“How did you recognize me?”
“Sir, that’s our job. We have a sedan waiting just outside so please follow us.”
They left the station and eventually turned onto the broad expanse of Pennsylvania Avenue. Brian had been to the Visitor’s Entrance of the White House several times since Harry became Vice President. This time things were different – the car passed the familiar guardhouse where he had expected to enter and pulled into a driveway further down. Past a security guard and fence there was nothing but what looked like a heavily fortified garage door, which was closed. The agent who was driving showed his credentials to the guard as another with a dog circled the car and looked under it with a mirror. The garage door opened at the same time as the gate – inside Brian could see a ramp heading down.
The car pulled through the gate and down the ramp into an underground parking garage. There were only a dozen cars there, including the armored limousine that the President used. It appeared they were in the Chief Executive’s private garage. The sedan pulled forward and stopped where a man in a suit was standing. He opened the rear door and said, “Good morning, Mr. Sadler. I’m Bob Parker, the President’s Chief of Staff. Thanks for coming on such short notice.” He led Brian through automatic glass doors to a small elevator. They rode up one floor and exited into a narrow hallway. Turning right, they stepped into the President’s secretary’s office. She introduced herself, wrote a message on her computer and said, “Please go in. The President is waiting for you.”
Brian was surprised to see that it appeared to be business as usual even though it was a weekend. I guess things don’t stop just because it’s Saturday. Especially when you’re running the United States of America.
Bob Parker ushered Brian through a door into the Oval Office. It was Brian’s first time to see the famous room and he found himself a little lightheaded at the experience. “Brian,” President Harrison’s voice boomed from across the room. “You’re a sight for sore eyes!” He came from around his desk and gave Brian a bear hug. “God, I’m glad you came.”
Harry Harrison glanced at his Chief of Staff. “Bob, we’ll be fine now. Ask Marcia to have some coffee sent in, please.”
When they were alone, Brian said, “Uh, Mr. President…”
“Dammit, I told you on the phone to knock that off, Brian. I may be ‘Mr. President’ to everyone else but when it’s just us let’s try to keep some sense of the normal in our relationship if we can.”
“That’s a challenge, Harry. I’m not just sitting here shooting the bull with my old fraternity brother from OU. I’m in the Oval Office talking with the President of the United States. I doubt you could ever understand, but it’s a very unusual feeling. You’re the top dog of the whole world and I’m the guy who knows you wore red panties under your tuxedo to the Christmas Dance at the frat house, just because I bet you twenty bucks you wouldn’t do it. This is kind of hard to process in my brain.”
“Well, get over it. We’ll invite you and Nicole back to D.C. on a lighter occasion sometime soon, I promise. Today we have a lot to talk about and only a few hours to do it. I promised I’d have you on the six o’clock train to Manhattan and I’m trying to keep us on schedule. I’m going to bring some people in to brief you about the situation with President Chapman so you can get a better handle on what we know…which sadly is very, very little. Then we’re going to strategize on how we can find out more. You’re going to hear a lot today, some of it top secret. I’ve gotten you temporary clearance for this one project.”
Except for a half hour break at one p.m. for lunch in a dining room two doors down from the Oval Office, the men worked nonstop until five. The Directors of the National Security Agency, CIA and FBI joined Brian and the President at various times during the afternoon. Much of what Brian learned was public information because, as Harry Harrison had pointed out, there wasn’t much else they knew.
Once he and Brian were alone again, Harry turned the conversation to Sussex University and its permit to dig at Palenque. “One important reason I asked you to help, Brian, is that you know Cory Spencer. That connection should help you gather information.”
“I didn’t know he was involved but I’m not surprised. I’ve followed his work since he left my gallery. From what I gather he’s making a good archaeologist. I presume he’s part of the dig there?”
“Spencer’s led several Sussex teams recently and he was handpicked by Thomas Newton Torrance to supervise this one. Speaking of which, what do you know about this character they call TNT?” the President asked.
“I’ve never met him but I’ve heard of him like everyone else who reads the news. He seems to make his money robbing from companies to enrich himself but so far he hasn’t been convicted of anything. At least as far as I’ve heard. And about his putting up ten million bucks to back this project – that’s commitment.”
“You’re right. The FBI checked his background, just as we’re doing for anyone who’s even remotely connected to this story. Torrance has managed to stay clean even though he’s a frequent visitor to court and deposition rooms on both sides of the pond. His tactics are questionable for sure but so far no one has proven they’re illegal. Had you ever heard before now that he was interested in ancient sites?”
Brian shook his head. “I’ve never seen his name associated with anything in this field – no sites, no artifacts, nothing. Wonder why he suddenly became so interested in this one particular project that he was willing to fund it for millions? Have your guys talked to him yet?”
“Yes and no. The FBI contacted him and asked for an interview to see if he could give them any clues to President Chapman’s disappearance. TNT politely said he was a busy man, had no knowledge of anything he felt would help them and barring a subpoena he wouldn’t agree to meet with them. Since the FBI director doesn’t have anything he could use to get a subpoena that’s pretty much it unless something else turns up.”
