Jack sat at the conference table with the other department heads of the Event Group. Most were still curious as to why Niles Compton had been relieved and flown to Washington. Virginia had stunned them even further when she told the gathered doctors, physicists, engineers, and computer and historical staffs that they would not be devoting their full resources to looking for the people who had murdered their colleagues in New York. Instead, most departments were now under the direct, personal control of the president. When the protests started, Virginia rapped her knuckles on the polished table. As she did so, she took in Jack at the far end, who had not uttered a word.
"Everyone, listen. We are close to a full-scale escalation in Korea. Many soldiers, just kids for the most part, have lost their lives already. Soldiers like the ones we lost this morning. We will do as the president has ordered. The department heads excluded, they will report to Pete Golding in the computer center and he will coordinate the effort to find out who killed our people. The rest of your teams will put their effort on the problem of this wild claim of the Russians and Koreans. After the quake in the waters just east of the Russian coast, you can see why this is a priority."
"And that claim is outrageous, Virginia," Clark Ortiz of the Earth Sciences Department said. "A science-induced earthquake? Hell, even if someone could target something like a country, how in the world could we even begin to initiate a seismic event?"
"Lieutenant McIntire, any ideas on the geology side of things?" Virginia asked.
"We can model recent seismic activity on the computer, but to actually start an earthquake? No. It would take thousands upon thousands of pounds of explosive material to initiate something like that. Even that scenario would be no guarantee you would get as much as a vibration out of the known surface faults. The tectonic forces start well below most fault lines and can't be reached by anything outside of a massive drilling operation."
"So, you believe it not feasible?"
"Not to my understanding. But I would like to hear this mysterious monitoring tape the Russians and Koreans claim they have."
"I understand that the Korean government is making it available through the United Nations as proof that seems to indicate a rather firm belief in their claims," Alice stated from her seat next to Virginia.
"Then we start from scratch. Sarah, you will head up the effort here and be the team leader of the geology and engineering departments. In addition, I am throwing the entire weight of the Earth Sciences Department in with you. Your job is to find a way to manipulate the earth to move. If we can construct a working model, then maybe we can prove or disprove this claim. Prove it or lay it to rest quickly. Luckily, you will be coordinating with Director Compton; he will be your sounding board."
When the meeting broke up, with department heads moving off to give orders to their people, Virginia saw that Jack and Carl had not moved. Alice Hamilton stayed also, and was sitting calmly in her seat at the table with her pad and pencil in her lap.
"Corporal Sanchez was a great kid, Jack. I'm sorry," Virginia said as she held Jack's blue eyes.
"They all were."
"I know that. But I also know that Sanchez was close to you two; therefore, I am truly sorry."
Jack did not respond. He was freshly shaven and cleaned and in his normal blue jumpsuit. He opened a red-bordered file folder in front of him, then picked out one and slid it across the table to Virginia. She looked from Jack to the picture and then closed her eyes.
"Not so secret anymore," Virginia read aloud and then slid the picture to Alice Hamilton.
"Someone knows about us and at least the warehouse in New York, and also the part of our national charter that states we are to be kept covert," Jack said, looking directly at Virginia, unblinking.
Carl cleared his throat. "This is unlike anyone we've come up against, Virginia. They hit us with complete surprise and they didn't seem to care that it was right in the heart of the busiest city in the world. Massive fire-power and complete surprise--this was a pure military strike against the Event Group for recovering what we thought were just some stolen artifacts." Carl looked from one woman to the other. "This is more than just what we lost, but what we could lose."
Collins sat motionlessly, his face calm.
"What do you want?" Alice asked, cutting off Virginia before she could tell Jack what she had planned
"Simple: carte blanche. I want my entire Security Department pulled off every dig, university campus, and research site around the world. I want them here. We're going to need everyone. The country is almost at war and we have very few options as far as protecting this complex. If they have knowledge of one of our satellite facilities such as New York, it could be they know about the main complex. That strike this morning was not just to recover pretty paintings and suits of armor. What they were looking for is right here and they know it. Whatever they want, they want it badly enough to send a small army out to get it."
"But, Jack, this is the Group. We're situated underneath one of the most guarded air-force bases in the entire world. They couldn't possibly get through that security and get in here."
Again, Carl spoke up. "Forty thousand."
"Excuse me?" Virginia said.
"There are forty thousand policemen in New York City. That small fact didn't seem to deter this force from attacking a building in the heart of downtown Manhattan. They assassinated a prisoner at a federal courthouse, and walked into the home of a senior FBI agent and murdered and tortured him and his wife."
"Do what you have to do to secure Group and its personnel."
THE LAW FIRM OF EVANS, LAWSON AND KEELER
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
The three white Chevrolet vans pulled into the adjacent parking garage and waited. This particular law firm was large enough that it had a private lot with an express elevator that led down to the large four-story brown-stone that served the firm. The vans were nondescript and windowless. They were parked, their motors shut off. Now, they waited.
