Dark Trojan (The Adam Drake series Book 3)

by Scott Matthews

  Chapter 48

  Drake treated Strobel to a grilled chicken chopped salad and a glass of chardonnay at the 4th Street Bar and Grill. It was the middle of the afternoon and there was only a scattering of customers eating or having drinks while they watched highlights of the previous weekend’s NFL games.

  When he playfully started to slap her hand when she reached for a fry on his plate, she said meekly, “Do you mind? They never come with a salad. It’s so judgmental, thinking that because you like a salad you don’t want french fries to go with it.”

  “You could have ordered fries,” he said. “They’re on the menu.”

  “Yes, but it’s more fun to steal them from your plate.”

  He grinned. “Doesn’t that negate the whole gender equality thing?”

  “Adam, I never said I wanted to be your equal. Besides, women don’t strive to be equal. We strive to be superior.” She batted her eyes, fluffed her hair, and gave him a coy smile.

  He laughed. “At least you’re honest about it.”

  “Will you think less of me if I’m honest and say I’d like another glass of chardonnay?”

  He laughed again and signaled the waitress for another round for both of them.

  She assumed a more serious expression. “Adam, what do you think is really going on here?”

  “Aside from enjoying a nice lunch and forgetting for the moment about people being killed and poisoned and blown up, well, I’m not sure.”

  She pushed her salad aside and sat with both of her hands wrapped around her new glass of wine. “Do you think this has anything to do with the Iranian threats to launch some serious cyber attacks at us? Should I get DHS involved and let them handle this?”

  “That’s your call,” he said. “When we were looking for the nuke the terrorists smuggled in to blow up the dam in Oregon, you didn’t want to get DHS involved without solid evidence that was what was going on. We don’t have anything solid here either. What’s different now?”

  Strobel turned her head slightly and looked past him at one of the flat screen TV’s on the wall for a moment before she answered. “I was going to tell you the other night at dinner,” she began. “I have decided to accept your father-in-law’s offer. I’m leaving DHS. I guess that’s the difference.”

  “Care to explain?

  “I love what I’ve been doing,” she said, “but it’s all changing. DHS now has more than 200,000 employees. We’re into everything, and we’re not doing anything well, in my opinion. Secretary Rallings has submitted his resignation, citing health reasons, which are valid after his heart attack. But it’s more than that. The place has become a cesspool of political infighting. We have factions arguing over whether homegrown terrorists are more of a threat than al Qaeda, whether the borders are more or less secure, whether the TSA should use full-body scanners or adopt the Israeli system of profiling terrorists instead of searching everyone. We even debate whether climate change is more of a threat than transnational crime.”

  He gave her a slow smile. “It sounds a lot like why I left the army. The Pentagon’s the same way. We don’t fight wars to win them anymore.”

  Her smile was bitter. “We don’t even call them wars. We call them ‘man-caused disasters’!”

  “What will you do for the Senator?”

  “He wants me to serve as his special assistant for intelligence and national security. Which will include homeland security. It’s pretty much what I’ve been doing for Secretary Rallings at DHS.”

  “When do you join the Senator’s staff?”

  “I’ll stay until Secretary Rallings leaves and his replacement has been confirmed.”

  Drake picked at his fries before saying, “I guess that ends my short career as consultant/troubleshooter for DHS.” He offered her the plate of fries.

  “ At least with DHS.” She ate a couple fries. “But your father-in-law and the Secretary jointly came up with the idea to use you. I think Senator Hazelton would like to continue to call on you in the same capacity. He’s a member of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence as well as the ranking minority member of the Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs, so he’s well aware of the concerns of both committees.”

  Drake took a pull at his beer. “You said you were reluctant to accept the Senator’s offer at first. You said it was because you didn’t want to ruin our relationship. Liz, will you be honest and tell me what you meant by that?”

  She smiled. “Fair enough, if you’ll be honest with me as well.”

  “Depends on what you want me to be honest about. There are some things that are better left unsaid.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll just come out and say it, although I think you already know what I’m going to say. I’m attracted to you. I’d like to be more than just a go-between for what you’ll be doing for the Senator. I also think you’re not ready for a relationship so soon after your wife died. I didn’t want to appear to be chasing you.”

  Drake met her direct gaze with his own as he thought about what to say. “Before Kay died,” he began, “she told me a number of times that she wanted me to be happy and hoped that I’d find someone to be happy with. I never told her I wouldn’t. But I kept telling myself that would never happen because I’d found the love of my life and didn’t need to look for another one. I felt like I’d be betraying her if I found someone else who made me happy.” He ran one hand through his hair. “It’s only been a little over a year since she died, and I guess I still feel that way. But I also know that when I’m around you, I feel guilty about being attracted to you. So…you may be right that I’m not ready for a relationship, but I think I would miss not being able to see you. Is that honest enough?”

  Her smile told him that it probably was.

  “Will you come and see me in Washington?” she asked.

  “I will, if you’ll come to Oregon and go skiing with me.”

  “I’d love to.”