“Do you think he’s trying to hide something?”
“The FBI doesn’t see anything worth pursuing, and believe me, they usually think everyone is trying to hide something. There’s just nothing linking TNT and the former President at all. They’ve never met, Chapman’s records don’t show they’ve ever spoken by phone, and there just doesn’t appear to be a connection. So I don’t think they’ll pursue their attempt to interview him.”
“Speaking of that, so you all have records of every phone call the President makes or receives? That might be helpful.”
“Not really. We have logs that are supposed to include every call, but there are ways around it. Only calls made through the White House switchboard are logged. And every President in recent history, including me, has a cell phone. Obviously only a handful of people know the number, but we use it to make calls that are private or sensitive. The guys hired to protect us hate it because they don’t know what we’re up to, but it serves a purpose. For instance, John Chapman used his when he was having an affair. More than one affair, actually.”
“I think I read something about that,” Brian said. “I guess his wife was aware of his indiscretions.”
“I personally have no idea but I figure she must have been. Apparently he’s had several affairs; the last one I know about was a few years ago. At least publicly the Chapmans appeared to have moved on so everybody else did too. Not like other presidents haven’t stepped out of bounds now and then.”
“Any way that latest girlfriend could be involved?”
“The FBI talked with her. Trust me, they’re leaving no stone unturned. They say she’s not. She went on with her life and is out in California somewhere working in the film industry.”
President Harrison changed the subject. “Enough background. I want to get to the real reason I asked you to come today.
“We have all the experts we can handle on this case. The best of the best. Mexico has allowed us to send agents from every damned agency we can think of and no one’s found a thing. You know those puzzle things you
read about when you’re a kid – where a person is in a locked room and dies of a gunshot wound or something, but there’s no gun? And you have to figure out the mystery? That’s what this reminds me of. It looks like there was no place for John Chapman to go, but he’s not there any more. So where is he?
“John Chapman has a dark side, Brian. I’ve seen him tear subordinates to pieces, figuratively speaking of course, in front of a roomful of people when they said or did something he didn’t like. He’s got a horrible temper. Rumors are that he and Marianne’s marriage is a sham but I don’t know that for sure. I do know that she sleeps in a different bedroom. Not occasionally, but every night. He’s not a nice guy. That’s it in a nutshell. He’s a cruel, cold, ruthless man who has the money to push his way into anything he wants.”
The President continued. “What does all this have to do with Palenque? I have no idea. But in you I have someone I trust implicitly, who’s got a brain and knows how to use it, who will travel with the full authority of the President of the United States to ask questions and get answers and who knows enough about archaeology to decide what to look into. I can’t figure out what’s up, Brian, but we’ve done everything we can through official channels. I decided to see if you could find out the answer. Maybe you can, maybe you can’t. Please go try.”
Before ten that evening Brian was back at his apartment in New York. Even on Saturday the train had been packed. Some of the travelers had been working in Washington just like Brian. Others were families, tourists too probably.
On the crowded train he had tried to reach Nicole. Her cellphone went straight to voicemail without ringing; he figured she was at dinner and had turned off her phone. He left a message that he had been in Washington all day but would call her when he was back in Manhattan.
Arriving home exhausted mentally and physically from the long day, he tried Nicole again with the same result. It was an hour earlier in Dallas so he left a message for her to call if she got home soon. He told her, “I met with Harry today. I’m going to Mexico day after tomorrow as part of the search for President Chapman. I’ll fill you in when we talk.”
Two days later Brian was in Mexico standing on top of a Mayan ruin, alone. He could see jungle for miles around him. Behind him he heard a noise. He turned and saw President John Chapman ten feet away, wearing the clothes of a priest – a robe and a feathered hat – and holding a scepter. He looked at Brian.
“You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he said evenly in the ancient Mayan dialect. Brian knew it was Mayan but somehow he understood it clearly.
“Mr. President,” Brian said, surprised that his words were also in the Mayan tongue.
“No longer. I am K’inich Janaab Pakal. I am the ruler of Palenque.”
As Brian watched, the President’s face changed from the one so familiar to every American. It metamorphosed into another face Brian recognized – the one depicted on the lid of King Pakal’s coffin. President Chapman was the ancient king.
“Bow to me!” Pakal screamed as a bell began to ding quietly. Brian fell to his knees, his face on the stone floor. He heard the bell ring again and again. Brian looked up and suddenly saw his bedroom ceiling. His cellphone was ringing.
“Uh, Nicole,” he stuttered into the phone, confused by the dream from which he had abruptly awoken. Glancing at the clock beside his bed he saw that it was nearly midnight. He was on top of the covers, his naked body sweating profusely. Suddenly freezing, he dived under the covers and pulled the sheet up to his neck.
“Babe. Sorry I missed your call earlier. Big dinner with a big client. You know how it goes.”
Brian didn’t respond. He was trying to exorcise the dream and focus on reality.
“Hey Brian. Are you ok?”
“Yeah…give me a minute. I was asleep. I was dreaming about President Chapman and a Mayan ruin.”
