by Robert Berke
"Maybe we should call in the police." Bobby figured out where Vakhrusheva was heading and made that remark in furtherance of Vakhrusheva's strategy. "I will have to take responsibility for the finger, but these men at SmithCorp are known to be very, very dangerous." He added.
Vakhrusheva was glad that Bobby was familiar with the ploy he had chosen and was able to follow the lead so seamlessly. "No, you fool," Vakhrusheva said in feigned exasperation. "Once the police are involved, the SmithCorp goons will kill Sako for sure. We must figure this out on our own."
Vakhrusheva poured himself another shot of vodka and turned the shot glass in his fingers as he pretended to concentrate very, very deeply on the problem he had so carefully made up and sold to Sharky's mother. Bobby shook his head up and down and kept his gaze on Vakhrusheva as if he were thinking of a solution too. But really, Bobby was trying to figure out Vakhrusheva's end game, and he didn't have a clue. He had very artfully turned the prisoner into an ally, but to what end, he wondered.
Adele was nearly catatonic. From the moment these men had broken into her house, the terror never let go. But she had been through ordeals before and fought hard to keep her wits. In the trunk of the car she tried to count the stoplights, and listen for outside noises. Being led into the safehouse, she tried to make mental notes of every sound she heard and every smell she smelled. She thought hard for anything she could possibly do. Laying in the box (she did not know she had been in the basement) she struggled against the tape that bound her hands and legs. She tossed and turned and quickly realized that she was in a box. Bucking against the walls, she determined that it was wooden. She tried rocking it and learned that it was somehow secured. She thought for a moment that she had been buried alive, but quickly judged from the coldness of the air that the box was ventilated and thus could not have been buried. Then one of the men, the smaller of the two, she adjudged from the size of his hands, took her out and cut off her finger. He put her back in the box, bleeding, and she was certain she would die. She became dizzy and nauseous and then passed out. She did not know how long. Then the larger man took her out of the box, removed her blindfold and restraints, and cleaned and tended to her amputation. He apologized to her and told her that they had made a grave mistake. He offered her chicken wings. He offered her vodka. She accepted these offers, praying that the vodka would allow her to steel her mind and sharpen her thinking. It didn't though, it merely clouded her mind even more until it was aswim, ready to believe anything and ready to do anything to make sure that she wouldn't be hurt anymore. And to save her son.
It was while she was in this state of mind that Vakhrusheva revealed his plan for the next morning.
Vakhrusheva poured himself another shot of vodka and gulped it down. He poured some in Adele's glass too but she did not even reach for it. "Come now, we must sleep on it. Bobby, give our guest a room with a shower." He said as he got up and stretched his arms.
Bobby helped Adele out of her chair and as he did so Vakhrusheva made a turning motion with his fingers signaling Bobby to make sure that he would lock her in a secure room. One with windows that were permanently sealed and a door that locked from the outside. He assumed, correctly, that Bobby would not have referred to this place as a safe house if it did not have a room that met those criteria. In fact, Bobby did have a room just like that. Even beyond Vakhrusheva's expectation, Bobby had also installed steel plates behind the blackout curtains on the windows in case someone would be savvy enough to send a message in morse code by flicking the lights. This was not luck. It was experience, and Bobby had plenty of experience. He had no reason to believe that this room would ever be occupied by a little old Armenian lady, but even little old Armenian ladies can know morse code.
As Bobby returned after securing Adele in her more comfortable accommodations, Vakhrusheva was sipping again at his vodka. "I never took you for a gamblin' man, Mickey," Bobby said.
"It is no gamble. I trust you have what I will need." Vakhrusheva replied throwing two Tylenols into his mouth and washing them down with the remainder of the Vodka in his glass. He had already taken for granted that Bobby knew his job very well.
Though still somewhat offended that Kovaretsky had insisted that he have assistance on this mission, as he rubbed his arthritic fingers, he was secretly thankful that someone else could do the technical work that now had to be done.
CHAPTER XXI.
