Bannerman's Ghosts

by John R. Maxim

  “So, what now?”

  “Down to business. I will meet with Mr. Bourne. You will join me, but you’re not to speak.”

  “I’ll join you after I find Aisha and Nadia.” She stepped to the lawn unassisted.

  “Look at me, Elizabeth. You’ve just had your last chance. You won’t get another warning from me.”

  She did look at him. It was a different Paul Bannerman. The Bannerman that she’d described to Aisha was gone. It was all in the eyes and the voice; they’d gone cold. They were telling her that if she said one more word, it would be the last thing she’d remember.

  Waldo approached Bannerman. He handed him a cell phone. He said, “This is Lilly’s. He just used it to call Bourne. Bourne will be looking out a window by now. Hit re-dial if you want to say hello.” He said to Elizabeth, “You’re along for the ride. You won’t get another warning from me either.”

  Her hand almost went to one of her knives. She struggled to remain still and silent.

  Molly said to Bannerman, “You’re calling it. Who does what?”

  “You stick with Waldo. Follow John’s lead. Billy, I would like you to interrogate Chester. Do it up near the house. Do it where Bourne can hear him. But don’t let him die; I might need him.”

  Billy nodded. “You want this guy loud; he’ll be loud. First Clew. We’ll talk about Clew.”

  “Let’s do this,” said Bannerman. “I’d like to get home. I think we’re going to have a full day.”

  FORTY

  Bourne had wondered why Chester Lilly would say, “Leland’s coming, but stay in the house.” He’d come up from the basement and looked out a front window in time to see Lilly go down. He was holding his knee in obvious pain and Bourne could see blood on his hands. Bourne had heard no loud report; he’d not seen a weapon, but Lilly was behaving as if he’d been shot. A smallish older man had been standing there near him. Now the smallish older man was ignoring him.

  Moments later, he’d seen the helicopter arrive. It was Leland’s helicopter. He’d said he might come. He’d seen a man emerge from it; he’d thought it was Leland, but this man was considerably younger than Leland. He was followed by two women, also young, wearing jumpsuits and at last by a huge man in leather. He recognized none of them. Where was Leland?

  He had seen the two jeep guards. They had come, but they’d done nothing. Nor did their dogs react to the activity.

  Bourne rushed to his study. He buzzed the main gate.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Who are they? What is this? What is happening?”

  “Sir, I don’t think we can be very helpful. We’ve got our own problems down here. We’ll get shot.”

  “Shot? Shot by whom?”

  “They haven’t told us who they are, sir.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Sir, I said we’d get shot. We’ve…” He paused. “Sir, hold on please.”

  Another brief pause and the guard came back on. “Sir, he says you’re welcome to try calling them yourself. He really does not seem to mind, sir.”

  Bourne snarled in frustration. He broke the connection. He turned and stepped to the window again. The small man who’d been waiting had Chester by the hair. Chester was struggling to reach a pistol that he must have dropped on the grass. The man holding him didn’t seem to be paying much attention. But each time Chester reached, the man would give his head a shake. The idea that an older man could do that to Chester…

  Now the man released Chester and approached the new arrivals. He addressed them, especially the two women. He handed something – a cell phone? – to the man in the suit. He and one of the women, the one with dark hair, turned away and began to walk toward the house. The man in the suit and the blond one remained. The big one in leather took Chester by the collar and was dragging him up toward the stables.

  The police, thought Bourne. You’re damned right I’ll try. I’ll have a Swat team up here in ten minutes.

  Bourne did try. He used the phone on his desk. There was nothing, no dial tone. His desk phone was dead. It was true. The lines had been cut. But they can’t cut a cell phone. Lilly’d called him on his cell phone. Where is it, thought Bourne. Oh, right here in my pocket. Bourne fished it out. He punched 911. He got a recording, very faint, broken up. It said something about limited range. He stared at the phone. Its low voltage light was flashing. The LED read-out was dim.

  “You’re welcome to try,” said the intruder at the gate who must have known that no phone would function. But how? And when? When could this have been done? His cell phone had never been farther than his bedside. Could a prowler have already been in the house? Standing over him? While he was sleeping?

