by Jerry Bruce
At that moment, Richard’s secretary entered with a carafe of fresh coffee. She set it down on the coffee service tray and took the other one with her as she left, quietly closing the door behind her.
“Then the question now is how do we go about it?” Christine poured them each a cup of coffee as she spoke.
Richard was quick to respond. “I think between the three of us we have to choose our roles. I’ve given this a lot of thought. I need to be the one to coordinate the actions of our allies since it is my trust that established the relationships. They probably wouldn’t deal with either of you unless something happened to me. I’ve already given you those keys to the lockers so that is the backup plan should anything happen to me. I think Adam should be the one to handle the overt actions, such as dealing with the CIA, FBI, etcetera. There is already a rapport there and some mutual respect and we may as well draw on that. Christine, I see you in the role of back up. We have to keep you out of the limelight in case Adam and I are compromised. You have to be in a seemingly uninvolved position so you can get to the locker and then follow through with the other leaders. Is everyone comfortable with their roles?”
Christine answered first. “You know I want to have a more active role.”
“And you will, because everything that Adam and I find out is going to be passed on to you for assembly and analysis. You are going to have the task of protecting our information and shielding our activities from prying eyes. Your skills with the media may be indispensable before this is over.”
“By all means. We live under a microscope as it is now. I can only imagine what will come up when I start making visits to the CIA. If any media pick up on that, you’re going to have to be ready with a plausible explanation Christine. I’m counting on you to cover my back.” Adam wasn’t being condescending, and Christine realized it, he was genuinely concerned about each one of them.
“Which brings me to another topic.” Richard had a concerned look on his face. “I would like to suggest that we have our loved ones stashed away somewhere, out of harms way, but I’m afraid that if it leaked we would be tipping our hand. I don’t see that we have a choice but to carry on as though it is business as usual.”
“I agree, I don’t like it, but I agree.” Adam hated the idea of his family being in jeopardy.
“I don’t have anyone close to me, other than my mother, just distant relatives that nobody knows about. My mother has been married and remarried, so I’m sure she is not easily traceable, so I’m not worried.” Christine was almost apologetic.
The three conspirators continued going through Christine’s synopsis, hashing and rehashing each point until they were in agreement what actions should be taken. It was a laborious task and they spent the remainder of the day and a good part of the evening strategizing.
“So we are in agreement then.” Richard gave a large sigh as he made the comment. “We have our plan. I think we need to get back together again tomorrow and come up with back up plans should any of our action items not succeed.”
“Good idea, I have a clear calendar all day so I’m available first thing.”
“Fine, Adam. And you Christine?”
“I have one thing to do, maybe take about an hour, but I can start early and wrap it up before nine.”
“Great, let’s meet here at nine. Have a nice quiet evening and get plenty of rest you two, tomorrow will be another long one, I’m afraid.”
Christine smiled as she asked, “Are we supposed to be surprised at that, Mr. President?”
Richard responded with a serious look that caused Christine to stop smiling. “I’m hoping that the one surprised will be the Controller.”
“I’ll go along with that.” Adam lifted an empty coffee cup up in a toast. “To the downfall of the Controller; may he rest in peace.”
Christine and Richard both followed suit and hoisted empty cups. Richard offered another toast. “May he be returned to the hell where he belongs. Here’s to you Timothy Wilkins.”
* * *
Sitting alone in his lair, the Controller finished his third cup of coffee. Feeling uncomfortable, he went into the bathroom to relieve himself.
He had been concerned that Richard was keeping some distance between them.
“What are you up to, Richard?” Speaking to the empty room had become the norm over the last few months. “Why haven’t I heard anything from my operatives about your activities?”
He started to pace the full length of the room, another new habit. On his fourth lap he realized what he was doing and made his way back to his recliner. Plopping down in disgust, he thought to himself, I’ve got to maintain my composure. Sinclair cannot possibly pose a threat. I have to stop letting my mind entertain these thoughts. Sinclair is just toying with me, trying to play my game. Perhaps I taught him too well and now he thinks he has some things to teach the teacher. Well, I have news for you Mr. President, I have tricks up my sleeve that you could never imagine.
For several minutes the room echoed the sound of deranged laughter.
CHAPTER TEN
“What do you think he looks like?” Richard had once posed the question to Christine and Adam. He had the advantage of being the only one who knew the man’s voice. From it he pictured a man of average stature, possibly heavy set, about sixty years old, partially balding with his remaining hair on the gray side. Adam jokingly said that Wilkins was probably trying to overcompensate for being a short, frail, mousy looking character with a “small pecker.” That last comment had put Christine and Richard into stitches.
Richard hoped with all his heart that Ralph Blocker was correct in naming Timothy Wilkins as the Controller. His evidence was very compelling and the reasoning process he used to analyze the evidence had no holes. Richard, Christine and Adam had gone over every piece of information with a fine-toothed comb and came to the same conclusion as Blocker. They ended up being as convinced as Blocker that Wilkins was their man.
