by Bob Finley
Banner looked at Bill Layton and tipped his head slightly to one side.
"Would you like to tell me about it?"
Layton shook his head and spread his hands. "I'm...afraid I don't understand. What is it you want to know?"
Banner turned back to Kim. He leaned even closer, until their faces were less than a foot apart.
"I wanta know why this slant-eyed little house-mouse deliberately disobeyed my orders last night? I wanta know why he went creepin' tippy-toe around my post in the dead of night? And why he took an unauthorized swim in my private pool? A three-and-a-half hour swim?!"
He turned and walked away from Kim, who darted a look at Bill Layton that told him to keep his mouth shut and stay out of it. From across the small room, Banner turned back to his prey.
"I want to know how you got on board that sub. And what you did for over three hours. And," his voice returned to its former menacing quietness, "I want to know...now."
Kim looked at his captor with a steady gaze. He slowly shook his head.
"I don't have anything to say to you."
Banner cocked his head and returned the gaze.
"Really."
They played a short game of who blinks first. Banner pursed his lips and gave a little nod of his head.
"Tell you what I'm gonna do then, little man. We're goin' down to the dock, you and me, and you're gonna open the door on that little toy o' yours, and we're gonna take a look around inside and see what you been up to."
Kim shook his head. Banner's eyes narrowed and his lips went thin and hard. He crossed back and leaned slowly over Kim. When he spoke it was in a voice that even Kim had to listen hard for.
"Let me explain something to you. You're going to do what I told you, or I'm going to drag your puny little carcass down to that ship. And when you refuse to open that door, I'm gonna take this .45 and I'm gonna put it at the base of your skull, and I'm gonna blow your head off, and I'm gonna dump what's left o' you in the water for the sharks to finish off. And then..." His lips pulled back over his teeth, but the effect was more grimace than smile. His voice was almost a whisper. "...and then I'm gonna give that pretty little thing you brought with you a chance to open the door. And if she don't do it, I'm gonna kill her too...after my boys finish with her. They'd like that. They ain't had shore leave in a month o’ Sundays." He smiled again. "Now, whaddaya say, sport?"
Kim gave up another inch.
"I guess I don't have any choice, do I?"
"That's the idea, boy." He turned to Bill Layton. "You hang loose 'til I get finished here, Doc. You and me might need to talk again."
In less than three minutes Matsumoto and Banner were descending the stairs into the cavern. Banner unsheathed a small radio from his belt. His voice filled the huge space.
"Troop assembly on the dock! On the double! Let's go, people! Do it now!"
As they hurried down the steps, Kim could see orange-clad figures running toward the dock area from all over the cavern. He counted twelve. By the time the two of them got there, the troops had fallen in at attention, two rows deep, with their backs to the VIKING. They were all armed. Banner wasted no time. He took a position directly in front of the troops.
"There has been a breach of security," he announced in a voice that no longer contained the slightest hint of a drawl. He paused and scanned the assembled men. Then he half-turned and, still riveting the group with steely eyes, pointed accusingly behind him at Kim. "This man...this man...made fools out of all of us last night. Do you know how? Well, I'll tell you how! While the guards we trusted to protect us all while we slept were feeding their faces, this man, this..." he turned his head in Kim's direction and sneered, "...shrimp...waltzed right past them, came down here to the dock, and went swimming!" He looked up and down the line of men, who carefully made no eye contact. He moved very deliberately two steps closer to them, like a big cat stalking a herd.
"Did you hear meeeeee?" His voice boomed through the cave as he yelled into their faces. His own face was a mask of rage incarnate. "I said, he...WENT...SWIMMING!!" He glared at them until his verbal assault stopped reverberating. Then he turned slowly, walked several steps away from them and stopped, clasping his hands behind his back. He stood there several seconds, visibly took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and shook his head to himself in disbelief. Finally, he turned back to them.