  It rang. The sound shocked him. Bourne nearly dropped it. The police perhaps. They might have traced his 911 call. He fumbled with his thumb for the button.

  He sputtered, “Hello? This is Artemus Bourne.”

  “And this is Paul Bannerman,” said the answering voice. “We have a few things to discuss.”

  He had wanted to hide, but it would be of no use. It would also be beneath him. Demeaning. He might have wanted to fight, but he had no weapons except for a few antique swords above the mantle. He put them out of his mind. He’d look ridiculous.

  Above all, he was Artemus Bourne, for God’s sake. He owned half the government. They needed him. They owed him. And Bannerman was nothing. More legend than substance. Bannerman would be hunted for the rest of his life if he touched one hair on his head.

  Well, he’s more than nothing. Let’s be honest about that. One should never undervalue an opponent. Just look at what he’d already done. Holding gate guards at gunpoint. Holding Briarwood hostage. Turning away any guests that might have come, turning away household staff.

  And the guest list, somehow getting it, and distributing Clew’s exchanges regarding that damnable ship. It’s now abundantly clear how he got it, thought Bourne. He got it from Leland, the coward, the traitor. Leland even provided transportation.

  Even so, remember, you are Artemus Bourne. Be cool. You’re a giant. You are dealing from strength. They have Chester, but Chester will keep his mouth shut. Chester Lilly won’t cut his own throat.

  He’d said to Bannerman, “You may enter. You will find me in my study. Be good enough to wipe your feet first.”

  And he did. Bourne could hear them outside the front door. Two pairs of feet entered. A man and a woman. He expected to see Bannerman appear at his study, but it was the other one, the one who’d shot Lilly, and the darker haired of the two women.

  The woman entered first. She saw him seated at his desk. She said to him, “Please show your hands.” The man with her told her, “Don’t worry. Room’s clean.”

  “His desk?”

  He said, “Trust me. Room’s clean.”

  Two more pairs of feet. This time it was Bannerman. Bannerman and the much lighter haired of the two. Bannerman surprised him. He had rather a nice face. No hint of malevolence in his expression. Not so, the blond woman. A quite beautiful woman. Or she would be in some other circumstance. Her expression seemed frozen, lips pressed tight together, eyes that bored into him unblinking. A strange color, those eyes. A curious amber. He’d only seen that color in animals.

  Bannerman said, “While you and I talk, my friends would like to look around. Do you mind if they do a little browsing?”

  “I leap to the assumption that they already have. That and this,” said Bourne, “is criminal trespass. Not to mention felonious assault.”

  “Might you have a secret room that they haven’t yet found?” He gestured toward the ceiling, toward Bourne’s upper floors.

  Bourne was instantly relieved. He’d gestured upward, not downward. They may have been to his basement, but they’d not found his shelter. They knew nothing of what stood beyond the wine racks.

  Bourne glanced toward the ceiling. He pretended discomfort. “I forbid any further violation of my home. I forbid you to poke about rapping on walls. State your b
usiness, then vacate at once.”

  He saw Bannerman nod toward the one who shot Chester. A toss of his head asked that man to proceed with a search of the upper floors. The dark haired woman seemed confused by the instruction. Bannerman said to her, “Molly, go with him, please.” She obeyed, but still with misgivings.

  The blond woman with Bannerman seemed ready to burst. She was looking into Bannerman’s eyes; she seemed to be pleading with him. She didn’t speak, but it was clear that she wished to search with them. He said to her, “Soon. Stay with me.”

  From nowhere came the sound of a shriek. Then another, and a third. They were coming from outside. Then the sound of a man bawling, an hysterical bawling. Then the bawling became muffled. As if a door had been shut. But the shrieks, although muted, reached an even higher pitch.

  Bannerman had led the blond woman to a chair. He said, “That would be Chester Lilly.”

  Bourne turned ashen. “What are you doing to him?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Shall we go see?”

  Bourne shook his head. He sank into his chair. He put his hands to his ears.

