***
Jessica covered her mouth and looked back to see James doing the same. Stifled laughter escaped through their fingers.
“That felt so good!” Jessica said in a hushed voice.
“You were amazing!” James said. “Remind me never to piss you off!”
Jessica took a step and stumbled. James caught her. “That’s enough of these,” she said, pulling off her heels and tossing them aside. She padded across thick carpet in bare feet to retrieve something from the bar. She tossed it to James. “Your tip,” she said.
James examined the token. “This is a thousand dollars! All I did was deliver food.”
“And support me with backup muscle if I needed it. With you present, I felt a bit more emboldened.”
“I think if I hadn’t been here, you might have killed him,” James said.
“Jack said we still need him. I had to be nice.”
“Uh-huh. Nice. Right.” James pocketed the token.
“Did you really tie those knots yourself?”
“Yep.”
“That’s messed up.”
“Everybody has a superpower.”
“Well, you better go rescue Sebastian, Knotboy. He should be at the elevator by now, and he can’t leave without a key.”
“Can I have a strawberry?” James asked.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” Jessica said.
James quickly snatched one off her plate and popped it into his mouth with an impish smile.
CHAPTER 62
Sebastian searched around the elevator for a call button. Nothing. Only a key code reader, and he had no key. He was stuck.
A familiar off-key humming approached from down the hall.
“Did she give you a tip?” asked Sebastian.
The idiot pulled a bill out of his pocket and brandished it. “One dollars!” he said excitedly.
“One dollar, huh? How about I give you five dollars and you use your key to take me one floor up?”
The kid mouthed the word “five” in awe and held up four fingers. Sebastian nodded and pulled out his wallet.
“James not supposed tos. James gets in troubles.”
“I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Promises?”
“Promise and hope to die,” replied Sebastian.
“Okays then.” James placed his slinkied wrist to the reader, and the elevator opened immediately. He did the same inside and pressed the button for the one hundredth floor a dozen times. “Moneys,” he said, holding out his hand out.
Sebastian forked over the five.
The kid farted again when the elevator closed. Almost as if he was doing it on purpose. Maybe he was; one never could tell with tards. Sebastian held his breath until the doors opened again, and bolted out as soon as he fit through the opening.
“Bye, bye!” said the big kid with the slinky. The elevator doors closed.
As Sebastian let out his breath to take in a lungful of fresher air, a strong hand grabbed him from behind with enough force to bounce him off a wall. His eyes crossed as he registered the gun pointing at his face.
The man holding it asked in thickly accented English, “What are you doing on this floor?” Another man to Sebastian’s right also aimed a weapon at him.
“I’m here to see Fan Kong,” he said. “I have business with him.”
The first man barked an order in Chinese to the second man, who nodded and disappeared down the hall. “Do not move,” the first man commanded Sebastian, pressing the barrel of his gun sharply into Sebastian’s sternal notch while he patted him down. Upon finding the handgun in Sebastian’s waistband, he released the magazine and ejected the round in the chamber one-handed before tossing the gun aside. He must have been expertly trained to execute such a task so easily, Sebastian thought.
“Turn around,” the man said.
Sebastian did so and received a thorough search down to his ankles.
The other man returned. “Fan will see him.”
“I am Gang,” the first man said, his gun pressed to Sebastian’s spine. “If you bring a weapon here again, you will need a surgeon to remove it from you.”
Sebastian nodded his understanding. Jessica and this man had a lot in common.
“That way. He is waiting,” Gang said, smacking the cap off Sebastian’s head and giving him a none-too-gentle shove in the right direction.
The hallway ran much shorter on this level; the presidential suite probably encompassed the entire top floor. Sebastian expected to step into a palatial display of the most rare and expensive comforts available to man, but instead, he found himself in the half circle of an anteroom with an imposing desk in the back center. Fan Kong sat behind it in the one available chair. The desk looked sturdy enough to stop a bullet.
Sebastian took in the configuration again. The desk took up the only defensible position; no doubt it could stop a bullet.
He also suspected that Fan’s cohorts were hidden in strategic firing positions. Should he try something, or should Fan give them a signal, only the subsequent bullet holes would reveal their locations.
Sebastian sighed. He had really wanted to see the inside of the suite.
Fan gave an impatient tilt to his head. Sebastian immediately performed an appropriate bow, as was custom for those who did not want to be killed or severely beaten.
“Fan Kong, I have your information,” he said.
Fan’s face divulged nothing. He sat like a mannequin with unmoving eyes. “You have nothing,” he said.
Sebastian concentrated on his breathing.
“You come with nothing on your person. Not even a phone. Do you expect me to believe that you have memorized all the details needed to make fusion possible?”
Sebastian relaxed. So that’s what he meant. This he could work with. He had stopped carrying his phone for fear of it being tapped or tracked. They would believe that.
