Room 1515

by Bill Wetterman

  “Seems a little harsh,” Pendleton said. Then his cell vibrated. A call from his mother, he’d return it later.

  “At the third level you have crimes like attempted murder, manslaughter, arson, child molestation, and rape. Conviction means twenty years in a maximum-security facility with the same conditions as level two. There is a page and a half of offenses at this level.”

  “So you’ve saved the worst for last,” Pendleton chuckled.

  “Indeed,” Abdullah said. “Terrorism and murder fall into this fourth shortlist of offenses, twelve in number, which include treason and certain types of sedition. These offenses demand life in prison, in maximum confinement, with no outside contact with the world.”

  “Yet still humanely treated?”

  “They will be fed, clothed, allowed to exercise, to read, and to receive medical attention. But other than the prison personnel, they will have no outside contact at all.”

  “Again, this seems harsh,” Pendleton said.

  “It is harsh, Sir, which is precisely why these crimes will rarely occur. Remember, none of the four levels of crime have a probation or early release provision.”

  #

  “These dicey meetings can kill a man,” Pendleton said, as Van Meer entered his room on the last night of Pendleton’s stay in Zurich.

  “You look bloody worn out.”

  “I am.” Pendleton handed Van Meer a beer. “I’m convinced a unified society is possible in my lifetime. If not, I’ll give it a good start before I die and make sure mankind is well on its way toward that dream.”

  “You’re a dreamer. There will never be a perfect world.” Van Meer opened the can of beer and tossed it down his throat in two gulps. “December 1st, our man will be placed on Monroe’s personal security team. Sherman told him as much yesterday.”

  “Good news. I needed some.”

  “Look, Arthur, you have a choice when you open your eyes. You can choose to make it a good day, or not.”

  “Now who is the dreamer? The channels are almost ready for our global takeover. And the greedy bastards in worldwide leadership don’t even see us coming.”

  “Nor will they until it’s too late.”

  “Hitler once said, ‘He alone, who owns the youth, gains the future.’” Pendleton sighed. “Once the first of the new generation enters the new educational system, victory is ours. Within ten years, few will remember the injustices of the past. I want to see us up and running.”

  Chapter 30

  Pendleton covered his mouth to prevent an outburst of laughter. He was sitting in Prime Minister Claymore’s office discussing Plan B. The prime minister had shot off a few words unbecoming a head-of-state. Her anger at the failure of Plan A must have kept her from thinking with a clear head. She’d thrust her arms out fighting style, pulling a corner of her blouse out of her skirt.

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad, old girl,” Belington said. “We’re all disappointed.”

  He helped her re-tuck her blouse, an act she allowed unashamed. “But Reed and Van Meer have their man on Vice President Edmunds’ team. He’s making fast friends with John Sherman, the head of Monroe’s security team and joins that team in December. Plan B is officially in place.”

  “Bull,” she grunted and edged herself into her armchair.

  She never has learned patience, Pendleton thought. He had enough for both of them. Having endured Throgmorton for many years, Pendleton’s middle name should have been Patience, instead of Ambrose.

  He and Milton Rogers had kept the China trip a secret. In two months, the Asian rim would need to invest in the Yuan to survive. In a year, if things went as he planned the world would have only three currencies, the Euro, the Dollar, and the Yuan. In two years, there would only be one currency. He hadn’t selected a name for it yet, but the Gyro led his list, with a spinning world on the face and a dove of peace on the back. Twelve coins would be minted but never spent. There would be no need of money anymore.

  “By the time Plan B is implemented, our boys will have the code sequencing perfected,” Belington continued.

  “Maybe,” Claymore answered. “But it’s all going too slowly for my digestion.”

  “I’ll talk to Cline,” Pendleton said, “I’m heading to the States for a meeting in L.A. I’m receiving an award from the Banking Institute of the America’s at Pepperdine. As I said in Dusseldorf, I’ll see Cline in Las Vegas on my way to the coast and light a fire under him.”

