Pandora's Succession

by Russell Brooks

Fox rolled his eyes. “That’s the first thing Ares would’ve done. I wouldn’t be surprised to find her house burnt down under mysterious circumstances.” Jesus, Walsh, what else do you expect?

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” said General Downing.

  “What’s that?” A faint voice with a strong New Jersey accent came from the other side.

  “I said, come on in,” Downing repeated louder.

  “Right,” said the voice.

  Fox had a strong feeling who it was, as he looked at the doorway.

  The door shook a few times as though the person had difficulty opening it. “The door’s locked, sir,” the man said.

  Fox rolled his eyes and looked away from the door. Oh yeah, it’s definitely him. “Try pushing the door instead of pulling, Dobbs.”

  “Right,” came the answer, and Bill Dobbs entered.

  “What brings you here?” Fox wished he could take that question back.

  “You won’t believe this. I was in one of the offices set aside for me, trying out this new online computer game, you know the ones with the-”

  “I’m sure it was exciting. What’s going on?” the General asked. Fox would’ve cut him off too-Dobbs had a tendency to carry on.

  Dobbs paused a moment as though he forgot what he was talking about. “Right. I got some classified info to show you.”

  Fox chuckled. “Classified? Say it ain’t so.”

  Dobbs ignored him and took out some pictures and documents. He was no stranger to Fox’s comments and was often the butt of his jokes.

  “Anyway, nearly half an hour ago, about 4:00 AM, a search was run on this man after he was spotted in Tokyo, by one of our undercover agents. He has several aliases, but the CIA databases have him listed as Valerik. He’s a former KGB agent and hasn’t been seen since the early 1990s.”

  Fox raised his left eyebrow. “He disappeared around the time the Cold War ended, only to reappear again.”

  Walsh turned to Fox. “You think he could be involved somehow in the Pandora incident?”

  “Uh, guys, that’s why I’m here.” Dobbs pushed his glasses back up his nose. “As I mentioned, a search was done on Valerik by one of our agents who’s currently on assignment in Tokyo. He was spotted at the Hexagon Pharmaceutical Company around 11:00 AM, Japanese time, which would correspond with the multimedia search at 4:00 AM, our local time.”

  Walsh sighed. “Aw hell, you’re confusing me with this goddamn time zone crap, Dobbs.”

  “I’ll give you a crash course on time zones afterwards,” said Fox. He turned to Dobbs. “Go on.”

  “Sure. As I was saying, we don’t know why he’s there, but I took the liberty to track his latest movements. It turns out that he boarded a plane in Minsk at 12:00 PM earlier today, which is in the same time zone as we are. He only made one connecting flight in Moscow, under a different alias, before he reached Tokyo. He travelled light, one bag of luggage and a briefcase.”

  Bell chuckled. “Son of a gun. What are the chances of that?”

  “That’s all he needed,” said Fox.

  “What’s that?” asked Dobbs.

  “A briefcase,” Fox replied. “If he was involved in what happened back there, then he could’ve smuggled a sample of Pandora with him, like the one I travelled with.”

  Dobbs smiled. “It’s pretty neat, because we currently have a model type of the briefcase that Valerik was most likely travelling with. It’s designed to hide the contents. Does a hell of a job fooling x-ray machines. They’ve been around for quite a while. First, we had one model and then the Russians developed their version and then the Germans. Of course the British had to-”

  “I’m sure they’re very nice briefcases, Bill.” General Downing sank back in his chair.

  “Valerik’s probably getting help from Hexagon Pharmaceuticals to reproduce Pandora. They’d be equipped to do so,” said Walsh.

  Fox breathed a sigh of relief as he held out the picture of Valerik. “Our missing link. So who’s the agent who spotted him? I assume we’ll be meeting him.”

  Downing attempted a half smile as he turned to Fox. “You mean she. And it’s someone you should know pretty well.”

  “Right,” said Dobbs. “Well, there’s a man also, but the actual one who spotted him was a woman. The man who’s assisting her is a computer specialist like me and-”

  “I’m sure he’s a nice guy, Bill.” Fox turned from Downing and looked at Dobbs. “Who are they?”

