Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  “Thank you. Your presence is a major relief,” said Julian. “Ever since we discovered Bergman’s involvement, I’ve been extremely concerned for the safety of my daughter. Please utilize anything you need. The kitchen’s well equipped and you can help yourself to tea, coffee, or food. My housekeeper will be on duty from 7 a.m., and she’ll be more than happy to cater your breakfast. Use my study as your base. Mark can show you around the apartment—I think he’s been patrolling most of the night. I’ll inform my daughter that there’ll be FBI agents guarding the apartment and then we’ll try to get some sleep. Thank you, everyone.”

  ***

  Chapter 9

  Schmidt was the first to wake the following morning. He left MayAnn curled up under the lightweight bed covers and, after he showered, started a brew of coffee in the galley. While he waited for the percolator to perform, he sat at the table in the main cabin and booted up his laptop. He inserted the thumb drive that the waitress had passed to him the previous evening. It contained video and .jpg files.

  He poured two mugs of coffee and placed one on a small shelf beside MayAnn’s head. He returned to the main cabin and sipped from the second mug as he played the video files with the volume set low—he would let the coffee aroma wake his companion. He re-played the largest file, needing to check his first impressions. Then he viewed the .jpg file; it was a copy of list of names, dates, and amounts—large amounts—in US dollars.

  A sigh from the forward cabin interrupted his concentration.

  “You know how to spoil a girl.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” said Schmidt. “Come and look at these files.”

  MayAnn padded out barefoot, wearing a very skimpy nightdress and Schmidt struggled to keep his mind on the contents of his laptop. He turned the volume up and re-played the largest file. MayAnn sat beside him. They both sipped their coffees.

  “Who are they?” asked MayAnn as the four people, three men and a woman, worked through a detailed operational agenda, concluding with a discussion of Mark Midway.

  “I suspect they are the key people in the organization that we want so much.”

  “Gimme.”

  Schmidt turned over control of his laptop to MayAnn. She clicked on and played each of the other two files. “So they call their organization Cerberus. You have some extremely valuable video files. We can extract full profile images, enough for our search and matching programs to identify these people. Their Mr. Davis, Mr. Jones stuff won’t stop us. What’s the name of the yacht where the Aussie worked?”

  “What makes you think—?”

  MayAnn wagged her finger at Schmidt. It was an incongruous sight—tousled hair, a skimpy nightdress and a stern, school ma’am expression. Schmidt burst into laughter.

  “Darn. I was being stern, Schmidt.”

  “I know. Now come here.”

  Some time later MayAnn re-ran the videos, and they both listened carefully to the discussions of Cerberus affairs. Schmidt had provided the name of the motor yacht and MayAnn continued to absorb details from the videos.

  After MayAnn had watched the videos three times, Schmidt drew her attention to the .jpg that was a scan of a document listing names, account numbers and amounts. He said, “Four Senators, six Representatives—from Texas, Montana, Arizona, Alabama, Florida, Ohio—the majority very, if not extremely, right wing. Three progressives; I’m not sure I can make sense of their mix. All friends of the organization, no doubt.”

  “If those amounts are what we suspect, they’re very good friends. The organization would kill if they knew what these files contained—”

  “I think they have, already,” Schmidt reminded MayAnn. “We could be next.”

  “Can you send these files to Oliver? Or to Maeve? Or to both? Now, before we do anything else?”

  “I’ll upload them all to our cloud, for Maeve. Her team can do some research and find out who these people are. The team can explore the list as well, identify the bank involved, and get backgrounds on the individuals.” He held up his satellite phone. “I have a service that sets up a wireless hotpoint, so we can connect and upload emails, and files. I’ll transfer these files to my cloud server; it’s protected and everything is encrypted. Maeve can download the files from there. Let Oliver know that Maeve will give him access to copies of the videos. I’d like to keep back the jpeg details for now.”

  “I’m not sure I want to withhold information from Oliver—”

  “Only until we discover more details,” said Schmidt. “Type your emails offline, and when you’re ready, we’ll connect and transfer everything.”

  Schmidt set about preparing breakfast while MayAnn produced her email messages. When she finished, Schmidt wrote an email to Maeve and then initiated the connection, dispatch, and file upload processes. They ran while he and MayAnn were eating their breakfast on the fore deck. He had not noticed that MayAnn had included details from the jpg file in her email to Oliver.

  “Are you sure you want to return to Washington?” Schmidt asked.

  “Hmm. I think I could be tempted to stay here. After we’ve sorted out this Cerberus, though.”

  The buzzing of Schmidt’s satellite phone interrupted their conversation. Schmidt picked it up and checked the caller ID. “It’s your boss,” he said as he answered the call.

  “We’re both listening, Oliver. Good morning.”

  “Good morning MayAnn, Schmidt. MayAnn, thanks for your email—I’ll contact Maeve later to get the video files. I’m cutting short your vacation in paradise. There’s a Gulfstream on its way to Tortola, to take you to Boston. Schmidt too, if he doesn’t mind?”

  MayAnn said, “I hope you’ve arranged to send my clothes there, as well. Bikinis are not considered part of the FBI office dress code.”

