For the next five minutes, Professor Cline related the perceived injustices he’d suffered as a government employee who was unloved and under-rewarded. Pendleton recorded every word.
When Cline finished, Pendleton said, “History is written by the victorious. If we are victorious, you’ll receive recognition beyond your comprehension. The only things I require of you are that you apply your capabilities beyond the limits you have previously been used to, and that you make all your requests known to me and no one else.”
“And if I do that?”
“I’ll assure your safety. I’ll champion your contributions to our success, and I’ll fulfill your reasonable requests.”
Cline relaxed. “Agreed.”
“Good. Now, is there anything I can do for you?”
#
After Cline left, Pendleton called the prime minister back. “He turned out to have a different agenda than most, Madam Prime Minister. He’s a smart bugger. Money doesn’t interest him. He wants timeshares for vacations, expenses paid, fast cars, and female escorts. He wants more than one if you get my drift. He’s a total hedonist. And, he’s ours!”
“Very good, you’re doing the British Empire and the European Union a service beyond measure.”
“Thank you.”
“But Arthur, do be careful not to be misled. Your new wife seems to have captured your attention far too easily.”
She’d overstepped her bounds. “Grace, let me be blunt. Lovey is off limits. Attack me. Attack your political opponents. But an attack on her will result in severe consequences.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m stating a fact that’s true for anyone who comes against my wife.”
He heard a deep sigh. Then Claymore said, “Keep me advised on Reed’s progress.”
Pendleton hung up. Face reddened by her words, he refused to believe there was an ounce of truth in them. He’d approached Lovey, not the other way around. Any attempt made by Claymore or anyone else—friend or foe—to question Lovey would meet with disastrous repercussions.
#
“She bloody went around me.” Throgmorton’s eyeballs stood out a fraction further from his face than normal as he stared at Pendleton.
“Keeping you in the dark makes perfect sense,” Pendleton said. “What if MI6 failed to find a Professor Cline, and you had knowledge of the attempt, you’d have something to hold over her. She’ll avoid that at all cost.”
Playing to Throgmorton’s ego now would benefit Pendleton in the end. Throgmorton could boast about procuring Cline. But Claymore already put out the word of Pendleton’s effort on behalf of MI6 and the Crown. Let Eric wear the jester’s garb for now.
“Maybe we can cut the bitch out altogether.” Throgmorton swiveled his leather armchair back and forth. He lowered his eyebrows and growled at Pendleton. “MI6 is not to handle the delivery of the money or the messages.”
A sneer graced his face. “We have the gold. We have the power.”
A quizzical look replaced the sneer. “Who do you think Claymore intends to use to go up against Iran?”
Pendleton already knew. Claymore had let that slip.
“Consider oil, location, and power. Iran pumps oil to Russia. The pipelines are already there. The European Union gives military secrets and money to Russia in exchange for oil and the future security of Europe.”
Hearing Pendleton’s words, Throgmorton’s countenance turned from a sour scowl to an evil sneer. “Do the proper arm-twisting according to our plan. Set up a meeting between Russian President Latovsky and us. Then our picture will be on the cover of Time Magazine next year.”
Pendleton smiled. One of their pictures would anyway.
Chapter 18
Flames engulfed her and the heat was unbearable. Screams from other passengers in the cars echoed in her ears. Then an arm touched her. She felt herself being dragged away from the inferno when a voice interrupted her dream.
“Peacock, come back to us.”
Ursa’s gentle words penetrated her consciousness. The last thing she remembered was riding in a limousine. She opened her eyes.
“Don’t try to speak.”
She focused in on his voice. Yes, Ursa was standing next to her hospital bed. She tried to swallow, but nothing moved in her throat and pain shot from her larynx into her brain.
“Our doctor says you’ll be able to speak normally in a couple of days.”
“What the hell happened?” she managed to squawk.
