“Have they called 9-1-1 yet?”
“Yes. The police are on their way.”
“Thank you.” Jonathan hung up and dropped his head.
• • •
Sarah noticed Jonathan’s forehead sweating. Farther down, his hands shook, even as he clasped them together.
“Mr. Stalwart? Are you okay?” asked Sarah.
Jonathan stared at his desk in a stupor. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Sarah extended her hand across the desk. “Are you sure there isn’t anything bothering you?”
Jonathan picked up a picture frame that held a photograph of his wife and two children. He had two teenagers: one boy and one girl. He gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as they gripped the frame.
“I love them, you know. I always have. I never cheated on her, and I always made it to my kids’ school functions.” Jonathan began squeezing the frame tighter. “Jake is such a good soccer player. He’s going to NYU on a scholarship next year. He’s smart too.” Jonathan sighed and continued as he fought back his tears. “Kelly’s an artist. She’s already started her own business and is doing work for the New York Art Institute.” He wiped a tear before it had a chance to escape. “I can’t lose them…I can’t be without them.”
“Jonathan? If there’s something going on, I can help. But I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
Jonathan put the picture back in its place and looked up at Sarah with resignation in his eyes.
“Sarah, I think the man in the lobby is just a decoy.” Jonathan took a deep breath. “If I’m right, another one of our employees, an oilman from Chapleaux, is on his way up here to kill me. And there’s something inside of me that wants him to do it. I’m dead either way. If he doesn’t kill me…they will.”
“Who? Who are they ?” asked Sarah, her hands flat on the desk.
Still staring. “They are the ones you’re after. They are the ones who killed all of our employees and their families. But they’re untouchable. I don’t even know who they are or where to find them. But that man from Chapleaux is convinced that I’m responsible for all of this. He’s on his way up here to—”
“Jon, you have another visitor,” said the receptionist through the speakerphone. “Shall I have him wait or schedule an appointment?”
“Schedule an appointment, please!” shouted Jonathan as he nervously pressed down on the speakerphone Talk button.
“Okay…but he’s…uh…sir? You can’t go in there. Sir!”
• • •
Blake kicked the door in, reached behind his back and pulled out his Redhawk.44 and pointed it at Jonathan and Sarah. Jonathan instinctively put his hands into the air. Sarah sat very still.
“Get on the floor! Now! Get down! Go…now!” shouted Blake. Sarah and Jonathan slowly lay down on the floor.
“Okay, okay, okay!” Jonathan cried, fearfully.
Blake looked out the door, pointed his gun at the secretary and told her to get in the office too. She entered the room and proceeded to get down on her hands and knees. Blake yelled at the secretary: “No! You’re going to call CBS, NBC and any broadcaster you can get ahold of.”
While lying on the floor, facedown, Sarah asked, “What do you want?”
“I want justice. I want revenge. I want an apology!” Pointing at Jonathan. “And I want that bastard to admit to the world that he conspired to kill his employees! I want him to tell everyone what he did!”
“Okay…please…please can we talk about this?” Sarah pleaded.
Blake shuffled back and forth, nervously looking at his victims and back through the glass partition in the wall. “I’m done talking, lady. I’ve talked long enough with these liars. They took everything from me.” Blake nodded his head, agreeing with himself. “Yeah, that’s what I got after talking with them. They took my job, my house, my future and my family!”
Edgy and anxiously pacing back and forth, Blake felt unsure if he had taken the right course, but unable to turn back.
“I really don’t have anything to talk about. It’s time for Mr. Stalwart to talk now…to tell the truth…to set the story straight.”
“All right. We can do that,” Sarah said calmly. She sensed Blake’s need for answers. After all, he was just a man. She knew that a man who has lost everything, with nothing else to lose, was a very dangerous person. She knew she had to respect his loss. He wanted the same thing Sarah wanted: the truth.
“I think we can help you…if you try to work with us here.” Her neck stretched upward, arching her back. “For starters, can you tell us who you are?”
