“In 1643, Spanish missionaries reported spotting a great fire in the Andes. Started by a rouge lightning strike, the enormous pile of dried Brugmansia was set ablaze, fire sweeping down from the high country and destroying enormous swaths of forest. The flames burned for over a week, but never touched the villages of Cristas or Sanuel.
“When the fire finally ceased the missionaries went to the mountains to offer aid to those villages but when they arrived they found every last man, woman, child, and animal dead.
“No blood, no signs of struggle.”
Gold changed the image from the wall hanging to a computer generated rendering of the scene, the vibrant colors of it setting the room to glowing, a stark contrast to just a moment before.
“Research has determined that when the heat from the fire swept down the mountainside, it vaporized vast quantities of the plant. Once the particles of the toxin entered the atmosphere, they were carried by the wind down the mountainside into the villages below.
“Unaware of any danger, the people went about their lives, breathing in the toxin,” Gold continued, clicking to another slide, “and were dead within hours. By the time the missionaries arrived, the threat had dissipated into the atmosphere, taking the lives of every villager with it.”
Gold clicked ahead to the next slide, aware that he held the complete attention of every person present. That look, that complete command of their attention, was the largest reason why he had called the meeting in the first place. Beyond just drawing the men in the room out, allowing himself to get a feel for them, to read each one in person, he wanted the satisfaction of seeing their awe. This was a plan he had spent years, decades, putting together, and it demanded to be appreciated as such.
The refracted color scheme of the room changed again as behind him the image switched to a complex molecular helix, the entire thing rotating on a three dimensional plane.
“This is the basic formation of Brugmansia in a solid state. Fairly stable, the side effects mentioned still occur, though in a much weaker manner. Most deaths that occur after ingestion are caused by stress-induced heart attack or seizure.”
The next slide showed a slightly skewed depiction of the molecule, replacing the smooth interior portion with a realigned center featuring two irregular pairings. “This is Brugmansia in vapor form. When breathed in, the mutation shown here is very volatile and has a kill rate of 100%.”
He paused as a few men drew in sharp breaths, a few others nodding in approval. Once he was certain every last one had grasped the enormity of what he’d just told them, he flipped the first switch off, the overhead projector receding into the ceiling. At the same time the window blinds rose halfway, late day sun illuminating the room.
“So, what does this mean for us?” Gold asked, positioning himself back at the head of the table. Using the bridge of his knuckles he rapped three times on the hardwood before him, the sound echoing through the room.
A moment later Jasper appeared, a small silver box in hand.
“Thank you, Jasper,” Gold said, accepting the implement and extending it out in front of himself, his servant disappearing from the room without a sound.
“A team of elite scientists has been hard at work for some time now developing the optimal way to weaponize Brugmansia,” Gold said, moving it in a slow semi-circle, allowing for everyone to take a long look at his shiny new toy. Once the display was over he extracted a remote detonator from the inside flap of his jacket and depressed the button on it.
In response a red light began flashing atop the box, a low grinding sound beginning to emit from it.
“We call it quite simply The Vaporizer, a reference more to what it does to human life than to its effects on the Brugmansia found within. Remotely accessed, units can be activated from anywhere in the world and can be synchronized with any or all other active Vaporizers,” Gold said, his voice and demeanor belying no small amount of pleasure at the growing discomfort before him.
“The process begins with what you’re hearing right now, the grinding phase. Brugmansia is too unstable to ship in anything but a solid form, so it is packaged as a bundle of dried leaves and flower buds. Right now, we have over a dozen greenhouses producing enough to more than supply our needs.”
Placing the box down on the table, Gold slid it a few feet away, the smooth metal gliding along the wooden tabletop.
“The Vaporizer begins by grinding the bundles into a fine dust,” Gold said as the grinding halted and a low hissing sound was heard.
“Next, the powder is dissolved in water and superheated.”
Apprehension grew as a few of the men sat up high in their chairs, furtive glances exchanged amongst them.
“Then...” Gold said, letting his words trail off as a thin white vapor burst from a spout along the side of the box, a cone of fine dust spraying across the table, some of it dissolving into the air instantly.
A few men gasped as it did so, others recoiling in terror, the sounds of their fear ringing out as they covered their faces with the lapels of their coats.
At the head of the table Gold sat with an amused expression on his face, making no effort to pull back or cover his face from the vapor. He waited as the men continued to squirm, nobody wanting to be the first to visibly break, before ending their misery.
“For the purposes of this demonstration, we used dried leaves from a maple tree out back,” Gold said, shutting the machine down with a flippant push of a button, his voice relaying good humor. “We wanted to show an accurate depiction of how The Vaporizer works and it was the safest alternative.”
A small ripple of laughter went up around the table and a few even applauded. Genuine relief flooded the features of all.
“The day we have been waiting for is near,” Gold said, the end of his performance growing close, his body aching to finish it. “It has been a long time in coming and I thank you for being so patient and working so hard to see it through.
“Once we adjourn here, each of you will return home and make sure every detail is ready in your location. You will all receive instructions within the week telling you when to expect your Vaporizers to arrive.”
