[Jack Emery 01.0] The Foundation

by Steve P Vincent

  She looked down the table to Sandra Cheng. She looked like she was about to drop dead on the spot, with heavy eyes and limp hair. After her divorce, she’d gained a board seat. Now Ernest was dead. It looked like the news had hit Sandra particularly hard. Michelle nearly sympathized with the stress the woman must be under—the death of her ex-husband and the fact that Ernest’s daughter had chosen to confide in Michelle rather than her stepmother. Sarah, for her part, just looked sad.

  As if on cue, Peter Weston cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got a lot to get through. Moving right into it—”

  Michelle interrupted. “Excuse me, Peter, before we kick off, I’d like to ask that the meeting minutes record condolences to the family and friends of Ernest McDowell.”

  Weston could hardly hide his scowl. “Very well.”

  She smiled. “Ernest was a visionary. He’s a terrible loss for all of us. Sarah and Sandra, let me offer my personal condolences for your loss.”

  Michelle looked down the table and saw several nods and sad smiles. Sarah gave her a warm smile. Sandra didn’t even manage that, offering nothing but a half-hearted nod.

  Weston waited for the small amount of chatter to die down and then continued. “First item of business: the ongoing leadership of the company.”

  Sandra leaned forward. “I hope you’ll all be willing to support my bid for chairmanship, given the trauma we’ve all gone through.”

  Michelle chuckled as several outraged board members barked their disapproval. One she didn’t know spoke. “Sandra, you’re grieving. There’s no need to be silly.”

  Sandra was unrepentant. She raised her hands, palms facing outward, to block any attempt at rebuttal and further flare ups of the argument. “My family and I hold enough of this company to retain the chairmanship. Ernest may be gone, but it’s important that we keep things in the family.”

  Michelle cleared her throat. “Excuse me if I’m being too forward, but I do wonder what particular family you’re referring to? The man who divorced you or the stepdaughter who hates you?”

  As Sandra blustered, Weston spoke up. “Ernest’s will specified that his entire portfolio go to his daughter. There’s no correlation between Sarah’s holding and your own, Sandra. I’ve invited her to this meeting to make her views known.”

  Anthony Tanner, a Foundation-aligned board member, spoke up. “Indeed, given the size of her holding, we should hear from her.”

  Michelle smiled. Tanner had been easy to buy off: a large amount of money and a small number of revealing photographs outside the Ruby Slipper. He was another piece of the EMCorp puzzle in her pocket, and also an effective mouthpiece in her current fight to gain total control. Michelle sat back as Sandra started to protest.

  Tanner shook his head again. “You have the floor, Sarah.”

  Sarah looked nervous and unsure as she looked down the table. “Okay.”

  Sandra tried to steal the march. “Sarah, tell them that you want me to be chairwoman. It’s ridiculous to consider any other possibility.”

  Michelle was fascinated by the interplay between the two as Sarah narrowed her eyes at Sandra.

  “That’s not what I want.” Sarah’s voice was haunting. “I’m combining the weight of my shareholding with Michelle’s stock. I trust her to look after the best interests of my father’s company.”

  Michelle felt a wave of relief wash over her. After having Ernest in her hand, then losing him, this was sweet vindication. McDowell had been a loose cannon, a man of such immense power and ego who had proved difficult to control. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. She’d ensure her appointed chairman was completely loyal.

  She smiled, aware the others were looking at her. “I thank you for the show of faith, Sarah. I’m sorry, Sandra.”

  Sandra bristled but kept her mouth shut, and Peter Weston leaned forward as though about to talk, a look of concern on his face.

  He didn’t get the chance, as Tanner forestalled any reply. “Right, who will it be, Ms Dominique?”

  “Thanks, Anthony.” Michelle nodded to Peter Weston and gestured toward the door.

