Reckoning

by J. B. Turner

  A short while later, his cell phone rang. “You watching your handiwork?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “To get her there, incriminating her and him, at his apartment—frankly, you’re a dangerous genius, Stone.”

  Nathan stretched his arms. “We should be able to get the necessary leverage on the young lady’s father. It’s also a tidy backup plan to silence Mahoney.”

  “I guess my only concern might be if Mahoney decides to tough it out. What if he tells his wife what happened?”

  Nathan sighed. “He’s a smart guy. And I’m assuming he married a smart woman. And I don’t know any woman that would believe that sort of story, that there was a drunk chick just lying there on his sofa, OD’d, covered in drugs, when he got home.”

  The handler laughed. “When you put it like that, maybe you’re right.”

  “But if he doesn’t back off, he’s headed for a fall. A nasty fall.”

  “Is that what you have planned for Mahoney?”

  “No. Still working on that.”

  “OK, first things first. The girl. Miss Blanc.”

  “What’s the latest?”

  “She’s alive, throwing up all over the place, but she’ll live. Currently in the hospital. Mom and Dad don’t know yet.”

  “You want them to get a call?”

  “Yeah, but only the father. We’ll send some of the nice still photos of his daughter you took, without Mr. Mahoney in the picture.”

  “When?”

  “When this call ends. We’ll confirm when we’ve sent the photos, and then we’ll give you his cell phone number.”

  “And I get to make the call?”

  “You certainly do, bro.”

  “I’m assuming I can’t be traced from my cell phone.”

  “Encrypted to make it untraceable. Stand by.”

  Nathan’s handler was as good as his word. Ninety seconds later, a message pinged into his phone. It read, Photos sent. Give this number a call.

  He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Toronto. The phone rang four times before it was picked up.

  “Who’s calling at this time of the night?”

  “Mr. Blanc?”

  “Who is this?”

  “The guy who took the photographs.”

  A silence stretched between them.

  “Are you still there, Mr. Blanc?”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “I think you know what. Do you mind if I call you Matthew?”

  A pause. “Is this blackmail?”

  Nathan smiled. “This is how it’s going to work. We know who you are. We know all about you. And we respect that. We admire your work.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Matthew . . . don’t be like that. You know exactly what this is about. It’s about the photos. Your daughter.”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the hospital. But she’s going to live.”

  “When I find out who you are, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  Nathan sighed. “Bravado. I respect that. I’d be the same way. Here’s what’s going to happen. You will visit your daughter. She will be mortified by this. And she will talk about having her drink spiked. That is all correct. So she’s not to blame. I am.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  Nathan sighed. “You’re not making this easy on me, Matthew.”

  “Your accent isn’t Canadian. You American?”

  Nathan said nothing.

  “What do you know about me?”

  “I know you’ve been in contact with Mark Mahoney.”

  Blanc went quiet.

  “Yeah, we know you met with him. And about the information you passed along. We just want you to know that it stops now. You will not be meeting up with Mahoney again or pass on any further information.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You must have the wrong guy.”

  “Matthew, let’s be very frank. We’re playing nice. If we weren’t playing nice, your daughter might be dead.”

  “You leave my fucking daughter alone.”

  “And we will, Matthew, I promise. Don’t worry about that. She’s a sweet kid. Big future.”

  Blanc said nothing.

  “But that future might not be so bright or big. Can you imagine if pictures like that made their way to those fancy art colleges she wants to go to? You imagine how that would look. Not fucking good.”

  “So you’re blackmailing me?”

  Nathan sighed. “I’m being patient with you, Matthew. I’m being nice. I would hate these photos to be leaked to the press. National Enquirer. Shit, we could even upload the stills to YouTube. I believe there’s video footage too. It would go viral. Imagine that!”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I don’t work for anyone. I’m just calling to advise you that you need to take on board what I’m saying, or these pictures will be everywhere. And you know how mean kids can be. There will be questions asked about you too. Has a Canadian intelligence operative been compromised? You know the kind of thing, Matthew. You’ve probably done it a hundred times before, exerting a little pressure.”

  Blanc sighed long and hard. “How do I know the photos won’t be published?”

  “You don’t. That’s the bottom line. But these photos will never be seen by anyone unless you break our agreement.”

  “There is no agreement.”

  “Of course there is, Matthew. You know as well as I do it’s in your interests, and your daughter’s, to keep this quiet.”

  “What about my country’s interests?”

  “Guess you’ll have to make a choice. Choose well. Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes, we do. You have my word. But these pictures must never be published in any form anyplace. Do you understand, you piece of shit?”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Matthew. I’m telling you loud and clear your daughter’s secrets are safe with us.”

  Twenty

  It was late the following morning when Nathan awoke. He showered, got dressed, and headed to a nearby diner. He knew he needed to focus on the job at hand. But he found he was thinking of what lay ahead. He was on his third coffee of the day when his cell phone rang. He recognized the number of his handler.

