The Fourth Law

by Paul Stein

  “Whew…” Marlon replied, whistling softly through his teeth upon hearing the news that Dallas Weaver was killed in action. “Damn, I’m sorry to hear it went so badly. I’ll bet Richard’s pissed.”

  “It’s not just Boss who’s pissed…we’re all upset. Dallas was shot in the face. It could’ve been prevented,” Sully said, and for the next few minutes he recounted the grim details of the Livermore job.

  “I’ll tell you another thing: Richard’s already talked to Holloway and he knows the name of the chicken-shit who set us up. I’ll lay odds he doesn’t last out the morning.”

  “Wow! Now that surprises me. Is that for certain? It’s not Richard’s style to take these things personally.”

  “Personally? Hell, Trav…this bastard’s incompetence got one of us killed. I’m glad he’s taking it personally. We should all take it personally. I think it sends the right message myself,” Sully replied, crossing his arms across his chest. The tone of his voice was unmistakable—the subject was closed to further discussion.

  “So, what’s the deal with this Coscarelli woman…any complications?” he asked, quickly changing the subject. Even though always good-natured, he was in no mood for Marlon’s griping and didn’t want to discuss Weaver’s death any further.

  “Christ…I don’t know, Sully. This ain’t my bag,” Marlon replied with a scowl. “From what I can determine, she won’t be difficult to grab. But, hey…what do I know? She works late every evening and doesn’t leave for the lab before noon. It seems to me that if you contact her at home, before she leaves for work, it can be easily done; there’ll be too many witnesses if we pick her up at school. But it’s your call.”

  “Seems pretty straight forward,” Sully ventured.

  “Oh yeah, I’m supposed to handle the transport—but I don’t know where we’re going or which mode of transportation to set up.” Marlon shook his head, still annoyed that he’d let Kilmer talk him into this gig.

  “Not to worry, your transport’s to Hilton Head. Holloway’s estate. She’ll be stashed there and the transfer from the airport will be quick. With her high-profile father, we can’t have this woman out in public longer than necessary. I assume you brought the King Air with you,” Sully replied, rapidly losing patience with Marlon’s bellyaching about the mission.

  Marlon nodded, and Sully continued. “So, here’s the plan as I see it: We’ll make the grab at the lady’s home, fly her to Hilton Head, get her secured at Holloway’s, and you’ll be on your way back to California later today. Got a problem with that?”

  It wasn’t intended to be a question open to debate. Travis Marlon had never been a favorite of Sully’s precisely because he wasn’t a team player and thought himself better than some of the other guys. He was a good enough pilot, but his attitude was always a source of irritation.

  “Not at all,” Marlon replied. “I’m glad we finally have a destination. I’ll file a flight plan. So, assuming we grab Coscarelli before 8:00…wheels up at 09:00?” he asked, looking at his watch.

  “That’ll be the plan,” Sully replied with a sigh, closing his eyes and resting his head against the headrest, trying to decompress for the remainder of the trip into Maryland. It’s another interesting day in the employment of Alastair Holloway—no rest for the wicked, he thought.

  For the job ahead Sully was dressed in a nondescript black suit, white shirt, and plain gray tie. He wore his army-issue mirrored sunglasses that partially obscured his high forehead and prominent cheekbones, but also accentuated his flattop crew-cut. The bulge from his shoulder holster was just barely detectable, but even without this telltale sign, no one would mistake him for anything but an undercover law enforcement officer.

  His plan was to introduce himself as an undercover Secret Service agent, and request Dr Coscarelli accompany him for questioning about a highly sensitive matter. He determined that this ploy should throw her off long enough for him to gain entrance to her home. Once inside, he figured it would be a simple matter to subdue the woman and convince her that one way or another, she would accompany him to South Carolina.

  There was considerable tension between the two men as they hastily drove the short distance to the subject’s house—the closer they got Marlon became even more edgy about his role in abducting the daughter of a United States senator; and Sully, suffering from jetlag, was also uncharacteristically dour.

  When they arrived at the house, Sully promptly left the vehicle and Marlon watched as he approached the woman’s front door, realizing it was now too late to beg out of the proceedings. Buckle up, he thought, the air ahead is going to be bumpy.