"That isn't all," he went on in a normal but you're-not-going-to-believe-this tone of voice. "Once he went into the water, he didn't come out for three-and-a-half hours. That's right, three...and a half...hours!" He paused to let that sink in. "Now, what do you suppose he was doing down there all that time? Swimming? I don't think so. What, then?" His eyes widened as if he'd suddenly had a thought. "Do you suppose he could have possibly been aboard..." he inclined his head toward the VIKING behind them, "...that ship?" Kim could actually see eyes shift ever so slightly as the assembly considered the possibility. And the implications. And, finally and most certainly, the repercussions.
"Since we're supposed to be guarding him," Banner said softly, "and since we didn't, and since we allowed him free run of his high-powered computer and specialized communications gear for over three hours with no interruptions from us, does anybody here have any idea, any idea at all, what he might have done during that time?" He sighed. "Do you see our problem?" He let his arms hang loosely in front of him and entwined his fingers. "Now," he finally said, "I've gotta go upstairs..." eyes flicked toward the penthouse..."and tell The Man what idiots we are, and how we've possibly endangered the whole mission. If he reached the wrong people before we're ready to move on this, not only will we not get paid, this place could be our grave! We'd never get out of here alive." Pausing, he jabbed a finger in the air for emphasis and said, "From now on, there will be a guard on this ship 'round the clock. Understood?"
Banner walked casually over to Kim. He stopped slightly to one side, facing away from the troops, and turned his head slightly to look at Kim. His eyes were icy calm, his face devoid of emotion. Looking into that face was to know the meaning of ‘scorched earth’. Nothing lived there. In that moment Kim understood that everything Banner had said and done here was an act. It was manipulative management of the highest order, performed by a master of the art.
"Mr. Matsumoto," he said in a voice that barely reached Kim, "are you familiar with the term ‘escape conditioning’? No? How about ‘negative reinforcement’?"
Kim just looked at him. He didn't like the direction this monologue was taking.
"Well, we are about to have a demonstration designed to improve the...quality...of our security procedures. And we have you to thank for it. I hope you enjoy it." He turned back to the ranks of soldiers.
"Mr. Ferrell!"
"Sir!"
"Front and center, please."
"Sir!" A man broke ranks, made two sloppy pivots as he came forward, and stopped in front of Sergeant Major Banner. His lack of precision and the pudgy bulge at his middle made Kim wonder who's army he'd been in before he went mercenary.
"A-ten...hut!" The man unslung his machine pistol, held it at a forty-five degree angle across his chest, and came to some semblance of attention.
"Prepare for inspection!"
"Pre-sent...arms!" The weapon was shoved ten inches out from his chest, still at the same angle. He self-consciously pulled in his chin, and tried to pull in his belly.
Banner snatched the weapon from the man, checked the safety, slapped it back and forth to examine both ends and, instead of handing it back, dropped it loosely to his side in his left hand. Kim thought that odd.
"Mr. Ferrell. You were on duty last night." It wasn't a question.
"Yes, sir."
"How many times did you pass this spot while on patrol between the hours of twenty-three hundred and oh-seven hundred?"
"Well...twice an hour, 'cept for breaks, so...I guess...about...sixteen times?"
"No, Mr. Ferrell, you did not. You should have patrolled this area sixteen
times during your tour of duty, but you did not. You patrolled it thirteen times." The man started to protest, but Banner cut him off.
"Thirteen times, Mr. Ferrell, not sixteen. The other three times when you should have done so, you were asleep!" Ferrell's mouth fell open and his eyes widened.
"Would you like to see yourself on the videotape from the security cameras, Mr. Ferrell? It really isn't a pretty site. Did you know that you sleep with your mouth open? Not pretty at all." There were barely contained snickers from the group behind the unfortunate man, but one glance from Banner brought instant silence and stony faces.
"Now look, Bull, I can..."
Banner's massive fist caught him just under the chin. His head snapped back and he actually lifted clear of the floor on his short flight into the front ranks of men behind him. He hit hard but still had the good sense to scramble up and away from the rain of blows he thought would follow. Staggering backwards, he regained his balance just as Banner reached him. The formation broke as men scattered. Ferrell had both arms raised in a defensive posture. There was never any question of his actually fighting his aggressor, only of keeping out of his reach. Banner surprised everyone. He didn't follow through. Instead, he stood there regarding him with a disgusted look on his face.
