by Marty Steere
“Peter,” Matt said, looking back up from the basement floor, “will you please close the door behind you?”
Peter, who was bringing up the rear, nodded, reached up, freed the slat holding the door open, and allowed the trap to lower and close.
The small basement was lined with old brick walls and appeared empty, save for a couple of dust-covered steamer trunks stacked in one corner and a hot water heater in another.
Matt walked over to one of the walls and paused. It appeared to Nate that he might be counting. After a moment, Matt reached out and placed a hand against one of the bricks. It moved, and the hand partially disappeared into the cavity left behind. Suddenly an entire section of the wall separated and swung away.
The area beyond was dark. Then a series of lights came on, and Nate could see a furnished room on the other side of the old wall. Matt looked back and grinned.
“It’s not the Ritz,” he said, “but it’ll do for now.”
The location, Matt explained, was one he’d used in his previous career. He did not further elaborate. There were two bedrooms. Maggie and Patricia claimed one. Matt and, to Nate’s surprise, Peter, the other. That left Nate and Tim to sleep on the two sofas in the communal room. It didn’t matter to Nate. He was exhausted.
In the morning, Nate arose early while everyone else was apparently still asleep. He was anxious to follow up on something he’d been mulling on the drive south. He found some instant coffee, made himself a cup, then carried it to the desk in a corner of the room, where he turned on the laptop Matt had produced the evening before, after Nate had lamented the fact that he didn’t have one. Nate had once again been struck by the resources Matt had at his disposal.
Once he was on line, Nate pulled up a series of data bases to which he had access. He found what he was looking for after only a few minutes.
Matt emerged from the bedroom and took the seat next to him.
“Any luck?” he asked, keeping his voice low, apparently not wanting to disturb the still-sleeping Tim.
Nate nodded. In an equally quiet voice, he explained to Matt what he’d found. After a moment, his brother nodded as well.
“Worth a shot, I guess,” Matt said. “Of course, there’s always the possibility…” His voice trailed off. He didn’t have to finish.
Matt was right, Nate knew. With everything else he’d come to learn in the past few days, anything was possible.
Still, he shook his head. “I don’t think so. And I’m willing to take the risk.”
Matt gave him a long look. Finally, he said, “Ok. But I go with you.”
“No,” Nate said immediately. “The others need you. And I need you to be with them.”
Matt frowned. He was about to say more, but Nate interrupted.
“It’s not open to discussion.”
Matt looked away for a moment, but then he nodded.
Changing the subject, Nate asked, “Have you figured out how to get to Krantz?”
Matt returned his attention to Nate. “I’ve got a working plan.”
“Really?”
A slight smile played on Matt’s face. “You want to see?” He stood before Nate could answer. “Wait here.”
Matt walked into the bedroom. He returned a moment later, a small object in his hand. He sat back down and held the thing out for Nate’s inspection.
“Do you see it?” he asked.
Nate studied the device. It looked vaguely like a remote control, though he was no electronics expert.
“May I?” Nate asked.
“Of course.”
Nate took the thing and held it in the palm of his hand. It was light. There were a pair of unmarked buttons on one side. Otherwise, the plastic casing was smooth. He turned it around, looking for inscriptions or other writing. Nothing.
Puzzled, he looked at his brother, who stared back impassively.
“I don’t get it.”
“Look more carefully.”
Nate held the thing closer, peering at it from every angle he could. Finally, he shrugged and glanced up. “I don’t know,” he said, before looking back down at the device. “What is it?”
“Hell if I know.”
Startled, Nate jerked his head up and realized he was staring at Peter’s grinning face. Matt stepped out of the bedroom behind him. He was in a t-shirt, and it dawned on Nate that the sweater Matt had been wearing a minute earlier was now on Peter. Matt was grinning as well.
“I figure,” Matt said, “if we can fool you, we can fool anybody.”
Nate gave Matt a dubious look. “That’s your plan? He’s you?”
“I said it was a working plan.”
Nate turned to Peter. “And you’re ok with this?”
“Why not?”
Nate stared at his brothers, both grinning like a couple of school children who’d just pulled off a prank in home room. Despite himself, he chuckled. After a moment, the chuckle became a laugh. Then Peter was laughing. And Matt. Suddenly, all three brothers were howling uproariously, tears running down their faces.
The door to the other bedroom opened and Maggie stepped out, a blanket draped over her shoulders, the edges clutched at her chest. She gawked at them for a moment. Then she started giggling. Patricia appeared behind her with a look of alarm that quickly morphed into amusement. And she began to chuckle.
Buster, his stubby tail jerking back and forth, ran from one person to the next, adding an occasional “hmmph.”
From across the room, Tim propped himself up on one elbow, a bemused expression on his face, and asked, “Why are we laughing?”
Nate paused and looked at his brothers. They stopped and looked back at him. Then all three burst out again. Nate held his hands up and shrugged. How could he possibly explain? Would the others understand if he told them a mighty wind had suddenly blown through their lives, sweeping away years of accumulated cobwebs and fog, leaving behind the three brothers as they had been before. So long ago? How could they?