  Bannerman walked to a window. He said, “I’m curious myself. Your man Lilly has been making some very odd sounds.”

  He opened the window. The shrieks became louder. Bannerman leaned his head out and looked off to his right. He said, “Oh, my.” He pulled his head back inside. He said to Bourne, “You really should see this.”

  Bourne closed his eyes. He kept them squeezed them shut. He refused to move from his chair.

  He heard Bannerman say to the woman who’d stayed with him, “Where those screams became muted, but then hit some new notes, Billy had found a row of beehives back there. He picked up one of the hives and slapped it down on Chester’s head. Chester’s wearing the whole hive on his shoulders.”

  Bourne looked. Her eyes had widened, but she still hadn’t spoken.

  Bannerman said, “I’m being rude. I haven’t introduced my friend. We’ll get to that in a minute.” He said, “Chester’s being asked about Roger Clew. I would assume that he’s incriminating you.”

  “I…had no role…”

  “Do you like bees, Mr. Bourne?”

  “I had…wanted to know what was in certain files. They were to be borrowed. All I asked for was his briefcase. Chester…I don’t know…he had some personal grudge. I was horrified to learn what had been done.”

  “Two men and a woman were involved in the attack. The woman is dead. Where are the men?”

  “Those two…have been punished for that terrible act. As I’ve said, I was horrified…”

  “I heard you. Dead as well?”

  “I’m assured that they won’t be seen again.”

  “And no doubt you intended the same fate for Chester?”

  Bourne leaned forward. “Rely on it, sir. Believe that if you believe nothing else.”

  “Well,” shrugged Bannerman. “Then that seems to be that. Are you of a mind to do me a favor?”

  “If there is…any other way in which I can make amends…”

  “There’s a freighter off Liberia. I think you know the one I mean. And you know they’ve had a problem with one of your products. I know that Howard Leland asked if you’d care to help. You declined. I’m asking you to reconsider.”

  “It isn’t my product. It might be VaalChem’s product. If someone at VaalChem is making such poisons, they certainly haven’t told me.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, it’s Marburg. And probably smallpox. Your phones aren’t working, so you can use mine.” He placed his cell phone on Bourne’s desk. “I’d like you to call VaalChem now as I sit here. Have them rush a supply of antivirals to that freighter. It must be specific to both Marburg and smallpox. Assume fifty treatments to be safe.”

  “You are assuming that these antivirals exist.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Bannerman. “Make the call, please.”

  “And are you aware that I have no guilt in this? No role, whatsoever. That was Kessler.”

  “Why don’t you and Kessler hash that out some other time? Please make the call now, Mr. Bourne.”

  Bourne, once again, felt a surge of relief at his use of the phrase, “some other time.’ He said, “Gladly.” He reached for the phone.

  Bannerman said, “Have them flown by air courier to Liberia. From Liberia, deliver them by seaplane to that freighter. Send them to the attention of a certain Major Scar. I’m not sure that’s his name, but he’s known by it. If he should be ill, give them to Scar’s wife. She’s Red Cross, and I’m told that she’s with him. They must be on that freighter by this time tomorrow. If they get there, and they work, you’ll have my thanks, Mr. Bourne. Please call VaalChem this minute. We’ll wait.”

  Molly was listening from the top of the stairs. She asked Waldo, “Why did he send us up here?”

  “He knows what he’s doing. Sit tight.”

  “Bourne thinks we don’t know what he has in his basement. He thinks this is all about Roger and that ship.”

  “One thing at a time. There’s a rhythm,” said Waldo.

  “Don’t you think it might be helpful if you filled me in on it?”

  “No offense,” said Waldo, “but what would have been helpful was if you and Stride stayed in Westport. Paul and me could have done this ourselves.”

  “Listen, John…”

  “Right now it would be me who was out there with Chester. Chester would be making the same kind of noises. Bannerman would be in there; he’d be messing with Bourne’s head, without worrying whether Stride would blow his act.”

  “John…why didn’t we just take him to the basement door and kick his loathsome ass down the stairs?”

  “Because Bannerman thought this out. He’s not like you and me.”

