Resistant

by Michael Palmer

  “It’s that bad?”

  “I’m taking a leave, aren’t I?”

  “Promise me you’ll check in with your doctor.”

  “If you promise me you’ll back off Welcome.”

  Lou’s lower back was starting to ache. He wanted desperately to shift positions, but worried that even the slightest movement might cause a sound. Instead, he focused on the image to distract himself. As before, the object was there, nearly lost in the whitecaps and the horizon and the scattered clouds.

  Maybe, just maybe …

  “I need you to go, Chuck,” Vaill said. “Please. I need my time and space to heal. Can you do that for me?”

  The younger agent exhaled loudly.

  Lou pictured his discouragement, but now his own pulse was beginning to quicken. McCall was just seconds from leaving.

  “Mind if I use your bathroom before I go?” he said suddenly.

  Lou’s breath caught and he braced himself against the sides of the tub. There was nothing he could think of to do except to remain motionless and keep his breathing slow and soundless.

  “Sure,” Vaill replied. “But then I need you to go.”

  The door opened. McCall stepped in and closed it behind him. Lou could think of nothing around the sink that would give his presence away. He clutched the laptop to his chest like a life preserver and stared up at the showerhead as the agent did his business two feet away.

  McCall flushed the toilet and washed his hands, standing not much farther away than the thickness of the vinyl shower curtain. Lou held his breath. The porcelain tub was feeling like it was made of shirt pins, and the damp clothes were becoming bothersome as well.

  Then the bathroom door opened and clicked shut.

  “I’m really worried about you, Tim,” McCall said.

  “I appreciate that.”

  “If you change your mind about staying on the team, call me.”

  “Roger that. I’ll see you again soon, Chuck. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine.”

  The door to the outside corridor opened and closed with the rusty squeal and a soft click. Two endless minutes passed before Vaill called out.

  “He just drove away. I don’t think he suspected anything, but we’ve got to think about getting out of here to another place. That was really stupid of me with the damn credit card, especially when I have one with a fake name that I don’t think the agency knows about.”

  Lou unfolded to his feet, stepped into the room, and glared at Vaill.

  “I can’t believe you let him use the damn bathroom. Why couldn’t you have told him the toilet was plugged or something?”

  “I didn’t think of it. Next time,” Vaill said. “Nice going in there. You have the makings of a decent agent.”

  “Actually, thanks to your partner’s visit, we might have caught a break.”

  “Explain,” Vaill said.

  Lou brought the laptop back to the desk.

  “Take a look at this. Because I turned the sound off and paused the DVD, I just lay there and stared at this one image. I can’t believe we missed this every time. Top center.”

  Vaill looked at the screen for just a few seconds.

  “Jesus,” he murmured. “There’s a ship out there.”

  “A tanker, I think. And at that distance, I would guess it’s a large one.”

  “I’ll be damned. Our analyst must have missed it, too. He never mentioned a word about it.”

  Lou ran the disc back and forth a few times. Now the tanker was obvious, cruising from their right to their left, just below the horizon.

  “Okay,” Vaill said, “we’ve found something. Now, how is it going to help us?”

  “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “On how good your analyst is at enhancing images. If he’s really good, and I mean really good, maybe he can get us a look at the markings on that ship.”

  CHAPTER 47

  Roosevelt’s New Deal needs an adversary worthy of its bloated aspirations, to force a retreat from its initial advance. In this regard, 100 Neighbors will be mightier than any military for our means to an end will not be subject to any of the rules governing war.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, PERSONAL COMMUNICATION TO CARL LAGRECA, SEPTEMBER 1936

  Vaill and Lou packed what little they had and headed off for the Wendover Suites, five miles east of the Grand Southern. Halfway there, Vaill, who had been pensively quiet, looked over at his passenger. There was reverence in his eyes.

  “Do you realize what you just did back there?” he asked.

  “Well, I know I noticed something we had missed seeing after hours of studying that video. Was there something else?”

  “The amazing thing is, mi amigo, we’re not the only ones who had missed it.”

