The Hunters h-1

by Chris Kuzneski

  Papineau paused for acknowledgements of Garcia’s abilities.

  There were none.

  That is, until Cobb felt sorry for him.

  ‘Thanks to Hector,’ Cobb said, ‘we don’t have to worry about any blowback from the Brooklyn job. Before he quit the Bureau, he created a backdoor in their computer systems, which means he can tap into their files anytime we need him to. Over the past few days, I’ve had him search their databases for any references to us. So far, all they have are vague descriptions from eyewitness testimonies.’

  ‘They would have turned up more,’ Hector assured them, ‘but I intercepted all of the live feeds from their surveillance van and cleaned them before I sent them on.’

  ‘Define clean,’ Sarah said.

  Hector smiled. ‘I erased every file — audio and video — that featured you, Jack, or Josh. It’s like you were never there.’

  ‘Never where?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘Our tryout,’ Cobb answered as vaguely as possible. ‘You had a pop quiz, and we had some homework.’

  ‘And by homework,’ McNutt bragged, ‘he means we actually invaded a home. You should have seen it: there were bombs, and guns, and swimwear. It was great.’

  ‘Wow,’ Jasmine gasped as she took a deep breath to calm down. The tension in her face and the anxiety in her eyes told Cobb a lot about her state of mind. Until that moment, she didn’t have a full understanding of the risks involved. Now she did.

  ‘Sarah Ellis,’ Papineau said, moving the conversation forward. ‘She is former CIA — a prodigy in her field, I might add — who is an expert in security systems and border crossings. She is our worldwide ambassador.’

  McNutt picked up from there. ‘Her interests include hang-gliding, fighting giants, and skintight catsuits, but whatever you do, don’t call her a thief.’

  ‘Why not?’ Jasmine wondered.

  ‘Because she’ll kick you in the nuts.’

  ‘But I don’t have nuts.’

  ‘Then you can probably get away with it.’

  Sarah stared at Jasmine from across the table. The intensity of her glare said it all. If you call me ‘thief’, I’ll come up with something even worse.

  ‘Moving on,’ Papineau said. ‘Josh McNutt was a decorated Marine sniper — at least until they threw him out. Where armaments are concerned, he is as experienced as they come. He is our weapons and security expert.’

  Sarah shifted her gaze to him. ‘Why’d they throw you out?’

  McNutt grinned. ‘I ran the table at a shooting gallery in a carnival. I wanted to win a stuffed bear for a little girl. When the proprietor objected, I objected back with the gun.’

  ‘You shot at the guy?’ Jasmine asked.

  McNutt shrugged. ‘Don’t worry: it wasn’t a real guy. It was a carnie. Bullets can’t kill carnies. Nothing can. They’re like cockroaches.’

  Papineau rolled his eyes and continued. ‘And finally, allow me to formally introduce you to Jackson Cobb, Junior — son of Brigadier General Jackson Cobb, Senior. Our Jack began his career as a member of the Army’s one hundred and sixtieth Special Operations Aviation Regiment-’

  ‘The Night Stalkers,’ McNutt elaborated.

  ‘- much to the reported displeasure of his father, who wanted him to join the Marines. In fact, once the Marines finalized their Special Operations Regiment in 2007, General Cobb used his far-reaching influence, both personally and professionally, to see that his son took a commanding post in the unit.’

  ‘You name it, they can do it,’ McNutt said with admiration.

  Papineau elaborated. ‘According to my sources, Lieutenant Commander Cobb had an exemplary career in many bases of operation. He is one of the finest leaders the US military has produced in the last few decades. Exceptional at empty-handed combat, extremely well regarded amongst international authorities, he is our … hmmm? What would you call yourself, Jack?’

  Papineau already knew the answer to his question. He meant to put Cobb — the obvious leader of the group — on the spot.

  Cobb shrugged. ‘I would call myself the fifth member of this team.’

  McNutt laughed. ‘Don’t let his modesty fool you. The SEALs begged the Marines to loan him out for a couple of missions. So did the MANIACs. And if they wanted to work with him, you know he’s the best of the best.’