  Sully walked up the pathway leading to Dr. Coscarelli’s front door, noting that the verdant lawn surrounding the home was recently mowed, the rose bushes trimmed, and the sprinklers had freshly irrigated the entire yard. He stopped to pick up the newspaper that was encased in plastic, figuring it might come in handy to encourage the woman to open her door. He approached the house, stopping briefly to straighten his tie, and rang the doorbell, pausing for a response. It was only a moment before Dr. Coscarelli answered.

  “May I help you?” Sela Coscarelli asked, opening the door with a pleasant look on her face. She was wearing a bathrobe and slippers but her face and hair were all made up. She didn’t appear unnerved in the least by an early morning call from a complete stranger.

  Sully noticed immediately that the woman before him was very attractive, even in her bathrobe. Her dark brown hair was cut short, and her aqua-blue eyes radiated warmth and intelligence. From her manner, he could tell immediately that she was a feisty woman.

  “Good morning, ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt you at this early hour. I’m Agent Russell Pearce from the Secret Service. May I come in?” he asked politely, reaching into his pocket to remove his false ID. “There’s an urgent matter of a confidential nature we should discuss, ma’am. It involves the senator.”

  Sela’s eyebrows lowered as she peered through the glass of the outer door to get a closer look at his identification. She didn’t open the door or offer to let him in, but thumbed the lock to make sure it was closed. As she was looking at his badge, she noticed a man sitting in a car on the opposite side of the street who appeared to be watching them with keen interest. She knew for certain this was no Secret Service vehicle. A disquieting sensation stirred caution within her; something was grossly wrong with the situation. She suspected this imposing and neatly dressed man standing on her porch was anything but a Secret Service agent.

  “So, tell me, Agent Pearce,” she began, composing herself, “is that your partner sitting in the car across the street?”

  “Why, yes, it is, ma’am,” Sully replied, sensing a guarded cautiousness from his quarry and suspecting she would not be long fooled by his ruse. He needed to quickly move their conversation off the porch and behind closed doors. “Is there a problem?”

  “Well, yes, Agent Pearce, or whatever your name is…there is a very big problem,” Sela answered, taking control of the situation, relying on her customary directness and intolerance of people wasting her time. She knew that in any situation there is a tipping point where a more dominant person can seize the power of the moment and control the outcome. She meant to use this knowledge to bully this large man standing in her doorway.

  “First of all, I know a thing or two about the Secret Service and I know for certain both agents would be making contact with me if you were for real. Second, that’s not a vehicle belonging to the Secret Service,” she said, pointing across the street to the car Marlon sat in. “And last, please tell me you don’t really expect me to fall for that fake ID. It’s very good, by the way, but it’s missing the iridescent watermark that makes government badges impossible to counterfeit. Why don’t you stop this ridiculous charade and tell me why you’re really here?”

  Sully was nonplussed. He couldn’t believe how quickly she saw through his gambit. It was clearly evident he had grossly underestimated the gullible nature of the good doctor.
He could easily overpower her, but intrinsically reluctant to hurt a woman unless absolutely necessary, he decided to come at her from a different direction.

  “Ma’am, I must apologize again…you’ve seen right through me…you’re quite right. I’m neither a Secret Service agent, nor am I employed by the government,” he replied, placing his hands together in front of his chest as if praying. “I’ve been sent here by Ben Dare, the senator’s chief of staff, to solicit your cooperation in answering a few questions,” he continued, grabbing a name he gleaned from the dossier of information compiled on the woman. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the particulars, but trust you’ll believe that it could be very embarrassing for your father. Now if you’ll kindly invite me inside, I’ll wait for you to finish getting ready.”

  “So, Ben Dare sent you, huh? Your story gets more interesting by the minute. I just spoke to Ben yesterday, as a matter of fact…and he said nothing whatsoever about any urgent matter. I’ll just call Ben’s cell phone and we’ll get straight to the bottom of this. You stay right there, mister,” Sela said forcefully, slamming her door shut.

