The Traveler (25 page)

The smile vanished from Moira as she eased her hands free of Virginia's. The move was caught by all. Jack suspected Moira was hiding something huge but for now his only concern was the repair of the doorway and its application in assisting them getting Everett back home. And in the middle of all of that they now had a mystery concerning who would be willing to kill federal agents to stop the doorway from being compromised.

“All of my notes have been lost over the years. I'm afraid the only record of mission parameters is in here,” she said, pointing an old finger to her temple.

“Master Chief, get the assistant director up-to-date. Moira, you and I need to speak after we get this thing moving. Right now I have to see how much of our cover story has bitten the dust.”

“Do you mean the problems outside?” Virginia asked as she straightened up and looked around at the devastation caused by the suicide attack.

“Yes,” Jack answered.

“Well, it looks like the FBI is under attack by the civil authorities representing the Borough of Brooklyn. Agent Williamson said to tell you they are being pulled off the detail and turning the investigation over to the NYPD vice squad, ATF, and the DEA.”

“Damn, I have to speak with Niles. We're going to need some special interference ran for us.”

“You mean we're going to add another criminal charge to our growing list?” Virginia asked.

“Something like that, yeah. Now, we need your teams to get in here and start cleaning this mess up so we can see just how screwed we really are. Then the priority is to get the linkup with Morales and Europa up and running on a dependable basis. We need her computing prowess here ASAP. Will, get Ryan to grab us six field security teams out here from Nevada, I want our own people managing security from here on out.” Collins looked at his watch. “We have ninety hours left before the president will have to explain to a lot of angry agencies and cities why he is acting so slowly on this. And it's now a lot larger problem than it was just an hour ago.”

Jack turned and left the gallery and caught the lift to the top floor. All the while he felt a helplessness he hadn't felt since he saw Everett push him away and then vanish into a wormhole.

The Event Group was losing its race with time and technology.

 

9

BERNSTEIN, FRISCH, JODLE, AND WACHOWSKI
INVESTMENT GROUP, NEW YORK CITY

The Russian didn't exactly feel out of place in the financial district as he rode the plastic-lined elevator on his way to the thirty-fifth floor of the Halas building, as money never, ever, frightened him, nor did the men and women who had it in droves. The fortress of glass, white marble, and steel ugliness set itself apart from the gleaming spires that replaced the old World Trade Center, which had come to an abrupt end on September 11, 2001. He looked at the three Wall Street types next to him as they stepped off on the floor below his destination. He knew very few people ever rode the elevator to the topmost floor. He smiled as the doors closed at the haughty mannerisms the departed men had about them, which he found distinctly funny.
After all,
he mused,
we are practically in the same business
—the procurement of money and the acquisition of power. He punched in the private code on the keypad and the elevator continued upward one more flight.

The doors opened and the small Russian stepped free of the richly paneled car and saw the two security guards flanking either side of the double glass doors. The first rose from his small desk and confronted the visitor. He held out his hand and the Russian smiled and held open his black coat and sport jacket to show the guards that he carried no firearms. He smirked at the naiveté of the investment firm. He lowered his hands and the second guard issued him a visitor's pass. The small plastic card was computer coded and it allowed him access to the thirty-fifth floor of one of the most advanced and profitable investment firms in the financial world.

“Mr. Frisch is expecting you. His assistant will escort you. Sir, your visiting privileges extend only to the boardroom.”

The Russian smiled at the seriousness of the two guards. He had seen no less than three alternate ways of entering this so-called secure haven in less than the two minutes it took to ride the elevator to his richly appointed destination. But that was information he would file away for another day.

“Mr. Jones, please come with me,” said a matronly woman in a gray suit. He smiled at her overstated manliness and at the tie she wore. American women in their struggles to be competitive drove them to extremes, in his humble opinion.

The Russian saw the boardroom he had been in many times. He was the only person inside the vast organization to actually see and have an audience with the men behind the curtain, the wizards, as he liked to refer to them. He stepped inside and saw the lone figure of a man sitting at the head of one of the longer boardroom tables the immigrant Russian had ever seen. The gray-haired man looked up from the newspaper and nodded that the visitor should sit.

“Ask Mr. Jodle to join us please, Mrs. Abernathy.”

“He has been notified, sir.” The woman closed both doors as she backed out with a hard look at the man visiting her boss. She obviously knew of his special talents.

The older man, in his late fifties, looked up and then slapped the morning edition of
The
New York Times.

“Care to explain this failure?” the man asked as he stood and went to the sidebar and poured himself a cup of coffee. The Russian noticed the coffee service was probably worth all of the meager salary he ever made inside the Moscow Police Department. He also noticed coffee was not offered to him. The Russian sat down with a smirk. The chairman of the board noticed but chose not to say anything as he returned to his expensive high-backed chair that appeared to have been custom designed to look down at the other eighteen chairs around the table.

The door opened and a well-dressed man in an expensive three-piece suit strode in and without a greeting to the visitor sat down next to the chairman of the board. He folded his hands in front of him and then glared toward the small man at the end of the long table. Another sniff of humor from the small man as he noticed how much the well-appointed man acted like a schoolboy in front of the gray-haired chairman.

“Failure?” he asked, hinting at confusion.

“The police have already cleared the navy yard and proclaimed a major victory in the war on drugs inside the city. And yet, the building still stands. Madam is still breathing.”

The Russian stood and made his way to the coffee service and poured himself some coffee without invitation. The younger partner was about to say something but the older man placed a hand on his and stilled him from the complaint. The Russian went back to the far end of the expansive table after pouring an inordinate amount of sugar into the china cup.

The visitor sipped his coffee and then placed the cup down on the polished surface. He reached into his coat pocket and produced something he placed on a water tray after removing the empty carafe, and then slid the items and the tray down the long table where it came to rest in front of the two men.