The sun rose in the morning, just as it had done every morning since the dawn of time. It glistened off of the snow on the ground and illuminated all in the world that was old and all that was new. It gleamed off of the walls of the SmithCorp Building as the morning guard replaced the night guard and the front doors were unlocked.
Up on the seventh floor, a group of men and one woman who had spent the night at SmithCorp were beginning to stir from their resting places on the sofas and chairs in the executive waiting room. Josey Cruz and Marco Gonzales, however, had been awake all night discussing their dilemma.
"Usually," Gonzales said, "there is only one of each man involved in a scheme. Here, we have to assume that there are at least two copies of Smith. There could be hundreds for all we know. We could terminate Smith and Bayron and burn the notebook and the codes would still be out there floating around and only a matter of time before the Russians learn how to get it out of Ashkot's dead head. If we were to terminate all the copies of Smith we know about kill Bayron, and burn the notebook, then any remaining copies of Smith would be one hell of an angry computer program. He's the one calling the shots now, Josey, and he knows it."
Josey nodded his head in agreement. "What do we do now, chief?" He asked.
"We wait, and we pray." Gonzales admitted. "We pray that Smith is on our side."
The first of the administrative staff of SmithCorp began arriving at 6:30am. Some of the employees came from other counties and always left a little extra time in case the driving conditions were bad. Others simply liked to come early to enjoy a cup of coffee and check their e-mails before the business day started. Myra came early because Smith used to come early and everything she knew about running SmithCorp she had learned from Smith. The lobby was already getting crowded at 8:30am when Adele Ohangangian slipped into the lobby by flashing the fake ID card Alice had procured for Vakhrusheva. She made sure she entered with a large group of women and the security guard at the front desk made a cursory glance at the group and waved them all in. Once inside, Adele made her way into the restroom on the ground floor and positioned herself in a stall waiting for the cell phone she had been given to ring just as she had been instructed. It was difficult for her to sit with the explosives fixed to her waist.
On the seventh floor, in Smith's office, Hermelinda put up a pot of coffee as Sharky looked out the window at the morning sun, wondering why it continued to rise even though it seemed to him as if the world had ended the day before.
Dr. Bayron stood and took a deep breath. He could see Hermelinda's rear and remembered what her skin felt like against his when she had fallen asleep in her arms. He felt he could smell her sweet perfume even though she was clear across the room. Cruz opened his laptop to get his daily briefing from his real job at the CIA. Gonzales sat, expressionless, in a leather chair spinning a pen between his rootlike fingers wondering why he had quit smoking. He had just finished speaking with Julian Waterstone and was confident that Julian would do what was asked of him. The little red light on Smith's camera-eye blinked intermittently letting the crew know that he was in the room and paying attention.
"Have you ever played 3-Dimensional Chess, Mr. Gonzales?" Smith asked through the speakers thus abruptly breaking the silence.
"No, Mr. Smith, I cannot say that I ever have." Gonzales answered.
"I used to be a very good chess player," Smith continued. "Now, of course, it is barely a challenge for me to beat anyone. I have the mathematical processing speed of a computer and the strategic and psychological sensibilities of a human being. Before I was like this, I had the
opportunity to try my hand at three dimensional chess. It is infinitely more complex than chess. In a regular game of chess an excellent player can often predict 5 or even 6 moves in advance. In three-dimensional chess, it is almost impossible to predict even the very next move. In fact, the complexity of the game is increased by the power of 8, not just 8 times over, but exponentially. Even in my present state, I can be beaten by human players because once the number of variables reaches a certain level, enough chaos is introduced into the equation to make any outcome a mere possibility. Not exactly random, but certainly asymptotic to random."
"Why are you telling me this?" Gonzales inquired.
"Because," Smith said, "because your involving Mr. Waterstone adds a dimension to an already complex equation. The system is no longer closed. This is a new variable."
"To use your own metaphor," Gonzales responded, "I have put another piece on the playing board. We are not opponents."
"Clearly you do not trust me, or you would not have made that call."
"I'm just cutting the cards, Mr. Smith," Gonzales replied. "As, I am sure, you have."
