by Jon Land
“What do you think, Professor?” he asked finally, after allowing a few minutes for the story to sink in.
“Well, you’ve given me a wealth of information. I need time to think.”
“You’ve already got some notions. I can tell.”
“I’m a scientist, Blaine, and a scientist never speaks until he’s certain what he postulates has some merit.”
“A lot of people have died already. Plenty more may be about to.”
“I understand.”
“I hope so. What was going on down there wasn’t called Omicron for nothing. Whoever was behind it could only have had the same concerns in mind as you did when you created the OBDs, at least originally.”
Ainsley looked hurt. “My concerns never included murder, Blaine.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. But I need to know what was going on down there, Professor, and right now you’re my best bet. I’ll have a shorter version of my story transcribed and sent over.”
Ainsley smiled. “Don’t bother.” He stroked the neck of the snakelike reconnaissance droid affectionately. “I believe Obie Four got it all.”
Chapter 14
“IS THAT ALL YOU’VE got to say, Indian?”
Wareagle faced McCracken from the window. “This professor spoke words of science that have no bearing on what must be done.”
“He gave us our first insight into what this Omicron legion might be about.”
“The legion is about many things, Blainey—none of which he has any insight into.”
They were speaking in the living room of the suite Virginia Maxwell had provided for their use in a safe house used exclusively by members of the intelligence community. Blaine had heard from Sal Belamo that morning and accommodations had been arranged for Patty Hunsecker as well, something McCracken saw as an unwelcome distraction at this point. She was clearly in trouble, though, and Blaine wasn’t about to forget the debt he owed her. Sal had already stashed her brothers under guard back in California, but Patty had steadfastly refused to stay with them, insisting she had to see Blaine.
“You’ve lost me, Indian.”
“It is not for you to understand, Blainey, not this time. The system needs you—and to accomplish what you desire, you must work within it.”
“Which indicates you plan to do otherwise.”
“I went to Brazil in search of something that is now in this country. My search must continue.”
“Sounds personal. And you’re the one always telling me to detach myself, to let my will be directed by the spirits.”
Wareagle twirled a finger through his ponytail and walked to the window. He gazed out as he spoke.
“Blainey, the hellfire was a beginning. It revealed to us the blackness of men’s souls. But a beginning requires an end. I waited all those years for you to come back into my life because I knew your lot was to lead me to the truth of my existence. Our journeys together have confronted us with Black Hearts in many forms. But this time we face the enemy I was reunited with you to face. Everything the spirits have shown and made me—everything I have done—has built to this. The Wakinyan are out there, and I must find them.”
“Not alone, Indian.”
Wareagle swung slowly back to McCracken. His massive shoulders blocked the sun from the window.
“My people have a test for all braves seeking to become warriors. It is called Hanbelachia—vision quest—a series of rituals through which the brave must pass to enter manhood.” The big Indian’s eyes bored deeply into McCracken’s. “Blainey, facing the Wakinyan is part of my vision quest.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be entering manhood, Indian?”
“It is a difficult path and never truly complete.”
“Where will you start?”
“Wherever the spirits direct me.”
They stood there staring across the room at each other, even after a repeated knocking came on the door. At last McCracken walked over and opened it.
“Jesus H. Christ, McCrackenballs,” said Sal Belamo. “What I gotta do, scrape my knuckles raw to get your attention?”
Patty Hunsecker followed Belamo into the room and wrapped her arms around McCracken.
“Good to see you up and around again,” Blaine said, easing her away.
“I’ve been up and around for a year and a half now.”
“But the last time I saw you, you were lying in that hospital bed in Guam.”
“Thanks to you,” Patty said only half jokingly.
In point of fact, McCracken had saved Patty’s life, but only after he had nearly lost it for her. He had procured use of her original Runaway because it was the only ship on the island with deep-salvage equipment. A battle with a twin-engine Cessna had sunk it—and nearly sunk them—Blaine managing to keep both of them afloat until help arrived.
“Yeah,” Blaine said, “but apparently you didn’t learn from my mistakes. Almost getting yourself killed is getting to be a habit.”
Patty’s stare hardened. “On the ocean you told me you were doing things for individuals these days. For people in trouble.”
“Mostly.”
“I need your help. My…father died a week ago.”
“Oh, Jesus. I’m sorry. Really.”
“He was killed, Blaine. He was murdered.”
McCracken could see her struggling to hold back the tears. Eyes glistening, she looked toward Sal.
“My brothers and I would be dead, too, if it wasn’t for him. You’ve got to help me. I’m all they’ve got. My mother died, too. Before. A year ago.”
Patty broke down, collapsing into Blaine’s arms. He held her tight and spoke softly.
“I didn’t know. You should have called me. I wish you had called me.”
Patty eased herself away from him, looking embarrassed. “Recent experience shows you’re not an easy man to get hold of.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
“And I’ve got something to show you….”
Patty pulled the crinkled manila envelope from the inside pocket of her leather jacket. She held it tight, as if to let go was to relinquish something much more important than paper.
“They wanted me dead because I was stirring up trouble, talking to the wrong people. No one listened, but I guess that didn’t stop them.”