“Of course you were, Brian. It would have surprised me a lot more if you were dreaming about me!” She laughed.
“I dream about you all the time. Did you have a good dinner?” His questions were cautious, careful.
“It was good. Mr. Carter had cocktails and dinner with Richard Stewart – have you heard of him? Randall asked me to come along since I had no plans for the evening, as usual. We ate at Sevy’s on Preston Road.”
“That’s one of my favorite restaurants, as you well know. Richard Stewart. The name sounds familiar. Should I know him?”
“He’s a patent troll. Or a ‘patent assertion entity’ if you want to be nice about what he does.” She explained that Stewart, an attorney from Las Vegas, started a company and bought up several obscure patents in the technology field from small companies that had no use for them. One of the patents was for a small semiconductor device that was a minor part of the avionics package used by private airplanes.
“Asserting his patent rights, he threatened to sue the suppliers of the avionics, the manufacturers like Beechcraft and Cessna plus the people who bought the planes. Almost all these companies would rather settle than go to court, even if the suit is groundless. Why spend years and millions of dollars fighting when you can pay a hundred thousand now and get a full release?”
Brian responded, trying to shake off sleep and keep up with Nicole’s story. He wanted her evening to have been the way she was telling it. “Yeah, I’ve read about these guys in the Wall Street Journal. They make their money by threatening and settling. They hardly ever end up in court. Everybody hates them – right?”
“Pretty much. Since Rich is an attorney himself he doesn’t have to spend any money on outside lawyers, which would otherwise be his biggest expense. Instead he handles everything with a small staff. Brian, he’s made over a million bucks in the past twelve months alone. You kind of gotta hate him but gotta love him at the same time. What a racket. And all legal.”
“Yeah, but scum of the earth stuff to most people, from what I’ve read. Nicole, if it’s OK can we talk about all this later? I’m going in to work really early tomorrow since I’m going to be gone for a few days.”
“Oh sure, baby. I’m sorry. I’m just still pumped up from our dinner but I wanted to talk to you tonight if I could. What’s Harry got you doing?”
He told her about the conversation with President Harrison. “He said to tell you we’re invited to the White House soon and sent his regards.” Brian said he would be catching a government jet from Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. “I don’t know why he thinks I can help but he wants me to go to Palenque and nose around. You know how much I love going to the jungle. I hope I can help Harry but I’m also glad to be going back to Mexico.”
“I’m certain of that, Brian. I’m a little surprised though – I thought you were really busy at work. You know I wanted you to fly down here to Dallas last weekend but you said you had too much going on at the gallery…”
“Nicole,” he said with a sinking feeling in his heart. “I want to see you every chance I can. But I hope you understand this involves a request from the President of the United States…”
“No need to explain, sweetie,” she replied breezily. “Hey, look at the time. I’ll let you get back to sleep – I’ll be nodding off myself shortly. Talk to you soon – call me often while you’re gone, baby, and let me know you’re ok.”
“Wait a sec. Are you ok with all this? And was dinner tonight like you just told me it was? With Randall Carter and that client?” Damn. He regretted blurting that last sentence. It wasn’t part of their agreement.
“I’m fine, Brian. I know you’d cancel a lunch with the Pope to go exploring in the jungle. I know where everything fits in. And no, I didn’t lie to you although you shouldn’t ask. It was just another business dinner. Nothing more. No problem here! ‘Night, sweetie.”
“I love you, Nicole. Good night.”
Brian lay in bed, wide-awake. He thought about Nicole and her frequent dinners with her divorced boss, Randall Carter, and the firm’s clients. He felt more than a twinge of jealousy. She was a beau
tiful woman and over a thousand miles away from him. She seemed to enjoy the social part of business more and more lately. Why had she hung up without responding to his “I love you?” She hadn’t said anything at all. What did that mean? He forced his mind to stop racing to these crazy conclusions.
Nicole was the youngest partner in Dallas’ premier law firm. She specialized in white-collar criminal defense work and that was how she and Brian Sadler had met. When he was a stockbroker for Warren Taylor and Currant, an investment bank that played close to the edge on matters of ethics and integrity, he found himself embroiled in a case the FBI was investigating. Nicole acted first as his attorney but the business relationship had quickly turned into a personal one. Once Brian assumed control of Bijan Rarities and moved to Manhattan he knew they were destined to be apart. Her career was in Texas while his was with his gallery in New York and his new location in London.
Although separated by fifteen hundred miles and diverging career paths, Brian and Nicole saw each other as often as one of them could break away. Marriage had never been seriously discussed – a long distance marriage was the only thing either of them could think of that was worse than a long distance relationship.
He really wished it could be different. They met as often as they could – a weekend here, an overseas trip there – but with the situation they couldn’t live in the same place. Originally they had agreed to exclusively see each other but recently Nicole had broached a subject that had been in the backs of their minds.
The last time they were together had been in Dallas. Lying in bed in her condominium at the Ritz-Carlton Residences Nicole had said, “This is mentally and physically draining, Brian.” She was referring to their long-distance relationship and asked Brian if there were anyone he would consider dating if he were free.
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 57
