Storm Unleashed (Quantum Touch Book 4)

by Michael R. Stern

  The president said, “Eric, come inside with us.” He went through much the same routine he had with David.

  “I need to get the president of the United Arab Emirates now and take him to London. Would you like to watch?”

  “Yes … Sir.” Like a protective net, soft laughs surrounded him.

  “When I'm done, perhaps we can talk more. Can you stick around?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fritz, let's go.” The president checked his watch. “We're late.”

  Colonel Mitchell handed Fritz two sheets of paper. “Eric, come with us. Mr. President, where are you meeting him?” The president tapped the spot. “Eric, there's a connection between the desk and the door. When I put a paperclip on a map or floor plan or picture, we can go there. Okay, let's try it.”

  “Mr. R…”

  “Later, Eric.”

  Fritz opened the door to a well-appointed room. The Sheikh was surprised at the sudden appearance, but not frightened. He strode straight to the hallway. “Mr. President, this looks different.” He looked at the people surrounding him. “I recognize some faces.”

  “Mr. President, you won't be returning here,” said the president. “You will fly from London with Mr. Massoud after we talk to him. We will discuss the plan further when you arrive at home. Shall we go?”

  Fritz had set a new floor plan for a hotel in London and opened the door. Sitting in an armchair, reading a newspaper, Massoud was reaching for his phone when two pistols were aimed at his face.

  “What is the meaning of this, Mr. President?” he said to his leader.

  * * *

  THE PRESIDENT, MEL and Colonel Mitchell returned to the hallway. The president's tight lips and clenched jaw suggested that things hadn't gone well. Indeed, Massoud had been silent.

  “Mr. Massoud knows,” said the president. “Maybe when he realizes what's in store, he'll be more loquacious. They will be home by morning, their time, and he will be tried by their courts.”

  The crowd in the hallway increased when Al, Liz, and Tom joined them. “Hello, Mr. President, nice to see you again,” said Al, who then realized Eric was there.

  “I'm not as well as I'd like, Mr. Kennedy. Thank you again, all of you. Eric and I have had a conversation, one that you and I also had. I'll be out of here in five minutes. The Sheikh agreed to hold him in confinement until we talk again. The British SAS agents are going to escort him back to Abu Dhabi. He had a phone stuffed in his sock, so now we have phone numbers to trace. Jane, here are the numbers. I'll give the phones to NSA. Maybe they'll find something.” With a grin, he said, “Sorry again, Ashley. No sneakers.”

  “You're afraid I'll win. I get it.”

  “Sounds to me like a double-dare,” the president answered. “The stakes are going up. It's been a pleasure to meet you, Eric. Mr. Russell has told me you're one of his best students. And he said I can be sure of your discretion.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. You can. But I'd sure like to visit the White House. Could I?”

  “Maybe we can work something out later in the year. And again, thank you all.” Fritz opened the door, and he was gone.

  * * *

  THE SHEIKH called the president. Massoud's trial would take place by noon. The president had alerted news teams to be in Abu Dhabi by late afternoon the next day.

  “Mr. President,” said the president, “this is what I would like you to do.” The president gave exact instructions and explained his next steps. “Please record anything he says and give that recording to our ambassador. I'll speak to you when it's done and see you shortly after. Thank you for your cooperation.”

  * * *

  ABU DHABI HAD PROVIDED a perfect launch pad for Ibrahim Massoud's career. A city of massive skyscrapers and resplendent parks jutting into the Persian Gulf, its oil and natural gas resources provided a vibrant and wealthy international setting. Born to an oil fortune, Massoud expanded the family business to include banking, construction, insurance, and sundry small businesses that supported his primary investments. His sideline was brokering weapons. An entrepreneur and successful risk-taker, he was regularly invited to participate in organizations around the globe and became a close advisor to his own government.

