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

by John Hindmarsh

  “Pleased to meet you both,” Mark stepped away from the doorway, allowing space for the crew to follow him into the house. “My name’s Mark Midway. This is Anna.” He counted off the rest of the new arrivals. “Reb, Gabrielle, Niland, Scott, and Sera. We have drivers and security.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re pleased to meet all of you. We’ve two cottages for your men. The buildings each have five bedrooms, small but adequate.”

  “Ladies, sirs. And children,” said Mary. “Please come along. We have a fire going and the heating is on.”

  They stepped into a large lobby from the entry area. A wide wooden staircase with red carpet runners led to a second floor. Living rooms were located off the lobby and a hallway led farther into the interior of the house. Mary continued, “All the bedrooms are upstairs. These are the living rooms, formal and informal. Here’s the dining room. A study and a security office are through there. There are two downstairs bathrooms. The kitchen and other utility rooms are toward the rear. Please explore, at your leisure.”

  Gabrielle and Niland did not need a second invitation. “Where do you keep the prisoners?” asked Niland. Mary looked bewildered. She recovered rapidly. “Oh, we moved the dungeons to the stables last century. Our problem now is to find miscreants to throw into them. You can be our first prisoner this year, if you like?”

  Niland looked doubtful and then his face brightened. “Okay, as long as I can have a long chain and make lots of noise at midnight.”

  “He’ll be your ghost prisoner,” Gabrielle said, intrigued in spite of herself.

  Mary said, “Get along with you. Go and explore the house. Watch out for the skeleton in the attic.”

  Reb, Sera, and Anna accompanied the two children on their exploration. The housekeeper turned to Mark. Scott was standing beside him. “Sirs, do you want to explore as well?”

  “We’ll wait on reports from the current batch of intrepid explorers, I think,” Mark replied. “If you have an informal sitting room, we can wait there.”

  “Certainly. You can use the room through here.”

  Mark said, “I assume Richard is settling in the drivers and security? If you have a diagram for upstairs, perhaps we can assign rooms, and when our luggage arrives, we can get organized.”

  Mark and Scott had completed the room assignments by the time the explorers returned. It didn’t take long for Anna and Reb to modify their decisions. Scott shrugged. Sera approved results. Mark ignored it all. He went off to explore the house and Scott followed. The windows were alarm-protected and Mark checked the security room, which contained a bank of video screens displaying different parts of the house and grounds. There was a large map of the property with circuitry marked and coded, and someone had drawn and annotated changes and modifications in pencil. He assumed this showed where the cameras and other intruder detection equipment were located, both in and outside the house. He directed Scott’s attention to the map.

  “What do you think?”

  “I’ll need to walk the grounds tomorrow with one of the security guys. Afterwards I’ll give an opinion.”

  “Good. I think effective security is going to be our top requirement. The house seems to be comfortable, and the people are helpful and friendly. The security people I’ve met so far are on their toes.”

  “I agree.”

  “Let’s check out upstairs. Remind me I need to order some computers.”

  ***

  Chapter 23

  Whenever Maeve now was driven to the White House in an escorted SUV to meet with the President, her thoughts returned to the occasion when a gang of Russians had kidnapped her on this same journey. They had killed one of her guards, and injured both her driver and a FBI agent, when they attacked her vehicle. The gang leader had later been killed, shot at her command by Mark Midway. She still wondered at Midway’s reflexes and accuracy with a handgun. She had given him the signal to proceed and it seemed, within a fraction of a second the Russian was on the floor, dead. This time, she hoped, her trip would be without such a high level of excitement.

  She’d checked with the hospital before leaving her office and Schmidt’s condition was still categorized as life threatening. Her Cerberus team had managed to place two nurses into the ICU and they were providing her with unofficial updates. His condition had improved but not enough to warrant a change to his status. Specialists were planning to operate on Schmidt later in the day to remove pressure on his brain. The doctors did not expect the process to endanger their patient and Maeve hoped their optimism was warranted.

  The entire affair still had inexplicable elements. As her analysts had stated, it was as though someone had left some tiny clues purposefully for them to find and follow. There were multiple layers of intrigue prepared by a master tactician, she suspected. She had taken steps to ensure whoever it was would not succeed with any other attempt on Schmidt’s life.

  The driver stopped the vehicle at the first security checkpoint at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and she handed her pass to the guard. It was returned moments later with a murmured “Thank you, ma’am.” The driver continued on to the next checkpoint, where another guard repeated the process. At each checkpoint the guards checked for explosive devices in and underneath the vehicle. At last the second guard waved the vehicle through to the next checkpoint where Maeve alighted, clutching her briefcase, and made her way to the personal security check. She surrendered her briefcase and reclaimed it anxiously after she and it had been subjected to the X-ray machines.

  Another guard escorted her to the meeting room. It was smaller than the room where she used to meet with the President when she was Director of the FBI. She seated herself at the small table; it seemed this meeting would be informal, without a large number of attendees. She was not kept waiting for long. She stood as the President entered the room. He was accompanied by the National Security Advisor and their aides.