  “See that you do.” Claymore slipped her hand into Belington’s and gave his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “I want to rid the world of our enemies sooner than later.”

  #

  “Yes darling,” Pendleton said, “I’ve landed in Vegas. I have to meet someone here for a couple of hours before I head on to Santa Monica.”

  “I’m trapped here in D.C. and can’t leave the hotel until 5:00 p.m.,” Peacock replied. “My flight out departs at 7:30 p.m. Eastern time. But my corporate jet will have me landing at the Santa Monica Airport by 6:30 p.m. Pacific time. I’ll have a car.”

  “No Lovey, this time it’s my treat. I’ll pick you up at 7:00 p.m.”

  This trip troubled Pendleton. Reed, Claymore, and now Van Meer pointed directly at Lovey, as the prime suspect for the information leak on Reed. Of course, she was innocent on all counts. But to satisfy his business partners, he’d have to confront her with their suspicions. The sooner they had that discussion: the sooner he could enjoy spending time with his wife.

  He called Van Meer.

  “Hans, I’d like a back-up team when I’m in California, maybe four people. You pick them. I want them in a position to respond, if something happens to my security guards. They’d be on standby if the unexpected occurs. Keep Reed and Claymore out of the loop.”

  “I understand. California will be an eye opener for all of us. I’ll put my friends within the Sons of Tiw on the team.”

  “Thank you, old boy.”

  Pendleton headed out past the baggage area, grabbed a cab, and was off to the Mandalay Bay, where his brilliant mind, Thaddeus Cline, was preparing for his trip to Monaco. He tipped the cabbie a twenty and headed into the hotel. The clinking sounds of fake coins greeted him as he entered. The ugliness of greed caused Pendleton to shutter.

  He exited the elevator at the thirty-third floor and knocked on the door of Room 3306, a Vista Suite spanning 1,740 square feet.

  “One moment,” Cline’s voice had a playful note to it. Pendleton waited. Something he wasn’t accustomed to from the likes of anyone but Claymore. A young latte-skinned lady, maybe twenty-two, opened the door dressed in a mini one-piece that barely cover her assets. “Thaddie-po will be right out. He’s helping Toni dress.”

  The apparent casualness of her comment increased Pendleton’s irritation. Ah, but if this is what it took to accomplish his goals, he’d live with it. Cline emerged from one of three bedrooms followed by an Asian lady no taller than Cline’s armpit.

  “Good to see you, Arthur. I see you’ve met La Shana. This is Toni Li. She tells me Li is now the number one surname in the world.”

  “No, it’s Chang,” Pendleton replied, “then Wang, then Li. It’s been that way for years.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “He’s right. It’s Chang?” Toni answered and adjusted her bra strap. The twinkle in her eye told Pendleton she knew he was right. “Bummer, the name should be Li if they’d accept all the spellings.”

  Toni Li slipped into a dress exactly the same as her partner’s. Their accessories matched as well, indicating they were a professional team. Their tone of voice and easy mannerisms said Toni and La Shana were highly intelligent young ladies. Cline enjoyed surrounding himself with quality, and Pendleton admired that, even when the quality was paid for, but not yet completely earned.

  “When will we see you again, Thad?” La Shana asked.

  “I’m off to Monaco and then back to work.” He brushed his pants off and cocked his head. “Look at your cal
endars in August. What do you have available?”

  “That’s six months away.” Toni Li pulled a small gold-plated planner out of her purse and flipped through the pages. “Hum, August is a big convention month, Sugar. The earliest opening is September 7th through the 10th. Right after Labor Day,” she giggled. “But I won’t be in labor. Thank God.”

  “Book me.” Cline led them to the door, kissed them both, and they pranced off with a good deal of Pendleton’s money.

  “I’ll get right to business,” Pendleton said. “You’ve done good work for us. But the pressure’s on to solve the problem of accessing and capturing the firing codes before they recycle.”

  Cline cracked his back and took a sip of something that looked like a protein shake. He plopped down on one of the three sofas in his suite. “We’re dealing in nanoseconds here. Even when you’re at the control board, you don’t have time to slack off. Yes, the Stromiehre technology works well. Yes, I’m brilliant enough to send your people the signals without detection. But . . .”

