It came to him as he thought about this that they had used trigger words against him before. It had happened in Mexico. He needed a way to end-run that. He couldn’t give Parker the chance to unleash Gemmell on him or put Gemmell back in control. Under those restrictions, how could he communicate with her?
Bannon stopped on a sidewalk and the answer occurred to him. He needed to break Gemmell. He had to insulate himself against the code words by letting them speak the words and then bringing himself back. For that, he needed a way to leave himself a message. He needed a recorder.
The second problem was how to find Parker, and then how exactly he could get to her. The key was the office near Great America in Santa Clara, which was next to San Jose in the Greater Bay Area.
ATS and the CHP were hunting him, maybe the FBI as well. Anyone entering the ATS Institute in Santa Clara would face heavy scrutiny. It meant that openly walking into the building would be a bad idea. Therefore, he couldn’t brazen his way in. He would have to scout the lay of the land and decide how best to sneak into the building.
-31-
Max looked up as a Middle-Eastern doctor shouted from outside the hospital room. He could see the dark-skinned man through the small window in the door. He could see Jim holding the doctor back.
Max sat beside Susan’s bed. He’d been talking with her. She was pale, wore bandages and had an IV sticking in her arm. She’d been in surgery when he’d landed on the hospital’s helicopter pad. Now she was supposed to be resting. The doctor had said she needed plenty of sleep. The bullet had been lodged deeper than expected and there had been complications during surgery. Max had been talking with Susan, and he was going to have to get rough now, he believed. First, he had to take care of this.
With a grunt, Max got up and opened the door, confronting giant Jim Barton, LeBron and the protesting doctor.
“What’s the problem, boss?” Max asked. The doctor looked Pakistani to him, so that’s how he thought of the man.
The small man pulled away from Jim. He straightened his white lab coat and wore a look of injured pride.
“The woman is my responsibility,” the doctor said. “I must see her, as she is my patient. These men continue to block me.”
“I thought I explained that,” Max said. “We showed you our badges and you can see we belong to Homeland Security. So does the woman you helped.”
“The bullet was lodged—”
Max stepped closer and adjusted the doctor’s collar. It made the man stiffen and that made Max smile.
“This is a national emergency, right?” Max asked.
“I am an American citizen,” the doctor said, “and I have rights and responsibilities.”
“Sure, doc, I understand. You love your patients. That’s a noble thing. But you have to understand that my job is seeing that you and people like you are safe and secure. Your patient has information we need—”
“No, no,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “She is weak. She has lost too much blood. There were complications during surgery.”
“You mean you screwed up?”
A stricken look swept over the doctor. “You are wrong. I have studied a long time before I practiced surgery. She had lost a lot of blood and—”
Max slapped the doctor’s cheek hard enough to get the man’s attention. The doctor stared at him, not knowing whether to be outraged or frightened.
“You know what, boss? I hear things the first time. I don’t need a broken record repeating something endlessly. You stay out of my hair and I won’t need to report you.”
“Report me for what?”
Max smiled at Jim. Jim towered over the small man and grinned down at him. The doctor shrank back as if Jim had just told him he was a cannibal.
Feeling the doctor was sufficiently cowed, Max pulled out his wallet. He showed the doctor the Homeland Security seal for a second time.
“I don’t want to be interrupted while I’m with her,” Max said. “Do you understand?”
The doctor swallowed nervously as he twined his fingers. “She is my responsibility.”
“Great, I’ll write that up in my report.”
“She needs sleep.”
Max raised his eyebrows. “What you’re telling me, doc, is that you’re going to need a lesson.”
“This is the hospital, a sanctuary. There are cameras.”
“Which will be fortunate for you once Jim is done explaining the facts of life,” Max said.
“I-I must protest.”
“No, boss, not today, not if you want to keep on practicing medicine.”
The doctor glanced from Jim to Max to LeBron and back to Jim. The doctor closed his mouth and nodded sadly. “This is unethical.”
“It’s a national emergency,” Max said. “That means whatever we do is legal.”
The doctor turned away and without a glance back, he left.
LeBron glanced at Max. “You didn’t convince him all the way.”
“If he comes back, take him outside,” Max said. “Convince him of his errors so he never forgets.”
LeBron gave Max his trademark grin, one many Iraqis had seen during the occupation before LeBron sent their spirits flying into the next world.
“I don’t want be bothered,” Max added.
Both LeBron and Jim nodded, and they took up station in front of the door.
Max went back inside and he studied Susan sleeping in her bed. He’d worked with her a long time in Sacramento, keeping track of Gemmell in that band of losers known as Celebrate Recovery. He knew her ways.
With a sigh, Max pulled out his cell phone and called the Controller.
“What did she say?” the Controller asked.
“It’s what she didn’t say that troubles me.”
“Explain.”