  But she was too late. Sully deftly elbowed the outer glass door, shattering the glass, and reached inside to release the lock. Once opened, he rammed his shoulder forcefully against the main door and burst inside. Sela was forced backward sharply as the door swung open, barely catching herself from falling as she hit the wall on the opposite side of the hallway. Sully quickly closed the door behind him.

  “Dr. Coscarelli, I don’t want to hurt you but I’m prepared to do that if you don’t cooperate. Please, ma’am, let’s keep this civil.”

  “How dare you talk to me about being civil!” Sela yelled, holding her arms across her body, terrified to move another step. She had no idea what this imposing man was capable of, but chose to stand her ground as best she could. “You falsely present yourself as a federal agent, pretend to be sent here by Ben Dare, and then force your way into my home under pretext that my father needs help…and you want my civility? I don’t know who raised you, mister, but your behavior is anything but civil,” she scolded, giving her best impression of a woman undeterred by her grave circumstances.

  “Ma’am, you have every right to be upset. I’m amazed you’re taking this so calmly; most people would be hysterical. But please understand me—I’ve been sent here to take you to an undisclosed location for an indefinite amount of time, and will do so…forcibly, if necessary. You have no choice in the matter,” he said calmly, holding his suit jacket open so she could see the gun he was carrying. “The man outside is a pilot. You will accompany us, and I would prefer you do that without coming to any harm. Do we understand each other, Doctor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Pearce, you’re very clear. But God help you and whomever you’re working for. You’re kidnapping the daughter of a United States senator. This is a very serious matter. My father won’t rest until all of you are behind bars,” she said, shaking her head and hoping to make a strong enough case to somehow change this man’s mind.

  “Ma’am, believe me…I completely understand the gravity of the situation. No doubt your disappearance will spark a nationwide search. You’re a valuable scientist. But none of that is my concern, nor should it be yours. Now, if you’ll kindly get yourself ready, we have a plane to catch.”

  Sully Metusack knew he was speaking with false bravado. He cared more about his involvement in the abduction of Sela Coscarelli than he was willing to admit. He suspected that kidnapping her would unleash a maelstrom of media attention rivaling the disappearance of Rockefeller’s son. There would be far-reaching ramifications from the action that he and Marlon were undertaking—no telling where it would end.

  I sure hope Kilmer knows what he’s doing, he thought, or Dr. Coscarelli’s remark about needing ‘God’s help’ may turn out to be a colossal understatement.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  HILTON HEAD ISLAND,

  SOUTH CAROLINA

  08:00 HOURS

  CAPTAIN EDUARDO SUAREZ did a masterful job skirting the powerful surge of Hurricane Hannah lashing across the Caribbean Sea, having sailed Jurassic to Nassau, several hundred miles beyond its angry path. The only inconvenience throughout the voyage was the unusually high surf, but the ship’s million-dollar stabilizers dampened the full effects of the turbulent wave action. The storm eventually lost most of her force crossing the Gulf of Mexico, and before making landfall the hurricane had been reduced to a category three storm.

  After spending a night in Nassau at his luxurious beachfront estate, Alastair Holloway re-boarded Jurassic and directed Captain Suarez to sail to his berth in South Carolina, an order the captain was most eager to obey. He was prepared to disembark the beautiful yacht for the last time, having reached his threshold of tolerance for Holloway’s abusive behavior, but hadn’t yet heard if he would make good his threat to fire everyone following the voyage. In any case, his last command of the ship was mostly tolerable, whatever happened next. Upon docking, the crew was busily stowing gear, securing the vessel, and making final preparations for everyone to disembark. It promised to be a gorgeous day on Hilton Head Island.

  “How long will we be staying?” Angelina Navarro asked, while carelessly stuffing her belongings into an oversized suitcase that, when standing, looked like a small refrigerator. “Should I take everything, or will we be coming back to the ship?”

  “I doubt we’ll be re-boarding anytime soon, Angel…but do you really need all that crap with you?” Holloway sharply remarked, trying to cut short what he considered a superfluous discussion. He had no time for her inane prattle. He had been watching the oil futures all morning and his hedges were getting clobbered. He’d taken steps to redirect most of his oil futures earlier in the week, but obviously not soon enough. The move in the market had him down near $26 million, by rough estimate, making him more cantankerous than usual. It was not a pleasant morning to be in his company.