“Blake. My name’s Blake Driscole.” Blake answered with pride in his voice. Jonathan looked up on occasion to get a look at Blake, still holding his hands behind his head. The secretary stood frozen, near the desk, waiting for her next instruction.
“Okay, Blake. Listen, we were just talking about this, and Jon here was trying to tell me what happened. But I want you to know who I am. Okay? My name is Sarah Perkins, and I work for the ATF.”
“Yeah, I know who you are. You were in Chapleaux last week. Frank told me about you. He said he trusted you. He said you thought you knew who was responsible. So do you?”
“Maybe. I think it’s a conspiracy at a level much higher than PPI. Jon was just getting ready to tell me about it. Apparently he’s afraid for his life. He believes that those responsible are going to kill him if he talks.”
“Is that true?” Blake asked Jonathan.
Straining to answer in his awkward position, he said, “Yeah…it’s true. And…I’ll tell you everything if you let me get up. I promise I won’t try anything.”
Blake stared at Jonathan and studied his movements.
“All right. Get up. You can sit over there.” Blake pointed at Jonathan’s chair with his pistol. “And the rest of you can go over there too. But if you try anything, and I mean anything, I will shoot!”
Jonathan, Sarah, and the secretary congregated around Jonathan’s chair. Blake sat in one of the chairs on the other side of the desk watching his hostages’ every move, pointing his gun at Jonathan.
Chapter 22
The Lobby
In the Lobby of PPI Headquarters, 543 Wall Street Avenue
“You bastards are going to pay!” screamed Dennis, running like a wild turkey. “You greedy sons of bitches!” He ran through the black marble lobby, jumped over furniture and kicked a trash can over, slipping on the debris.
Blake had previously told him: “Make an ass of yourself and get back outside as soon as I’m in the elevator.”
A large, balding security guard thumped toward Dennis. “Get over here!”
Dennis awkwardly rose to his feet and lurched toward a gray-haired businesswoman. “They killed their employees!” he said, wide-eyed with spittle spraying. The woman pulled her briefcase close and scuttled away. Dennis continued yelling. “They blew up a town and they’re robbing you blind with overpriced gas!”
Dennis may not have been too bright, or a good oilman for that matter, but he was an excellent ranter and he was very good at making an ass of himself.
Eventually, two officers from the New York City Police Department arrived at the scene. They finally tackled Dennis, wrestling him to the cold marble floor. He continued his protest all the way to the squad car.
“Guilty…murderers…blood money!”
Although he had proven to be melodramatic, Dennis was loyal to Blake to the very end.
• • •
As the NYPD squad car hauled Dennis away, Sarah, Jonathan and Blake stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby. The large steel doors slipped closed. A janitor, who had been in the elevator with them, pushed his cart toward the overturned trash can and began cleaning. Jonathan led his visitors across the foyer and through the revolving doors. A black limousine was waiting outside.
The driver opened the rear door and tipped his hat. “Central Park, please,” Jonathan commanded.
“Yes, sir.”
Whe
n Sarah stepped inside, her cell phone rang. She shuffled through her purse and flicked her hair away from her mouth.
“Hello?”
“Hi. This is Agent Dan Hullman…FBI.”
Her brow furrowed. “Yes?”
“I need to speak to you about Mister William Freneur. You got a minute?”
“Sure.” She covered her other ear with her free hand and turned away, blocking out the city noise. “Who’s William Freneur?”
“I’m sorry. He goes by Gill.”
“Oh! Yes! What can I help you with?”
“Gill said you can prove that he’s innocent.”
“I can.”
Sarah heard the man breathing, hesitating.
“Okay…well…after we questioned him, he stopped talking, leaving us with nothing to go on. And now…”
“Now what?”
“Now, he’s dead.”
“Oh my God! No!” Sarah said as she covered her mouth in shock. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears. Both parties were silent for a moment.
