Yes, indeed, Erik Stoellar was in a fine mood.
He walked over to the windows to look down at Central Park again. Soon, all those little people down there would be under his absolute control. What a joke on them. Ha! The fools had no idea what was rushing at them. “Of course,” he said out loud, they never do know what is going on.”
He ran his fingers through his carefully styled hair and thought of his last conversation with Number Eleven. She had proved to be his most apt pupil and had surpassed all his expectations. She had a brilliant mind that was unfettered by morals or ethics. She and Stoellar formed a perfect match.
Then, he thought of the former president. He’d spent a fortune grooming that misfit and then he’d suddenly resigned without so much as a word to Stoellar before doing it. The traitor! But, as usual, Stoellar had been able to turn a problem into an asset. He would use the resignation to his advantage; he would simply expedite his plan.
He smiled to himself in a rare moment of compassion. He had briefly considered letting the swine live. After all, even ex-presidents had some political value. But he just couldn’t do it. No one ever betrayed Erik Stoellar and lived to brag about it. No one would ever find a trace of the former president. But Erik Stoellar knew where he would be and where he would remain. He was in a dark, watery grave and would be there forever.
The former president had exited the White House for the last time and then boarded a military jet to a location that he believed to be safe. Hilarious! There was no haven available anywhere for anyone who dared to double-cross Erik Stoellar.
In fact, he had secretly arranged for the military jet to crash into the Atlantic above a deep trench in the ocean bed. Twenty thousand feet below the surface was quite a suitable place to bury the treacherous rat forever.
And now things were moving along quite smoothly. Operation Plato would begin tomorrow morning and until then he would relax, enjoy a great meal, and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow a new era would dawn. The Stoellar era. There would be no stopping, no turning back. His juggernaut was now unstoppable. There would be total victory. He had never even considered a compromise or a defeat. He hated both those words vehemently and never, ever used them in any context related to his personal life. Defeat was a term that could only be applied to his hapless enemy, and there had been many of those along the way.
He mentally assessed his cast of key players in the saga about to begin.
Henry Wilkinson, the new president of the United States. He was never expected to be more than a lackey, but now, due to most unusual circumstances, he was seated in the highest office in the land.
By following Stoellar’s instructions, Wilkinson had now secured the office of vice president for Carla Montrose. She was probably the most important person in his plot, at least initially.
In this never-ending game that put complex chess strategies to shame, Wilkinson had now become a mere pawn. He was now a liability, and his days, now down to hours, were rapidly running out. Montrose would succeed him as president, and that would pave the way for the military takeover of the government. Once martial law was was in full effect, Montrose herself would also be expendable. The fact amused Stoellar greatly. He secretly wished he could do that one himself, or at least be there to see the deed done. He knew that he would enjoy it.
Dr. Wesley Newton, the White House physician, had bought his medical training with a promise to do something important later. Tomorrow morning he would perform his duty, and afterward he would also be expendable. Stoellar laughed at the thought of Newton going out in a blaze of glory. His blaze of glory would certainly not be the one that he expected.
In the military, General Lew McGowan, commanding general of ARRCOM, was the most valuable asset to the Krakow Klub. His unwavering loyalty was assured, and he would remain useful for the foreseeable future. He was in a position to configure any military unit needed and dispatch it immediately. All he required was an order from the president.
Colonel William A. Smith, commander of the Light Armor Stryker Brigade that would secure Washington. One of the weakest links in Stoellar’s chain of command, but he would be by close and watched like a hawk. He too was considered expendable at any time.
Lt. Colonel Stephen R. Collins, the brutal commander of the Scorpion Battalion, was a most useful player for the required role, but extremely unpredictable and dangerous. He was ruthless and totally devoid of conscience. Once he had fulfilled his special purpose, he would have to go immediately. He was too dangerous to consider using again.
Stoellar was interrupted from his thoughts by his secure cell phone. It was Number Eleven.
“Stoellar, I’ve just received news that’s most disturbing. We may have been compromised. It is imperative that we speak immediately. I’m on my way to your place now.” The line went dead.
Stoellar stood frozen; the telephone still clutched in his hand. Number Eleven was the most reliable member of the group, and she wouldn’t call unless something of critical importance had happened. Could he have missed something? Was there a weak link in the chain? His mind reeled with the possibilities. He paced the floor until the sound of the door chimes interrupted his concentration. Thankfully she had been nearby.
Number Eleven swept past him before the door was completely open. She was obviously agitated, and her eyes glittered in a lethal display of fury.
She dropped into the nearest chair and demanded a drink. Stoellar poured them both a double shot of whiskey and sat down across from her.
She snatched the glass from him and took a large portion in a single swallow. “Some months ago, I managed to get one of my people into the West Wing to monitor things. She’s in a high-level staff position and is a confidante of the Chief of Staff. I pay her handsomely for her reports, and she’s never given me information that was wrong.”
She drained the glass and held it out for Stoellar to refill it. “My agent, code name Electra, contacted me this morning with some disturbing news. There was a secret NSC meeting back in mid-July called by the then president. All the high mucky mucks including several highly placed military leaders were in attendance.
