by David Archer
They got into the car, with Ken taking the wheel. “Not that I know of,” Sam said. “All I know is that this Gary kid thinks the first thing that's supposed to happen is that the pope gets killed, and that's the thing that signals everyone else to set off whatever they're supposed to do – the other assassinations, the cruise ships, the school attacks, all of it.”
Ken pushed the button that opened the overhead door to the street, and then started the car and put it into gear. “Let's go see Harry,” he said. “Maybe he'll have some kind of an idea what to do, because I'm fresh out.”
5
They drove into Shaare Zedek Medical Center forty-five minutes later, following GPS directions on Sam's phone. The parking lot was big, and by the time Ken found a parking place, another twenty minutes had passed. They got out of the car and made their way inside, both of them limping for different reasons. Ken even looked a bit like he belonged there, with some of his bandage showing through the collar of his shirt.
A stop at the information desk told them where Harry's room was located, and they rode a more civilized elevator up to the third floor. Signs that were printed in several languages made it easy to find the old man, and Sam had to laugh when he heard Harry's voice even before they got to his room.
“I can assure you, my dear, this is not the first time I've ever been in a hospital,” came the old Southern drawl, and Sam grinned. “Just hand me the damned thing, I know how to pee in it!”
Sam and Ken turned the corner into the room, and saw a very frustrated young nurse standing there in front of Harry. “But, Mr. Winslow,” she was saying, and only turned around when she saw the big smile spread across Harry's face.
“Sam, boy!” Harry said, “And I see you've still got that other rapscallion with you, so at least I know you survived! No one here would tell me a blessed thing, and I've been going nuts all day! I was just about to call Indie, and see if she knew anything, but I was scared to death it would be bad news! Come on in, maybe you can convince this little girl that I don't need her to hold my wee wee for me while I make a whiz!”
Sam chuckled again, and turned to the nurse. “Honey, if he says he can do it, I'd just let him. Arguing with him always ends up with something bad happening, and you just seem too nice for that.”
The girl started to say something, but them gave Sam a look of disgust and shoved a urinal into his hands. “Fine, he's all yours,” she said in deeply accented English. She turned and stomped out of the room, and Sam tossed the urinal onto the bed.
“Harry, it's good to see you're alive. The last time I saw you, your eyes were glazed over and you looked pretty dead, to be honest. When Natasha said you were alive, I didn't quite believe it.”
“Now, Sam, I've told you before, I'm a hard son of a gun to kill. Believe me when I say it's been tried by the best, but I'm still here. The question is, did we get anything done? What's the situation on our problem?”
Sam and Ken both looked to be sure there was no one in earshot, while both of them sat in chairs that were close to the bed. Ken said, “We missed him at the cafe, Harry, but then Sam's wife found him for us at the home of a Libyan diplomat. Natasha's surveillance people tailed him this morning to a restaurant down by the French Embassy, and we were able to tail him after that to a place out in the desert. We were about to try again when Sam's wife called; seems that computer kid of Chandler's had found some pretty heavy stuff, that his entire plan is set up like dominoes. One part goes off, that triggers the next, and so on. As far as we know right now, the first phase is the assassination of the pope, but we don't know when or how or who; we've got nothing but a message to Chandler saying that it's on, but no way to ID the sender. According to Gary the Wonder Kid, the only way to call it off is to get a list of code words Chandler gave to his ops, words that can confirm that a message really is from him, so we snatched Chandler instead of killing him. Tasha's working on him now, her specialty.”
Harry sat there with a long face. “He won't give up anything,” he said. “Once she gets hold of him, all he'll be able to think of is finding a way to beat us, and that means never giving us a way to stop his plans.” He sighed, and leaned back against the raised bed. “Sam,” he said, “all we know is that the pope is at risk, right?”
“Right.”
Harry cleared his throat. “I can only think of one plan that might have any merit to it, but I'm not sure how you're going to feel about it.”
Sam looked at the old man, and then rolled his eyes. “Since when have you ever cared what I thought? Give it to me, Harry.”
