“Remember, young man, you start the game with all of your pieces. An infinite number of possibilities await your decision, await the revision of a thousand decisions. But at the end of the day, and at the end of the game, it all comes down to this.” He gestured absently with an arthritic hand.
“I don’t understand,” Kennedy had said.
The man nodded at him solemnly. “But one day you will.” He placed his finger on a bishop and slid it down the length of the board. “Check...”
Kennedy studied the barren board.
“...and mate in two.”
Kennedy sullenly flicked over his king and glanced up at his father, who gave a gentle shake of his head. Kennedy remembered his manners and thanked the old man for the game.
“The pleasure was mine,” the man had said. “You show promise. Perhaps, next time, victory shall be yours.”
There had never been a next time. Although he’d visited the park several more times that winter, Kennedy never saw the elderly man again. Soon afterwards, his grandfather had travelled to the German Mideast on family business. When he failed to return following the Sinai Crisis, the rest of the family had returned to the South for good.
Thirty years, Dad. It’s been thirty years.
Kennedy thrust his hands into his coat pockets and walked up to the chess players. He stayed to watch a few games. Standard openings gave way to combinations that varied from the familiar to the bizarre. Slashing attacks and fierce sorties triumphed in sudden raids or ended in futile sacrifice. The boards emptied. Robbed of vicious queens and unpredictable knights and surrounded by a lean detail of pawns, the kings moved ponderously and grandly across desolate battlefields.
He sauntered from table to table, looking for some portent to guide his way.
An infinite number of possibilities.
He left the park by the corner entrance and wandered a block over to Sixth Avenue, then turned downtown. The late morning traffic was swarming downtown in tides that broke at each traffic light, swelling and reforming to thunder down to the next intersection. He found a phone booth outside a tavern on Bleecker and punched in a number. He triggered the stopwatch on his Einstein and said, “Director Webster, please.”
“Identification?”
“201166; watchword, Pendragon.”
“Confirmed. One minute, sir. You’re calling unsecured—I’ll put you through the scrambler.”
There was a dial tone, the click of a recording device, and then, “Well, well, well. Speak of the devil. Good afternoon, Joseph.”
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“How’s the weather treating you up there? I find that New York is always lovely in April.”
“The weather’s fine, sir,” Kennedy replied, cursing inwardly.
“So you’ve been in touch with our Mr Lightholler? He strikes me as a practical sort of fellow. Granted he sounded a little anxious on the phone tap this morning, but that’s understandable, isn’t it? How did you find him, Joseph? More to the point, why did you go looking for him?”
“The same reason I look for anyone, sir. Information.”
“I’m feeling a little inquisitive myself, so indulge me,” Webster replied. “Why are you in New York trawling for information from the captain of an ocean liner? Are you considering a new occupation for yourself?”
“No, sir. I’m just—”
Webster cut him short. “Well, perhaps you should. The role of delivery boy seems to suit you well, and bearing a letter from the palace at that. And, as you seem fond of saying, you are ‘owed some favours’. But for what services, I wonder?”
Kennedy offered no reply. Clearly Webster was well aware of his earlier conversation with Lightholler. Shine had confirmed that the captain’s phone line wasn’t tapped, but that didn’t account for anyone he might have spoken to after they had left.
Who the hell had Lightholler called in the Admiralty?
He pictured Webster hunched at his long, wide oak desk. Would he be wearing the eye patch or had he taken it off for the call?
“Yes...” Webster stretched the word out painfully. “Let’s see now. Information. Tell me, Joseph, why were you in contact with Captain Lightholler?”
“I thought we’d benefit from his take on the peace talks.” He decided to keep it simple. “Their failure affects our timetable.”
“Since he arrived in New York, Lightholler’s sat with representatives of the Shogun, the Tsar and the Kaiser,” Webster purred. “I suppose you felt esteemed enough to join their ranks.”
Kennedy didn’t bite. “I valued his point of view, sir.”
“Valued it enough to recruit the man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“For my Bureau.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But why do so via British intelligence? If indeed there is such a thing. And while we’re at it, remind me, just when did I authorise this?”
“I approached him via the British in order to secure his full and rapid cooperation. As for your authority, with all due respect, I thought I had a sanction to deputise for the project.”
“Subject to my final approval, you do. And I don’t recall giving you that.”
“That’s why I’m calling in. I wanted to have his answer before bringing you into the picture.”
Webster’s silence was an accusation. Kennedy found he was gripping the handpiece knuckle-white. Drawing a deep breath, he decided to play it through.
“Frankly, I have some questions of my own. I‘m wondering where all this is going. I’m wondering why the Bureau has him under surveillance. Why have you sent another team across the border?”
“All good questions, Joseph,” Webster answered calmly. “What was Lightholler’s answer?”
Kennedy wished he knew.
“He said yes.”
“Did he now. You must be as pleased as punch, Joseph.” Webster said the name like he was sucking on a lemon. “I don’t know what exactly went on in that hotel room, since for some reason our recording equipment malfunctioned during your interview. Given that fact, I want a complete record of your conversation.”
“I’ll send it down today.”