"You are correct about that Mr. Gonzales. Apparently we are cut from the same cloth."
The silence of the morning again descended upon the seventh floor as the men helped themselves to Hermelinda's coffee. Cruz had barely inhaled the steam from the top of his cup when a phone rang in his pocket. It wasn't his own phone. It was Alice's. He was still carrying it. He looked at Gonzales who signaled him to answer it.
"Hello?" He said into the mouthpiece trying to sound inconspicuous.
Vakhrusheva's voice came through and Cruz quickly turned on the speaker and lay the phone on the table. "We have something you want and you have something we want," they heard Vakhrusheva say.
"How do we know you have what we want?" Cruz asked. The blood rose in Sharky's face and acid burned in his throat when he realized they were talking about his mother.
"Because she is in the same building with you. I will give you a moment. Review the front door security tape at exactly 8:32 and oh, about 45 seconds."
Smith was able to access the recording immediately and showed it on the monitor. As represented, the security camera had picked up the image of Sharky's mother entering the front door of the SmithCorp Building and blending in with the crowd.
"What do you want?" Cruz asked.
"I want a small black notebook." Vakhrusheva replied, "If I get what I want, with no problems, I send Ms. Ohangangian to you unharmed. If I don't, she dies."
"Okay," Cruz said, "how do you want to do this?"
"Send an escort down to meet Ms. Ohangangian in the lobby and bring her to the seventh floor. Hand her the notebook and then escort her down to the lobby. A cab will be waiting for her in the parking lot. If the cab is followed, she dies. You have one minute." Vakhrusheva hung up the phone quickly and immediately called Adele's cell phone.
Cruz looked at Gonzales. Gonzales said, "It's a trick. Don't bring her up. It's a trick."
Sharky's heart was beating in his chest.
"I have already dispatched a guard to the lobby to bring her up." Smith crackled.
"You have to think this through, Smith. She's going to be wired to a bomb. I'm telling you. I know how this works."
"So the only chance we have of saving her life is to bring her up. If we don't do it now she dies." Smith broadcast.
"The notebook is worthless Smith. These men are not stupid. They wouldn't give up their bargaining chip for a book we could have already altered. This is a trick."
"I will not watch her die while it is in my power to prevent, Mr. Gonzales. I am still only human." Smith barely finished speaking as the elevator door opened on the seventh floor and Adele stepped out.
"Mom!" Sharky yelled as he ran to her and kissed her cheeks.
"Sako." She replied sadly opening her coat to reveal the bomb strapped to her waist.
Gonzales addressed Smith by looking at his camera. "Being human is a liability in this game, Smith. Even in chess occasionally a piece must be sacrificed to save the king."
"And who is the king, Mr. Gonzales?"
"Would you like me to tell you what their next move is?" Gonzales asked, matter of factly.
Smith's camera panned to and focused on Dr. Bayron who, again, was staring at the floor between his feet and Gonzales nodded his head recognizing that Smith had already figured it out.
When Hermelinda saw Bayron looking at the floor her first thought was that he hadn't taken his meds yet. She looked at Cruz hoping that would help her to understand why the attention in the room had suddenly turned to Dr. Bayron. Cruz caught her gaze and squeezed his lips together and slowly shook his head. She still didn't know what was going on, but she knew it was not good.
Alice's phone rang again. "Thank you, gentlemen." Vakhrusheva said. "Now, let's speak honestly with one another. At this point, what assurance can you give me that you haven't altered that little black notebook?"
"We're not idiots, Vakhrusheva," Gonzales responded. "What do you want?"
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. "Marco Gonzales?" Vakhrusheva asked rhetorically. He recognized the voice though years had passed since he last heard it. "The great Marco Gonzales, cornered like a rat? I should detonate this bomb right now."
"You know that would be my preference. If you do that, my mission will have been successful and yours would be over."
