The phone buzzed and Easterbrook's secretary came on.
"Sir, Director Grogan has a call from Montreal."
"Put it through."
"This is Grogan," she said leaning forward in her chair.
"If my superiors knew I was making this call, you know what would happen. As it is, they didn't think to bug a hospital phone line."
"Mr. Alexander?" Nancy asked.
"You have my regrets for not being able to better help Agent Simpson."
"This is Director Easterbrook, Mr. Alexander. You have our sincere apologies for this accidental foray onto your turf; I can assure you that this will never—"
"Mr. Director, I have very little time and a very sore shoulder and back. Those bulletproof vests are not all that they are cracked up to be. Now, our people have picked up something that may help you, but this information comes with a warning. We believe Sagli and Deonovich were after two items, one of which they recovered from the chateau; the other, as you may already know if you have had contact with them, was stolen quite some time ago on your side of the border."
"How were you able to come across this in a burnt-out hulk of a mansion?"
"We may not have all of your resources, but we still have reasonable deductive prowess, Ms. Grogan. The explosive charges were set in a specific room of the chateau. It housed only one exhibit, the personal artifacts belonging to Jenson P. Lattimer of Boston. This material is what was known on the museum tour as the Lattimer Papers. That coincides with your homicide in Seattle, Washington, of one Valery Serta, a logging magnate. The cause of death was brutal, the details of which you can, get from the Seattle PD. We don't know why he was killed; however, cross-referencing his name in our data banks we came up with these Lattimer Papers and something about the man's father and his arrival into North America sometime after the turn of the century. This information is pretty ordinary and we were able to obtain copies of the brief mention of his name, but the real prize was an incomplete artifact called the Petrov Diary. This diary somehow ended up in the hands of this Lattimer character of Boston, an old blueblood who placed them on exhibit in honor of a long lost uncle."
"You have saved us a lot of valuable time, Mr. Alexander; we are very grateful."
"Ms. Grogan, if this case leads back to Canadian soil, you and your agency are to stay home, I have convinced my superiors to let me handle the case from here. There will be no publicity on this side and I am working totally autonomously."
"Why would you think it will lead them back to your country?" Director Easterbrook asked, showing his anger.
"Because Mr. Easterbrook, the Lattimer Papers referred to a lost treasure in the Canadian wilderness, and we suspect that is what Sagli and Deonovich are after."
* * *
An hour later, just moments before Director Easterbrook lifted the phone, it buzzed.
"Sir, the president is on line one," his assistant said from his outer office.
"Yes, sir," he said as he lifted the receiver.
"Harmon, I just read this damn mystery novel you sent over. This has got to be a joke. Are you telling me these two Russians risked their lives to come to a hostile country for the sake of a treasure map?"
"We are still collating data as we speak, Mr. President. We can't be real sure of anything at this point, at least not until we can get a line on who stole that diary from Colorado."
"Well here's a little nugget for you. With the Canadian Prime Minister threatening to go public with our little foray onto Canadian soil, he has cut off the flow of information from his end. You were lucky this Punchy Alexander here has closer ties with us than his agency does."
"Yes, sir, that is the one break we have gotten."
"Now, evidently we have an agent who may or may not be dead. I have a decision to make here, Harmon. I owe her brother a lot. Hell, everyone in this damn country does."
"Maybe I can help you with it if you would allow me to look at this man's file."
"Forget it, no one sees the file on Jack Collins; don't ask again. As it is, he has ties everywhere within our government. Now, I have to get word out to his boss to make sure he doesn't get directly involved any more than his sister already has him. With what Agent Simpson passed along to you, it's obvious we may have to flush a bad guy out of our own cornfield. Until we know what these bastards are up to, I'm going to keep Collins in the dark, no matter what his sister has asked him to do for her. Now you did good, Harmon, by bringing me and Jack's boss onboard with this thing when you did, but the situation has now changed."
"The suspicions Agent Simpson brought to me involved her brother, and I knew Collins worked for you in some capacity. I believe he may know something we don't about his sister's suspicions; we need to contact him and brief—"
"Mr. Easterbrook, it's not just Colonel Collins; he happens to be affiliated with the most brilliant people in the world. If he gets wind of his sister's predicament, believe me, he and his people will become involved. Now, get back to me when you have more; right now I have to make a call."
* * *
Across the Potomac River, the president of the United States hung up the phone and shook his head, which was beginning to ache. He reached out and slid over a small laptop computer and used a small key to unlock the lid. He raised the top and then hesitated. He took a breath and then used the cursor. He slid over to the only heading on the left side of the screen. It read 5656 in blue numbers. He clicked on the icon and then waited, knowing that the next face he would see would be that of Director Niles Compton, his friend, and the head of the blackest agency in government — the Event Group.
EVENT GROUP COMPLEX
NELLIS AIR FORCE BASE, NEVADA
The large office had forty 56-inch monitors arrayed around its walls. One monitor, the largest at the center of the far wall was over one hundred inches in diameter. The large desk had four smaller pop-up monitors that comprised the communications link with the rest of the complex, and, of course, the commander-in-chief of the United States. The monitor on the far left illuminated and the seal of the president appeared as a warning to Niles Compton that the president was making a call to the complex.
