Room 1515

by Bill Wetterman

  Sir Jarvis swung his feet off his desk. “Probing U.S. intelligence, particularly the Pentagon or space-based military security, is touchy at best, and it’s going to take time.”

  “Precisely what are you fishing for?” Pendleton asked.

  Sir Jarvis got up and looked out the window toward Vauxhall Bridge. “Ah, what indeed? Codes, we’re searching for codes.”

  “Codes?”

  “Our folk know America is on the verge of arming space-based missile banks capable of honing in on offensive ground targets. They’re non-nuclear, but able to launch massive strikes.” He smiled and lit his pipe. “The firing codes for these type units sequence every few seconds.”

  Pendleton sat up straight. “You’re thinking of remotely accessing and firing U.S. missiles. But capturing the right coding sequences remotely stands in your way. Am I right?”

  Sir Jarvis turned back toward Pendleton. He put both hands on his desk and smiled. “What if it were possible, particularly in wartime, to fire those missiles at Tehran, or Damascus, or Tel Aviv? Suppose we could do it without American cooperation. Suppose the E.U. could aid an ally at America’s expense and without their permission, remotely. Suppose Stromiehre technology and an inside scientist made that possible.”

  Pendleton rose from his chair. “Finding an inside scientist won’t be easy to do.”

  “But not impossible.” He twisted his mustache and sat back down. “Our scientists have mastered code sequence identification in close proximity. But even with a brilliant mind inside a U.S. facility, sequencing offsite is a touch more tricky. That’s where Stromiehre comes in.”

  “How far away is it from the realm of possibility without Stromiehre?”

  “With the right sort of mind inside,” Jarvis said, “four, maybe five years. With Stromiehre’s electronics, we could fire those missiles remotely in two years maximum.”

  “You said, ‘Suppose we could aid an ally.’ Would Europe orchestrate, but let another power-block attack Iran.”

  “Enough said for now.” Sir Jarvis busied himself with idle paper organizing. “We’re searching for that brilliant mind inside U.S. intelligence now, even inside Hercules if we can find him. I’m told you have the means to purchase him for us.”

  “I’m quite capable of purchasing just about anything.”

  How delicately fragile the world was. The W.F.C. wanted to control the U.S. military overtly by placing European and Japanese technology inside key military components and holding the power of supply over a soon to be bankrupt mega-power. The Prime Minister wanted to control the U.S. military covertly with the same result.

  Was Sir Jarvis aware of Reed’s operations? America had its Herculeans operating independently of the CIA. Europe had a second spy group as well, but they didn’t know who The Sons of Tiw were yet.

  Pendleton extended his hand. “I’m off to Athens. Tell the prime minister I’m at her service.”

  A thirty-minute drive from MI6 to his private jet gave Pendleton time to think. There were too many ‘ifs’ to be sure how workable Sir Jarvis’s plan was. But Pendleton surmised the person paying this brilliant mind within the U.S. intelligence community would have the man’s loyalty. The face this man would see with money in hand would be Arthur Pendleton’s.

  Yes, indeed, he who has the gold rules.

  #

  “There will be a delivery to your suite momentarily,” Polaris said, interrupting Peacock’s workout in the hotel weight room. She showered and headed back. One of her bodyguards handed her a CD at her door.

  Once inside she said, “What will I be watching?”

  “A poor reproduction of a younger Pendleton addressing his admirers,” Polaris answered. “Somehow Ursa got his hands on it. Whoever filmed the first part of the address was thrown out early on. But you’ll get some idea of Pendleton’s personality.”

  She popped the CD into her computer and turned the player on.

  “Recent events demand a cloak of secrecy on this meeting.”

  Arthur Pendleton must be the young man speaking.

  He stood tall and confident, but his face was obscured due to the angle of the camera. “We have lost our perspective and our moral compass. Fact: Greed is eroding our environment at a rapid pace. Within seventy years, our planet will be damaged beyond repair. One hundred years after that, all life will cease from the face of the earth.”

  The room of over five hundred people erupted into chaos. Arthur Pendleton raised his hand, and they quieted down.

