollum whispered in O’Brien’s ear.
“ Eto nichego ne menyayet. Vy ne mozhete ' nas videt. My prjiachemsa priamo na vidu. (It changes nothing. You cannot see us. We are hidden in plain sight),” O’Brien declared. His words were silenced by a deafening pop that echoed through the room. Eleana jumped and then closed her eyes.
“Jesus Christ!” Krause yelled. He looked at the slumped figure in the chair, blood pouring from the side of Christopher O’Brien’s head. “What the fuck did you do that for?” he asked.
“He wasn’t going to tell us anything,” McCollum asserted. “That’s all we were going to get. It’s enough. It’s confirmation.”
“Confirmation of what?” Krause demanded.
McCollum placed the pistol back in its home and straightened to his full height. “Not now,” he said. “We need to get to your sister.”
“We can’t just leave him here,” Eleana said awkwardly.
McCollum smiled at the innocence of the young woman. He looked at his former son-in-law lying cold in the chair. “Like he said, he’s been dead a long time. I promised him peace. He has it. Let’s go,” he said in a commanding tone.
Krause remained still. “We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on and just who the hell you really are,” Krause demanded.
McCollum turned. “The first will take some time—time we do not have. As for your other question, if you want to keep your sister safe as much as I do my daughter, you will follow me—right now, and stop asking so many goddamned questions,” McCollum said. “You are worse than your father,” McCollum chuckled to himself. “Let’s go.”
***
“Are they there?”
“On route,” the Colonel replied.
“Good,” Admiral Brackett answered. He leaned back in his leather chair.
“Strickland went for aid,” Paul Daniels told the pair.
Brackett smiled smugly. “I’m not surprised. He has no convictions and little courage. Let him fly. It is inconsequential now.”
“How do you figure?” Daniels asked.
“I think we can guess who he called. Who will intervene?” the Admiral asked rhetorically. “Krause is on a wild goose chase.”
“The same wild goose chase you had The Sparrow on for months,” Daniels observed.
Admiral Brackett shrugged off the observation. “The point is that he is on the other side of the world. Alexis is around the corner. This is Dmitri’s window. The play is now.”
“I hope you are not underestimating them,” Daniels said.
“Colonel Marks, explain to the good ambassador here why his concerns are unwarranted.”
Colonel Marks turned his attention to Paul Daniels. Marks was reserved, a soldier who knew how to
lead but prided himself on understanding when to follow orders. That was the nature of his life and his career. Admiral William Brackett had been calling the shots for decades. It was not Marks’ place to agree or disagree. Some might have considered that following blindly. Marks considered it duty. Admiral William Brackett had earned the right to make demands. Marks did not ask questions unless he required the answers to complete a mission. He had learned over the last twenty years that there was a reason for everything Admiral Brackett said and did. If he had to describe The Admiral in one word, he would have chosen the word deliberate. Marks had not once witnessed William Brackett act impulsively. If Brackett had any concerns now, they were secondary to his objectives. And, he had confidence in his players.
“Dmitri can handle this situation, Ambassador,” Marks said. “It’s a simple mechanism. Once it is in place, we will have full control. Eyes, Ambassador, and ears, if need be—teeth.”
Daniels regarded the men before him thoughtfully. There were two things that Paul Daniels considered sins—apathy and arrogance. Most people regarded Daniels as the epitome of arrogance. He was confident, even cocky, but he was not careless. Carelessness was the fine line in Daniels’ experience that separated confidence and arrogance. Daniels had known Alex Toles for many years. He was well-acquainted with Jonathan Krause’s work and reputation. In his estimation, the current situation teetered on the edge of carelessness.
“You know, there are other ways to address….”
Admiral Brackett let out a raucous laugh. “Ambassador, are you gaining a conscience? I know you are partial to Mrs. Toles,” he continued in amusement. “Who knows? Perhaps she will play the role of grieving widow in need of comfort.”
Daniels did not share his superior’s amusement. “Your end game is Alex’s death? What about Baros? What about Claire?” he asked.
Admiral Brackett nodded. “The end game is never about death, Paul. It is always about perception. You know that as well as anyone. I’ve done what I could. I made a promise long ago and I have done my best to fulfill it. I cannot protect them from themselves. If they choose to follow this path, they will collide with our direction. That is inevitable.”
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