by Nick Thacker
Jenkins gulped.
“Are you ready?”
Jenkins forced a nod.
“Great. Morrison?”
Morrison and the two other men stepped forward and began fastening Jenkins’ arms to the chair using zip ties.
“Sir, please —”
Morrison slugged Jenkins across the chin.
“Knock it off, Morrison. There will be plenty of time for that.”
“He was mouthing off, sir.”
“And you know how I treat people who mouth off, right?”
Morrison nodded. To his amusement, The Hawk noticed that Jenkins nodded as well.
“So because I don’t appreciate people who mouth off, I’m going to allow you to interrogate Jenkins.”
Morrison grinned, a sinister expression that involved his crooked nose bouncing up and down on his face, while his eyes sat unmoving in their hollowed-out chasms, dark and empty.
Jenkins swallowed again. The two other men stepped back and one of them returned to Velacruz’ side. Around the room, other men looked up from their stations and began watching the scene unfold in the center of the gym floor.
The Hawk backed up, motioning for Morrison to take his place. Morrison’s grin grew, and he stepped up to the spot just in front of Jenkins’ chair, right next to where Velacruz was standing with his guard. Morrison cracked his neck, then his hands, then his back. The Hawk watched, knowing Morrison was going to enjoy this. Unfortunately Morrison was a simple man, needing nothing more than some entertainment — of the macabre variety as well as the sexual — and food and board to be happy. The Hawk reflected on his own habits, and silently praised the fact that he had all but removed the desires of common men and requisite emotions that plagued them from his life. He was still human, but he was as close to a perfect specimen as he’d ever seen.
Morrison licked his lips then began barking orders. “Bring the drug over here, Rogers. Richardson, get me the fans and set them up next to him.”
Both men, from opposite sides of the massive room, sprang into action. A third man, Ashleigh, joined Emerson and helped with the large box fans. They ran to the wall, checking that their respective fans were still plugged in, then jogged to the center of the room and set them up around Jenkins’ chair, angling them so their blast pointed upward, toward the ceiling of the gymnasium.
“Do we need the fans, sir?” Morrison asked. “The serum is probably a more —”
“The serum is fine, but it is expensive. We only have a few vials left from the prototyping lab. We’ll use the traditional method.”
“Of course, sir.” Morrison turned back to the center of the room and helped the men set up the fans around Jenkins.
It was crude, using the ‘traditional’ method, but what The Hawk had said was true: there was not enough of the prototyped liquid version of the drug to be used on something so trivial as punishment. The traditional method would bring out a lesser reaction, but it would have far stronger side effects.
Another reason he’d opted for the traditional method.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JULIE WASN’T SURE IF SHE was more impressed with the hotel or with Ben’s face as they walked through the lobby. The Rittenhouse, Philadelphia’s premier accommodations, was absolutely immaculate. Rich, boutique, and flourished but not garish, Julie was in awe of the luscious space. She gazed longingly at the massive ferns that poked at the ceiling, rising out of huge concrete pillars that started on the floor and ended in bulbous pots. An older couple dined just beneath one of the pots, at a table that seemed to have been smelted from a single block of gold, in large high-back armchairs that would have been equally at home in the living room of a queen.
Just beyond the tables and plants was a wall of floor-to-ceiling arched doorways, their glass doors revealing a picturesque dining patio and garden just beyond. More guests talked and laughed as they ate and drank, many of them holding and swirling wineglasses.
“This is nice,” she whispered.
Ben nodded, eyes wide.
“It might be even nicer than The Broadmoor,” she added.
He nodded again.
They’d stayed a couple nights at the Colorado Springs hotel and resort a few months ago, before and after their trip to Antarctica. It was the first time they’d met as a team, complete with Mr. E talking to them through a television feed in one of the hotel’s great ballrooms.
“It’s an historic hotel,” Reggie said. “I’ve never been here, but I’ve always wanted to. It’s fantastic — look at that!”
Julie followed the man’s pointing finger the other direction, toward the entrance to a bar. The bar was also perfectly appointed, designed to match the decor and tone of the rest of the hotel, without distracting attention away from the beauty of the place.
“That’s a beautiful sight,” Ben said. “You buying?”
“First one’s on me,” Derrick said. “Then you’re on your own. My per diem is enough to get me a cheeseburger at dinner most of the time.”
Reggie laughed, then turned to Joshua. “I’m not sure we discussed per diem for our team, did we boss?”
“Drinks are on you,” Joshua said, his characteristically dry voice not conceding to the joke. “And keep it reasonable. We’re on the clock.”
Reggie grinned again and pulled Ben over to the bar. “We’ll bring it up to your room,” he called out over his shoulder.
After the two men left, Julie looked again at Derrick. “Why three rooms?” she asked. “You’re by yourself, right?”
Derrick nodded. “We always buy up a block of three rooms. I stay in the middle one, the other two are open.”
“For safety?”
“Something like that. Used to set up surveillance crews in at least one of them, but that’s a long-gone tradition. Still, it’s nice in case I need to beef up the team last minute. And it’s not so bad to never have any screaming kids or crying babies next to me.”