  “I told you before…we’ll be on the island for a few days and then will most likely head back to Galveston. I don’t expect to be back on the ship for some time. Now if you’re ready, I’d like to get moving.”

  Angelina scowled at Alastair, “Yes, yes, hold your wad, honey… I’m coming. The more I take with me, the less you’ll have to replace later on,” she said, playfully, an impish smile gracing her ruby lips as she continued hastily shoving clothing into her oversized luggage. As she did, Holloway picked up his PDA to take a call from Kilmer.

  “Yes, Richard. What now?”

  “Here’s the deal,” Kilmer answered. “First, we just grabbed the Coscarelli woman and we’re packin’ her to Hilton Head. Barring a snag, she’ll be at the estate later this mornin’. But ya need to know that Farley also kidnapped Marshall’s son. He’s been staked out at Conrad’s place in Stanford. Seems Marshall showed at Conrad’s, just as ya figured, but was followed there by ‘is son and ex-wife. The bludger screwed the pooch no doubt, but the tides gone out—we’ve bagged two people connected to Conrad.”

  “Wait a second…slow down. Did you just say you’ve kidnapped two people? Did I hear you correctly? Because I thought I heard you say that this Farley character unilaterally decided to kidnap someone we know nothing about. Is that what you’re telling me? What the fuck kind of operation are you running, for crissakes?” Holloway bellowed, storming down the gangplank of the yacht.

  “I admit Farley’s dumb as a drover’s daag. But it’s ’nother spur-a-the-moment field decision,” Kilmer said, pausing for effect. “As I said b’fore…things happen and ya roll with it. A private dick was tailin’ Marshall’s family right b’fore they entered Conrad’s house. No tellin’ how this prick might’ve buggered the deal. Farley figured that grabbin’ the young man would give us more leverage. I agree,” he added smugly, confident that he’d trumped Holloway’s objection.

  “Everythin’ else is aces. We’re ‘bout to give Conrad the what for. With two of ‘is people in hock, he’ll have no choice but to give in. I expect the gravity m
achine’ll be operatin’ any time now.”

  “Are you really that simpleminded, Mr. Kilmer? Don’t you realize that every time one of your simpletons makes an unplanned move it has unforeseen consequences? If the young man Farley abducted is really Ryan Marshall’s son that means we’ve now kidnapped Senator Coscarelli’s daughter and grandson. Brilliant…fucking brilliant,” Holloway fumed, tightening his jaw as he continued his fast pace to the awaiting limousine. Angelina was running close behind, trying to catch up.

  “We’re dead cert about the kid’s identity,” Kilmer replied emphatically, trying to contain his anger from another salvo of Holloway’s offensive insults. “Farley’s already given ‘im the once over. He’s under wraps in San Jose. If ya’d rather let ‘im go, just say the word… I’ll drive ‘im back to Conrad’s m’self.”

  “Listen, wise-ass, spare me the sarcasm. Of course we can’t let him go. It’s another screw-up we’ll need to contend with. I suppose as long as we’ve abducted one of Coscarelli’s daughters, also taking his grandson doesn’t make matters that much worse,” Holloway snorted disgustedly. He climbed into the back of the limousine, motioning aggressively with his hand for the chauffeur to help get Angelina situated. “Tell me how the machine’s coming along. Does Mills have the thing anywhere near ready?”

  “We’re good as gold. The magnetic housing we ordered from Westinghouse was finally delivered; it’s swank. The Quantum equations are dialed and linked to the focusin’ array. Mills did some final tests and loaded the nuclear fuel. Everythin’s a go. Conrad’s the only fly in the ointment. If he balks, we’re up the gumtree. We can’t pull the Knox job ‘til he does his thing. That’s out o’ my hands,” Kilmer said.

  “You leave that contingency to me,” Holloway growled. “If he refuses further, we’ll lean on Penburton. That prima donna son-of-a-bitch still thinks he’s gonna skate through this deal unscathed, but he’s got another thing coming. Assuming we get Conrad’s cooperation, how long before you hit Fort Knox?”