It was only a minute later when a black Mercedes SL pulled up and over the steep incline that served the lower level of the garage, which sat a full story above the firm. It backed quickly into a space that faced the three vans. The lights flashed once, then one more time. At that signal, the sliding side doors of the vans opened and ten men from each quickly stepped out. They were wearing black overalls and black nylon ski masks and each was heavily armed.
Lorraine Matheson, better known as Dahlia, watched the northeastern strike team of the Coalition expertly check their weapons on the way to the elevator. This would be a ruthless theft, acted out quickly and murderously. The men doing the job had become millionaires while in the Coalition's service. They paid for the best soldiers from around the world. These men were not timid in the taking of life, nor were they afraid to die. Danger was more of a drug to them and money was only a means to that drug.
One man exited the first van and approached her. He was dressed not in the BDU gear of her strike element but in a button-down shirt and sport jacket. He was carrying a manila envelope. She lowered her window and accepted the package. She opened it and looked through the abundance of photos. She quickly dismissed all the uniformed police. Then she saw three men who caught her attention. She went through the stack and found more eight-by-tens of the same three. She studied their faces and decided that she had what she wanted.
"These three men are not part of the NYPD. This one in particular." She tapped the man in the center of the first photo. "He is definitely no cop. Fax this to Tomlinson over a secure line and tell him I suspect these men were conspirators in the raid in Westchester and that they may be a part of this mysterious Group in the desert that the recently departed technicians told us about." Dahlia thought for a moment as she replaced the photos in the envelope. "Tell him they seem to be very resourceful and may be a problem. This one man in particular, I don't care for him at all."
The man saw her tap her finger upon a man in the picture.
"Tha
t's the one who scared me when he faced the camera. There is something about him. The only word that comes to mind is menace."
Dahlia studied the face closer before sliding it in with the others. She kept quiet as she passed the envelope back through the window. She did not want to say that she had been thinking of another word as she looked upon that man's countenance: nemesis.
The man took the envelope and disappeared back into the first van to carry out his orders.
The blond woman forced herself to relax, then the image of the man and his two companyions quickly fading.
Three minutes after entering the law offices of Evans, Lawson and Keeler, thirty-six employees, attorneys, and visitors were lined up and on their knees in the main meeting room. Their hands were on their heads, and most were in shock at the sudden death of their elderly security man. The former Boston police officer, who'd had the nerve to confront the leader of the assault, had been shot at point-blank range. He now supplied the example of what would happen to any others who didn't follow instructions. His body was still slumped on the floor just outside the meeting room, where many could still see the body.
"We carry no money here, and if it's revenge for something our firm has done in the past, I assure you that--"
"Your name?" the smallest man of the assault element asked. His 9-millimeter silenced handgun moved toward the well-dressed man who had spoken.
"Anderson. I'm a junior partner and--"
The women screamed and the men were stunned when the bullet hit the young man in the forehead, blowing his brains all over the white-painted wall behind him and knocking his body into the screaming woman behind him.
"You savage, why would you do that?" an elderly man demanded defiantly from his kneeling position.
"Your name?" the assailant asked in accented English.
Expecting a bullet also, the man faced the masked assailant. "Harold Lawson, senior partner of this firm."
"Good. Could you point out the other two senior partners, please? Most notably," the man pulled a scrap of paper from the inside of his black glove, "a Mr. Jackson Keeler."
Another man in his seventies cleared his throat. "I am he," he said shakily.
"You are the youngest son of Jackson Keeler the third, born in 1930?"
"Yes."
The smallish man nodded at two of his men and they moved forward to lift Keeler to his feet.
The man then looked at three of the female paralegals who were cowering together by the far wall.
"Mr. Jackson Keeler, you will be asked a series of questions about your father, your older brother, and also about your affiliations, most notably your private affiliations. You will answer these questions in the most direct and honest way possible. If you do that, this will not happen to any more of your people." The man quickly fired three shots at the cowering women he had picked out and lined up against the wall. The bullets struck cleanly and the women were dead before they hit the expensively carpeted floor.
"You murdering bastard!" Keeler shouted.
The gathered employees and visitors prayed that Mr. Keeler, whose father was the founding partner of the firm, was indeed forthright in his answers.
"I believe we should retire to your office for our conversation."
As the two men with Keeler between them left the meeting room, the smaller man hesitated and leaned closer to a large man standing near the door and whispered instructions.
"Separate them into other rooms and dispatch them all."
The large man nodded and then looked at the hopeful men and women around the meeting room. As the people watched him, he gave them a reassuring smile.
Jackson Keeler was taken into his spacious office and was made to sit down in his chair. The small man nodded to the two men who had escorted Keeler in, and they left the office to join the rest of their team.
Keeler closed his eyes when the killer removed the black mask he was wearing, as if not seeing him would somehow save his life.
"Relax, Mr. Keeler. Do you mind if I pour myself a drink?"
