The Windchime Legacy

by A. W. Mykel

  Then he went to the table and began to draw a diagram. A few minutes later he stretched out the wire and began cutting the required lengths.

  He finished measuring and cutting the wires, then went out of the room and down the hallway, until he found the maintenance room. He opened the door, walked over to the fuse boxes, found the one with his room number on it, and removed the two fuses. Then he returned to the room.

  The necessary tools had been laid out on the table. He selected the screwdriver and wire crimp, then went to the switch by the door. He dismantled it.

  About thirty minutes later he had a wire running from the switch to a special flatspring-loaded relay, designed to fit between the door frame and the door. He had to chisel a small notch in the door frame, to get it to fit properly.

  A wire ran from the relay to a large second-elapse timer and back to the switch on the wall. Wires were run from the timer to one wall outlet, then from that outlet to the others not originally controlled by the switch. They were now all controlled by the switch and timer.

  When this was done, he placed the three lamps he had carried up near the outlets that did not already have lamps plugged into them. That gave each outlet its own lamp.

  Next he took out the packages of large industrial light bulbs. Then he took out the tiny portable hand drill from his black case and locked the smallest bit in place.

  On the table was a large syringe and a can of sealing putty. He took a large bowl and put it on the table.

  Taking the first bulb, he drilled a tiny hole in its base and tried the syringe. It fit easily. Then he drilled holes in the remaining ten bulbs.

  Next, Ten Braak brought the two gallon cans to the table and poured fluid from one of them into the bowl. He took the large syringe and drew it full of the fluid. He then stuck the needle through the hole in the base of the bulb and discharged the fluid. This procedure was repeated until the bulb was filled with fluid. Then he sealed the hole with the putty and began on the next bulb.

  When the bulbs were finished, he laid them carefully in the boxes, well-wrapped with paper from the Daily News that had come with his breakfast.

  He set the timer to zero and went back down the hall to the maintenance room and replaced the fuses. He returned to the room and found the overhead lights on and four of the five lamps lit up as well. He checked the one that did not light. It had a faulty switch.

  A few minutes later the switch was repaired and all the lamps glowed brightly. He went to the timer and set it for five seconds. The lights went out as he moved it off zero. The timer swept quickly through the short setting, and all the lights clicked on at once, as it reached zero again.

  Ten Braak then walked to the door and looked at his watch. He checked the second hand, as he stood motionless by the door, sweeping the room quickly with his eyes. Then he moved to the center of the room and looked at the watch. Seven seconds would be plenty.

  That’s how long it would take for a man to walk into hell.

  He sat at the table, after turning off the wall switch, which made all the lights go out at once.

  Then he waited for the darkness to fall. In about four hours, he’d be leaving the room. Otto Ten Braak was ready for them. Now he had to find them. He had an idea where he might.

  The Lower East Side can be a very large haystack when you’re looking for one man, especially if he doesn’t want to be found.

  Justin and Fanning had combed the area, chasing down every possible lead. The other SENTINEL teams in the area had staked out the suspected safe houses, but had come up empty so far. It was obvious that more SENTINEL manpower was needed. A good deal of the SENTINEL manpower had been reassigned to locate Phoenix. The trail in Beloit had heated up significantly after the discovery of Awadi’s corpse in the morgue.

  O’Hare Airport was crawling with agents, all of whom had pictures of the man they were looking for. Milwaukee and Madison also had their airports under watch.

  SENTINEL had learned a lot since Fromme and Sigmund had been killed. Phoenix was admitted into the Beloit General Hospital under the name of Roger Caneway. There was also a reservation booked for one Roger Caneway on an afternoon flight to Paris leaving from O’Hare on Wednesday.

  SENTINEL had also learned a lot about the way Phoenix thought. It projected that he would still try to get out through O’Hare, even though, and especially because, it was not the logically expected thing to do. SENTINEL was doing what Centaur had thought it couldn’t, slowing down and shifting mental gears to match the pattern established by him. This created a great many more possibilities, which SENTINEL considered with slow deliberation. It was learning to play Centaur’s game.

