by L. Todd Wood
The elevator moved slowly. He counted the floors; it was like watching a pot boil. Finally, he reached his floor, the lift opened, and he desperately headed towards the apartment. Natasha opened the door with a smile, but Connor almost collapsed in her arms.
He pushed her out of the way. “It’s worse this time,” he said as he made his way to the toilet and emptied his stomach. He stayed there for a long while before moving back to the couch. Natasha held his arm as he walked.
She made him as comfortable as possible, cleaned his face, and put a cold washcloth on his forehead.
“It will pass,” she said. “It always does.”
Connor didn’t hear her, he was sound asleep.
Connor and Natasha had been living in New Mexico, Santa Fe to be exact, for several years. They had a beautiful western-style home perched on the mountains overlooking the desert. The eastern wall was completely glass and provided stunning views of the mesas in the distance. Indian art filled the house along with modern designer furniture. Cactuses grew in the gravel yard. Coyotes roamed the land around them.
Santa Fe was initially inhabited by Pueblo Indians over one thousand years ago but was colonized by the Spanish in the early sixteen hundreds. Meaning “holy faith” in Spanish, the city was established as the capital of New Mexico, a province of New Spain. Santa Fe became the capital of the U.S. state of New Mexico in 1912.
The city had a rich heritage of art, culture, and southwest style. The days were warm and the nights were cool. The rich hues of the multicolored vegetation decorated the painted mountains rising from the desert.
Natasha had fallen in love with the house immediately when they first saw it, kind of like she had fallen for Connor. Former President Walker, who had introduced them, was right, they had a lot in common. The connection was strong.
They met for the first time after the economic crisis amid the cold war with China, Russia, and Iran that started in 2015. Connor was reluctant to meet her so soon after Kate’s death. Kate was the second love he had lost; his first wife was killed in the 9/11 attacks. He was hesitant to get involved with another woman, they seemed to keep dying on him after he became attached. The losses carved their toll on his psyche. It took him almost a year, but he finally gave the green light to the president, who wasted no time. Connor was now glad he had. Natasha was his soul mate, of that he had no doubt.
They met on a blind date in New York, as blind as you can get with security all around the restaurant. The dinner was at a small, authentic, Italian place in Little Italy, very romantic. Connor knew the family that owned the restaurant and had set up their table in a private room. The wait staff brought wine, cheese, pasta, the works. They hit it off immediately, staying up late night after night, talking and learning about each other. It was as if they had been looking for each other their whole lives. The two of them reveled in their newfound happiness. They experienced a sweetness of love that neither had felt in a long time.
Nevertheless, they had a major problem. Natasha was under the protection of the U.S. Government. She was in her early thirties, a former model, and a Russian citizen who had requested asylum in the United States. She was also the former girlfriend of the Russian president and had been a spy for the Americans. She had escaped with American help while on a trip to New York City several years back. In addition, she was a close friend of President Walker’s goddaughter, Kate, who had died while serving her country, investigating financial threats against the U.S. at the request of Walker. Kate had also been Connor’s lover. It was all very strange, the ties that bound the three of them. Connor and Natasha eventually settled on the idea that their relationship was Kate’s gift to both of them and they would cherish her memory.
For a while, the travel restrictions and constant security didn’t bother them, because they were getting to know each other. They stayed in seclusion, with everything provided for, and found it was actually a pleasure. It allowed them to pry into each other’s soul. However, after the time passed, they yearned to travel the world alone and just blot out the constant surveillance. But alas, this was not possible, not with the Russian FSB after them and not as long as the Russian president was still in power.
So they remained secluded in New Mexico with an occasional chaperoned trip to New York or Washington. When Connor was diagnosed with cancer, everything changed. They were compelled to move temporarily to New York, to be near Sloan-Kettering, at the suggestion of Natasha’s handlers. The medical care was first-rate, and she would be easier to guard in Manhattan with the resources that were available there. They rented a flat on Park Avenue, a few blocks from Central Park.
They were under new security now. President Walker had made some tough choices for the country during the crisis. Although they were the correct choices for the United States and a hard road to take politically, they did not benefit him personally. He was blamed for the world’s problems and was not reelected. The country shot the messenger. After the new president was sworn in, their security personnel changed completely.
Almost a week later, Connor awoke from his chemically induced hibernation. He had been sleeping most of each day since arriving back at the apartment. He was feeling better, although was very weak. Today he woke up appearing refreshed, but he knew this was limited to a few hours. The fatigue always kicked in. He looked around the flat. Natasha was sitting in a chair, reading a book.
“Let’s see if we could go to a show tomorrow,”‘ Connor said aloud. “In cognito of course.”
Natasha’s face lit up. “Aaahh, da, da, da! You must be back among the land of the living. Do you think they will let us?” she asked. “How do you feel?”
“I’m better today. Well they can’t keep us locked up forever. I’ll talk to the head of the detail in the morning.” It was nice not to feel completely like a cancer patient.
Natasha smiled. She was happy Connor had more energy; she missed him when he was recovering. She lay down on the couch next to him, and they felt each other’s warmth. Her hand traveled down his chest.
