by Alex Siegel
Even his various headquarters hadn't lasted long. He was already on his third and was about to move into his fourth. It was ridiculous.
Aaron's phone rang. He immediately pressed it against his ear and said, "Hello?"
"This is Van Nieuwenhuyse. Here is the phone number you requested."
Van Nieuwenhuyse gave a long, international number, and Aaron wrote it down.
"Thank you," Aaron said.
"We got the number from a corrupt minister named Francois Meunier if that's helpful. He employed Unit K in the past."
"Did you interrogate him?"
"Yes," Van Nieuwenhuyse said. "He was reluctant to talk. His recuperation will be long and difficult."
"Thank you, again. I'll make the call right now."
"Good luck saving your legionnaire. Bye."
Aaron hung up. He yelled, "Hey, Perry! I need you to trace a phone number for me."
Perry had been snoozing in his workstation. He twitched and opened his eyes. "Sir?"
Aaron read the number.
Perry typed it into his workstation. After a moment, he said, "It connects to a tiny village in Panama called La Playa. It's barely on the map. I bet that's just a relay point, sir. We'd need to send a team out there to find the next link in the chain."
Aaron sighed. "I expected as much. We're dealing with a competent adversary, unfortunately. I'll just make the call."
He used his phone to dial the number. He wasn't worried about the call being traced back to him. The Gray Spear Society had control over the phone system.
"Hello?" a man answered in a baritone voice.
"Is this Mr. Hess?" Aaron said.
"Yes," Hess said cautiously.
"I was referred to you by Mr. Francois Meunier. He was a client of yours."
"I'm familiar with the name."
"I have an urgent task that must be done this morning," Aaron said. "The location is downtown Chicago."
"That's not convenient for me," Hess said. "My people are currently engaged in other business."
"How much will it cost to disengage at least one of them? The job is an assassination."
"Who is the target?"
"The foreign minister of Nigeria," Aaron said.
"Expensive."
"Name your price."
"What is your interest in this?" Hess said.
"The minister is blocking a large contract between my company and the government of Nigeria. He's fleeing Chicago today because of the cannibals. After he leaves, he'll be much harder to hit."
"Four hundred ounces of gold. One standard gold bar."
"What!" Aaron choked.
"You told me to name my price. The full amount must be paid in advance. If you want exceptional service from me, it will be exceptionally costly. Normally, I would demand time to assess the target and verify your references."
Aaron paused. "OK. Fine."
"There is a large fountain in downtown Chicago. I don't remember the name, but it's in a big park."
"Buckingham Fountain."
"Be there in exactly two hours," Hess said. "Bring a green, plastic suitcase containing the gold and a precise description of the target. Do not put anything else in the suitcase, such as bugs or tracking devices. My men will check it very carefully. A courier will take the suitcase from you. Do not attempt to follow him. We will be watching. The courier won't know anything, so don't bother talking to him."
"You've done this before."
"Many times, and I've seen every trick. If you try anything clever, I'll keep the gold and not do the job."
"Don't worry," Aaron said. "I understand the rules."
"Good bye." The call ended.
Aaron looked over at Perry. "I guess I need a green suitcase now. Good thing I already have the gold."
"Who is going to pretend to be the foreign minister of Nigeria, sir?" Perry said.
"Nobody. The assassin won't get that far."
* * *
Sheryl was climbing a ladder attached to the wall of the elevator shaft. Each step made it rattle ominously. Some of the bolts were very loose. Water had rusted the steel rungs so badly in spots, she had to be careful where she put her weight. The darkness was absolute.
After climbing a short distance, she reached for another rung and grasped empty air. She felt around and discovered a floor above her head. She was emerging through an opening into another room. Probably the elevator hoist room, she thought.
She continued up and almost banged her head on a railing. She finally got on her feet.
