“It’s robbery, and you know it.”
Alex knew his old Special Forces commander well enough to be certain Faust would have taken charge of the negotiation if he was in the mobile home. And, after what Faust had said during their dinner at the lodge about his relationship with Pia, he would have her with him wherever he had gone. Back to Lima, most likely.
“You have the money with you?” the American in the mobile home asked. He sounded uneasy.
“It’s here,” the Spanish accent said. “Where’s the merchandise?”
“We brought half, like we agreed. You look ’em over, give us half the cash. When we’re safely out of here . . .”
Alex had heard enough. His next stop was Peru, but first he needed to know what it was Koenig wanted so badly that he would pony up thirty million dollars. Reversing direction, Alex headed for the hole he had made in the mobile home’s aluminum apron.
Back in the hangar, he saw that one of the men by the Escalade was smoking again. Foolhardy or ignorant, the man courted fiery death by lighting up so close to aviation fuel. Pacing around the parked SUV, the smoker stomped his feet and swung his arms to stave off the cold. Both men wore suits and lightweight topcoats.
“What’s keeping ’em?” the smoker said. He must have heard Alex; he squinted at the shadows. “James, that you?”
Alex stepped into the open. “You men warm enough?” Though his rifle pointed toward the hangar’s floor, he clicked off its safety and curled his finger inside the trigger guard.
Both men backed away as Alex approached. They edged closer to the Escalade. “Who’re you?” the smoker asked.
“You gentlemen aren’t nervous, are you?” Alex hoped the dim light made his grimy coveralls and disheveled appearance less obvious. “Your man insists on counting our money, so the boss sent me to check the merchandise.”
“They’re in the back.”
Alex focused his attention on the speaker and remembered the name he had overheard. “You Chuck?”
“I’m Arnie. He’s Chuck.”
“Take them out of the vehicle, Arnie.”
Arnie turned to the SUV, but then twisted back to face Alex. “Where’s James?”
“I told you, he’s counting our money.” Alex larded his voice with irritation. “I was in the middle of a poker game, luck’s been running my way. Let’s get this over with.”
From the Escalade’s rear, Arnie pulled what looked like an aluminum attaché case. He held it against his chest and looked uncertain about what to do next.
“Set it in front of the vehicle,” Alex said. “Turn on the headlights.”
In the glare of the lights, Arnie opened the case and stepped back.
“Turn it so I can see inside.”
“They’re all there.” Arnie turned the case with his foot. “Fifty. Like we promised.”
Tiny, golden cubes rested in neat rows on a black felt liner. They looked like the memory chips inside a personal computer, except that every chip Alex had ever seen had been black. Whatever they were, either Faust or his boss was prepared to pay thirty million for them. Anything they wanted that much was worth taking.
“That’s half,” he said, remembering the conversation in the mobile home. “Where are the others?”
“With a buddy in Utah. He won’t tell anyone, not even one of us, where he hid them ‘til we show up with the cash for these.”
Alex forced a chuckle. “Don’t you trust us?”
“Just being careful.”
“I’m changing the deal.” Alex elevated the business end of his rifle until it pointed at the man’s chest. “I take the case, you get to keep breathing.” He squatted, balancing his rifle with one hand, and reached to scoop up the case with the other.
Arnie tried to kick him. Sweeping his foot sideways, the man bent his body to add force to the kick while maintaining his balance.
To avoid the kick, Alex dropped the case and steadied himself by pressing his free hand on the concrete floor. He brought his rifle to bear on Arnie’s chest once more.
Arnie had stepped closer and poised for another kick. He froze with the rifle barrel almost touching his ribcage. “Don’t shoot.”
“Hands on your head.” A flicker of movement at his side alerted Alex to Chuck’s presence. As the man closed on him, Alex stood and clipped him on the chin with the butt of the rifle.
Chuck collapsed on the hangar floor without making a sound. But Arnie grabbed the rifle barrel and jabbed a fist at Alex’s face.
Alex jerked his head back, dissipating the force of the jab. He twisted the rifle, trying to loosen Arnie’s grasp.
Arnie, both hands on the rifle now, aimed a kick at Alex’s groin. It missed by a hair. Obviously well coordinated, the man was strong. And he knew something about hand-to-hand combat.
Alex let him have the rifle. Pressing close, he snatched his knife from its sheath and jammed the tip of the blade against the spot under the man’s ear where jawbone meets neck. He pushed hard enough to break the skin.
The rifle clattered to the hangar floor. “Okay, man,” Arnie said, breathing hard, his voice higher-pitched than before. “Whatever you want.”
“Stretch out on the floor. Move slowly.” Alex kept the point of his knife hard against Arnie’s neck. A quick glance at Chuck. The man had regained consciousness and sat up on the floor holding his jaw. He showed no interest in more fighting.