Connor’s cell phone rang.
He checked the number. It was his old college friend Peter. They had been inseparable for years until their lives drifted apart. But Peter was one of those friends where he could pick up the phone and finish a conversation eons later as if he’d never hung up. He was one of the few people that had Connor’s new cell phone number, given to him by their handlers.
“Well, well,” Connor said into the phone. “Long time no hear.”
“Connor, no time for pleasantries,” Peter replied in a firm voice. “I’m in trouble, I need to talk to you. I’m in New York.”
Chapter Thirteen
Peter Quinn was more than just a friend to Connor; he was his confidant, the go-to guy for advice and counsel many times over the decades. Whether it was women, business, or money, Connor would always call Peter. He was one of those brilliant guys, the type that just sails through Harvard and MIT with degrees in chemical engineering and physics. Soon after graduate school, he tacked the letters PhD to his name. It came easy to Peter. But more than just being brilliant, he was the closest thing to a best friend Connor had.
And Connor didn’t have many best friends left. His other close friend Alex was killed several years before during the U.S. currency crisis. He had died in Connor’s arms, after being shot several times by an adversary. That had been one of the most difficult periods in Connor’s past. Including Kate, he had lost the two closest people in his world in a few short days. For the next year, he hardly talked to anyone and stayed mostly drunk at his home on the beach in Eleuthera, Bahamas, trying to dull the pain, self-medicating. He had quit his job, left Wall Street, and collected a large finder’s fee from the U.S. government for finding Hamilton’s gold, but the money couldn’t bring Kate or Alex back. Only time would heal the wound they left on his soul.
So when Peter called, Connor jumped. It didn’t matter that he was sick, it was Peter and he needed help. That was all he had to know.
Connor sat up on the leather couch, which faced the glass pane window overlooking Park Ave. He still was weak and lightheaded but his stomach was better. He was thankful for that. Maybe a walk would do him good. A short one.
The thought of going outside caused apprehension. Connor’s immune system was shot, thanks to the chemo. The doctors had drilled into him that he should wash his hands constantly. He followed their advice so well that his hands cracked with dry skin; he was phobic about germs. Yes, going outside was a problem. Perhaps I should wear a mask, he thought. He didn’t want to look like a SARS paranoid, so he decided against it. Connor popped a steroid as he prepared to leave the apartment. The pills were a wonder drug, reducing the inflammation throughout his body. They kept him going, allowing him to function while undergoing the treatments.
They had agreed to meet in the late afternoon at an Irish pub on Lexington. It was only a few blocks away. Being a fellow Irishman, Connor knew Peter would want to drink. He debated whether he could handle a couple beers. Absolutely not, he thought. He would sip a Perrier and listen. But Peter would ask why, and he didn’t want to burden Peter with his illness. It seemed his friend had his own problems he wanted to discuss. It would be nice to be the consigliere for once.
“Are you strong enough to do this?” Natasha asked. “This last treatment scared me. You were so weak for so long.”
“It’s Peter, I have to go.”
“Call me if you have a problem, and I’ll send one of the guys to find you and bring you back to me,” she teased. “Seriously, be careful. You’re not very strong right now.”
“I will.”
Connor spoke to the security detail chief about his plans and how Natasha would stay behind as they had decided. He didn’t like leaving her but she would be well guarded. She was jealous he was able to slip the noose and said so. She kissed him on the cheek as he left the flat. He marveled at her beauty.
“Hurry home, luv, I’ll be waiting. Maybe you can muster up some energy to play with me later.”
“I doubt it,” Connor replied, but he did feel a rise in his crotch. She was the one woman who could always do that to him with just a couple words, he thought.
“Pa ka,” she said, which was a Russian term for goodbye when addressing a close friend.
The short walk did him good. The traffic in midtown Manhattan was thick, as happy hour was underway and the commuters rushed to leave the city. I’m so glad I’m not driving in this. The café tables spilled out into the sidewalk. Connor could feel the vibrations of millions of lives all around him. It was nice to get the blood moving, knowing it was not full of poison. The city always energized him. The taxis blew their horns and the pedestrians walked in front of them, enraging the drivers. New York never changes. He looked forward to seeing his friend. It had been several years since they met in person.
Peter was an energy analyst for a large hedge fund. He was not a sell-side analyst, which spewed the propaganda of the investment bank hawking their wares. No, he was a real analyst, someone who looked for answers, for what no one else could see. A mind like his could be nothing else. He wrapped himself in his work. It was his sole reason for being. It drove him and he drove himself to the limit. He took it personally if he missed a piece of information that could be critical to his analysis, so he pushed himself hard to find every scrap of intelligence.
Energy was such a fascinating subject to Peter. The whole world depended on it for their survival and at the same time hated it. Energy fueled wars yet brought wealth and happiness to billions of people. It provided a way of life that humans could not even dream of centuries before. Energy development had destroyed ecosystems yet gave hope for starving people that discovered it within their midst. Energy came from life yet facilitated the giving of life. It was either an evil or a godsend, depending on where you sat and what you experienced.