  Meanwhile, in New York, Justin and Fanning sat sipping beers after chasing their last false lead. They were quickly running out of ideas.

  “Where do we go from here?” Justin asked wearily.

  “Beats the shit outta me,” Fanning replied, nursing the beer.

  “He might not even be in New York,” Justin said. “Maybe he’s somewhere in Jersey and intends coming over on Tuesday for his contact.”

  “Even if he is here, how the fuck are we supposed to find him? He’s not in the safe houses we’ve got staked out. Maybe our only chance is going to be to trail the contact and hope that a meeting is scheduled and that he’s not going to dead-drop the film.”

  “If he has film,” Justin added.

  Fanning shook his head. “I don’t know, I’m out of answers.”

  The men sipped their beers in silence, their brains working, as they unconsciously watched the televised Knicks game above the bar.

  “It would be easy if he just showed up at McSorley’s again,” Fanning said, shaking his head.

  “McSorley’s?” Justin asked.

  “Yeah, the one time I almost got a chance at him was right here, in New York. He was sighted in McSorley’s.”

  “I thought you said that you never got another chance at him?” Justin said.

  “That’s right, I never did. But I almost did one time. He was spotted in McSorley’s, eating and downing some beers. Never got near him, though. He left long before I got there and lost the tail on him. Being in the same city was as close as I’ve ever gotten to him,” he explained.

  “Well, you’re that close again. And maybe McSorley’s wouldn’t be a bad place to visit. He might be a creature of habit. If he doesn’t show, we’ll at least get to eat a great turkey sandwich. You haven’t had a turkey sandwich until you’ve had one there,” Justin said.

  It didn’t take much to convince them to go to McSorley’s. They were tired and hungry, and the beers and sandwiches were too tempting to resist. Besides, it was a lead to follow. They finished their beers and left.

  McSorley’s is a popular Lower East Side pub, famous for its turkey sandwiches and ale. The ale is usually ordered by the mug two or three at a time, as the crowds usually make waiting for single mugs a long and dry experience.

  They were fortunate to find an empty table right near the entrance in the front room as they walked in. Business was jumping, and few spots were available, even at the bar.

  Justin sat with his back to the never-used fireplace, where he could see the front entrance and the large archway that led to the back room. He could eye all traffic from his spot.

  The back room was packed, every table occupied and covered with mugs. The din was just below a roar, filled with laughter, cursing, and songs. The place was a piece of old Ireland in the new world. All the bartenders and table waiters were heavily accented Irishmen. The waiters weaved through the thick crowd, their large trays heavy with beer and sandwiches.

  Justin had come here on countless Friday nights as a student with the fraternity. Friday was always the guys’ night out, and a special significance was added to the fact that it was still a men-only spot in those days. It always felt good to come back.

  They had been sitting for only a few moments when a waiter came to the table. “Yes, gentlemen. What’ll ya have?” he sa
id in his high Irish voice.

  “You like dark ale?” Justin asked his partner.

  Fanning nodded.

  “Bring us three each and a couple of turkey sandwiches. Double onion on mine,” Justin said.

  The waiter nodded and rushed off, shouting the request for the dark ales to one of the bartenders, and walking back to the kitchen to put in the order for the sandwiches.

  They sat for a while, not saying anything. Both men were filled with a mounting tension. Every hour that passed was one closer to contact.

  The ales were brought to the table. The sandwiches would be a little longer. Justin picked up one of the mugs and downed it thirstily. Fanning did the same, with a consummate delight.

  “We used to come here a lot when I was in college,” Justin said. “We’d take two whole tables,” he said, pointing to the large round ones in the back room. “Cover the whole table with empty mugs in a half hour, then let them take the empties away. Then we’d start all over again. Spent a lot of good hours in this place,” he reminisced with a smile.