“One doesn’t need technical toys to carry vital information. Nor is it wise to do so. As you well know.” Sebastian bowed again briefly to Fan. “As for fusion, the girl has proven to be selfish and wishes to talk to you in person. She is naïve in thinking that she can bargain with you better than I. You will find her to be an easy victim.”
“I wonder. Who is the greater victim here? Since we now have no need of you.” Fan reached under his desk.
“Wait.” Sebastian extending a calming hand. “She confirmed the location of the other energy source, and there is no reason to believe it has been moved. The US government stored it far away from their own soil because they feel it is dangerous. It is close enough to your own borders that you could easily claim it for yourself.”
Fan retracted his arm.
“The location is safely stored in my head,” Sebastian continued. “If you wish to know it, you must pay.”
“One step at a time, my traitorous friend,” said Fan. Sebastian bristled at being called a traitor. He was no patriot by any means, but he liked to think of himself as more of a trader than a traitor. “We will meet with this Jessica first. Then, if we need you, we will let you know.” Sebastian withered under the predatory smile Fan directed at him. “Tell her to meet us here,” Fan planted a finger in the middle of his desk, “at six this evening. Alone.”
Fan backhanded a wave at him. “You may go.”
Sebastian bowed and hurried back to the elevator. While he thought the meeting had gone well, he couldn’t escape fast enough.
Gang held the elevator open. With the same unnerving smile Fan had used, Gang returned Sebastian’s unloaded gun and empty magazine. The threat and the dare were obvious. Try bringing it back again.
***
With Sebastian on his way back down the elevator, the wall behind Fan split in the center and swung open. Traditional red and gold furnishings spanned the main room. Fan’s subordinate couriers held their weapons at rest.
“Split up,” Fan said. “Search her suite when she leaves. Place listening devices and mount the tracker on her
car in valet. Whether she wishes to deal or not, we will get that technology.”
CHAPTER 63
Everyone in the passenger section of the plane dozed, read, or otherwise kept themselves occupied. Jack received a nerve tingle notification from his phone. Only critical messages triggered the tingle setting.
He checked the short line of text. Eight hours until Jessica’s first meeting. Time to make a phone call.
He drifted silently along the aisle so as not to disturb anyone, and entered a compact office cubicle at the back of the plane. He tapped the magnetic setting of his suit to keep him secured in the chair and dialed the number of his party. They answered on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Mr. President, this is Jack.”
“Jack? Jack who?”
“Jack the Ripper.”
Silence.
“You said you would never call me unless it was absolutely necessary.”
“Your life is in danger,” said Jack.
“I’m the president. My life is always in danger.”
“This is a danger your Secret Service cannot protect you from.”
The president chuckled. “Aren’t you part of my secret service?”
“No. To you, I am an advisor.”
“I called you for advice about my re-election campaign. You rejected me.”
“It’s not my job to elect presidents, only to advise them when absolutely necessary.”
“I am the president. You work for me. What gives you the right to pick and choose what advice to give?”
“The wisdom of your predecessors and the survival of the human race.”
“Wait. Are we talking nuclear?”
“Mr. President, listen carefully. You need to get to Bunker 17.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Then someone has done their job well.”
“What’s wrong with my new state-of-the-art bunker they recently finished in the Rocky Mountains?”
“Everyone in the world knows where it is.”
“Fine. Where is this 17 at?”
“After we conclude this conversation, dial the number 17, one seven, on the hardline. When a person answers, say the word ‘Execute.’ Your people will know what must be done. Do not take your mobile phone with you. It’s being tracked.”
“You didn’t think that bit of information was important enough to tell me about sooner?” the president asked indignantly.
“You may take your wife with you, if you wish,” Jack added. “Do not take your mistress. She cannot be trusted.”
After a brief silence: “This isn’t over,” the president said, threateningly.
“No, Mr. President, it’s just beginning.”
Jack disconnected the call.
CHAPTER 64
Only halfway through his shift, James had already tallied over two thousand dollars in tips, including the thousand-dollar token from Jessica. He had thought his slow-witted ruse might cost him tips, but it did the opposite. People took pity on him and tipped more. As much as he wanted to withhold some from that wretched waitress, he didn’t dare risk it. She could be working in concert with someone else to actually test whether he surrendered everything.
Begrudgingly, he trudged to the waitress’s work station and dumped a double handful of crumpled cash, coins, and tokens. She lifted painted-on eyebrows in surprised delight, as if she hadn’t really expected him to follow up on his promise.
“James do good?” he asked.
“I was expecting more,” she said. “You aren’t holding out on me, are you?” Her face hardened, and her eyes tunneled into him.
James gulped and turned out his empty front pockets. “James gives everythings. James gets mores. Okays?”
“You do that, hon. Remember: I’m watching you.”
With his outturned pockets flopping as he went, James hobble-hopped like a gimpy duck all the way back to the caterer’s kitchen. He didn’t want to spend another moment more than he had to with that despicable woman.
***
The hour of Jessica’s meeting was fast approaching. Sebastian’s message had told her to come alone. Even though she had specifically told him she didn’t want him there, the manner in which he had said to come alone left her uneasy.
