Cosmic Forces: Book Three in The Jake Helman Files Series

by Gregory Lamberson

  The emotions ranging across Martin’s features fell somewhere between anger and grief. “You’re just saying that. He’s a great man!”

  “No, he’s not. He’s not even decent. He’s taking advantage of you and the other Dreamers. You’ve all kept him rich, and that’s all he cares about. You want to believe he cares about you, that he understands you in a way no one else does, but I promise he doesn’t give a damn about who you really are. I’m sorry, but if your father was here, do you think you’d have given these people the time of day?”

  Martin’s lower lip quivered. “But he’s not here . . .”

  “Just for a minute, pretend he is. What do you think he’d say about all this?”

  When the first tear broke free, Martin dabbed it with the back of his hand.

  “He’d set you straight; I know that. He’d make you look into your heart”—he tapped Martin’s forehead—”and into your brain, so that you’d see what you already know to be true. I wish I could do that, but I don’t know how. I’m not lucky enough to be a father. But if I was, I’d want a son like you, and I’d do everything in my power to protect him from creeps like Benjamin.”

  When Martin looked up again, he made no effort to hide his tears. “Do you really wish you had a son like me?”

  Jake gave Martin’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’d better believe it.”

  Martin sobbed and Jake took the boy into his arms. Jake wanted to cry, too. God, he missed Edgar. And he really did love Martin.

  When Martin pulled back and wiped the tears from his eyes, Jake looked away to ease his embarrassment. Then he raised the box for the boy to see. “Speaking of your father, I brought you something.”

  Martin sniffled. “What is it?”

  “Open it and see.”

  Martin set the book down again, swung his legs over the bed, and took the box. “My birthday was a month ago.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I missed it.”

  Martin shrugged, then opened the box. Separating the crumpled sheets of newspaper Jake had used to pack the gift, the boy removed the stone statue and inspected it. Jake gave him credit for masking his disappointment.

  “What is it?” Martin said.

  “The Maltese Falcon. A reproduction of it, anyway.”

  “What is it?”

  “The Maltese Falcon is a book and a movie. More than one movie, I think, but the one with Humphrey Bogart is a classic. I took my wife to see a revival of it on our first date.”

  “Black and white, right?”

  Jake smiled. “Yeah, but trust me, it’s a good one. It’s about a private eye named Sam Spade who tangles with a bunch of nefarious creeps who all want to get their hands on the Maltese Falcon. Your father gave that to me when I opened my office.” He saw no point in adding that he had used the statue to kill the Black Magic junkie who stabbed him in the eye. I guess I wouldn’t make a very good father.

  “Don’t you want it?”

  Jake liked the way Martin thought. “I do want it. I like the way it sort of looks over me and reminds me to stay out of trouble. But I think you might like that, too. Let’s do this: you hang on to it for me until I find your dad. Once everything gets back to normal, you can return it to me. Deal?”

  Martin cracked a smile. “Deal.”

  Jake stood. “I have to get going. I’m working on a case.”

  “Like Sam Spade?”

  “Yeah.”

  “With nefarious characters?”

  “Nefarious like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m going to come out here and see you just as soon as I settle up with them, okay? Maybe we’ll catch a movie.”

  “I’m grounded, remember?”

  “I think your mother will make an exception in this case.” Jake hoped he remained alive long enough to keep his promise.

  CHAPTER

  16

  Jake had grown accustomed to the drive to Reichard’s estate. He didn’t own a tuxedo, but he wore a black suit for the occasion. It wasn’t every day he was sworn into a cabal of rich powerbrokers who named their group after an ancient Indian lake monster. The estate’s security gates swung open, and Jake presented his ID to the guards, then steered his car up the driveway. The sun had set, and the Maxima triggered motion detectors and floodlights. He scanned the dark woods along the property for any sign of the robed watchers, but the trees hid any movement beyond them.

  Instead of parking the Maxima outside the mansion’s entrance, he followed the driveway to a small parking area that overlooked the tennis court and the swimming pool. Cool air greeted him as he got out and headed to the mansion. When he looked around, he felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and he did not know if his body shivered from the chilly temperature or his fear that the fishlike creatures could tear him to pieces before he even reached the front doors. He walked faster, only slightly reassured by the knowledge that his Glock was in his car if he needed it.

  The same butler who had admitted him on the previous visit opened the doors and gave him a slight bow. “Good evening, Mr. Helman.”

  Jake stepped inside and raised his arms. “Good evening to you.”

  The butler frisked Jake and led him down a different corridor that ended before two sliding doors. He knocked on the doors, which he then opened one at a time. Seven men, all dressed in tuxedoes, occupied the room. Some sat in leather chairs, while others stood near the oversized fireplace, drawing heat from the flames. Cigar smoke wafted through the air, and glasses containing alcohol reflected the orange firelight.

  “Mr. Helman,” the butler announced.

  Jake strode inside, aware that everyone in the drawing room was sizing him up. He recognized each man from the research he had compiled on them, and he immediately locked on Myron Madigan.

