He threw out the tissue paper that gave the faux-leather briefcase its shape, looked again in the window, and pronounced himself ready. His next stop was a Greek diner whose entryway offered free resort stays to the lucky person whose business card was picked from the fishbowl. Mike dipped in and pulled out a handful of cards. He studied them, threw several back, and kept one.
He strode six blocks to the building that housed Telecommunications Associates and entered the lobby. The board on the right wall announced that a company called TAI was in 405. That had to be it. The guard behind the table asked Mike to sign in. Normally, he would badge such gatekeepers. Instead, he wrote a phony name and office number in the logbook and was directed to the elevators.
Mike expected to see wide glass double doors with the company name etched in thick letters. He envisioned a well-appointed reception area with blonde wood and large, comfortable chairs. When he arrived, he saw a plain wooden door stating that it was 405. Next to it on the wall was a small plastic plaque with the letters TAI on a strip that could be slipped out easily and replaced when the next tenant moved in.
Mike knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
No answer.
He turned the door handle. The anteroom looked like a doctor’s waiting room, including the requisite sliding glass window, which was closed. No one was in there.
“Hello?”
He walked to the left of the waiting room down a hall. The closed doors gave no indication of who might be in there.
Suddenly, a man appeared. He wore a dark-blue suit and had a pen in his hand. He was scrawny and annoyed.
“No solicitors,” he said.
“I’m not a solicitor. I’m with the building.” He produced a card that stated he was Rod Fitzpatrick of Select Real Estate—Commercial Division. The card noted that he was the year’s top sales representative.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. …”
“Just call me James.”
“What’s your position here, James?”
The man forced a hard smile. “What’s this about?”
“To be quite honest with you, James, we’ve been experiencing some recent vacancies, and management wants to know if there’s anything we can be doing better. May I ask you a few questions?”
“Everything’s fine. I really need to get back to my work.”
“It will just take a minute. Please, it would really help me out.”
Mike took out a pen and opened a small notepad. “What sort of work goes on here?”
“We’re a consulting firm.”
“Great,” Mike said, scribbling quickly. “And how many people are working here?”
“It’s just me. I’m the only one.”
“And what do you do, Jim? May I call you Jim?”
“I keep the books. Now, I really need to get back—”
“I know you’re busy, Jim, but one last question?” Mike asked. “What can we do to keep you here? We value all of our tenants—”
The man cut him off. “Yeah, there’s one thing. The water fountain in the hall. Sometimes the water is not as cold as it should be.”
Mike wrote it down.
“Thanks. We’ll get maintenance right on it. We value our tenants,” Mike repeated cheerfully. “Bye, thanks for your time, Jim.”
Then he closed the door and put his ear to it. He heard James shuffle back to his office and begin talking.
“I know the name of the building management company and that wasn’t them. No. No.” His voice got louder. “You take care of this, or I’m out.”
Mike heard the phone slam down and an inside door shut loudly. He ran to the stairwell. From inside, he held the steel door ajar and peeked through as James closed the office door, locked it, and walked to the elevator.
Mike waited for the elevator to reach the lobby before heading back to room 405. He retrieved his lock gun, inserted the pick needle, and squeezed the trigger several times before the lock gave way. Mike recalled when he’d taken the lock gun off a suspect and never turned it in. Damn, I love this thing.
The first room was empty. So was the next, and the one after that. He had to use his lock gun on the fourth door, James’s office, and entered slowly. The room was neat, very few papers around, a single filing cabinet lined up against the back wall. There were no windows. Mike scanned the desktop, which had three file folders labeled “Real Estate,” “Contracts,” and “Pending.” The computer monitor showed a mountain-scene screensaver. He pressed a key and the computer requested a password.
“No-go,” Mike whispered.
He turned his attention to the file cabinet and pulled the top drawer. The hanging file folders had the names of ten states, and contained spreadsheets with financial statements. What caught Mike’s attention were the contents of a separate folder marked “Special Situations.” One sheet contained the names of the governors of Maryland, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and New Jersey, along with their contact information. A handwritten note on the top in red ink said: James: Set up meeting with each as per … But the following set of initials were scribbled, and Mike couldn’t make them out. The letters ASAP were followed by an exclamation point.
The second drawer contained the names of the two dead assassins, along with their pictures and DNA karyotypes. It was exactly the same information that he had received from Burke.
The front door opened.
Mike closed the file cabinet slowly, not making a sound, and waited. He turned off the light. If James had come back in the room, he would have to do some fast tap dancing about why he was there. Or he could just punch his way out, which seemed a more likely scenario.
He heard two people talking just outside the door—James and a woman. Listening closely, Mike could hear a few “oh, baby”s. Mike heard a door close and assumed the couple were taking their lovemaking to the next level in the room across the hall. Mike counted to ten and slipped out, closing and locking the door behind him. He tiptoed down the hall and breathed again when he was safely in the fourth-floor hallway.
If he hadn’t been in the elevator descending to the lobby, he might have heard the gunshot in room 405.
Chapter 23
The room in Kane’s mansion was dimly lit and silent save for a few coughs, throat clearings, and chair casters pushed back and forth by impatient governors.
