The Council of Ten

by Jon Land

  “That would maintain the timetable. We are in contact from the castle with the other twenty-eight distribution points. They are waiting for their signal. When it comes, twelve to eighteen hours after your strike has been initiated, they will begin their drops.”

  “And the shelters?”

  “The signals have gone out. Arrivals will begin just after dawn tomorrow as planned. Our people are ready.”

  “So are we.”

  Darkness.

  That was all Drew could remember from the instant of the blast. The Timber Wolf had seen what was coming in time to leap from the still-moving payloader, yanking Drew out behind him. Elliana jumped out the other side. The flames that followed the blast shielded their escape by forming a wall of fire between them and immediate pursuit.

  They had met up moments later and trudged long and hard through the woods. Most of the way Wayman supported Drew although his own condition seemed little better. Ellie hung back ten yards or so to serve as a buffer against possible attack from the rear. All three were hopelessly exhausted, the primary goal now just to find the car camouflaged miles back from the cabin, miles themselves lost in the darkness.

  It was over an hour before they finally found it. Ellie drove, eyes constantly darting to the rearview mirror on the chance that Corbano’s men had picked up their trail. Drew had no conception of how long or far they traveled through the night. He fell into a state of semiconsciousness, mind as battered as his body.

  At last they came to the roadside motel with a pair of letters burned out on its neon sign. Drew accepted Wayman’s help in getting inside where he collapsed on one of the beds. The woman swabbed and bandaged his wounds. His eye was open again, but his wounded cheek remained swollen, part of the flesh tinted gray. He tried to speak, but still there were no words. Finally, he felt himself slip off to sleep, a shallow slumber in which conversation between Wayman and the woman called Ellie was sometimes clear to him.

  “Do you think Corbano knows we’re still alive?” Ellie asked the Timber Wolf.

  “I don’t think it matters. Either way, there’s a timetable they’ll have to stick to. You said the eastern seaboard phase of the operation is scheduled to start tomorrow, followed by the rest of the country on Friday. That means people must already be arriving at the shelters. The Council can’t risk letting that lead to questions.”

  “So, we know the East Coast is the first to go, but from which drop point?”

  “There’s only one that fits the bill geographically—Prudence Island.”

  Ellie stood by the window, peering out through a crack in the drawn curtain. Wayman sat on the second bed with his shoulders supported by the headboard. She turned toward him.

  “Island?”

  “Yes. Off the coast of Rhode Island in Narragansett Bay. Can’t tell you much about it, beside the fact that’s the only place Corbano, and the first phase of Powderkeg, can be stopped.”

  “Which would still leave twenty-eight drop points uncovered,” Ellie reminded him glumly. “The drop points will be awaiting a uniform go-signal before proceeding, which must be coming direct from Council headquarters.” She checked her watch. “It’s time I made a phone call.”

  “Ellie, I don’t know what to say… .”

  But Isser’s apologetic tone said more than enough. “What have you found, Isser?”

  The head of the Mossad told her. It was all Elliana could do to keep her trembling hand steady on the receiver.

  “My God,” she said when Isser had finished. His report did not surprise her, but somehow the shock of the truth was no less great.

  “He won’t be at the Castle of the Moors,” Isser went on, “but we will be. The operation’s yours. How soon can you be in Lisbon?”

  It was closing in on midnight where they were now. Ellie tried to calculate. “Twelve to fourteen hours,” she said optimistically.

  “A full strike team is being assembled. We’re taking an awful chance here, Ellie.”

  “It’s the only chance we have,” she told him.

  “It all fits,” Ellie told Wayman twenty minutes later, eager to start her journey for Lisbon. “The Council would need a command center where Powderkeg could be controlled and monitored without scrutiny from the outside. The castle is perfect. That’s where the go-signal will come from. And now with the Mossad I can stop it!”

  “So long as they’re not expecting you. And even if they’re not, their perimeter defenses may be impenetrable.”

  “Nothing’s impenetrable.”