Peter dug himself into the details of companies that developed and produced energy. He traveled constantly across the globe, searching for insight on the marketability of technologies or the extraction of raw materials. Peter knew more about energy than anyone on the planet. He was the axe on the subject, as they say on Wall Street.
Connor walked into the pub and tried to dig down inside to find some strength to meet Peter. The short walk had taken its toll. He saw him sitting with his back to him in a booth near the rear of the bar. He took a deep breath and kept walking through the throng of people. The establishment was crowded for happy hour, which made Connor uncomfortable. Peter turned to check the door and saw him enter. A smile beamed across his face. Connor tried his best to avoid the people or touch anything. However, Peter got up and bear-hugged him. Connor felt queasy but tried not to show it.
“Jeez, Connor, what’s going on? Where’s your hair? You look like shit!”
“Thanks, Peter, for the kind words. I’ve got cancer, but I’ll be okay—it’s treatable.”
“What? And you didn’t freakin’ tell me? Some kind of friend you are!”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it sometime. You haven’t been so easy to get hold of recently yourself you know!”
“So you are okay?”
“So far yes, I’m okay.”
They sat down, and Peter ordered another beer and one as well for his friend.
“No thanks, I’ll have sparkling water. I’m trying to be healthy for once,” he responded to Peter’s questioning look. Peter waited for the waitress to bring the drinks and then leave. He looked at Connor.
“Well I want to hear about your illness and whatever else is going on with you but that will have to wait. I think I’m in trouble, my friend, and I don’t know why. I have some ideas but I’m not really sure.”
“Why, what’s going on?” asked Connor.
“Someone is trying to scare me. Someone serious. Someone with resources.” He sat silent for a few moments then continued. “My phones have been tapped. My apartment has been ransacked twice. The tires on my car have been slashed. My files have been hacked and deleted at the office and at home. Someone is trying to send me a message.”
“But why? For what? I don’t get it.”
“I don’t either. I’ve been doing some pretty intense work on some of the new extraction technologies being used in the shale gas fields in Louisiana. It could be connected to that, I’m not sure, but I just had to tell someone about this and get some advice. I had to talk to someone I could trust.”
Connor could see his hands shaking as he talked. Peter was scared.
“Whom have you told about this,” he asked.
“Only my firm’s security. They are worried as well, but they don’t have a clue who it could be. We are working on some very proprietary technology, and the firm doesn’t want it leaked to competitors. So, we’ve ruled out speaking to the authorities on this.”
“Oh, that makes a lot of sense!” Connor added. “Just get yourself killed while you’re at it.”
“I also wanted to speak to you, as I know you…well you have connections.”
“I did have connections. I don’t anymore. Times have changed, Peter. Walker’s gone. But I will see what I can do. I’ll try and get some advice from some serious people and get back to you on how to deal with this. Anything else I should know?”
“No, not right now. I’m just scared. I need to talk to someone who knows how to deal with a situation like this.”
“I’ll try my best to arrange it.”
“Thanks, buddy. I knew I could rely on you. Call me if you hear something. I’ve got to go.”
Peter was not in the mood to discuss old times. He nervously looked around the pub, threw a twenty on the table, gave Connor another hug, and left. Connor soon followed.
The walk back to the flat was tougher. It was late in the day and fatigue was encroaching. He stepped over a few homeless people on Lexington as the city covered him with an invisible layer of soot and dirt as he walked. He could feel the humming in his ears, his body’s drop-dead time
was approaching. The last few meters to the building and the elevator were the hardest. Natasha met Connor at the door. Man how I enjoy coming back to her. He went straight to the shower to wash off the Gotham grime then went to bed. Even in his tired state, he managed to play a quick round of Twister with her before drifting off to a deep sleep.
The serious-looking man left the pub some time after Peter and Connor. He slowly followed Connor back to the flat on Park Ave unbeknownst to him at some distance behind. He was dressed in a dark suit and had broad shoulders and a military haircut. After Connor entered the building, the man walked to the nearby corner and took out his cell phone.
“Yes, he just entered the residential building—must be where he lives. I’ll get his name. It looked as if they were close friends. He should be easy to track. I’ll be back when I find out something.” The man hung up the phone.
The sultan was tired. It had been a long day. His schedule was more involved than usual; however, it went with his position. He dreamed of relaxing in the night desert air like a nomad, with no cares in this world. These were dreams from his childhood as well. It was amazing how they stayed with him all of these years.
He sipped the warm, golden tea from the small, glass cup that was so frequently used in the Middle East. The liquid drained down his throat and refreshed him somewhat. He looked at the clock. It was time.
He rose from his desk and reached behind his chair to a rolled prayer rug tucked under the window. It was a small carpet that had been made centuries before and one of his cherished possessions. It was frayed in many places with moth holes dotting the fabric. He frequently tried to imagine who had made it and what drove the simple, geometric designs and the deep bloodred coloring; they were so beautiful. They always moved him. The sultan spread the rug on the floor facing Mecca and knelt to pray.