“Listen to what?”
“Something’s going on. My father’s not the only one. There’ve been others, lots. Men killed, made to disappear. Important men, powerful men, influential men.”
McCracken stole a glance at Wareagle. His nod affirmed he was thinking just what Blaine was: Virginia Maxwell had mentioned a pattern as well. Six assassins who had killed General Berlin Hardesty and others. He pried the envelope from Patty’s grasp and opened it.
“You scared me in Guam, McCracken. Scared me because of what you were, what you could do. I’d never seen so much rage. It was repressed, yeah, but always there, right below the surface.”
Blaine lifted his eyes from the envelope’s contents to meet hers.
“I understand now. They killed my father. And when I went after them, they didn’t just go after me, McCracken. They would have killed my brothers, too. A couple of kids. Kids!”
“You’re right, Patty. You do understand.”
“This proves I’m onto something, doesn’t it?” she asked as he began to scan her tattered tear sheets. “This proves I’m not crazy!”
“Jesus Christ,” Blaine said as he flipped through them.
“I know that look, McCracken. I’ve seen it before. You know I’m right!”
Blaine looked at Johnny. “All these incidents have occurred in the past ten or eleven days.”
“Since the entry of the six killers, Blainey.”
“What killers?” demanded Sal Belamo. “You ask me, there’s a party goin’ on here old Sal ain’t been invited to.”
Blaine finished skimming the tear sheets and handed them to Wareagle, who started looking them over quickly.
&nb
sp; “This must be the Indian friend you told me about,” Patty remarked. “You should introduce us.”
“Johnny, meet Patty. Patty, meet Johnny.”
Wareagle’s huge hand swallowed Hunsecker’s. “You must excuse Blainey’s insolence.”
“I’m used to it, believe me.”
“Let’s get back to these tear sheets,” McCracken broke in. “Did your father know any of the other victims?”
“Not that I can find any evidence of. But there is something I realized a few days ago. Nobody else thought it meant anything, which—”
“What is it?”
“Age. All the victims were between forty-two and forty-five.”
McCracken looked at Wareagle. “Berlin Hardesty was forty-four, Indian.”
“What the fuck’s going on here?” Belamo asked, a whine creeping into his voice.
“Plenty, Sal. We’ll tell you all about it in good time.”
“You ask me, good time ended when I stepped through the door.”
“Who’s Berlin Hardesty?” demanded Patty. “You know something. What is it, McCracken?”
“Simply this, Hunsecker. We know six killers who rival Johnny and me for downright meanness are at large in this country. It looked like the victims were limited to government types, but you’ve opened up a whole new door.”
“I tried to go through it, but—”
“You had it slammed in your face. Don’t worry, you’ve come to the right place.”
“I want a computer,” Patty said suddenly, after a pause.
“Come again?”
“I want a computer with access to a data bank that can help me find more links between the victims. Maybe I can find more victims…and potential future ones.”
“U.S. taxpayers pay good money for pros to do that.”
“The pros don’t have a stake in this. I do.” When Blaine started to protest, she talked right through it. “This is my trail, McCracken, in case you’ve forgotten. My father’s the one who’s dead. My brothers were almost killed.”
Blaine turned to Belamo. “Sal?”
“I can make the arrangements no sweat. Maxie’ll be pissed, though.”
“Be good for her complexion. Okay, Hunsecker. You’re in.”
Patty looked relieved, and a new sense of determination replaced the sadness on her face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The phone rang, and McCracken answered it. “Such a dear man,” said Virginia Maxwell, “making me wait for only two rings.”
“I had an enlightening meeting with Reston Ainsley, Maxie.”
“So he told me…. after you failed to. Oh, well, now that you’re working for us again, I suppose I can forgive a few such lapses.”
“With, Maxie, not for.”
“Either way, my dear, your best interests would be served by getting yourself to Gap headquarters on the double.”
“We going to have torrid sex, Ms. Maxwell?”
“Better. The report from my team in the Amazon just came in.”
Takahashi gazed closer at the face displayed on the computer monitor. It looked fierce and hard even through the graininess of the reproduction, the beard a dark splotch the same black color as the eyes.
“This man’s name again?” he asked Tiguro Nagami, who stood just to his right.
“Blaine McCracken.”
“I have read about him, haven’t I? When we were selecting our team, his name surfaced.”
“Rejected immediately, Kami-san. He does not do this kind of work.”
Takahashi scrolled through the classified file. “Apparently, he does.”
“Only by his own choosing. He could be a dangerous foe.”
Takahashi stopped scrolling and read in detail the selection on the screen. “I see he spent a year in our country.”
“He studied under Hiroshi.”
The albino’s skin seemed to pale even more. “That explains much.”
“McCracken is many things, Kami-san, but mostly he is a warrior. Those who failed to recognize that have paid dearly.”
“You’re telling me this is the man who rescued the Hunsecker woman?”
“An associate of his did. Our sources indicate that the associate has now delivered her to his protection. Our report indicates he owes the woman from the past. He is a man who pays his debts.”
Takahashi’s pink stare turned distant. “Aren’t we all? She has told him everything, I presume.”
