Volcano

by Gabby Grant

  Al Fahd furrowed his brow and pulled another cigar from his pocket. “I’m not so certain. Perhaps a short trip to the warehouse as a guarantee?”

  Sun-tzu sat motionless in his chair. “I have my guarantee.”

  “Say what you mean,” Al Fahd hissed, unwrapping the cellophane.

  “How fast...” Sun-tzu smiled. “...do you think we could get this boy to cry uncle?”

  Al Fahd studied his lighted match a moment before bringing it to his cigar. “You’re a master,” the Arab finally said, breaking into a sickly smile.

  Sun-tzu nodded and looked at McFadden. “A life for a life, Mr. McFadden. Yours in exchange for the head of one Tom Mooney.”

  Joe felt his stomach revolt. Mooney? The third? No way. There was no fricking way.

  “The only trouble,” Al Fahd said, his head encircled by a giant puff of smoke, “is that our friend here has already proven his ineptness at murder.”

  “We have ways to ensure his compliance,” Sun-tzu said. “In fact, once we’ve filled Mr. McFadden in on all of his uncle’s unscrupulous acts, I don’t think he’ll be any trouble at all.”

  Al Fahd studied the ceiling and blew another puff of smoke. “It would be a blessing to have Mooney out of the way. Then you and I could handle things directly. No middle man.”

  “No election,” Sun-tzu countered.

  Al Fahd roared with capricious delight. “Who in the world elects a dictator?”

  “Precisely,” Sun-tzu said with a nod of his head.

  Al Fahd’s wicked laughter bounced off the sterile walls of the small room. “From covert influence to direct control. I like it.” He grinned. “And agree. But,” he said, “we get someone else to handle Mooney.”

  Suddenly the pain in his broken hand had nothing on the pressure pummeling Joe’s brain. From the forgoing conversation, it was evident his uncle had been involved with these nefarious two. Just how and why, Joe couldn’t fathom. Unless his uncle had been working under cover. No, it didn’t make sense! For whom? But, if his uncle had all along been involved, then it was his uncle who’d help set up Ana, had ordered him brought here.

  Joe stared at Al Fahd in disbelief as the Arab closed in like a tiger. “You will do us the favor of removing your uncle?”

  “Over my dead body,” Joe said.

  Al Fahd shot a look at Sun-tzu. “You go with him. See that it gets done.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Mark looked up across Albert’s broad wooden desk, his eyes wide with desperation. “We’re in a time crunch here, sir! Don’t you see from what Ana and I have been...”

  Albert slowly removed his glasses and looked first at Mark, then at his daughter. “You’ve done good work, the two of you. Admirable work. And I’m damn sure you’re right about the Y2K backlash theory. But Mark is absolutely correct. If this is some kind of anniversary bash that’s cooking, we need to get cracking. We’ve less than thirty-six hours to decipher their plan.”

  Ana checked her watch. “Thirty-two, father. And what we’ve got to narrow down first is the hit area.”

  “Absolutely,” Mark added. “And, from what McFadden told Ana, he was apparently pretty well convinced this was a direct US hit.”

  “Washington, then,” Albert said, rubbing his chin.

  “Or New York,” Ana chimed in. “Atlanta, Philadelphia, any East Coast city that’s planning some sort of party.”

  “After any initial attacks all places west of that would have forewarning, be able to prepare-”

  Albert raised a patient hand. “Don’t think we need to go spreading our resources that thin.”

  Mark raised his eyebrows.

  But Ana, who’d seen that look on Albert’s face before, just glared at her father. “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

  Albert settled tired hazel eyes back on his daughter. “Like Mark said, once there’s been an initial explosion, hit, disaster of any proportion, police and top security will be alerted nation-wide. So, what we’re looking for, I suspect, is a one-hit wonder. The fete to top all fetes- the one most desirable event on earth at which to wreak havoc.”