Ursa whispered something and Polaris’s voice answered in her head. “Our plan to capture or kill Martin failed. Lytle’s people planned for all eventualities.”
She nodded and the memory of hands around her neck flashed into her mind.
“Our backup team arrived before their cleanup team. We found your attackers dead. It seems you are a hard woman to kill, Peacock. Doctor Berk cleared your airway, or you would have died as well. We thought their agent had killed you.” Polaris paused. “I would have missed you.”
Peacock motioned to Ursa to hand her a pencil and pad. He obliged.
Two questions: Arthur arrives in twenty-five days. Will my face have healed by then? Is there any permanent deformity?
“All that is woman is vanity,” Ursa said. “True, your face looks like you were in a prize fight and lost. There’s no permanent damage. Your larynx may still be scratchy for a month. You suffered a small hematoma and some minor tearing. That’s all.”
Polaris’s quick action sending in the back-up team had saved her life. She wanted to thank him.
“Can I visit with Polaris in person?”
“Not allowed for security reasons.”
She didn’t understand. If she could meet with Ursa and Magnus, why couldn’t she meet with Polaris? Oh well, no one was going to give her the answer. Then the thought struck her. Pendleton’s Special Forces, The Sons of Tiw, almost killed her. So far, other than Pendleton, only Van Meer could associate her assignment name, Laverna Smythe, with the face of Laverna Smythe. So long as neither Pendleton nor Van Meer saw her in battle, her identity wasn’t compromised.
Ursa left and she stared anxiously around the room. Tubes ran into her right arm carrying fluids. A catheter carried fluids out. A sign on her chart said Liquids Only! She wanted to rip everything out, get up, and leave. But even moving her toes was difficult.
Her thoughts centered on her Arthur. Could she kill him? Not if directed to, she couldn’t. The only way she would was if he betrayed her. She hoped that would never happen. Instead, she thought, what protégés children of theirs would be. Both she and Pendleton had brilliant minds. As for appearance, their children would be the best of human quality. She longed to make that happen.
In her business, she fully understood her death could come at any moment. Now more than ever she wanted to give birth to Arthur’s child. Did she love him? She couldn’t answer that question. She thought of him every quiet moment. She craved to be with him and to feel safe in his arms. But she couldn’t say the word love. As long as she denied herself that feeling, Arthur wouldn’t die like all the others.
#
Hans Van Meer boarded the Chunnel train in Paris heading for London and a flight to the United States. His two-man team arrived ahead of him to procure the weapons they needed and then blend into the Virginia landscape. Once he was settled, Van Meer needed to select a place and time to blowup Marine One. Then his team would execute the plan.
Van Meer’s U.S. passport showed his name as Lloyd Barker. A condominium in Falls Church, Virginia was listed as his residence. His occupation was residential and commercial repair.
Van Meer flew first class from London to Washington National. He wore a turtleneck sweater to cover up the tattoo of a cobra on his left shoulder and lower neck, hence his old nickname, Viper. A close friend of Pendleton’s at the university, Van Meer joined MI6 as an operative for ten years, and then disappeared. He resurfaced after a six months absence as an associate of Thomas Reed’s.
A no-fly zone corridor extended from the White House to Andrews. All non-essential aircraft were kept out of this area. Somewhere on the ground within that corridor, Van Meer would find the perfect spot from which his team would fire the missile.
Good of the government to keep other aircraft out of the sky, less chance that the infrared guidance system would become confused by another low flying object.
Reed rented two apartment units within a mile of Van Meer’s condominium. Van Meer’s partners, Morgan and Dunn, would live their separate lives and obtain part-time jobs, while putting together the plans.
Exactly eight miles as the crow flies separated his condo from the warehouse where the weapons would be stored, a twenty-one mile drive on the Capitol Beltway. As he pored over the material, he reasoned that the most obvious flight path took Marine One from the White House to west of the Capitol. From there the helicopter would turn over the Washington Naval Yard and hug the Potomac to the east of the U.S. Naval Station and Bolling Air Force Base.