  From the top of one of the many towers in the city's skyscape, the vast desert sparkled in hues of pink. The gulf reflected the dying light. Lower down, lights flicked on as evening shadows climbed the buildings. Earlier in the day, he had been tried and found guilty of supporting international terrorism, which he had angrily denied.

  Now, at the top of his world, he faced execution. His options were explained to him by the sheikh. Either provide the names of the conspirators or face a firing squad.

  “You must tell me,” said the sheikh. “Are these people worth your life?”

  Massoud, hands secured behind him, was turned to face the edge of the building, an eighty-story-high tower. “If I tell you, what will happen?”

  “The world will be safer. These reporters will announce the names to the world. You have denied participation, and I believe you. But you will be imprisoned until such time as the fuss can be contained.” The sheikh motioned, and a black sack was placed over the prisoner's head. He was turned around a number of times, and two soldiers escorted him to the edge of the building.

  * * *

  FRITZ AND Linda, Ashley and Jane stared at the scene, a tall building glowing in the sunset. The news anchor was saying the man was a convicted terrorist, but the cameras had only a long-distance view.

  * * *

  THE SHEIKH had his soldiers clear the reporters from the roof. “Massoud, you must tell me, or I can do nothing to prevent what awaits you.” The clack of rifles being cocked filled the gentle desert evening.

  “Your highness, I beg you. Let us sit and discuss this as the old friends we are. I will tell you all I know, which is truly very little.” With his right hand, the sheikh motioned to a soldier, with a quick wave of his fingers, to push.

  “Massoud, the world now thinks you are dead. A mannequin dressed like you has just been pushed off the roof. To the public, you are no more. Now tell me.”

  “The only name I can give you is the financial backer, who controls private banks and has investments in farming communities from Canada to Texas. His name is Atkinson, Marvin Atkinson. He lives in South Dakota.”

  “That is good, Massoud. The President of the United States has threatened to tie up our international trade and banking. Thank you, my friend. Now, let's get down from here.” The sheikh told the guards to turn Massoud around and free his hands.

  * * *

  “OH MY GOD, ANOTHER one,” said Linda. In the failing light, the camera followed the descent.

  “He looks like he's swimming,” said Ashley.

  The camera angle was blocked by a high-walled courtyard where the falling man would land.

  “I've seen that before,” said Fritz, softly. “When we witnessed the Triangle fire, we stood across the street as the girls jumped. I'm glad the camera can't see it.

  * * *

  “THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED to happen,” said the president. His office was full of those who needed to know. “I told him to toss the dummy so people would think he'd carried out the execution, and then we would take him. I don't believe this. I want to speak to the sheikh. I'll give him a few minutes.” Pointing to the televisions, he said, “And turn those things off.”

  * * *

  “HE JUMPED, Mr. President. I'm sorry. I know you want the recording. It has been dispatched to your embassy. He gave me a name. Would you like it?”

  “I would, Mr. President. I cannot tell you how disappointing it is that we are now unable to find out more.”

  “Perhaps the recording will provide what you need.”

  “What was the name he gave you?”

  “He said the man was a banker in your South Dakota, Marvin Atkinson. Again, please accept my apologies, Mr. President. As you know, so many things are beyond the control of those of u
s who govern.” The smile on the sheikh's face did not travel through the phone. Lying to the President of the United States distressed him not an iota. “I'm sure we will speak again soon.” On his desk sat the blindfold he had had removed just before Massoud was pushed.

  * * *

  “HELLO, MR. PRESIDENT,” said Jane.

  “I'm sorry you saw that. Tell the others. The first one down was a mannequin. That way we could question Massoud while everyone thought he was dead. The sheikh told me he jumped.”

  “Did he give you any names?” She walked to the dining room table.

  “Marvin Atkinson, a banker.”

  “We have an MA on the lists. What are you going to do?”

  “The FBI is already on the way.”

  “Are you bringing him to Washington, sir? I think you should.”