  “The Old Post Office?” Ana asked, catching her breath on the implication. The Old Post Office in Washington hosted the grandest gala New Year’s celebration in the District. It was a coup to get invited, with only top dignitaries and politicians normally warranting the privilege. And who generally put in a stellar public appearance at the largest party for the greatest nation on earth? None other than --

  “The Commander in Chief!” Mark shouted, ramming a fist into Albert’s desk. “Damn,” he said, recoiling his fist the instant he noted Ana’s disapproving eyes upon it. “It’s so damn obvious, we should have seen it in a heartbeat!”

  “I think you did see it,” Albert assured him. “Or, at least sense the magnitude of the situation in your gut. None of us can work the puzzle precisely, Mark, until we’ve all the pieces in our hand.”

  Mark glanced quickly at Ana. “Exactly what I was thinking, sir. In fact, there are those of us in this room who could benefit from more information.”

  Albert shot to his feet. “Jesus H. Christ! Information is right! Here I am rambling on about scenarios when, according to what you’ve just uncovered, the god-damned mainframe needs shutting down post haste!

  “Really am getting much to old for this job,” Albert grumbled as he tore from the room. “Too damn old...”

  “Sir!” Mark called, clipping after him, “what about the Post Office? The President, sir!”

  “Mark’s right,” Ana shouted, “somebody’s got to notify-”

  Albert whirled on his heels. “This is a god-damned DOS problem and the DOS is going to god-damned fix it! Do you hear?!”

  Ana swallowed hard, not believing what she was hearing. “But Dad, you can’t mean-”

  Albert turned his reverberating chin in her direction. “And you, daughter, would do well to remember your place... Your non-place in our present situation!”

  Ana felt the sting in her eyes. “Oh, I think I have plenty of business being here!”

  Mark laid a steadying hand on her arm but she jerked it away and turned toward her father.

  “Mark,” Albert said, looking emphatically at his son-in-law. “You take the wheel on alerting White House security of a potential problem. Get the FBI, ATF guys, Secret Service, anyone you can think of and have them on every conceivable container that gets delivered to any Washington, DC celebration locale within the next twenty-four hours.”

  Twenty-four, Ana suspected, because something in place longer, particularly if it involved some sort of chemical hazard, risked either losing efficacy or blowing prematurely if left in place too long.

  “Triple security at the Old Post Office,” Albert continued. “Anything out of the ordinary, we learn it here first. And get a list of champagne distributors and the like. Anyone who’ll have access.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mark said, squaring his jaw. “Consider it done.”

  “Oh and Mark,” Albert said, as Mark ducked back toward the red phone on Albert’s desk. “No mention of our other troubles here. Just that we’ve got wind of a potential threat.”

  ***

  Albert Kane slammed into the DOS Current Operations Center, Ana at his back.

  “How in Hades can you hope to hide all this?!” she hissed in his ear. “Don’t you think the White House would be better off...”

  Ana’s words fell off as she looked around at the skeleton crew manning stations. Mark had alluded to a mass exodus, but this was the nucleus of the organization for crying out loud! And the DOS was flying with a broken wing. “Where is everybody?”

  “Alright!” Albert barked into the room, commanding immediate attention. “This is a Code Blue. I want all systems shut down now! On orders from the commander...”

  As the actual DOS commander was unreachable at an undisclosed location somewhere else on the globe, Ana took that to mean her father, the second in command who was now quite obviously in char
ge.

  “We go black for thirty seconds while the systems guys switch us over to our backup hardware!”

  Heads swivelled and computer monitors went dark, blanking out lime green coordinates and the series of codes and documents that had blipped across every screen.

  “Sir,” a soldier called from the corner, “I’ve just about got this one-”

  “Take it down, Captain,” Kane ordered. And then, sensing the Captain’s angst, he added, “I’m sorry.”

  The Captain turned back to her system and shut it down, shit-canning something she’d probably been working on for eons.

  Albert gave a sigh and walked to the far end of the room where a smattering of world maps lined the wall. Up above those hung a continuum of wall clocks, each set to the precise time zone of the corresponding map below. “I’m afraid this is all we’ve got left,” he said, finally speaking to Ana, in answer to her question. “These are the ones we were able to track down, pull back in from holiday leave. But, the others-”

  “There are no others, are there?” Ana asked, following her father’s sad eyes to each empty command station.

