by Paul Stein
Leaving behind Conrad’s machine would mean this was the last opportunity for Mills to decipher the workings of the secret equations. He claimed he was close to understanding what Conrad was doing on the laptop; it really just contained a sequencing program that introduced variables at the correct time. And even if the laptop froze up, he was certain that one of his guys at Oracle could extract the hidden files. In any case, the insufferable Dr. Conrad would be eliminated along with the other hostages. Farley would carry out the order and dispose of the bodies in Struffeneger’s catfish ponds, where the fish would consume the corpses. For obvious reasons, the disposal of the hostages was not discussed with Struffeneger, but after his participation in the operation he wouldn’t be in any position to object.
Kilmer knew he was on the precipice of the biggest tactical command of his career. When he considered the intense preplanning that went into the breach of Fort Knox, he was fairly overwhelmed. From his first contact with Holloway, he never imagined how far this path would lead. Each step before was but a prelude to the final operation.
He was growing increasingly uncomfortable as the time drew near. There were too many exigencies for his liking. He questioned the effectiveness of the antigravity machine and imagined that even if it pulverized the granite and concrete surrounding the vault, there would be tons of debris blocking the path to the gold. Mills was assigned to work with Conrad to switch the machine over to use its antigravity potential to lift the debris out of the way, but it could just as easily take more time than if the tractor just blazed a trail through the debris. This was a problem that would have to be handled in the field.
Another problem was the vault itself. Conrad’s machine had flattened the Hummer in San Jose, but the steel frame remained. The same would hold true of the vault. Even flattened, it was a significant obstruction to clear prior to loading the bullion. Here again, Mills would attempt to use the machine to remove the twenty- ton vault door, but if the vault didn’t break open, there was no plan for what to do next except crush it again.
No matter the enormity of the problems, Kilmer was willing to risk everything for the payoff of $1 billion in gold. Along with guaranteed compensation from Holloway, the team would keep anything they could bring back over the $1 billion. The trick was not to get greedy. The strict time limit of five minutes was inviolable. Any longer than that and the Army base with its Apache helicopters would be on full deployment.
Irrespective of the number of loads, at the five-minute mark the team would cease everything and make a hasty retreat to Struffeneger’s farm. They would stay hidden at Wildcat until the full force of law enforcement heat died down, which promised to be upwards of a fortnight or more. After this initial period, the men would slowly begin leaving for different parts of the country.
The gold would be shipped by Wildcat in the normal course of operations as they delivered the catfish. Kilmer would stay behind to supervise the loading of gold in each shipment and Colt would handle the receiving end. One of Holloway’s warehouses in Galveston would be used to store the gold until it could be loaded on the Jurassic for final shipment to Russia.
As he reviewed the plan, he couldn’t help but think it was without doubt the riskiest operation he had ever commanded. The number of fatal flaws was too multiple to ignore. Their probable success was no greater than three in ten, but if they pulled it off it would indeed be the crime-of-all-crimes. Failure, however, meant certain death; time would tell if Holloway’s master plan would ultimately prevail.
Kilmer’s plan for the day was to get everyone situated and then to walk through the mission. The hostages would be moved into the main house to guard them more easily. It was also a high priority to have the Coscarelli woman safely ensconced on the premises, so Colt would be awaiting Sully’s arrival. Thereafter, he or Ventura would return to the airport to get Farley. But until he had all the hostages secured and all the men present, the day remained flexible. Early tomorrow promised to be the biggest excursion of his life.
Kilmer decided it was time to move the hostages from the bus to the main quarters.
“We’re movin’ inside…so get yerselves ready,” he said gruffly to Jarrod and Jer in turn.
“It’s time to cycle my laptop, Chief,” Jarrod said irreverently, as Kilmer cut through his handcuffs.
“Blimey…there’s a fuckin’ surprise. It’ll wait ‘til we get inside, and Mills’ll monitor every move…not that I don’t trust ya,” he said.
“Okay, it’s your call. I’d have thought my last demonstration might have convinced you of the consequences of ignoring the protocols.”
“Shut yer trap, Professor. Don’t burr me up.” Kilmer said, trying to maintain his composure. He was determined not to let the man get under his skin once again.
“Just pointing out the obvious, Chief. Let’s go to the house, then; it’s no skin off my nose.”
“Yer such a mug, Professor. Seems ya forgot my demonstration. Every time ya open yer bunghole will cost yer rellie more skin,” he said, banging Jer’s head into the door jamb as he walked him from the back bedroom.
Jer yelled as his head struck the door casing. “You’re an asshole, mister,” he said, rubbing his head. “I going to enjoy watching you get your Aussie butt kicked.
“Woo,” Kilmer mocked, nervously shaking his hands. “Ya scare me, boy. Now git yer arses into the house,” he said, kicking Jer out the door but holding his gun on Jarrod.
Jarrod walked into the fresh air and looked around furtively for anything that would give away their location. His eyes were drawn to the huge feed silo with the dominant Wildcat Catfish logo emblazoned on the tower.