"Of course the mission comes first, Mr. Gonzales. I am not an amateur. But you will forgive me if I relish this moment. In memory of my brother, you understand." Vakhrusheva said. "Now, down to brass tacks. You will send Dr. Bayron. Oh, and in case the good doctor decides to be a hero, lets have you send the girl too. I believe her name is Hermelinda. She is very pretty. There will be a taxi out in front of the building in exactly two minutes. They get in, and as soon as I am confident that they have not been followed and there are no homing devices. I give you the code to disarm the bomb. How does that sound, gentlemen? You have two minutes."
Vakhrusheva hung up immediately after speaking.
Bayron stood up silently and walked to the elevator. "What are you doing!?" Smith bellowed from his speaker.
"I'm going," Bayron said.
Hermelinda ran to his side, "I'm going too," she said resolutely.
"No!" Smith said as loud as he could. "I won't permit it. I will give them the codes. You can't go. Who knows what they will do!"
"Let them go," Gonzales said.
"I forbid you!" Smith screamed at top volume.
But it was too late. The elevator door had already shut behind Bayron and Hermelinda.
Down in the parking lot, a yellow taxi cab pulled up in front of the entrance to the SmithCorp Building. On Gonzales' instruction, Julian had been parked in the parking lot and had been on the lookout for a taxicab. He got out of his car and took a cigarette out of its pack. He placed the cigarette between his lips and approached the taxicab. He tapped gently on the glass with his knuckle. The driver rolled down the window just a little. "Hey, buddy, you got a light?" Julian asked.
The cabbie rolled down the window a little more and handed Julian a lighter. Julian lit the cigarette and took a long drag. "Where you heading?" Julian asked.
"I don't know," the cabbie said. "I just got the call for a pickup."
"Well drive safely out there, and thanks for the light," Julian said as he walked towards the front door of SmithCorp, passing Dr. Bayron and Hermelinda on the way. He gave them a little wink as he passed.
Julian was immediately escorted to the seventh floor. Gonzales nodded at him and Julian reported, "Capital Cab. Christopher Plotkin. Verizon phone, looked like an old fashioned Motorola Razr. I think he had a insulin kit. License photo matched his face. Log book was ragged and the meter was running."
"Ok, he's a dupe. Cruz?" Gonzales said.
"I'm on it boss. The boys said that's probably enough information for them to get me a number. But it might take a minute or two.
"
"We'll already have missed the call by then." Smith observed.
"He'll also have to call his dispatcher though." Gonzales said. "We still have a chance."
Smith turned his camera to Sharky, "Kid, take your mother to the infirmary, get her finger fixed and call the bomb squad," he said. Sharky looked from face to face in the room. He was unsure whom he was supposed to take orders from. Smith didn't give him a chance to decide. His voice boomed from the speaker louder than it ever had before. "NOW! And message me when you get there," he bellowed. Sharky led his mother to elevator and was gone, leaving only Gonzales and Cruz in Smith's office with the eerie disembodied voice of Elijah Smith.
"Okay, we got it," Cruz interrupted. "There's no communication on the line right now. They're listening in and will patch it through when they hear noise."
"Can they geolocate?"
"South on 7. Approaching the Latham Circle."
Smith's monitor lit up. He remembered there was a traffic camera at the Latham Circle and he was able to bring the camera up on his screen. They caught a view of the cab as it went one quarter of the way around the traffic circle.
"They're heading for the mall." Cruz observed.
Smith patched into the security cameras at the Latham Circle mall. They were able to see the cab pull up to the mall's east entrance. Bayron and Hermelinda went into the mall together.
"There's no camera in the hallway," Smith reported.
"They're gone," Gonzales said, conjuring his conclusion from a lifetime of fieldwork. He knew how to smuggle humans in and out of countries and he knew how to get them off of the radar. Vakhrusheva knew all of the same tricks. They were straight out of the cold war playbook, and the reason they were in the playbook was because they worked. There would be no way to cover all of the entrances to a mall before they would be snuck out into a waiting vehicle.
"Send a team to the mall." Smith ordered.
"They're gone Smith. There's no time. We'll use transportation control: airports, bus stations. They're off the radar, but its not over."