  Drake’s phone vibrated in his pocket. When he pulled it out, he saw that Bill Bradford was calling. “Liz, excuse me while I step outside and take this. It’s Bill.”

  When he returned, he signaled for the check and sat down.

  “Bill’s invited us to join him for dinner at his home. He’s found where the CEO who referred Anthony Capelli is staying.”

  Chapter 49

  After a quick visit to their respective hotels to change clothes, they drove across the Golden Gate Bridge to Bradford’s home for dinner. The sun was low in the western sky and the lights of San Francisco were just starting to come on across the Bay when they arrived.

  Bradford met them at the front door of his contemporary Corinthian Island home. “Welcome,” he said as he turned and led them down a short hallway to his spacious kitchen/dining/great room with its magnificent view. “I hope you like Chinese food.”

  In Bradford’s gourmet kitchen Drake saw three large empty woks sitting on a professional range. On an eight-foot long butcher-block island with a small preparation sink in the middle were three heaps of food items. One was a platter of thin-sliced, seasoned beef, sesame seeds, oil, and soy sauce. The next was a selection of fresh vegetables. The third had cooked white rice, fresh bay shrimp, peas, scallions, and two eggs. In front of each selection stood a white five-by-seven inch card.

  “I like to have my guests help cook their dinner,” the CEO explained. “The cards have instructions for preparing and cooking the items in front of them in one of those three woks.” He waved to the range. “You can select the dish you’ll be cooking. While you make your selection, I’ll pour us some wine.”

  Predictably, Strobel chose the stir-fry vegetables and Drake picked up the card for the Sesame Beef, leaving the Fried Rice for Bradford.

  When they each had a glass of chilled riesling, the host proposed a short toast, “May the food be as good as the company,” and suggested that
they get to work. An hour and another bottle of wine later, they were seated at Bradford’s dining table.

  “I appreciate the way you two jumped in and helped with dinner,” he told them. “Cooking Chinese food is sort of a hobby of mine, but I don’t like to cook it alone. Mary, my wife, has been in Denver for the last three weeks with her mother. I had a craving for the Sesame Beef.”

  “It’s delicious,” Strobel said, “even though Adam cooked it. Bill, thanks for allowing me to see another side of him.”

  Drake looked up from his plate. “Hey! I’m a good cook! And I thought the Sesame Beef was excellent. The stir-fry vegetables, however, seem a little overcooked….”

  Bradford laughed. “Sounds like it might be a good time to change the subject. Are you ready to talk business?”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” Strobel said with a show of contrived anger, “before someone gets more than his feelings hurt.”

  “I called Robert Parker’s office,” Bradford told them, “and learned that he’s in Nevada getting ready for a solar energy conference in Reno this Thursday. He didn’t answer his phone when I called him, but I know where he’s staying.”

  “Where?” Drake asked.

  “In the house next to mine. He’s staying with another solar CEO, who just happens to live next to me on the lake.”

  “Could we get there tomorrow while he’s still there?” Strobel asked.

  “Probably,” Bradford said, “if you let me fly you there. “I have a plane and a pilot’s license. If you drive, it’ll take you three, three and a half hours. I can get you there in less than half that time. We can rent a car at the Lake Tahoe Airport, and I’ll drive you to my place.”

  “What do you know about these two CEO’s?” Drake asked.

  “They’re friends, they both have master’s degrees from Stanford, I think they started their companies based on what they did their theses on. Parker’s company sells home solar recharging stations for electric cars. My neighbor’s company builds electric cars. You’ve probably heard of his Apollo Roadster. It’s been featured in the all car magazines.”

  Drake nodded. “I have. It’s supposed to be the next big thing. I’ve never seen one on the road, though.”

  “I don’t think they’re selling very well. The word at my business group is that both companies are losing money, despite the stimulus grants they received from the government.”

  “What did Anthony Capelli do for Parker’s company?” Strobel asked. “What did he base his referral on?”

  “Parker said he brought him in to work on a problem he was having with the quality control software for manufacturing the recharging stations. He seemed pretty high on Capelli, based on the work he’d done for him.”

  Drake pushed his empty plate away. “What do you say, Liz? Shall we take Bill up on his offer and fly to Lake Tahoe?”

  “Sounds good to me. I won’t get the information on his condo and his resume from my office until sometime tomorrow. Maybe we’ll learn something that will help us locate Mr. Anthony Capelli before he disappears completely.”

  “Excellent!” Bradford said. “Drive across the Bay Bridge tomorrow morning to the old north field of the Oakland International Airport. That’s where I keep my plane. Be there by eight. You’ll see the Audi parked outside my hangar.”

  Chapter 50

  The next morning Drake and Strobel drove across the eastern span of the new, and controversial, San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge, which had been built in China, to Oakland’s international airport. At 7:45, they parked next to Bradford’s white Audi and found him performing a pre-flight inspection of a Cirrus SR22.

  Taking a look at the sleek, single-engine plane, Strobel said, “Now I know why he said to have a light breakfast. I didn’t think we’d be flying something this small.”

  “I heard that,” Bradford said as he walked around the front of the plane toward them. “I suppose you think you’d be safer in an executive jet or something? Well, you’d be wrong. Come here, Liz.”

