* * *
On his return to his hotel, Peel ran over his limited options for getting an audience with Benjamin Henbest. Because time was of the essence, and his CIA overseers were sure to keep him on a tight leash, Peel knew he could be swift or he could be subtle, but he couldn’t be both. The ex-army major always tried to do things subtly when he could. Generally it took longer, but the lack of fuss, not to mention walking away with his skin intact when it was over, was well worth the extra effort. But with so many unknown variables in play; Jordan, the mysterious oil platform in the Pacific, the secret deals Centaurus were making with the Americans, and his mixed feelings about Zoe all told him that he had to act fast.
Peel entered the hotel through a service door at its rear and made it to an elevator without incident, just as he expected to. He was counting on Centaurus wanting to keep a low profile so security was minimal, at least where the public could see. The penthouse would be a whole other story.
Pressing the button for the top floor, Peel took a moment to run down a mental checklist. First he had stashed the Walther PPK on him where he was sure no one would find it, but if he had to pull it he knew he’d be in trouble. The rest of the gear that Jordan had given him was still in its bag, in a locker in a bank he had paid a large amount of cash to secure, less anyone on the CIA team found him with it and asked questions. Patting himself down, Peel pulled out a set of keys from his pocket, thought for a moment, and smiled. As the elevator doors opened he began to twirl the keys on their ring on his finger. It was better than nothing.
Stepping into the hall, Peel saw two American agents instantly turning towards him. Each man had a hand already in their jackets, and the senior looking agent was raising his free hand palm out to tell him to stop.
“Hello gentlemen, Ms. Isles still with the boss?” Peel asked as he briskly, but not hurriedly, walked past them. He was the very image of someone that belonged here and that gave the guards pause.
“Um, Mr. Peel, sir, we didn’t know—” the younger agent started, his head swiveling from the Australian, to his partner, and back again.
The other agent was more decisive. He started after Peel, one hand reaching for Peel’s arm to stop him, and said, “Wait, Peel, Ms. Isles told us you weren’t allowed up here. I had better call her.”
Without a word, Peel spun around, grabbed the guard’s outstretched arm by the wrist, and used the man’s own momentum to pull him to the ground. Nearly at the same time he tossed the keys to the other man and shouted, “Catch.”
The agent’s natural instincts overrode his training and instead of going for his gun he caught the keys flying towards his face. His actions gave Peel enough time to close the distance between them where he brought a knee up into the surprised man’s groin. At the same time he deftly pulled the agent’s automatic out of his shoulder holster.
As the young agent crumpled with a whimper, Peel spun around, pointed the automatic. The other man was starting to rise and going for his own gun. “Stop now.” Peel said in a calm, but commanding voice, as he chambered the first round.
The CIA veteran stopped immediately. Peel could tell by the man’s eyes that he was weighing his options.
“Remember, all heroes get is an unnamed star on a wall back in Langley,” Peel told him.
“You’re a dead man, Peel.”
Peel smiled, quickly checked the man stirring at his feet, before nodding to a nearby room. “Empty I take it?” he asked.
After the agent said it was, Peel hustled both of the men into the room, but not before checking it. Six minutes later they were bound and gagged and the clock was officially running.
Back in the hall, Peel checked the wallets he had taken from the men and pulled out a number of hotel keycards. Both agents had one for their own room on the lower floors and one for a penthouse suite. Taking that card, Peel sprinted down the hall, found the room, used the card to open the door and stepped inside, with his hands already up.
“Look, before anyone gets excited, I’m not here to start trouble.” Peel said and he saw a CIA man advancing quickly towards him. This time he didn’t resist. Rough hands grabbed him, spun him around, and slammed his chest up against the wall.
Another agent appeared, his weapon drawn but not pointing directly at him, as the first one started patting him down. By the time the agent was finished and had announced that Peel was clean, a surprised Zoe Isles stepped into the hall.