Niles lay down the proposal by the Nuclear Sciences Division, which recommended the department requisition a new electron microscope to replace an aging device before the restart of operations and field assignments. Compton wrote DENIED on the outer proposal sheet, knowing it would make Assistant Director Virginia Pollock angry as hell, but Niles knew that with all of the repairs to the facility underway, he could not squeeze any more funds out of an already stretched budget; after all, it's not like they could file an insurance claim. Virginia's department for the time being would have to bite it. Niles looked at the laptop screen and waited. Soon, the presidential seal was replaced by a test pattern, and then the face of his old college roommate, the president of the United States, appeared.
"Mr. President," Niles said, growing concerned at the stern look on the president's face. This isn't going to be a social call.
"Niles, a problem has developed that concerns one of your people."
"Who?"
"Colonel Collins, I'm afraid."
"Damn it, we really don't need this right now. What's the situation, sir?" he asked.
"When we spoke and allowed Jack in on a certain operation being conducted at CIA, I really didn't know how dangerous the individuals we were dealing really were and so I didn't go into detail about Collins and his sister. What I am about to tell you is classified to the point that you are the only person to be told about it. I do not, I repeat, do not want the colonel to hear about this. At the very least, the situation is touchy — and it could turn deadly. Am I understood, Niles?"
Niles didn't want to commit to answering, but he knew his old friend well enough that if he didn't respond the way he wanted him to, the president would clam up and not tell him what was going on.
"Understood," he finally relented.
"Damn you, Niles, don't you hand m
e that crap. Say it: You won't tell Collins anything about this."
"No, sir, I won't."
He could see by the president's expression that the answer he gave was ambiguous at best, but his oldest friend pursed his lips and gave in to Niles, knowing the MIT grad could go all day long and not give him the correct answer to his question.
"Okay, smart-ass, but I'll hang you, friends be damned, if you tell Collins."
"So far you haven't told me anything, Mr. President."
"The colonel's sister has been kidnapped. Her field team was ambushed in Canada on the mission I was assured was just a criminal investigation, and she was taken by two very salty characters, Russians — ex-KGB."
"Jesus, and you don't want Jack to know about this? We don't even know why his sister contacted Jack. I figured it was just for advice on something."
"Damn it, Niles, this is a full-blown international incident. I'm not giving you any more details at this time, and you'd better not go digging around with Europa, either, or I'll order the damn thing removed from your complex, is that understood?"
The supercomputer, Europa, had been a gift to the Event Group from the Cray Corporation. The system was remarkable at breaking into other computers and gathering intelligence through backdoor spying, useful in getting information from around the world on university and privately funded archaeological digs. There were only four others like her, one at the NSA, the CIA, the FBI, and the Pentagon.
"Again, your point is understood. However, I want it on record that I protest this order not to inform one of my people about something that affects him directly."
"Noted, Mr. Director," the president said angrily, knowing Niles was trying to get pissy with him. "Follow orders here. You know, and I know, what would happen if the colonel found out. There would be trouble, and frankly, I don't need it at the moment. I have every agency in the country working at getting her back, the Canadians are—" The president stopped, knowing he was giving his friend too much information. "I just wanted to alert you so you can break it to him if the end result is bad."
"Please keep me informed."
"I will," the president answered, his gaze intense.
Niles watched the screen go blank and then he closed the laptop. He replaced his glasses and didn't hesitate a second before picking up the phone to the outer office.
"Have Europa find Colonel Collins and get me his location in the complex."
Niles replaced the phone and then stood. He didn't bother putting on his coat or his tie. He walked to the large double doors and made his way out to his assistant in the outer office to await the location of Colonel Collins.
Jack had to be told immediately; the Event Group owed him that much. Regardless of what the president did to Niles personally for disobeying his order, the colonel would be told, or the talk they had had earlier wouldn't be worth the breath used to say the words.
As Niles waited, he knew he was about to open a tightly sealed can of worms, and that all hell was about to break loose when that seal was broken. He was about to unleash Jack Collins on the world of international crime.
* * *
Jack was sitting with Sarah McIntire at the only lounge inside of the Event Group complex, The Ark, named after the Group's most valued artifact. The Ark was situated on level eight, closest to the complex living quarters and was run by retirees from the Group. It was a place where they could all unwind without having to resort to taking the underground tram through gate two into Las Vegas.
Sarah was cognizant of the few off-duty personnel who sat at the bar or tables situated farther away. She was tempted to slide her hand across the small round table and place it over Jack's, but she restrained herself. The full bottle of beer sat untouched in front of the colonel as he continued to stare a hole through the tabletop. Sarah tempted fate and reached out for him, damn military etiquette.
"Did the director have anything useful to say?" she asked as a way of making him at least look up at her.