The old man grinned at him. “That's the spirit, boy. I've been saying for weeks now that if I ever had a son, he'd have been you! Okay, here it is. Take Ken and head for Rome, and call that beautiful wife of yours and have her meet you there. Get that kid of Chandler's, too — you'll probably need them both. My idea is this: I know one person at the Vatican I trust, and I can get him to listen to you, but the best he might be able to do is give you some possible suspects for whoever Chandler is working with there. Between the four of you, you might be able to figure it out and track him down in time to stop the assassination—assuming it's not too late already.”
Sam sat there for a moment, and then shook his head. “Harry, you’re asking me to put Indie in danger, again. I can't do that. I almost lost her over Darrel Unger, Harry. I can't risk actually putting her into a case like this one.”
“But, Sam,” Harry said, “that's why I told you to take Ken with you. His job is to keep her and the other kid safe, while you track down Chandler's agent. Now what I'm hoping is that his man there might have information on some of the others, and that he won't be as fanatical as Chandler. If he's got intel you can get out of him, then we stand a chance of putting an end to this whole situation before anyone else can get badly hurt. Can you see my logic, Sam?”
Sam sat there and stared at him for a long time, and none of them spoke. Ken let his eyes wander around the room, but he didn't look directly at Sam, and Harry merely stared right back at Sam. Several minutes passed, and at one point the nurse came back in, but Harry lifted the empty urinal and waggled it at her, so she left again without a word.
Sam finally sighed, and took out his phone. It was almost noon, so it would be just about six a.m. back home. Indie had called him early that morning, and then again a couple of hours ago, so he knew she'd been awake most of the night. He looked at Harry.
“You arranging the flights?” he asked, and Harry grinned and nodded. Sam dialed his phone and waited a moment for Indie to answer.
She got it on the second ring. “Sam? Babe, are you okay?”
“I'm fine, honey,” he said. “Listen, I was wondering—how would you feel about a trip to Rome?”
There was dead silence on the line for almost five whole seconds, which is a long time on an international phone call. “Sam, did my mother call you?” Indie asked him, and he squinted in confusion.
“Your mother? No why—oh, don't tell me! Beauregard?”
“Huh! Mom came in here a few minutes ago and said Beauregard had just told her you might be taking me on a long trip, way across the ocean. I thought maybe she meant a vacation or something, but...”
Sam sighed. “Babe, I can't tell you all of it right now, but I need your help in Rome. Ken and I are going to be leaving here shortly and heading there, and we'll be bringing your pal Gary in, too. Harry's hoping that between the four of us, we might be able to stop the disasters Chandler had planned.”
Indie smiled into the phone. “How do I get there?” she asked simply.
“Harry will make arrangements,” Sam said, “and he'll send word to George, I imagine. I guess you'd better start packing, baby. Kiss Kenzie for me, and tell her I love her and we'll be home soon. Love you!”
“I will,” Indie promised, “and I love you more!” She hung up before he could engage her in the ritual argument over who loved who more.
“One down,” Sam said. He dialed again with the phone on
speaker, and smiled when the phone was answered with a groan.
“Please, please, please don't tell me you blew it!” Gary said, and Sam wondered if he was hearing tears in the kid's voice.
“We got him,” he said, and the sound of a sob came through loud and clear. “Thing is, he isn't going to give us what we want, so we've got to find another way to stop his plans from happening. We need your help, buddy.”
There was a silence for a moment. “Help how?” Gary asked.
“I'm with my old pal Harry, and we'd like to bring you into our team. We need you to fly to Rome and help me and my wife try to track down the one who's supposed to arrange the pope's assassination. Are you willing to do that?”
Gary was quiet for a moment. “Can your old friend Harry do anything to make sure I don't get burned along with the rest of Chandler's people, if we pull this off?”
Sam raised his eyebrows at Harry as he said, “I'm pretty certain that if you help us out, we can guarantee you immunity from any kind of prosecution.” Harry nodded, but stopped when Gary went on.
“Prosecution?” he squeaked at Sam. “Who the hell is worried about prosecution? I want to know if you can keep me alive!”