  “The scare has the DOS completely crippled,” Albert admitted with a worried frown.

  “The DOS and therefore the DOD,” Ana said. “Can’t think of a better time to plan an attack on Washington. Must have taken a pretty sick mind to think this one up.”

  Albert grunted. “All hands are on it. All hands that we have, that is. But as you can see--”

  “What are those guys doing over there?” Ana asked of a team huddled together in intense conversation near the corner.

  “That’s our forecast team,” Albert answered. “Trained to predict where the trouble’s going to strike next.”

  “You going to let them in on the secret?” Ana asked.

  “Maynard!” Albert called across the room. “What are your latest stats on the scare?”

  “Overall, sir?”

  “Past twenty-four hours.”

  “Negative, sir. No additional reports in the past thirty-six.”

  Albert furrowed his brow. “The calm before the storm, Ana. They’ve already accomplished that objective. The DOD is a crippled mess and now the well-being of our President is at stake.”

  “After such an elaborate set-up, certainly seems like they’re planning something pretty sophisticated,” Ana said. “Something our normal MO doesn’t have a way around.”

  Albert’s face went ghastly white.

  “Father?” Ana said.

  Albert turned and headed toward the door. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

  “Now?” Ana asked, panic-stricken. “What about this?! What about Joe? We haven’t even discussed what’s being done about-”

  “McFadden’s no longer a priority.”

  Ana clamped onto her father’s arm with unnatural force. “Dad, he saved us... Mark, Isa, all of us! If it hadn’t been for-”

  Albert stopped her with a look that shook her to the bone. His appearance was more than weary; he was positively phantom-like.

  “You tell Mark I’m leaving him in charge. If I’m not back in two hours, have Mark alert the Commander in Chief to clear the White House and cancel every New Year’s celebration in Washington.”

  Ana raced to her father. “Dad, no. Where are you going?”

  “Do me another favor,” Albert said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Take good care of that granddaughter of mine.”

  “Dad,” Ana cried, throwing her arms around him, “don’t-”

  But Albert gently worked free of her embrace and turned toward the door.

  “At least tell me where you’re going,” Ana called, clutching her middle as sobs wracked her voice. Not again...after all this time. She couldn’t lose him again.

  Albert paused in the threshold, but kept his face to the reinforced doors that sliced open in front of him. And when he spoke, his words were little more than mere wisps of wind over his departing shoulder.

  “To say goodbye to an old friend.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Albert pulled into the drive of the vine-covered Arlington cottage that belonged to INR Director Tom Mooney. Yes, it would have been better for Tom and several thousand people, it seemed, if Tom had taken that early retirement from government service, after all. The irony in the situation was that Albert had been the one to talk him out of it. Had been the one to insist Tom still had so much to give. Well, Tom had been dishing it out, alright. Hand over fist. And the only explanation Albert could think of, the only thing that lent his tangled soul solace, was his conviction that his old friend had gone completely mad.

  Albert patted his herringbone coat, saddened that this time his weapon’s check was more than a habit. It was, he feared, a necessity. Given the shenanigans he’d pulled, there was no telling what condition Tom would be in.

  They’d made a pact, the three of them. Au Yang, the Yellow Viper, Albert Kane, the Silver Fox, and Tom Mooney, the Gray Wolf, that if anything ever went wrong with their plan and Volcano were to fall into the wrong hands, one of them personally would ensure the plan’s destruction, even if that meant the personal destruction of one of the other members of the team. Volcano was far too deadly, it’s implications too far-reaching, to be taken lightly. And so they hadn’t. The three men had signed their pact in blood.