  He put his hands behind his head and laid down flat. “I can’t change the physics. I’ve done what I can on my end. I’m working with your people troubleshooting what’s happening on their end. We’re at least a year away. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s hard for me to see you trot off to Monaco on a lark while no progress is being made.”

  Pendleton remained standing and pointed at Cline’s suitcases neatly stacked on the baggage trolley.

  “Did the ladies help you with these?”

  “We have a deal. I’m living up to my part of the bargain.” Cline’s voice remained jolly, and he smiled. “You pay me what we agreed to. I do what I like with it. I’m still the best bargain in town.”

  “Is there anything I can do to speed up progress?” Cline was right. He was the best bargain in town. “There is a considerable amount of pressure on me right now.”

  “Like I said, you can’t alter the physics. We’re in new territory, both for your people and for me. I give you a hundred percent. But I need my time off to relax and to think. You can’t speed up the progress, but you can slow it down.”

  For Pendleton, understanding didn’t change the fact that speed was of the essence, both in time and process. He wanted the Russian attack to destroy the military capabilities of both the Muslims and Israelis, whether Monroe was President or not. Politically and financially, the target window was between six months and two years. After that time, the Chaos Theory said there were too many variables.

  “Would another genius working alongside you help?”

  The moment he made that statement, he regretted it. Cline choked to keep from laughing. He sat up, leaned toward Pendleton, and reached out his hand, which Pendleton took.

  “It’s not lack of intelligence. It’s lack of experience.” Cline squeezed Pendleton’s hand. “I can explain the game of tennis to you. You can read all the books on tennis and become an intellectual genius on the subject. But without the racket in your hand, an opponent better than you, and several thousand serves under your belt, you’ll stink at playing the game. That’s the way it is with remote sequencing.”

  “So money, women, a brain trust, none of these will make things happen sooner?”

  “It’s all about practicing and learning. That’s what we’re doing.”

  Pendleton sighed and headed to the door. “I have no choice but to leave the science to you. Make me proud.”

  Cline stood up. “It’s not about making you proud. A thousand years from now, if I lead the team that accomplishes this feat, I’ll be the one history remembers for the science. That motivation is enough. Nothing you can do or say could motivate me more.”

  #

  Looking out the window somewhere over the Mojave Desert, Pendleton pondered the dilemma of ego. Goals and dreams with some are humanitarian. Rarely are those dreamers remembered for long, Mother Teresa being an exception. But, the accomplishments of egotists remain subjects of praise eons into the future.

  “You want peace, Lord. I know you do,” he said aloud. “You created me for such a time. I need an intervention here. Timelines need to be met. Setbacks must cease. Everything from this point on must work as planned.”

  Nothing resembling an answer slipped into his mind.

  “Think of all the lives I’ll save, the wars that won’t be fought, and Mankind’s future accomplishments. Along the way, I’ve had to break a commandment or two of necessity. I ask Your forgiveness.”

  He sighed as the plane descended.

  “Religion is your enemy. The religious are fanatics spewing the wrong information about You. Give me the power to correct this. Give me the power to set them straight before You come to judge the world.”

  He folded his hands and said, “Amen.”

  He was bothered by the statistics that said people would flock to the Entertainment Centers, but at least they’d be safe. After a time, he believed, the pursuit of science and the restoration of the world’s environment would lower those statistics.

  Pendleton reasoned that a world aspiring for personal excellence, free of war and free of crime, would see the glory of God and accept Him more readily. He looked up to see his personal stewardess pointing at the fasten seatbelt sign. He hoped God had heard him. If not, his plans would come to naught.

  #

  Timothy Lytle counted his money, the advance from his benefactor. He also counted the risk. With what he held in his hands, he could live the rest of his life debt-free without a care in the world. Of course, he wouldn’t. The love of the hunt burned inside him. Contracting an operation outside the Sons of Tiw had him worried. He couldn’t rely on his usual friends. He was forced to hire former K.G.B. and other rogue agents, none of whom he’d worked with before.