“What the hell, Harrison?”
“I thought we should stop playing games, there isn’t time for that. So since I’m already here, let me speak to Benjamin Henbest.”
Zoe huffed, making no effort to mask her frustration. “Alright, you men can let him in. This way, Mr. Peel.”
Peel pushed himself off the wall and started after the woman, saying over his shoulder, “Oh, I left the two of your agents by the elevator bound and gagged in the room next to it. You should send someone to get them when you can.”
Zoe coughed to hide a smile before turning and saying in a whisper, “Okay, you’re here, and you could have gotten yourself killed, now you tell me why?”
“I need to see your boss about something.”
The woman stiffened and Peel knew at once that he had chosen his words poorly. “He is not my boss.”
“I know, but he is in charge right now, yes? And he has information that I’ll need if you want me to help you find Jordan before he does anymore damage.”
“So why not ask me?”
“Come on Zoe, would you have admitted that you were working with Henbest if I asked? Or that he was here? Besides, he might not have told you everything.”
Zoe thought about that for a moment before nodding and saying, “Okay, Harrison, you can meet with him, but watch yourself. Centaurus has a lot of clout and Henbest is at the head of that beast. Don’t think for a moment that his influence doesn’t extend to your own country like it does mine.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.” Peel smiled.
“It was sloppy,” she mumbled.
“What was sloppy?” Peel could think of a dozen things she might be referring to.
“Having Henbest in the same hotel. He insisted, thought he knew better.”
Minutes later the two entered a small office room, in which there was a podium with an old book, a desk, a couple of chairs, and Benjamin Henbest, one of the richest, most powerful men in the world.
He wasn’t much to look at.
In fact, Mr. Henbest was so common looking he could have been a spook. Average height and build, brown eyes, brown hair starting to grey, he even didn’t dress the part of a billionaire. He wore a striped polo shirt, nondescript tan slacks, and only moderately pricy shoes. And when he spoke, Peel’s surprise was complete.
“Ms. Isles, what is all the commotion about?” the CEO said with a soft, southern drawl.
“Mr. Henbest, this is Harrison Peel, the Australian special consultant I told you about, working for the Puzzle Palace.” Zoe paused briefly before adding, “I thought it was time for the two of you to meet, since Mr. Peel will be instrumental in helping us find the rogue agent before he can do any more damage to your company.”
Henbest studied the woman briefly and Peel could almost see in his eyes the calculations going on inside the businessman’s head. But then like someone flicking a switch, all that was gone and the rich man beamed a million dollar smile. “That sounds fine, Mr. Peel was it?” he offered his hand.
Like Zoe, Henbest would already know everything there was to know about Peel, making him a sly bastard. “Yes and thank you for meeting with me.” Peel considered that Henbest might have been an intelligence operative or ex-military in his early days, which might explain his deep government connections.
The three walked over to his desk. Henbest sat behind the desk and the others in chairs in front. After the formality of offered coffee, which Peel declined, he started with a tactical strike.
“What is one of your oil platforms drillin
g for in the middle of South Pacific Ocean, it certainly isn’t oil? And how deep is the ocean there anyway; three, four kilometers?”
Peel watched them both to gauge their reactions. Zoe was surprised by the question, although she hid it well. Henbest showed no emotion whatsoever.
“We have many oil platforms in the Pacific, can you be more specific?”
“I have longitude and latitude if you wish, but we both know which platform I’m talking about so please, let’s not waste each other’s time.”
The rich man’s eyes narrowed slightly, his first real response to show through his highly polished persona. “Where did you get this information?”
“Jordan met with a contact while he was here. I met with that same man today.”
“Who is it?” Zoe asked, reaching for a pen and pad of paper from the desk.
“I’m not going to tell you. I’m not ready to burn that bridge just yet, but I will tell you that I know the contact’s reliable.”
“If he’s Jordan’s contact how did you get in touch with him?” Zoe asked.