They were not used to being kept waiting by anyone, but Kane was a rainmaker. He was the answer to their fiscal problems and the key to their reelection bids. All they could do was sit as patiently as possible and wait.
In dramatic fashion, a single light illuminated the podium on the riser. The governors squared their seats, ready for the presenter.
Richard Kane strode to the podium and began in a trumpeting voice that filled every inch of the auditorium. “Gentlemen … and lady. You may have noticed that in front of each of you is a placard indicating your state. I purposely do not have your names. I’m sure all of you know each other anyway. I want us to think in terms of states, each representing a piece of a puzzle that will change this nation and the world. This is not about you, individual governors, but the states you represent, and what they each bring to the table.
“As you will notice, we have states representing the West Coast—California, Washington. The Midwest—Ohio, Illinois. The Southwest, Texas. The East Coast—Delaware, New Jersey, Pennsylvania. And the Mid-Atlantic—Virginia and Maryland. In all, there are ten of us who believe in change … We still have some work to do in the South.” The audience laughed. “I have met with all of you multiple times to explain how we can move our country forward, not by force or through deceptive means, but by using the democratic process.
“I know that many of you are still a bit skeptical about whether we can reach our goals. That’s only natural; we’re doing something that has never been done before. However, you all can appreciate how important it is to succeed with our plan if the country is to end
ure.”
Kane walked in front of the podium, the spotlight following.
“Allow me a small digression, which I promise to bring full circle.” He clicked a button on a remote and a screen dropped behind him. He clicked again, and a black-and-white photo of a man filled the screen. He looked earnestly into the camera with a demeanor that inspired self-assurance. He wore a dark suit and tie. His black hair was curly and thick. He wore glasses with black rims.
“This is Earl Nightingale,” Kane said. “I doubt any of you have ever heard of him. Nightingale was on the USS Arizona when it was hit by Japanese bombs in the attack on Pearl Harbor. He was one of twelve surviving marines onboard the ship that day. After the war, he went into radio and hosted one of the world’s most popular syndicated programs at that time. He was also the radio voice of Sky King, the hero of the adventure series of the same name. It later became a popular TV show.”
Chattering came from several parts of the room, as some of the attendees recognized the flying cowboy who solved crimes using his plane.
“Nightingale’s real passion was personal development, and he was one of the earliest modern proponents of what many people now call The Secret, which is actually a very old concept, and one that’s not a secret at all. Norman Vincent Peale offered the same type of advice, as did Andrew Carnegie, Napoleon Hill, and later Tony Robbins, Zig Ziglar, and scores of successful men and women throughout history. Nightingale produced a recording called The Strangest Secret, which is probably where modern-day proponents took the name. He was awarded a gold record for over a million in sales, and you can hear the presentation on YouTube, if you desire.
“Although people added their own bells and whistles to this concept, it’s simple at its core. It bears repeating as we embark on a new venture, especially one as large as ours.”
Kane moved forward to the very edge of the riser.
“We become what we think about.”
“Nightingale believed it, and so do I. The mind is like a farmer’s soil. It doesn’t care what you plant in it. It will yield anything that’s sown, whether it’s nightshade or corn. If you think you will succeed, you will. If you think you will fail, then you will fail. I know that many of you will shake your heads and say, ‘Of course.’ But let me tell you that while the so-called secret is simple, it’s also difficult for many people to implement. You must truly believe in what you tell yourself. As successful politicians, you know the importance of what Peale and Carnegie called positive thinking, another way of describing the so-called secret. But let me also say, as strongly as I can, that we must all believe in what we’re about to undertake. If you have any doubts, if you believe even for an instant that it cannot be accomplished, then you are free to leave right now.”
Nobody moved.
Kane waited until the room held an uncomfortable air.
He moved back behind the podium.
“Obviously, there’s another dimension to The Secret, and that’s action. Many people think that if you believe strongly enough in an outcome, it will happen. They think that if they wish for a winning lottery ticket, it will appear. That perfect job will fall from the sky. Nonsense. You must have a plan and act on that plan. Each of you has that plan, a roadmap for success.
“But there’s a problem. I know for a fact that there are doubts in this room. I know that some of you do not have faith that we can succeed. How do I know? Because incidents have occurred that can only have been done by people harboring negative beliefs.”
The room filled with mumbling and fidgeting.
Kane lifted his hands and the crowd quieted. “I have studied many religious works, ones you have heard of, like the Koran, the Five Books of Moses, the Book of Mormon, and the Christian Bible. I’ve read texts with which you may not be familiar, like the Tripitaka, Dao dejing, the Guru Granth Sahib, and Shruti.
“They all have something to teach us. To this point, the ancient rabbis of the Talmud, for example, were discussing why people lie and cheat to get ahead in business. Instead of citing greed or ill breeding, as contemporary thinkers might expect, they suggested that the reason why people cheat in business is because of their lack of faith that success and money will come to them. They don’t have the conviction in their own abilities, so they feel compelled to deceive others and act immorally. They engage in highly illegal activity.