  The doors slid shut behind him, and Reichard rose from his chair and crossed the room. “Come in, Jake. I’m glad to see you’re punctual. What can I get you?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Then you’ll never fit in around here,” said the man Jake recognized as Richard Browning.

  The others laughed, including Reichard, who put one arm around Jake and guided him deeper into the room, where the other men circled them.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Norman Weiskopf,” Reichard said.

  Weiskopf had a growth on one side of his round face and a lazy eye on the other. He held out his liver-spotted hand, and when Jake shook it, he said, “You don’t look like much to me.” Then he winked with his good eye. “But appearances can be deceiving. Look at me!”

  “Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt,” Jake said.

  “And this is Bruce Schlatter,” Reichard said.

  The insurance king clapped Jake’s shoulder. “It’s nice to see a young face around here for a change. Myron’s younger than the rest of us, but he’s so damned ugly it doesn’t matter.”

  The men laughed again. Jake had not expected such jocularity.

  Reichard gestured to a tall man with gaunt features. “Silas Coffer.”

  “Pleasure,” the man said with a half smile.

  Reichard brought forward a man Jake had no trouble recognizing. “Benjamin Bradley.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Bradley said.

  Jake did his damnedest to hide his contempt for Bradley. The prick who hoped to brainwash Martin. He shook Bradley’s hand. “Same here.”

  “And finally,” Reichard said, “allow me to introduce our newest member, who I know you’re familiar with: Myron Madigan.”

  Jake stood toe to toe with the mayor, which meant he had to look down his nose at the pudgy little man to make eye contact with him. Madigan held a glass of liquor and a Cuban cigar in his left hand and gave off an air of corrupt entitlement that repelled Jake.

  “Helman,” Madigan said.

  “Mr. Mayor.”

  “Just Myron in here. You’ve caused quite a stir.” He smiled and offered his free hand. “I hope we can still be friends.”

  I’ve
caused a stir? Jake wanted to strangle the man on the spot. Instead, he shook his hand. “Anything’s possible.”

  Reichard motioned to a chair. “Have a seat. Let’s talk before dinner.”

  Jake sat in the chair and crossed his legs. The other men took their seats, completing the circle. Their studious looks made him feel like an animal in a zoo.

  “I’ve already told everyone that you rejected my initial offer in exchange for the return of our ring,” Reichard said.

  “My ring,” Jake said. “I took it fair and square.”

  “That’s highly debatable. In any case, we’re prepared to double that amount, plus offer you 1 percent of the net profits from our respective companies for the remainder of your life.”

  Jake considered the numbers. Fourteen million dollars. In theory, he could live like a king for the rest of his life. “Is that your final offer?”

  “I’m afraid so. We think it’s excessively more than reasonable.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass.”

  Reichard’s cheerful expression drew tight.

  “You see, as I’ve already explained, I know that once I take this ring off my finger, there will be no rest of my life. You’d have me killed immediately. Some people look down on the life I live. I’m sure all of you do, if you give it any thought at all. But it’s the only life I have, and I’m determined to make the most of it. Besides, fourteen million bucks and a share in seven of the most lucrative companies in the world may be a lot, but you forget I have Nicholas Tower’s notes. You gentlemen are worth a lot more than that. Over one hundred companies support the Reichard Foundation. I’m sure you have much deeper pockets than you’re letting on.”

  Rising, Reichard fixed Jake with a hard stare, then grinned at his fellows. “You see what I mean? He’s impossible to deal with! Jake, you’re not only hard to kill; you’re also ambitious as hell. I like that. Come on. Let’s eat!” Turning his back on Jake, Reichard headed for the doors, which he slid apart.

  Madigan extinguished his cigar in an upright ashtray and joined the old men following Reichard.

  Jake brought up the rear. The evening was proceeding in a much different manner than expected.

  The eight men filed into the dining room, which was larger than Jake had surmised from his vantage point outside the mansion. The table accommodated twenty people, and the place settings had been arranged four on each side of the table. Jake sat beside Madigan, who sat beside Bradley, who sat beside Browning. He supposed the arrangement was a pecking order, with the most recent members on one side of the table and the senior partners on the other.

  Two servers dished out the food, a selection of roasted meats, sautéed vegetables and potatoes, with side dishes of caviar and calamari.

  When the servers poured drinks, Jake covered his glass. “Water is fine,” he said.

  “I find your reluctance to imbibe unsettling,” Weiskopf said. “Karlin has the best booze in the country.” He raised his glass. “This is hundred-year-old scotch. If you’re going to join our board, you need to learn to appreciate the finer things in life. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  Jake smiled. “We each have our own standards of quality.”

  When the servers left and closed the doors, Reichard said, “You have us at a great disadvantage. We’re unaccustomed to men forcing their way into our midst. We generally spend a good deal of time and effort recruiting our members. You’ve proven to be much more resourceful—and troublesome—than your records suggest.”

  Jake savored his food. “It’s a knack I have.”

  “Understand, you’ve created a dilemma for us. Our arrangement has existed for more than a century. During that time, every member who’s been inducted—except one—has obeyed our constitution to the letter. It’s something we take very seriously. As you rightly pointed out, we can’t eliminate you, nor can we knowingly allow someone else to do so. That ring guarantees your inclusion in our activities as well as your protection.”