"You don't deserve to be one of us," he said. "Like a fat, lazy pig you fell asleep at your post. You allowed the enemy to infiltrate and overrun your position. You've demonstrated a total disregard for the safety and well-being of every man here but yourself." Banner moved in closer and slowly reached out with his right finger and stabbed the man in the chest, poking him repeatedly for emphasis as he made each charge: ‘fat’...poke; ‘lazy’...poke; ‘pig’…poke. Ferrell was as hypnotized by Banner as a fat mouse by a cobra. He hardly noticed when Banner ripped his I. D. badge off his uniform. Only the collective gasp and the sight of his former cohorts retreating refocused his attention to the object Banner held in his hand. Confused, he put a hand where his badge had been and, not finding it there, looked first where it should have been...where it had always been...and then back at Banner's hand. When Banner finally saw full realization flood the condemned man's face, he flicked his wrist. Ferrell watched the flight of his lifeline arc out over the pool; watched as it lightly splashed; watched in horror as it sank in the clear water until it was gone. When he looked back, Banner's retreating back was all he could see. He raised an arm to protest. He took one step. And Leo found him. The stench of charred flesh and hair hung heavy in the air long after his body had begun its slow drift down the tunnel beneath the VIKING, toward the hungry vultures of the sea beyond the mountain. The body's outstretched arm seemed in vain pursuit of a small bit of plastic fluttering up ahead in the current.
Kim didn't go anywhere alone after that.
And there was a marked improvement in vigilance by the guards while on duty.
Chapter 38
"Mister Banner. There was a power drop a short while ago. What happened?"
Banner had, of course, expected the summons to the penthouse. It was inevitable.
"I had a discipline problem with a man name of Ferrell. Caught him on tape sleeping on duty last night."
"Yes?"
"So I made an example of him. We can't afford any weak links at this stage of the operation."
"You killed him."
"Of course. Seeing him die will refocus everybody else's attention on what they're here for...security. Besides, he was a sorry excuse for a soldier, anyway."
"I see. I would appreciate it if, in the future, you would clear any executions in which Leo is to be involved with me. Before you do it. Is that agreeable?"
"Yeah, sure. No problem."
Jambou rose from the small table where he'd been eating a very late breakfast and crossed the room. He leisurely poured himself another cup of coffee. Banner didn't like this room. Too dark. Of course, he didn't like Jambou either, for the same reason. But he liked the color of his money. And, he reminded himself, this would be his last job.
"Something you said intrigues me, Mr. Banner. You said, ‘we’...‘We can't afford a...what was it?...a weak link.’ Do you still consider yourself a part of this team? This operation?"
Banner scrutinized his employer closely but couldn't see the reason for the question.
"What're you up to, you silk-skivvied, egg-suckin' pimp?"
"I don't understand what you're gettin' at," he said carefully.
"You executed one of your own men for sleeping on duty, is that correct?"
Banner nodded. "Yeah..."
"Was there more?"
"More what?"
"Was that the only reason you killed him?"
Banner bridled. "I didn't need any other reason. Every soldier...any real soldier...knows that falling asleep on watch in time of war is enough reason to put him against the wall. Only difference is, I didn't have a wall."
Jambou delicately set his coffee cup down in its saucer and regarded his redneck Chief of Security in silence. He lightly drummed manicured nails on the desk top.
"I awoke this morning a bit earlier than usual," Jambou said easily. "Understandably, I suppose, considering what today is. I'm sure you understand the great significance today's broadcast has for me, Mr. Banner. Five years of waiting, of planning, of...risks, and hardships. And it culminates for me today. I suppose today is, for me, what Christmas would have been to you as a boy." He smiled benignly. Banner sensed danger lurking somewhere behind that clay mask, but he couldn't define it. Jambou's eyelids drooped ever so slightly.
"Having time on my hands, I decided to ‘look around’, so to speak. So I had Leo isolate all surveillance on our ‘guests’ since they arrived. They've been busy, don't you agree?"