  The President’s welcome was as warm as she had previously experienced. “Maeve,” he said. “Welcome. It’s been too long. In future, don’t forget to visit more often, huh? Now, here’s the thing. Cerberus needs to continue its operations. Thoughts?”

  Maeve relaxed. “We have a challenging operation in place and it would be a major negative to terminate it. We’re researching the attack on Schmidt and are finding some interesting trails. It’s far too early to report. We know the men who fired the missile were Russians. We think they were killed within minutes of firing the missile. Someone was covering his tracks, eliminating witnesses. Our concern is to discover who was behind the attack.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Also, we’ve managed to get someone in place to recover, at least partially, management of Cerberus UK. Mark Midway.”

  “Indeed? Well done. I was uncomfortable with the UK organization running who knows where. I know Midway is an independent cuss. Will he cooperate fully with you?”

  “Unlikely. There’ll be local and national issues he won’t share with me or Schmidt, when he recovers. Midway is very independent. However, he’ll cooperate and work with us on international matters. He has defined an initiative that we intend to drive forward.”

  “Which is?”

  “He’s pointed out that in the US our research was focused on genetic engineering and manipulation, but not on the downstream impacts. The UK research was minimal; they’re far more aware of the illegalities than Cerberus US. There has been no research on the medium to long term effects, for what they call pre- or post-engineering.”

  “Pre- and post—yes, Schmidt informed me. Didn’t he undergo the post-process?”

  “He did. It may be a factor in his survival of the crash, which may be an example of what we don’t know. Midway has proposed we stop pure genetic engineering research and concentrate on understanding the impacts on both pre- and post. We have no idea of how genetically engineered children will mature, or as they mature, what adverse or indeed, positive changes will occur, what their life expectancy is going to be. It’s a bad place to be, in
a lot of ways. Dr. White—she was the head of research for Cerberus before she fled to China—was only interested in one thing and she pursued her interest aggressively.”

  “This proposal provides me with a lot of comfort. Midway is going ahead with it?”

  “Yes, and so are we. We’re going to share efforts and results. I’m placing a hold on other research.”

  “Very good. What about the Chinese? Can we do anything to inhibit their research? Can we stop this Dr. White?”

  “It’s difficult. I’ve a team of analysts addressing the possibilities. We believe Midway intentionally corrupted a lot of her files. She would have been set back by his actions. However, penetrating China has its issues.”

  “I understand. Keep me informed. I’ve issued formal statements confirming you’re now heading Cerberus US, pending Schmidt’s recovery. I must tell you, there were one or two protests. At least one agency wanted to eliminate Cerberus.”

  “CIA? ICE is closely aligned with them? Perhaps with a tinge of support from the FBI?”

  “As usual, you’re on top of things.”

  “We’ve been encountering some black ops from the Agency and ICE, and there’s a possibility of some FBI involvement. It could get nasty. I’ve included details in my report.”

  “I’ll read it with interest. Now, pro tem, Cerberus is yours. Only depart from objectives I agreed with Schmidt if it is absolutely critical for national security or your survival, understand?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

  “If you wish to initiate any changes, write up a brief for me. I suspect you wrote a number of Schmidt’s papers, anyway?”

  Maeve smiled. “You can identify our different styles. We both knew you could.”

  “Make sure I’m informed of Schmidt’s progress. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Keep him and yourself safe.” He checked his watch. “I’ve run out of time. Report personally every two weeks. I’ll add you to the weekly security meeting as well. You’ll attend as an observer.”

