The Inner Circle (Man of Wax Trilogy)

by Robert Swartwood

  “No, I understand.”

  “It’s just been a long night.”

  “I understand.”

  “And I haven’t had a chance to thank you yet. I don’t know anything about you except your name and”—I looked around the Beetle, noticed several familiar cellophane wrappers scattered around the floor—“that you like cheese slices?”

  He grinned. “Kraft American cheese. I’d offer you some but I already ate all I had.”

  “Thanks anyway. So how do you know the Kid?”

  “From online.”

  “No kidding.”

  He heard the irritation in my voice and gave me a cautious glance. “The Kid probably wouldn’t want me saying.”

  This perked me up. “Now you definitely need to tell me.”

  “It’s no big thing. We met while playing World of Warcraft.”

  I smiled.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I just never knew the Kid was into that stuff.”

  “He’s an insomniac like me. We met a few years ago when we crossed paths and had a small battle. We shit talked each other the entire time and became friends. Then we started going on quests together.”

  The smile still hadn’t left my face. It was strange to smile, especially after the night I’d just had, but for the two years I’d known the Kid, never once had I an inkling he was into any type of games, let alone multiplayer online role-playing ones.

  I asked, “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can you call the Kid for me? My phone’s dead.”

  “I don’t have his number.”

  “I thought you said you guys were friends.”

  “We are. Online. That’s how we’ve always contacted each other. Besides, I don’t really get a signal when I’m passing through this way.”

  I was quiet for a moment. “What all has the Kid told you?”

  I didn’t think there was anything threatening in my voice this time, but Titus still gave me another cautious look before answering.

  “He wasn’t the one who told me. I figured it out.”

  “How so?”

  “I read your story.”

  “My story?” I said, but of course I knew what he meant. Two years ago, after my life had been stolen, I had written down the events and had the Kid post it wherever he could online. But Caesar had powerful friends in powerful places and managed to nix it from the major sites pretty quickly. It was still on the Internet, though, circulating about, but nobody really gave it much thought anymore, if they ever did.

  Titus nodded. “I mentioned I have insomnia, right? So when I’m not working or playing World of Warcraft, I like to fly around the world on Google Earth. It’s not like I’m ever going to be able to visit a place like Mongolia or New Zealand or even Greenland, but at least I can get a bird’s eye view. And when I’m not doing that, I just search the web for neat and interesting stuff. And one day I stumbled across this file that had been posted, this ... this story about a guy waking up in a motel room and finding these words in blood on the back of the bathroom door. So I started reading. And you know, some of it sounded familiar, like that bombing in Ryder, Illinois. So I did some research and realized that all of it was true. And the first thing I did was send it to the Kid, asked him if he had seen it. He said he hadn’t but would check it out. And so a day or two goes by and I’m anxious to hear back from him and still he hadn’t read it, so again one night I couldn’t sleep and I started messing around on the Internet, trying to find these websites mentioned in the story. I couldn’t find them at first, but a few days later I was on a quest with the Kid and I mentioned how I was trying to find these websites and he went quiet and didn’t say anything. Then he told me it was best I stay far away from them. Of course, I was like, what are you talking about? And that was when he told me.”

  “Haven’t you always known him as the Kid?”

  “No. I may be short, but I’m not stupid. When we quest, he goes by a totally different handle.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what is it?”

  Titus grinned. “Now he would definitely kill me if I told you that.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “Well, I didn’t believe him at first. I thought he was bullshitting me. But that was when he sent me some of the videos he’d saved. Like some of your game, and some of Carver’s, just to prove it.”

  I flinched, trying not to think about the day I woke up in the Paradise Motel. Even two years later just the idea of my game made me sick.

  “But he wasn’t trying to brag about it or anything,” Titus said. “He was doing it for my own good. You know, to make sure I didn’t try to mess around with Caesar and Simon and get hurt. Basically, the Kid thought I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’m a hacker, just like him. I know my stuff. And I offered the Kid my help, but he always told me it was best that I stayed out of it. Quite honestly, I haven’t heard from him much in the past year. He doesn’t enter the game hardly at all anymore.”

  “We’ve been pretty busy,” I said.

  “Are you guys any closer?”

  “To what?”

  “Finding Caesar.”

  I stared out my window for a long time. “It doesn’t really matter anymore.”

  “How so?”

  “Now that Carver’s dead ...” I shook my head. “How much longer do you think it will be?”

  “Maybe another hour. But that’s just to the airport. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen then.”

  “What airport?”

  “Immokalee Airport.”

  “Immokalee is where you live?”

  He nodded. “Me and Hercules.”

  “Who’s Hercules?”

  “My pet raccoon.”

  Before I could further investigate, Titus’s eyes grew wide and he snapped his fingers.

  “Shoot,” he said. “I almost forgot.”

  “What?”

  He pointed at the glove compartment. “They’re in there.”

  “What are?”