“At the surveillance house, Bannon surprised them as Karl tried to drive away. He shot Karl, but we already knew that. He took Susan captive and took her memory stick.”
“Why didn’t she or Karl transmit the images from the surveillance house in 17-Mile Drive?”
“She said they tried, but it didn’t work.”
“You think she’s lying?” the Controller asked.
“Maybe about trying to transmit. Karl was cautious and sometimes he liked insurance.”
“You mean being the only one who had the images of Bannon?”
“That’s right. I believe Bannon has the stick and it’s the only copy of him entering and leaving the Justice’s premises.”
“I want that stick,” the Controller said.
“When I kill Bannon, you’ll get it.”
“Overconfidence is a negative trait.”
That’s what all men with small dicks think, Max told himself. Aloud, he said, “What’s troubling me is that she’s being evasive about something.”
“Explain.”
“It’s nothing concrete,” Max said. “It’s a feeling, but I’ve learned to trust my gut instincts. I’ve been assigned with her for—”
“I am aware of the situation. Proceed with your explanation.”
Max became cautious. The Controller wasn’t like Karl and it would be wise to remember that. “Sir, it’s her manner. She’s either lying about something or hiding something.”
“You wish to drug her to find out?”
See, that the difference between Karl and the Controller. Max would have had to spell that out for Karl, but not for this man.
“Yes, sir,” Max said.
“What is her present condition?”
“The doctor is upset that I’m just talking to her. If he were here, I think he’d say that using the drug might kill her.”
“You two have spent a long time together on assignment with Bannon, is that not so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Has Susan ever refused your advances?”
Max grew even warier. She had, more than once.
“I asked you a question, Max?”
“Yes, sir, I hear you. I have never mad
e any real moves on her.”
The Controller sighed.
He knows I just lied. Sort of. Should I tell him the truth?
“Yes, use the serum,” the Controller said. “Pry this unsaid thing from her. It might give us the clue as to what Bannon hopes to achieve.”
After pocketing the cell, Max went to his kit—a small black bag—and opened it. He extracted a needle and small vial of serum. Taking these to Susan, he shook her good shoulder. He had to do it several times before her eyes opened.
Hair was stuck to her forehead and she was very pale. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
Max grinned down at her. “Hey, sweetness, do you see these?” He held up the needle and vial.
She glanced at them and stared into his eyes.
“It’s the serum I’m going to inject into you.”
“Please, no.”
“I don’t want to do it,” Max said, while maintaining his grin. He remembered all the little insults she’d given him while working together in Sacramento. She had done more than shoot down his advances. She’d insulted him several times, once in front of LeBron. Max had never forgotten that. Payback was always a bitch.
“The Controller gave me the go-ahead to do this,” Max said.
“Why?”
“You’re hiding something, sweetness. You have that little guilty look in your eyes when I’m asking you about Bannon. I’ll inject you, and the doctor is worried about that. He says you’ve lost too much blood for me to even speak to you. Imagine what an interrogation will do.”
“Get away from me,” Susan said.
“Then you have to tell me what you’re holding back.”
“There’s nothing.”
Max shook his head while making a tsking sound with his tongue. “I’m sorry you’re going to be that way.”
He flicked the vial and shoved the needle into it. Pulling back the plunger, he filled the needle with the beer-colored serum.
“Max,” she whispered.
“Last chance, sweetness.”
“Okay,” she said. “I-I didn’t want to tell anyone. But I overheard Dr. Parker tell Karl that Bannon’s wife is alive. He made me tell him.”
“What?” Max asked.
“They’ve lied to Bannon all this time. Now that Bannon understands the truth, he’s certain Parker knows where his wife is being held.”
Max closed his mouth. The man’s wife was alive? “He’ll go straight to Parker.”
“Yeah,” Susan said. “He’s a guided missile.”
Max frowned down at Susan. “Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?”
Susan breathed thought her mouth several times. “You know how the Controller is about secrecy and you know how he is about his daughter. I didn’t want them to know I’d eavesdropped, or told Bannon. It might make them wonder how many other times I’ve done that.”
“Okay. That makes sense.”
“So now you know,” she said.
Max nodded. Now he knew.
“I suppose you’ll tell the Controller about this,” Susan said.
“Maybe.”
Susan’s eyes widened. “If you keep it quiet, I’ll owe you one, Max. When I get better…you know that that means.”
“I’m getting a good idea, sweetness.” Max looked at the ceiling. After several heartbeats, he looked down at her. “I’ve decided to hold this one close to my vest.”
“Thanks.”
Max strode out the door. “Let’s go,” he told the other two.
“Where are we headed now?” LeBron asked.
“Santa Clara. I need to speak with Parker.”
-32-
Griffith was in his office when he received a call from the head of Homeland Security.
“I’m calling about the sobriety checkpoints in California,” Dr. Martinez said.
“Yes, I’m aware of them, sir,” Griffith said.
