The Legacy

by Stephen W. Frey

  “I’ll tell you when we get there.”

  16

  In a matter of hours dead calm would again turn to absolute chaos. Cole was certain of that. However, this time he was better prepared for it. This time he knew exactly what he was looking for, where to find it, and what to expect when he got there. And he knew the terrain. This time the struggle would be fought on his turf instead of New York City streets.

  Cole glanced over at Tori, who sat next to him in the plane’s first-class cabin calmly perusing a magazine and sipping a pre-takeoff glass of wine. He knew the players, too.

  Tori noticed him looking at her. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

  “Do I need a reason?” Cole smiled and looked away.

  He knew the players, all right, but he didn’t know everyone’s exact motivation. He was fairly certain he had figured out who was friend and who was foe, but there was always that seed of doubt, always that possibility he had misjudged someone. He glanced at Tori again out of the corner of his eye. Motivation was the only variable in all of this now.

  “Excuse me,” a voice said loudly.

  Cole was sitting in the aisle seat and had to lean toward Tori so a woman carrying two large bags could move past him and into the main cabin of the Continental Airlines Boeing 727. Following the woman was a young man who was in his early twenties, Cole guessed. He wore a golf shirt—BAY HILL G.C. embroidered above the pocket—and khakis. His only carry-on luggage was a small duffel bag. He was the same young man who had been watching them carefully in the waiting area at the gate. Cole nodded to him as he shuffled after the woman through first class and toward the rear of the plane. The young man nodded back politely, trying to act like any other passenger.

  “Why are we flying to Los Angeles?” Tori asked, replacing the magazine in its pocket on the bulkhead in front of the first row. “You still haven’t let me in on the big secret.”

  Cole turned to her as the young man moved past. “I told you, I’ll let you know when we get there.”

  Tori rolled her eyes. She was tired of that explanation. “I think I have a right to know now. After all, I’m the one paying for three thousand dollars’ worth of first-class tickets.”

  “You are, aren’t you?” He grinned. “Well, you’re rich. You can afford it.”

  “I’m not rich. My mother has the money.”

  “No offense.” Cole touched her diamond bracelet. “But I doubt NBC pays you enough to splurge on things like that very often. And you were wearing a different bracelet when we went to lunch at the Broadway Diner that looked even more expensive than that one.”

  “I don’t get an allowance from my mother,” Tori said firmly. She knew what he was thinking. “The bracelets were presents.”

  “I don’t know much about jewelry,” Cole admitted. “But that present looks like it’s at least ten thousand dollars’ worth of allowance.”

  Tori was quickly becoming annoyed. Cole was very good at diverting conversations when he didn’t want to answer a question. “And what’s your problem?”

  “No problem, I’m just making a point.”

  “I’m not rich,” she said again.

  “But you will be.”

  She waved her hand in disgust.

  “You can afford the tickets,” Cole said confidently. “That’s the point.”

  “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Tori asked.

  “What are you talking about?” Cole’s dimples appeared, as if he knew exactly what she was talking about.

  “I’m here to fund this vacation, aren’t I? Is Los Angeles just a stopover? Are we really headed to Hawaii?”

  “Actually we’re headed to a little-known island south of Hawaii,” Cole teased. “An island that offers only one flight a week in and out of Colesville, the capital city. I wanted to get you alone and I figured if I took you there you’d have no choice except to stay. I knew you’d be mad at me, but I figured you’d get over it in a few days.”

  “You’re impossible.” But she couldn’t keep from smiling.

  Cole’s expression turned serious. “I promise you, Tori, you will be very glad you came. And yes, one of the reasons I asked you to come with me was to fund this trip. I’m not doing well financially. You should understand that.” He looked into her eyes. “But first of all, as we’ve established, you can afford it. And secondly, the amount of money you spend in the next few days will seem like peanuts in return for what you get. You won’t be a second-stringer at NBC when this is over.”