Even with a helicopter flying at 2000 feet, there was no place to fire accurately along that route. But as the helicopter turned back to the east, several possibilities arose. Coming across Henson Creek Park and into Andrews south of Camp Springs, Van Meer marked potential launch sites, several rooftops, and an open window on the third floor of a building, a site elevated and hidden from the general public view.
Maybe he would find a secluded spot near Old Auth Road or Branch Avenue to the northeast of the flight path, maybe somewhere along Brinkley Road or Temple Hills Road south of the Capitol Beltway. Once the firing location was chosen, Van Meer would record each and every takeoff from the West Lawn of the White House. Morgan would watch each landing at Andrews.
Van Meer disembarked at Washington National and showed his passport and identification. “Welcome back, Mr. Barker, did you enjoy your trip?”
“I love Paris in the summer. Yes, I had a delightful time.”
#
Stanley Morgan chatted constantly as he and Howard Dunn, Van Meer’s two advance men, approached the Yuma Proving Grounds. His dented 2011 Chevy Silverado 3500, 322 horsepower truck with a snap-down, tarp-covered bed handled the terrain with ease.
Alan Loomis, an agent for MI6, and secretly a Son of Tiw, had penetrated the U.S. Homeland Security team. From his position on Director Hayden Lawrence’s personal protection unit, Loomis had provided Morgan and Dunn with the truck. Loomis also obtained forged identification papers for Morgan and Dunn, showing them as officials of the United States Department of Homeland Security. These papers granted clearance to secure weaponry of the class they needed.
Reed didn’t tell Pendleton the details of his plans. He kept people, places, and the timing of events strictly to himself and members of his team. Pendleton didn’t want to know anyway. But Morgan reasoned that he and Dunn were viewed as high paid collateral damage by the big boys if this plan failed.
“God, this area is huge,” Morgan said. “So they simulate desert fighting out here, aye Howard.”
“Well, you really can’t call it a simulation. The place is a desert after all.”
Howard Dunn, a highly skilled guidance system expert, saved Morgan’s butt a time or two in Kosovo and Chad. “They blow up real objects with live munitions in this god awful heat.”
“Still a bloody big patch of earth, this desert is. We’ve been driving, what, twenty-five miles since passing Yuma?”
“Hang on now, the area’s larger than Rhode Island, but there’s our objective straightway north on Highway 95. What’s the sign say here?”
“Light Armored Vehicle Facility # 42.”
“Turn round there at the gate and remember to talk Yankee now,” Dunn said and let out a cackle.
Morgan bopped him on the arm. “I’m keepin’ my trap shut.”
Morgan fired these type missiles in Kosovo years before. There was no one better in his own opinion. He’d handpicked Dunn to accompany him because of his talent and his ability to speak like a Yank.
As they pulled up to the checkpoint, the soldier at the gate stepped out. Standing over six feet tall in full military gear, he walked up to their truck and stuck out his hand. “Identification please.”
Dunn pulled out his papers. “We’re here to remove crates labeled ZT-101, ZT-102, and ZT-103.”
The soldier studied Dunn’s papers and then his own log. “Yes sir. I have you on the schedule. Please give me the code word for today, Mr. Jordan.”
“Laguna,” Dunn replied.
“And your drop off destination.”
“Armargosa Valley, Nevada Test Range.”
“Have you been here before?”
Dunn smiled. “I worked for four years at Blasdell Railhead Facility. We use to contract with you boys for security, easy detail.”
“Roger that, Sir,” the soldier said and glanced around. “Nothing happens here, unless, something does happen. Problems are rare. But we’re always prepared. Your crates are waiting on Loading Dock C, Warehouse 102. Have a nice day.”
“You too, soldier.”
Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. His New Zealand accent could have ruined an otherwise perfect day. They weren’t going to Nevada, at least not to stay. Dunn had some discount coupons at Sheri’s Ranch in Pahrump, and Morgan wanted a day of play before heading across country to Virginia and taking their time. Driving with ordinance in a vehicle wasn’t something to take lightly.
#
“I insist we bring Peacock in and implant the brainwave control unit.”
Doctor Kolb held a tiny device in her hand that connected into the communications implant inserted in Peacock’s brain. The size of a toothbrush fiber, the unit controlled impulses to the emotional and memory segments of the brain.
Simply put, emotions, memory, and reasoning functions could be manipulated by causing visceral constrictions in both the autonomic system activators and frontal lobes. Thereby, trained technicians could produce or reduce the intellectual or emotional responses desired.
“It’s too risky.”
The man she reported to remained seated at his desk in the shadows munching an almond bar. In the twenty years she’d worked for him, she never caught a clear glimpse of his face, which was covered with a black cloth facemask. No one but Ursa Minor and Hayden Lawrence, Director of Homeland Security, knew what Ursa Major looked like.
“We’ve narrowed the potential negative side effects to under twenty percent.”
He raised his hand. “So one of every five guinea pigs is either a zombie or dead, correct?”
“Her emotional responses toward Pendleton are growing daily. She’s bonding. Once that happens, Ursa won’t be able to control her.”
“But only where Pendleton is concerned, right?” Major asked. “She is flat-lined toward everybody else.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not tampering with our best agent based on that evidence alone. If she jeopardizes a mission or our trust, we’ll act.”
“Would locking your door and letting you have your way with me change your mind?”
“Tonight, Bea, I’ll cook.” He stood. “The answer is still no.”
Kolb stood as well. “You are making a mistake.”
“Did you tell that to Hitler in 1943?”
The jab caused her to grin. “I love your approach to foreplay.”
Ursa Major let out a gleeful shout and showed Kolb to the door, giving her a playful squeeze on her neck as she went.
Chapter 19
Day 582
Peacock cast her vote in the presidential election. She voted early at the ballot box in Maryland, as Laverna Smythe. Her husband slept late. She’d tell Pendleton she’d voted for the Democrat, Russell. She’d lie.
She’d been with her husband at her esta
te in Maryland for four days. The last two days, all Pendleton could talk about was defeating Monroe. She played along by agreeing with him that Monroe was a rascal. Weren’t all politicians?
Pendleton hadn’t lost his enthusiasm for sex regardless of the subject of conversation. She enjoyed his attention as he satisfied her ego and her body. Their arrangement had worked out wonderfully. They were two egotists self-absorbed together. Oddly, she felt normal being married to Arthur Pendleton. Several hours could pass and seem like only a few minutes. Talking with him stimulated her mind.
Regardless, and most important, Pendleton talked openly on his cell to his associates with her present. Only twice in four days did he ask her to leave the room for her own protection, adding that knowing certain things could put her in danger.
She’d acclimated to her mansion quite well, and after voting this morning, she stood on the third floor balcony looking out at the Potomac, reasoning that she couldn’t have designed a more perfect world for herself.
She’d worked at the Emerald in Room 1515 both Friday and Monday since Pendleton arrived. But today she was totally at his disposal. She walked back into their bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed next to her sleeping husband.
“I’ve been up, voted, and driven back. Are you hungry for breakfast, my love?”
He rolled over and pulled her close to him. “I’m hungry for you.”
Lucky her outfit was easily discarded.
Afterward she rubbed his back. He hummed tunes from the English Highlands to her, melodies of Celtic origins speaking of limestone, gritstone, sheep, and young lasses.
“I never dreamt as a boy I’d see wealth like this.”
“Really? But you amassed a fortune.”
“Yes. But your place larges it a bit. I thought Balmoral to be posh. But an elevator running three stories blows the mind.”
He said the words in jest, of course. So she baited him. “Are you not worth royal treatment?”
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