  “Besides constantly surfing the web, I also like to tinker.”

  “Tinker with what?”

  “Just stuff. Like, create gadgets, or improve on gadgets. Go ahead, open it up.”

  I opened the glove compartment. Inside were cassette tapes, all for the Grateful Dead, as well as the usual glove compartment junk—owner’s manual, folding map, flashlight, a sunglasses case.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “That case right there.”

  I pulled out the sunglasses case, held it up. “And?”

  “Open it up, man.”

  I opened the case. Inside were not sunglasses, but a pair of thin reading glasses, much like the ones I normally wore.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, hoping he would get to the point.

  “You can’t even tell it’s there, can you?”

  “I can’t even tell what’s where?”

  “The camera.”

  I squinted down at the glasses, then shook my head. “There’s no camera there.”

  Titus beamed proudly. “The Kid sent me a pair of the glasses the players use. Actually, it was the pair he wore when he pretended to be you at the end of your game. Even though he broke them, he kept them, and when I expressed interest in seeing what they were like, he just sent me his.”

  “And you managed to turn them into this?”

  “No way. Those glasses right there, those took a lot of work and money. I just wanted to see how Caesar’s people make their glasses. It’s pretty basic, really, with a mini camera inside attached to a mini antenna to send the signal. Plus there’s a battery, but it only lasts for a few days. That’s because they don’t expect the players to last very long.”

  “Okay,” I said again. “But ... why are you showing me these now?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. I thought you might be able to use them sometime. They’re yours. Even
your prescription. I figured it out based on the lenses from the broken pair the Kid sent.”

  I folded the glasses and placed them back in the case and snapped it shut. “I appreciate the gesture, but again, now that Carver’s dead ...”

  “Yeah,” Titus said, and his smile faded.

  We drove on in silence.

  24

  About a half hour later, Titus said he should have a strong signal now and pulled out a BlackBerry from his pocket. He checked the screen, confirmed that yes, there were several bars, and handed me the phone.

  “Do you know the Kid’s number?” he asked.

  I did.

  The phone rang three times before the Kid answered, uncertainly, “Domino’s Pizza, will this be for pickup or delivery?”

  “It’s me,” I said.

  He let out a breath. “About fucking time. Did my guy come through?”

  “So far so good.”

  “How far are you from the airport?”

  I relayed the question to Titus who told me at least another half hour. When I told the Kid, he said, “Good. They should be there by then.”

  “Who’s coming?”

  “Maya’s flying down with Fred.”

  “Any word on Ian?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  I sat up straighter in my seat. “What happened?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Two hours ago, Ronny was driving up 95 when out of nowhere this black motorcycle comes zooming up on his left. At first he thought it might be trouble—he said he even reached for his gun—but then he noticed Ian was on the back. Ian motioned for him to pull over. He pulled over, and the motorcycle pulled over, and then Ian got off and the motorcycle sped away.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Weirdest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “How did the rider know Ronny’s location?”

  “That’s what we’re still trying to figure out. It does have us worried. Drew and Jesse are headed now to intercept them. Eventually they’re going to ditch the SUV.”

  “Have you talked with Ian?”

  “I haven’t, but Ronny said he asked him a few questions, like who the fuck the rider was, but Ian doesn’t know. He just said the guy—or girl, I guess we can’t rule out that possibility—just kept driving until after a few hours they managed to catch up with Ronny. Like I said, weirdest fucking thing, right?”

  I didn’t say anything. I was relieved to hear that Ian was safe and unharmed—at least not any worse than he already was—but I still had to kick myself for letting him go in the first place. It may have been a split-second decision, but it was still stupid and reckless and could have gotten Ian killed. Thankfully it hadn’t, but that still didn’t mean I shouldn’t feel disgusted with my actions.

  “Ben,” the Kid said. “Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “I’m going to be coming out to you guys in another day or two. We have a lot to talk about.”

  I stared out my window, the sun shining off the swamp water. “Boojum,” I whispered.

  “What was that?”

  “Boojum. It was the last thing Carver said to me before he died.”

  “Boojum,” the Kid said slowly, as if trying to get a sense of how the word tasted. “Are you sure you heard him right?”

  “He said it a couple times. I’m positive.”

  “Boojum,” the Kid said again, still rolling it around on his tongue.

  “Any idea what it means?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Look into it, will you?”

  “Right. Like I have nothing better to do with my time. I’ll see you soon, Ben.”

  I disconnected the call and handed the phone back to Titus, who was giving me a curious look.

  “Boojum?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Boojum.”

  • • •

  THE IMMOKALEE AIRPORT is a public use, publicly owned airport in Collier County. It’s the type of airport that mostly caters to single engine airplanes. It doesn’t have a control tower and it doesn’t have much security. Which was a good thing, because I was currently in possession of two stolen police standard-issue firearms.