  “The bureau analyst?”

  “Not just any analyst,” he said. “You just beat the Slugger.”

  Lou knitted his brows.

  “The who?”

  “Remember how I told you this video was logged as evidence and thoroughly analyzed by one of our best intelligence agents? No, make that our top intelligence agent.”

  “I sort of remember you commenting about an analyst, but I don’t remember anything about a slugger.”

  “Itsuki Sakura,” Vaill said, “not a slugger, the Slugger.”

  “Confusion reigns.”

  “It’s an internal nickname we have for the guy,” Vaill said. “Sakura played minor league pro ball in Japan for a short while before he moved to the States and became a legend at the agency. He’s a baseball fanatic, and I don’t mean your garden variety either. This guy is a living encyclopedia of American and Japanese baseball trivia, facts, and statistics. He’s an amazing intelligence analyst, but sometimes people use him as a last resort because he can be a bit, how should I say, tiring when it comes to getting him to focus. That aside, when the Slugger is locked in, man, he never misses.”

  “Slugger. I love it,” Lou said.

  “Tell me that after you’ve met him. Anyway, the Slugger looked at the video, too, but he saw nothing of real value.”

  “Guess I got lucky.”

  Vaill dismissed that notion with a flick of his hand.

  “No. In the agency you learn that you make your own luck. This time, the FBI fell short and when the Slugger reviews this video again, he’ll be the first to agree.”

  “He wasn’t prepared for the ship, that’s all. We watched that video more than a hundred times.”

  As a rabid Washington Nationals fan, who took Emily to two or three games a year, Lou felt he needed to defend the Slugger’s honor.

  “Whatever you say,” Vaill replied, “but I do understand what you mean. We once took a class at Quantico about observation and selective attention. They played a video of six people whipping a basketball around randomly in a circle. We were told to count the number of times the ball changed hands. Afterward, some had the right answer, some didn’t. Then the instructor asked who saw the gorilla. Nobody raised a hand, but sure enough, when he played the video back, a guy in a gorilla suit had wandered into the middle of the circle while the ball was being passed, did a little dance, and then wandered off. The class was so focused on counting the tosses, that the ape never registered.”

  “Terrific example. That’s exactly what happened with us, and probably to the Slugger as well. We were so focused on what Burke was doing and talking about, we never noticed the gorilla steaming along in the background. In medicine, when we read an x-ray, say, a chest x-ray in a patient with a big patch of pneumonia, we are taught to examine everything except the lungs first, because otherwise you lose yourself in the object of your interest. That’s how things get missed in, like, the ribs or the heart.”

  After twenty minutes of relatively uninspired evasive driving, they picked up forty dollars’ worth of Chinese takeout and checked into the Wendover Suites, which was a notch or so below the Grand Southern.

  As soon as they were in their room, they called Itsuki
Sakura in his San Diego office, to give him instructions. For the next several hours, Lou and Vaill ate, rested, talked about their lives, and waited for the Slugger to get back to them, this time on Skype. Lou had picked up only snippets of Vaill’s conversation with the man, but it was enough to know the analyst was not at all pleased with his own performance.

  The Chinese food was actually decent, but to Lou, his exchanges with Vaill were better. Not unexpectedly, much of what he had to say led back to Maria. Every time, Vaill’s eyes would grow distant and his heartache became a presence in the room. Lou found himself wondering if, after Renee, he’d ever feel like that toward another woman again. He talked about his enduring love for his now-remarried ex, his brief relationship with high-powered attorney Sarah Cooper, and even his growing attraction for Vicki Banks. Could he ever love a woman besides Renee the way Vaill treasured Maria? The jury, they concluded, was still very much out on that one.

  Skype’s ringtone electrified the moment. Vaill raced over to his computer and in a few seconds, Lou was introduced to Itsuki Sakura, a.k.a. the Slugger. Lou’s first impression was surprise at how young the analyst looked, having imagined a thin, wizened man with wise eyes. The Slugger, by contrast, had a mop of dark unruly hair, gold-rimmed glasses, and a delicate nose and mouth. Dressed in a white shirt and black tie, he reminded Lou of a graduate student more than a seasoned FBI intelligence analyst.