But he knew it. And his brothers knew it. And it felt wonderful.
After a moment, though, Nate took a deep breath. Wiping his eyes, he gave Matt a level look. “You better know what you’re doing.”
Matt returned the look. “Yep.”
#
The house was located in the affluent area of Montgomery County, Maryland known as Potomac. It was not as large as some of the other nearby estates, but it was still a comfortable-looking dwelling. It sat a good thirty yards back from the road, the space in front sparsely landscaped, but well-tended, dominated by a large sprawling elm tree to which a few remaining leaves still clung in the late autumn chill. The ground below the tree was littered with a sprinkling of leaves that had recently succumbed to the inevitability of time and gravity.
Nate, carrying a small leather folio, walked up the driveway and turned onto the brick path leading to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and heard a soft chime from within. A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing a trim man with short-cropped gray hair. The man, Nate knew, was in his early seventies, having retired twelve years ago, but he had the fit, energetic appearance of someone who could have been ten, maybe even fifteen years younger. He regarded Nate with a mildly curious expression.
“General Delahousse?” Nate asked.
The man nodded.
“My name is Nate Cartwright. You knew my father, Bob Cartwright.”
At the mention of his father’s name, the man’s expression instantly changed. He broke into a smile and his eyes became animated.
“Of course,” he said. “I can see that. My god, you’re the spitting image.” He opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”
They exchanged pleasantries, and Delahousse led Nate to the kitchen. Nate took a seat at the small table in the breakfast nook while the man busied himself making coffee for the two of them. “My wife,” Delahousse said, his attention on the coffee maker, “is out running errands, but she should be back soon. I know she’d want to see you. She always had
a soft spot for your dad.”
He turned and considered Nate again. “I guess the last time we saw you was at the memorial service.” His face took on a mixture of sadness and embarrassment. “I should have kept in touch. I’m sorry.”
“No reason to apologize, sir.”
The man poured coffee into a pair of mugs and carried them to the table, setting one down in front of Nate. “Do you take cream or sugar?”
Nate shook his head. “Just black.”
“Like your father.” He set the other mug on the table across from Nate and sat down. “So, how are your brothers?” Though the man had been away from Texas for a long time, Nate could still hear the slight drawl.
Nate hesitated, then said, “They’re as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”
Delahousse studied him for a moment, then said, “This isn’t just a casual call, is it? You’re here for a reason.”
Nate nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”
The man smiled slightly. “You are very much like your father. He was a no nonsense kind of guy too. What can I do for you?”
Nate tipped his head toward the leather folio he’d set on the table. “I’d like to tell you a story. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”
The man looked intrigued. He nodded.
Nate tried to be as concise and direct as possible. He knew the general was used to being briefed and would appreciate it. But he punctuated parts of the story with reference to certain of the documents he’d brought with him, and Delahousse asked to see a number of them. When he was done, the general set the papers aside and sat motionless, staring for a long time out the bay window overlooking the backyard.
Finally, he returned his attention to Nate. “Is there more?”
“There is.” Nate took a deep breath. “Sir, the people who were responsible for this thought they had covered it up. Now they know at least part of it is out. They seem determined to put the genie back in the bottle. My brothers and I have been on the run for the past several days. These are very bad people, and they’ll stop at nothing.” He hesitated, then continued, “It’s possible I’ve put you in jeopardy by coming here.”
The man raised a hand slightly and shook his head. Then he seemed to realize something, and he gave Nate a shrewd look.
“Did you consider the possibility that I was in on it?”
Nate did not hesitate. “I did, sir. And I rejected it.”
Delahousse nodded. “Thank you, Nate.” He absently drummed his fingers on the table. “The question is, Who was?”
“To pull something like this off,” Nate ventured, “a big part of the administration must have been compromised.”
The general shook his head. “I have a hard time buying that.” After a moment, though, he said, “There was that weasel Huffman.” He looked at Nate, and by way of explanation, said, “Deputy administrator at the time of Apollo 18. I could believe pretty much anything about that guy.”
“Is he still around?”
Again, the general shook his head. “He died almost immediately after the mission. Heart attack. Surprising, too, because he wasn’t that old.”
Nate arched his eyebrows.
Delahousse started to say something, then stopped. He dropped his eyes to the table, obviously thinking. After several seconds, he looked up, staring at the ceiling with a distracted look. Finally, he again focused on Nate.
“When Apollo 18 was revived, Bob learned about it at a meeting in Stu Overholdt’s office.” His look sharpened. “There’s no way Stu was involved in anything like this.” He glanced away for a moment. “And, in any event, Stu died a few years ago. Pancreatic cancer.
“But,” he said after a few seconds, and there was a new expression on his face, “at that meeting, there was someone else.”
Nate felt his heart quicken. “Do you remember who it was?”
The general nodded slowly. “I do,” he said, almost reluctantly.
