Claussen took a deep breath before continuing.
“They know what we planned, how we planned it, and they have our names. We are in deep. At first, my team was ordered just to try and retrieve their evidence, but a few minutes ago, I put out the order to have the rest of them eliminated, Payne, Remington, and especially Carling.”
• • •
The conspirators didn’t hear a click or electronic noise to indicate that someone was listening in on the conversation because there was none. Cyberia made sure his intrusion was seamless. He sat at his desk in Russia, staring at the monitor. He was recording the conversation and listening to it through high-definition headphones. He realized the seriousness of what he heard: it was a documented admission of guilt. CleanSweep agents were now tasked with assassination, and the primary target was his friend, Matt. Cyberia was as yet unaware of the ruse the detective and Matt had used to create the news account of Matt’s apparent suicide.
He clicked the mouse on his texting program and started the message.
SNAFU! You’re a target now. Orders to kill. Claussen behind it, and sent the message flying, hoping it would reach Matt in time. He smirked at SNAFU, knowing it meant “situation normal all fucked up.” It seemed appropriate.
• • •
“What evidence do they have?” Winston demanded.
“Tremain was initially contacted by a young man I had trusted. His name was Tanner,” Claussen said, stressing the past tense. “He gave up enough information about our plans to intrigue Tremain, so he started to dig for more. Apparently Payne was onto our plan for CleanSweep as well, and started her own independent investigation. Our communications center listened in on Payne and Tremain talking. But the majority of the evidence came from Ulrich.” He heard a gasp when he said the last name.
“What are you saying?” Winston shouted. “What did my man Ulrich have to do with any of this?”
“He’s a bloody traitor, you fool. His family roots go back to Russia, and he was a Socialist. This was the man you trusted. I told you I was worried about the radios the two of you used back at our meeting at your lodge. Now you know why I was suspicious. He somehow taped everything—every damn word. Now Payne and Tremain have all the proof they need to bring us down.”
“I have connections,” Winston whispered. They all heard the evil in his words. “Ulrich is a dead man. Nobody fucks with me like that.”
“It’s too late, my friend. Ulrich is a ghost. All traces of him disappeared after he met with Payne. Someone vaguely resembling him was thought to be on a flight to Copenhagen, but that’s the only hint we could find at his whereabouts. From there—nothing. Gone, like smoke. Your trusted majordomo was the worm in the apple.”
“That’s preposterous!” Waverly sputtered. “I’m contacting my source in the government. We will track them all down. I knew we should never have relied on a private—”
“Shut up, you gasconading booby!” It was Spencer. He had remained silent until that point. “We all knew what we were getting into. Fortunes are made to be lost. What we have to do now is save ourselves from the fallout. We need a PR plan.”
Claussen started to laugh, but it wasn’t a pleasant laugh.
“We are so far beyond PR being able to fix this, it’s pathetic to even consider that as an option.” Claussen’s CleanSweep radio started to blink. He looked at it and said, “Hold on, I may have a report. I told Vaughn not to contact me unless she had good news.”
Finally, he came back on the line. “That was Vaughn. We may have caught a break. After a wild-goose chase involving a suspicious car, we have honed in on a building on the east side, and are surrounding it. They are apparently hiding in an abandoned day-care center. A neighbor putting out the trash saw a man going in the back door with a tray of coffee and what looked to be bags of food. She said it was suspicious because the center had been closed since the riots. Vaughn sent out a silent alarm. We should be inside in mere minutes. The witness who can describe the man is waiting for them at the nearest intersection.”
“Why didn’t you keep us up-to-date on these problems before?”
“I make no apology, Winston. You didn’t presume to micromanage me, and you can’t start now. It was your man who tipped the scales, after all.” Claussen realized he was trying to shift the blame. “I will call you back as soon as I have news. I want to concentrate on seeing what my team in the field turns up.”
He closed the call, but Claussen didn’t tune in to his field radio. He lifted the lid to the mahogany box again. He took the gun out and felt the cool metal in his hand. He looked at it for a long time, then, holding it in his right hand, he reached over with his left to cock it. He placed the weapon carefully on the desktop and swiveled to look out over the lake again.
“Angela Vaughn.” He kept repeating her name.
• • •
From 4,647 miles to the east, an eight-hour time difference away, Cyberia sent another warning to Matt.
CHAPTER 40
Skin of the Teeth
“They have us!” the panic in Matt’s voice was intense, reporting what he’d just read. “Cyberia says they are closing in! About to surround the building now!”
Carling ran to the front window and peeled back a corner of the newspaper. “I don’t see any activity. What exactly did Cyberia say?”
“Someone saw you come in carrying food trays. It was reported as suspicious, and now agents are on the way.”
Carling looked out again. “The only thing I see is a car parked across the street, but it was also there when I came in.”
Carl and Susan stood together, holding hands, their faces taut.
“We have to do something,” Carling said. “Let me think.” He began to outline a plan. “It’s not much, but simple may be better.” They gathered all their belongings and headed for the back door. He opened it and leaned out, looking both ways. “Hurry! Now!”