  “Morning,” the man said. “Very fine work.”

  “You think that will do it?”

  “The guy knows it would be a nightmare for him at his job and for his daughter’s career prospects. But especially with the drugs all over her. We hear he’s already pulling strings with the police, and she’ll be released with a slap on the wrist as long as Blanc vows she won’t be going out on the town for the next six months.”

  Nathan smiled. “That works. And he won’t be going near Mahoney?”

  “I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Where’s Mahoney now?”

  “Still being interviewed by the cops. Had a drug test, which came back negative. And an alcohol test, which also came back negative.”

  “OK, now that we’ve got Blanc out of the way, we need to focus on Mahoney,” Nathan said. “We have incriminating photos as a useful backup. That should scare him off pursuing his investigation.”

  “Photos might come in handy if he gets spooked and heads back to New York. But we need to focus first and foremost on neutralizing this fucker.”

  “Do we have any indication when Mahoney will be back in his place?”

  “In a few hours. In the meantime, I want you to take the SIM out of your phone and flush it down the toilet.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Then go to the nearest shop selling iPhones and buy the latest model. We’ll remotely access your phone and encrypt it, so you’ll be good to go within ten minutes of buying it.”

  “What else?”

  �
�Enjoy your breakfast. Rest up.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Nathan did as he was told. He dismantled the cell phone he’d been given and flushed the SIM card down the toilet. Then he headed outside and dropped the iPhone into a trash can. He bought a new phone, then headed back to the apartment. He lay down on his bed and began to formulate a plan to finally neutralize Mark Mahoney.

  Nathan reflected first on Mahoney’s predicament. It was only common sense to realize that the discovery of the girl, covered in drugs, would rattle him. It would at a minimum, if the story got out, get him fired. Nathan had convinced his handler it was a useful fallback position. He had calculated that Mahoney could be manipulated during a face-to-face approach as part of his shadow plan. It was high stakes. And there was no going back now.

  Nathan wondered if Mahoney would tell his executive editor. Would he tell his wife? Would the story be leaked by the police?

  The more Nathan thought about it, the more he believed Blanc would stop contact with Mahoney. He knew people acted in their own interests when push came to shove. There was a possibility that Blanc might do the honorable thing and do what he thought was right for the country. But Nathan knew it was human nature to protect flesh and blood, just like he himself was doing with his sister. He was doing whatever it took to keep her alive. And he assumed Blanc would do the same.

  Mahoney, on the other hand, was in a very bad situation. And he would know that. Being arrested for minor misdemeanors was one thing, but being arrested on drug charges, maybe even drugging a minor with Rohypnol? None of that looked good.

  Nathan knew the girl wouldn’t remember a thing. Perhaps only that she’d been drinking with a guy named John.

  He felt himself drift off, thinking about how Mark Mahoney was going to react.

  The sound of his cell phone ringing snapped Nathan awake. He took a few moments to get his bearings. He reached over to the bedside table and picked up his new phone. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Stone.” The voice of his handler was cold and flinty.

  Nathan rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Just after five. You doze off?”

  “Yeah. So what’s happening?”

  “First, this new cell phone you’re using has been updated with cutting-edge encryption. So you’re good to go, bro.”

  “What else?”

  “Mark Mahoney has been released by police. They’re not convinced he’s innocent. They say they’re going to be carrying out further investigations.”

  “How’s he taking that?”

  “He’s totally freaked out.”

  “What about the forensics team at his apartment?”

  “They’re finished. He only just got back in.”

  Nathan grinned. “What a mind fuck.”

  “Yeah, precisely. So, here’s the thing. Our analysis shows that Matthew Blanc is cutting Mahoney out of his life. His daughter is now home. He picked her up from the hospital. And he’s ensured the cops won’t take this further. The chatter we’re picking up is that the Fox has effectively pulled up the drawbridge. So we don’t anticipate any more meetings between him and Mahoney.”

  “So what about our journalist friend?”

  “I was just getting to that. We’re watching him now. Sitting with his head in his hands on his living room floor.”

  Nathan went into the other room and turned on his TV to watch the feed of Mahoney. The plan was now under way. A plan that just might save him and his sister. But he also needed to convince his handler that he was finalizing plans for the endgame for the journalist. “I think we need to talk to Mark Mahoney. Exert some pressure close up.”

  The handler was quiet for a few moments, as if considering this move. “Talk to Mahoney?”

  “I’ve got an idea. About the photos.”

  “You don’t think a call would cut it? Remember, we’ve already exerted influence on Matthew Blanc. But we’ve still got to delete this fuck now. I don’t see why we should complicate this. It’s not like you to complicate things.”

  “Can I ask a question?” Nathan said.

  “Sure.”

  “Mahoney’s been investigating this facility in Scotland, and the death of Senator Crichton over there.”

