Rebuilt: A Jake Dani/Mike Shapeck Novel (Jake Dani / Mike Shapeck)

by Victory Crayne

  “Please remove your buckle.”

  With a sigh, Stan removed his belt and placed it in a box. He held up his pants with his right hand.

  The guard ran his wand over his body and nodded.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Curling. Sorry about the hassle but I’m only following rules.”

  “It’s nice to see you too and I understand. I wrote some of those rules.”

  With that, Stan put the belt through the loops in his pants and clasped it. Next came his Snap. He walked down the hall and made a right turn.

  He took the elevator up to the PM’s office. When the elevator door opened, he stared at two Secret Service men, one behind a desk. He recognized the standing Bouregard and showed his ID.

  Once inside the outer office, he went directly to Charlotte’s desk.

  “Ms. Su will see you in a few minutes, sir,” she said as she pointed to the light blue upholstered chairs.

  Stan sat for forty seconds before Charlotte said, “The prime minister will see you now.”

  Stan stood and walked through the double doors. The first thing he noticed was the woman sitting behind the ornate desk. As he passed the golden globe of Rossa on his left, he resisted touching it.

  Nikki Su stared at his face when he sat in the light blue upholstered guest chair.

  Su pressed her fingers together, put her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin on her finger tips.

  “I want you to do something outside your normal chain of command.”

  Stan nodded and waited.

  “Can you keep our conversation confidential?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. She was his boss’s boss. When you get high up in the org chart, you quickly learn to respect those above you.

  She pointed to the wall on Stan’s left and he read the message displayed there.

  A coup? In this day and age?

  “I want you to investigate this,” she said. “I’m appointing you Special Prosecutor.”

  “Got it,” he replied and added a smile as he snapped a photo of the message on the wall.

  Being Special Prosecutor brought with it special authority. He could investigate everywhere, even the prime minister’s office.

  Back in his own office, Stan thought over the problems of fulfilling Su’s assignment.

  He was reluctant at first. Then he realized the threat. Getner could become his boss. He was already theoretically his boss, but if Getner succeeded and replaced Su, he could become a dictator.

  So Stan had a dilemma.

  If Getner was planning a coup, and his information helped Su thwart it, he could become a hero and maybe even take over Getner’s job. If Getner didn’t kill him first.

  On the other hand, if he helped Su and Getner became the prime minister, he didn’t think he’d live long.

  It all depended on whether the coup succeeded or failed.

  He thought of the bottle of Yarley’s in the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet.

  No. I’d better keep my wits about me. At least until the coup is decided.

  #

  I faced a dilemma. Gancha and Alena wanted me to help create a baby but the more I thought of that, the more I realized it would endanger my role as a BIS spy.

  Gancha sat opposite me at lunch in her brown pantsuit and yellow dress shirt. She said, “I fed Nguyen a little food. Don’t want him to throw it all up if I gave him too much to break his fast.”

  “Smart move,” I replied.

  “That brings up a point though. What are you going to do with him?”

  “I see we have three options,” I added as I rested my right elbow on the table and showed a closed right fist.

  “One,” I said as I opened my index finger, “we could turn him loose, maybe back at his house. I’m leaning for this option.

  “Two,” I said as I opened my middle finger, “we could turn him loose at the federal building. Let the feds deal with him.

  “Three,” I said as I opened my ring finger, “we could just turn him loose and let him decide where to go.”

  I added, “I just thought of another one.”

  “What’s the fourth?”

  I replied, “I could hire him. But I don’t think he’ll switch sides, especially after what you did to him.”

  She picked up her sandwich. We both kept quiet for another two minutes while munching.

  She broke the silence.

  “Ever think about visiting Sing Sing Cullen and your old place?”

  I replied, “I saw it was rented to the CFO of Orion Pharmaceutical.”

  “Where are you going to stay?”

  “Right here, for now.”

  We munched for another minute.

  “Comfortable here?” she asked.

  I sighed. “Not really.”

  “Why don’t you stay at my place?”

  “And where would that be?”

  Another minute went by in silence. She spoke next.

  “Shall I let Nguyen take a shower? He was ripe when I last smelled him. I’ve never seen a man sweat so much.”

  “You need to stand guard. He’s resourceful. We don’t want him escaping.”

  Gancha nodded with her mouth full.

  Chapter 51

  After lunch, I went to the planning room and sat in my favorite chair. I had lots of serious thinking to do.

  One, have a baby or not. My gut told me no, but I didn’t need to decide right away. So I mentally shelved that one.

  Two, what to do if Su doesn’t respond? I was sure that if Getner became dictator, my own ass would be hunted down and killed. As a matter of fact, my entire BIS team was in danger.

  Three, what to do with Nguyen?

  When I couldn’t come up with easy answers, I turned the telly on. The top story was the death of the German Chancellor. An old man, Chancellor Kurt Knoble had died of a heart attack while at a wind power instillation in the northern part of Germany. Every developed nation on Earth sent its chief executive to the memorial service, except Lewinokov Minsky. Representing the Russian Federation was its vice president. The reporter wondered why Minsky was not present. Especially since it was only a thousand miles between Berlin and Moscow. The US and Canadian presidents traveled farther, 4,200 miles.