  Weston looked confused, but moved as instructed. Michelle waited as the doors to the boardroom were opened to admit a tall, well-dressed man—Michelle’s answer to controlling EMCorp. She was not actually interested in the daily workings of the company, just in ensuring it was on message. Her flunkies would sort that out, so she could focus on her bigger problems: Chen, Jack Emery and the approaching election.

  As the newcomer walked to the head of the table, Michelle kept talking. “I’d like to introduce Gavin Marles. He joins the board and assumes the chairmanship with a wealth of experience. He has the full support of Sarah McDowell, myself and several other significant shareholders. I hope you’ll join me in endorsing his board appointment and chairmanship unanimously.”

  Michelle didn’t add that Marles was also as pliable as they came and in utter lockstep with her agenda. As she looked up and down the table, there were no dissenting voices. She was impressed that the board members could read the situation. Even Sandra, who sat with her arms folded and a sour look on her face.

  Marles smiled. “Good morning, all. It’s a pleasure to be here. I intend to hit the ground running, with a review of all of our operations. I’m concerned that at times in recent months our focus erred slightly. I intend to rectify that.”

  Michelle smiled. Marles might be a patsy, but he was a capable one. Most importantly, he was her patsy. He’d ensure the war was covered properly. Just as importantly, he’d throw a wave of support behind the bid for Congress by the Foundation candidates.

  “Now, with the chairmanship settled, I’d like to get onto the guts of the meeting.” Marles paused. “Peter, could I ask that the shareholders be excused?”

  Weston nodded, a sad look on his face. “I’ll send minutes of this meeting to everyone in attendance. You have the company’s thanks for taking the time today. There’ll be light refreshments served in the executive dining room that you’re all welcome to enjoy.”

  Michelle smiled and stood without a word. She walked toward the door and met Sarah McDowell. She placed a hand on the young woman’s back and guided her through. Sarah turned her head and smiled, but kept quiet. The meeting had gone as they’d planned.

  “I’ll catch you in the dining room?” Michelle kept her voice low.

  “Okay, see you there.” Sarah nodded and kept walking.

  As Sarah walked away, Michelle smiled. Things were traveling nicely. The war against China was kicking along, and there had been a positive increase in US economic figures. Most importantly, public sentiment had swung back in a conservative direction which gave Michelle and the other Foundation-aligned Congressional candidates a good chance to win a decent number of seats.

  Once that happened, the fun would begin. Power. And rebirth.

  As she started down the hall toward the dining room, she checked her cell phone. It had a message that needed her attention. It was confirmation that Jack Emery had boarded a flight at JFK Airport to Hawaii and on to Taiwan. There was only one plausible scenario—he had tracked down Chen and was on his way to find him. She frowned, less happy with the progress made in dealing with those two problems.

  She knew that the end game was coming, and that if those two were allowed to meet, then there was a real chance that everything she’d fought for would be lost. She needed to terminate both of them, but knew that Emery was a far easier proposition than Chen. It was fortuitous that they’d both be in the same country at the same time. Or at least that’s what her gut was saying. If Emery was going to Taiwan then Chen must be there.

  She sent a simple message: Send assets to Taiwan. Follow Emery until he leads us to Chen. Then sort it out.

  With luck, Emery and Chen would be dead in a gutter within a few days.

  25

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff addressed media in Washington today, providing a comprehensive upda
te on the progress of the conflict against China. Admiral Matt Glennon detailed the NATO and other allied assets that had arrived in theater, spearheaded by the French aircraft carrier Charles De Gaulle. The flotilla of forty-eight ships from nineteen countries will join the Japanese Navy’s efforts to protect sea lanes in the ocean around the conflict. While their involvement in the conflict will be limited to defense of merchant shipping, the presence of such an international coalition is an important public relations win for the United States, further isolating China among the international community.

  Lee Jordan, New York Standard, October 27

  Jack knew that the Happy Kitchen and Bar wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it suited him just fine at the moment. He’d left Celeste safe in Hawaii and boarded a flight to Taiwan. She hadn’t taken it well, once she’d realized they weren’t going to Australia, nor was she following him to Taiwan. At first she’d raised her eyebrows slightly, as if waiting for him to reveal it was a gag. But her expression had quickly changed to a frown. He’d told her that he was traveling to Taipei to finish this business.