  Tori nodded slowly. She could see the intensity in his eyes. “Okay.”

  * * *

  —

  The young man who had followed Cole and Tori to the Thomases’ apartment building on Eighty-seventh Street and now to La Guardia Airport stowed his duffel bag in the overhead compartment and slid into his back-of-the-plane, economy-class window seat. Almost immediately a fat man in a cowboy hat and a pair of too-tight designer jeans settled into the middle seat next to him.

  “Haddy,” the fat man said loudly.

  The young man crossed his arms over his chest, turned away and closed his eyes without answering. He had no desire to engage in meaningless conversation with this idiot for six hours. He shifted in the narrow seat, trying to get comfortable. William Seward was going to be happy. Cole Egan was on the move, and he was right on Egan’s tail.

  Through the plane’s intercom a stewardess alerted passengers that boarding was almost completed and that the crew would be shutting the doors in just a few moments in preparation for takeoff. The young man could feel himself drifting off. He hadn’t gotten much rest since the beginning of surveillance and here was a chance to catch five or six hours of sleep.

  The plane pushed back from the gate and taxied toward the runway. It was early afternoon and there were only two flights ahead of them. Soon they would be winging their way to sunny Los Angeles, where the temperature was eighty-seven degrees. Passengers were reminded to set their watches back three hours….The young man heard the pilot telling him all this useless information as his eyes fluttered shut.

  * * *

  —

  Cole watched from behind the airport glass as the Continental 727 moved out onto the runway and began lumbering down the strip—the same 727 from which he and Tori had deplaned at the last minute, just as the flight crew was shutting the door. Seconds later he watched the aircraft lift off and head toward the overcast sky. A slight smile crossed Cole’s face as the wheels folded up into the fuselage. He could only imagine the panic the young man in the golf shirt would endure when the realization that he and Tori weren’t on board hit him. He was a young man Cole had noticed outside the Thomases’ apartment on Eighty-seventh Street and for a moment in the Kro Bar as he was playing pool with Bennett.

  Cole shook his head. His father had played this so perfectly. There were two tapes, and therefore two chances to get this thing right. Jim Egan must have realized that the first tape would cause a huge uproar, so not only had he sent Bennett to help but he had provided a second tape and a second opportunity. Cole was much better prepared this time, as the young man in the Bay Hill golf shirt would soon understand.

  Cole passed a hand through his hair as he watched the plane climb toward the cloud cover. He could feel his father now—the way his father thought, how he had anticipated everything. It was an analytical mind at work, and Cole was simply executing a perfectly conceived plan. The note on the hotel room floor had stated that there was a tape hidden in the loft of the Albion boathouse—a stone structure halfway down the Lassiter River—secured to the top of a beam in the boathouse’s northeast corner. Few people knew about the Albion boathouse or where it was, and fewer still knew what it was called. Cole chuckled. The Albion family had no idea what was in their boathouse, which was doubtless just as well for them. He chuckled again. “Good going, Dad,” he murmured.

 
; “What did you say?” Tori was coming back from buying a Coke.

  “Nothing.”

  “You know, you’re really a fountain of information sometimes.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What now, Mr. Mysterious?” Tori asked.

  “Now we go to La Guardia’s east terminal and board Northwest flight 917 for Minneapolis.” Cole was half expecting to see Bennett on that plane.

  “I suppose I’ll be paying for these tickets as well,” she said.

  “Absolutely,” Cole confirmed.

  They turned and walked back toward the main terminal to catch a cab over to the Northwest Airlines gates.

  “So, do you?” Her eyes danced as she asked the question.

  “Do I what?” Cole was still thinking about his father.

  “Do you really want to get me alone?”

  Cole put his head back and laughed. “Maybe.”