Nate waited patiently. It seemed as though the general was having a difficult time processing what he’d remembered. Finally, the fire returned to the man’s eyes.
“This wasn’t just anybody,” he said.
Nate hesitated. Then he said, “Who was it?”
#
Senator Harrison Burton leaned forward, his face flush, the perpetual scowl deeper than Krantz remembered it.
“How is that even possible? One man?”
Krantz chose his words carefully. “This man is… different.”
“Bullshit,” the Senator growled. “That’s just an excuse. You have an entire organization. Unlimited resources. There’s no way one guy trumps that.” He gave Krantz a penetrating look. “He’s got to be working with others.”
Krantz shook his head. “He works alone. For the most part. In almost twenty years, he only had contact with two other operatives, the members of his tactical team. They’re both retired. We’ve got them under surveillance, and we know exactly where they are at this moment. One’s in Eastern Ohio, the other’s in South Florida. They haven’t moved in the last twenty-four hours.”
“But you have no idea where this Marek fellow is.”
“That’s not true.”
Burton cocked his head.
“He was moving south,” Krantz said. “We got a positive identification from two nights ago. He and the others stopped at a restaurant in Pennsylvania, just outside Harrisburg.”
“Two nights ago,” Burton snorted. “He could be anywhere now.”
Krantz nodded slightly. “We think he’s here.”
“Here? Where’s here?”
“Here in the D.C. area.”
Krantz was amused to see the Senator glance involuntarily around his own office. After a brief moment, the man seemed to realize the absurdity of it, and he again fixed Krantz with a black look.
“I’m losing my patience,” he said, a menacing softness to his voice.
Krantz resisted the urge to point out that Burton wouldn’t know patience if it bit him in the ass. And, not for the first time, Krantz considered how easy it would be to kill the Senator. There were a dozen ways he could do it at this very moment. A quick blow to the windpipe would bring on a slow and painful death, which, under the circumstances, had a certain appeal. Of course, the man would probably flail and make noise. That wouldn’t do. Better to just yank him out of that stuffed chair, whip him around and snap his neck. A nice, quiet, instant death. Krantz could then set him back down in the chair, call for medical assistance, and, by the time anyone realized the man had been internally decapitated, Krantz would have quietly slipped away.
But, as tempting as it was, Krantz knew he wouldn’t do it. The Organization, and his ambitions for The Organization, depended on the political cover the Senator provided. Theirs was a truly symbiotic relationship. As long as Burton controlled the oversight, Krantz could do what he wanted. Provided he arranged the occasional dirty work for the Senator. The wet work.
Of course, over the past few years, Krantz had been preparing for Burton’s succession. The man couldn’t live forever. He’d already cheated death for an impressive length of time, too attached to his power to let go. Too damn mean to die.
The practical problem Krantz had was that the next ranking Republican on the Armed Services Committee was that boy scout from Nebraska. No way he’d play ball. And forget the Democrats. No, Krantz’ future was tied to the other two senior Republicans in line for the Committee chairmanship, both reasonably malleable and both possessing some nice ugly skeletons in their closets. If the boy scout hadn’t retired by the appropriate time, he’d meet with a tragic accident. It would be so much easier, Krantz reflected, when he would be able to function without having to kowtow to his political overseer. To be able to call all the shots, rather than have some called for him by a worthless bureaucratic hack.
“I want them all terminated,” Burton was saying, and Krantz refocused.
“We’re working on it.”
“You’re not understanding me,�
� the Senator said quietly.
“You mean Marek’s former team members?”
“I mean everyone.”
Krantz took a deep breath. Taking down Carson and Kemp would be ugly. And, there would be repercussions. The rest of it, no big deal. But those two former operatives were well-regarded. There’d be dissention in the ranks. And, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already pissed off Marek enough …
He considered the Senator. The man scowled back at him.
Finally, keeping his face impassive, Krantz said, “All right.”
#
The elevator doors opened, and Krantz stepped into the hallway.
“I want those orders coded Juliet Charlie Actual,” he said into the cell phone. “And no exceptions. The target is to be destroyed, no matter the circumstances.”
He turned and headed toward the exit. With Marek on the prowl, he felt vulnerable, and his senses were on high alert. He was traveling with a larger security detail than usual. They were waiting for him just around the block, and they’d meet him outside the main entrance as soon as he gave the word. Because of the strict scanning provided by the Capitol Police, no one could enter the senate office building with weapons, so he felt reasonably safe inside. Still, he was taking no chances, and he was very much aware of everything and everyone around him.
“Now, as for Carson and Kemp,” he said, entering the rotunda. His steps slowed. Then he came to a halt. “Stand by,” he said abruptly, and he terminated the connection.
Somewhat incomprehensibly, not thirty feet away, bathed in the light of the midday sun pouring through the overhead oculus, was Marek. The cocky son of a bitch was just standing there, looking at him. He had his hands in plain view, not that it mattered. Even Marek wouldn’t have been able to smuggle in a weapon.