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

by John Hindmarsh

  “Are you at the right place?” Dr. Sutter asked.

  “Definitely.” McCarr produced a set of lock picks and opened the door in seconds. “Quick, come inside.”

  There, ten feet inside the lobby, was the aspidistra, now upturned and separated from its container. McCarr motioned for his companion to remain where he was standing, just inside the doorway, while he continued farther into the building to check each room. At last, in a room messy with personal belongings and remnants of meals, he discovered the body of the housekeeper. It lay in a small pool of blood that had streamed for a short while from a bullet wound in her chest. The body was no longer warm. McCarr stood, deep in thought, ignoring the small, crumpled figure on the floor. He walked back to the obediently waiting doctor.

  “We have to get out of here. Did you touch anything?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Good.” McCarr used his handkerchief to hold the door handle. “Come on. Step out, look as though you belong. If you see Miles, ignore him and walk the other way. He’ll understand. I’ll be behind you.”

  There were no bystanders, no passersby, the street was almost empty. McCarr caught sight of Miles walking away at a casual pace. He wiped down the door and the doorbell, replaced his handkerchief, and turned to follow the doctor. He failed to note the small video camera set below a window on the upper story of the building. Nor had he noticed small cameras inside the building.

  He caught up with the doctor in three or four paces. “Half the fee, Doc,” he said. “I may need you again. I won’t know until I discover what happened.”

  “You have a competitor?”

  The doctor’s question reflected an astuteness McCarr had not expected. “Perhaps. I’ll drop you at the nearest station. You can make your own way from there?”

  “Oh, yes, old boy. London is my home.”

  Later McCarr met with Miles. “Someone was there before me,” he explained as he handed the man an envelope. “Here’s half your fee. I may need you and your vehicle again, same activity. Try to get a haircut in the meantime.”

  Miles accepted the envelope, waved his hand in a half salute, and went on his way. McCarr returned to his hotel, deep in thought.

  ~~~

  Earlier that the morning, minutes before eight a.m., a man had approached the building with the faded sign indicating its previous use as a Bible study school. He was slimly built, appeared to be in his fifties, and was smartly dressed in a three-piece, light gray suit. He carried a walking stick and was accompanied by a younger man, wearing a pin-stripe suit, and by a young woman who wore a high-necked pullover and dark slacks. She carried a briefcase. There was a green cross on the outside of the briefcase. The man stepped up to the front door and pressed the doorbell. After a short wait, the door opened, restrained by its security chain. A woman peered out. The man handed her a business card.

  “I’m from Cerberus, here to check on the children.”

  The woman took the card. She fumbled and twisted it until she was able to read the embossed writing. One side of the card was in English while the other side had Chinese characters.

  “Chairman?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  She looked from the card to the man and back to the card. She pushed the door closed and the Chairman heard the rattle of the chain as it was unhooked. He smiled to himself. The woman opened the door wide and the three visitors stepped into the lobby.

  “Follow,” instructed the woman. They followed.

  The woman stopped at a door, knocked, and pushed it open. “Visitors,” she said. The noise from inside the room reduced to an almost bearable level.

  “What?” asked a voice.

  “Visitors.” She waved the business card. A hand reached out and took the card. After almost a minute of intense subdued discussion, a young man stepped into the corridor.

  “Chairman of Cerberus? Why are you here? What do you want with us?”

  “Reb is a friend of mine. She was my navigator on Hammer, for years. She told me about you three and your plan to move. I discussed this with Mark, last night. I offered to make my senior researcher available to check you out before you leave here.”

  The young man shook his head, as though trying to remove the cobwebs of sleep. He turned to speak to people in the room. “Did you hear? He’s a friend of Reb’s. They want to check us over.”

  There was a muttered exchange. The young man turned back to the visitors. “Alright. Come on in. Excuse the mess.”

  The Chairman and the young woman entered the room. The other man remained outside. The room was in disarray.

  The young woman placed her briefcase on the edge of a table after pushing away a varied collection of books, clothing, and the remains of a pizza. She removed a small laptop computer from her case and switched it on. As it booted up, she said, “My name’s Jane Palmer. As the Chairman said, I’m one of his senior researchers. I’m going to ask each of you some questions. Very basic stuff, the usual things like your name, your weight, height, and so on. I’ll also record your temperature and blood pressure. I’ll extract a small blood sample, as well.” She laid out small containers and three hypodermic needles. She did not mention the process of taking a blood sample was twofold. The hypodermic was designed to simultaneously inject a small measure of a drug that, once it took effect, would ensure the three victims followed the Chairman’s instructions without argument. The drug would last for six to eight hours, long enough for the Chairman’s plans.

  When she finished her task, while the three teenagers sat passively on the settee, Jane gathered up what seemed to be their personal belongings and stuffed them into a lightweight backpack she extracted from her briefcase. She did not pick up the clothes scattered around the room. Either the Chairman would arrange the purchase of new items or the children would not need them. On the way out of the building, the Chairman halted his small group of followers inside the front door. He did not open it. “Henry, go and see the housekeeper. Tell her we’re going out for a coffee. You know the rest.”

  Henry nodded and headed back down the hallway. The Chairman opened the door and directed his young charges out into the street. Jane followed. The subdued children did not mention the camera above the doorway, not did they mention the interior cameras; no one asked about them. The Chairman led the way to an eight-seater vehicle, a Mercedes, parked almost directly outside the building.

  “Get in,” he directed, opening the rear door. The children climbed in, followed by the researcher. The Chairman opened the front passenger door and got in and waited for Henry. After a minute or two, the young man exited the building and climbed into the driver’s seat of the people mover. He nodded at the Chairman, started the vehicle, and edged it out into the morning traffic.