  Dobbs sighed and dropped his arms beside him. “I was just getting to that. For Pete’s sake, why do you guys keep interrupting me all the time? Anyhow, the man’s name is Tomas Levickis.” Dobbs picked up the manila folder and fingered through the documents until he found the pictures of both agents. “And the woman is Dr. Nita Parris.”

  Fox raised an eyebrow and looked at Dobbs. “Doctor who?” He didn’t wait for him to answer. He got up, walked over to Dobbs and snatched the photograph from him.

  “Uh, I said, Dr. Nita Parris. She’s a biochemist and used to be a weapons analyst. She’s working under NOC at Hexagon.” Dobbs’s referral to NOC was an acronym for Nonofficial Cover — agents that worked worldwide as employees for companies, real or fake, and also as students.

  “Their mission was to find out everything about their brainwashing experiment. I haven’t met her myself, but I heard she’s got nice set of calves. She’s also-”

  “Born and raised in Barbados and graduated with top honors from Princeton University,” said Fox. “She was three-time Ivy League Conference champion in the sprint hurdles both in the indoor and outdoor seasons. She was also pretty quick over the 200-meter dash.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off the black and white photograph. All CIA photographs were recent. She had not changed a bit since he last saw her. Was she a field agent when I met her? Sure, he could ask Downing and just get the that’s-classified response. Somehow he felt that she wasn’t, she appeared to be too honest with him. Then again, he’s trained to appear the same way to people too.

  Downing smirked. “I sent Dr. Parris and Levickis over there to gather intel on her boss, Dr. Hideaki Hashimoto. I want to know what’s really going on at Hexagon. I suspect that Japan’s Boeisho is looking into them, but I feel more comfortable having our own operatives over there, just in case the Japanese neglect to tell us something.” His referral to Boeisho was the acronym for the Self Defense Forces, or Boeisho Boeikyoku. “Come to think of it, I forgot to mention this to them.”

  Dobbs turned to Fox. “So you’ve worked with her before?”

  Fox was a bit hesitant before answering. He remembered the night that he stood her up, only to learn after that she was carjacked on her way home. Although he learned that she survived the ordeal, it only brought a bit of comfort. But now she was going to be back in his life, and he’d have no choice but to respond to what he did to her. “Well, not exactly.”

  Walsh chuckled. “Probably dated and dumped her, too.”

  There was a short silence as he looked at Fox, who looked back at him briefly, and then turned away.

  Walsh’s head dropped into his hand and he shook his head. “Jesus H. Christ, Fox! I can’t believe you.”

  “It was a few of years ago. She told me she was a researcher.”

  “And you probably told her you were a travelling salesman. I’m sure she’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

  “She’ll forgive me.” Yeah right, dream on. A few hours ago he was going to officially resign from CIA. Now with Hiller’s death, the possibility that an Ares agent has gone rogue, and the involvement of an old flame of his, it’s as though life was testing him.

  Downing cleared his throat loudly. “You two can straighten that out when you meet. I’ll contact my secretary, Ms. Vasell, and have her make the travel arrangements for all three of you. I’m putting you three in charge of tracking down and capturing Valerik. I’m also interested in knowing what’s going on at Hexagon Pharmaceuticals. There’s ot
her details that you’ll just have to catch up on in the briefing you’ll receive, Any questions?” Nobody answered. “Then this meeting’s adjourned.”

  Dobbs was the first to leave as Walsh came up to Fox. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Who, Dobbs? He’s one of the geeks from the Office of Science and Technology. He’s an expert in anything with a circuit board and high-caffeine consumption. I heard that his wife’s seven months pregnant.”

  Walsh chuckled. “Looks like he doesn’t get out much. I got to say, you know some mighty weird folk.”

  Fox looked Walsh in the eye. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s funny how they always wind up working with me.”

  Walsh’s smirk disappeared, and before he could reply, General Downing called out to Fox. “Fox, hang around a minute.”