  17

  The damn airlines. Unless your destination was New York City or Los Angeles, you were pretty much locked into a specific carrier if you wanted a direct flight. Bennett studied the departure board. Other than Northwest Airlines, the only way to Minneapolis this afternoon was a United flight that connected through Chicago. The United flight didn’t leave for another hour and a half and didn’t arrive in Minneapolis until eight o’clock Central Time. But he didn’t want to get on the Northwest direct flight because he didn’t want Cole to see him on board.

  Bennett shrugged. So be it. He walked to the United counter and fifteen minutes later had purchased a ticket after waiting in a long line. He would arrive in Minneapolis three hours behind Cole. But that was all right, because he knew where Cole was going. The message on the Washington answering machine had explained all of that.

  Bennett moved through the metal detector and walked down the long corridor toward the gate. Cole would stay at his aunt and uncle’s house in Duluth tonight, then head to the tiny town of Hubbard and on to the Lassiter River tomorrow. That was the message on the answering machine. Cole had even left his aunt and uncle’s phone number. Bennett stopped at a newsstand to buy a paper. It wasn’t that he was worried about finding Cole. That wouldn’t be a problem. He was worried about what might happen to Cole while he wasn’t around to protect him.

  Why in hell, Bennett asked himself, had Cole come to this terminal if he was headed to Minneapolis on the Northwest flight? Northwest Airlines gates were in the east terminal. He shrugged. Maybe the cabbie who had brought Cole from Manhattan didn’t realize that the Northwest gates weren’t in La Guardia’s main terminal. And who was that woman with Cole?

  Bennett took a seat at the United gate marked “CHICAGO” and glanced at his watch. He had a lot of time to kill before boarding would begin. Maybe in the interim, with a few well-placed calls to Washington, he could find out who the woman with Cole was.

  As Bennett relaxed in the seat a tiny dart struck him in the neck an inch below his left ear, spreading anesthetic through his bloodstream rapidly. He knew instantly what had happened and quickly flicked the sharp projectile from his skin, but it was too late. Already he was feeling the initial effects of the drug—a loss of motor control and blurred eyesight.

  He stood up, searching for his attacker even as he tried to fight the effects of the anesthetic. His eyes fastened instantly on one figure standing ten feet away. The man wore a black homburg hat and a long black coat. Curly sideburns dangled from beneath both sides of the hat, and his face was covered by a mustache and beard. And there was a scar running down the left side of the man’s nose and disappearing into his beard. It was the man who had taken the tape from Cole.

  And then Bennett collapsed onto the floor. He could fight the drug no longer. With his last ounce of strength he pulled the airline ticket from his inside coat pocket and shoved it behind the ashtray stand beside him. Cole was on his own now. It was the last thing that raced through Bennett’s mind. Then the darkness closed in around him.

  “Help us here!” the man in the long black coat shouted. “This man has had a heart attack!” he yelled, pointing toward Bennett. Within seconds, a pair of paramedics were kneeling next to Bennett. After a few moments they lifted him onto a stretcher, then rolled him hurriedly away to an ambulance waiting outside the terminal.

  Commander Magee smiled. William Seward had been correct. The young man following Cole knew exactly where Bennett Smith was—tailing Cole Egan as well. Magee glanced at the board behind the gate’s ticket counter indicating that the flight’s destination was Chicago. A puzzled expression came to his face. That couldn’t be correct. Cole was on his way to Los Angeles. Bennett should have been, too. Magee watched as the paramedics hustled down the corridor, pushing the stretcher ahead of them. Bennett Smith must have simply been resting here while he waited to take a different flight to the West Coast than Cole.

  Magee turned away. He needed to get to the rest-room, lose the disguise and get out to the ambulance. Bennett Smith was in for a difficult afternoon.

  * * *

  —

  Cole and Tori walked out of the airport terminal onto the sidewalk as the ambulance carrying Bennett passed by, lights flashing.

  “I hate ambulances,” Tori said quietly as a taxi pulled up in front of them. It reminded her of that Christmas Eve when paramedics had raced to their house to try to revive her father, who had never regained consciousness after his massive stroke.

