The Fourth Law

by Paul Stein

  “What I’m doing is my own business,” Al replied, returning the director’s scowl. “Your offer to make inquiries about my family members is most gracious, but I need more help than that. If you were in my shoes, you might see things differently.”

  At that moment LaDonna quietly re-entered the office and handed Ben a note, alerting him that Emerson Palmer was waiting in the vestibule. Ben passed the note to the senator and asked LaDonna not to admit Palmer until after Vickers cleared the room.

  “Director Vickers, you’ll have to excuse me but I have another appointment,” Al said, abruptly standing to hasten the man from his office. “I appreciate your offer; please keep Mr. Dare apprised of any developments.”

  “Sir, you have my promise to do all that I can. Please think carefully about what we’ve discussed,” he said, shaking the senator’s hand as he rose. “I appreciate your leadership on the Intelligence Committee,” he added, moving toward the door, and taking the opportunity to lobby the senator as he departed. “I hope you continue to consider me a worthy source of information any time your committee has questions, Senator.”

  Director Vickers moved into the anteroom of the senator’s office and was mildly surprised to see Emerson Palmer. The director had never been particularly supportive when Palmer was with the service. Vickers recognized his considerable talents for counterespionage, but fell in league with other, more regimented agents who didn’t appreciate Palmer’s unorthodox ways.

  “Well, fancy meeting you here,” Vickers said as they passed one another without shaking hands. “I might’ve known…smell blood, Palmer?” he taunted. “Of course, ambulance chasing does suit you.”

  “Buzz off, Vickers,” Palmer retorted. “Go find someone else to harass.” He was determined to get in his own dig at the man he held partly responsible for his early dismissal from the service. “Hell… you look terrible, Chuck,” he goaded as Vickers was leaving. “I’d see a doctor.”

  Palmer was archetypical of a private eye: medium build, exemplary shape, non-descript features, and modest dress. Nothing about him really stood out. The man entering the senator’s office could easily pass for any number of nationalities. He was a genuine chameleon.

  “Mr. Palmer, I’m Alfonse Coscarelli, and this is my chief of staff, Ben Dare,” Al said, ushering him into the office. “I do appreciate your coming here on such short notice. Have you been told why I’ve asked you here this morning?” Alfonse asked, eschewing customary pleasantries but indicating that Palmer make himself comfortable.

  “Not exactly, sir,” Palmer replied. “I’ve had a brief conversation with Mr. Dare, but he only told me that something may have happened to your daughter and grandson. How can I be of service, Senator?” he asked, settling into the soft leather couch as he looked around the room.

  It’s amazing, Emerson thought. All 100 senators’ offices look exactly the same. The furnishings were different, but each office was decorated with memorabilia from the senator’s home state, pictures of the senator with the president or key cabinet members, the American and corresponding state flags, and other prized treasures of the office-holder. Anyone visiting a congressional office was at a significant disadvantage. This office epitomizes a home-court advantage.

  “Mr. Palmer, we don’t have much time, so please forgive my bluntness,” Al said. “It’s true my daughter Sela Coscarelli and grandson, Jeremiah Marshall, have been abducted. Ben has informed me that you’re not only an excellent private investigator, but also have information about an organization called the ‘cleaners.’ Is my information correct? Am I speaking to the right man?” he asked worriedly, craning his neck forward while perched on the edge of his seat.

  “Yes, Senator…I suppose you are…if the group you’re referring to is the one that our government has been secretly deploying but refusing to acknowledge ever since the Revolutionary War,” he answered cautiously, measuring the man for any sign of trickery. It didn’t seem likely the senator would be up to any chicanery because he wasn’t lying about his daughter; news of her disappearance was just hitting the news channels. Still, it was better to be cautious when speaking to the chairman on the Senate Intelligence Committee about secret information known only to the president.