“And he will probably pay attention. I have also learned that McCracken met with Virginia Maxwell. Therefore, he is probably aware of our six killers. That places their missions in great peril.”
“We can send word out. They can be warned.”
Nagami took a deep breath. “May I speak frankly, Kami-san?”
“You may, Tiguro.”
“Kami-san, there is too much going on here beyond our control. Blaine McCracken is onto the pattern of our killings.”
“There is no pattern!”
“There is…enough.”
“What would you have me do, Nagami? What would you have me do?”
“Recall the killers. Suspend their work until we are able to deal with McCracken.”
Takahashi gazed again at the face wavering on his computer monitor. “Do you truly think we can?”
“I think we must try.”
Takahashi rose from behind his desk and walked methodically to the centrally placed portal in the yacht’s large study. Beyond him, there was only the sea.
“I do not have the right to do as you suggest, Nagami. This is not just my battle; it is the battle of our people. Since the war…I should not belabor the details. You know what suspending our work would mean.”
“I know what continuing it now can mean.”
“There is only one certainty, Nagami, and that certainty gave birth to something forty-six years ago. Are we to ignore that fact? Are we to forget the truth?”
“Recent events have changed that truth.”
“No,” Takahashi said staunchly as he swung from the portal. “They have only redefined it. We are all that is left, my friend. We are alone in a battle we must see completed.”
“There is still McCracken, Kami-san.”
Takahashi’s pink eyes flamed red. “Our work will go forth until I have punched all ninety-six of the names into my computer. Not a single one can be spared. Do you hear me? Not a single one!”
Chapter 15
AS HEAD OF THE GAP, Virginia Maxwell had moved its headquarters from downtown Washington to the Oyster Point district of Newport News, Virginia. The Gap’s secret, unchartered existence had made its Washington location an impediment. Too much scrutiny threatened to make politics a concern where it was never supposed to be.
The Oyster Point office was situated amid banks and business and professional offices in the center of the Newport News peninsula. Most of the buildings were modest, modern structures, two to four stories high. The Gap, on the other hand, was located in a spanking new office high rise on Thimbal Shoals. Two nearly completed smaller high rises flanked it on either side.
At twenty-four stories, the Gap building was the tallest in the city. Floors fourteen to eighteen, where the Gap actually had its offices, were serviced by a different elevator bank from the rest of the building. They also had an internal elevator system and stairways that linked the floors together, totally isolating them from the rest of the building.
McCracken drove to Newport News through the last of the early evening traffic. He had left Belamo to arrange a computer for Patty; Johnny Wareagle pursued his own agenda. Blaine followed Virginia Maxwell’s instructions for gaining access and found her waiting at the elevator when he stepped out on the eighteenth floor.
“Right this way, my dear.”
She led him down the sparsely traveled hall, high heels clip-cloping softly on the imitation marble flooring. Somewhere in the maze of Gap budgeting, Maxie had found the funds to gradually transform her headquarters into an Italian art deco sh
owplace. Desks curved and sloped. Everything was thin and shiny, ageless, like Virginia Maxwell herself. Even though night had fallen, workers remained at computer terminals sorting through information. They sat on soft leather chairs.
Maxie was dressed in brown tweed tonight, and her bracelets clanged lightly together as if in rhythm with her heels. She said nothing until they had entered a screening room where they took chairs in the front row. Each chair had a remote control device built into its arm. Video had become a prime component of the kind of work the Gap was often called on to do. Much better for reconnaissance than stills and computer-enhanced satellite overviews. Sign of a whole new age in the intelligence business.
“The base was wiped clean, just as you suspected,” Virginia Maxwell reported as she closed the door behind them.
“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t found something, Maxie.”
She nodded. “They should have torched the place. Don’t ask me why they didn’t. Anyway, your description of the physical layout was accurate as always, except this time you missed something: two additional floors to be exact.”
“Didn’t see an entrance.”
“With good reason. The elevator compartment was built into the wall. My people almost missed it, too. Let’s make ourselves comfortable.”
They settled into seats that felt airline stiff. Blaine found himself fingering the controls on his armrest, but he left it to Maxie to punch in the proper commands.
“I’ve fastforwarded ahead of the floors you’ve already seen. I’d like to hear what you make of this.” Virginia Maxwell touched a button on her armrest that gave the screen a black sort of life. The next button filled it with the jittery motions of the cameraman proceeding down the corridor of the second underlevel, past the dormitorylike cubicles. At the very end of the corridor, where a segment of the wall had been, the team members had managed to locate the elevator the Gap head had spoken of. The camera jiggled once more during the descent, but steadied again as the doors slid open. Its lens became Blaine’s eyes as it surveyed what was revealed.
McCracken leaned forward. The base’s third underlevel was nothing more than an elaborate, high-tech gymnasium. He recognized some of the machines from health clubs he had worked out in, others from drawing-board sketches he did not know were in production. In addition to the machines, there was an assortment of punching bags, treadmills, and Lifecycle exercise bikes. The camera panned to the right rear corner, and McCracken fumbled at his armrest for the Stop button.