  “Did you…just then, forget to say, ‘No offense?’”

  Waldo rolled his eyes. “I should have said, ‘in this case.’ Right now, you and Stride just want Nadia and the kid. After that, all Stride wants is to cut this guy up. You heard Bannerman. He’s getting a few things off the table. He just covered Clew and now he’s doing that ship. He’s also deciding whether he can trust Stride.”

  “Trust her to do what?”

  “To play well with others. Not just for now. Now and later.”

  “Are you saying that Paul has other plans for Elizabeth?”

  Waldo shrugged. He said, “It’s more like, where else is she going to go? She can’t just waltz back to Hilton Head Island. Her house is a crime scene and she’s disappeared. Also she’s no longer dead. Nadia and Aisha; they can go back, but Elizabeth’s life there is finished.”

  “I suppose,” said Molly. “But at least she’s found Kessler. He won’t stay, though. He’s got to go back.”

  “You mean he’s coming?”

  “Not for more than two days.”

  “No, I mean coming here. Could he show up here?”

  Molly shook her head. “Not to this place. To Westport. Sometime today. That’s one reason why Paul said he wants to get back. I thought we’d be in and out by now.”

  “All we’d need,” said Waldo, “is him showing up here. It’s bad enough you and Stride…”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Bannerman had listened as Bourne made his call. The noise from outside had subsided into moans. Bourne had to ask for several scientists by name before he found one who had remained at his post. The one he spoke to, a virologist, had also tried to leave, but VaalChem was encircled by Angolan tanks, by fire trucks and by several hundred troops. The virologist was in a state of near panic. An attack by Alameo might be imminent.

  Bannerman grimaced inwardly. He had forgotten. Kessler had aborted the rocket attack, but no one told that to the Angolans.

  “You may tell him,” said Bannerman, “that he needn’t be afraid. You may tell him that there will be no attack. Get him started preparing the package.”

  Bourne asked, “Are you saying that you’ve called Kessler off? You can do that? One word from you?”
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  Bannerman flicked a hand as if the answer were obvious. He asked, “What exactly is he sending and when?”

  Bourne asked. He listened. He reached for a pad. He scribbled several notations. Bourne tore off the sheet. He handed it to Bannerman. He said, “These will be ready in an hour at most. He want to know how he gets them past the tanks.”

  Bannerman glanced at the sheet. He raised an eyebrow without comment. He slipped the sheet into his pocket. He said, “Tell him that someone will come for them shortly. End the call and give the phone back to me.”

  Bourne did as he was told. He slid the phone back toward Bannerman. Bannerman took it and punched out a number. He waited; a voice answered: he said to the voice, “I must ask you to hold any questions for now. I need the United States embassy in Luanda to facilitate a shipment from VaalChem to Liberia. The contact’s name is…” He raised an eyebrow toward Bourne.

  Bourne said, “Shamsky. Doctor Nikolai Shamsky.”

  Bannerman repeated the name to his listener. He said, “VaalChem has been quarantined by Angolan troops. You may tell their commander that he can stand down, but either way, that shipment must get out of VaalChem.”

  Bannerman listened and replied, “No, not yet, but shortly. I’ll advise you as soon as I can.”

  He’d completed the call. He saw Bourne staring at him. Bourne asked, “Who was that? Will you tell me?”

  “Howard Leland.”

  Bourne’s mouth fell open. “I suppose I might have guessed. And those antivirals. You recognized them? You know them?”

  The hand flicked again. Like the last, it was a lie. The only word he recognized was “lipid,” a fat. He would, however, ask Greta Kirch to explain what the others scribbles meant.

  Bourne asked, “And is it true that you forestalled that attack?”

  “It’s a valuable facility. Not entirely well used. That’s why you’re going to sign VaalChem over to a management group of my choosing.”

  “I…confess to being greatly impressed by you, sir. But you will, by God, not have VaalChem.”

  Bannerman cocked his ear. Lilly’s moaning had stopped. He said, “We seem to be giving Chester Lilly a rest. Is there anything that you’d care to tell me?”