  “Throughout our history, Senator, there have been times when in the best interest of our country, the Executive Office has taken actions to protect the values and freedoms we Americans hold dear, freedoms that were paid for with the blood of patriots ever since our country was founded. Many of these actions would be considered highly illegal were they reported, damaging the ability of the president and our Armed Forces to properly protect this country. In the interest of providing a strong national defense, keep the peace, and fight insurrection and oppression, there is a group of highly skilled people who work outside the channels of government. They are known as cleaners. Why do you ask about them, Senator?”

  “I ask, Mr. Palmer, because I want to know if this resource is an available option to find my missing family. I’m in dire straits here. You saw the director of the Secret Service just depart. You probably also know there is nothing they can do for me. That means I’m totally at the mercy of local law enforcement to rescue my daughter and grandson. That’s unacceptable,” Alfonse said, summing up the situation as best he could. “I’m willing to try anything….”

  “‘Unacceptable’ is an interesting word, sir. There are members of your Intelligence Committee that speak with great conviction that there should never be a time when our government acts outside the bounds of the Geneva Convention. They abhor any activity that strays from conventional intelligence-gathering methods. These liberal zealots are the very same people who would weaken our national defense in the interest of providing full disclosure, when to do so would compromise the safety of those brave patriots who tackle jobs none of them have the temerity, courage, or wherewithal to perform. It might be well for you to recognize the spew of conscientious objectors on your committee who would just as soon issue warnings to our enemy before we take actions to protect this country,” he said harshly, as Ben twisted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Has anyone contacted you with a ransom demand?” Palmer asked, looking at Ben.

  “Not so far,” Ben replied, composing himself, flummoxed that Palmer would use this opportunity to espouse his personal views about members of the Senate Intelligence Committee. “Early this morning I spoke to Lieutenant Dave Morris from the Palo Alto PD,” he said, fully explaining the salient facts as he knew them. “Morris claims there’s more to the kidnappings than meets the eye. He’s been working with Agent Jason Henry from DOD following the theft of nuclear material from the Lawrence Livermore Lab. Morris and Agent Henry think all this is interconnected and hinges on new technology that Dr. Jarrod Conrad has developed out at Stanford.”

  “The facts are intriguing, I’ll grant you that, sir,” Palmer replied, looking steadily at Al, weighing everything he’d heard. “Let’s say I believe you…and I’m able to get in touch with parties that may be of assistance. What’s this service worth to you, Senator?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Al replied, taken aback by the presumption of the man’s question. “I thought this was a secret government operation…that you would get these cleaners to do the job.”

  “Senator, forgive me…I merely said I’ve heard rumors of this organization. I did not mean to imply that I could get anyone beyond myself involved. Your case offers an interesting challenge and I offer my undivided attention.”

  “What do you charge, Mr. Palmer?” Al asked gruffly, perturbed that the subject of money had been broached. He would gladly pay anything to get his family back, but he never expected to be dealing with a mercenary when Palmer was invited to advise him.

  “There’s a reason for my question, Senator,” Palmer said, sensing his umbrage. “Believe me, you do not want your fingerprints on what I’m about to set in motion, sir. What I’m offering is deniability. If there’s even a hint of conspiracy or collusion regarding
the deployment of covert government resources, you’ll want to truthfully testify that you had no knowledge of any impropriety— especially in your capacity as chairman of the Intelligence Committee. By hiring my firm at the going rate, you’ll successfully avoid any perception of impropriety. While I’m not considered beyond reproach by many of my contemporaries, I have assembled a credible private detective agency that will provide a suitable cover. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, I understand, Mr. Palmer. Please forgive my indignation,” Al replied. “What’s the going rate to retain your services?”

  “A thousand dollars a day, plus expenses…times two missing persons,” he replied. “I need my standard retainer of $5,000 to begin. I’ll have my office assistant draft a contract and send it right over.”

  “Ben, I’ll need the contact information for Lieutenant Morris and Agent Henry. I’ll make a call and see how we can begin to fit in without stepping on any toes.”

  “Try not to worry, Senator. You’ll have the most experienced personnel in the country looking for your family,” he said reassuringly.