Touchdown! Jarrod thought. I’ve got you now, dumb shit. Wildcat Catfish, Kentucky. That can’t be hard to find. I’ll send this off to Sarah and reinforcements will be on the way. These guys are going down!
Jarrod could hardly wait to show Mills how to run his laptop. One false keystroke and the whole machine would implode. Jarrod smiled at the thought. These guys have no idea what’s coming….
FIFTY-THREE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
06:00 HOURS
EMERSON PALMER was hitting nothing but dead ends. Since he had spoken to Jason Henry about their common interest in the Coscarelli matter, he had made little progress. Working with the D.C. Metro Police had yielded almost no leads. What the Washington police had learned was that Dr. Coscarelli was a conscientious research professor at Johns Hopkins, devoting her time almost exclusively to work. She lived alone and had few close personal friends. Many of her colleagues at the university didn’t even know she was related to Senator Coscarelli.
An inspection of her home also yielded few clues about her abduction. It was obvious that she had left in a hurry; her purse was left on the dining room table, and the cat’s food dish was empty even though a full bag of food stood nearby. Inside the refrigerator were a forgotten sack lunch and her monogrammed water bottle. It wasn’t hard to figure from this sparse evidence that the woman had been surprised by her abductors, but willingly accompanied them rather than mount a struggle. Who kidnapped her or where she’d been taken was a complete mystery. Even more quizzical was the fact that no one had called making any ransom demands. It was as if the woman simply disappeared without any cause or consequence.
Palmer was sitting at his kitchen table, perusing the meager facts of his case and trying to figure his next move when he received a call from Jason Henry. His pulse quickened with anticipation.
“Morning, Jason,” he said answering the call. “I hope you’ve got something for me, brother, ’cuz the trail here’s colder ’n a well-digger’s ass.”
“Very funny,” Henry replied. “You’re witty as ever, I see.”
“Hey, I’m not kidding. The trail’s as cold as a Minnesota lake in January. I’m working with Metro…we’ve interviewed all of Coscarelli’s neighbors and work associates and don’t have a clue. And there hasn’t been a word about a ransom demand. I’m beginning to think
my case is somehow tied to yours,” he ventured, the frustration evident in his voice.
“Well, hold on; I’ve got interesting information that may give you the needle in the haystack you’re searching for,” Agent Henry began. “Dr. Niles Penburton, the principal owner of Quantum and partner of my missing scientist, was executed late yesterday in a car bomb on the Stanford campus.”
“No shit,” Palmer interrupted nonchalantly. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Easy, pard’…I’ve been suspicious of Penburton ever since this case began,” he said, bringing Palmer current on everything that surrounded the theft of Dr. Conrad’s equations and his new antigravity technology.
“I picked up a court order earlier today to search his personal records. The guy I’m working with out here got hold of Penburton’s phone records. We found dozens of calls involving Triton Energy dating back over a year. Triton’s involvement makes me even more suspicious,” he said, pausing to let Palmer catch up.
“Yeah, okay…but I don’t get this guy’s connection to Coscarelli, or the missing scientist.”
“Look, it gets better,” Henry said. “It so happens Triton Energy is well-known to DOD. The owner, Alastair Holloway, is politically connected and closely allied to the Secretary of Defense. He’s a self-made billionaire, chiefly from oil, but has his fingers in all kinds of Defense Department contracts. He’s cunning, ruthless, and has a reputation for destroying people that cross him. I’m willing to bet that Holloway’s somehow involved in this scheme. Penburton crossed him and he took revenge. I’m telling you…this guy could be the lead we’ve been looking for.”
“Okay, I believe you…but what do you want from me?”
“I’ve made some calls. It seems that Holloway just berthed his yacht at Hilton Head, where he also has an estate. I suggest you get to Hilton Head and interview the man. Ask him about his business with Niles Penburton. Feel him out. I’ll bet you anything he’s dirty,” Henry said, hoping he’d convinced Palmer of the connection.
“I don’t know, Jason. That’s pretty thin. You want me to approach one of the wealthiest men in the country on the hunch that a bunch of calls from his company somehow connects him in this man’s murder? And, even more far-fetched…that he’s the mastermind behind this whole conspiracy? Sounds like a boogie-man theory if you ask me,” Palmer posited, his skepticism overstepping his diplomacy.
“Look, I know I sound desperate, alright. If I were you I’d find this hard to believe too. But I’ve been on this case since the first theft at the Quantum Building. I’m convinced there’s one smart son-of-a- bitch behind the whole thing. Knowing Holloway’s history makes him my prime suspect. I really need your help on this, Emerson.” Henry was relying on their past history to carry the day.
“Okay. Since you put it that way, I’ll check out this Holloway. Hell’s bells…at least it gives me a lead,” he acknowledged. “Can you give me an address and some contact information for Triton Energy? I’ll need some reason for this guy to see me. What’s my way in?”
“I’ll fax over Penburton’s phone records and the location of Holloway’s estate on Hilton Head; everything you’ll need. Make up what you like. Tell him you’re working for a client interested in Penburton’s death and you came across his phone number. As soon as you make contact, let me know what you find. I’ll bet anything he’s involved,” Jason said, relieved he had convinced his old friend to check out the lead.