  And now, that bond had been broken. Tom had betrayed not only his country and Albert Kane but also the memory of his loyal comrade Au Yang. Just this morning, Albert had finally received the long-awaited cable from Beijing. It was just as he’d suspected. When Au Yang went back to China in 1999, it had not been to aid the Chinese but rather to continue his covert work in American Intelligence. The nature of his mission had been so sensitive, it had taken a lot of arm twisting and extreme pressure by the Director of the DOS, to get even the slightest bit of information. But after Albert had been able to convince the Director of Au Yang’s potential involvement in the analyst scare, the Director had been able to grease the necessary wheels.

  And now Albert knew the truth. Au Yang had taken an assassin’s bullet in early 2000 because of something he’d discovered and had planned to share with the Americans, something involving a systems invasion of a major US intelligence organization.

  Volcano.

  It had been the early seeds of Volcano Au Lang had stumbled across and before he could put two and two together and blow the whistle on Tom Mooney, Tom had had him assassinated. Albert grimaced in disgust and unhitched his seat belt. Between Au Yang and the few hundred analysts who’d fallen victim to his sordid plan, old Tom had a lot of blood on his hands. Of course, it had been Tom, all along, who’d insisted on violence as an end to his means. Au Yang had been the pacifist among them.

  And Albert, who was neither one nor the other, was simply the sort of man who got things done.

  Albert popped his glove box and withdrew his silencer.

  There were no two ways about it. If Tom were the murderous traitor the world would make him out to be, he’d be better off dead. And if he weren’t, if Tom was no more than a dangerous old coot gone positively insane- then the old Tom, the Tom that Albert knew and loved like a brother, would have begged Albert to put an end to the sick man’s misery.

  For the man inside this house was no one Albert knew. The man inside this house was a villain, a threat to society. A man even Albert’s old service buddy Tom Mooney would have wanted taken out with a vengeance.

  He didn’t want to, but he had to. Because Albert knew with a clarity in his cleaving heart, that had the situations been reversed, Tom Mooney would have done his best friend and the world a favor, and put a bullet straight through Albert Kane’s head.

  ***

  Tom sat at his kitchen table and downed another shot of whiskey. He hadn’t told them, for Chrissake, to go killing people. But it was all right there in black and white. Even worse, sometimes in color: the photographic evidence from the slaughterings. Butcherings, pure and simple. And all in a neat little U
PS envelope that had landed on his doorstep this afternoon.

  Happy New Year’s, indeed. This was not what Mooney ordered. Not what he’d ordered at all.

  Mooney refilled his glass, worrying about his nephew. Should have known better, he told himself. Better than to get tangled up with those goddamned Arabs. The Chinese were alright; the Chinese understood. Though it was true Mooney had been a bit blood-thirsty in his youth, age had tempered him. He now saw the greater wisdom of Eastern ways.

  Sun-tzu had been right, “a hundred ounces of silver spent on information could save ten thousand spent on war.” And the use of spies could save infinite lives... Volcano’s plan was to extrapolate. Avert violence- to the extent possible- by having the threat of war predominate. Turn intelligence back on itself. Al Fahd and his men were to threaten, god damn it. Gaslight, yes. Scare senseless. Make every goddamned DOS analyst afraid for his life and his family’s well-being for fear they were being watched. It was a fricking psychological game that the Chinese had obviously understood but the Arabs hadn’t.

  Al Fahd was a wild card, a loose cannon who’d taken the reins into his own hands. But not only control over the operation, Al Fahd had also taken Joe.

  Taken? Christ. Mooney downed another belt. Tom had fucking delivered the boy to that butcher. Delivered! His own flesh and blood, the son he never had...

  And when, god dammit, Tom wanted to know, exactly had he done that? And why couldn’t he fricking remember?

  These past six months had been a checker board existence for Tom- or had it been longer? Tom strained to recall when the memory lapses had begun, but couldn’t put it together.

  At first, he’d attributed his “black-outs” to his increased penchant for drink. A predilection that had seemed to take hold the moment the State Department had made public its decision to force Tom from its ranks.

  But the frightening part was, Tom hadn’t been altogether sure whether the booze was to blame or not. Things seemed to happen even when he wasn’t hitting the sauce. He could be on the horn, making a critical call one moment, then bumbling into the water cooler the next.