  “Thank you, Mr. Palmer,” Al said, warmly embracing his hand as they each stood to conclude the meeting. “I feel an overwhelming sense of relief knowing you’ll be involved. Here, let me give you a check before you leave.”

  “Not necessary, sir. That can be handled when the contract is delivered. Just be sure to inform me the minute you hear about a ransom…or anything else. Here’s my private number,” he said, handing Ben his card.

  Emerson Palmer left the senator’s office feeling more alive than he had in a dozen years. He was frankly amazed that Ben Dare somehow had known to contact him, but chalked it up to mere coincidence. No one knew about his connection to the most notorious organization in the annals of the United States government. He had been recruited early in his career to join this secret group, and he had never regretted his decision. It was explained to him early on that he would likely have no family, no close friends, and no professional colleagues as a result of his secret involvement as a cleaner, all of which had come true. But he eagerly made this choice, sacrificing a stable private life and his future career in the government in exchange for the promise of helping to protect the American way of life in ways that were beyond all comprehension. Reflecting on that fateful decision never gave him pause; he’d make the same decision again today and twice on Sunday.

  His participation as a cleaner had made it impossible to adhere to the government party line and ultimately cost him his position in the Secret Service, even though his role as an agent was really just a cover to begin with. His detective agency now provided that suitable cover when his special expertise was requested by the Executive Office.

  Palmer had been cautious not to show any recognition of the men already investigating the Coscarelli case when they were mentioned in the senator’s office. But the minute he heard that Jason Henry from DOD was involved, he knew for certain someone high up in the government was keenly interested in this new technology. Jason Henry was a cleaner. They had a long association together. Palmer figured it was just a matter of time before the team was convened to discuss what Agent Henry was tracking.

  I wonder what’s really behind all this, Emerson thought. With Jason involved, one of the joint chiefs must really have a bug up his butt about Dr. Conrad’s technology. I can’t wait to find out what’s really going on. It’s been way too long…hell, yeah, we may finally have a job brewing!

  FORTY-FOUR

  STANFORD UNIVERSITY

  10:30 HOURS

  NILES PENBURTON was beside himself. The fact that Special Agent Henry was probing his personal records meant without a doubt that he was considered a suspect in everything that was taking place. He was beginning to feel like a dupe, loathing the day he first heard from Alastair Holloway. Why hadn’t he followed his intuition, which told him Holloway wasn’t the white knight he professed himself to be?

  Before Holloway came into the picture, he was sitting on top of the world: He was co-owner of a prestigious research firm at Stanford University, and a tenured professor with a partner about to introduce the world’s first antigravity machine. How could he have been so foolish as to fall prey to the easy money that Holloway had offered? My God, I’ve been so stupid, he thought. It’s time to cut my losses. I’ve got to tell Holloway our deal’s off; the situation is way out of hand. I’m done playing the fool for this guy.

  Niles sat in his corner office looking out across the Stanford campus, indulging his favorite pastime. He would need to marshal all his fortitude to make one of the most difficult calls of his life. He knew that Holloway would vigorously object to his change of heart at the eleventh hour, but nevertheless, his mind was made up. He was done being the fall guy in Holloway’s master plan.

  After the call to Holloway, he decided he’d head directly to the airport and board the first plane out of the country. He had $10 million of Holloway’s money, and he figured to just disappear and live a life of comfort in the Mediterranean, maybe somewhere in Greece. Whatever happened next, he was finished being Holloway’s patsy.

  “What is it now?” Holloway replied briskly, answering his cell phone.

  “Alastair…we’ve got a major problem,” Niles started. “I’ve been contacted by Agent Henry from DOD again. He’s demanding I release all my personal records. He considers me a suspect, for chrissake!” His voice was rising to a shriek.

  “Alright, easy now…we figured this might happen. The key is to keep your head and not appear to be panicking,” Holloway responded, calmly trying to assess the gist of the problem.