  “Where’s the pisser?” Fanning asked.

  Justin pointed. “Straight in the back.”

  Fanning took a long pull on the second cold ale, then got up from the table. He walked around Justin’s chair and headed for the back room.

  A second later he returned.

  “That was fast,” Justin said. But the smile left Justin’s face when he saw the look in Ted’s eyes.

  “He’s here,” Fanning said as he slid into the chair beside Justin.

  “Ten Braak?” Justin asked in a low voice.

  Fanning nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  The look in Fanning’s eyes required no answer. Justin knew immediately that he was.

  That strange look had come back to Fanning’s face. He began to reach for his magnum, but Justin’s hand stopped him.

  “Not here. Where is he?”

  “In the back. Corner table to the right of the bathroom,” he answered.

  “Did he see you?” Justin asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Fanning said.

  Justin leaned out slightly and fixed his cold eyes on the figure at the table in the corner. It was Ten Braak, all right. He was destroying a turkey sandwich with a savage gusto. The table was covered with half a dozen empty beer mugs.

  “We gotta get out of here,” Justin said.

  “Take him in the street?” asked Fanning.

  “No. We have to follow him back to where he’s staying. If he has the film, that’s the only way we can be sure of getting it,” he said.

  “I think we should take him as soon as he steps out. From two sides. We can get him clean that way,” Fanning said.

  “Outside. We can talk about it out there. Let’s get out of here before he gets a look at you.”

  The two men stood up. Justin dropped a twenty on the table.

  “I can take him right now,” Fanning said. “He’ll never see it coming.”

  “Outside,” Justin said.

  “We got him in here. Out there he’s got a chance.”

  “Outside,” Justin repeated, giving his partner a gentle push toward the door.

  The two men filed toward the door, Justin keeping himself close to Fanning and at his back. He gave a quick look back, as he passed through the door and out onto the street behind Fanning.

  Ten Braak was still occupied with his sandwich.

  As the door banged shut, Ten Braak’s dark eyes focused on it. A short smile came to his face. He finished his sandwich and took his time over the two mugs of ale still before him. He hadn’t missed a thing.

  “You get to the car,” Justin said. “If he walks, I’ll follow him. You bring the car up later. If he cabs it, you shoot up here, and we’ll stay with the cab.” Justin didn’t want Fanning too close to Ten Braak yet. Getting the film was the most important thing in his mind. There was no guarantee that it was on him.

  “I think we’re making a big mistake,” Fanning said. “He’s going to have some defense set up at his place. He’ll be a hundred times tougher there.”

  “We’ll get him. But we’re not trying this alone,” Justin said. “If we don’t get to that film we’ll blow this whole thing.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Fanning said.

  “Neither do I, but that’s the way it’s gonna go down.”

  Justin and Fanning walked up the block.

  BLEEP! Justin signaled SENTINEL through his implant.

  “Yes, Pilgrim,” the soft reply came.

  “Alert the other teams. We’ve spotted him. We’ll follow him to his safe house, then we’ll take him. I want constant communications between everybody,” he said.

  “Working.”

  Justin positioned himself well up the block and out of sight. Fanning went to the car and started it up.

  Fanning reached under the passenger’s seat and pulled out a narrow, black carrying case. He put it across his lap and stroked the case softly. The nervousness began to build in him. All the waiting was now coming to an end. The weight of the case and the feel of it comforted him. It held the equalizer—the “Runt.”

  He drew power from the feel of it, knowing that it was there. Each stroke of his hand gave him added confidence.

  Ten Braak finished his last ale and paid the waiter. He had to take a leak but didn’t dare go into the bathroom. It could be a death trap if they were to catch him in there.

  He rose, walked to the door, and stepped out into the cool night air. His eyes scanned the street. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were there. He could feel them.

  He turned and walked away from Justin’s concealed position, toward Third Avenue.