Joshua and Julie nodded back at him. “Works for us,” Joshua said.
“Good. We won’t be staying long anyway, since we’re just here to chat and figure out how we might be able to help each other. But the offer’s open if you need a place to crash when this is all over. I can swing three nights after the mission’s officially ‘closed.’”
“Wow,” Julie said. “I didn’t realize the Bureau was so flush with cash.”
“It’s not,” he said. “That’s why I’m here alone.”
Derrick was clearly done discussing it, and he turned and started toward the elevator. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ben and Reggie walking over, a glass each in their hands.
She slowed and waited for them to catch up. Joshua was holding the elevator open, and Derrick had already stepped inside.
On Derrick’s floor they all waited for the large man to maneuver out of the back of the elevator car and out toward his room. He walked purposefully toward the other end of the hallway, then stopped outside one of the rooms.
“This is me. I’ve got keys for the other rooms inside, if we decide to stay the night.”
“I thought you said we wouldn’t be here that long?” Julie asked.
“Well, as I was thinking about it more, I figured we’d want to watch the broadcast tomorrow morning,” he answered, “and I realized I can just call in a favor and have her information tracked, so if she gets on a plane tomorrow we’ll know about it. Besides, we’re not going to surprise her by showing up on set. She’ll have thought about that already and will have a plan in place, so our best bet is to lay low until we know where she’s headed, then move in on her after we’ve made a plan.”
No one argued, so Derrick unlocked the room and swung the door open.
Julie stepped inside and for the second time in an hour gasped aloud. The room was every bit as nice as the rooms at The Broadmoor, but these were even more spacious.
A full-sized couch sat in front of a huge flat-screen television, and two of the same high-back armchairs sat across from ea
ch other, forming with the couch three sides of a square around a small, long coffee table.
She walked through the main entranceway and saw a massive bathroom on her left and a sitting room on her right. A wall-sized mirror above the counter in the sitting room gave the impression that the room was even larger than it appeared. A walk-in closet had a folding door open, and she could see Derrick’s suitcase and three pairs of shoes neatly placed inside.
Around the corner in the main room was the bed — an oak behemoth that rose four feet off the floor and was mounded with pillows of all shapes and sizes.
“I’m not married,” Derrick said, “and I believe that’s partly because I’ve heard women like these throw pillows. Drives me nuts. I wouldn't be able to handle it.”
Reggie laughed, then fell into the couch with his drink.
Julie noticed that Ben’s drink — whiskey, with an ice cube in it — was more than halfway gone already.
“You folks hungry?” Derrick asked. “Room service here is fantastic, and the menu’s about as thick as my wrist.”
He pointed to the end table near Reggie, and Reggie scooped up the book and started flipping through it.
“Let’s order some food — my treat — and then we can talk a bit more about Daris, and her involvement in the APS.”
Chapter TWENTY-NINE
THE PILE OF FOOD THAT sat on Ben’s plate — or plates — was far larger than he’d expected. He hadn’t had a lot of experience with room service in fancy hotels, but what little he did had led him to believe that ordering from that menu meant he’d get a little food but a big bill.
Since there wouldn't be a bill that he’d have to pay, he went all out, rationalizing that it wasn’t Derrick, after all, who’d have to pay for it, but the US government.
Actually I’m paying for it, he thought. My tax dollars at work.
He had ordered a steak, medium-rare, and a fully loaded baked potato. Assuming the steak would be one of those 7-oz. value options added to the menu solely to make people feel like they’d gotten the ‘elegant dining’ experience, he’d decided to also order a lobster tail and a side of fries.
The steak, however, was easily a 16-oz. hunk of meat. It was perfectly cooked, with a juicy, warm interior and a thin but delicious brown crust around it. The fries took up their own plate, and the lobster and baked potato another.
The others stared at him with the same faces they’d worn when he’d ordered the food.
“What?” he asked, innocently. “I told you I was hungry. I figured we could share the fries.”
Julie laughed. “You guys go ahead — see what happens when you try to grab one of his fries.”
Ben frowned at her but cut another bite of steak and shoved it into his mouth.
Derrick stood up in front of them, between the coffee table and television.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re here, we’re eating, we know each other. Now let’s talk about how we might go about finding this woman. We know she’ll be in New York tomorrow, but after that? No idea.”
“Well the first question to ask is, ‘what does she want?’” Joshua said. “I got the strong feeling she wanted to kill us all earlier today, as soon as you crashed in and her ruse was up. But she fled, so I’m assuming that was just because she couldn’t think of anything better to do, and she wasn’t looking for a firefight.”
“Right,” Derrick said. “She didn’t want to kill you until she realized she’d lost control of the situation. She’s going to be able to regroup now, though, since she’ll have time between now and tomorrow morning’s appearance, and presumably after that on the plane to wherever she’s going.”
“Okay,” Julie said. “That makes sense, but I’m still a little shaky on the details relating her to the APS. Is she a member? Or was she just using their building?”