  Sarah eyed Cobb with a new level of respect — and curiosity.

  Why was someone like him sitting in a room with them?

  She pulled no punches. ‘Sorry to be nosy, Lieutenant Commander Cobb, but what did you do to fuck up such a perfect life? Did you shoot a carnie, too?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Cobb said as he turned his attention to the tropical landscape outside of the dining room window.

  Sarah smelled weakness and pounced. ‘That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give us? You teased me all week about my checkered past, now you’re unwilling to tell us what you did to end up here? What kind of bullshit is that?’

  Cobb remained silent.

  He knew Papineau would fill in the blanks for her.

  ‘Jack was court-martialed,’ Papineau explained. ‘For “offenses against the uniform code of military justice”. Articles eighty-seven, eighty-eight, and ninety-nine, I believe.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak military. What did he actually do?’

  ‘I really wish you’d shut up,’ Cobb said quietly.

  Papineau ignored him. ‘The thing about Jack Cobb, according to the court-martial transcript, is that when he was assigned a mission, he finished the mission, even when the senior brass changed their minds. In this case, they wanted to spare a terrorist to use as a political pawn. A knife, concealed in Cobb’s palm, disagreed.’

  ‘What kind of blade?’ McNutt asked.

  ‘Enough,’ Cobb said louder.

  Papineau continued. ‘Suffice it to say, Monsieur Cobb got off fairly lucky considering what they could have charged him with. He received a dishonorable discharge with no prison time. I’m guessing his father had something to say about that as well.’

  ‘I said, enough!’ Cobb glared at Papineau. He had no idea what the Frenchman was trying to achieve, but the bastard had gone too far. It was one thing to highlight his resume for the team; it was quite another to reveal classified details of his court-martial.

  Sarah patted his shoulder, trying to calm him. ‘Relax, Jack. You did what you thought was right. I see nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘Me neither,’ McNutt agreed.

  ‘Nor do I,’ Papineau said in a tone that was tough to read. ‘I apologize if I brought up an incident that you would rather not talk about, but as I said early on, I think it’s important to clear the air before we proceed any further.’

  Cobb continued to glare. ‘I couldn’t agree more, Papi. With that in mind, why don’t you tell us about your past? Specifically, how did you acquire your money?’

  Papineau forced a smile. He didn’t like being on this side of the spotlight. ‘I made my fortune in a variety of businesses too numerous to recount.’

  ‘Name one,’ Cobb demanded.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘One business in which you invested. Something Hector can check.’

  Garcia glanced at Papineau. ‘Yeah. That would be nice. Your name doesn’t show up anywhere I’ve looked.’

  ‘I noticed,’ Cobb said, holding up his phone and wiggling it.

  The Frenchman explained. ‘My background is very private, and my investments are deep and diverse. Energy, banking, entertainment — anything that is profitable and challenging.’

  ‘Enron? Pyramid schemes? Porn?’ Sarah pressed.

  ‘I have money managers who handle that. I do not become directly involved.’

  Cobb leaned forward. ‘Except here.’

  Papineau nodded. ‘Except here.’

  Cobb was willing to bet the man wouldn’t know an annual report from a yearbook, and he was confident that ‘Papineau’ wasn’t his real name, either.

&n
bsp; But that was a mystery for a later day.

  15

  Papineau sensed the troops were getting restless. He knew he needed to grab their attention before they turned against him completely. He raised his finger to his lips, asking for silence.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said politely. ‘Now that we know a little more about each other’s accomplishments, I think it’s time that we get to the purpose of this gathering.’

  ‘It’s about time,’ McNutt grumbled.

  Papineau chose to ignore him. ‘As I entered the dawn of my twilight years, I became intent on finding a way to leave my mark in history. Initially, I had no intention of focusing on the subject of history itself, but after giving it some thought, I decided to use the mysteries of the past as a starting point. To achieve what I had in mind, I understood the error of simply hiring the top experts in a variety of historical fields. Rather, I wanted to assemble the best team possible: a group that would combine to form the ultimate squad of hunters, whose talents were specifically tailored to meet my goals. I spent months searching for each of you, and several weeks more finding the proper way to test you all.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘What was your criterion?’

