The Council of Ten

by Jon Land

  Doors slammed closed above and below them. Guards were massing from both angles, ready to converge.

  “We’re on the same side, damnit!” Wayman heard himself say. “Don’t ask me why or how. I came here for Goltz, too!” Footsteps were hurdling up and down the steps toward them now. “We’ve got to get away from them. There’s a way, but we’ve got to move. Keep your gun on me. If you’re not convinced we’re on the same side in five minutes, you can blow my fucking brains out. Come on!”

  With the footsteps almost on them, Wayman grabbed Ellie’s wrist in a sudden motion and yanked her through the fourth floor entry door, the very floor on which Goltz had died.

  “You’re mad!” she said as Wayman forced the door closed behind them.

  “Been that way for lots of years. Now let’s find someplace to hide.”

  Consciousness skipped and darted from Drew Jordan. He was aware of pain and numbness and of the dull haze that encircled his eyes every time he was able to open them. He saw no distinct figures, just shapes and outlines. Occasionally words were thrust at him, but they sounded slurred, unintelligible. A few times he tried to speak himself only to find that his mouth was a stranger to him, a foreign part of his body he had no control over. Night and day meant nothing to him. One hour swirled into the next.

  His longest grasp on consciousness came Monday night when he awoke with his mouth parched and dry. A huge shape hovered over him, still just a shape, although the face held its context long enough for him to recognize the bulbous features of Jabba the Hutt holding a water glass complete with straw down to his lips.

  “Jabba,” he muttered.

  “Drink this.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Safe.”

  Drew sipped at the straw gratefully and took in as much water as his stomach would let him. He felt better immediately. Fragments of memory returned to him like selected shots off a movie trailer too fast to make sense of.

  “You’ve got to go back to sleep now,” Drew thought he heard Jabba say.

  “The fire! Oh God, the fire!”

  He tried to sit up and Jabba held him down by the shoulders.

  “It’s over.”

  “No! No! I’ve got to save Pam! I’ve got to save her! She’s burning! Burning!”

  “Sleep, Drew, sleep.”

  “But Pam, what about Pam?”

  Jabba the Hutt pulled the water glass away and patted Drew’s forehead.

  “Sleep.”

  Wayman yanked Ellie through the door of a supply closet down the hall and around the corner from Goltz’s office not far from the checkpoint where she had been searched a second time. In the darkness, they felt their way to the rear and huddled behind two large crates. Wayman felt Ellie’s gun still close to him and possessed no illusions that the darkness might inhibit her aim.

  “This is crazy,” Ellie said. “Goltz’s office is right around the corner.”

  “Precisely why it’s the last place they’ll look for you—us now. The scene of the crime is always the best place to hide out until things cool off. Now put that damn gun down.”

  “I haven’t decided whether to trust you or not.”

  “Damnit, Ellie, if I wanted you dead, they’d be carrying you out of the building by now. You know that.”

  “I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Then listen. Reach over to my left hip and pull out my pistol. If I’d been sent to kill you, I could have already used it while you were distracted.”

  “I knew it was there. I was waiting for you to use it.”

  “What do I have to do to convince you?”

  “You can’t.”

  “What about Goltz? I’m telling you I came for him, too. Only you beat me to him.”

  “It’s more than just Goltz. He is—was—just a small part of it.”

  “A part of what?”

  “If you don’t know that, then you’ve got no business here in Bonn.”

  “What I know is that all of a sudden somebody’s been building underground shelters all over the United States that can house thousands, tens of thousands of people. Goltz was behind the construction of at least one and that’s what brought me here. He—or this thing he’s a part of—is preparing for a catastrophe only they seem to know about, which means they’re behind it.”

  In the darkness Wayman could feel Ellie stiffen. The crack under the door provided just enough light for their eyes to use and he saw her lower the gun.

  “That means something to you,” he said. “Tell me.”