She still couldn't see a damn thing. With her hands in front of her, she walked carefully, one step at a time. She didn't want to accidently fall back down the elevator shaft. Eventually, she came to a wall. She slid her fingers along until she discovered a light switch, and she turned it on.
One bulb immediately burned out, but another stayed on. She was indeed in a hoist room. A giant, electric motor rested on beams over the elevator shaft. Thick, steel cables were wrapped around big pulleys. A panel full of relays and fuses was mounted on the wall. She was afraid if she touched it, she would get electrocuted. The room had no windows, but a cold draft was leaking through cracks in the ceiling.
She turned to the solitary, steel door, the only way out. Water had leaked down from the roof over the years and had corroded the metal badly. A solid strip of rust went from the top to the bottom.
She tried the handle, but it was stuck. Rust had welded the mechanism solid. She kicked the door, taking care not to make too much noise. It didn't budge a millimeter.
She sighed with frustration.
She looked around for a tool she could use but saw nothing. She remembered her gun. She took it out and began to disassemble the weapon. Some parts had nice, sharp edges.
Using the slide from the gun as a crude chisel, she began to chip at the rust around the door handle. This job was going to take time, but she saw no alternative. At least I ate a big breakfast, she thought.
* * *
President Roy Haley was sitting across from the Director of the Centers for Disease Control in the Oval Office. The Director was a stern woman with coarse, gray hair. Despite her obvious age, her skin was pink and relatively smooth. She was wearing a dark blue business suit made of fine material.
"Sir," she said, "you have to quarantine Chicago immediately. There is really no choice. Every time somebody flees the city, they could be taking the disease with them, and thousands of people are fleeing as we speak."
Haley nodded and maintained a serious expression. "I understand. I can't argue with the facts. Unfortunately, my hands are tied. I can't just unilaterally declare a quarantine."
Her eyes flashed with anger. "You're the President for Christ-sakes! Tied by whom, sir?"
By my girlfriend and my boss, he thought. "The military would have to enforce the quarantine at gunpoint, which means turning the entire Chicago area into a giant prison camp. That's a big step. The right people need to be onboard. All the consequences must be carefully considered. In the meantime, I assure you I'm doing everything in my power to deal with this crisis. The best people available are giving it their full attention."
The phone on his desk buzzed.
He jumped up and pressed the call button. "Yes?"
"Sir," his secretary said, "that guy is here."
President Haley smirked. He knew of only one man who could have that designation. He was one of the most powerful men in Washington, but very few people knew his real name. His title was simply "the Commander of Washington."
"Send him in immediately," Haley said. He turned to the Director of the CDC. "I'm sorry, but I have another meeting. It's very important. Please, see yourself out."
She frowned and snorted. Without another word, she stormed out of the Oval Office.
He sighed. He hated when people were angry at him, and she had good reason to be angry.
Neal entered. He had long, black hair which hung past his shoulders. A shaggy beard and mustache covered
the lower half of his face. He had the biggest torso Haley had ever seen, and Neal's arms were thicker than the legs of most men. He was wearing a gray business suit tailored to fit his unusual physique.
One of his female legionnaires was with him. She was a tall, muscular woman. A gray ribbon held her long, brown hair in a ponytail. Her brown eyes gleamed with an intensity that Haley associated with veteran soldiers. She was wearing a yellow, knit sweater and a long skirt which was a little too casual for the Oval Office.
"Hi, Neal," Haley said with a smile. "You're a few minutes early."
"I wanted to talk privately before the meeting," Neal said. "Do you remember Sophia?"
Haley went forward and shook the woman's hand. "It's nice to meet you again."
"The pleasure is mine," she said without smiling. "I'm a fan of your work."
"Same here. Stopping the Butcher was quite an achievement. The FBI was completely stumped."
"It wasn't easy for us, either."
Sadness on her face made him wonder what had happened, but there wasn't time to hear the story.
"Call me Bear," Neal said, "please. That's the name all my friends use, and I consider you a friend."