Out on the veranda, a jazz band began to play, their directions relayed from Ling, watching everything nearby. At the sound of the musical cue Gold put on his best smile, his voice rising to that of an emcee wrapping things up for the evening.
“I invite all of you to stay and enjoy the evening here with us. Dance with your wives, laugh with your children, socialize with your colleagues. Enjoy yourselves, for Liberation Day is near!”
The room in unison rose to its feet and applauded, many cheering. They stayed doing so for several long minutes, smiling between one another, shaking hands and clasping each other on the back.
For the briefest of moments, seated alone at the head of the table, Gold even allowed himself to smile right along with them.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Thorn fingered the four fiber-optic cameras in his pocket as he and his new partner Sean Kelley made their first round of the night. His mind was preoccupied with finding the optimal positions to place the cameras, a task made tougher by Kelley’s incessant rambling. Having a couple of years on Thorn and wearing a few scars across his face gave him a sense of self-importance that was already beginning to wear thin.
If stacked up side by side, Kelley didn’t hold a candle to the life experience had Thorn had accumulated, despite the truncated time table he was working with. As it were though, he was forced into the assumed identity of Robert Myers, a man that somehow managed to do even less than Kelley.
Together they walked the length of the first two piers, checking locks and tie-downs, ticking things off their list. As they rounded a corner and turned down the third pier, Thorn kept a sharp eye out for the container he knew to be tucked away nearby. Stenciled with 081-4592 across it in foot-tall white letters, he spotted what he was looking for just off the end of the dock, in quick order determining the best vantage poi
nts for the cameras. Once chosen, he waited for Kelley to immerse himself in another story before stopping, bending at the waist and pretending to tie his shoe.
Kelley continued a few steps beyond before realizing he was alone and turning to wait for Thorn.
“You can go on ahead,” Thorn said, “I’ll catch up in a minute.”
“No worries, I’ll wait,” Kelley replied, pushing forward with his tale of women and booze, giving off the distinct impression that it wasn’t every day that he had a captive audience and he wasn’t about to let it go freely.
Cursing under his breath, Thorn finished tying his shoe, a new plan forming in his mind. Slipping his company cell phone from his pocket, he sat it out on the concrete beside him and as he stood, nudged it off to the side with the toe of his boot.
The small black square skittered off with nothing more than a slight scrape of plastic against concrete, Kelley never once glancing in its direction.
Rejoining his chattering coworker, Thorn worked the length of the pier and as they headed for the fourth, made a show of patting his pockets. “Damn it, I must have dropped my phone when I bent over to tie my shoe.”
“You want me to wait for you?” Kelley asked, a tiny bit of annoyance creeping in.
“Naw, you go on ahead. I’ll run grab it and meet you on Four.”
“All right then,” Kelley said and drifted away into the darkness, not putting up the slightest bit of resistance.
Turning on his heel, Thorn jogged back in the opposite direction, pausing to ensure Kelley was out of sight.
Every movement he made was being recorded by the cameras above, a fact that forced him to act as natural as possible. Starting on the far side of the pier, he bent beside a tie-down, pressing the camera into place, giving the impression to anybody who might be watching that he was searching for his phone.
Using the same ruse, he worked a slow circle around the entire end of the pier, selecting a security light and a nearby container both to provide wide angle shots. The last camera he placed on the lock of the container itself, hoping for a direct shot of an intruder’s face.
Once all four were in place, Thorn inched his personal cell phone out of his pocket and checked to make sure the feeds were all up and active before stowing it away. Making a show of looking from side to side, he picked his way back up the pier and retrieved the oversized work phone from the ground, wiping it clean, making sure it was seen by the camera on high.
Only then did he jog back the length of the pier and join Kelley on Four.
“Took you awhile, huh?” Kelley asked as Thorn approached.
“Couldn’t find it, must have kicked it,” Thorn lied.
Kelley clapped him on the back and laughed, a deep booming sound that erupted from his diaphragm. “Last time I did that the damn thing ended up swimming in the harbor!”
Thorn couldn’t help but laugh in return as together they headed back to the guard station.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Two things both roiled inside of Thorn’s mind, turning his mood sour.
The first was the complete lack of any progress the night before. Despite his placing the cameras just after dark and leaving them there until morning, not one thing appeared to be out of order. Even with Kelley never giving him more than a few feet of space he was able to sneak off several times, checking his phone, making sure that everything was clear.
As best he could tell, not one thing moved the entire night.
While that fact did give him some information, it also left a lot blank.
The second thing that had him fighting to maintain a straight face was the lecture Billy Turner had seemed intent on giving him since the moment his Duesenberg picked Thorn up outside the docks. Focused entirely on proper dinner etiquette, he had gone through everything from the correct silverware to use to the way a napkin was to be placed in his lap, all in excruciating detail. At the end of each mini-lesson he again pointed out that Thorn was not only representing himself but the entire Irish conglomerate.
If he noticed the grated teeth or eye rolls Thorn responded with beside him, he did nothing to show it.