  Justin followed from a safe distance behind. He kept in constant voice communication with Fanning and the other SENTINEL teams.

  Ten Braak walked directly back to the Paradise. Justin stood on the street below, in the shadows.

  Once through the lobby and up the first flight of stairs, Ten Braak sprinted up the remaining five flights of stairs with surprising speed and ease. He stepped into the dark room and went to his black salesman’s case. He pulled out a pair of small binoculars and walked to the window overlooking Third Avenue.

  He stood just back from the window, so that he couldn’t be seen but close enough to see the opposite side of the street below. He scanned the area slowly, looking for the tall figure that had tailed him. He saw nothing at first through the binoculars as he breathed heavily.

  Then the Impala came up Third Avenue and turned the corner as he looked down. It stopped after turning off Third Avenue. The tall figure moved out of the shadows to the car.

  Ten Braak focused on the car, observing it carefully, and checked the registration tags, just before the lights went out.

  Fanning slid over and rolled down the window. Justin stepped up to the car.

  “Park it up the block. He’s in the Hotel Paradise,” he said.

  Fanning slid back to the driver’s seat, moved slowly up the block with the lights out, and parked the car.

  Moving back into the shadows, Justin advised the three SENTINEL teams of their location and watched the building for signs of a light in a window.

  Ten Braak waited a few moments longer, then moved for the light switch and flicked it on. The room flooded with light from the ancient overhead fixture. The remaining lamps had been turned off before he left the room.

  Justin’s eyes snapped to the sixth-floor corner room. A few moments later Fanning joined him, carrying the case in one hand and a large-faced flashlight in the other.

  “Sixth floor, corner,” Justin said, pointing to the lighted windows from the shadows.

  The two men stared up.

  Ten Braak showed himself briefly at the window to draw the shades and curtains. It was only long enough to give them a quick look at him. He was careful not to become a target against the light.

  “That’s it,” Justin said. “Now we wait for the other teams and fo
r Ten Braak to bed down for the night.”

  The time passed slowly for Fanning. He held the case close against his side.

  “What’s in the case?” Justin asked.

  Fanning stared into the eyes of his partner. “Insurance,” he replied. The two men fell silent and waited, preparing.

  Ten Braak moved to the light switch and snapped it off. He went quickly to the boxes and began removing the industrial bulbs. He changed all the bulbs in the lamps and the large overhead fixture. Then he set the timer to seven seconds and made sure all the lamps were set to go on. He took one last look around the room, then opened the door, raising the heavy spring in the flat relay on the door jamb. He turned on the light switch and closed the door carefully, making sure the relay switch was in the open position, held in place by the door. When the door was opened, the relay switch would snap back and make contact, starting the timer and the countdown to hell.

  He sprinted down the hallway to the back stairway and down the stairs to the basement. A few moments later he was out the service exit and had climbed through a basement window in the adjacent building.

  He made his way quickly through the building, came out to the street on the next block, and went to the parked VW. He started it up and made his way away from Third Avenue in reverse, going the wrong way up the oneway street. Then he drove the VW a few blocks up, crossed Third Avenue again, and parked the car on Second Avenue.

  Justin sat, watching the windows. From his position he could see the entire front entrance and the alleyway leading out to the side street.

  Two hours passed before he gave the instructions to move into position. Six agents had come to their assistance.

  One agent joined Justin and Fanning. He carried a lightweight rifle equipped with an infrared telescopic sight. He would cover the fire escape, in case Ten Braak tried for it through the window. He could also cover the front.

  Two other agents positioned themselves at diagonally opposite corners of the building, to cover all four sides, should he try for the streets.

  The fourth agent had made his way to the roof of a higher building just across the street. He carried a lightweight rifle similar to the one the man on the street below had. Both were low-caliber automatic weapons with explosive .22 long-rifle loads, enough to stop any man cold in his tracks. From the higher vantage point, the fourth agent could cover the roof, should Ten Braak try for it.