“Then you’re also aware of the massive traffic jams you’ve created?”
“I have been informed of it several times already, yes, sir. The importance of our present mission, however—”
“I’m not interested in your explanations,” Martinez said. He held one of the President’s key appointments and therefore was a veteran political creature. He was a watchdog over the rest of Homeland Security, making sure nothing happened to tarnish the President’s image.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard the news,” Griffith said. “It is the reason for the checkpoints.”
“I’m afraid to ask. But go ahead, enlighten me.”
Griffith modulated his tone so it carried a hint of horror. “Justice Arthur Blake has been killed in a brutal assassination plot at his vacation home near Pebble Beach. The assailant also murdered the Justice’s wife, daughter, son-in-law and bodyguard.”
“Is this a joke?” Martinez asked.
“I assure you that it is not, sir.”
“I haven’t seen this in the news or heard anything from the FBI.”
“I’ve been working overtime seeing that doesn’t happen, sir, at least not until we’re ready to handle the news. The FBI will be informed shortly.”
“When did this—you’re calling it an assassination plot?”
“Yes, sir,” Griffith said.
There was silence on the line, and Griffith could envision the former Yale professor clicking his fingernails on the hardwood desk of his imperial office.
“When did the attack occur?” Martinez snapped. “Why wasn’t I immediately informed of this? You should have told me personally.”
“It happened last night, sir. If I failed to inform you…it was an oversight, an unforgiveable one. We’re hard on the killer’s trail.”
“Your operatives know who did this?”
“We’re ninety percent certain, sir,” Griffith said.
“That is incredibly swift work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“It was not meant as a compliment,” Martinez said.
“I apologize for thinking otherwise.”
“I don’t give a damn about your apology. Do you realize… Supreme Court Justice Blake is dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Some might view that as a fortuitous death,” Martinez said.
“Maybe some people would, but of course they would be wrong, sir.”
“This is a heinous act,” Martinez declared.
“I totally agree with you, sir.”
“The President…You’re probably aware that he regretted the appointment almost as soon as he’d made it. The decision the Justice handed down six months ago—Blake cast the deciding vote that destroyed one of the President’s key agendas.”
“Ah,” Griffith said. “I see.”
There was further silence, and likely more fingernail-clicking on the vast desk.
“Assassinations are your expertise,” Martinez said slowly. “What kind of assassin was it? Do you know?”
“We have evidence that shows he was a hardcore Constitutionalist, sir. I believe we’ll discover he belonged to one of the militias that talk so much about armed insurrection against the government.”
“The ones who spread the lies about rigged elections and corruption in Washington?” Martinez asked.
“Yes, sir,” Griffith said. “That kind of man.”
“It seems odd such a group or person would pick Blake,” Martinez said.
“Sometimes there’s no telling with these people.”
“You’re sure of your information?”
“Sir,” Griffith said, “once we apprehend him and prove his collusion with those groups, we will be able to act swiftly and decisively against them.”
“Explain that,” Martinez said.
“We arrest the militia ringleaders and intern them as enemy combatants. It would dovetail nicely with your ongoing investigation against several of the largest of them. They’ve played into your hands with this insanity.”
“Keep talking.”
“Well, sir, after due
process of law, the most outspoken and ruthless of these ringleaders would likely find themselves imprisoned in our highest security facilities. Those are dangerous places, especially for men of their…ah, ethnicity.”
“I hope you don’t believe I have a personal vendetta against any of these men,” Martinez said. “They’re dangerous to the integrity of our country. They cause instability by publishing outlandish screeds against the Federal government. They are a cancer against the body politic.”
“I quite agree, sir. But now we have them. With this heinous act, we can rip the mask from their middle-class faces and show the rest of the people the monsters they really are.”
“Your passion does you credit,” Martinez said. “But we must always move within the confines of the law.”
“We are the law, sir.”
“No. We simply enforce the law. You must never forget that in your zeal for justice.”
“I totally agree, sir. Forgive me, please, my slip of the tongue.”
“Hmm,” Martinez said. “Just so I’m clear. How did you know that a hit would occur against Blake? The FBI has several agents embedded in the militias, and none of them has heard of anything of this nature.”
“Sir, it isn’t my way to cast aspersions on other Federal agencies.”
“You’re not suggesting the FBI knew about this?”
“Never,” Griffith said. “I’ve wondered at times if the embedded agents have been turned.”
“That’s a serious allegation,” Martinez said.
“I’m not making an allegation,” Griffith said. “It’s a thought, nothing more. Perhaps the agents are merely incompetent or unmotivated.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you knew something of this nature was brewing. You must have known to have some of your people there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well?” Martinez said.
Griffith cleared his throat. “Are you sure you want to know exactly, sir, or would you like to keep yourself enough in the dark to give yourself deniability?”
I, Weapon Page 19