For the first time since the Quantum job he was feeling a ray of hope. From what Henry had heard about Alastair Holloway, he was certainly cunning enough to have put all the pieces of this intricate plan in motion.
“Send me your information as soon as possible. I’ll catch the next flight to Hilton Head. We’ll know later today if this guy’s hiding anything.”
“Thanks buddy. I owe you one,” Jason, said relieved that Emerson was on the case.
“Hey, don’t mention it. You just remember who I work for…and I don’t mean Senator Coscarelli,” Palmer said.
“Emerson, believe me, that’s on the front of my mind, too. Before this is over the whole damn team could be activated. I won’t forget you,” he said. If the cleaners were activated, his old friend Emerson would resume his rightful place in the group.
“It’s not you I worry about, Jason. Just sit tight. You’ll hear from me…I promise,” he said, ending the call.
Armed with a new assignment, Emerson walked to the hall closet and took out his travel bag, readying himself for a trip to question one of the richest men in the world. He had absolute faith that Jason Henry would do all he could to keep him involved. It was that backstabbing Freeman he worried about.
Wouldn’t that be something if the Holloway lead culminated in activating the ‘cleaners’? he thought. It’s way past due for an assignment. I wonder who’s left? Christ…we’re sure a bunch of old farts.
FIFTY-FOUR
HILTON HEAD
08:30 HOURS
ANGELINA NAVARRO stormed into the master suite she shared with Alastair Holloway. She was livid. She had met with Dr. Coscarelli a second time the night before when she delivered the clothes and personal items she had promised to bring. She knew Sela was desperate for a laptop computer, but had decided not to risk bringing her the device on the next visit, wary that Sully Metusack would thoroughly search anything brought into the woman’s room. Once she knew the man’s technique, she would be able to determine if it was at all feasible. As expected, Sully had searched through everything Angelina delivered, even though she assured him it was only clothes and personal women’s things. She was relieved her intuition was correct.
When she arose early to bring Sela her breakfast, however, she found the woman was no longer on the premises. She was incensed that Alastair had sent her away without considering the woman’s well-being. This was the last straw.
For many months Angelina had been struggling with the notion that she should confront Alastair about his abusive behavior—not so much toward her, even though it was excessive, but to literally everyone they met. This latest affront gave her the impetus to address the problem. She would no longer abide his rudeness. Even though she realized her protestation would bring an end to the easy life she enjoyed under his care, the thought of him mistreating Dr. Coscarelli had irreparably destroyed her loyalty. This has got to stop, she thought. From this day forward, I will no longer tolerate his mean-spirited behavior.
“Where have you taken her, Alastair?” she demanded, blasting into their suite. She stood in the center of the spacious room with her hands on her hips, a withering look of fury in her eyes. There was no mistaking that she was highly distressed.
Holloway was sitting at a small dining table overlooking the gardens outside. Before him were a pitcher of decaf coffee and a plate of croissants. The Washington Post and the Wall Street Journal were two of several papers he was reading.
He looked up from the paper and casually said, “Excuse me? I don’t see that’s any of your business. You’ve become too personally involved, Angel. When I agreed that you could care for the woman’s personal needs I didn’t intend for you to question my every decision. If you must know, she’s been taken to a more secure location…and that’s all you need to know,” he said deliberately, leaving no doubt the matter was settled.
“It…i…is…my business,” she stammered, unaccustomed to defying the man who had provided for her welfare the last three years. “These men of yours…they don’t know how to care for a woman’s needs. I don’t ask much of you, Alastair, but I asked you to let me take care of her. She’s a decent woman…not…not like me, I know. She needs someone to look out for her,” she argued, still standing rigidly in the middle of the room.
“Angel, I’m in no mood for this insolence. Coscarelli is none of your business. And she’s tougher than you think…she’ll be fine. Now, please…that’s my last word on the matter.”
“It’s not the last word. I demand to know where she’s been taken. I heard
that pilot talking about flying to Kentucky. I want to join them. Please Alastair, please,” she implored less stridently, trying desperately to change his mind.
“That’s out of the question, Angel. Really…what do you think you can do that she can’t do for herself? Don’t you see she was just ingratiating herself to you to get information? Are you really that naïve, for chrissake?” he said sarcastically, going back to reading the papers.
“You make it sound like I’m stupid and worthless. I’m not just a bimbo, Alastair. If you don’t agree to let me join her, then I see no reason for me to be involved with you any further. I’ll pack my things and be out of here by noon,” she said, issuing an ultimatum. She had been around Holloway enough to know that he didn’t take threats lightly. She braced herself for a barrage as she could see the anger welling inside him.
“Suit yourself, goddamnit. I always knew you were an ingrate. I’ve taken good care of you, Angel, and this is how you show your gratitude? Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house. Now! I don’t ever want to see your face again,” he yelled, gathering himself up from the table, enraged by her defiance.
Angel’s voice quavered. “You’re the…the meanest most sel…selfish man I ever met,” she said, choking back tears, fearful of his anger. But she summoned her courage and pressed forward, determined not to let him have the final word.