“Yes,” Sam said. “You come on with me, and I'll put you under protection. Deal?”
Gary hesitated for a moment, then, “Well, I guess so. Do I use my real passport, or make one up?”
Harry waved for Sam to bring the phone closer. “Young man, my name is Harry Winslow, and I've been advised about what a help you've been. I'll arrange for someone to come and get you within twenty minutes. He'll identify himself by saying that he has an extra pizza. Go with that man, and he'll get you to Rome safely.”
“An extra pizza? God, you spooks are so corny, couldn't you think up something better than that? How about saying, 'your presence is needed in the land of the Caesars,' or something like that?”
“Gary, just go with the pizza guy, and I'll see you in Rome. I'll fill you in then.” Sam hung up, ending the call before he could get frustrated. He looked at Harry.
“So, the plan is for me to get Indie and the whiz kid to Rome, and try to use their skills to ferret out who Chandler's man in Rome might be, then get him to tell me who else he knows of who was involved, right? You do realize that this is a pretty flimsy plan, don't you, Harry?”
Harry smiled. “I don't think so, Sam,” he said. “If there's one thing I know about you, it's that you’re a cracker-jack investigator, and if the clues are there, you'll figure out who the bad guy is in time to stop him. Go to Rome, and set those two to digging. If they turn up any clues at all, then I know you'll find the bastard, and then you can either make him talk, or track him back to fine others. Either way, I think it's our best hope to stop the things Chandler has set into motion.”
“Thing that bothers me,” Ken said, “is why he'd have it all set up to go ahead if he wasn't there to enjoy it. I'm not saying he should have expected to be caught or anything, he's a maniac, and they never believe anyone can beat them—but most of them don't put something like this on a timetable, they want to give the order themselves. That's what's odd about this mess, to me. Why wasn't he planning to give the order that started it all, so he could watch it all unfold on the news from somewhere comfortable?”
“Maybe he was,” Sam said. “Maybe the guy in Rome, if Gary's right and the assassination of the pope is the first shot, maybe he's waiting for Chandler's call to go ahead.”
Ken shook his head. “He said there was no way to stop it, even if we did manage to kill him, remember? That means he knew it would go off even without him. No, for some reason, he didn't worry about being in a place where he could be safe and comfy while he watched his plans destroy the world as we know it. It was set up so that it would begin whenever some special condition was met, and if we could figure out what that condition is, then we'd be ahead of the game.”
Sam looked from Ken to Harry and back. “Maybe the Pope is going to give a speech, or put himself in position to be accessible, and that's what makes the assassination possible.”
“That might be it,” Harry said. “The Pope is often giving speeches and making appearances. Your job would be to figure out which one it might be, then, and how the assassin might plan to do it. If you can get a lead like that, then it could be a game changer.” He hooked a finger at Sam. “Give me your phone.” he said. “I need to book you a flight, and then you boys need to go and get packed.”
Sam handed over the phone, and listened with half an ear while Harry told someone to take the two of them to Rome on the soonest possible flight, even if it meant making a special one. Then, he began issuing orders about getting Indie and Gary onto flights, and Sam grunted when he heard Harry rattle off Gary's address without even slowing down.
Apparently he had the clout to back up his demands, because the person on the other end agreed to everything Harry wanted. Harry hung up and looked at Sam.
“You've got two hours. Go to your hotel and get your things, then get to the airport. You'll meet a man named Jackson at the diplomatic flight line, and he'll take you past everything. Don't take weapons, of course, they and everything else you might need in that line will be provided when you get there.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Did they tell you I got shot in the chest? Doctors said the bullet went clean through my lung, and they thought I was dead when I arrived. But my heart was still going strong, so they took me on into surgery. For the record, this is the eighth time I've been shot, and the third time I've almost been declared dead on the scene.” He opened one eye and focused it on Sam's face. “The next time I volunteer to join you on a mission, Sam, do me a huge favor and tell me to butt out, would you? I'm too old for this crap!”
Harry was snoring a few minutes later, when the nurse came back in. She took the still-empty urinal from his hand, rolled her eyes, and stormed back out of the room.