The three conspirators went over their plans time after time trying to find holes and weaknesses that could turn the odds against them.
Christine had put together a spreadsheet containing each action item arranged in the sequence they were to be executed and by whom. Richard had already completed the first item—getting President Hamilton to convince CIA Director Thornton to commit the required resources necessary to track every move that Timothy Wilkins made. They couldn’t make a move until Wilkins displayed a regular routine. Once that was established, Adam would coordinate with Thornton to have Wilkins snatched up and put under confinement in a secret location known only to the team members.
Every detail had been worked out down to making sure that the four CIA operatives who were to kidnap Wilkins had no family so that they could be on around the clock guardianship of Wilkins and free from worry over family members. This would ensure that anyone who knew the whereabouts of the Controller would be isolated and unable to pass the information along. On the outside, only Thornton, Richard, Christine and Adam would know the location where Wilkins was being detained. Even President Hamilton wouldn’t be privy to the information—something that he insisted upon—“plausible deniability,” as he put it. The hideaway had to be completely self-sufficient and away from public scrutiny, so a vacant house in a remote wooded area of upstate New York was chosen. It had all the amenities that would be needed for a small group to subsist for six months, a timeframe considered to be realistic by the team members. Enough provisions had been stored on the premises so that there was no need for anyone to leave the property. Two CIA personnel were to be awake at all times, not just to guard Wilkins but to watch each other as well. They were given strict orders to never go outside the house, except to maintain security devices, and to never let Wilkins out of their sight.
Their only communication with the outside world would be via a telephone that was restricted and could complete calls to only two possible numbers—one being that of Thornton’s cell phone and the other that of an answering servi
ce that Richard, Adam or Christine could access. To insure as much security as possible, every way into the house was outfitted with bars, and the property perimeter was armed with trip wires that would sound alarms inside the house. Any tripping of the wires would also trigger a computer to place distress calls to Thornton and the answering service, if one of the team members didn’t reset the system within three minutes. The general consensus was that three minutes was enough time for the team to confirm an intruder’s presence as opposed to a roaming deer or other such visitor. Thornton, or one of the others, would then attempt to contact the agents. Failure to make contact would impel them to call a response team into action. The CIA agents also had the ability, should they suspect that a team of insurgents was assaulting the premises, to set off a series of anti-personnel claymore mines. The trees, shrubs and tall grass surrounding the house had been cleared for thirty yards in every direction so anyone approaching would have no possibility for concealment. Video cameras covered every square inch of the property displaying their images on a bank of monitors and recording everything onto digital storage media. Cameras also watched over Wilkins’ room, enabling the team to give him the false impression of privacy.
The agents had no idea who their charge would be or his importance. They were merely told that under no circumstance should he be allowed to escape or be given any opportunity to commit suicide. They were told that if all security measures failed and insurgents were likely to overrun the house, they were to activate a self-destruct mechanism that would completely obliterate the property and its occupants. To impress upon them that they had no choice in this matter, they were assured that if their charge escaped, and they somehow survived, they would be executed.
The agents were also told that the man they would have in custody was extremely dangerous, likely insane, and that anything he said could be assumed to be a means of manipulating his captors. Richard’s team wanted to make sure that the Controller couldn’t ply his “charms” on the agents and somehow escape.
The only item left to attend to would be the actual kidnapping of Wilkins.
* * *
Agents Harvey and Klein sat in the car counting the minutes until their shift would be over when Wilkins’s chauffeur brought the limousine from the underground garage and parked in front of the Fifth Avenue brownstone. Wilkins came out a few minutes later.
“Right on time, seven a.m. You could set your watch by this guy. Talk about routines, this guy is making this simple.”
“Yeah, now we get to tail them for fifteen minutes on the way to his office while he relaxes and reads the Wall Street Journal and has a cup of coffee.” Klein wished he had a cup of fresh coffee, in spite of having consumed at least six cups throughout the night. It was the same each and every weeknight—relieve the second shift at one a.m. and keep watch until Wilkins left at seven. Only the weekends varied the routine, and on those days, Wilkins didn’t leave until after nine a.m., after their shift was over. The two agents joked about getting saddle sores from sitting in their nondescript sedan hour after hour.
“Why do you suppose this guy’s routine is so important? Or for that matter, why is he so important?” Harvey had been asking the same questions for weeks. “I mean, this guy hasn’t been in the news or on any of our bulletins; he’s the most boring person in the world.”
“My guess is that this guy must be some kind of white collar crime boss. There has to be some kind of wide network involved, otherwise we wouldn’t be so concerned with just one man. He’s probably the brains behind a much larger organization.” Klein thought he had it all figured out.
“Well, he better be or I’m just likely to shoot him and put an end to his dull routine! Somebody has to put this slob out of his misery.”