“You should know, Zoe, the spy game is essentially very small. There are only so many good sources of intel in any given location. The further removed from the big players, the fewer the sources. Suffice to say that when you’re in Lima there are perhaps three people worth contacting. I got lucky with number two on my list.”
“Then how come I didn’t know of this person?” she challenged.
“You haven’t played the game as long as Jordan or I.” Peel saw that he had stung Zoe, but he had to sell the lie.
“You’ve never been to Peru before?”
“Not officially,” he lied.
“Well okay then,” Henbest interjected, “What did your source have to say about Jordan?”
Peel was relived; given time Zoe would have uncovered his deceit. “That he was scarier than usual and that he was determined to burn Centaurus and anyone connected to it. Now, I’ve got to ask, why is that?”
“How should I know?”
“Because Jordan is many things, but stupid and crazy are not two words I’d use to describe him. What did he find out about your company that got him so royally pissed off at you?”
Henbest glanced at the old book resting on the podium. A gesture that did not escape Peel’s, nor Zoe’s, attention.
Zoe spoke up. “I told you Harrison, Jordan has gone off the reservation. We have no idea what set him off, but he’s causing trouble for one of my nation’s most important—”
Peel cut her off. “No offense, Zoe, but you haven’t told me anything. You’ve kept me in the dark, and I can understand that, I really can, but now I need to know more if I’m going to help you find Jordan.”
Peel turned from the upset woman back towards the CEO who seemed to be analyzing him as he spoke. “Now Mr. Henbest, no more games, just tell me the truth.”
Peel stood, walked over to the book on the podium feeling that it was somehow related to everything unfolding in this farce of a manhunt. It was an old book, probably pre-Twentieth Century judging by its binding and discolored pages, and open to a page towards the back. On the right was script in Latin with the occasional Chinese characters that Peel could not read. On the left was an illustration of a pre-industrial Chinese man walking into what looked to be a box made up of puzzle pieces. The man looked oddly familiar, but Peel couldn’t place him. Below the man, a procession of many replications of same man walked from that box.
Henbest joined Peel, stared lovingly at the book. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”
“What is it?”
“That is a rare Eighteenth Century translation of the R’lyeh Text, an ancient book penned in China. If you believe such things, the original was penned in a time before recorded history.”
“Perhaps.” Peel stared at the picture more closely. “And this is?”
“The book refers to the puzzle box that is as the gateway to a thousand, thousand replications. An Infinite Replicator, one could call it.”
Peel couldn’t help noticing that Henbest was excited about the illustration, like a doll collector noticing a rare doll just out of reach, which would complete his collection. “What has Centaurus gotten involved with that would set a very dangerous man like Jordan off on an unsanctioned killing spree?” Peel asked, getting the conversation back to where he wanted it.
Henbest thought about it for a moment then answered with a smile, “What else? Weapons of course. Ms. Isles said you were an expert on Code-89s, or ESBs, or whatever you Company people want to call them. Well there’s something down there, deep in the ocean, and we want to utilize it for national defense. And it’s not three or four kilometers under the water either.”
“You know, whenever humans try to meddle with things from beyond our world, no good comes from it.”
Henbest smiled, “The same could have been said about the Manhattan Project, but just as many people, if not more, now realize that what it gave to us was a necessary evil. And yes, while there have been dangers associated with nuclear weapons, the threat of mutually assured destruction has been one of biggest deterrents to war for the last sixty years.”
“Surly you can’t compare the two. Splitting the atom was a scientific property that once understood could be repeated with relative safety and predictable results. The ESBs are things beyond our comprehension. Living, thinking things, with alien minds we can’t possibly hope to understand. By their very nature they are unpredictable and to think that you can control those forces is ludicrous.”
“So is the United States to be the only nation not investigating the weapon potential of that alien technology? Do you think China, Russia, North Korea, or even our allies like Britain, France, and yes, even your own country hasn’t invested in similar research for years?”