  ‘I used a test called SAR, which stands for Stress-Action Ratio. It was developed by NASA when they first began recruiting men to fly into space. The examiner took something that people claimed to be an expert in and tested that skill under pressure. Either the pilots succeeded in overriding a malfunctioning space capsule system — or they perished. Even with that initial test, at least one of the original seven astronauts appears to have cracked under pressure on a mission. So NASA instituted double-jeopardy examinations unimaginatively called SAR-B. The systems fail and the lights go out, or some combination of troubles.’

  Cobb wasn’t buying it, not entirely. NASA’s half-century-old winnowing process was not part of any modern curriculum he had heard of, but Cobb was willing to play along for now. ‘Which explains our homework assignment in New York. You wanted to see how we would handle ourselves in a life-or-death situation.’

  ‘Something like that,’ he admitted.

  Sarah’s cheeks flushed with anger. ‘You mean I risked my life for nothing? You were simply testing me?’

  ‘No, my dear, it was more than a test. The document that I asked you to retrieve is actually an important part of your main mission. Furthermore, I am prepared to pay you significant amounts of money for your time. Naturally, my entire estate is at your disposal in terms of equipment and materials. Anything you need, ask. Here, you answer only to me. When you’re in the field, to your team leader.’

  All of the eyes in the room shifted toward Cobb.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Jasmine said, ‘but will we be asked to do anything illegal?’

  ‘Yes,’ Papineau said. ‘In fact, almost everything. Is that a problem?’

  ‘It might be,’ she said.

  ‘You send half of your weekly take-home pay to your parents in Seoul,’ he said. ‘It would take you decades to send them what you can earn here in a few months. Is it still a problem?’

  ‘Some of us have been in prison,’ McNutt said. ‘It’s not fun — unless, of course, you enjoy rape.’

  ‘Fortunately we function under the Marine praxis that no member is left behind. That includes being kept in a prison, anywhere. Illegality is only a moral limitation for us, not a physical one.’

  ‘What about killing?’ McNutt asked.

  ‘Hopefully that will not be necessary,’ Papineau said.

  ‘But you wouldn’t have hired him otherwise,’ Sarah said.

  Papineau’s silence was confirmation enough.

  ‘How much is this “significant amount” you referred to?’ McNutt asked.

  ‘Five million dollars to each of you,’ he replied. ‘Cash, wire transfer, bank check, gold — however you want it.’

  He had them. Cobb knew it and so did the Frenchman.

  ‘Anyway, that’s all I have to say,’ Papineau said. ‘Are there any questions?’

  McNutt raised his hand. ‘What’s a praxis?’

  ‘A practice,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘Ah. Thanks.’

  Papineau took some of the breakfast burrito Garcia had made, some of the fruit Jasmine had cut, a half of a sandwich Cobb and McNutt had made, and a little of the juice Sarah had squeezed. The man was nothing if not diplomatic.

  ‘Do any of you need time to think over your involvement?’ the Frenchman asked. ‘We’re on somewhat of a tight schedule.’

  Jasmine surprised everyone by being the first to speak. ‘I’m in.’

  She looked at Hector, who said, ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’m in, too.’ He looked at McNutt diagonally across from him.

  ‘Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for all the tits at Hooters,’ McNutt exclaimed.

  The momentum stopped there. Papineau stared at Sarah.

  ‘Ms Ellis?’

  She looked to where her forefinger was making a little circle on the table next to her drink. ‘Well, since you went to so much trouble to bring me here … why the hell not?’

  Papineau smiled and turned his attention to Cobb. ‘And what about you?’

  Cobb glanced around the table. ‘Before I make a decision, I’d like to mention the one thing that Papi has not yet shared. This is not his home, it’s a training facility.’

  ‘For what?’ McNutt asked. ‘Being rich?’

  Papineau returned Cobb’s stare. ‘You’re referring to the air vents?’

  ‘Among other things.’