  Jake gestured with an open hand. “So what’s the problem?”

  Weiskopf leaned forward. “The problem is that every man sitting here is worth billions of dollars. If we accept you, our law requires us to give you a cut of our holdings. What do you bring to the table? We own entire private investigation firms. Munitions. Security contractors. You have nothing to offer us.”

  Jake nodded at Madigan. “I don’t believe the mayor here has nearly the kind of dough you’re talking about.”

  “He has other value,” Schlatter said. “We shepherded his career into Gracie Mansion, and our expectation is that he’ll eventually sit in the Oval Office. We’ve played a role in every conflict this country has engaged in since World War I and reaped the benefits. Do you have any idea what an advantage it will be to receive no-bid contracts for White River Security and our other interests? We’ve never had one of our own elected to the top office. The closest we’ve ever come has been vice president.”

  “Not that we’ve ever needed a president,” Reichard said. “We own all the politicians we need, thanks to my foundation. We have no real regard for politics beyond our bottom line. It doesn’t matter which party is in power, provided we can influence it to serve our purposes. And that’s been the case for almost four generations. We don’t care what laws are passed, as long as they contain enough loopholes for us to operate as we see fit.”

  “We run this country,” Weiskopf said. “We have for one hundred years. Every critical social and financial decision has been made or approved by us to enhance our profit margin.”

  “We are the United States,” Reichard said with obvious pride.

  Jake looked around the table. “Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t see any women or minorities here.”

  Reichard smiled and Weiskopf chuckled.

  “And you never will,” Schlatter said.

  Jake chewed on their words along with his food. “What does that make the rest of us?”

  “A worker force and a consumer base,” Weiskopf said.

  “Which brings us back to our problem,” Reichard said. “I’m sorry, but you just don’t measure up. If we spent two decades cultivating you, you still wouldn’t deserve to keep our company. And yet, you seem to have given us no choice in the matter.”

  “Bully for me,” Jake said. “Who was the guy who broke the rules?”

  “Your former employer.”

  Jake swallowed his food. “Old Nick?”

  Reichard’s good cheer evaporated. “Nicholas was one of our peers. Unlike you, he brought a great deal to the table. But he became obsessed with certain notions that led him astray.”

  “He wanted to live forever.”

  Reichard nodded. “He devoted far too much time and capital in his quest for eternal life, which is antithetical to our philosophy.”

  “Which is?”

  “To live for today, not for tomorrow, and to amass as much treasure and power as possible. We don’t concern ourselves with the afterlife.”

  “How pragmatic of you.”

  “Religion and morals are for lesser men,” Coffer said.

  “Nick and his obsessions,” Browning said with obvious disappointment. “Genetic engineering and the Reaper.”

  Jake tried to hide his surprise. “You know about the Reaper?”

  “We know all about the Dark Realm and the Realm of Light. Where do you think Nick learned about them? The difference is, we don’t give a damn.” Weiskopf clucked his tongue. “You know about Cain from Nick’s notes?”

  “Yes,” Jake said with a straight face.

  “We should have killed Nick,” Schlatter said. “Screw the rules. We should have bombed the Tower from below or had a plane flown into that penthouse. Then we wouldn’t have to worry about his memoirs opening Pandora’s box.” He focused on Jake. “We can get to anyone, you know.”

  Reichard sipped his wine. “But then we’d never have recovered his ring. Nicholas left the reservation, so to speak. He sealed himself in the Tower an
d had enough power that he knew we could never reach him to take back our ring. We pressed him to reconsider his position, but he broke off all communication with us. The last thing we heard from him was his vow to return his ring if he died. For ten years, we had only seven active grand masters. In one sense, that was good because it prevented deadlock when we had disagreements. Upon his death, true to his word, we took delivery of his ring, which Benjamin now wears.”

  Bradley’s grin made Jake ill.

  “We got our ring,” Coffer said, “but Nick’s death cost us a fortune. The son of a bitch didn’t just cut us off; he cut us out of his genetics enterprises. And when the feds broke up his company, it was the last straw for the economy, the one time since the Depression when we lost control.”

  Reichard’s voice iced over. “And we blame you for that, Jake. ‘Tower makes monsters.’ You admitted you were responsible for leaking the information that resulted in Tower International’s dissolution.”

  Jake sipped his water. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “It’s that reckless attitude that concerns us. It took tremendous effort and financial sacrifice for us to get the economy back on track. You cost us billions, far more than the government spent. And now you expect us to welcome you into our organization with open arms and hand you Taggert’s share in our operations. I’m sure you appreciate why that prospect doesn’t sit well with us.”

  “I’ll grow on you,” Jake said.

  “You don’t deserve that ring,” Weiskopf said.

  Jake shrugged. “And yet here I am.”

  “You haven’t earned it, damn it.”

  “I beg to differ. I survived two attempts on my life.”

  “You have to make a sacrifice to be a member. We all did.”

  Jake set down his fork. “Is that what’s bothering you?” He reached inside his jacket, took out an object wrapped in a handkerchief, and placed it before Weiskopf. “Here.”