  “He'll be here by morning. Hold on, Jane.” The president took another call. “Sorry, Jane. Ambassador Carnegie will return from Abu Dhabi by morning. I think you should be here. Tonight if you can use the portal.”

  “Sorry, but he wants me at the White House tonight.” Another breaking news bulletin flashed on the TV screen. “Mr. President, check out MSNBC.” A reporter from Sioux Falls, South Dakota yelled into her microphone that Marvin Atkinson, a well-known local banker was being arrested by the FBI as she was speaking. The camera zoomed to the front door of a large house in the background.

  “Fritz, he's going to call back. If I'm right, someone has already been sent to kill Atkinson.”

  Ashley said, “Remember our chess game. When we use the portal, we screw up their plans. Blindfold him and bring him here.”

  * * *

  “RIGHT NOW, he's at the jail in Sioux Falls,” the president said. “He's a prominent citizen, so the police are being fairly lax.”

  Jane said, “Mr. President, we have to get him here. Remember Caitlin Morgan. Hold on, Fritz wants to talk to you.”

  “Mr. President, the meeting room is still set up. If you bring him here, you'll have no interference until the morning.”

  “I don't want to use the portal with all the people around.”

  “How about the FBI guys start driving him around until we can figure out what to do? It's South Dakota. I'm sure we can find some open space.” Jane reached for the phone.

  “Mr. President, there's an airport in Sioux Falls. We can set up the portal in twenty minutes. Tell the FBI to leave now, just drive around and meet us in half an hour. Sir, I have a feeling about this. He's too big a fish to let off the hook.”

  “Jane, call me when the portal is set. Tony and the colonel are already on the way.”

  * * *

  “HOW QUICKLY CAN you get to Sioux Falls, South Dakota?” asked the man. “He's in FBI custody at the police department.”

  “I'll need the private jet. Probably a couple of hours. Maybe longer.”

  “You have the lawyer credential still?”

  “Yes. What do you want me to do with him?”

  “The middle of that lake in Yankton will be fine.”

  * * *

  THE PRESIDENT was sitting at the head of the table. Mitchell removed the handcuffs and blindfold. Atkinson, an almost comical visage of bulging eyes and open mouth, stared at the president.

  “You know who I am, Mr. Atkinson. It's late, and I'm a busy man.”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  The president's finger tips brushed his lips, and he took a deep breath. “I'm a lawyer. So you don't need one. Are you aware of what happened in Abu Dhabi tonight?” The man stared at the president. “Your friend Ibrahim Massoud confessed and provided names. You are implicated in the murders of Jonathan Hartmann, Georg Badenhof, Fran Davis and others. We know you provided the financing for North Korean mercenaries to attack and sink American warships, destroy American warplanes, and kill young soldiers and sailors.” The president slammed his hand on the table. “AMERICAN MEN AND WOMEN!”

  “I did not.”

  “Then why did Massoud say it was you?”

  “I have no idea.” The banker lifted his manacled hands to block the verbal blows.

  “Mr. Atkinson, I have a recording of his statements. He said you also financed Eledorian mercenaries to attack a conference in Geneva last fall. I was there. You almost killed me. So add conspiracy to assassinate the president to the list. And I haven't begun to talk about your banking practices and your investment schemes.”

  Atkinson's lips moved, but no sound left his mouth. He rubbed his hands together. “I would like to use the bathroom.”

  “And I would like my ships back. And my soldiers and sailors. Can you trade them? Why don't you start by telling me how you found nuclear warheads. Who sold them to you?”

  “Mr. President, please. I tried to stop it.”

  “Then who was it?” the president whispered.

  “Thomas.”

  The president leaned back. The rest would be easy.

  Chapter 39

  “YOU SHOULD have seen him,” Jane said. “He yelled, he whispered. He broke the guy down. He blamed him for everything that's happened.”

  “Then why did he let him go?” asked Linda.