  Colonel Bell turned to Downing. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Sure thing, Fred.”

  Fox stood where he was, and he heard the Colonel close the door behind him.

  “I want you to share your thoughts with me. You’re the only one who found it strange that the culprits would use that particular dagger and leave it behind.”

  “It doesn’t make sense, sir. If someone wanted to cover their tracks, why would they unleash Pandora, risking their own lives, and leave the dagger. Another thing I didn’t bring up in the meeting-it was reported that the culprits spoke Russian. Were they actually heard in the background speaking Russian when the SOS was sent? Why would they risk being heard when our voice recognition computers could isolate their voices and potentially identify them? Anyone in Ares wouldn’t have been so careless.”

  Downing nodded approvingly. “You’re right.”

  “We should consider the possibility that someone’s trying to mislead us, and is attempting to send us on a wild goose chase.”

  Downing rocked in his chair and smiled. “This is what I like about you, Ridley. When you’re on the ball, you’re really on it. And that’s the reason why I haven’t reassigned you yet.” Downing stopped rocking in his chair. “Now, I’m not going to ask much of you, but just that you keep your emotions out of what happens from here on. Or else, assuming you do come back alive, I may have you re-evaluated and reassigned. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Fox turned away, Downing looked up at him. “Oh, Fox?”

  Fox turned back to him. “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there anything else you want to talk to me about?”

  Fox hesitated for a moment. He knew what the General was referring to, but now wasn’t the time to discuss it. He couldn’t afford to miss the chance of finding Hiller’s killers. And he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that Parris was also connected to a major player. “No, sir. You were very clear on the situation at hand and what needs to be done.”

  Downing closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and nodded. “All right then. I was only asking because the last time we were in this room, I thought there was something important you wanted to tell me before Walsh interrupted us with the bad news.”

  Fox looked back into the General’s eyes. There was no point in turning away from the old spymaster, because Fox knew that it would only confirm that he was hiding something. “It was nothing important.” There, no denial that anything’s on my mind. That should put the issue to rest. Downing wouldn’t be digging anymore.

  “That’s good to know.”

  Fox was about to leave when an idea came to him. He turned back to his superior. “Oh sir, I don’t normally make requests.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’d have a much better chance at controlling my emotions if Ms. Vasell could arrange that both Walsh and Dobbs flew on a different flight and stayed in a different hotel than me. After all, I recall the time that the roof of the church she attends needed emergency repairs, and that they were short on funds. I also recall how my large anonymous donation helped them out.”

  There was a brief silence before Downing smiled curtly and nodded. “I’ll make sure I mention it to her.”

  Chapter 13

  Despite having the windshield wipers at maximum, it still felt as though Fox drove through a waterfall in the dark. Pushing speeds that were well over one-hundred-and-twenty kilometers per hour on the two-lane rural provincial highway at night didn’t help either. Only a reckless person would attempt driving in these conditions, and that’s how many people described Ridley Fox. Fuck them. That’s their opinion because to him this was a Sunday drive.

  The flashing red, blue and white lights Fox saw through the downpour became his guide. He didn’t bother to turn off the engine or shut the door after he pulled off onto the shoulder. He just ran towards the flashing lights. His hair now clung to his forehead and the side of his face. By the time he reached the yellow barrier tape, Fox was literally carrying rain in his clothes. He ripped through the tape and two police officers ran towards him, each grabbing a shoulder to restrain him.

  “Whoa, back up! This is a crime scene. Where do you think you’re going?” yelled one of them. Both cops were over six feet tall, just like Fox. Had anyone other than these two men been stupid enough to attempt what they just had, Fox wouldn’t have left them standing for long.

  Small waves of water spattered around them, as Fox struggled to fight off the officers. “Goddamn it! I’m Captain Warrant Officer Ridley Fox. That’s my fiancee over there so get the hell off of me!”

  “It’s all right, let him through,” said a man on the inside of the yellow tape. He was dressed in a trench coat and wore a brimmed hat.