  We arrived just after seven-thirty. By then the clouds had broken up more allowing even more sunlight. Titus parked the Beetle by one of the hangers. He turned off the car then dug into his pocket for his BlackBerry and handed it to me without comment.

  I dialed the Kid and waited two rings before he answered.

  “We’re here,” I said.

  “Good. They’ll be there any minute now.”

  “Have you looked into boojum yet?”

  “I’ve been a little too preoccupied.”

  “Have you talked to Ronny or Maya or anyone since we last talked?”

  “Briefly. Why?”

  “Did you mention boojum?”

  “No. Again, why?”

  “Because I’ve been thinking. Maybe it really is nothing. Carver ... he was dying, and he was just ... it’s probably nothing to get our hopes up about.”

  “I never thought it would be, but I see what you mean. We’ll definitely look into it later, but if you want to keep it quiet for now, I’m totally fine with that. Anything else?”

  “No.” I paused. “Just ... thanks.”

  “Anytime. Now let me talk to Titus.”

  I handed the phone over. Titus listened for a few seconds, nodding, and said, “It was no problem. Like I told you before, I’m happy to give any help I can.” Then he clicked off and stared down at the phone and started punching the keys with his thumbs.

  I stared out my window at the sky, hoping to see Fred’s jet approaching but only spotting scattered clouds and a few distant birds.

  “You guys have a pilot?” Titus asked.

  “In a way. The guy we use works for a private jet company that usually serves celebrities and the ultra rich. Whenever we need a fast flight, the Kid calls them. The guy we use—Fred—he was there the first time two years back at the end of my game. Ever since then the Kid has requested him.”

  “He doesn’t ever wonder what you guys do?”

  “Probably, but he never asks, which is fine with us.”

  Titus had kept his focus on the BlackBerry this entire time, his thumbs typing, but now looked up.

  “I think I found it.”

  “Found what?”

  “The significance of boojum.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it could stand for a number of things—like did you know there was a baseball player back in the twenties and thirties nicknamed Boojum?—but I think what Carver meant—if, you know, he meant anything—had to deal with The Hunting of the Snark.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s a poem by Lewis Carroll. The reason I think it has significance is what you had written about Carver in your story—how he and his wife were even painting his kid’s room with characters from Carroll’s work.”

  “Where did you find this?”

  “Wikipedia.”

  “Okay,” I said with a sigh. “Then what’s boojum have to do with anything?”

  “According to this, the boojum is a particular variety of snark, which causes any who meet it to, and I quote, ‘softly and suddenly vanish away, and never be met with again.’ ”

  I let that sink in for a moment—a long moment, really, remembering the look on Carver’s face when he tried speaking that single word as he died—but before I could say anything else I noticed a dot off in the distance. I sat up straighter in my seat, squinting. I couldn’t make out what kind of plane it was, but I knew it was Fred and Maya. It just had to be.

  “What is it?”

  “Thanks for everything, Titus.”

  I opened my door, started to get out, but hesitated. I had the two guns and considered giving Titus one of them; if he knew about Caesar and his people—not to mention he had just helped me escape Miami—it was possible his li
fe could be in danger. But I didn’t know if the little man even knew how to fire a gun, let alone handle one, and I didn’t have time to give him a crash course. The dot in the sky had already become a splotch which was definitely aimed toward the airport.

  “Ben,” Titus called before I shut the door.

  I lowered my head back into the car.

  “Remember, if you guys ever need any help, let me know. It would be an honor.”

  He looked so lonely there for a second, so lost and pathetic, that I wanted to tell him he could come along with me right now. At least that, I hoped, would cheer him up, especially after everything he had just done for me. But the truth was there would be nothing for him to do. Carver was dead and right now none of us knew what the future held.

  “I appreciate it,” I said. “And if we ever do need more help, we’ll definitely let you know.”

  He managed a smile. “Thanks.”

  The splotch in the sky had materialized into a jet, a Gulfstream G100 to be exact, most likely the same one that had flown Carver and me into Atlanta just the other day.

  Titus said my name again, and I ducked my head back down and once again thanked him, and then I shut the door and started away from the Beetle, placing both guns in the waistband of my jeans, watching the jet as it made its descending approach, growing larger and larger, its wheels lowering and locking into place, and then it touched down and I realized I was walking even faster, almost running, not caring if it wasn’t proper protocol to stay off the runway, wanting to just leave here, to go back home, away from all of this, and then before I realized it I was running as the jet slowed nearly two football fields away and began to turn around, and I could see Fred in the cockpit along with his copilot and he said something to the copilot who nodded and said something back, and the jet slowed and stopped and the side door opened and the ladder began to descend and there was Maya, looking out at me, and I wiped at my eyes because there were tears in them, just a few, and Maya hurried down the steps and met me halfway, wrapping her arms around me, telling me it was okay, while I sniffed back the tears and told her that Carver was dead, that he was dead, that he was dead.

  “I know,” she said softly. “I know. It’s over now. Everything is okay.”