Haley faced him. "Do they call you that because your head is covered with hair?"
"The hair is a side-effect of my gift. They call me Bear because of my claws."
Neal held up his hands. His fingernails darkened, thickened, and extended until they became real bear claws two inches long. They looked like dangerous weapons, and he had the arm strength to do real damage.
"Ah," Haley said. "I'll be more careful next time I shake your hand." He smiled nervously.
"When the colonel gets here, let me lead the conversation. I have a specific agenda in mind."
"Of course. I'll just watch you work."
The desk phone buzzed again.
Haley pressed the call button. "Yes?"
"Colonel Mason Frist just arrived, sir," his secretary said.
"Everybody is early today. Send him in."
Haley, Neal, and Sophia sat on one of the plush couches in the center of the Oval Office. Two couches faced each other, and they were upholstered with white and gray fabric with a paisley pattern. An oval carpet with the presidential seal in the center was underneath.
A man in a formal dress Army uniform entered. He had a handsome face with nicely groomed, black hair. An impressive block of colorful ribbons decorated his breast. His black shoes were so polished, they reflected the light with almost a mirror finish.
He stood at strict attention with his eyes forward. "Sir! Colonel Frist, reporting as ordered, sir!"
"At ease. Join us, please." Haley pointed at the empty couch.
Frist tentatively sat down, but he maintained perfect posture and kept his hands in his lap. He avoided meeting Haley's gaze.
"I'll explain why you're here," Neal said in his deep, resonant voice. "One of your officers, Captain Mazza, acted in a suspicious manner yesterday. We need to find out why."
Frist gave Neal a curious look. "Sir, who is this man?" Frist turned to Haley.
"A good friend," Haley said, "and somebody who has the authority to ask any question he wants. Cooperate."
"Yes, sir." Frist furrowed his brow.
"To be specific," Neal said, "Mazza visited Chicago for several hours yesterday. He was supposed to be in Orlando with his family."
Frist stared at him. "How do you know this?"
"We just do. While he was in Chicago, he examined one of the cannibals in jail."
"The mission of the USAMRIID is to study dangerous, infectious diseases. The cannibal phenomenon might be the result of such a disease. It sounds like Mazza was going above and beyond to do his job."
"I don't think so," Neal said. "We checked his email, and there was no mention of his detour. He didn't file a report. He went alone, which I think is unusual. All his expenses were paid for in cash. His phone was turned off the entire time he was in Chicago. He booked the flights so the visit was just a long layover on the way to Orlando instead of a separate ticket. He certainly didn't act like a man doing a legitimate job."
Frist narrowed his eyes. "How did you get this information?"
"Don't worry about that. Your task is to help us find the cause of Mazza's odd behavior."
"My task? On what authority..."
"On my authority," Haley said firmly. "Do whatever this man asks, even if it involves classified information. His clearance is unlimited."
Frist frowned. "Yes, sir."
"Mazza is in Orlando now," Neal said. "We need him back in Washington so we can question him, but we have to be careful. If he gets spooked, he might run."
"You're treating a fine officer and a distinguished doctor like a criminal."
"He's acting like one. Call him now. Here's the number." Neal took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Frist. "Tell him to come home."
Frist stared at the paper for a moment. He stood up and went to a side table with a phone on it.
He made a call. "Captain Mazza? This is Colonel Frist. I'm sorry to bother you on your vacation, but we have an emergency situation here. You have to come back to the Institute ASAP... I know. I'm very sorry, but I have no choice. You can tell your family it's a matter of national security. You'll get a full briefing when you get here. Just take the next flight out. Thanks. Bye." He hung up.
Neal nodded. "Well done. We'll meet again when Mazza arrives in Washington. You're dismissed."
Frist looked at Haley, and Haley nodded. Frowning, Frist left the room.
After the colonel was gone, Neal said, "I'm gambling he's not our enemy. We could be putting our trust in the wrong man."