  “It’s a castle, goddamnit, full of chambers and catacombs. Seems like pounding the shit out of it with an air strike would be a whole lot more effective.”

  “No,” Ellie insisted, “we’ve got to be sure the Council members, especially its leader, are killed. Otherwise, it could start up all over again.”

  “That’s only part of it,” the Timber Wolf said knowingly. “It’s become personal for you.”

  “No, Timber Wolf, it’s always been personal and why shouldn’t it be? I’ve been waiting too long for this day. They killed David, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I haven’t, but you might be better off if you did.” His tone turned reflective. “I know what happens when this kind of game becomes personal. People such as you and me can’t afford that.”

  “But we still call it a game, don’t we? And is your desire to go after Corbano at Prudence Island any different? Can you sit there and tell me Corsica’s been pushed out of your memory?”

  “No. But I know what Corsica did to me in the first place and I can promise it won’t happen again. I’ve got a job to do. That’s where it starts and ends this time. It’s the castle itself that concerns me.”

  “And what about the open seas where you’ll be searching for Corbano? I wouldn’t trade you even up, and so what? You and I, Timber Wolf, have spent our lifetimes fighting the odds and the percentages, beating them more often than we had a right to expect to. No one ever cried for us before, so let’s not go and shed any tears for our desperate plights.” A look of grim determination crossed her face. “They killed David. For five years I’ve struggled and searched, always knowing that if I ever found them it would mean my death. So, I’m used to the idea. Every minute I live now that I’m finally onto them is a bonus because it’ll bring me that much closer. And if I get enough of those minutes I just might get them before they get me. Is it really any different for you? The East Coast operation, Prudence Island, is separate from the rest of Powderkeg. It’s got to be stopped at its own source: You against Corbano just like old times, no matter how you want to describe it. Only you won’t have a strike force backing you up as I will.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Drew, suddenly stirring.

  “What do you mean Trelana wasn’t killed at Too-Jay’s?”

  Drew was fumbling with the receiver. “It was a double who got shot. Trelana wanted to appear dead. But if I can reach him now, he’ll help us. God knows he’s got the reason and the resources.” He pressed out the contact number. “Damn, it’s been disconnected!”

  “Who exactly are you calling?” Wayman asked him.

  Drew related a frantic summary of the events from his jailing, to Colombia, to Nassau, Miami, and then Washington.

  “My God,” Ellie said at the end, “the powder… . Somehow I was hoping it might not work after all.”

  “Forget it,” Drew told her. “I was there. My girl friend analyzed it.” Then, to Wayman, “Why would Trelana disconnect the contact number he gave me?”

  “Because he’s probably given you up for dead. Or, worse, figures that you sold him out.”

  “Then if I can find another way to contact him, he still might help us. I saw a phone in his villa. We’ve got to get the number.”

  Wayman thought briefly. “Leave that to me.”

  Ellie had left by the time Wayman put in a call to July’s home number. A proper series of codes and signals drawn from their days in the network alerted her to potential dan
ger, while he passed along the exchange at which he could be reached. She was to find a safe line and call back as soon as possible, which turned out to be thirty minutes later.

  “Peter, what in hell’s happening?”

  “Whether I get the opportunity to explain or not depends on you. I need a phone number in Colombia, specifically the Islas del Rosario off the coast of Cartagena.”

  “All this for a number?”

  “Belonging to Arthur Trelana’s private villa.”

  “But he’s dead.”

  “The reports, as they say, were greatly exaggerated.”

  “What are you saying? Have you found that fellow?”

  Wayman’s eyes fell on Drew who was watching eagerly. “Long story to both questions. Can you get me the number?”

  “Give me an hour,” Jilly said with a sigh.

  Wayman left briefly in search of a map of New England at a nearby gas station. When he returned Drew was staring blindly at the wall, not even seeming to register his presence.

  Wayman sat down next to him in silence for a time before choosing his moment to speak. “I’ll get you out of this,” he said. “I promise.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking about. Besides, I’m already in it.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  Drew felt along the swollen, charred area on his cheek. “Everything, right from the start. It’s almost funny.”