  Pendleton and Lytle had never met. So Pendleton couldn’t identify him. Lytle had been given no instruction to kill Pendleton, just the bitch he’d married. If his information was correct, his men would have to take down six or more bodyguards to accomplish his mission, and if Pendleton died in the process, so be it. A man’s free to work for the highest bidder. Pendleton was fair game if that circumstance arose. Collateral damage was part of the job.

  Lytle’s people were in place. Their instructions were clear. Remove all the enemies’ bodyguards, and then kill the woman. He wrung his hands. Reed didn’t know about this plan. Reed would shit when Lovey, what’s-her-name, turned up dead, and Pendleton came around with vengeance in his eyes.

  He opened a Killian and put his feet up. Nothing mattered to him but the money. Unfortunately, he’d witnessed Reed’s vulnerability. If this bitch was the cause, the sooner she died the better.

  Chapter 31

  Day 671

  “Are you up to the task?” Ursa asked, as he drove Peacock to the airport. “I’m asking you to collect as much information as before with your implant malfunctioning and no help from Polaris and company.”

  The comment irritated her. She could accomplish more than anyone in Hercules with or without the implant. Still it would be helpful if she had the device as a backup.

  “I’m fine. I have my cell phone and the car has a GPS. Arthur wants to drive his car. That’s all right for the first day or two. But by the weekend, I’ll convince him to use mine before we leave the L.A. area.”

  “Did Magnus show you the upgrades to your Aero?”

  Peacock grinned. “Yes, but I doubt I’ll ever travel across a flooding river.”

  She was happier with the array of weapons she carried in her handbag and in the hidden compartments of her car, a one-bullet ink pen, a powder puff filled with pepper spray, and her new laser beam watch. Those, combined with her already lethal arsenal, gave her the power to disable or destroy multiple attackers. But why would she need them?

  “Be on the alert.” Ursa patted her knee. “Pendleton has as many enemies as we have. Besides, his people must be questioning how Reed’s information got into our hands. They’ll be pissed that the plan against Monroe failed.”


  “I’ll have a team watching me. He’ll have a team watching him,” she said, as Ursa pulled to a stop a few yards from her private jet. “I’m going to show my husband the West Coast. I doubt I’ll need weapons.”

  She hurried up the steps to the plane’s entry door, stopped, and turned around. “Why haven’t you instructed me to kill Arthur, Claymore, and their cronies? I’ve had plenty of opportunities.”

  “Until the financial system globally is functioning without the need of the W.F.C., we need Pendleton and his bunch alive.”

  Good. She needed Pendleton alive as well. He was going to be a daddy.

  #

  So far this year, February in Los Angeles had been brutal. Storm after storm rolled in off the Pacific. Peacock packed hiking clothes and parkas with hoods in case it rained when she and Pendleton were exploring Route 1. He wanted to see the rugged coastline, while she was interested in the Napa Valley. He was sweet. He planned routes where they could travel along the ocean going up and through Napa Valley coming back.

  Pendleton put the last of Peacock’s three suitcases and carry-on dresses into the trunk of his Bentley. He turned down the radio as they headed toward his Malibu timeshare.

  “We don’t have far to travel for the award ceremony,” he said. “It’s at Pepperdine University only a jog from our accommodations.”

  Peacock glanced in the passenger side mirror. “Are your people following us?”

  Pendleton stared into the rear view mirror. “No, mine are back at the timeshare. I thought your boys were back there.”

  Her people were driving the Aero, and that car wasn’t an Aero. “Whoever they are they’re not mine.”

  Pendleton sped up and the car following dropped back until it faded out of sight. “See, Lovey, nothing to be concerned about.”

  Her danger antennas were on orange alert, but she decided to ignore them. She scrunched up her nose and poked Pendleton in the ribs. “Nothing to be concerned about? You’re in America now, Buddy. Stay on the right side of the road.”