"That's the difference between us," Haley said. "I'm more of an 'innocent until proven guilty' kind of guy."
"You haven't seen what I've seen. We have to attend a funeral now. Let's go."
Neal and Sophia stood up.
"Whose funeral?" Haley said.
"One of my legionnaires," Neal said. "The Butcher put up a good fight."
Haley lowered his eyes. "I'm very sorry for your loss."
"He died honorably, fighting on behalf of the Lord. His sacrifice made the world better for the rest of us. It was the proper way for a legionnaire to end his life. I hope we all have such a glorious death."
Neal and Sophia walked out.
Chapter Seventeen
Buckingham Fountain was a landmark in the center of Grant Park in Chicago. The main section had three levels, and during the summer, hundreds of water jets bombarded it. Four bronze sea horses were placed like sentries on permanent duty. The water was off now, and snow filled the fountain instead. Aaron thought the snow looked even more beautiful than the water.
He stomped his feet on the icy pavement to warm them up. He considered himself to be a tough guy who sneered at bad weather, but the bitter cold exceeded even his tolerance. He looked up and cursed at a cloudy sky which promised even more snow.
A skinny woman in a dirty, blue jacket came up to him. A blue and orange ski hat covered her head, but holes in the fabric let him see her tangled hair. She was wearing thin tennis shoes without socks.
She's a vagrant they found on the street, Aaron thought.
The woman pointed at the green suitcase in his hand. "I need that."
He handed it over. He also pulled out a cash roll and gave her two hundred dollars. "Find someplace warm to sleep tonight."
"Thank you, sir!" Her smile revealed missing teeth.
She trudged off holding the suitcase in both hands. The weight of the gold bar was obviously giving her trouble.
Aaron jogged off in a different direction.
* * *
Aaron looked up at the dignified exterior of the American State Hotel. It was clad in brown terra-cotta which looked like half-baked clay. The building was thirty stories tall, not a lot by the standards of downtown Chicago, but still impressive.
He went inside. As soon as the warm air hit his fa
ce, he started pulling off his hat and gloves. He immediately recognized Smythe and Odelia seated in the lobby. They were wearing formal business attire which fit them well. Odelia's light blue suit was particularly charming. Contact lenses made her eyes look brown instead of their normal red. Smythe was carrying a steel suitcase.
Aaron walked across the white marble floor to join them.
"How did the drop-off go, sir?" Smythe said.
"Fine," Aaron said. "Our assassin should be along any minute now. Odelia, stay here and watch for him. Smythe and I will go up to the suite. We'll fly home in the helicopter. You take the car."
"Yes, sir," Odelia said.
Smythe gave her a quick kiss. Then he and Aaron went to the nearest elevator.
A door opened immediately when Aaron pushed the button, and they went inside. He was glad to see the elevator was empty. He put a keycard into a slot and pressed a button marked "Penthouse." The elevator shot up.
"You seem to be enjoying your time with Odelia," Aaron said.
"Working on an assignment with her is even better than just hanging out together. It's like a dream come true."
"I'm jealous. I have no idea when I'll see Marina again. We've both been overwhelmed with work lately. We're having trouble just scheduling video conferences these days."
"The craziness should end in less than a week," Smythe said. "The twins are almost done."
"I'm sure a new kind of craziness will replace it." Aaron sighed. "Speaking of assignments, did you discover anything new in your lab?"
"No, sir. Odelia and I went as far as we could with the equipment we have. We're still waiting for results from the big lab in Atlanta, and the Washington team is still making inquiries about the Army Medical Research Institute."
The elevator reached the top floor of the hotel. There were only two suites up here, and each took up half the floor. Aaron went to the door numbered "3001."
"How is the assassin going to get up here without a keycard?" Smythe said.
"That's his problem," Aaron said. "He's a professional. I'm sure he'll figure it out. I just hope he doesn't take too long."