  “Right. We believe he has serious amounts of data. We’ve tried to access it, but it’s squirreled away in several military-level encrypted sites. We’ve intercepted one, but there are others. So, unfortunately we can’t derail things that way.”

  “Mahoney, as far as I can tell from the file, is married, two kids, straight, family man, universally liked, all-around good guy.”

  “Right. So, next move, Nathan. What do you think?”

  Nathan had been considering several options. He was still weighing up the best way to execute the shadow plan he was working on. “I think you should monitor him closely, see how he reacts. Who he contacts. If he talks to his wife and tells her the story, or his boss, we need to get in and neutralize very quickly.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “One final thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He was an embedded journalist with my unit during the Iraq War.”

  “Sure, we know that.”

  “And he knows what I looked like then.”

  “Right.”

  “But he won’t know what I look like now, since the reconstructive surgery, will he?”

  His handler was quiet for a few moments. “Where are you going with this, Stone?”

  “He won’t recognize me, right?”

  “No, he won’t, guarantee it.”

  Nathan smiled as his heart began to beat faster. He could see a way to make this work. It was opening up in front of him. “My original point about a face-to-face. That is something I’d like to move forward.”

  “You going to do him face-to-face, up close?”

  “Maybe. I think I’ve got an idea.”

  Twenty-One

  Wilson had been poring over the status reports of the operation in the small cottage where he was staying on a huge estate on a private island off the Gulf Coast of Florida. He’d heard from various sources in Canada, including Stone’s handler and the psychologist. Had talked extensively to Fisk, the financial backer of the Commission, who was enthralled with the details and minutiae of Stone and his role in the operation. Now they were moving to a critical phase.

  A knock sounded at the door. Wilson answered it to find three armed guards.

  “Sir, I believe they’re waiting for you,” the most senior of the trio said.

  He headed over toward the main building, flanked by the security detail, past more security, and down into the secure conference room in the subbasement.

  The other members of the Commission nodded as he walked in, the door locking behind him.

  Wilson sat down at the head of the table, as he always did. “OK, gentlemen, here’s an update as promised. The operation to neutralize Mark Mahoney is well and truly under way. First, we have unmasked Mahoney’s recent source in Toronto. Matthew Blanc, military attaché to the UN several years back. That name will no doubt ring a few bells around the table.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Very highly thought of, but in our business there’s no room for sentimentality.” He picked up a remote control and pressed a couple of buttons. Up on the big screen were pictures of Blanc’s daughter, drugs sprinkled on her T-shirt. “These are stills taken by Stone within Mahoney’s apartment. This not only incriminates the girl—and buys the silence of her mortified and, no doubt, alarmed father, who will see it for what it is, us exerting influence—but also provides us with a useful tool for blackmailing Mahoney as a backup.” Wilson pressed another button, and a still image appeared of the distraught journalist kneeling beside the unconscious girl, holding her wrist. “We’ve put the screws on both Matthew Blanc, who is now backing out of any further involvement with Mahoney, and the New York Times journalist, who is our main target.”

>   Richard Stanton pinched the bridge of his nose as he absorbed the information. “How do we know he’s backed off? Do we have confirmation, or is this merely supposition?”

  “Good point, Richard,” Wilson said. “Back channels to Blanc have been established by two sources on the ground in Toronto. We’ve been told in no uncertain terms, and I quote, ‘I’m out,’ and ‘Don’t worry, I get the message. There will be no contact with Mahoney from now on. You have my word.’ That’s what Blanc said, since he doesn’t want any incriminating pictures of his daughter getting leaked.”

  Stanton nodded. “So let’s assume Blanc’s out of the picture. This is interesting work by Stone.”

  “Stone constantly surprises us, as we know to our cost. We’re just one step away, I think, from neutralizing Mahoney.”

  A few nods around the table. Stanton was the only one who didn’t seem to agree.

  “Richard,” Wilson said, “do you have any thoughts on the operation so far? I know it’s been a little more complicated than we’d imagined.”

  Stanton steepled his fingers for a few moments, as if gathering his thoughts. “I believe this is classic neutralizing. It’s elegant in that we haven’t had to leave a trail of bodies anywhere. Far better to dissuade and instill fear than to act recklessly. So all appears to be fine and dandy. But I am concerned that Mahoney still has to be dealt with more permanently. My other concern is that, since we kidnapped his sister, Stone will nurse a grievance with us.”

  Wilson sighed. “The psychologist’s report didn’t mention anything like that. Do you think that will manifest itself in unpredictability, or compromise our aims in some way?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s very smart. He’s also very violent. But his love for his sister, the girl who killed their tormentor, is a love for someone who means everything to him. The psychologist mentioned in a paragraph of a report about Stone that there are depths to him that, and I’m quoting here, ‘mystified and terrified in equal measure.’ What I think he meant by that was that Stone, as we saw during the last operation, is always thinking ahead. But I will be happy when this operation is complete, since Stone not knowing if his sister is dead or alive every day could be doing untold damage to his head.”