  “Yes, sir.” She stood as the President left the small office. The NSA had been quiet during the meeting although he gave a thumbs-up as he left the room. Maeve opened the door to the external corridor and her escort was there, waiting. He led her back to the security checkpoint where her driver and car were waiting. She felt relief and excitement simultaneously. Relief, because the President was encouraging her continued management of Cerberus. Excitement, because she would be able to further develop the scope and activities of the organization. There were a number of topics she wanted to address with her analysts and the Cerberus team. It was going to be a busy day.

  ~~~

  Mark checked the time, surprised most of the morning had fled. He’d spent the day so far exploring the grounds of their new accommodation. It seemed they’d been transported to another time. The lawns were over a hundred years old and reflected tender care across the years. A gardener, wearing a flat cap and an almost shapeless tweed suit, had saluted him with an almost tug of his forelock as he said, “Good marning, sir.” The man’s accent was so strong Mark had to mentally replay the words before he understood their meaning. He returned the greeting. Scott confirmed later that he, too, was experiencing some culture shock.

  “I thought the Brits spoke English,” Scott said. “But this is another language.”

  “What do you think of the security?”

  “We’ve six ex-SAS soldiers on site. They’re all Cerberus. Good men, I’d say. Someone’s always monitoring the video cameras and detectors, which are relayed to the second cottage. The buildings are scattered, which might be a negative. The main house is solid, built from heavy slabs of sandstone. A number of ground floor windows are narrow and have metal bars embedded in the stonework; it would be difficult to assault those. Upstairs is a different story—the windows are nowhere as well protected.”

  “Overall?”

  “We’re safe unless an army attacks us.”

  “Good. As of today, you’re responsible for all security issues. Use Sera as your backup. The security room is yours to command.”

  “Gee, thanks. While you dine with the local landed gentry, I suppose?” Scott smiled, softening the import of his comment.

  “No. At least not today. We might have visitors, though. I want to sift through the senior Cerberus people, see who they are, what they do, perhaps meet with them. I have about a hundred dossiers and they’re just the tip. If I see you slacking off, I’ll put some on your reading list.”

  “As I said—gee, thanks. I should’ve shot you when I had a chance.”

  As they headed along the path to the house, Anna and Reb came out, looking for them.

  Reb said, “Lunchtime, according to the housekeeper. We’re going to be spoiled, the way we’re being cared for.”

  Anna added, “We’ve even a maid to tidy the rooms. Niland and Gabrielle will never want to make their own beds, again.”

  Mark laughed and said. “I agree. I saw three gardeners. The grounds are impeccable. Scott was complaining he has nothing to do.”

  “Who has nothing to do?” asked Sera, joining them. “I was sent to find the people who were sent to find the people who should come to lunch when it’s lunch time. Come on.”

  After the meal Mark decided to call Maeve. He wanted to know the result of her meeting with the President and the status of the two lab reports he’d requested. He closed himself off in the study and connected to Maeve.

  “Good morning, Mark. I can guess—you want to know what the President said?”

  “Exactly.”

  “The meeting was productive, from my perspective. I’m taking on Schmidt’s responsibilities until he recovers. Business as usual, I think, is the President’s view. He was pleased to hear of your involvement in Cerberus UK, by the way.”

  “Excellent. And Schmidt. Is there any update on his condition?”

  “No change. He’s alive and has the best care we can arrange. We have to be patient.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Schmidt was arranging some lab reports for me. One was a DNA test. The other was a firearm residue test. Do you know whether anyone has the results?”

  “I saw the results back from the lab this morning. The DNA test is a no-brainer. You look like twins and the results confirmed it. The other test is also positive. There are traces of residue, months old according to the lab. They says it’s probably blowback from firing a shotgun or rifles, perhaps from target practice.”

  “It’s good to know I have a sister. And a relief to hear the residue is aged.”

  “Reb’s definitely your sibling. Parentage for both of you, I realize, is still unknown. We can and will do some searching for you, but I’m certain no one kept those early research records. I’ll let you know if my team discovers anything. I’m not holding out for quick results, though.”

  “Thanks, Maeve.” Mark was deep in thought as he ended the call. He left the study, searching for Anna.

  ***

  Chapter 24

  Mercante sat back with his feet on the desktop. It was a modest office for a senior Agency manager. On one wall he had rows of photographs, mainly of him with either an important politician, a senior military officer—sometimes foreign—or someone else who had a visible and high profile. Another wall held his university degrees and diplomas, together with his military and professional certifications. The third wall was a window to the outside world, a rarity for an Agency office. The fourth wall which was centered by the doorway, displayed a photograph of the current President and on the other side of the door was a large version of the US flag. The desk was scarred and nondescript. In addition to Mercante’s chair, there were two visitor’s chairs, and a small couch against the wall with the photographs. Bookcases and filing cabinets intruded into otherwise empty spaces. A heavy-duty shredder stood beside his desk.

  Mercante was concerned because some of his plans were failing and this was an entirely new experience for h
im. He now realized the assessment report he had received on the Midway property contained numerous flaws, some major. For example, Midway and his followers were overseas somewhere, but the report had not mentioned their possible absence. The raid had destroyed the property, which was a plus. It was only a partial success, however, and he was disappointed—no, frustrated—at achieving only a fraction of what he desired. It was a shame the reverend’s men had been arrested. But they were stupid. They attacked the property in broad daylight, had no exit plan, and their vehicles had been almost demolished by whatever weapon system Midway had installed. The attackers were fortunate Midway had injured only six of them.

  He read the target assessment report again, then, angry with its lack of reliable content, threw it on the floor. Not only was there no mention of Midway’s absence, there was no mention of any defense system. There were only minor details about the overall security systems.

  Mercante had built up a team over the years. Some were direct reports, some indirect, and some not even aware he was pulling their puppet strings. The assessment had been conducted by one of his indirect reports. He reached for the phone and punched in a number. When the call was answered, he sat up straight in his chair, his feet back on the floor.

  “Mercante here. One of your people wrote up a TAR for me, a week ago. It was seriously flawed.”

  “Who did it?”

  “What’s his name…” Mercante retrieved the document from the floor, turned it the right way up and read the name. “Frederick Abrahams. Crewcut Freddie.”

  “Abrahams resigned and left almost a month ago. For the last two to three weeks he’s been somewhere in Africa helping a Doctors Without Borders team.”

  Mercante fumed. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, I attended his farewell party.”

  “Well, we have a larger problem, then. I sent an e-mail to you requesting an informal assessment. You volunteered Abrahams. I sent him an e-mail with the details and cc’d to you. I got a response, and later he sent me the report. What the hell is happening?”