  “Fact: Greed has created disease, poverty, and the exploitation of the already impoverished. The possibility of a life-ending war is even greater than the grim prediction of natural global destruction.” He looked down at the podium and back at his audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, we, as enlightened powerbrokers, are the only ones capable of turning this seemingly impossible situation around. Yet the world’s political powers won’t listen to us. We must take independent action.”

  After a standing ovation, he continued. “We have the power to turn the greed of the world against itself. We have the power to form a one-world government and abolish greed. If we act now, within twelve years we will see that government formed. But we must have all the tools in place to turn the world around, both environmentally and politically, or we are all doomed.”

  A question was shouted from the floor. “Mr. Pendleton, how long do we have before we can no longer change the path toward destruction?”

  “If we don’t succeed in our efforts in the next twenty-years, I don’t see how we can save mankind. But, don’t despair, here’s how I propose we proceed.”

  Here the CD ended. Peacock leaned back on her bed. “He’s a very charismatic speaker.”

  “And a dangerous one,” Polaris said.

  “Is he right?”

  “That’s not our call.”

  #

  Pendleton arrived in Greece on time and prepared for a productive week. Business was his top priority. Then he’d have time for sun, the beach, and possibly a romantic tryst. A one-night stand as one less sophisticated might say.

  “There’s been a looker roaming the adjoining beach,” one of Pendleton’s team members said, as Pendleton entered his suite.

  Hans Van Meer chuckled as he followed Pendleton in. Van Meer, a university chum and associate of Thomas Reed, was Pendleton’s closest friend, mercenary though Van Meer was.

  “I think you’ll need a good fling in the hay after this week’s meetings.” Turning to the team member, Van Meer said, “He goes first class our champion does. No streetwalkers for him.”

  “All work and no play make Arthur a dull boy. Don’t you think?” Pendleton strode to the French doors and opened them, inhaling the fresh sea air. “The meetings will be tense two days hence. Am I not to be allowed a small indiscretion?”

  In fact, Pendleton was lonely even surrounded by crowds of acquaintances. Only his mother knew his deepest desires and ambitions. The 5,000 square foot suite, the personal trainer, etcetera, were earned trinkets. He viewed them as well-deserved perks. But a female-equal, a woman to love and share his world, she would be worth giving up everything for but his ultimate dream.

  Maybe tomorrow I’ll seek out this ‘looker’ and see for myself.

  Chapter 8

  Day 481

  Peacock strolled along the water’s edge as the sun approached noon. Lathered with sun block to protect her fair skin, she left her cover under a beach umbrella on her lounge chair. Outside Pendleton’s enormous suite, four casually dressed agents, dark sunglasses and all, stationed themselves on the terrace as a tall, thirty-something male in a flowered beach shirt ate lunch alone.

  Pendleton, she thought, hard to make out his appearance from this distance. The agents were probably provided by the British government. He’d arrived yesterday evening. She’d heard his entourage come in as she was having a pedicure.

  “He glanced my way,” she said to Rigel.

  “Ignore him. Move out of his view.”
r />   “You’ve put my new identity on the net, right?”

  “Ursa’s seen to that. It’s been out there for several months.”

  “Why have I not heard of Pendleton before, if he’s so powerful?”

  “The most powerful people in the world are hidden. That’s how they keep themselves the most powerful people in the world.”

  Peacock decided to put some drama into her retreat. She looked up at where Pendleton sat, turned, and stomped away out of his view. A little Greta Garbo move saying, I want to be alone.

  Once under her umbrella, she waved over her beach attendant. “Slosh three cocktail glasses so I look like I’ve been drinking and put them on the table.”

  She grabbed a magazine and began to read. Within a few minutes, a man, who must have been Pendleton, came around the hedge of Mastic trees that bordered the properties. The wind tossed his hair about and fluttered through his short-sleeved, flowered shirt.

  “Cheerio,” he said, waving his hand.

  She tensed as she caught glimpse of his sandy hair and divine sky blue eyes. He matched every imaginary drawing her mind had created of the ideal male.