  Standing beside the open door of the plane, he pointed to a small pod on the ceiling above the pilot’s seat. “That’s where I activate the parachute for this plane. Unlike a commercial jet or the executive jet you were hoping to be flying, my Cirrus SR22 has a one thousand square foot parachute that’s rocket propelled. If something goes wrong, we just float down safely. I recommended a light breakfast because I thought you might like to fly the plane and I didn’t know how strong a stomach Drake has.”

  She turned to see Drake smiling as well. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “You’re the one who dissed his plane.”

  Drake climbed in and sat behind Strobel, who sat to Bradford’s right in the well-appointed cabin. From his leather-covered rear seat, he had a clear view of the digital instruments in the cockpit. Bradford plugged their destination into the GPS/Auto system, then listened to ATIS (the Automatic Terminal Information Service) on the radio to get the current wind, weather, barometric pressure, plus runway information.

  Next he contacted Oakland ground control and requested Flight Following to Lake Tahoe/Minden Field. Aside from the easy-to-read display panels and the luxurious appointments that he hadn’t expected, Drake was most surprised to see that the plane didn’t have the usual two-handed yoke to control the plane. Instead, it had a single-handgrip that looked like a joystick. Bradford rested his left arm against the window glass and steered the plane with his left hand as they taxied toward runway 27 Right, to which they’d been assigned.

  Bradford proved to be an excellent pilot and tour guide as they flew east to South Lake Tahoe, calling out the names of towns like Antioch and Lodi and Elk Grove in the two-way headsets they wore. The flat valley of central California soon gave way to the green hills of the El Dorado National Forest and then the rocky peaks to the southwest of Lake Tahoe. They began their descent to the Tahoe/Minden airport.

  On land again, while Bradford tied down his plane with the help of his new co-pilot, Drake called for a taxi to take them to the car rental agency nearby, where Bradford had reserved a new Jeep Grand Cherokee for the drive to Crystal Bay and his summer home. By ten o’clock, as they drove past the four large casinos at the south end of Lake Tahoe, they caught glimpses of the pure blue water of the largest alpine lake in North America. Minutes later, they crossed the state line into Nevada and turned north toward the far end of the lake.

  “We have a forty-five-minute drive ahead of us,” Bradford said. “Any one need coffee before we leave town?”

  “Not for me, thanks,” Drake said. “Liz, do you want something?”

  “I’m fine. I can’t get over how beautiful this place is. I’ve skied here, but I’ve never been here in the fall. I think it’s even more beautiful without the snow.”

  “You’ll enjoy the aspens up north then,” Bradford promised.

  “How well do you know your neighbor on the lake?” Drake asked.

  “Not very well. David Klein III isn’t the kind of neighbor you invite over for a drink. When he’s here in Tahoe, he throws lavish parties at his estate or on his sixty-five-foot, solar-powered catamaran. You can hear them all over the lake. He gives the nouveau riche a worse reputation than even they sometimes deserve.”

  “So he probably won’t let me take his electric roadster for a spin around the lake, is that what you’re saying?”

  Bradford laughed. “If he’s been drinking, he might not even invite you in his mansion. Klein’s a bully who enjoys intimidating people. It’ll be interesting to see how you two get along.”

  “That’s where Liz comes in. She’ll either charm him or flash her special agent badge and make him wish he’d been nice to me.”

  “Or,” Strobel said, “I could just let boys be boys and watch the fun from the sideline.”

  “I doubt it’ll be much fun if I find out the guy Klein’s friend referred to Bill had anything to do wi
th Mike being poisoned. I tend to forget my manners with people who hurt my friends.”

  Chapter 51

  Thirty one miles away, at the north end of Lake Tahoe, David Klein III was indeed drinking in his mansion. He was celebrating the brilliance of the plan he and his friend, Bobby Parker, had set in motion the week before.

  “The beauty of it all,” he told Parker, “is that when the power grid goes down, and gas pumps can’t pump gas, then everyone will wish they had an electric car and one of your solar charging stations. I’d give anything to see my old man’s face when it sinks in that his Cadillac dealership is going to take it in the shorts when my electric cars start outselling his gas guzzlers.”

  “I’ll settle for surging sales of my charging stations so I can keep my company afloat,” Parker said.

  Klein got up out of his blood red leather arm chair and brought the half-empty bottle of vintage vodka back to the cocktail table that sat between his chair and a matching chair. Both chairs faced the floor-to-ceiling window that provided a panoramic view of the lake and Klein’s catamaran docked below.

  “Did the Congressman’s fixer, Walker, give you a date for the blackout?” Parker asked. “I want to be sure I’m not flying somewhere when the power goes out at all the airports around the country.”

  “Bobby, you were too drunk to remember what he told us. The man said the less we knew about his plans, the better off we’d be. If we’re ever questioned.”

  “Why would we ever be questioned? There won’t be anything that links us to what he’s doing. Will there?”

  “Don’t be naïve. Congressman Sanchez knows we met Walker. If they ever put the squeeze on that little prick, he’d give us up in a minute.”