  “You’re not laughing.”

  “I said almost.”

  Wayman thought for a few moments. “Look, I know people. I can make arrangements for you … and your girl friend. Keep you both safe.”

  Drew shook his head slowly, guiltily realizing that he hadn’t thought about Pam at all since they had reached the motel. “No, I can’t accept that. If you fail, I’m dead anyway along with the rest of the country. The difference is that I know what’s coming. You can’t expect me to sit back and wait.”

  “This is my game, Drew, not yours.”

  A slight smile lit Drew’s face. “That’s a line from Shane, you know. Alan Ladd says it to Van Heflin just before he rides into town to face the Ryker brothers, and especially Jack Palance as Wilson the gunfighter.”

  The Timber Wolf smiled with him. “I know the movie.”

  “All the times I’ve seen it, I always wanted Shane to take the kid with him in the end.”

  “As I remember it, the kid wanted Shane to stay.”

  “I know. But I always figured that if the kid knew he’d never see Shane again, he would rather have gone with him than stayed home. Only Shane couldn’t take him cause the kid had all those chores and Jean Arthur to go back to.” Drew paused. “I don’t have anything to go back to.”

  “Do yourself a favor, Drew. Let me get you to Virginia where you can wait this thing out at your girl friend’s bedside, keeping your fingers crossed that you’ll be alive come Friday morning.”

  Drew waved him off staunchly. “Save your breath, Timber Wolf.”

  “It’s not my breath I’m worried about.”

  The phone rang.

  “The rest is up to you now, kid,” Wayman told him, handing the receiver to Drew as he punched out the number Jilly had provided for Arthur Trelana. “Just remember everything I told you.”

  “I’ll try.”

  The phone rang six times before it was answered.

  “Yes?” greeted a deep, male voice.

  “Mr. Trelana please.”

  “I’m afraid he’s unavailable.”

  “Tell him it’s Drew Jordan.”

  The man hesitated. “How did you get this number?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Look, I found what Mr. Trelana sent me to find. I know what’s going on here and I can help him, but I need his help first. You’ve got to let me talk to him. I’ll give you the number where I can be reached. Trace it if you want. Send men out here to kill me. It doesn’t matter. Believe me it doesn’t.”

  The man hesitated again. “I’ll pass on the message, but I’m not promising anything.”

  The phone rang after an agonizing twenty minutes.

  “This conversation was supposed to have taken place considerably earlier,” Trelana said by way of greeting, sounding tired and nasal.

  “It would have. But someone ‘borrowed’ the line you set up for me. I walked into a trap.”

  “I suspected as much,” Trelana told him. “Someone’s closing in on me, but they still haven’t pinned me to this island. If you had talked, the battle would already be raging.”

  Drew swallowed hard. “I found what you sent me to find. It’s got everything to do with power like you thought, with someone after total control. But it’s got nothing to do with drugs.”

  “You’ve lost me, Drew.”

  “The powder that started with the grandmothers wasn’t cocaine at all. It’s some sort of compound that when mixed with water absorbs oxygen from the air. Behind it is a group calling itself the Council of Ten that plans to use the powder to destroy America. I’ve seen it in action. Believe me, it works.”

  The line filled with Trelana’s labored breathing. “My resources are drained, Drew. I’m not sure there’ll be anything I can do to help. But I’ll listen. Tell me everything.”

  Part Eight:

  Prudence Island and the Castle of the Moors

  Chapter 32

  ELLIE WOULD BE MEETING the Mossad liaison who would link her up with the strike force at the Quinta Restaurant atop the hillside village of the Bairro Alto. From Lisbon proper she took the lift built by Eiffel himself, a hulking ironwork structure linking one world with another. The footbridge on top afforded a magnificent view and as Ellie paused outside the Quinta, she almost imagined she could see the Castle of the Moors. Her contact was waiting at the table as planned.