Derrick started pacing. “No, actually. Her involvement with the APS goes much deeper than just membership. She’s a legacy — someone whose parents or grandparents were in the club. In her case, both. She comes from a long line of APS members.”
“So she’s grown up in it,” Reggie said.
“Yes, but when she reached adulthood she wanted more than just membership — she wanted to run it.”
“Like, president or something?”
“Exactly like president. For the past eight years, Daris has been the president of the American Philosophical Society.”
“Wow,” Ben said. “Sounds like a pretty prestigious job.”
Reggie grinned, but Julie and Joshua remained stoic.
“Actually, it is,” Derrick said. “Akin to leading something like the Masons — most of what they do is secret, out of the public’s eye, and they’ve got plenty of members in high places.”
“Like the guy who ratted her out to Mr. E., our benefactor.”
“Right. Military, comes from a rich family, a leader in his own right.”
“And he’s a member of the APS? This ‘secret’ version of the APS?” Julie asked.
Derrick nodded. “Just like plenty of other military brats, some even higher-ranking than him. And Daris is the president over all of them.”
“What does that mean, though?” Joshua asked. “Even if they are like the Masons, what does the group actually do? Besides do secret chants and weird rituals?”
“Well, historically nothing,” Derrick replied. “As you already know, they were founded based on Ben Franklin’s original idea of a ‘group for the advancement of intelligent thought,’ so it was supposed to be more of a safe place for conceptual discourse than a group of action.
“But there was a schism shortly after it became the American Philosophical Society, and the members found themselves split, either on one side or the other.”
“A split in beliefs?”
“Yes, sort of. A split about what the group was supposed to be, and what it was supposed to do. Members who believed in the ‘old way,’ the ‘Franklinites,’ wanted nothing more than a place where they could share and discuss new ideas and old wisdom.
“But the ‘new way’ crowd wanted more — they wanted to discover new things by doing things. They felt called to action, to actually take part in the new nation’s political system, actively and openly.”
“So they didn’t agree,” Reggie said. “Sounds like modern politics.”
“Well, sure,” Derrick said. “But remember, these guys have always had a ‘closed door’ policy. Everything they’d ever discussed was meant for their ears only. That means there were secrets — just like with Freemasons — that the APS charged itself with protecting.”
Reggie stood up, putting down his food to start pacing as well. “Ah, I see. So ‘old way’-ers wanted to keep the secrets, but the ‘new way’-ers wanted to reveal it all. Scandals and skeletons.”
“Exactly,” Derrick said. “There were — are — things the APS wants to keep to itself, like the fact that this journal of Lewis’ was something he’d written. But the other faction wanted to release it to the public, to let them know what it said.”
Ben sat for another moment, thinking hard. His steak was nearly finished and the lobster and baked potato were already gone, but he hadn’t even begun on the fries. He reached for a few of them, smashed them into some ketchup, and held them up to his mouth.
“Wait,” he said, just before he’d taken a bite. “That means Daris is on one side of this, and the guy who told Mr. E is on the other. But she didn’t know that, right? Or else she would never have told him.”
Derrick nodded. “Yes, that is my interpretation of the situation as well. There are some who keep their leanings private, just like in the political sphere. This man must have been more of an old-school guy, but Daris guessed he was safely on her side.”
“And why all the fuss with these ‘sides,’ anyway?” Ben asked. “Who cares? It’s not like they’re threatening national security or anything.”
Derrick cocked an eyebrow.
“Wait — really? They are a threat? How is th
at even possible? Aren’t there only a few members in the organization?”
“There are a handful of governing members, just as Franklin and his Junto designed it, but ever since the split between ideals, each side has been heavily recruiting.”
“So… like a hundred people?” Reggie asked.
“Thousands,” Derrick answered. “Many of them from the branches of the armed forces. Young grunts, but also — like I said — some higher-level career types.”
“The military is involved in a secret organization?”
“Don’t be naive,” Derrick said. “The military is its own fraternity, but in some ways the military hasn’t been around as long as the Junto and the APS. Some of the folks in the military might have wanted something a little different than the flavor of ‘faternity’ the military provided, and the APS may have offered that.”
“But then why haven’t we heard of it?” Joshua asked.
“You’re not looking for it. You’ve heard of the Masons because they get all the press. All the books written about them. All the fiction and movies that come out that need a scapegoat or a secret organization that’s pulling strings behind the scenes — Masons get that reputation. But there hasn’t ever been a need for another group, so the media ignores the APS. But go to a library, or start Googling, and there’s plenty of information right there.”
“Hmm,” Julie said. “Makes sense. So there’s a split between these two factions, and each side has been building its ranks, trying to get people who believe in their side of it all. But what are they arguing about, specifically? What’s Daris trying to prove?”
Derrick eyed Ben for a long moment, and Ben wondered if he’d somehow missed a question directed at him. Finally, Derrick started toward the table and stopped, then answered.
“That’s what she’s talking about tomorrow on Good Morning America. Why don’t we all try to relax a bit more, get some sleep, and then watch it here tomorrow morning?”
Chapter THIRTY
JENKINS GROANED. THE HAWK WATCHED. Morrison smiled.