“I’m sorry. It’s true. One of the sheriff’s deputies found him in his cell this morning. He hung himself with material from his bedding. I guess he wrapped it around the conduit on the ceiling and…well, you can imagine the rest.”
“Damn it!” Sarah kicked the seat in front of her. She stared out the window, her throat quivering.
Jonathan sat at an angle from Sarah. He leaned close to her. “Ms. Perkins? Are you okay?”
Sarah silently shook her head, still looking outside.
“Ms. Perkins?” asked Dan.
She sniffed and cleared her throat. “One of our specialists,” said Sarah, voice cracking, “had confirmed that the explosion was not the result of a faulty fuel line. He had gathered evidence that it was an improvised, two-pound C-4 device, detonated with a one-mile radius remote. And Gill had absolutely zero knowledge of that technology. We now know our profile is someone with prior military experience. And when we found him in the pier office, he was injured from a blow to the head. Did anyone analyze that injury to see if it was self-inflicted?”
“Well, no…not that I’m aware of. The sheriff’s department never said anything about an injury.”
“Did anyone analyze the track marks on the bullet that killed Ginger and compare them to the markings in the alleged weapon?” Sarah questioned.
“Well…no.”
“What kind of investigation are you running down there?”
“We’ve got a hand—”
“Listen,” interrupted Sarah. “You’ve got to check your local traffic video, storefront cameras or call in the NFL’s video tech team! I don’t give a rat’s ass how you do it, just find out who came in and out of the pier parking lot the morning Ginger was shot. I guarantee you, someone besides Gill and Ginger was in that office. Whoever it was is probably your killer.”
“Wait a minute,” Dan interrupted. “Who’s Ginger?”
“You’ve got to be shitting me, Hullman! Are you serious! They set him up! Can’t you see that? The sheriff passed judgment on Gill before he was even in the squad car. I tried to tell him that he was innocent, but he wanted a suspect and he didn’t care who it was. Well he got one, but it was the wrong guy!”
“Shit!” said Dan.
Sarah sighed. “I’m in New York. Keep me informed.” Sarah swallowed hard and fixed her jaw.
“I’m really sorry, Ms. Perkins.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks for your help, Ms. Perk—”
“Bye.” Sarah hung up.
• • •
The limousine parked just outside of Central Park. The three travelers stepped out of the vehicle, and Sarah led them into Strawberry Fields. They did not speak. Sarah held her index finger to her lips. She knew that a high-level surveillance team could read lips and collect audio within a limited range. So they walked until they were under the cover of the park’s vegetation.
“What the hell are we doing out here?” asked Blake.
“We’re saving Jonathan’s life,” replied Sarah. “And maybe yours too.”
Blake squinted distrustfully.
“I think I know what Jonathan’s going to tell us,” Sarah whispered. “If I’m right, then we’ve got to be very careful what we say, and when and where we say it. Why don’t we sit over there and hash this out?” Sarah pointed toward a picnic table that sat on the edge of the path near the All We Need is Love mosaic.
“This better be good,” said Blake, squint-eyed. “Because I don’t have the patience.”
Sarah sat down, looked at Jonathan, put her hand on his arm and said, “Okay, Mr. Stalwart. Go ahead. It’s okay.”
Jonathan sighed. “You’re probably not going to believe me…”
“Try me,” said Sarah.
Jonathan glanced at Sarah and then at Blake. “It’s Thomas Radisson. He’s involved in a group called Caesar. It’s a club; a wealthy, elitist, secret society. They think they control us.” Jonathan shrugged. “Or maybe they really do. I don’t know much about them. But I know they’re bad.”
One of Blake’s eyes widened, the other remained narrowed.
“Anyway, a couple weeks ago he manipulated me into going to what he called The Palace . That’s where they hang out. It’s like a health club.”
“Okay,” said Sarah. “Go on.”
Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. “They blackmailed me into joining the club, threatening me with my life if I ever turned against them. And just before you came into my office, Thomas was giving me details about their agenda.”