  “It’s the one thing I didn’t ask Goltz about,” she muttered more to herself. “Those who were a part of the plan in America would have to be protected once the powder was released.”

  “Powder? White powder?”

  “What does the color matter?”

  “Just tell me if it’s white!”

  “Yes. Now tell me why that’s important.”

  “Because, my Israeli counterpart, it was supposed to look like cocaine. That’s been the cover from the start.”

  “Cover …” Ellie’s voice came up slightly. “Yes, that fits!

  It fits! The powder was produced in Berga, Spain, and then transferred to Getaria for shipment to the Bahamas.”

  “Nassau? Freeport?” asked the Timber Wolf.

  “I suppose so.”

  “Oh my God …”

  “What is it?”

  “Everything makes sense now. That’s why the grandmothers had to die.”

  “Grandmothers? You’ve lost me.”

  “This powder, just tell me about it. What is it really?”

  Footsteps sounded just outside their closet along with voices too muffled to make out. When they departed, Ellie told Wayman the truth about the white powder and the transports as related by Heinrich Goltz.

  “Ninety percent of the population asphyxiated because there’s no air left to breathe… .”

  “No,” Ellie corrected. “The air will still be there, but drained of oxygen.”

  “It’s the same damn thing with 200 million deaths any way you describe it. America will crumble, be reduced to ashes.”

  “Not quite. The shelters, remember? Their people will survive and re-emerge organized and ready to take over with the help of the thousands arriving on the transports. Yes, it would take such a plan to explain them surfacing at last.”

  “You keep speaking in the plural.”

  “With good reason. The force behind this rivals any government in the world—the Council of Ten.”

  “The Council of what?”

  “Ten. Don’t tell me the great Timber Wolf has never heard of them.”

  “Unless you want me to lie …”

  “They’re an international cabal composed of outcast leaders from around the world, if I’m reading my cards right.”

  “Goltz,” Wayman noted, “a former Nazi who still keeps links with revivalist parties of the Reich.”

  “Yes, he perfectly fits the pattern of what I would expect the Council members to be: desperate, fanatical, ruthless, and all with large followings of their own. It all goes back to the time of Alexander the Great. His plan to rule the world was to divide his conquered lands into ten nations or territories, each ruled by a minister directly responsible to Alexander. To prevent revolution and rebellion, along with possible wars among the separate nations of wholly divergent peoples and cultures, a system of laws, decrees, and policies would be laid down for each to follow loyally—to be determined by the ministers meeting together under Alexander as a … council of ten.”

  “So, Goltz and these others have picked up where he left off.”

  “More accurately, they’ve succeeded where he failed.” Ellie’s tone turned eerily contemplative. “I know. I’ve tracked them for five years. They killed my husband.”

  “David Hirsch,” Wayman recalled. “He was murdered shortly after being forced to resign from the Israeli cabinet.”

  “His killers were never found because the Council of Te
n never leaves anything that might lead back to them or even suggest their existence. Their work is carried out invariably by intermediaries who know only what they have to. The chain is long and complex, roundabout in many areas, but such precautions are everything to them.”

  “Yes,” the Timber Wolf said knowingly. “I’ve seen that. The grandmothers, Trelana, the whole drug chain.”

  “That’s twice you’ve mentioned grandmothers. What does it mean?”

  “Hold onto your hat, Ellie, because here’s where my story starts to get good… .”

  And the Timber Wolf proceeded to relay the story told him by Drew Jordan and later confirmed by his Washington contact after his guilt over the young man’s incarceration and subsequent disappearance led him to investigate the affairs of Trelana. Wayman explained how this investigation had turned up a trail of distribution points all over the country, each apparently housing an underground shelter of the type found in Wapello or Dearborn. He finished by rehashing his interrogation of Edgar Brown, which had led here to Bonn and Heinrich Goltz along with alerting him to Corbano’s involvement in the chaos.