They could hear sirens, faint at first, but getting louder as Carling barked orders. “Payne, lie down on the backseat! Now!” He ran over to a Dumpster and came back with an assortment of cardboard. He covered her. Then he opened the trunk of his car and motioned for Carl and Matt to get in. “It’s time for you two to become very close friends.” He closed the trunk after they managed to curl up together inside. “No funny stuff, you two,” Carling said, laughing.
Carling got in next, started the engine, and, looking over his shoulder, backed up at a high rate of speed. When he reached the far end of the alley, he kept it in reverse and swerved into a side street. Then he drove foreward, south to Bayshore, and turned left.
When he saw the CleanSweep car at the next corner, he turned the emergency lights on and activated the whoop-whoop of his siren. He drove ahead, pretending he was just arriving on the scene, and held up his badge. He got out of the car and waved at the two agents.
“Hey guys, this way!” He pointed behind him. “I saw them running. There are three of them. I couldn’t get turned around in time. They were heading north on a side street—Belcourt, I think.”
“Jimbo!” one of the agents yelled. “Get back to the car. Call it in. Let everyone know they are on foot, heading toward Manor Road. Tell them the cop saw them running. They can’t be far.” He turned to Carling for confirmation.
“Just seconds ago,” Carling said, nodding his head. “Quick! I saw them, and they looked dog tired.” Carling smiled when the two agents jumped in their CleanSweep cruiser and took off, tires smoking.
He heard sirens, squealing brakes, and excited voices as the entire posse shifted direction. Soon quiet returned. Nobody seemed to notice that the undercover car hadn’t joined in the chase. Carling jumped into the car and drove in the opposite direction, toward another side street. After several turns, he began whistling softly and drove at a slow pace until they were many blocks away. He rolled the window down, listening to the sire
ns in the distance, and grinned.
“I wonder what they will find where they are heading?”
He turned his head and told Susan to stay put. “I hope carbon monoxide isn’t seeping into the trunk,” he added, joking.
He heard her gasp. “I never even thought about—”
Carling assured her they would be OK, smiling. As he drove, he watched the city skyline receding in the rearview mirror. People in the city knew undercover cars when they saw them, but he was hoping their country cousins wouldn’t be as perceptive. He drove for over two hours before he spotted a roadside park and pulled over. He was glad to see a portable toilet near the parking area. The pressure on his bladder was beyond uncomfortable.
After he had pissed, he helped Susan out of the car and grinned as he watched her race to the toilet too. He walked to the rear of the car and opened the trunk to help Matt and Carl out. Carl got out first, then turned to give a hand to Matt, who was rubbing a cramp in his leg.
“I heard what you said to those agents,” Carl said to Carling. “You think pretty damn fast for an old guy.” But he was smiling, and that took the edge off the barb.
Carling ignored him. They were all feeling grateful to have made it that far—another close call behind them.
“I may be getting too old for this. I disabled the GPS in the car, but who knows? The agents will give a description of who gave them directions, so by now they’ll know it was me. We have to make our move—and fast.”
“Do you have a map? We had one in the truck, but it’s still back there, behind the day-care center,” Susan said.
“Check the glove box. I don’t know if there’s anything other than a map of the city in there, though.”
Susan opened it and pulled everything out. “This is disgusting,” she said as she sorted through candy wrappers, donut crumbs, and police forms. Finally, she pulled two maps out. “We’re in luck.”
Matt jumped up and started waving his arm in a windmill. “It’s Cyberia!”
They all turned to see him grinning.
“You won’t believe this, but I just sent a message to thank him for the warning and to let him know we’re safe—for now. But this is the cool part. It turns out Ulrich may be related to Cyberia! Go figure. How freaking mind-boggling—all the spiderweb connections.”
“Using the phone like that just now was really stupid,” Carling said. “CleanSweep will be on on to us.”
“That makes it all the more imperative that we get moving,” Susan said. “Let’s take a look at that map. How much fuel do you have, Carling?”
He walked to the car and turned the key on. “It depends on whether you’re an optimist or a pessimist. The needle is between half empty and half full,” he shouted back as he returned to the table.
“Here,” Susan said, pointing to a place on the map. “It’s not too far, but the key thing is they have a local TV station there—I know because I was the weather girl there when I first started. It used to be a network affiliate. Now it may be an independent station, their equipment well past any sell-by date. But that shouldn’t be a problem—right, Carl?”
Carl shook his head no.
“What’s that station manager’s name? Let me think.” Susan’s face was a study in concentration.
Carl was surprised, knowing she usually had absolute recall when it came to names.
“Jensen, that’s it!” she said. “I wonder if he’s still there. He always tried to act like one of those gruff newspaper editors—always yelling at his reporters—but he’s a softy, a marshmallow at heart. How long will it take us to get there?”
They all looked at the map. Carling and Matt suggested one route, but Carl said they were both wrong and pointed out a shortcut.
“See that?” he said, his finger tracing a dotted line. “That’s a gravel road. It curves a lot, but it will shave almost an hour if we can make it.”
They all looked at Carling. It was his car—actually the city’s car—but he was driving, so he would make the final choice.