“Oh bullshit!” shouted Blake, pounding his fist on the table. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Wait a minute, Blake!” interrupted Sarah. “He could be right. I’ve seen it before. Just hear him out.”
Blake nodded.
Jonathan continued.
“Anyway, I’ve been very concerned about the business and the families.” Jonathan gritted his teeth and breathed deeply. “But then Thomas told me that Caesar had the families killed, and that it had nothing to do with PPI. He told me that Caesar is a private club that’s controlling and manipulating world events in an attempt to create a global empire. It sounds crazy. But I think he’s absolutely serious.”
“If that’s true,” asked Blake, “then why did they have to kill their workers?”
“Because it’s somehow part of the bigger plan. People don’t have any value to them. They’re nothing more than a commodity in their eyes. He said they’re trying to rebuild the Roman Empire, a new world order. They’re merciless and callous toward people, and I don’t think they’ll stop until they get what they want.”
Blake looked Jonathan in the eye and asked, “So if they’re so evil, why don’t you take me to them. I’ll take care of them. I have a very simple solution.” He patted his coat where his gun was resting inside. “I’m willing to accept the consequences.”
“No!” interrupted Sarah. “We’ll resolve this legally…by the book.”
“Why?” asked Blake. “You think they killed over three hundred people by the book?” Blake stood to his feet, hands clenching the edge of the table. “Get a grip, lady! They killed my wife and two girls! An eye for an eye!”
“Okay, okay. Let’s not get carried away!” said Sarah, looking directly at Blake, eyes bent with agitation. She turned toward Jonathan. “Tell us more.”
“I don’t even know where the building is. No one does, unless you have clearance. The location’s been kept a secret for over eighty years. You can’t just barge in there and start killing them, even if you wanted to.”
Jonathan loosened his tie. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. “I had lunch with one of the Caesars yesterday. He invited me to begin my initiation, or indoctrination as he called it. He’s an older, distinguished looking gentleman…very courteous.”
Jonathan rolled up his sleeves and rested both of his elbows on the table, nervously cracking his knuckles.
“Anyway, he gave me a
history lesson, if you will, concerning Caesar. He claimed that a select group of individuals from England, weary of the monarchy, wanted to reinstitute the political practices of Rome. He said that several of these wealthy businessmen began to quietly influence the Federalist Party, including Alexander Hamilton and George Washington. They found a new land to corrupt and politicize. It was a perfect scenario. They stayed clear of public office, sequestered in the shadows and hallways of the Continental Congress, because they believed, like many of the Roman elite, that they could rule a democracy with wealth and influence. However, they underestimated the power of the voting public. They underestimated the sensibility and morality of liberty, freedom and justice. Even Washington remained neutral amidst their influence. So their plans were put on hold for a time.
“Years later they influenced the establishment of a federal banking system, and once again began to dig their claws into our bureaucracy. They instituted a powerful military, puffing up their war chest, and tying their wealth directly to the growth of government.
“He told me that from that time forward, they’ve perfected their processes. He said that our government is only a cover in the conspiracy. He said that elected officials obey their commands, regardless of what their voters say, because the payoff after a few short years in Congress is too hard to resist. He claims that Caesar and a few other groups like them basically control the system. They rule our government and own the businesses that keep our country wealthy and employed in a manner that suits their ambitions. He said that 80 percent of the world’s wealth is controlled by less than one percent of the population, and that they only intend on increasing the gap!”
Looking at Sarah, Blake asked, “Is he for real? Does he think I’m going to believe this shit?”
Jonathan added, “You can choose not to believe. I didn’t believe him either, until Thomas confirmed his story. Trust me, I thought this was a weird-rich-guys’ club too, never suspecting that they had anything to do with the murders. I’m just telling you what he told me. And as I see this play out, I only find myself more convinced that they’re telling the truth.”
Killing the Giants Page 11