  Gancha came into the room and announced, “Nguyen took a shower and is getting dressed in his old clothes. You need to decide soon on how to release him. We can’t keep him here forever, you know.”

  That was the easiest one to decide.

  “Let’s let him loose at his house,” I said. “Let him decide what to do next.”

  Gancha looked down at the floor and pursed her lips. She nodded.

  “When shall we take him?”

  “Now would be a good time,” I replied. “Get him ready with a blindfold. You should do all the talking. He knows your voice.”

  I put on darker skin makeup, a full beard, a moustache and eyebrows. Over my hands, I put brown leather gloves, made from bopum hide.

  Three minutes later, Gancha held tight to Nguyen’s right arm. He held his hands behind his back and wore a complete blindfold, much like the times I had seen him on his way to the torture room. When he walked by, I noticed his hands were cuffed behind his back. Gancha was taking no chances on being overpowered.

  I put noise-cancelling earplugs in both of Nguyen’s ears and then I raced ahead of the two, checked the cameras in the hallway, opened the door to the basement, and looked both ways to make sure we were not being watched.

  I typed on my comm pad so Nguyen couldn’t hear my commands, “Ruta, is anyone coming to the basement?”

  “Negative.”

  Gancha and I led the cuffed and blindfolded Nguyen to the parking lot and into the back seat of the BIS van.

  Per our agreement, she did the talking.

  “We’re taking you back to your home. Be patient. We don’t want you to figure out where you were held. In less than two hours, you’ll be free.”

  I got in the driver’s seat and Ganch
a sat next to me.

  I typed on my comm pad. “Chima, blank your front and rear license plates.”

  I drove the van myself and took loops around four different blocks, all the more to confuse our passenger. In the loops I reversed directions several times, all the more to confuse him. In between loops, I took long drives in one direction.

  After I pulled into Nguyen’s driveway, Gancha and I got out our doors. I opened the side door of the house while Gancha led Nguyen out of the van.

  I heard her say, “Duck down so no one can see your face.”

  Once we had the man inside, Gancha put her hand on Nguyen’s back.

  Gancha said, “I want you to lie down on the floor.”

  Nguyen kneeled and fell to his right side.

  Gancha added, “Keep your face away from the sound of my voice.”

  She put on a plastic handcuffs and then unlocked the real ones. We figured he’d chuck the plastic ones and remove his blindfold.

  “We’ll be watching you as we leave,” Gancha said. “If you make a move, we’ll shoot you. I suggest you lie still until we are gone from your life.”

  Gancha and I rushed to the van and got in.

  “Chima, black all windows until we are out of this block. After I drive out of the driveway, clear the driver’s side of the front window and enough of the side windows so I can see the mirrors.”

  A block away from the house, I ordered, “Chima, return the windows to their normal state.”

  On the way back, feeling relieved to be rid of Nguyen, I told Gancha the role that Ron had played many times over.

  She listened quietly. I guess I was just getting my history with Ron off my chest. He was gone forever from my life. He existed only as a memory now.

  After we entered the ops center and walked into the planning room, I continued to describe the many things Ron had done.

  “You must miss him,” replied Gancha.

  “You could say that.”

  “By the way,” said Gancha, “are you going to take a shower before you head to my place?”

  She had rented a room at a hotel.

  I opened my eyes wider.

  “Was it that obvious?”

  She left without saying more. I got the hint.

  She left in her car. A glance at my comm told me I had a couple hours to get there.

  So I showered, washed my hair, and changed into a black suit. For some reason, I wanted to wear powerful colors tonight. I put on my shoulder holster and two Snaps. Without them, I’d feel naked.

  Chapter 52

  On the way to Gancha’s hotel in Corey, I made a brief stop at a convenience store for two bottles of Bordonnay in their own coolers.

  I grabbed the bottles of wine and walked down the hallway until I got to her room.

  I knocked on the door and had to wait maybe five seconds before the door opened. Gancha appeared in a tight red dress with red chiffon sleeves. Her black hair hung in long waves, curling inward at the ends so I knew she had curled it herself.

  She stood in low heels and we shared a quick kiss.

  She said, “I hope you brought a healthy appetite.”

  “Yep, usually do.”

  She held the door open while I walked in and took the long hallway into her living room. I looked around but did not see my daughter.

  “Where’s Alena?”

  “She had to go to the library. You know, research. We have the evening alone.”

  I showed her the brown paper bag with the wine.

  “Doesn’t need chilling.”

  She put the wine in her refrig anyway. Her place was one of those where folks could stay for a month and offered a small kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom, besides a large living room. On the walls, I saw landscapes and prints from famous artists.

  With a place like this, who’d need a house? Of course, a house would be cheaper.

  Gancha put on a white lace shawl that barely covered her forearms.

  “Shall we go?”

  I held the door while we walked out. She locked the door and we strode down the hallway to the elevators.

  The restaurant was on the ground floor.

  She ordered Bordonnay and I had the same. When in Rome.

  I wondered how often we would eat out when we lived together.