The agents continued their idle banter through the remainder of the commute to Wilkins’s office. After Wilkins entered the high-rise office building, the agents swung their sedan around in a u-turn, parked and patiently waited for their relief. The building contained executive offices for several large corporations, all believed to be owned by Wilkins. A security center immediately inside the entrance prevented agents from following Wilkins so it was unknown which offices belonged to him. It didn’t matter, they had no intention of absconding Wilkins in broad daylight.
“Here are our boys now.” Harvey was looking into the rear view mirror as the twin to their sedan pulled up behind.
The passenger got out of the car and approached Harvey and Klein from curbside. Harvey unlocked the rear door so Stevenson could jump into the rear seat.
“How’s it going guys?” Stevenson smiled a broad smile and appeared jovial, but not because he was just starting his shift, he had news to convey.
“What are you so happy about? You look like the cat that ate the canary.” Klein just wanted to get home.
“This is going to be the last day we have to watch this Wilkins guy.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Positive, just got the word from the boss. He says the surveillance is no longer necessary.”
Harvey broke in. “Heck, I could have told him that after the first week! This guy is too dull to be dangerous.”
“There’s something else. The rumor mill has it that tonight sometime, a team is going to break into this guy’s home and snag him.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Stevenson.”
“This comes from a very high up source. I think it’s legit.”
Harvey couldn’t believe that Wilkins was deserving of such attention. “Who do they think this guy is—public enemy number one?”
“I don’t think they would expend this kind of effort even for PE1. I haven’t heard anything about who this guy is but you can bet the farm that he must pose some kind of huge threat.”
“Well unless you have some more scuttlebutt for us, I would just as soon say adios, Stevenson. It’s been a long night.” Klein was tired of the rumor chatter.
Stevenson got out of the car and walked back to his sedan as Harvey and Klein sped away. He and his partner settled in to finish out their watch.
* * *
Two a.m. and the three agents watched, just as they had for the last fifteen nights, from the window on the sixth floor directly across Fifth Avenue, at the same level as Wilkins’ bedroom. It had taken some fast footwork to get the owners of the apartment to vacate the premises, ultimately resulting in the man and his wife, a retired couple in their seventies, getting an expensive Mediterranean cruise, all expenses paid.
Agent Tom Wendt had informed the infiltration team the second Wilkins turned off the lights in his apartment, approximately three hours earlier. Now he directed his binoculars down toward the street and focused on the van that had just pulled up in front of the brownstone’s entrance. He watched as four men exited the van, each dressed in black jumpsuits with black ski masks. His comment of “It’s going down” brought the other agents over to the window with their binoculars. Finally, after all these days, it was show time.
Each man on the infiltration team was equipped with a communication device, night vision goggles, and an assault rifle. They were not anticipating any resistance or guards, but needed to be prepared for any eventuality nevertheless. Their communications would be monitored by the agents across the street and recorded in case anything went wrong.
Wendt tuned the radio to the proper channel, turned on the recorder, and switched on the external speaker so they all could listen in on the assault team communications. Talk was at a minimum as the team had run through numerous drills going over every movement until voice communication was unnecessary. There was a doorman on duty from six a.m. until midnight, after that, anyone entering needed to know the access code to the security system that unlocked the front doors.
Wendt and the other two agents watched as the team leader keyed in the access code on the digital keypad and heard the audible click over their speaker as the entry door sprung open.
As the agents slipped quietly into the lo
bby, each man quickly scanned the area. Convinced they were alone, they proceeded down a short hallway to the elevators. One elevator was already on the first floor, its open doors beckoning them to enter. The team technician picked the lock and opened the control panel within seconds whereupon he switched the elevator to operate in manual mode. The team ascended to the sixth floor, quickly and quietly exiting as the elevator’s doors opened. One agent remained by the elevator, securing the hallway, while the others proceeded to Wilkins’ apartment. The elevator hallway had a window on the street side allowing the agents across the street to see the team exit the elevator and make their way toward the Wilkins apartment.
The plan was to enter using the master key the team acquired from the building manager and snatch up Wilkins while he was asleep. The building manager supplied the team with a floor plan of the apartment and confirmed that there was an alarm control panel mounted on the wall to the left immediately inside the entryway. He informed them that the alarm would be activated thirty seconds after the door was opened. The team’s technician was familiar with the alarm system and was certain that he could deactivate it within the allotted time.
The first order of business was to turn off the hallway lighting, ensuring that upon entering the Wilkins apartment stray light didn’t filter through and tip off their presence. That done, the team leader made sure the technician was ready to be the first one inside when he unlocked the door. It took only five seconds for the three men to get inside and close the door behind them. In the twenty seconds that it took the others to sweep the immediate area with their night vision goggles, the technician neutralized the alarm. One by one, each room was checked to make sure they were empty. While one agent kept station outside Wilkins’ quarters, the other two agents proceeded to the room that the valet/chauffeur occupied.