  Seated on the pull-out, Lou crowded in close to Vaill so that they could both be seen in the camera’s limited field. When they were properly positioned, the Slugger gave them a thumbs-up.

  “You are very bright man to see what you saw,” the Slugger said.

  According to Vaill, Sakura had become a naturalized citizen only ten years before.

  “I just got a little lucky,” Lou replied.

  “You know who considered self to be luckiest man on face of earth?”

  Vaill leaned over, briefly blocking Lou’s view entirely.

  “Slugger, we’ve got to focus here.”

  “Lou Gehrig, that who,” Slugger answered. “He said so in farewell address to baseball. But he never really left game. He still one of most loved players of all time. So maybe he was lucky, like you, but that does not lessen your accomplishment any, or his.”

  Lou liked the man immediately. Having worked with plenty of rhino-sized egos over his years in academic medicine, he took notice whenever somebody was not threatened by teamwork.

  “That’s great, Slugger,” Vail said. “Now, what have you got for us?”

  “You Lou Welcome, eh? That your name? Welcome?”

  “That’s right,” Lou said.

  “Good. Good. No relation to Welcome Gaston? Great-grandson, maybe?”

  “Who?” Lou asked.

  “Pitched for Brooklyn Bridegrooms from 1889 to 1899. They ancestor of Brooklyn Dodgers. Betcha not know that!”

  “I do now. What a pearl,” Lou said.

  “Slugger, the video!”

  “Yeah. Well, video very good quality. Sorry I read it so poorly first time. Now that we know freighter is there, easy to enhance and see IMO number.”

  “IMO?” Lou asked.

  “IMO, International Maritime Organization. Each ship has unique identifier. Can track back to registered ship owner and management company. Ship in video belong to Exceed Maritime. Headquarters in New Haven, Connecticut. Name of ship is EM Sustinet.”

  “That’s great work!” Vaill exclaimed, with Lou nodding his assent.

  “Still feel like Bobby Richardson for missing ship altogether.”

  “Feel like who?” Vaill asked.

  “Bobby Richardson,” Lou said. “Second baseman for the Yankees. The only player ever to win the World Series MVP while playing for the losing team.”

  “Very good, Lou Welcome! Remember Bill Mazeroski? He hit home run to win that 1960 series for Pirates. Major, major upset. But Richardson, he hit .367. Drive in twelve runs. Hit grand slam, too.”

  “Slugger can we get back to the video?” Vaill pleaded. “Could you pick up the location?”

  Slugger smiled.

  “At first evaluation, video was only a double. No home run.”

  “Why only a two-bagger?” Lou asked, already comfortable with the analyst’s colorful patois.

  “I know time of day because of position of sun and shadows,” Slugger said. “Video taken close to one o’clock in afternoon.”

  Important stuff. By knowing the time of day they could contact the shipping company and examine the ship’s logs to determine where the vessel was located at that particular hour. Then, using maps, they might possibly be able to pinpoint Burke’s location.

  “But there still problem. You went two for three with data, but you still missing key piece.”

  “What piece of data do we need?” Vaill asked.

  “What day is it?” Slugger replied. “I know hour, approximately one P.M., but I don’t know day. True position of sun depends on location and month. Also, ship has many logs. Need the day or close to it to make equation work.”

  Lou’s enthusiasm lessened.

  “Lou Welcome!” Slugger cried. “You look like you strike out with bases loaded. No worry. We come back like Cleveland beating Seattle down twelve runs in seventh inning. Okay?”

  Lou, whose father, Dennis, could still give the Slugger at least a run for his money, immediately picked up on the reference to one of the greatest comebacks in Major League Baseball history. In 2001, the Indians were losing to the Mariners 14–2 and came back to win the game 15–14 in eleven innings.

  “Sorry, Slugger, but I threw my last strike with the ship. Not sure how I can be John Rocker here.”