  We both had meat. She ordered filet mignon and I ordered a rack of lamb. Yeah, I know, who orders a rack for himself? But I was a big guy and a guy’s gotta eat his portion of meat every day.

  When the waiter came for refills of our wine, I covered my glass and Gancha took the hint and covered hers too.

  She paid, of course. I looked around as she placed her credit card on the bill. No one seemed to notice it was the woman paying the bill. I tried to look as if this was an everyday thing.

  We adjourned and returned to her nice apartment.

  There, I opened the first of the bottles. The wine tasted excellent, but then again I had purchased the best brand, Armour’s.

  “It’s perfect!” I replied. “Just like my hostess.”

  That brought a smile to her face. She continued to stare into my eyes while she stood.

  I did the same and we met in the middle with the table to my right. We embraced and shared a long kiss with her arms around my neck.

  She looked into my eyes and smiled. She tilted her head to the bedroom.

  Like I said, it was a perfect night. And I wasn’t about to spoil it.

  #

  As we lay on the bed next to each other, she turned her head to the right and stared into my eyes.

  “We can still do this every time you want, even if we have a baby. I’m going to use a surrogate, you know.”

  That word brought me back to reality. The coup might happen any day now. My death could come a week later.

  “Now is not a good time.”

  “Like I said before, it never is with you.”

  She leaned over and gave me a kiss. Then her left hand went lower on my body. I felt Junior respond.

  Yep, a dangerous game. To which I said nothing. Couldn’t, as a matter of fact. My hormones had taken over.

  #

  We ate breakfast on a patio. I had scrambled eggs and toast and wore a white cloth bathrobe over my short-legged PJs. My feet graced the floor in tan flip-flops.

  Alena popped her head in and took a seat. I had forgotten she lived here. She dressed in a green sweatsuit with long sleeves and all I could see was the top of the University of Zor logo. I had to admit, my daughter was well developed. Like her mother.

  Gone were the days when people ate cereal and milk for breakfast. That may have worked for farmers who went out into the fields to work, but it did nothing for urban dwellers. Besides, cereal was easy for the human body to digest and turn into fat, the bane of urban life. Who wanted to get fat?

  “Did Gancha and you talk about having a baby?” she asked.

  I nodded as I spooned more eggs onto my plate.

  “Well?” she asked.

  To that one I shook my head.

  “Damn it!” she said as she stood in her green sweatpants.

  She stomped out of the patio as Gancha came in. This morning Gancha wore an orange pantsuit. Gancha turned her head to watch the disappearing Alena walk away.

  In seconds, I heard a door slam in the distance as Gancha placed a plate of eggs on the table. Warmed up and well-done.

  She asked, “What was she so mad about?”

  “Dunno. Guess she was disappointed in my refusing to have a child.”

  Neither she nor I said anything during the rest of breakfast.

  Why is having a child so important to a woman? Don’t they see the long-term consequences? I didn’t want my child to grow up without a father. Or a mother for that matter. Spying is a dangerous business.

  Chapter 53

  When I walked into the ops center planning room, the first thing I saw and heard was the telly broadcast on the wall.

  A male reporter held a black microphone to his m
outh as his hair blew in the wind. He had on a tan trenchcoat and the microphone said the number four.

  I heard the howling of air as it rushed by him. In the background, I recognized the Parliament Building and the line of protesters carrying white signs on sticks. “Impeach Su” appeared on several of them. A “Fascist dictator” sign displayed a stick female with a swastika on her skirt.

  The reporter said, “Lines of protesters marched outside the Parliament Building today. They objected to Prime Minister Nikki Su’s use of an Executive Order to force a minimum wage of twenty sols for all federal employees. Despite the rejection of that bill in both houses of Parliament.”

  When Zetto saw me, he asked, “Should I turn it off?”

  I shook my head.

  “We need to keep up on local news.”

  I stared at the telly through the local weather. More winds in the late evening as the temperatures edged lower. The next few days should be cooler. Thank heavens for that. I was tired of the heat.

  When the news changed to an advertisement, Zee turned it off and the blank wall appeared again.

  “What’s next, boss?”

  I replied, “After we released Nguyen, I suspect the coup will be moved up. What can we do?”

  I debated what to do. If I did nothing, and the coup succeeded, I was sure that dictator Getner would waste little time eliminating his enemies. One would certainly be me.

  I could be dead in two weeks, four at the outside. So far I had not seen any action taken on the warning I had sent to the prime minister. Could it have gotten lost in the flood of emails her office might have received over the recent Executive Order to raise the federal minimum wage?

  I could tag Deek Tanny, but he might think I was involved in the coup.

  What the hell could I do? Who did I know in the federal government who might take action?

  All I had to do was phrase the question properly and my subconscious provided the answer.

  Stan Curling! Of course.

  “How about we send a message to the head of the York Federal Police?” I added.

  “I dunno,” answered Zetto. “You know him better than I do.”

  Damn! This sitting around waiting for the hammer to fall racked my nerves.

  Curling was loyal to Su and surely was on Getner’s list. But he still might be useful to help thwart the takeover. That begged the question of what to send to Curling.