  “The White Snake,” Ellie reflected at the end. “I’ve met up with him before.”

  “Haven’t we all?” Wayman shook his head in mock disbelief. “Even telling the story as it’s happened doesn’t make it any easier to believe for me. This Council seems to have gone through a pretty elaborate scenario just to get a few tons of white powder into America. They could just as easily have disguised it as sugar.”

  “Not necessarily,” Ellie countered. “It’s like I told you—everything comes down to control. The Council had to be aware of the powder’s exact status every step of the way. Even shipping Federal Express doesn’t ensure that. Utilizing Trelana’s network was elaborate all right. But since it was already in place, the strategy was actually the safest.” She thought briefly. “Brown told you he received an allocation every six or nine months. That leads me to believe that the shipments of powder brought in by the grandmothers were distributed by lot regionally. Thus, the importance of that man Lantos delivering specific shipping instructions each time to the Riveras.”

  “Along with the need to eliminate the entire chain thanks to Drew Jordan’s grandmother.”

  “The Council leaves nothing to chance,” Ellie acknowledged.

  “Okay, so we’ve got to nail this Council at the source,” noted Wayman grudgingly. “Did Goltz tell you where they could be found?”

  Ellie shrugged. “The Council never leaves traces, remember? They haven’t met together yet, the ultimate in security precautions. And when they do rendezvous, this coming Wednesday, they will be escorted to the Council’s headquarters from contact points throughout Lisbon, if I’m reading my cards right.”

  “That narrows it down a bit.”

  “Not enough. But I’ve got an idea how we can make it work for us. It’s a long shot and we can’t put all our faith in it, but I don’t see we have much—”

  More footsteps raced past their hiding place. They grew silent and still, hardly daring to breathe. A hand twisting the knob had them both rigid and ready to spring, but the door never opened.

  “The distribution points for the powder,” Elliana whispered when the hall was quiet again, “you know them all?”

  “I memorized them.”

  “Iowa, then Michigan. Where would you suggest we head next?”

  Wayman’s eyebrows flickered at Ellie’s use of we. “An address in the back country of Georgia.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s the only one on the list not near a body of water.”

  “Corbano’s headquarters?” Ellie raised.

  “And maybe the means to find the Council’s.”

  They gazed at each other in the darkness.

  Part Seven:

  Back Country

  Chapter 29

  “HOW MUCH DO you remember?”

  Drew sat huddled before the fire, shivering slightly in spite of the blanket wrapped about his shoulders.

  “Everything. I think.” He steadied his coffee cup with both hands as he raised it to his lips. “Tell me about Pam again.”

  Jabba eased his bulbous frame forward. “She’s resting as comfortably as can be expected just a few miles from where we are now at a rather discreet hospital being treated by a team of rather discreet doctors who still, incredibly, make house calls.”

  “On me?”

  “On you. You’re quite lucky, my boy. A deep slice out of your side and a graze to your head is about the size of it. Virtually no burns whatsoever.” Jabba hesitated. “Pam suffered several, enough to cause severe trauma. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but there’s reason for optimism I’m told.”

  Drew gazed out the living room window at the open spaces of land around them, filled with trees shedding their autumn leaves, which he couldn’t see now that night had fallen.

  “Where did you say we were, Jabba?”

  “Virginia. In the country about a hundred miles west of Arlington.”

  “Safe?”

  “No guards outside, if that’s what you mean. But I’ve got the best electronic surveillance system you can lay your hands on.” His gaze turned toward a pair of monitors flashing atop a nearby desk. “Designed by experts to be used by fools.”

  Drew almost smiled. “Who are you, Jabba?”

  “You asked me that once before, my boy, and I gave you a selection of answers. Which one would you prefer today?”

  “The truth.”

  “I told you weeks ago that myths create their own truth. In this case it was a matter of truth creating its own myth. The rumors about me, my boy, were surprisingly close to the mark. My days before holding court at Clyde’s were spent with a secret subdivision of the CIA. The details don’t matter. Suffice it to say that I was damn good at what I did until the pressure closed in and the brandy bottles started opening up.”