The older man opened his eyes in time to see the man with the mustache pour a drink from the expensive decanters at the small bar.
"The plate map, Mr. Keeler, where is it?" he asked as he walked to the desk and set an identical glass of bourbon on the maroon blotter.
Jackson Keeler picked up the glass and drained the bourbon in one large gulp. He set the glass down with a shaky hand and then wiped his mouth.
"Distasteful business, I know. But we do need to get this behind us and all you have to do is tell me where the plate map is."
Keeler knew that there was no use in denying the map existed or that his family indeed did at one time have it.
"I only know what my father told me when I was a young man. Anything other than that, I can't say."
The man took a small sip from his glass and then smiled. "That is good. You see, there is willingness on your part to get this bad business finished. Tell me, what was said to you by your father?"
"The item you are looking for, it's not here. It was sent to my older brother many years ago, before the war."
"Indeed? Please continue."
Keeler looked around, the hope of rescue now completely gone.
"The plate map was sent to Hawaii just before the start of the war and my brother was directed to give it to someone else. That's all I know."
The man finished his drink and then placed the glass back on the bar. He turned and looked at the old man but did not utter a sound.
"I know nothing else. Please allow those not involved with this to leave the building."
The man still said nothing.
The door to Keeler's office opened and Dahlia walked in. She nodded at the small man and then removed her coat, with his assistance. She smiled and turned to Keeler.
"Now, this is an honor. I never thought I would get to meet one of your kind face-to-face. I mean, my employer is a brother of yours, but to actually meet one of the last of the Ancients, well, I just can't tell you what an honor it is."
Dahlia turned and looked at the small man, who was watching her work with a smile etched on his harsh features. He shook his head negatively and then whispered something into her ear. The blond-haired woman turned back to face Keeler once again.
Dahlia looked around the richly appointed office, her eyes passing over the paintings and settling back again on Keeler. She removed her gloves and then sat in one of the chairs facing the old man.
"Your older brother, at least from what my employer's records show, was a nonconformist who didn't like the dirty little secret about the Ancients and wanted nothing to do with your family. Maybe the old boys and girls were a little too cowardly for his taste. Therefore, he went his own way. That makes me curious as to why your father would have sent him the plate map. You tell my man here your brother passed it on to another. However, your father would never have entrusted an item so valuable to an unworthy person. So I must conclude that it was passed to an Ancient, and I believe you know who that is."
"Like I told your assassin here, I don't know."
"Will you open your safe, please?"
"I don't have an office safe."
"Mr. Keeler, I have had a very long and tiring day. Must I order the deaths of more of your friends in the outer office?"
The old man lowered his head and knew he would have to give this woman the name she sought. The betrayal that he felt was choking him, just as it had his brother that night long ago in Hawaii.
"The map was ordered turned over to an Ancient."
"Ah, I knew your father was an astute man," Dahlia said as she smiled brightly. She then placed a black glove back on her right hand and held it out. Her man placed a glass of whiskey in her hand and then just stood there as she sipped. "I thought a drink would be in order. You don't know it, Mr. Keeler, but this is a very historic day." She smiled again and held the drink with only the one gloved hand. "The name?"
The old man lowered his head and then
gestured to the far wall.
"Behind that picture is my safe. May I?"
"By all means, please."
Keeler walked slowly past the woman to a large portrait of his father. He pulled on the right side and the painting swung outward, revealing a small wall safe.
"Now, I wouldn't want you to open that and try and surprise us with a weapon. That would not be at all like your bloodline, would it? It would go against your nature to get directly involved."
"No weapons," he said as he reached out and started dialing his combination.
Dahlia nodded for the small man to step closer to observe Keeler.
The old man pulled the handle on the safe door as he felt the presence of the assassin as he stepped up behind him. He knew that he had to proceed delicately. He reached into the opened safe and started to remove a large book as he blocked the view with his thin frame. As he did so, he slipped his right hand under the thick pages.
The small man started to step forward to snatch the journal from him. Keeler had to think quickly before his deceit could be discovered. He allowed his knees to buckle; he moaned and collapsed, dragging the journal out of the safe as he did so. He fell to the carpet and rolled as if in the throes of a heart attack. Praying, he slowly and quietly ripped out the bottom of the last page and quickly slipped the folded paper into his mouth, between his cheek and dentures. He closed his eyes and waited.
The man rolled him over and pulled the journal from his hands. Keeler was breathing deeply, acting his part to perfection.
Dahlia held her hand out for the journal, looking at Keeler with the mild curiosity one would give an annoying child.
"Please assist Mr. Keeler to his feet and give him some water."
The small man heaved the thinner Keeler to his feet with not much grace. He placed him in a chair beside the desk and then poured him some water. Keeler in the meantime allowed his breathing to slow as his one-act play came to its end.
Dahlia was not watching him; she was already examining the thick journal with the name Jackson Keeler embossed in gold on the front.
Ancients (event group thriller) Page 15