  * * *

  —

  The ambulance sped away from La Guardia Airport through Queens. As it crossed the bridge over the East River and into Manhattan, the driver extinguished the emergency lights. The ambulance cruised through Harlem and a few minutes later arrived at what appeared to be an unused warehouse. The warehouse door rose, then descended as the ambulance passed beneath it.

  When the ambulance had come to a stop, Magee and the other two agents, dressed in paramedic uniforms, jumped out and lifted Bennett Smith from the back of the vehicle. Bennett was still strapped to the stretcher. They rolled him over the floor and into an office at the edge of the huge space, where they lifted his body from the stretcher and dropped him roughly into a large chair, then fastened his wrists and ankles to shackles bolted to the chair.

  “Good,” Magee said. “Now get out of here.”

  The other agents obeyed instantly.

  From the office window Magee watched the ambulance taillights disappear behind the large metal door as it descended smoothly to the floor again.

  “I see all went well,” William Seward observed from a doorway at the rear of the office.

  Magee turned away from the window. “Yes, it did.”

  “Did he have an airline ticket on him?” Seward asked, hoping they would get a quick clue to Cole’s destination.

  Magee glanced up, giving away his embarrassment at not having checked. Quickly he searched Bennett’s pockets. “There isn’t one here.”

  Seward let out a frustrated breath. Somehow Bennett Smith had gotten rid of the ticket, knowing they would look for it. “I’ve checked with the airlines, but I couldn’t find out anything. He probably purchased his ticket using an alias. I’m sure he has many.”

  “Who cares if he had a ticket anyway?” Magee asked. “We already have someone on Cole’s ass.”

  “How long until he wakes up?” Seward asked without answering Magee’s question.

  “Not long. The guys in the ambulance administered a stimulant as we were coming in from Queens. It’ll probably be less than five minutes before he’s ready to talk.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  Magee heard concern in Seward’s tone. “What’s the matter?”

  “Cole Egan has disappeared,” Seward answered.

  “What?”

  “Yes.” Seward limped to where Bennett sat shackled to the chair, his head leaning to one side, and poked Bennett’s face with his cane. “It seems Cole gave
our young professional the slip.” Seward said the word “professional” sarcastically.

  “But I was out at La Guardia not more than an hour ago and talked to the guy,” Magee argued. “He put me onto Bennett Smith. Cole was waiting to board a flight to Los Angeles when I met up with our guy. We had been in constant contact for almost an hour by cell phone. When we met, he told me that Smith had followed Cole to the airport, then headed to the United ticket counter. That’s where I located Smith. He was just buying his ticket. Our guy had everything under control.”

  Bennett groaned as Seward poked him with the cane again, this time even harder. “He thought he had everything under control,” Seward corrected Magee. “He called me from twenty-five thousand feet five minutes ago to tell me that Cole deplaned just before the flight backed away from the gate.” Seward watched as Bennett’s eyes fluttered open. “Our guy had to take a piss and decided to use the lavatory at the front of the plane where Cole was sitting so he could check on him. Imagine our guy’s surprise when Cole wasn’t in his seat, and the stewardess informed him that Cole had gotten off.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Bennett mumbled. He tried to stand up but the shackles kept him down.

  “Good afternoon, Agent Smith,” Seward began politely. “My name is William Seward. I am a senior official of the Defense Intelligence Agency.”

  Bennett tried to focus on the man’s face but his vision was still blurred.

  “I run something known as Operation Snowfall. I’ll spare you the particulars,” Seward continued, “but suffice it to say that I have a strong interest in a man named Cole Egan. It seems that you do too, and I want to know why.”

  Bennett’s vision finally cleared enough that he could make out Seward’s face.

  “Why have you been following Cole Egan?” Seward persisted.

  “How long have I been under?” Bennett tried to look at his watch, but it was against the arm of the chair, his wrist held there by a shackle.