  Slugger beamed. “Rocker! Yeah, good! Crazy man but damn good pitcher. John Rocker won game. Lot of luck there! But Rocker was no forester, and he was no intelligence analyst, either.”

  Vaill now. “What do you mean ‘forester’?”

  “Foliage in background,” Slugger said. “It is what forest people call peak. Best autumn colors. I check with forestry expert and he confirm.”

  “But that won’t tell us where it was peak,” Lou said.

  “We know based on sun and trees this East Coast,” Slugger replied. “But I call forestry expert and give him screen grab. Nothing revealing. He sees mix of deciduous trees and firs—blue spruce, white pine, maple, cedar, and balsam, which tell him Downeast Maine, maybe Washington County, which include city of Calais, first place in United States to see sunrise. You know that, Lou Welcome?”

  “No. No, I didn’t. This is amazing work, Slugger.”

  “Like Teddy Ballgame Williams, last man to hit four hundred for season. Four-oh-six for Red Sox in 1941. But it get better, Lou Welcome. Peak foliage in Downeast Maine depend on previous summer weather, but because climate warmer around coast, and no killing frost, peak for Washington County anywhere from fourteen October to twenty-five.”

  “Which means you can check with Exceed Maritime and see where the EM Sustinet was on those dates,” Vaill said.

  Slugger nodded his appreciation of Vaill’s insight. “More specifically, I made call and ask if ship was within thousand yards of coast in Washington County at one o’clock any days between fourteen and twenty-five October.”

  Lou’s mouth had gone dry. “And?”

  “And it was,” Slugger said, as matter-of-factly as if he had just shared the top item on his grocery list. “On twenty October. I make print out of exact location of land from shipping coordinates. So I know where video was recorded, but could not have figured it out without Lou Welcome’s help.”

  “Itsuki, you can’t tell anybody about this,” Vaill said urgently. “Please. It’s highly confidential.”

  “Understood.”

  “Where?” Lou asked. “Where was this filmed?”

  “According to my map and other sources, video recorded on property of private residence. Big, big place called Red Cliff. Here nice photos from Google Earth and also one of our satellites.”

  Lo
u and Vaill peered first at one, then the other remarkable pictures of what appeared to be a sprawling medieval castle, complete with moat, perched on a cliff over the ocean.

  “Home run,” they said nearly in unison.

  CHAPTER 48

  At some point, and this is a guarantee, the trustees overseeing the finances of Social Security will issue a report informing the American people that the fund is bankrupt.

  —LANCASTER R. HILL, LECTURE AT DUKE UNIVERSITY, NORTH CAROLINA, MAY 21, 1947

  Electronically distorted images of the seven Neighbors flickered and glowed on the screens filling one wall of Bacon’s magnificent study. The financier, N-38, was flushed with excitement—a condition that had little to do with the tumbler of twenty-one-year-old Glenlivet he was clutching. Victory was again within reach. He inhaled the aroma of his Scotch and savored the smoky taste of a more lusty swallow than typical for him. There were still mountains left to climb, obstacles to overcome, but with each hour, each piece of news, he was feeling more confident. As director of the Society of One Hundred Neighbors, it was time to share the latest regarding AP-Janus with the members of the project board.

  Good news indeed.

  “We are all here, Eighty,” Bacon said. “Please begin with an update on the medical.”

  Academic surgeon Dr. Carlton Reeves, known by name to Bacon but only as Eighty to the others, was the coordinator of Action Project Janus. It was he who initially investigated the bacteria discovered by N-71, saw the possibilities, and formed an advisory committee consisting of several of the society’s members—each with an expertise that would help make the possibilities a reality. The advisors were selected by summaries of their backgrounds, accomplishments, and abilities, and submitted to Eighty by Bacon.

  From his control panel, Bacon sent the physician’s distorted image to the rest of the board. Except for him, none of them would know Reeves by anything other than his number, unless their paths had crossed by coincidence. It had been that way since the organization’s inception.

  Secrecy and discretion, Lancaster Hill had written in 1939, are more important to a tactical revolutionary movement than numbers.