“It seems I was not told the exact situation by your young colleague.”

The older man picked up the photos from the tray. His eyes went from the Russian to the photos. They were in night-vision format and the man could see that the photographer had used a long-range camera to take the shots. They showed three men in civilian dress as they fired upon the van as it hurtled toward building 117. The other men and women in the photo all wore the distinctive FBI Windbreakers that were so recognizable to the world.

“You were told enough to complete the contract you agreed to. Now, what is so amazing about these photos?” The older man passed them to his younger partner, who had been at the attack at its outset.

“Who are those men?” he asked as he lifted the china cup to his lips and blew lightly to cool the liquid. He sipped and waited.

“FBI? How in the hell are we to know?” the younger man named Jodle said with indignity as he tossed the photos back onto the silver tray.

The Russian laughed as he set the cup back onto the table. “No, I'm afraid all of the local field agents within the five boroughs have been tagged by my people. These men are not agents of that particular law enforcement group.”

“Local police, possibly agents from Washington, who in the hell cares? Your job was to permanently shut that building down and to eliminate any possible contact between Madam and the federal authorities.”

The Russian was growing weary of the answers he was receiving. “Your man inside Miss Mendelsohn's sphere of influence, this Julien, says that these strangers are military.”

“So, what does that have to do with this?” the older man asked as he leaned back to hear the answer. “And where is Julien? We wish to speak to him at the soonest opportunity.”

“He was rather shocked at the extreme measures for which I was contracted.” He sipped coffee and then smiled. “He's what you would call ‘disillusioned' at your harsh tactics. He and his men are currently under my care.”

“Bring him and the others to us. We would like to question them ourselves,” Jodle said as he tried to look intimidating but failed miserably.

Silence.

The two investments men exchanged worried looks when the Russian said nothing. But his grin said everything.

“Secrets, secrets, secrets. Some are good at keeping them, others good at learning them.”

Both men got the same gut-wrenching feeling in their stomachs at the exact same moment. The visitor pushed the coffee cup aside and then leaned forward in his chair. He fixed the two men with a knowing look.

“I guess it was divine providence that these men you so casually shrug off as FBI field agents shot the tires out of that van, otherwise we might have destroyed one of the most valuable pieces of equipment in the history of the world, and the person responsible for its construction in the same process. Leaving us poor working peasants wondering just why you gentlemen wanted to permanently stop the advancement of science. Could it be for other than humanitarian purposes? Shame on you.”

“You have been contracted to complete a job, this was not done,” the older man Frisch said with as much indignity as he could foster.

“The conditions settled upon in our previous agreement will have to be reworded, I'm afraid.”

The statement was met with shocked silence.

“My organization has decided to wait and see just what is planned for that old building.” He stood from his chair and then buttoned his thick coat over the sport jacket. He smiled at the two men who sat looking white-faced. “Oh, and we have decided that it would be far more beneficial to speak with Madam Mendelsohn ourselves to understand better just what an amazing piece of equipment she has in her control.”

“Look, we can work out a much better and safer conclusion to this small problem.”

The small Russian fixed Jodle and Frisch with a look that now lacked the good humor of his smile.

“Safer for whom?” The look was one filled with disgust at the two very rich men. “Betrayal of one's savior, it seemed worth far more than forty pieces of silver for some.”

The two men watched the Russian mobster leave the boardroom. The older man closed his eyes as he was seeing the secrets that drove his world come crashing back into his life. He turned to the younger man.

“You brought this man to our attention, and now he threatens blackmail at the very least, and what is far more terrifying is that now, thanks to that fool Julien, he has knowledge of the one thing that cannot ever be brought to the attention of the authorities.”

The younger man felt his prestige within this firm being driven from him.

“I will—”

“Fix this, Jodle, fix it or we all go down, and we cannot allow that.”

The young partner watched the chairman angrily rise and leave him sitting there. He looked up as the senior partner turned and faced him.

“There is no telling what that Russian is thinking. Blackmail may be the least. He may try for something that may be far more profitable than that.”

Joshua Jodle felt his heart fall to his gut as he turned for the double doors of the boardroom as the old man angrily called after him.

“He's going after the doorway.”

BROOKLYN NAVY YARD

Jack saw the last of the FBI close up shop and leave. Special Agent-in-Charge Williamson apologized to Collins, but there was nothing he could do since the locals claimed jurisdiction when it was proven that drug manufacturing was not the reason behind the FBI involvement. The remains of the van, very little to speak of, were raised by the NYPD and FDNY just as dawn broke over the city. Jack watched it all from the privacy of the office windows. The last of the police also finally finished after a brief inspection of the surrounding buildings. The PIT inside building 117 was closed and the fire department skimmed right over it in their perusal of the building. A sigh of relief could be had by all.

An hour after the overcast skies allowed enough light in to see, Collins saw the long line of vans as it progressed through the spot where the stolen van had crashed through the FBI barricade the night before. Jack walked down the steps and waited.

Niles Compton was assisted from the lead van and Jack moved to meet him.

“Quite a night in old Brooklyn, I understand?” he asked as he settled the crutch under his arm. Collins took him by the elbow for added support.

“More than we ever bargained for.”

“How bad is it?” Niles asked briefly, stopping as the other white vans pulled in behind the first.

“The explosive, an exotic one at that, took out the electrical lines under the river. No power to six of the seven buildings, including ours. But that's the better part of the news,” Jack said as he shook his head at the devastation of learning what he had in the hours leading to Niles and the Event Group technical team's arrival. “The attack also took out the base foundation of the building, flooding the PIT where the doorway was secured. Virginia said it looks hopeless, at least until she can get her full nuclear forensics and Jenks's engineering teams in there.”