  “Well, that’s all well and good for you, Alastair…you don’t have a special agent from the Defense Department breathing down your neck, asking to see personal records...it’s a bit more problematic for me. I’m through with this whole business. I want the rest of my money and you can clean up this mess you’ve created,” he said, less tactfully than he had originally intended.

  “Listen to me, you idiot! No one walks out on a deal with me. It’s too late for that. What’s got you so spooked?”

  “Agent Henry knows someone close to Conrad is at the root of everything. He’s linked the Quantum theft with that travesty over at Livermore, and now that Jarrod’s missing, he suspects me. He wants to see my personal records—phone, financial, tax returns, you name it. Christ, what do you expect me to do? I didn’t agree to any of this. In fact, you specifically promised to keep me out of all this. You broke our deal as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Calm down, goddamnit,” Holloway replied. “Don’t you see this Agent Henry’s on a fishing expedition? He’s got nothing linking you to any of this.”

  “Wrong! There’s plenty to link me to this. For starters, there’s the $10 million you advanced me to buy out Conrad’s share of Quantum, not to mention the dozens of phone calls between the two of us the past year. He’s going to put it all together. I’m not going to jail for the murder of innocent people I had nothing to do with.”

  “Would you fucking calm down? You’re not thinking clearly. First, the money was sent to a personal Swiss account in your name… it’s untraceable. Second, the only links between you and me are phone records that can be easily explained: You are exploring contracting with Triton Energy to design the manufacturing capacity for Conrad’s machine…just like we planned. Now I want you to just chill out and keep your head; there’s no reason to panic,” Holloway said reassuringly.

  “You’re setting me up, aren’t you?” Niles interjected, a bolt of enlightenment spearing his consciousness. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? When this is all over, the evidence will put the blame squarely on me. Well, I’m done. You hear me, Alastair? I’m not going to be your flunky any longer. And, believe me…if I go down I’ll take you down with me,” he said, terminating the call.

  Stupid son-of-a-bitch is going to ruin everything, Holloway thought as he quickly tried to call Penburton back. He wouldn’t answer. The man had pani
cked and was about to bolt. He couldn’t keep his wits together in the face of adversity. He had seen this kind of panic before. It was irrational. It didn’t matter how reasonable the explanation, once the panic set in it was like trying to lead the horse back into a burning barn—it wasn’t going to happen.

  Holloway assessed his options: He was out the $10 million for the Quantum ownership without Penburton to acknowledge the sale, but without Penburton and the pesky Conrad, he’d control the antigravity machine outright and wouldn’t have a meddling partner to deal with. Actually, the best alternative was to consider Penburton a dry hole and move on. Holloway decided to call Kilmer.

  “Yessir,” Kilmer said, answering the call.

  “Penburton’s lost his nerve…he’s gone rogue. Take him out ASAP,” he said, not wasting any time on the reason behind the impromptu assassination order.

  “Blimey, ya dead cert?” Kilmer asked tentatively. It wasn’t like Holloway to make snappy, hair-trigger decisions of this magnitude.

  “Yes I’m sure…do I sound doubtful? Just do as I ask, goddamnit.”

  “Good oh. Farley’ll knock him off; he’s still out west. Accident… right?”

  “No. Not an accident. I want it too look like a hit. If things work out we’ll pin this whole thing on the weak-kneed son-of-a-bitch. He just fucked with the wrong guy. No one breaks a deal with me…you got it?”

  “It’s a done deal…no worries.”

  “Where are you?” Holloway asked.

  “We’re on schedule, just breezin’ through Arizona. We ain’t dilly dallyin’. No stops except for fuel.”

  “Okay, let me know the minute you reach Wildcat. We’re getting close to pulling this off, Richard. Keep it together. We don’t need a misstep at this point.”

  “She’ll be right, sir, no sweat. We’ll give it a whirl.”

  Yes, you do that, Kilmer, Holloway thought. A couple days from now, this whole extravaganza will be over. I’ll have possession of the world’s first antigravity device and pulled off the crime of the century. Hallelujah.