“I want it hand delivered. After all, that seems to be your forte. My office. Tomorrow. 0800 hours.”
“Tomorrow?”
“You planned on flying Lightholler to Dallas on Tuesday. I want you and your crew here in Houston tonight. I’m calling you in for debriefing.”
Kennedy felt swept up in some tide. A current held him back with landfall a hand’s breadth out of reach. He said, “I have a meeting scheduled in Washington tomorrow afternoon. I’ll send Hardas.” He checked his watch. Two and a half minutes gone. In ninety seconds they’d complete the trace.
“You’ll rain check it. If you hadn’t phoned I’d be contacting you myself. I’m calling you in. Project Camelot—and your role in it—are up for reassessment.”
“My role?”
“Your recent activities have attracted more attention than I would have liked. Too much, considering our goals and your name.”
Anger and indignation swelled to replace fear. “My recent activities are project related and as such they are subject only to the President’s scrutiny.”
“Yet here I am, scrutinising you. Up until today President Clancy was unaware of your separate dealings with British royalty and German intelligence—he’s less than pleased. You’ll have the opportunity to explain your position to both of us tomorrow morning, and it had better be good. This isn’t a request, Joseph, this is a chance for you to place all your cards on the table; convince us that our concerns are ... unfounded.”
Sixty seconds left...
“I’ll contact the President myself if need be,” Kennedy said. “I’m up here to finalise the Union targets for Camelot and I’m in the middle of negotiations.”
“My office. 0800 hours, with your report and a detailed list of all Camelot operatives. If everything checks out you’ll be in Washington by tomorrow night.”
Anger, indignation, and now an element of curiosity. Why bring him down, just to send him back? Why send him back, if he was up for reevaluation?
“And it’s come to my attention that the men in your training camps are ready to ship out,” Webster continued. “I want them on ice until we’ve sorted this out.”
Thirty seconds...
“The camps have been mobilised since the centennial voyage, sir. They won’t stand down without a direct order from me.”
“Then give the order, Joseph. Meanwhile, I’ll arrange four tickets for you on a red-eye. Lightholler, Morgan, Hardas and yourself. Call back in an hour. Susan will have the details ready for you by then.”
“Yes, sir,” Kennedy replied.
Ten seconds...
“And, Joseph, have a safe flight.”
Kennedy cut the connection. He let the phone slip from his hand and stared at the tavern, thinking it through. Webster was suspicious alright but that was all. If the director had any inkling of what was really going on, he’d be on a slab by now. It was that simple.
Kennedy’s secret was known to a chosen few. He’d intended Lightholler to be the last. Months had gone into cultivating him as the final member of the team. Weeks still might be required to secure his willing support. Understanding would come later, as it had to the rest of the men.
For the moment, it looked like CBI knew nothing about Red Rock.
Yet he’d counted on weeks to put his plan into action, and now he had days. Perhaps hours. His options were steadily dwindling and this game had barely begun.
He needed to put through a call to Red Rock.
VII
April 21, 2012
Houston, Texas
Patricia Malcolm watched the proceedings with mounting apprehension. Seated towards the back of the room, avoiding the curious gaze of the agents, she fought every urge to run to the door.
Webster knew. He had to know. Why else would she be here?
The director’s office was spartan in its decor. The only illumination spilled from a lamp perched at the edge of his desk, an oval of orange-tinged light. She hoped she wasn’t expected to take notes.
Webster hung up the phone and turned to an agent waiting by the door.
“Did you get a trace?”
“He’s at a pay phone in Greenwich Village; corner of Bleecker and Thompson. The number’s engaged again.”
“Have Close Watch send in a team.”
She had never seen the director up close before now. Never seen him without the eye patch. He turned his gaze to take in the rest of the room. The puckered scar that had once been an eye swept over her. It fixed on the agent he’d been addressing.
“Why are you still here?”
“Director Webster, I thought you needed—”
“Don’t think, Robbins. Do.”
The agent exited the office.
Webster pressed a switch on his intercom. “Susan, in the unlikely event that Assistant Director Kennedy calls back, please arrange four seats on a plane from Idlewild for tonight. Use a Confederate airline, and get them on a direct flight.” He released the switch without waiting for a reply and turned his attention back across the desk. “Agent Williams?”
“Sir,” replied a balding man wearing horn-rimmed glasses.
“Should they board that flight, I want a squad of tactical agents waiting for them at the airport, your best men.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what about Saffel?”
“He’s being brought across this evening.”
“Has he said anything to your men?”
“Not as yet, Director.”
“Perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming once you’ve outlined to him what comes of treason against our fair state.”
Williams’ face contorted. “I’ll make it clear to him, sir.”
Webster favoured him with a smile before shifting his attention to Malcolm. She felt the fear rising within her. It looked like all of Joseph’s contacts were being run to ground. She hadn’t spoken to the bastard for almost two years but she was going to be dragged down with him.
“Miss Malcolm, you’re presently assigned to...” Webster glanced down at a notebook on his desk, “Lab Division.”
“Yes, sir. Evidence Response.” The reply was almost lost in her throat.
“You worked Maritime with Kennedy.”