“But we’re not talking about other countries right now; we’re talking about what you’re doing. And you’re doing so not out of national pride or security, no matter how much you would like to think that you are, but out of the eternal quest for higher profits for your company.” Peel knew he was getting angry but he just couldn’t help himself. The CEO’s naiveté was dangerous. He had seen it all before and the fact that it always ended in misery both scared and angered him. “What about those Pacific island nations wiped off the surface of the Earth by freak tidal waves?”
Henbest had become red-faced and trembling. “You’re clutching at straws now, Peel. No way is that related to any operation Centaurus is conducting.” At last his careful mask had slipped the tiniest bit. Upon realizing this, he took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “Mr. Peel, I realize this upsets you, and with good reason. You are correct, the work we are doing is dangerous but it is under control. It is however being made more dangerous by Jordan attacking my company, not less so. Also, I believe you are a realist, so you must know that once this discovery was made someone was bound to explore it.”
Henbest walked closer to Peel. “Please allow me to show you firsthand what we are doing out on the oil platform. That Centaurus has the best people in the world to deal with it safely and that we are taking every precaution to do just that.”
Peel was surprised at the offer and instantly wary. “What?” he asked, trying to give himself time to think.
“It’s very simple, I’ll fly you and Ms. Isles out to the platform, have my people there show you everything, and then you can decide if you would want to help us safeguard it from a misguided man bent on attacking us.”
Peel sat in silence for a long moment, weighing his options. He could be close to getting some real answers, or he could be walking into a trap. If it was a trap, considering the number of agents around him, could he even avoid it now?
“We fly out to Easter Island, then by seaplane the rest of the way.”
Feeling that something was terribly wrong he looked to Zoe. She nodded, mouthed that everything would be okay.
Immediately Peel said yes to the offer because he didn’t think he had a choice and
soon after came the smiles and handshakes. He did his best to play along. He was then shown to the office door, told to pack and get ready to leave first thing in the morning, and then by way of an awkward pause told to leave.
Zoe was asked to stay behind for a moment just to make some ‘last minute arrangements’ and that caused the hairs on Peel’s neck to rise. It was too late now, he’d do what he always did, play the cards dealt him and wish for the best, for whatever that was worth.
* * *
The KGB died in 1991, but like the monster it was, it didn’t stay dead. Since it was officially disbanded after the fall of the Soviet Union it had been renamed and reorganized several times, but at its heart it had remained the same. The duties of the old KGB were divided between two organizations. Internal affairs became the FSB, or the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation. Those that spied on Mother Russia’s external enemies belonged to the SVR, the Foreign Intelligence Service. Different names but many of the same people and most of the old tricks were still being used. Thankfully for Jordan the old safe houses, regardless of who now claimed them, were still intact as well.
He had gone to the KGB safe house in Lima and found it locked up, unmanned, and practically mothballed. But just in case any of the new generation of Russian agents needed help it was still partially stocked. Once inside he had ignored the various weapons and explosives, he already had all that he needed and such things were easy enough to come by in South America, and instead picked up a small metal suitcase and nothing more.
Returning to his new apartment overlooking the Jorge Chávez International Airport, Jordan kept an eye out the window where he could see a private jet getting ready for flight, and an ear towards the suitcase at his feet. He was waiting for the satellite phone inside it to ring.
He had first tried the phone four hours ago, but got no signal at all. Hoping that the relay satellites were simply out of sync, or on a different rotation schedule since the last time he had to call Mother Russia, and not just floating space junk like so much of the USSR’s old equipment. Jordan tried the phone every twenty minutes. After five attempts he got a ring tone, but no answer. On his next call someone picked up. The voice on the other end was male, older, sounded very tired, and spoke Russian with a slight Ukrainian accent. Jordan in kind switched to Russian and told him that his name was Yegor and recited a code number that was probably years out of date.
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