  “Breaking news in the morning will focus on his fraudulent investments. His customers will tear him apart. And he will stand trial for that.”

  “Do we have the names?”

  “Every law enforcement agency in the world will be looking for the rest of them. What's weird is that no one's ever heard of Thomas Richter. We have some digging to do.”

  Fritz said, “I still don't understand the biggest question. Why?”

  * * *

  TWO HOURS BEFORE sunrise, an annoying buzz woke the man from troubled slumber.

  “Do you know who this is?”

  “I do,” said Thomas Richter.

  “You have about ten minutes. Atkinson talked. You have options. When you decide, let me know.”

  “Thank you.” He had prepared. Two small attaché cases and two packed suitcases sat in a closet. He slipped on his shoes and hurried downstairs. A hidden lever in a wall panel opened a door to a staircase leading below his driveway and onto a landing. He pushed a screw head on what appeared to be a floor drain and opened an entrance into a tunnel.

  Three stories above him, thirty-two men, agents of federal, state, and local authorities surrounded his home. Four men entered, scattering through the first floor. Finding no one, they climbed the wide staircase and began checking the second floor rooms. The house was empty.

  One agent remarked, “He doesn't even have an alarm system. With all this stuff, you'd think he'd worry about burglars.”

  “Have we checked everywhere? Has anyone seen a door to an attic or basement?” another asked.

  “As big as this place is, there has to be one. Turn on the lights.” Thirty men scoured cabinets and closets and looked for indications of another living space.

  * * *

  THE TUNNEL CROSSED under the road and ended in an open field behind the house across the street, a house he owned in another name. Pushing through a turf-covered door, Thomas Richter lifted each suitcase through the opening to the ground below and climbed out. Hidden from view, he stepped through the high grass to the back of the empty house. He dug through a clay planter for the key. As he unlocked the door, an explosion rattled the panes and lit the sky. He strolled to the front window, now illuminated by a fireball, and sat down to watch his house burn. He thanked his grandfather again for teaching him to always have an escape route.

  * * *

  IN HIS OFFICE AWAITING the ambassador, the president watched the morning news and scanned his reports for the day. One screen flashed a burning house. Thirty men had been inside at the time of the explosion. The fire was so intense that no one could enter. “Back to you, Katie.”

  The president muted the TV and picked up his phone. Sam Clemmons entered the office.

  “That fire. Were those our guys?”

  “Yes, sir. Thomas Richter's house. The reports we have so
far say no one could have survived. The blast blew out walls and windows, and the roof collapsed after first lifting off the house. Mr. President, initial reports say no one was home.”

  “Were all the men we sent inside?”

  “No, sir. Two stayed outside just to keep watch. Both are badly injured.”

  “Let me know when you know something.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  * * *

  AT THE END OF the first period the next day, Ashley came in, his worry ruts pronounced. Fritz waited for the story. Jane had told him that Atkinson was dead, shot on his front porch by a sniper. And the man named Richter had blown up his house. “Killed thirty agents and cops.”

  “He's still loose?”

  “They don't know. The house has been on fire, so they haven't been able to check.”

  “We should have expected something like this when he let Atkinson go.”

  * * *

  THE PRESIDENT PACED the empty office, waiting for a report on the fire. He'd already been told that two men from the Caballeros lists were in custody, a third man at large. Another was found dead of an apparently self-inflicted gunshot. Yellow pads covered his desk. Even with the men identified, something was missing. He stopped at his desk and stared at the yellow. The words he read were hollow. They still didn't know why.

  Sam Clemmons walked in, disturbing his distress. He told the president that the fire was out, and the search for bodies had produced most of them. Most of the bodies had been found near what had been the front door. “We'll find out later, sir, but the investigators said the fire worked down from the roof as if the walls had been filled with explosives and flammables. In some parts, it was so hot that glass melted. The front door had an electronic deadbolt.”

  “What about the men in the hospital?”

  “Burns and lacerations, but they'll live.”