She had already made plans to circumvent that demand anyway. Hopefully it wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Now, if she could just make a decision on a dress.
Red was out of the question. They interpreted that as lucky, and frankly, she looked too damned good in that dress. She wanted them focused on business, not her. She finally chose black. It matched her mood. And no heels this time. Though, the stiletto pair matching the dress would make formidable weapons.
An elaborate clock of rotating crystals displayed five minutes to six. It was almost time to strike the match and light the fuse. As she left the suite, she repressed thoughts of the horrible word hanging in the air. War.
She made a fist and presented her wrist to the elevator code reader. She didn’t want the sight of her trembling fingers to remind her of how nervous she felt. Sebastian’s message had stated that the elevator security man would grant her access to their floor. With barely enough time to take in and exhale a deep breath, she rose one level.
A burly Asian man greeted her. “I must search you for weapons,” he said. His thoughts were plain by the leer on his face.
Situations like this seemed to bring out the best in her. Instantly, her resolve hardened into cold steel. “If I needed a weapon, I would have taken it from Sebastian when I beat his sorry ass into submission,” she said.
The man laughed. “So that is why his face was so red.” He bowed to her in respect, then withdrew a slender black rod fastened to his belt. “Please permit me to save face and use the wand?”
Jessica acquiesced. After scanning her, he allowed her access to the hallway. “Fan is ready for you,” he said.
When she stopped at the entrance to the courier’s suite, she wondered if such a thing as chromatic shock existed. If it did, she was experiencing it. It’s a good thing I didn’t wear the red dress. If I stopped moving in here, I would become invisible.
“Welcome, Miss Stafford. I am Fan Kong. Won’t you please come in?”
***
“James! Get your slinkied ass in here!” Al yelled into the kitchen.
James bumped into Timmy as he lumbered to answer Al’s summons. “Sorrys,” he said.
Timmy muttered something under his breath.
“Boss, Al, sirs? James do bad agains?”
“Stop with the ‘sir’ already. And no, you didn’t do bad. You done very good in fact. The bitch queen on ninety-nine requested you again. She wants you to deliver a bottle of champagne to the red dragons on one hundred.”
“She nice lady,” said James.
“Not from what I hear. But I guess she likes you. Good tipper, too. Hope she’s treatin’ you right?”
James nodded. “She nice lady.”
“Right. Well, she wants her champagne delivered right after six o’clock. That’s in about ten minutes. I already put the bottle on ice and in your cart so you can’t accidentally drop it. And whatever you do, don’t let them talk you into opening the bottle yourself. You might kill someone.”
Timmy chuckled as he left the kitchen with a tray of hors d’oeuvres.
Al waited for the doors to stop swinging and leaned in closer to James. “Come here,” he said, and retreated into his disheveled office.
James followed, fiddling nervously with his slinky. Al thrust a conical paper cup filled with murky liquid at him. “Drink this,” he said.
With two outstretched hands, James cradled the cup, sensing a peculiar change in his boss’s behavior. He liked Al, but he didn’t yet trust him enough to drink an unknown liquid handed to him out of the blue. He had made up his mind to spill it when Al cupped his chin gently and made James look at him.
Al’s eyes pleaded for him to listen, and when he spoke, it was entirely without his
usual dialect. “James, whatever happens, act appropriately. Any slip-up now could cost you your life. Jessica’s as well.”
So. Al was an agent. James nodded to him, then downed the contents of the cup in one gulp. It tasted bitter and orangey. Without looking back, he left with his cart to the executive elevator.
A warm flush began spreading throughout his body. He suspected the liquid was some kind of strong painkiller. He wasn’t looking forward to finding out why Al had given it to him.
During his trip to deliver Jessica’s lunch, she had shared her plan for a champagne delivery shortly after the designated hour. She thought a witness, any witness, might deter mischief by the couriers. James had agreed. It seemed a sound idea.
Now he watched the elevator’s floor indicator. At approximately five minutes to six, it went from ninety-nine to one hundred. That was his cue. He called for the elevator; Jessica would be alone with them only briefly while he traveled up.
Before coming down to his level, the elevator paused again at ninety-nine, then rose back to one hundred. He hoped she hadn’t changed her mind.
At thirty floors up, his thoughts started growing fur. Pretending to be slow-witted and clumsy wouldn’t be necessary; it would come naturally. Perhaps that’s why Al had made him drink that concoction? To force him to stay in character? He hoped that was all.
The elevator opened, and James found himself staring at the deadly black circle of a gun barrel. He quickly held up both arms.
“What’s your business here?” the large man demanded.
“James brings shampans!”
“We didn’t order any.”
“Nice lady asks James to bring shampans?”
“She did?”
James nodded and pointed at the bottle in his cart while keeping his hands raised.
The man motioned with his gun. “Out,” he said. “Face the wall and keep your hands where I can see them.”
The Prometheus Effect Page 31