  He didn’t rise when she took the chair across from his. “We received your revised orders,” he whispered nervously. “They have been carried out.” He was a curly-haired dark man dressed in ill-fitting clothes.

  Ellie felt a numbness pass through her. “What revised orders?”

  The man looked confused. “The strike force has been recalled.”

  “What? I never—”

  Ellie stopped herself. There was no point in going on, no point in chastising the man before her. The Council of Ten was to blame here, no one else. As discreetly as possible, she lifted her pistol from her handbag. If they knew about the operation, then they knew …

  “Is something wrong?” the contact asked.

  “If you want to live, listen to me. We’re in danger. Don’t make any move that stands out. They could be watching. I’ve got to think this out.”

  Ellie checked her watch; nearly five o’clock. Time for her to reach the castle but not enough to wait for reinforcements from Mossad. If the Timber Wolf was successful, the Council might well activate the main portion of their plan ahead of schedule. So, it was just her. She’d be dead already if the Council wanted her to be.

  “There are a few things I need,” she told the contact, recalling her knowledge of castles in the Lisbon countryside, even then wondering what it was that was keeping her alive.

  “When does the ferry reach the island?” Wayman asked the captain anxiously.

  “When it docks, friend,” the crusty man replied with a snide wink, “and that much you can count on.” Then, after a short pause, “We should be in about three-thirty, way I figure it.”

  The Timber Wolf thanked the man and descended from the bridge back toward the sparse group of people making their way across Narragansett Bay’s east passage to Prudence Island. Drew was standing alone by the railing.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “It’s going to be close,” Wayman told him.

  It had been such the whole day. Drew had told his tale rapidly to Trelana hours earlier, slurring the words and events together. The drug lord grasped enough of the context to pose numerous questions of a technical nature, his own voice quivering. Ultimately, Trelana promised to do his best to get pl
enty of men and boats to Prudence Island prior to high tide at five-fifteen, which was the expected drop time for Corbano’s powder to assure optimum spread thanks to favorable wind conditions. He made no promises, though. The hours might prove too short to accomplish so much with the drug lord’s resources severely taxed. Drew was to carry some sort of flare with him and use it to signal Trelana’s fleet to attack if they ever did show up.

  From the motel, Drew and Wayman reached Atlanta Airport by stolen car where they boarded a nonstop flight for Boston. Then a rental car blazing along Route 95 into Rhode Island eventually brought them to the town of Bristol, where they just caught the two o’clock ferry shuttle on the Prudence II. They had no way of knowing whether Trelana’s men would make it to the island in time. All they knew was that Corbano would unquestionably be there.

  Elliana would have reached Lisbon by now as well. The Council of Ten would soon be in her sights. Even if she destroyed their stronghold at the Castle of the Moors, she could do nothing about Corbano since he was on his own. He belonged to Drew and the Timber Wolf, and if they failed, the upper East Coast would be wiped out.

  The autumn waters were choppy, a stiff wind forcing Drew to wrap his arms about himself. The air was dank and gray, but he savored each breath as the mist played with his mouth, aware suddenly of just how precious even the damp wind was. The Timber Wolf leaned against the railing by his side.

  “What do we do once we get there?” Drew asked him.

  “Find a pier where we can rent a decent boat complete with flare pistol. There’s no sense looking for Corbano on land. He’ll be on the water by now.”

  It was closing in on quarter to four when the Prudence II angled itself for docking on a rickety pier that would take them onto the island. The scene looked desolate and dreary in the autumn gray, hardly a picturesque island paradise, which was just the way the one hundred and six full-time residents preferred it. They’d had enough of summer people rolling in and out with their shiny new Volvos, driving property values too high and ruining the season. The locals constantly bemoaned the fact that Prudence had been discovered by the summer tourists, who went as far as to frighten away the near-domesticated deer and darkened the landscape with sprawling antennas and satellite dishes. Let the tourists have the summer, the locals accepted grudgingly, so long as the other three seasons belonged to them.