Instead of answering Sarah, Jack reached out and took her hand and stood, forcing her to do the same. He pulled her along to the far wall and stopped at the old-fashioned jukebox the Group had salvaged from a Philippine bar where the last songs played upon it were those heard the night of December 6, 1941. Jack had added a few of his records from his extensive collection, only because he was the only one in the entire complex who still had forty-five RPM records in his possession. He reached out and punched a few fake ivory numbers. Then he took Sarah by the waist and waited until the song started.
"You never cease to amaze me, Colonel," she said as she recognized the strains of Percy Sledge singing, "When a man loves a woman…"
As Jack pulled her close to him, Sarah didn't care who was present — she placed her head against his chest and allowed Jack to hold her tight. She didn't know what was bothering him, but at that moment she only knew he was holding her and that, she figured, was all there was in the world.
When the song finished, Collins leaned down and kissed Sarah, deeply and with a total disregard for where they were. For her part, Sarah almost collapsed into him. Finally, he released her and they walked back to their table. They didn't notice the stunned gazes of the few Group personnel present as they sat down.
Jack took her hand and squeezed it tight, and then he smiled. "Just small talk. You know Niles isn't the warmest person in the world and he struggles when it comes to anything outside of the auspices of the Group. Personal issues aren't his strong suit."
Sarah looked around her; the others inside The Ark were talking amongst themselves and were not paying them any attention. "What?" she asked trying to remember what they had been talking about before his public proclamation of his love for her.
"You wanted to know what the director wanted to talk about; well, it was just small talk."
"Oh, I forgot I even asked."
Jack winked and smiled as he liked doing the unexpected lately where Sarah was concerned.
"Hey, do you know how much I love you?" she asked, a hint of a smile crossing her features.
Collins tilted his head and looked into Sarah's green eyes.
"Oh, I think I do, Short Stuff." He looked around and then leaned in, squeezing her hand even tighter. "You are the most important thing…" He stopped and closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair and released her hand, and then reached for his beer and downed half of it before he looked back at her. "I'm worried about someone. You don't know her, but she's brought a bit of my past up to me that I really didn't want to face." He tried to smile but it died on his lips.
Sarah looked down at her empty hand where Jack's had been a moment before and then slid it into her lap. As long as she had known him, she had never seen him at such a loss. His eyes, since having returned from the dead, were haunted, and she could see through his actions that he didn't know why.
"Is it… is it another woman?"
Jack saw the hurt in her eyes and immediately reached out for her hand. That look almost killed him as he now knew his words made her think that it was an old lover from his past.
"Oh, no, no, nothing like that."
Sarah started to say something when she noticed a figure walk out of the darkness.
"We have company," she said in a low voice as she quickly swiped a tear away, momentarily relieved by his words.
Jack turned and saw Compton slowly walk up to their table.
"Are you stalking me, Niles?" he asked as he turned back to his beer.
Niles tried miserably to smile, but it seemed it went the way of all smiles lately; a brief appearance and then gone.
"Jack, you have a minute?"
"I'll go and see what Carl and the others are doing on their day off, it has to be more exciting than anything here," Sarah said as she pushed back her chair.
Niles looked around the dark interior of the bar, and then at Sarah, and then he placed a hand on the top of Jack's shoulder as he came to a quick decision.
"No, Lieutenant, I think you sho
uld stay."
McIntire was caught off guard. She hoped the director didn't pick this moment in time to bring up regulations about the fraternization between personnel. She didn't think Jack, at least at the moment, would be too receptive to the reprimand.
"Please sit," Niles said as he came around and pulled out a chair. As he sat, the bartender brought over a small glass filled with ice and amber liquid and placed it in front of Compton.
"I didn't think you were a drinking man, Mr. Director," Sarah said in amazement.
Niles looked into Jack's blue eyes as he took a deep drink of the whiskey. Then he grimaced and then placed the glass down in front of him and then finally looked at Sarah.
"There may be a few things that our head of security doesn't know around here."
Jack half smiled. "Maybe even more than just a few, Mr. Director."
"Oh, I don't expect you to be that good at your job. I may still have secrets you know nothing about."
"Niles," Jack said as he tore at a napkin, tossing the pieces onto the table, "you're drinking one-hundred-year-old Kentucky bourbon. The brand is an obscure make named Delahey's. The bartenders keep two bottles underneath the bar for the rare times you come in here when no one is around, usually around closing time. You never drink while you're on the clock and you keep one bottle of that particular bourbon in your private quarters when there are personnel present at The Ark. You use it more in a medicinal capacity than you do for the whiskey's effects. You're not a drinker in the loosest term of the word, but you do use it to sleep, or when you have something unpleasant to say to someone."
Niles looked from Jack to Sarah, who sat quietly, listening to the exchange.
"I take that back, I guess you do know everything." Niles grew quiet as he slid his empty glass away from him. "Unpleasant. Yes," he said looking at the melting ice in the glass. "You know, I don't know anything about you, Colonel, other than what's in your damned file." He looked at Collins. "For instance, the little sister we discussed earlier."
Sarah wanted to allow her mouth to fall open, but managed just barely to keep it closed as she watched Jack. He made no move other than to keep tossing the torn napkin in its small pieces onto the tabletop.
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