“I have learned that his type of behavior is going on among some of you. States fighting states. Some state officials acting in ways that can be called immoral, even illegal.”
Kane pounded his fist on the podium.
“It stops now.”
Chapter 24
Mike texted Evelyn his regrets for missing dinner and made a quick call to CG Station New York to see about a plane ride to Lewes, Delaware. No luck, but they put him onto an FAA seaplane training mission that was heading south from the Marine Air Terminal at La Guardia Airport. Built in the 1930s, the Art Deco building depicts flying fish on its façade, in a tribute to the golden age of flying boats. Although commercial seaplanes no longer use the facility on Flushing Bay, the water taxi dock that shuttles incoming flyers to Wall Street sees occasional service from private and government flying boats.
Mike watched the New York skyline disappear as the pontoon plane flew a few miles out into the Atlantic and hugged the New Jersey shore. The tall casinos of Atlantic City came into view, followed by the quaint gingerbread houses of Cape May, marking the end of New Jersey. Delaware Bay lay straight ahead.
“We’ll let you down in Lewes. Is that right, sir?” the trainee pilot asked into Mike’s headset.
“Yes. There’s a ferry dock that has a smaller dock alongside. Can you put us there?” Mike spied the Cape May–Lewes ferryboat in the middle of the Bay.
“Anywhere you want, sir,” the pilot said. “One place is as good as any for my purposes.”
The plane dipped to the left and descended. The water touchdown was smooth, and the plane taxied to the dock.
“Thanks,” Mike said as he grabbed his bag.
“Our pleasure, sir,” the young woman said. “Glad to be of service.” The instructor sitting in the copilot’s sit tipped his hat.
Mike headed for his boat as the plane turned a hundred and eighty degrees and found an open stretch of water to begin its takeoff.
• • •
The spray hit Mike’s face as his patrol boat skimmed along the surface of Delaware Bay on its way to the RV Atlantic Twin, which was already on station. The ninety-foot steel hull catamaran was a rarity among research vessels. Mike had never seen another catamaran used for research, even though it made perfect sense because of its stability and large deck space.
The state of Delaware had contracted the boat to take core samples in an attempt to find a source of gravel for road building. Other states had done similar tests, which led to dredging the stones from the seabed instead of blasting them out of land-based quarries. Gravel quarries were becoming scarce as suburban populations sprawled into uninhabited areas. Moreover, nobody wanted to live near a quarry, with all the dust and noise. Digging gravel from a few miles off the coast had the dual benefits of not disrupting people’s lives and being close to cities and towns where the gravel was needed for building projects.
But Mike had other uses in mind for the boat’s gear.
Before leaving the dock, Mike had uploaded into his GPS the Judy Bee’s path, gleaned from Marilyn’s cell-phone records. He had a hunch that if he could retrace its route, then he could find out why the Judy Bee was there, instead of making its way back to shore with the other fishing boats. He knew the doors held the key. Why did they carry these heavy planks of wood if they weren’t using them for fishing?
“NOAA patrol to Atlantic Twin on Channel 16,” Mike said into the microphone. “Switch and answer Channel 68.”
“Atlantic Twin here,” the voice said. “Mike?”
“I’m about twenty minutes out, Robbie.”
Mike had known Robbie Van Horn for several
years. He had once been the captain of a fishing boat, but had since gone for a steady gig piloting the Atlantic Twin. He was well-tempered for the job, which involved handholding oceanographers and technicians taking water, plant, and soil samples to bring back to their labs for analysis. The boat also took on college and high-school students studying ocean life, water chemistry, and geology. The boat’s crew included first and second mates and a cook.
“Is Tethys ready?” Mike asked.
“Fueled and waiting.”
“Thanks. NOAA patrol out.”
Tethys was a prototype drone submersible undergoing field testing. The submarine-shaped drone was designed to glide along the bottom and take pictures. It also had an arm to grab samples of small rocks and soils and place them in a metal container attached to the hull. Tethys had been aboard the Atlantic Twin for three months, and Van Horn was paid to pilot it during his downtime and transmit the results of its operation to the designer. Tethys wasn’t the first submersible drone, but the designer’s plan was to make one that was cheaper and easier to use than any already on the market. There were hobbyist drones for sale with limited depth and range, but Tethys was aimed at professionals who needed depth, long running time, and precision. If it worked as he hoped, the designer could rent its services to even the most pennywise universities, private companies, and government agencies.
Standing on the fantail of the Atlantic Twin, Mike and Captain Van Horn watched as the crew lowered Tethys into the water. The sea was calm as the drone disappeared a few inches below the surface.
“Let it go,” the captain shouted, and the cables went slack for an instant before dangling loosely. The crew grabbed the cables and secured them to cleats on the deck.
“Come up and let’s see what we got,” Van Horn said to Mike. The two men took a ladder to a bunk that had been turned into a control room for the drone. A wide table held three laptop computers, a big screen, a joystick, and two desktop computers without monitors. Mike watched as the remote camera offered pictures of splashing waves as the neutral buoyancy of the drone allowed it to float a few inches below the surface.
USA, Inc. (A Mike Wardman Novel: Book 1) Page 10