“Yes, sir. In 2006.”
“You’re the only person I have on active duty who worked with Kennedy prior to his current project. The only one he didn’t take with him, that is.”
He paused, and she waited for the axe to fall.
“I’m shifting you to OPR, effective immediately.”
“OPR?” She could barely contain her surprise.
He ignored her interruption. “You will have full access to data concerning Assistant Director Kennedy, Agent Malcolm. I want you to build a case. I want you to sift through everything there is to know about him, from his shit-heel of a great-grandfather to that joke of an election campaign. I want a list of all his aft liates, including those of colour. I want a list of every contact he has made in the last three months. And I want to know why he has become so interested in the Titanic.”
“Yes, Director.”
Shock mingled with amazement. She’d expected to end the day in a prison cell at best. Instead, she was receiving an unprecedented promotion. The murmurs sweeping the room confirmed that the move had taken all the agents by surprise. She felt every eye upon her.
The Office of Professional Responsibility was the Bureau’s division that investigated any and all allegations of criminal misconduct by CBI employees, from the smallest infraction to outright treason.
What has Joseph gotten himself into?
She was assailed by a mixture of emotions. This transfer meant elevating her to a department that had previously been closed to women. She was going to be the first female agent in the Bureau’s history.
“If he’s truly gone rogue, I want to know who he’s working for—the Germans, the japs, or our Union brothers. I want to know what makes him run.” Webster’s eyes flicked away from her as if he’d just completed an unsavoury task. “Agent Cooper?”
“Sir,” the man seated next to Malcolm replied. He’d been gazing at her disapprovingly.
“Right now Kennedy is somewhere in Greenwich Village. The last Close Watch has on him are the transcripts we lifted from MI5.” Webster tapped his pencil against the ornate base of the lamp. “Coordinate with Robbins. Your boys are in charge now. I want a tail on him ASAP. If he doesn’t go to Idlewild, I want to know where he is and where he goes at all times. I want to know who he talks to and what he says. If he defecates, I want to know what he’s had for lunch.”
“Do you want me to split teams or transfer Close Watch to Kennedy?”
“Our observation of Lightholler has been compromised,” Webster said pointedly. “Use your own men. I suspect that one will almost certainly lead to the other.”
Cooper smiled.
“This is a dry operation, Agent Cooper,” Webster continued.
“Of course, sir, it’s just that my department ain’t exactly known for its surveillance.” Cooper sounded mildly disappointed.
“I know what Wetworks does, Agent Cooper. You’ll get the chance to do what you do best.”
“Yes, sir.”
“On my sanction.”
“Yes, sir.”
Malcolm squirmed in her seat, unconsciously shifting away from the man. There was a whispered exchange among the agents behind her that she didn’t catch. She wondered why the director had asked her to build a case, when the verdict appeared all but decided.
“As for you, Agents Reid, Carter.”
She heard the two men behind her shift in their chairs.
“I’ll give you the precise location of Alpha and Bravo camps. Kennedy says they’re mobilised. That could mean anything. Take four squads each. I want all of his senior staff replaced with our men. You’ll b
e given a list of all the veteran officers who’ve served under his command. They’re to be culled from the ranks. I want the rest left unarmed. Arrest them, ship them to New Mexico, I don’t care. I just want them under wraps. The last thing we need is Kennedy’s private army running wild.”
“Do you really think that’ll happen, sir?” Carter ventured. It was clear from his tone that by the end of the sentence he was sorry he’d asked it.
“Agent Carter, I’ve no idea what sort of stunt the major has up his sleeve.” Webster’s good eye bore down on the man mercilessly. “But while a man can scarcely carve out an empire for himself with four thousand men, he can certainly bring one down. I appreciate that all of you have had to assimilate a great deal in a small space of time. Up until this meeting, most of you had never even heard of Camelot. By the time this whole thing is over, you’ll likely wish you’d remained ignorant.
“For the past three years we’ve trained men at two facilities: one in Nevada, the other in Louisiana,” he continued. “At a designated time, and coincident with a number of other planned events, these men will cross the northern border. They’re highly skilled in sabotage, demolition, force multiplication, insurgency and a number of other unpleasantries. In no way can they be linked with our government. Their targets include major Japanese industrial centres in the Union and the Demilitarised Zone. Their aim is to bring about the paced destruction of key facilities. This will precipitate a buildup of Japanese soldiers in the North. Timed correctly— shall we say at a time when Japanese soldiers are needed elsewhere—it will lead to a substantial consumption of manpower.
“Agents of the CBI and Union intelligence have been placed in military and judicial posts throughout the North and South. Both the Confederate and Union provisional governments will respond to the disturbance with a declaration of martial law. The Union will mobilise, and offer assistance to the japs. We’ll mass our troops on the border in friendly support during this time of crisis.”
Webster rose from his seat and placed both hands wide on the desk.
“They can keep Alaska, and good luck to them, but finding themselves outnumbered and outgunned, thousands of miles from home, a firm diplomatic shove will push them out of New York and back onto the West Coast, and they’ll thank us for it.”
The Company of the Dead Page 9