  She’d protested and refused to stay behind. He’d desperately wanted to concede and let her come, but he hadn’t. He’d reviewed some of the information on the USB, and it was awesome. He just had to track down Chen and get the last lot of evidence they’d need to end the serpent-like grip of Dominique and the Foundation for a New America on EMCorp. He knew it was dangerous and he couldn’t do what needed to be done if he was worrying about Celeste. She’d backed down only after he’d laid on a fairly heavy guilt trip on her about needing to know she was safe, and that he’d already lost too many people who were important to him. The end result was the same, though: she was safe in Oahu and he could get on with what needed to be done.

  He sighed and got back to work. He’d spent countless hours trawling through the information on the USB that Hickens had managed to unlock, and it was scary shit. There were pieces linking the Foundation to everything, but Chen was the only glue that could bind all the bits together. Jack had no idea where Chen was, but Hickens had found a tiny fragment on the Darknet to show that Chen had returned to Taiwan after he’d been forced to flee America. It was also the logical place to go.

  The only interruption to his trawl had been an email from EMCorp Human Resources, telling him he’d been fired at the request of the board. Jack couldn’t explain it, and hadn’t spent much time thinking about it, but he somehow knew Dominique was involved. He’d determined to worry about his employment situation once Chen and Dominique were dealt with. They were his priority at the moment, and the first step was finding Chen.

  Jack heard raised voices and looked up at the bar. He hadn’t noticed the entry of the four well-dressed Chinese men who were now harassing the barman. Jack did his best to keep cool, but the barman’s occasional nervous glance toward him was enough to tell him the gig was up. He closed the browser window and hit the shutdown icon on the desktop. As the machine whirred and then went silent, he pulled the USB free from the slot.

  He looked up as the group of new arrivals approached his booth, reaching behind where he was sitting to slide the USB between two cushions. It was a tight fit, but as they came to a stop before his table, he was confident that the device was hidden.

  Jack smiled at the men as they crowded around the table. After another moment, one of them slid into the booth opposite Jack. One of the others stood facing him, while two more faced outwards. Jack glanced over to the bar and noticed that the barman had made himself scarce. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were another couple of goons standing outside, directing pedestrians away from the bar. One way or another, it was clear that this meeting was on their terms and wasn’t to be interrupted.

  “Hello, Mr Emery. I’m sorry for this display, but it’s quite necessary to ensure my safety—and yours.” The man who’d sat opposite him spoke in decent English.

  Jack scoffed. “I’m struggling to see the imminent threat to your person, quite honestly. Afraid I might put a fork through your eye?”

  The other man laughed. “A fair point. My name is Wen and I represent Michelle Dominique. You’re on a fool’s errand that has placed you in grave danger.”

  Jack made an effort to keep his facial expression neutral. “I know this area is a bit seedy, but I’m only after a beer and a night with a warm body.”

  Wen laughed and waved his hand dismissively, clearly not buying Jack’s version of events. “To ensure your safety, I require you to tell me where Chen is. We know you’ve traced him here. Once this information is provided, my colleagues and I will escort you to the airport. You may then go anywhere you want with our blessing.”

  Jack laughed. The Foundation were getting desperate. Though they’d traced him here, the fact that they were talking to him rather than putting a bullet in him showed they had less idea where Chen was than he did. If the Foundation knew where Chen was, they’d have no use for Jack. Their entry into the situation made it a three-way game of hide and seek. He hadn’t expected finding Chen to be easy, but this made things significantly more difficult. He had to find Chen before they did.

  “Sorry, mate, even if I knew what you were talking about, a good journalist doesn’t reveal his sources.” Jack started to stand when one of the Foundation men took a few steps toward him, reached out and pushed him forcefully back into his seat.