  ‘Someone want to catch us up?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Mr Cobb looked for and spotted the air duct that-’

  ‘Two air ducts,’ Cobb interrupted. ‘There’s one at basement level in the front, hidden by the landscaping, another about ten feet lower on the beach.’

  Papineau made a face. ‘That’s a big assumption. A vent down there would be flooded during high tide.’

  ‘Hence the out-of-place sea wall,’ Cobb said. ‘There’s nothing else it could be shielding.’

  Papineau nodded appreciatively. ‘Yes, there are two air ducts.’

  Cobb smiled. ‘Care to show us the rest of the facility?’

  ‘Now that we have gotten to know each other a little, let us have a look at what Mr Cobb alluded to. I’m sure you’ll be impressed by what I have below.’

  Papineau led the team downstairs past an indoor swimming pool. Through double doors they glimpsed a pier angling out into the sea and a motor yacht, four levels high and roughly sixty-five feet. Lights were on fore and aft, revealing a white hull and the inscription TRESOR DE LA MER painted on its stern.

  ‘Treasure in the Sea?’ McNutt attempted.

  ‘Treasure of the Sea,’ Jasmine corrected.

  ‘Damn. I was close. If I stick by you, I may get an education.’

  ‘You need one,’ Sarah teased.

  The group followed Papineau down another flight of stairs to a sub-basement, toward a door heavy enough for a bunker.

  ‘This is modeled after the design of the White House situation room,’ Papineau said.

  ‘How do you know?’ McNutt asked.

  Papineau grinned. ‘I stole the plans.’

  16

  On the other side of the door was a luxurious conference room, climate-controlled to museum-level perfection and decorated with fine art, gold and silver trappings, and expensive carpets. To Cobb, the decor looked out of place — even for a man like Papineau. Cobb immediately looked beyond the distractions, searching for the telltale edges of a vault or signs of whatever else Papineau was trying to conceal. After almost a minute, he still hadn’t found what he was looking for; it was hidden even to his trained glance.

  Cobb intentionally caught the Frenchman’s eye so Papineau would know exactly what he’d been doing. He wanted to make it clear to Papineau that he understood the situation. Papineau, in turn, seemed pleased that his secret had stumped Cobb … at least for the time being.

  The focus of the room was a lar
ge video screen — a nautical chart — that completely covered the far wall, facing long couches and amply padded easy chairs. The room had the same showroom quality Cobb had found strange in the upper rooms: a ‘just removed the plastic’ feeling — even, somehow, the gourmet food they had found in the kitchen.

  Everyone took up positions in front of the nautical map. Papineau pressed a button on a remote control. The lights dimmed, and the sea map vanished, revealing a land map of Eastern Europe, circa 1914. The map slowly zoomed on a shape that was colored yellow.

  Papineau stared at the group. ‘Romania is located at the crossroads of Central and Southwestern Europe, on the lower Danube River.’ He turned and aimed a laser pointer at the map wall, and a red dot appeared. ‘Ukraine to the northeast, Austria-Hungary to the west, Serbia to the southwest, and Bulgaria to the south. Its capital city is Bucharest, currently the sixth largest city in the EU.’

  ‘Population?’ Cobb asked.

  ‘Romania or Bucharest?’

  Cobb smiled. ‘Go for broke. Both.’

  ‘Now or in 1914?’

  ‘Your choice.’

  Staring at his phone, Garcia answered for him. ‘Modern-day Romania has approximately twenty-two million people. Bucharest, around two million.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Cobb said, with a sidelong glance at Garcia. His curiosity was satisfied. Papineau was not immersed in whatever they were about to do. He knew only what he needed to know.

  ‘Ms Park, perhaps you can fill in the blanks before World War One,’ Papineau said.

  That suggestion straightened her posture and brightened her eyes. ‘Confederated in 1859, it adopted one of the most advanced constitutions of its time in 1866,’ she said in a clear, concise voice. ‘This allowed for the modernization of the country outside the previous dependence on the Ottoman Empire. The Ottoman Empire, of course, was one of the largest and longest empires in history, lasting from 1299 until 1923, and at its height stretched from southeast Europe to North Africa to western Asia-’