Alex backed away, retrieved his rifle, and leveled it. “Chuck, crawl over next to Arnie.” Standing too far away for either man to reach him, Alex squatted again and hefted the aluminum case.
“Both of you, on your feet. Get in the vehicle—front seat. Chuck drives.” Alex slid into the rear seat as the men climbed into the front. He kept the rifle pointed in their direction. “You get us out of here, I promise to let you live. Any more nonsense, you’re both dead.”
They drove without lights until they rounded a curve. When Alex thought it safe to use the headlamps, he warned Chuck not to let the speedometer drop below eighty on the straightaway. They had to get off Variant Corporation turf before the men in the mobile home called ahead for a roadblock.
On a deserted stretch of back road near Grand Junction, Alex switched his muddy coveralls for the clothes of the man nearest his size and drove away, leaving them stranded. He drove to Denver, abandoned the Escalade in the airport parking lot, and caught a shuttle to downtown.
His father met him there in a rental car.
He’s a much better parent than I am a son, Alex thought as they headed west on Interstate 70. The interstate rose rapidly into the Rocky Mountains and afforded a panoramic view of the city, which, with day melding into evening, had become a sea of light. Relaxing on the seat by his father’s side and savoring their renewed intimacy, Alex thanked him again for his help and summarized events since their last meeting.
“I understand how disappointed you must be,” his father said. “If this guy Faust were still in the country and had Freddy’s mother with him, the ski lodge or airport would be the most logical places. What will you do now?”
“My best guess is that they’re back in Lima. That’s my next stop. I figured you’d have Freddy with you.”
“I’ve got someone watching him. And while you were being a real-life Rambo, I’ve done research. Your Maximillian Koenig has become a player in the murky world of high-stakes geopolitics.”
“Yeah? How’s that?” Alex listened intently, hoping some snippet of information would lead him to Faust.
“Several executives in his holding company, Variant Corporation, have formed an investment consortium. No way to prove it, but the State Department suspects they’re fronting for Koenig.” The colonel fell silent while he maneuvered through a tangle of trailer trucks that were using both lanes to grind their way up a steep grade. “The consortium recently made a bid for controlling interest in a mining complex in northern Peru that our government wouldn’t like it to have.”
“Rare earth—I heard about th
at on the news. But we’re on good terms with the Peruvian government. Can’t they nix the transaction?”
“They could, but those rebels you—” an exit sign loomed in the headlights’ glare. “Our turn-off,” the colonel said. He took the exit and concentrated on negotiating a narrow, winding, and icy road. “Shining Path, that Marxist outfit your Special Forces unit helped the Peruvian Army hunt, is a still active in the provinces where the minerals are located. Some Peruvian legislators are hedging their bets, waiting to see who wins.”
The rental car rounded a sharp turn and approached an Alpine-style condominium nestled against a mountain. The colonel parked in front and cut the ignition, and Alex studied the building. “Classy digs for a guy living on military retirement pay.”
“It belongs to a Defense Department retiree.” The colonel slid out of the car and into the cold mountain air. “The guy married well. They’re wintering in Bermuda.”
The colonel rang the doorbell, and a smiling, slender, brown-haired woman who looked to be in her early forties opened the door. Alex’s father introduced her as Lois Haynes. She showed Alex a bedroom where Frederick was sleeping. Then she led him to a kitchen-dining room and invited him to sit at a table across a narrow counter from the food preparation area, where his father was ladling coffee beans into a combination grinder and coffee maker. They made small talk until a final gurgle and a hiss signaled the machine had completed its task.
“Alex,” Lois asked as she set out cups, “do you like your coffee strong and black, the way your father drinks it?”
“Cream when I can get it. Milk’s okay if that’s what you have.”
She set a carton of half-and-half before him and served his father a cup of unadulterated coffee. Her role in the colonel’s life became clear when he grasped her hand and kissed it by way of thanks.
She seems good for him, Alex thought, watching them. I’m glad he has someone. He opened the aluminum case and turned it to face his father. “I’m not sure what I have here, but they wanted it badly.”
The colonel whistled softly when Alex mentioned the price the buyers were prepared to pay. “Memory chips.” He pulled one from the case and held it under a fluorescent light above the kitchen counter, inspecting it from every angle.
Lois rested an elbow on the counter’s tan granite surface. “It’s got something inscribed on it,” she said, pointing at the chip. “Too small to read.”
“Need better light.” The colonel disappeared into another room and returned with a high-intensity reading lamp and a letter opener with a small magnifying glass on its end. He set the lamp on the counter and plugged it in. Holding the chip under its beam, he peered through the magnifying glass. “Numbers. Parts nomenclature, probably.” He checked several more cubes, grunting each time. “Not a nomenclature. Every number’s different—sequential.”
“Serial numbers,” Alex said.