  “CIA,” Drew muttered. “If only the gang could hear you now.”

  “They wouldn’t like it. I made a much better pompous ass drunk than I did a spy. The company eased me out to avoid embarrassment for both of us and took care of me financially, but couldn’t do much about my life, which wasn’t much of a life at all.” Jabba cleared his throat, sending waves of flesh rolling along his jowls. “Let’s talk more specifically about your health now.”

  “No,” Drew told him, “my health can wait. If you left the CIA, what am I doing here? How did you find me?”

  The fat man’s voice lowered. “I owed you, my boy, long before and for much more than just your rescue of me from those ruffians weeks ago. Jabba always pays his debts, always did. The news of your exploits in Florida was easily attainable in these parts. Add to that a plea from Pam that I send down a lawyer or something of that sort. She knew we were friends, thought I might be able to reach you.”

  “And how did you end up learning I came back to town?”

  “By tapping your phone line … and Pam’s. The monitoring took me away from Clyde’s for a while, but it was for the best. I knew sooner or later you’d make contact in a deceptive, clever way based on your lessons from the soldier camp. But your use of the computer surprised even me… .”

  “Wait. The bad guys must have had my line tapped, too, but they couldn’t have caught on.”

  “Correct. But there are several ways to tap a phone, several devices to choose from. Mine relied on electronic signals passing through the line; theirs was voice-activated. I was actually able to play back your entire computerized conversation over my terminal by decoding the electronic signals. Fascinating, my boy, and brilliant.”

  “And then?”

  “I tried to locate you at the library, of course, and when I failed I simply followed Pam to the lab and waited for you to show. Alas, I neglected to consider that I am not the locksmith you are. I wasn’t inside until that awful blast sounded.”

  Drew shuddered at the memory.

  “If I had been earlier,” Jabba
said guiltily, “if my damn hands could work without trembling …”

  Drew cut him off. “You saved my life, Jabba. Mine and Pam’s. That’s enough.”

  “No, my boy, it’s not. I hid myself at Clyde’s so I’d be left alone. Retire quietly and you’re never left alone, not by your former enemies or friends. But become a public joke who drowns himself in brandy and people leave you alone.” He paused. “Yet you, Drew, always treated me with dignity. I wasn’t a joke to you no matter how hard I tried to be one, and you don’t know how much I’ve appreciated that. Saving you at the lab was not enough to repay that debt. Keeping you alive might be. It’s a wretched business you’ve gotten yourself in, my boy. Indications are that you infringed badly on someone’s private property, someone with a rather low regard for human life. I need to know everything. From the beginning.”

  Drew told him and Jabba regarded his story with varying degrees of shock and fear through its course, stopping him occasionally for questions and then reclining back in a trance at the conclusion.

  “Incredible,” he muttered dimly. “Far worse than anything I could have imagined. The intent of this powder in all its volume is obviously an attack on the United States. My God, all these trips your grandmother made to Nassau …”

  “A lot of powder, Jabba. I saw it work. Millions will die, everyone maybe.”

  Jabba stood up, face staunch as if he were trying hard to be someone else. “No, we can stop them. I still have contacts. People will be mobilized. Yes! Yes!”

  And he started for the phone, stopping when a steady beep on one of the alarm monitors started up. He lumbered over to it and adjusted a few dials. Another series of beeps followed.

  “Probably just dogs, or kids maybe,” he muttered unconvincingly, grabbing for the phone off a nearby end table and raising the receiver to his ear.

  Jabba’s huge face paled. Drew didn’t have to ask because he knew—a dead telephone line.

  Suddenly the second monitor flashed its warning signal. Drew hovered over Jabba’s shoulder.

  “They’re here,” the fat man said helplessly. “We’ve got to get—”