  Wen’s expression darkened. “Mr Emery, you’ll give us any information you have about the whereabouts of Chen sooner or later. But the longer you delay, the greater the potential threat to your health.”

  Jack could have taken issue, but he had no doubt about the sincerity of their threat. “Look, you’ll need to find another tree to bark up. I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. So I’ll pass, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Wen’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Give me what I want, Mr Emery.”

  Jack sat in silence. The information on the USB and finding Chen were the only ways to bring McDowell’s shooting and the subversion of EMCorp to the fore. If he surrendered it then he’d lose the key to justice for McDowell, and the company’s influence would continue to be used to push an agenda.

  After a few moments, Wen shrugged, stood and gestured for his men to leave ahead of him. Once they were out of earshot Wen put both hands on the table and leaned in close to Jack’s face. Jack didn’t flinch, even though he could smell the tobacco on Wen’s breath and see the anger etched on his face.

  “We will meet again, you and me. And when we do, I’ll shit in your mouth and have my men force it closed until you choke on it.”

  Jack didn’t get the chance to respond, as Wen turned on his heels and left. It was bad enough that Dominique knew about him, but now her men were on his heels, waiting to pounce the moment he found Chen. His life was in greater danger by the day.

  He needed to find Chen. Soon.

  Chen had seen his share of blood, but it had never seemed as important as this.

  He stood with his mouth open and slack. His feet were planted like the roots of the mightiest tree, and refused to move despite signals from his mind. His entire consciousness worked furiously to process the sight of the thin ribbons of crimson that were interrupted only in a few places by small puddles. His training had abandoned him and he could focus on nothing else for several long moments.

  He’d traveled the short distance from his hideaway in central Taipei to the luxury apartment his wife and children were living in. Chen had taken all necessary precautions: he’d checked that he hadn’t been followed and discreetly entered the car park of the apartment building. He’d made his way cheerfully through the door and expected to be mobbed by his children and a relieved wife. It was to be their reunion.

  He had been met with silence.

  He’d first rushed to the master bedroom and found no sign of anyone. He’d shouted out and rushed to the next room in the apartment—the bathroom. There, near the entrance, he’d seen the blood. He’d looked inside the room and fr
ozen. He knew, deep down, that he’d find a heavy toll at the end of the trail. The real mystery was how steep the price would be. Wife or children? Wife and children? Chen feared the answer.

  He shook his head, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flick knife—the only weapon he had on hand. Carrying a gun around in Taipei was far too risky at the moment. He doubted that whoever was responsible was within a hundred miles, but hoped there would be a hostile foe in the house to help him expunge his sorrow by plunging a blade into their throat.

  He followed the trail of blood. As he did, the speed of his heartbeat increased and he struggled to keep his breathing even, despite his training. He knew the pattern of the blood—thin streaks along the carpet—meant someone had been moving quickly. But in some places there was a larger stain of blood, as well as handprints and streaks on the wall. Most concerning were the bloody footprints, bigger than any feet in his family.

  The trail snaked up the stairs, to the top level of the apartment. Chen gripped the knife tightly as he followed, knowing that anyone waiting in the expansive living area at the top of the stairs would have a free shot at his head once he reached the top. He moved cautiously and listened for any sound, but he could hear none. Whoever had done this was long gone, or very good.

  He peered over the lip of the stairs and felt his heart break. He gripped the knife tightly as the first tear rolled down his cheek. He climbed the last few stairs and rushed into the middle of the living room. On the large rug, with the debris of the living room splayed around her, his wife lay still and abused. Chen inhaled deeply, then let his training take over.

  Though he found it difficult, it was important that he secure the room before moving to his wife’s side. He scanned the area, knowing that there was only one possible hiding place from his current vantage point: the kitchen. He crossed the room, the small knife ready, but there was nobody there. Apart from his wife, the apartment was empty. That included his children. Whoever had killed her had most likely taken them.