His father nodded, frowning. “That means they’re controlled. Each one has to be accounted for.”
Lois had stepped away from the counter and busied herself in the kitchen. As she walked back to the men, a microwave oven above the range emitted a low hum. “Accounted for by whom?” she asked.
“Government, most likely.” The colonel sipped his coffee. “In today’s environment, electronics are the edge in war the same as they are in business. Any petty dictator with a few oil wells can buy all the tanks and planes he wants. What makes the difference when our boys go into action is the sophistication of computerized systems.”
Alex lofted the shiny cube with which he had been toying. “You figure these are the brains for a high-tech weapon?”
“Possibly. Let’s find out.”
“How?”
“With technology of our own.” The colonel handed Lois one of the cubes. “Sweetheart, would you mind taking some photos of this? Close-ups, from various angles?” She disappeared into another room with the miniature cube. The microwave oven hummed in the background, and the aroma of cinnamon and fresh-baked bread filled the kitchen. It reminded Alex that he hadn’t eaten for a long while. The oven dinged, and the colonel pulled out cinnamon buns. He set them on the counter. “Lois makes these in a kind of space-age bread machine and freezes ’em. They’re great.”
They were.
“Lois is a professional photographer,” the colonel said as they ate. “She’ll magnify that sucker ’til you can see its molecules dancing.”
“You think the pictures will reveal something we missed?”
“Not to us. I’ve got a friend in Virginia that might be able to tell us something.”
“One of your fellow spooks?”
“Defense technology analyst. I’ll digitize the images and e-mail them with a partial list of the serial numbers. By the time we get a few hours of sleep, he ought to have something for us.”
* * *
Alex spent a mostly sleepless night. He was pleased that his father had someone to care for, but seeing them together, so comfortable and considerate with each other, made him miss Pia even more and amplified his worry about what was happening to her. He managed to drift off shortly before dawn, and it seemed only minutes later that his father shook him awake. “Sorry to disturb your beauty rest. My Pentagon contact says this won’t wait.”
In the study, his father switched the telephone to speaker mode. “Lloyd, you still holding?”
“I’m here.”
“My boy’s awake. What has he found?”
“You have your scrambler?”
“Yeah. We need to go secure?”
“It is advisable.”
It took the colonel several minutes to route the telephone jack through a small black box and re-establish contact. Lois offered coffee, and Alex sipped gratefully while his father fumbled with the electronics.
“You’re loud and clear,” his father said when the voice again materialized through the speaker. It sounded tinny, mechanical. “We’re secure on this end. What’d my boy stumble into?”
“Here’s what I can tell you without violating security. The chips are part of an order manufactured to Pentagon specs. Their disappearance has set off a worldwide intelligence alert. While you awakened your son and rigged your scrambler, your position was being triangulated. You’re going to have visitors in a matter of minutes.”
“Visitors?” Alex’s father made no attempt to mask his irritation. “Jesus H. Christ. If you can’t trust your friends, what’s the world coming to?”
“This goes way beyond friendship, Matthew. What you have there could upset the balance of power in any number of third-world hot spots.”
Alex had heard more than enough. He snapped shut the aluminum case and lifted it from the counter.
His father clicked off the speaker and put a hand over the telephone’s mouthpiece. “Alex, what are you doing?”
“I’m not in the Army anymore, Colonel. I don’t have to play by their rules.”
Colonel Bryson removed his hand from the telephone mouthpiece. “Lloyd, I’ll get back to you.” He eased the instrument onto its hook and turned to Alex. “Son, you don’t want to be part of a conspiracy to export controlled technology.”
“The government wants its chips back, Freddy wants his mama. I’ll be more than happy to work a deal.”
“Where are you going?”
“To stash these.” Alex lifted the case off the counter. “The government and I don’t have a real good working relationship. I’ll feel better if they don’t hold all the cards.”
His father tossed his car keys onto the counter.
“Appreciate your help, Colonel. When the Feds get here, tell ’em to stay put. I’ll be back shortly.”
Chapter 28
An hour after Alex left his father’s condominium with the aluminum case, he returned without it and noted two nondescript, late-model, four-door sedans with U.S. Government license plates parked out front. Inside the condo, four men—FBI agents, he assumed—sat at the dining table with his father.
Lois, unloading the dishwasher, spotted Alex as he walked in through a pantry-sized mudroom that led directly into the kitchen. She stepped into the mudroom doorway as if to shield him from the others’ view and started to say something, but she compressed her lips when his father said, “There’s my son.” She patted Alex’s arm and stepped back to the dishwasher.
Everybody stood as Alex approached. One of the agents frisked him while another read him his rights.
He cooperated until an agent brandished handcuffs. “No way,” he said, and turned so the kitchen counter protected his back. Dropping into a semi-crouch, he shifted his stance for better balance.
The Descent From Truth Page 23