“What the hell?” he said. “They likely have the main roads covered anyway.”
The back roads from Toronto to Kitchener tended to puzzle drivers not used to the area. Many, following old cow path trails, didn’t stay true to a north-south orientation, but often headed in unexpected directions. Carling kept a tight grip on the wheel, and his three passengers held their breath—only their involuntary exhaling broke the silence. Soon they were racing past wire fences that framed pastures and cows gazing at the passing car with looks that could have been curiosity, or not.
The road led them past the rushing water of streams, through a small valley, over the Grand River, then back up a slight rise on the other side. When they crested a tall hill, they saw the city in the distance.
“That’s it!” Susan exclaimed, excitement rising in her voice.
Carl straightened up and looked at his watch. “This time of the day is perfect. The morning news is going off-air about now. My guess is they’ll go into reruns next to shave production costs. That means the newsroom will be quiet until later. What do you think, Susan?”
“You’re right. Carl, you’re the one who needs to upload stuff while I’m on the phone. You two,” she said, turning to Carling and Matt, “stay out of the way.” She didn’t try to hide her smile. Hurricane Sue was back in business.
Game on, she thought. She leaned forward, as if that would make the car go faster. Carling followed Susan’s directions until the car was in the parking lot of a small building with cedar-shake siding. It was shaded by two large elm trees.
“They probably don’t have a receptionist, and I know they keep the door locked. Wait here.” She walked up to the door and pressed her forehead against the glass, peering in. She tried knocking. “There’s no intercom,” she yelled back to the car.
She turned to the keypad at the side of the door. She seemed to hesitate, then pushed some keys.
“Carl!” she yelled back as she held the door open. “Hurry—my old code still works!”
Carling and Matt weren’t going to wait, however. They jumped out and raced to the door. They all followed Susan through a warren of cubicles. As they rounded the last partition, they came upon a group of four men and a woman. They looked up, clearly taken aback.
Carling had seen equally frightened looks on the faces of crime victims. Holding up his police badge, he said, “Don’t be alarmed. We’re here on police business.” He tried to strike a balance between authority and reassurance. He was so far out of his jurisdiction that it should have been obvious to them he was a fake—but it worked.
“Well, shut the front door. Susan, is that really you?”
She turned toward the speaker.
“Mr. Jensen!” she said, holding out her hand to the man emerging from an office.
Jensen had a beard that Hemingway would have envied. The problem was that it was paired with a shaggy head of white hair, which gave him more of a disheveled Einstein look. She knew it wasn’t a good mix.
“Susan Payne, I’ll be damned. Who are these guys with you?”
“Carling is a detective,” she said pointing. “This is Carl, my cameraman. The other one is Matt Tremain—”
“Wow, the blogger!” the woman now standing next to Jensen called out. “This guy was—is—famous. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“Don’t believe everything you hear on the news,” Susan said with a laugh.
Jensen suddenly fixed her with a hard stare. “We heard the police scanners. And here we are now, looking at Public Enemy Number One, Two, Three, and Four—all wrapped up in one burrito.”
“We can explain,” Susan said. “Hear us out.”
Susan and Matt hurried through the details, watching the faces of their new audience change from skepticism to curiosity to anger. The people who were sitting at the table als
o got up and crowded around to hear.
When she finished, Jensen turned and barked out his orders. “They are to have full use of our facilities. We may be a hick station, but when this story hits the air, everyone in the country will know about us. Hurry, Richard. Show Carl to the equipment he needs. Linda, help Susan with the phone—you will learn something. Watch a pro in action. If I’m judging this correctly, she will also need makeup.”
Linda ignored the insult.
Susan was grinning. Her reporter shoes were back on the ground. She was in her element.
Jensen turned to Matt and Carling and pointed to the coffee bar. “It’s fresh. I made it myself just before you got here. This may be a secondary market station, but we have a great coffee supplier. They import the beans and—”
Carling and Matt let him ramble on about the coffee. They saw his excitement, and they suspected he was reaching for the brass ring—this was his last chance for fame. They sipped coffee while they watched the TV professionals all head off in different directions. It may have looked uncoordinated to outsiders, but they both knew they were witnessing a magnificent ballet.
That thought reminded Matt of the Dancing Lady, and he had to fight back tears. When he regained composure, he turned to Carling.
“Brick, we might make it after all.”
CHAPTER 41
Susan Payne Reporting
This was the biggest story the studio in the twin cities of Kitchener-Waterloo would ever be a part of, and they all knew it. The newsroom was crowded. The field reporters had rushed back when they got the word. Everyone kept a respectful distance. They watched Carl work his magic on a video console behind soundproofing glass. It was obvious to everyone that Carl was a master of his craft, his fingers moving expertly over the keyboard and switches as he transferred details from the media cards and uploaded them to the network’s computers.
Susan reappeared wearing fresh makeup—she showed no signs of all that she had been through in the past seventy-two hours. She held sheets of notes with a steady hand and paced back and forth; pulled back to give her room. Sometimes she folded the corner of a page and wrote a correction. They watched her lips as she spoke her lines in silence, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.
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