  When two of his agents rounded the corner by the trees, she whispered to Rigel. “Bodyguards. Now.”

  She sipped her drink. His agents stopped at the shoreline. Obviously, they had seen her bodyguards walk out onto her terrace.

  “Call off the dogs, Madame,” Pendleton said with a lilt in his voice.

  “A girl can’t be too careful,” she answered. “Money attracts the looniest people.”

  “You’re Laverna Smythe,” he said and ambled up the beach toward her. “I’m your neighbor, Arthur Pendleton.”

  “Yes, I know. My people looked you up.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I dated a financial wizard once and found him dull.”

  “May I join you?” He sat before she could answer. “It’s so bloody hot.”

  “Seventy-nine degrees isn’t hot,” she said.

  “It is for me. My Dockers are a tight weave.”

  She let him gaze at her without comment, thinking her violet mini-bikini was the right choice. The waiter removed her empty glasses. As he walked away, she called to him. “Bring Mister Pendleton a drink.”

  She turned to her guest. “Are you familiar with Greek cocktails?”

  “Call me, Arthur, and I’ll have a Twister Shooter. Will you join me?”

  “Oh my, I’ve had three already. With the heat, another might make me tipsy. Karl, bring me my usual, and two Twister Shooters for Mr. Pendleton.” She smiled. “I’ll nurse my TKO while we talk.”

  “A TKO? I’m unfamiliar.”

  “It’s tequila, Kahlua, and ouzo, a third of an ounce each.”

  “I’m impressed. And you’re still up for chit-chat.”

  She breathed in the scent of his cologne, nutty and clean smelling. Now was the time to play her little game. He was good looking, soft-spoken, and apparently ruthless from the little information there was on him.

  Her urge to have children changed when the accident occurred. There was no one to carry on the family bloodline. Family superstition taught that somehow she’d destroy her heavenly inheritance if her gene-line ceased to be. Here in front of her was a worthy contributor.

  “I’m sorry for the awkward reception, Mr. Pendleton. When you’re young and have money, you can never be too trusting. You’re obviously an important man, but wealthy, I’m not sure. You might be after my wallet.”

  Pendleton roared his approval. “Marvelous opening for a relationship.”

  “We don’t have one yet.”

  “So the doors open?”

  His eyes seemed to search hers as his sandy hair blew in the wind. “How does someone with your money stoop to a director’s job at the Emerald Hotel?”

  “So your people did some snooping as well. I enjoy it.” She picked up her drink and took another sip. Ghastly she thought, but she endured. “I can mingle with the powerful and not become one. Few know of my wealth. My grandfather insisted it be that way. And it’s Washington you know. There’s always intrigue going on.”

  “I was born poor,” Pendleton offered in return. “But after the university, I made the right decisions. How much do you know about the World Financial Corporation?”

  “Almost nothing except its name is associated with the global economy.”

  “We strive for world wealth and world peace.” He leaned forward his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “We help poor nations up from the poverty level to where they can compete with nations like ours.” He cocked his head and pointed his finger at her. “So your grandfather was William O’Neill, of O’Neill and Granger. Have you learned any investment sense from him?”

  Ursa did a fine job!

  “He died when I was six. I learned my investment sense from research.”

  “So tell me now beautiful lady,” he shot a sly grin at her. “What are your top ten stocks if you were buying today?”

  Rigel cut in. “Play with him a bit. I’ll give you non-E.U. companies first.”

  Peacock listened and then answered. “YPF Argentina’s my number one investment, with Mizoho Financial and Bermuda Butterfield tops in finance. I do like FLIR Systems in capital goods.”

  “Jolly good joke, you’ve skipped around my beloved Europe.” He reached his hand to touch her arm. She pulled back.

  “Naughty, naughty,” she wagged her finger. “We’ve just met.”

  To her surprised Pendleton blushed. A spark lit inside her. Something she’d never felt before. Here was someone she could grow fond of if she allowed it. She must harden herself to him without showing her interest on the outside.

  “Sorry, for my eagerness,” Pendleton said. “You’re devilishly coquettish.”