“It seems that the meeting had to do with that spacecraft discovered by a couple of astronomers. That spacecraft apparently had contact with someone on our planet and may have provided that person with some of their advanced technology.”
Stoellar took a sip of his whiskey. “Eleven, that’s certainly unexpected news, but I don’t see how it could affect our plans. We’ve already set the wheels in motion, and after tomorrow, there will be no stopping us. You worry too much.”
“Stoellar, get real. There could be some advanced technology involved here; something that could be used against us. It could mean serious trouble for us. I’ve had my fingers on the White House pulse for too long not to recognize the importance of that meeting. Something weird is going on. That is probably why that traitor of yours resigned unexpectedly. He knew something that we do not. I think that something scared him.”
Stoellar was silent, a dark and brooding silence.
Number Eleven continued, “There was no official record made of that meeting. All in attendance were sworn to silence. Electra used all her wiles to extract the information from a cabinet member whose wife was away at an exclusive spa in California recovering from her most recent plastic surgery. After several drinks and some professionally administered sexual persuasion, he admitted that the meeting was unprecedented. Some guy who works for the national security advisor made a presentation that clearly stunned the audience.
“That spaceship was reported to have tremendous powers. Things that make us look like primitive cave dwellers. In the wrong hands, that kind of technology could be devastating to our plans. I managed to get the name of the person who made the presentation. It was Dr. James Slater.”
Stoellar swore several oaths in five different languages. “Find out who he is immediately. We’ve got to find a way to neutralize him or get him on board.”
“Number One, I’m not stupid. I sent an agent to get him, but he seems to have disappeared. He disappeared a couple of days ago. However, one of his neighbors mentioned that he said he was going to go to the Florida Keys on a vacation. That’s all she knew.
“But, the plot thickens. I also found out that this so-called vacation came about very suddenly. He just left word for his boss that he would be gone for two weeks, effective immediately. Boom, no one’s seen him since.
“It was, obviously, easy to get his cell phone number, but it seems to have gone dead.
“Electra, bless her twisted heart, followed up with Mathew Walker, the national security advisor. Slater is one of his assistants. She was able to confirm that Slater is on vacation and that the boss was very unhappy about his breaking protocol. In fact, he indicated that Slater might be subject to dismissal for insubordination. Electra says that Walker is a real arrogant jerk who takes pleasure being a tyrant.”
Stoellar was silent for a moment and then looked directly into her eyes. “I’m putting you in charge of Slater. You have methods of persuasion that strike terror into the hearts of brave men. Just keep your interrogation semi-civilized. I don’t want any carved up body parts floating ashore down there. Make it look like he died in an accident or of natural causes.”
She looked down at her carefully manicured hand. “Of course.” She frowned at a tiny chip in the polish of one of her nails. “I assure you that I’ll extract the information that you need and probably a whole lot more before I finish him.
“I’ll start in Miami and find out if he took a commercial flight down there. He could be anywhere in the Keys. Don’t worry. I have hackers in China who can access any computer system and find his travel records.”
With that, she put down her glass, got up, and headed for the door. At the door, she turned to him, straightened his tie, and flicked an invisible bit of lint from his lapel.
“I’ll handle this personally, of course. I’ve already ordered my pilot to file a flight plan to Miami. My jet is ready and waiting for me at La Guardia.” With that, she was gone, leaving only the faint scent of her signature perfume, an innocent mix of ginger and exotic Eastern flowers.
Stoellar, still in a dour mood, could not help but notice the lingering aroma. In spite of his displeasure at the news she had brought him, she always stirred his sexual urges. As he enjoyed the lingering scent, he said out loud, “Damn, she is something. One day I have got to have some of that.”
****
On the flight to Miami, Eleven worked furiously to locate Slater. No records of his leaving Washington, no records of an arrival at Miami International, no records at the general aviation airport in Marathon, and no records at Key West International.
His car remained in the garage at his condo, so he hadn’t driven.
Next, she had her hackers check the records of charter operations and found nothing. The mystery grew ever deeper.
There must be someone, somewhere, who knew where the elusive Slater had gone. She contacted Electra and asked her to question the neighbor again. This time, Electra told the elderly lady that Slater was desperately needed for a special assignment from the president. She thought for several long moments and then remembered something.
“Ah, yes. I do recall that Dr. Slater mentioning that he would be checking the weather forecast for Key West. He’d never been there and was wondering about the average daily temperature this time of the year.”
Electra made the report immediately via secure satellite telephone. Eleven immediately ordered the pilot to change his flight plan destination from Miami to Key West. They would arrive within the hour.
Next, she began checking out the hotels and inns in Key West along with taxi companies and tour companies. Still, no Jim Slater.
The dearth of information about how Slater had planned to get to Key West was troubling. The more possibilities that were exhausted, the more alarmed Number Eleven became.
But Number Eleven would not be deterred; she had a brilliant idea. Slater was obviously going to Key West to meet someone. If that someone were the person in contact with the spacecraft, then there should be some unusual activities associated with him.