"Blast! He's seen the tapes!!"
"What do you mean?"
Jambou's head slowly rose and his eyes hardened.
"Please! Mr. Banner! Don't patronize me. Must I do your job for you?"
Banner seethed, but sat on it. "Alright, look. The guard let 'em get past him. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. I've taken care of the guard. And the rest of 'em won't even blink on duty any more, much less sleep!"
"I assume you're referring to Mr. Matsumoto's and Mr. Wojecki's little jaunt?"
‘Bull’ frowned and said, "What else would I be talking about? Yeah, but I've taken care of that, too."
"How?"
"I went aboard their ship and took it apart. I had the little chink with me. I don't think we've got anything to worry about."
"Oh, you don't? And why is that?"
"'Cause I scared the livin' daylights out of 'im, that's why. If he'd done anything, he'd of told me. And, besides, I made him show me how to work the radio, and he didn't get anywhere with that. There's too much interference, bein' inside this mud pile. I know, because I tried it myself!"
"Is that what he was doing? Trying to communicate with someone?"
Banner just stared. "Well, what else would he have been doin’?" he countered.
Jambou didn't smile this time. Very slowly, he said, "I don't know, Mr. Banner. That's what I pay you for. Isn't it?"
Banner's self-control was fast wearing thin. "Look, I'm tellin' you, you got nothin' to worry about!"
"What was he carrying when he left the ship?"
Banner gaped. "What are you talkin' about?!"
Jambou sighed, which further infuriated the big ex-sergeant. "When Mr. Matsumoto left the ship," Jambou said patiently, "he had an object in his hand. Did you not see it on the tape? What was it?"
Banner could only shake his head. "I...I don't know...no, I didn't..." He stopped. He realized he was making a fool of himself before this pompous...
"I'll take care of it," he mumbled finally.
"And the other matters?"
"WHAT ‘other matters’?" he exploded.
This time Jambou did smile. He was enjoying this. Skewering bigots was a special delight.
"What, for example, did our ‘guests’ discuss during their meet
ing just before going to bed last night? And why, if Matsumoto sneaked aboard his ship to try to call out, did he take an electronics expert with him? And, if that weren't enough, why haven't the woman and the Sheppard man been seen by any of the surveillance cameras since breakfast? As I said before, must I do your job for you ? Or do you think you can handle it?"
There was nothing for Banner to say. He'd been had, but good. "And," he thought, "I deserve it. He's right. It's time to tighten up!" He turned to leave but hadn't quite got there when Jambou called after him.
"Mr. Banner. One other thing...your reference to Mr. Matsumoto as a ‘chink’ makes me think you might be racially prejudiced. And if you are, I can't help but wonder...what must you think of me?"
Stone-faced, Banner left the room, shut the door, and viciously kicked the elevator railing once, twice...three times. Inside, Jambou, watching the monitor, smiled. But the smile slowly faded as he watched his Chief of Security descend in the elevator. When this was over, he mused, there would be a reckoning for bigots like that one. Oh, yes.
Chapter 39
The morning hadn't so much dawned over Atlanta as assaulted it. A late Spring storm had blown in from the Gulf and dropped two inches of rain on the city since midnight. As usual, first light had seen the heaviest and most sustained downpour, with wind-driven curtains of rain jay-walking across the streets like the ragged rows of a marching band. Water was still running down the gutters and cascading into the storm drains in back of One CNN Plaza on the corner of Marietta Street and Techwood Drive, where CNN had its headquarters.
The courier hit the sidewalk at a jog and breezed through one of the doors across the plaza. The tan and beige building reflected the glare of wet pavement and bursts of light from the puddles spattered prisms of dancing color across the entrance, causing her to squint. Her feet beat a staccato tattoo down the double layer of steps inside the building, where she plopped a package wrapped in plain paper on the counter of the security desk in front of Carla Rossata.
"Mornin', Carla," she said briskly, and pushed a clipboard and pen at the rotund Hispanic woman. To keep to her frantic schedule, everything she did was done briskly.