Fighting to hold his tongue, Thorn stared out the passenger window, thankful that thin evening traffic cut their journey to just twelve minutes. Pulling up in front of La Rosa Negra the big car idled as they climbed out and stood on the sidewalk, not pulling away until they were headed for the door.
A slight tinge of agitation seemed to roll off Turner as they walked, Thorn making a point to say as little as possible.
The front entrance of La Rosa Negra opened into a small buffer room with warm woods and heavy fabrics hanging from the wall, the sound of muted music in the air. Moving forward, they passed through a veil and were greeted by an explosion of colors and sounds that was everything Thorn imagined Cuba to be.
Bold and vibrant hues adorned the floors and walls. Attractive waitresses with dark hair and large smiles shuffled food back and forth as a brass band played upbeat music. Rich smells hung thick in the air and great bursts of laughter could be heard around the room.
“Guy doesn’t mess around, does he?” Turner asked, half-smiling at the genuine astonishment on Thorn’s face.
“No, he does not,” Thorn agreed, already wondering how he had not heard about the place before.
Interrupting the thought, a young lady in a red and yellow dress that hung off the shoulder and ended in a spinning skirt approached, a smile on her face. “Mr. Turner, Mr. Myers, my name is Maria and I’ll be waiting on you gentlemen this evening. If you will please follow me, Mr. Cardoza has arranged for a private room in the back.”
Spinning around, the hem of her skirt twirling about her, she led them to another veiled doorway along the back wall. There she pulled back the fabric and stepped aside for them to enter, dropping the veil in their wake as the sounds from the main hall receded to muted tones.
The room was a smaller version of the one before, the same color scheme and atmosphere filling the space. It looked as if it could hold ten or more tables, though only a single one sat in the center of the open floor. It was not more than five feet across with four chairs placed around it, elegant flatware already in place.
Cardoza rose as they entered and shook Turner’s hand. “Thank you so much for honoring me with your presence.”
“The honor is ours,” Turner said. “Thank you very much for inviting us. This is the young man you asked to see, Robert Myers.”
Thorn stepped around the table and accepted Cardoza’s outstretched hand. The grip was strong and Thorn returned it with equal, but not overbearing, strength.
“I like that,” Cardoza said, glancing at the shake and smiling. “A man that is comfortable enough with who he is to have a firm shake but comfortable enough with where he is to know not to overdo it.”
A small smile crossed Thorn’s lips. “Thank you very much for having us here this evening. A fine reputation precedes you and is well deserved.”
A second man with dark hair combed straight back rose from the chair beside Cardoza and extended his hand to Thorn. “Marc Tallo. You did us all a service at the docks two nights ago.”
“Mr. Tallo, it is a pleasure,” Thorn responded, shaking his hand as well, the man’s skin feeling chalky, his grasp weak.
“Please, let’s be seated,” Cardoza said, extending a hand towards the table. As one, all four settled into their chairs as Maria circled, pouring red wine for each of them.
A moment later, she brought out a platter of appetizers.
Cardoza watched as she did so, leaning back and looping his left arm over his chair. “Tonight, we shall be served a simple meal that I believe you will find quite tasty. Some of our dishes tend to appeal to more discerning palates, but this particular meal should entice without offending any stomachs. Before us are chicken empanadas; please help yourself.”
Turner cast a glance to Thorn and reached out towards the platter, sliding one of the flaky pastries over on to his plate. Oppos
ite him, Tallo did the same.
From across the table Cardoza watched, a shadow of concern passing over his face. “Do you not like empanadas, Mr. Myers?”
“Oh, very much,” Thorn replied. “But where I come from, it is impolite to eat before the host.”
Cardoza boomed with laughter. “Please, tonight do not think of me as your host. You have done me a service and I am here to thank you for it. Please, eat freely.”
Thorn did as instructed, eating with aplomb as the conversation around him was light, non-abrasive. For the most part he remained on the periphery of it, answering a few direct questions, but using the meal as his source of preoccupation. The main course of bistec de palomilla and tostones was nothing short of incredible, as were the beans and rice piled high on the side.
By the time flan and cafecito were served for dessert his core ached from being overfilled, only his pride willing him to finish.
Once the meal was completed and the dishes cleared away Maria melted from the room, the faces around the table turning somber. Leaning forward against the table, Cardoza laced his fingers together, glancing at each of the men before him in turn before settling his gaze on Thorn.
“I understand you were the one that went into the water the other night,” he opened, his expression so solemn Thorn couldn’t tell if he should affirm or deny. For a long moment he met the gaze before dipping the top of his head in a nod, no sound crossing his lips.
After a moment, Cardoza matched the nod. “You saved many of my people, risked your life in the process. I am indebted.”
Again Thorn nodded, choosing to remain silent. In his periphery he could sense Turner and Tallo both staring at him, their gazes hot on his skin.
“I am indebted, and I am curious,” Cardoza said. “You don’t know these people and at the time you didn’t know me.”
He left the statement intentionally vague, allowing Thorn to answer from any angle he chose.
The truth was, every action Thorn had employed was based on muscle memory, a conditioned response from his time in the service. His training had honed his body to always err on the side of aggression, to choose fight over flight every time.
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