She called an associate in Miami who gave her the name of Royce Malone, a colorful old timer from Key West who kept up with everything and everyone. He knew all the secrets and gossip and relished in sharing stories with his drinking buddies at a rundown old bar near one of the marinas. For a few drinks, he could be counted on to tell everything he knew.
Eleven contacted him and arranged a meeting at The Titanic, his bar of choice. The name suited the place perfectly. It looked like it had been dredged up from a long spell at the bottom of the sea. He sat at the back of the bar nursing a rum drink and humming to himself as she entered. His age was indeterminate. He could have been anywhere between fifty and seventy. His deeply tanned skin showed the damage from untold years in the sun and salt air. His long hair, streaked with gray, was pulled back into a ponytail and secured with a pink scrunchie. He smelled of stale cigarettes and even staler booze.
She seated herself across from him in the grimy booth. The cheap cracked vinyl seat had been soaked in alcohol so many times that it smelled like a combination of beer, rum, and cheap whiskey. It was probably highly flammable due to the constant exposure to alcohol and she hoped that Malone didn’t drop his cigarette and cause the whole place to erupt in flames.
She cringed, and reluctantly took a seat in the booth.
He extended a scrawny hand and offered to shake hers. She pretended not to notice his gesture as there was no way on earth that she’d let those tobacco-stained fingers touch hers. His overall appearance was unsavory, but his sharp blue eyes indicated that he was an intelligent and shrewd person. Eleven was an expert at reading people, and this old codger was no exception.
Eleven stated, “Mr. Malone, my name is Veronica Lee, no relation to Bruce. We talked on the phone earlier today. I’m with the New York Daily, and I’d like to visit with you about some of the most interesting denizens of Key West. There are so many colorful characters and such a rich history that you should be able to give me plenty of information for my series of articles. I’m particularly interested in stories that are obscure, you know, the hidden stuff, maybe a little mystery.”
He nodded and smiled, exposing surprisingly white, even teeth. “Ms. Lee, you came to the right man. I’ve made it my life’s work to know about all the dirt around here. Ask me anything.”
She began with several rather innocuous questions and gradually led him to the subject of interest.
“Mr. Malone, Key West has always had such a unique reputation. It’s mysterious and fascinating and full interesting and unique people. Has anything strange been going on lately? For instance, an unusual shipment, any strange looking equipment, maybe secretive people? My readers get into that stuff.” She leaned forward and gave him her most dazzling smile.
He thought for a few moments and then began to recall several incidents. “Last month, there was a huge yacht with a crew of suspicious foreign types. Thought that they might be drug runners, but that’s not unusual down here. Then, one of the well-known bar/restaurants burned down under very suspicious circumstances.”
He rambled on with Eleven barely listening, and then suddenly she hit pay dirt.
Malone mentioned having some drinks with a friend of his who was a charter helicopter pilot. The pilot had flown on several occasions for a foreigner who was building a large home on an island not too far from Key West. The owner apparently lost his business, and he never returned. Recently, rumor had it that someone had bought the property, but no one knew anything about the purchaser. The realtor wouldn’t talk, and that had only fueled the rumor mills. A few days ago, this same pilot had been hired to take a lady out to that very same island. The villa was now inhabited, which didn’t particularly surprise him, but he swore that the island was much larger than it had been before.
Number Eleven wa
s immediately on high alert. “Mr. Malone, that pilot sounds very interesting. I’d like to talk to him about his charter business. A newspaper article might very well get him some new clients. I might even be able to use his picture.”
Naturally, Malone obliged, and Eleven contacted the pilot immediately for the interview. He was, of course, delighted about the prospects of free publicity, so he readily agreed to meet her right away.
She met him at his hangar.
Jerry Nichols remembered the chartered flight very well. He was paid in cash by a tall older man who had walked into his company’s office downtown. The man had done a thorough background check on Nichols and his company, South Key Charters. He instructed Nichols that his passenger would be a British lady and that he should refrain from bothering her with small talk during the flight. He was also instructed to lift off as soon as she exited safely and to return to Key West immediately. The pilot also mentioned his surprise that the island seemed much larger than he remembered it and that there was even a golf course now. He was certain that the golf course had not been there until very recently.
After the meeting with the helicopter pilot, Eleven reported immediately to Stoellar. She hadn’t found Slater, but she had located someone of interest. The two might just be working together. In fact, Eleven strongly believed that this was the case. One of her Washington, DC, agents had reported that Slater had been seen in the company of a tall older man on several occasions in recent months, and they appeared to be friends.
Stoellar instructed Eleven to stay in Key West until further notice. On second thought, he decided that Marathon would be better. He wanted no records of her staying close to Ground Zero.
****
That night, Stoellar hardly slept. The minutes crept by with excruciating slowness. Finally, he got up, turned on the lights, and watched an old movie to pass the time. Nevertheless, his mind never stopped whirling. He had planned so carefully for so long. He’d recruited the best people and now, there could be someone out there with the capability of stopping him in his tracks. There was only one answer, that person, and anyone associated with him, must be eliminated at once.
The Krakow Klub Page 20