Sam and Ken left the room right behind her, and took Natasha's car back to the hotel. They got their bags, checked out and drove back to the airport, leaving all of the firearms in the car's trunk, and then found the diplomatic line once again. A skinny fellow was standing there, holding a sign that said, “Sam.”
“You must be Jackson?” Sam asked, and the guy smiled as he looked up from the magazine he was reading.
“I am,” he said. “You must be Sam and Ken, right? Just follow me, please, I've already got you cleared and your plane is waiting.” He turned and went toward a door that led out of the terminal, and the two men followed him.
Their plane turned out to be an Air Force cargo plane, a C-5 Galaxy, and Ken groaned.
“What's the matter with you?” Sam asked.
“Cargo flight,” Ken said. “We're probably gonna be sitting on boxes or mailbags. This will be one of the worst flights of your life.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” said Jackson. “There's no cargo. From what I was told, whatever you’re doing has presidential authorization to utilize any resources, so this flight was ordered up for the express purpose of carrying you two to...” He looked at a card in his hand. “To Rome. You'll be sitting in the passenger cabin, on the upper deck, along with the flight crew. The seats aren't bad, I've ridden in them myself.”
A loadmaster crewman met them at the entrance to the aircraft and showed them to the passenger cabin. They took seats that would leave them off by themselves, and the crewman told them they'd be airborne within fifteen minutes. They heard the big engines coming to life a moment later, and Sam said, “It's like any other flight.”
There was no answer so he looked over at Ken and found him sound asleep already. Sam grinned and leaned his own seat back. They were on their way to Rome, with no idea what might be waiting there. Sam whispered a prayer for strength and guidance, and a special one asking God to keep Indie safe through this mission.
His phone rang, and he looked at it to see Natasha's number. He answered quickly.
“Hello?”
“I just thought you'd wan
t to know,” Natasha said, “that Chandler died ten minutes ago.”
Sam swallowed. “Really?” he asked. “Did you get anything out of him?”
“Well, he never did give me any code words, but I got one thing I thought might be useful. It was his last words, actually, as he was realizing that his phony god wasn't going to save him after all. He said, 'She'll make all of you pay for this.' I tried to ask him who he meant, but that was all I got.”
“She? Sounds like there's a woman involved, then. Could he have been planning to put a woman in charge?”
“Considering that he was going up against a large number of Muslim nations, I'd find that unlikely, but I suppose it's possible. I mean, theoretically, whoever he was putting out there was supposed to unite the nations and bring peace right?”
Sam thought for a moment. “Natasha,” he said, “what happens to him now?”
“I've already run what was left through a grinder, Sam. He's in the sewers, on his way to a fitting destiny for a pile of crap like him.”
Sam hung up and put his phone back into his pocket. He leaned back and tried to get the mental image of Chandler, with half his skin removed, out of his mind. It took a while.
The flight from Tel Aviv to Rome took just under four hours, mostly because the military flight was forced to route around certain areas in the countries which it overflew. There were certain areas where the airspace was restricted to nonmilitary aircraft, so any flights with any type of military designation had to go around them.
They landed at da Vinci airport, in Fulmicino, Italy, and found a young woman waiting for them when they got off the plane. “Mr. Prichard? Mr. Long?”
They admitted to being the men she was looking for, and let her lead them through the airport. They had to flash their phony diplomatic passports at one point, but were waved on through as if the person who looked at them just wanted them out of his hair.
“My name is Maria,” the girl said in an obvious Italian accent. “I have a car waiting for you, according to my instructions. We have arrangements made at a hotel, and I will drive you there, but after that you'll need to drive yourselves around. I was not told to provide you with the driver, so once I deliver you to your hotel, someone will come to pick me up.” They followed her through the terminal and out toward the parking areas, where she led them to a somewhat rough looking little sedan. “I was told to inform you that everything you might need is in the luggage compartment. I am only a civilian employee, so I don't have clearance to discuss your reasons for being here. I was told that if you need any further assistance beyond what I can give you, that I must contact one of my superiors.”