  “Details, details,” said Oliver. “Go shopping, buy something. Now, I have some updates for you. Gilmore’s in the hospital, in serious condition. He was being held prisoner by persons unknown and apparently was rescued and delivered by ambulance to Boston Medical Center. We don’t know what the hell is happening in that city, we don’t know who kidnapped Scott, or who rescued him, or why. The agent was delivered by ambulance and we may be able to trace the vehicle, as long as the hospital’s exterior security cameras were working. Bergman was shot and killed sometime early this morning, again by an unknown party—there may be a link to Gilmore. Mark, Julian Kelly, and his daughter survived the night. I sent Gross and some of his team to Boston this morning to help. MayAnn, I’d like you to take charge of our National Security responsibilities at One Center Plaza at least until Gilmore returns to duty. Schmidt, your assistance would be helpful—my Director got approval from the President to request your support. We need to safeguard Kelly and his daughter. Midway may be at risk, and I think your mysterious organization might be involved.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your agent. Very well, Oliver. I can rearrange my schedule, at least for a while. I’ll bill the FBI for clothing, too.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Likewise, Oliver. I met Gilmore a year or so back, at an internal conference. A nice guy, very professional.”

  “When should we expect the Gulfstream?” asked Schmidt.

  “I’m waiting for an updated ETA—it’s probably land at 1 p.m. at Beef Island. I’ll confirm as soon as I can.”

  “You owe me, Oliver,” said Schmidt. “Actually, you owe both of us.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So sue me. Let me know when you reach Boston, OK?”

  “Okay,” acknowledged MayAnn. She ended the call and turned to Schmidt. “There’s a saying about living in interesting times?”