  “You’re confusing your love of finance with romance.” Now she reached out and grabbed his hand. “You haven’t heard my other six: Fortumi, Stromiehre, Portuguese Telecom, Siemens, BASF, and Vodafone. Are you sweating from the heat, the conversation, or my mini?”

  Pendleton squeezed her hand. “You, Lovey, are wrapped up in it all. What’s more uniquely romantic than a paradise setting, wonderful conversation with an educated investor, and a siren at that? Your investment sense is accurate. I have eight of the ten at the top of my portfolio.”

  “Lovey?” Did he know her nickname in advance? Was he a lucky guesser? “Yes, Mister Pendleton, you may call me Lovey.”

  “And you may still call me, Arthur.”

  She finished her drink while he downed both of his in silence. They held hands and she felt his interest in her growing. Her pride said it was to be expected. Who could resist her charm?

  “Can I see you again? I’m here at least a week.”

  “My wealth is family earned.” She ran her finger down the palm of his hand, and he visibly shook from the tickle. “Your organization pays your tab. How do I know for sure you’re not after my money?”

  “Do you want references?”

  She giggled and gave him a playful kiss on his empty ring finger. “If the prime minister or a member of the royal family calls me to vouch for you, I’d be delighted to go to dinner.”

  Pendleton rose and bowed. “It’s a date then. Say we go out three nights hence?”

  “Remember you need a reference,” she called after him as he jogged back down to the shoreline and disappeared behind the Mastic trees.

  Oh my, she thought. What a hunk.

  Chapter 9

  Vallonia Lee, Val for short, stepped out of the lagoon holding Uri Zelinoff’s hand. She’d taken Peacock’s place in her absence as first in command on day shift. A tall, blue-eyed, strawberry blonde, Val and Peacock looked enough alike to give a consistent comfortable look to clients. Ursa wanted her to keep watch on Zelinoff, and what better way than up close.

  The ambassador, who smelled of cigar smoke even naked, pulled her toward him, embraced her, and whispered. “Can I see you privately?”

  “I’m off work in an hour,” she said. �
�Suite 1405. Go get dressed, and keep Mister Happy ready for action.”

  Val waited until Zelinoff dressed and Melanie had escorted his contingent out. Then she blew her hair dry, slipped on her work outfit, and returned to the front desk. To anyone outside the Lagoon Room, she looked like she had when she reported to her job. Working for Hercules had been fun for the three years she’d been in Ursa’s employ. Peacock was a super cool boss, and she supposed the information she picked up helped her country.

  At five o’clock, she turned the front over to Felicia and headed down the elevator on her way to the lobby. At the ground floor, she exited through the elevator doors into the hallway leading to the hotel. She’d taken one step when pain shot through her neck. Someone grabbed her arm, pulled her close, and shoved a dagger through to the other side. She heard the gurgling of her own blood as she died, and the word, Mectb.

  #

  Pendleton closed his cell phone and did a little tap dance. Laverna Smythe wanted references, so be it. He leaned over his balcony railing hoping to catch a glimpse of her, but alas, her highness wasn’t in sight. Oh, he’d had an occasional tête-à-tête before. But he’d never been confronted with. . . He stopped mid-thought, an equal? Maybe not, but a gorgeous challenge at least.

  A knock at his door brought him back to reality. “They’re ready, Sir.”

  With two bodyguards in front and two behind him, Pendleton hurried down to a boardroom-style breakout room near the Spartacus Hall. Thomas Reed’s team had elaborate electronics ready to display whatever information Pendleton requested. Gold leather coverings adorned the chairs. The conference table, made of hand-polished black marble, glistened in the light.

  As Pendleton sat down, Reed, who was talking on his cell, gave out a laugh and hung up. “Revenge is ours.”

  His team applauded.

  Pendleton waved his hand. “Revenge on whom?”

  “Nothing to concern you, ole boy. Botched plans aren’t worth speaking of. Let’s say a wrong has been righted.”

  “Did you find our lobbyist, Nash? Do we know who has him, poor chap?” Pendleton spread his hands, peered around, and waited.