  Fox shoved the two officers aside. He darted past the man in the trench coat who was about to identify himself. But Fox didn’t care for that right now-a black body bag was being wheeled away from an overturned vehicle by two paramedics.

  The EMTs backed away as Fox skidded to a stop at the gurney. He fumbled for the zipper and yanked it downwards, exposing her. His head fell onto her breasts. “Oh my God! No, no, no!” He lifted his head, looked beyond the heavy rain that pelted him and hollered as loud as he could. If God heard his cry and felt his anguish, then it was apparent in the series of lightning flashes that streaked across the sky at that precise moment.

  Someone nudged Fox. It was the man with the trench coat. “Mr. Ripley.”

  “Mr. Ripley,” said the stewardess as she nudged his left shoulder. He never really cared for this pseudonym. He woke up to see her pleasant warm smile and almond-shaped eyes.

  Again that nightmare-he couldn’t remember the last time it occurred, but it was bothering him again.

  “You’ll have to fasten your seatbelt. We’ll be landing at Narita Airport in less than ten minutes.”

  Fox put his left hand to his forehead, he was sweating. “Domo arigato gozaimasu.” Which meant thank you very much in Japanese.

  There was the usual long wait at customs once he got off the plane. Fox collected his luggage and was in the terminal corridor when a blow to his right shoulder and arm nearly made him spin around and drop his luggage.

  “Sorry,” the man immediately said in Japanese, and then moved on. Typical-just bump and move on. But at least this one apologized.

  Fox tightened his grip on the handle of his suit bag, swinging it over his shoulder when the word pickpocket came to mind. He immediately felt for his wallet and detected its shape through his pocket.

  All right, so he didn’t steal my wallet. Then why were the man’s hands were around his shoulders? Another thought came to mind. He felt inside the breast pocket of his blazer. His fingers touched a piece of paper that was not there before.

  He looked a few feet to his right. The mens room sign stood out from all of the other neon-lit names that were found along the corridor. Fox walked through the curved open door entrance and headed to the last stall. He locked it and hung his suit bag on the hook.

  Amidst the background noises of automatically flushing toilets and running water, Fox took the folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and read it. It was a simple message wri
tten in English: Do not trust anyone in the Boeisho. They’re waiting for you outside. Go with them to avoid suspicion. I’ll meet up with you soon. There was no signature or any other indication as to whom it was from, and Fox hadn’t recognized the man. But the Boeisho was here and most likely would be there to wait for Walsh and Dobbs also. The worst case scenario would be for them to be detained and questioned by the Boeisho.

  Fox took out his cell phone and texted a message to Marie Vasell, advising her to arrange that Walsh and Dobbs be flown to Okinawa Base. When he was done, he put away his phone, tore up the paper and dropped the shredded pieces into the toilet-the automatic flusher took care of the rest.

  Once he reached the atrium, he looked through the windows at all the green taxis lined up at the curb. People crisscrossed in front of him constantly. A young woman, stood out-probably a student. She rushed to meet an older couple who he assumed to be her parents. He also took notice of several men in expensive-looking suits, either pulling their luggage behind them, or carrying a single briefcase. Then there was the individual complaining behind him and the man to his left who was upset at hearing his flight was delayed.

  Fox glanced at a digital clock hanging overhead-it was 12:45 AM, meaning that it was 5:45 PM at Entebbe. He was used to the time zone changes, and the twelve hour flight on the Boeing 747 had given him enough time to rest.

  The exit loomed just ahead when he was caught off guard by two black-suited men as they accosted him.

  Fox glanced at them. “Are you here to welcome me?”

  “Come with us, Mr. Fox,” said the man on Fox’s right. Then they both stepped aside and gestured Fox to pass between them.

  Outside, the powerful smell of exhaust fumes struck his nostrils. The other man circled around Fox’s left and redirected him to the right. “This way. You should know where to go from here.” At the front of a row of six taxis, were two black fleet sedans.

  When they got to the second sedan, the man on Fox’s right extended his arm. “Your bag?”

  Fox handed it to him. “So are you going to tell me who you are, or can I assume that you’re Boeisho?”