  “More than interesting. I’ll have to arrange a skipper to sail Ad Astra to St. Thomas—he’ll sort out a marina mooring for me. Boston may be useful. I’ll work with Julian, help him with his security. You and I can explore a strategy for how to follow-up that list of politicians. I expect it involves Grand Cayman or Bermuda banks. Also, we can talk to Mark and see what he’s been doing.�
��

  ~~~

  Mark woke early, before Julian or Paula. The FBI agent was wide-awake; he had taken possession of Julian’s study and was working on his iPad. He looked up when Mark entered.

  “Good news,” he said. “Agent Gilmore is alive. He’s now in the hospital; he was badly beaten and is likely to lose sight of one eye. That bastard Bergman is dead—someone shot both him and one of his associates. Oliver said your friends—Schmidt and Special Agent Freewell—will be here later today.”

  “It’s been a busy night. Do you have any idea who killed Bergman?”

  “No. It seems like it was an execution; however, we have no leads, no witnesses and no real inclination to chase the killer; he removed some vermin, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Mark was not so sanguine. He had memories of people trying to kill him and perversely did not feel comfortable that a killer, whether an individual or perhaps a team of some kind, was on the loose.

  “I think I heard the housekeeper; are you interested in breakfast?”

  “No, thanks. With Bergman dead, Oliver Stewart thinks we can reduce our presence here. I’ve already dismissed the two agents who were on duty outside the apartment. I’ve kept an agent at the front door, and I’ll send him home once the GTU guys are here. They’ll remain in place until Winter gets organized.”

  “Thanks for the updates. I’ll go and explore what’s for breakfast.”

  Both Paula and her father joined Mark at the breakfast table and looked relieved when they heard the details of Bergman’s death.

  “That’s extraordinary. Someone shot him, just like that?” Julian thought for a moment. “I’m pleased we know you were here all night. Not that I’m implying anything—”

  “Sir, under some circumstances, it would have been a pleasure as well as a duty. But, you’re correct, I was here all night. Incidentally, Special Agent Freewell and Schmidt should arrive late this afternoon or early this evening. I don’t know what time, yet.”

  “We’ll be busy today, then. Some of this FBI Gold Team will be here soon. Winter and two of his senior people are due this afternoon. I’d like you to stay and assist me through all this—also I’m sure Paula would enjoy your company.”

  “You’re very welcome, Mark.” Her smile was shy.

  “Thank you. Sir, I’ll stay through today, just to do what I can. However, I’m missing my computer course.”

  “Which training company?” asked Julian.

  “I think it’s a subsidiary of RDEz.” He told Julian the name of the training company where he had spent most of the last four months, studying a wide range of software and technology courses.

  “You’re correct, it’s one of ours. Don’t worry; I’ll arrange a full refund. From now on, all the courses you want to take through my companies are free. The least I can do.”

  “But, sir—”

  “The second item we need to cover is: stop calling me ‘sir’. My name’s Julian.”

  “Yes, sir—I mean, Julian.”

  Paula laughed. “I don’t think you’re usually that obedient.”

  The GTU members arrived as promised by Oliver and were quickly briefed on the overnight happenings. The local FBI agents handed off their protection responsibilities to the newcomers and left. Later in the day Brian Winter and two of his senior security advisers presented themselves, and Mark joined in their discussions with Julian. He felt himself getting deeper and deeper into the Kelly family and business issues, while all he wanted was to return to his apartment and try to live an uneventful life.

  Brian Winter was extremely aware of what Kelly would require, and praised Mark both for tracking Bergman from the kidnap scene, and for his actions overnight.

  “Julian, you’re very fortunate you didn’t permit Bergman’s men to enter your apartment. Mark, whenever you want a job, come and talk to me,” he said.

  “I think you’re joining a long line,” said Julian. “I understand the FBI would like to recruit him, Schmidt wants him, I want him—and if I read him correctly, Mark’s key desire is to resume his computer studies.”

  Mark ignored their comments. Julian was correct; he was frustrated because he could see no end to this continuing disturbance of his life. And really, it was his own fault. He had picked up the Glock and killed two would-be kidnappers. He could have walked away. Although he knew that was untrue.

  “I’m patient,” said Winter. “Now, my company will take immediate responsibility for your personal and corporate security, initially for three months, to establish some stability. You know our fees for this short-term involvement. Within the first month we’ll evaluate your current people and your requirements in detail and make a proposal for longer-term arrangements. We’ll review your security structure and so forth, and report our findings to you. My team will prepare, present, and discuss our proposal—I suggest you include Schmidt and Mark when that happens; they can add substantial insight.”

  “Agreed. I’ll have our HR communicate with the various managers before the day is out. First thing tomorrow, I’ll introduce your team to my senior managers, and to the security staff and contractors. I’ll need your help to work out who we’ll be able to keep—they may all be Bergman’s men. The company’s probably already rife with rumors, now that news of his death has broken. At least the media hasn’t linked him to Gilmore’s situation or to my daughter’s kidnap attempt. Once they do either of those, it really will set the rumor mill on fire.”

  “You’ll need to produce a news release, though, just to dampen those possible rumors.”

  “I’ll brief my PR team; it’ll give them something challenging for a change.”

  An hour after Winter and his team departed, Schmidt phoned Mark and Julian from Boston Logan International Airport to report their arrival. First they wanted to meet with Gross Brown for a briefing on his team’s status, then they would visit with Julian. Schmidt also gave an update on the condition of the rescued FBI agent.

  “He’s in recovery. His condition is serious. He has a lot of fractured bones, as well as cuts and deep bruising. He may lose sight in one eye; the doctors won’t know for a few days. He’s not able to talk yet, although I don’t expect him to know much about his rescuers. We suspect whoever killed Bergman stole his computers and records, so everything he had is now in the hands of his killers. Julian, just assume the worst—they’ll have weeks of tapes, covering every matter you’ve discussed in your apartment, business and personal, and perhaps other information. Mark, they’ll know the details of what you said to Julian, including your current identity. We’ll discuss risk management with each of you, later tonight.”

  It was getting worse, thought Mark. I’ll never get back to my routine.

  Julian said, “I briefed Brian Winter and his team and they’ll take on our security contract first thing tomorrow, for both my business and family. We didn’t consider Mark might need protection. I’ll add him to our agenda for discussion, tomorrow.”

  “I’ll also cover Mark’s situation with MayAnn. We promised him witness protection earlier this year. Perhaps it’s time to provide that. Mark, we’ll discuss this when we meet, OK?”

  “Yes, thank you. I think you’re right; I’ve run out of identities.”

  Later Mark suggested to Julian that he return to his apartment. “Julian, I’ve been here in your apartment for over twenty-four hours. I’ve forgotten what the outside world looks like. I told Sam and Evan that I would be back, so they may be worried. Besides, I want to shower and change.”

  “There are plenty of showers here. You could phone Sam and let her know you’ve been delayed?”

  “I still need a change of clothes.” He was stubborn.

  “I’ll arrange for one of the FBI agents to accompany you, and don’t argue. You know you’re at risk from this so-called organization. Yes, I agree with Schmidt. Once you are out there on the street, you’re fair game for them. They know your name, possibly where you live, and probably have images of you. Accept the need
for an escort, and bring back enough clothes for a week. That will give Schmidt and the FBI time to work through a solution with you. If you see Sam or Evan, tell them I’ll be inviting them for dinner this Friday.”

  Mark realized further argument would be futile. “Very well. I’ll leave now, so I can be back when Schmidt arrives. I’ll take one of the agents—we’ll both enjoy the fresh air.”

  ***

  Chapter 10

  Davis, Jones, and Dr. White were in the main conference room at Cerberus’s Washington office. They had updates from the Boston blue team covering their killing of Bergman and the rescue of Gilmore. They had reports from each team member, including the sniper and the ambulance driver. They would later prepare a synopsis for the chairman, who currently was in Bermuda.

  “Is there any way the hospital treatment of Gilmore could disclose details that would disadvantage us?” asked Davis.

  Dr. White replied, “His doctors may notice some of the more innocuous features. For example, he’s likely to recover more rapidly than normal. Unless they run DNA analysis—and there’s no reason for them to do that—they won’t discover anything of importance.”

  Jones said, “Can we monitor him while he’s in the hospital?”

  “I’ll arrange for one of our nurses to be transferred to the hospital; they’re always short of ICU staff and we have a highly qualified nurse available,” said Dr. White.