  ~~~

  “Mark,” Scott said, “I need you to look at something. Come with me.”

  Mark followed him into the security room. Scott had taken control of monitoring the security cameras throughout the day. He indicated a disassembled Glock, the components of which he had laid out on a white cloth. “I’ve been checking our weapons, starting with mine,” he said. “I’ve detected a small problem. They’ve been sabotaged. Someone’s modified the firing pin and I suspect they’ll all be the same. It looks to be okay, but it won’t impact the cartridge. I checked Sera’s Glock; it’s had the same treatment. If we depend on these, we’ll be dead.”

  Mark stared at Scott as the implications sank in. Senior members of Cerberus UK, presumably at the direction of DI Goodwin, were setting them up. Scott nodded as though confirming Mark’s conclusions.

  Mark handed over his Glock. “Check mine. I’ll get Anna’s and you can check it as well.”

  ***

  Chapter 27

  Andrew Wentworth’s excuse, if anyone had the temerity to ask, was that he was trailing the contacts of a senior Agency manager who may have committed a criminal offense. An offense so serious that he, an FBI Executive Assistant Director, needed to take personal acti
on. The church he sought was north of Atlanta. He was following the directions he had printed out the previous day. For some reason he detested the nagging voice of automated navigation systems.

  Wentworth was on a mission, a life and career-threatening mission. Mercante had failed his challenges—Schmidt was still alive and so was Midway. Government and private property had been destroyed, a minor success. Wentworth planned to arrange a follow-up strike. This time there would be no failure. Schmidt was his concern; Midway could wait, for the moment. He braked when he saw the signpost he was seeking. There was a house beside the church, accessible up a long, muddy lane. The house was large, ostentatious rather than imposing, with a mixed architecture of old and new. Part of the house was stone, part was timber. He walked up the stairs to the front entrance and pressed the small, lit button. Somewhere inside he heard the result as his action was transmuted into the heavy chimes of a nonexistent bell. After a moment a woman opened the door, only enough for her to see who was standing in the entryway.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’d like to speak with Reverend Barker. It’s important.”

  “May I tell him who’s calling?”

  “Just tell him an old friend recommended him to me.”

  “Yes, sir. Please come in and sit while I go find the reverend.”

  The door opened wider and Wentworth stepped inside. The interior was as confused as the exterior. There was a cathedral ceiling, reaching up more than twenty feet. The sides of the ceiling structure held a number of small colored glass insets, creating a chaos of colored light beams on the floor leading into the depths of the house. Along the walls, paintings of biblical scenes competed with hunting trophies. Two high-backed chairs were located immediately inside the front door. As uncomfortable as the chairs looked, Wentworth needed to sit. His assessment was correct. The chair was extremely uncomfortable.

  Ten minutes passed and he wondered whether he should either remind the person who had opened the door of his presence or retreat to DC. Another five minutes passed. He was about to stand when the woman returned.

  “Sir, please come to the reverend’s study. He’ll join you there shortly.”

  The decor of the study was also conflicted. There was a lectern holding a large open Bible. Books lined one wall, while the other walls continued the competition of hunting trophies vs. biblical scenes. Several chairs were scattered around the room. Wentworth selected one that he hoped was less uncomfortable than the chair he had just vacated.

  He had just sat down when a small man bustled into the room. Wentworth had expected a tubby, overweight person, but Barker must have lost weight on a prison diet. Wentworth stood, shook the proffered hand, and almost looked for a dispenser of disinfectant after his hand was released. The men sat in adjacent chairs. Wentworth extracted a small electronic device from his briefcase and switched it on.

  He explained, “It will ensure no one can overhear our conversation.” He did not add it also would prevent any electronic recording of the meeting. “Reverend Barker, thank you for allocating some of your valuable time to speak with me. I was recommended by a mutual friends. Well, I knew one of your friends, now deceased, and was recommended by the other.”

  “Your name, sir?”

  “Perhaps for the moment I can remain anonymous? My good friend, the late Senator Boothby, always spoke very favorably of you.” The reverend’s face brightened at the mention of the senator. Wentworth continued, “Another friend of mine recently had a conversation with you. He was arranging a task in New Hampshire, which I’m sure you’ll recall?”

  “New Hampshire? Ah, you must mean McCarr?”

  “Yes, Robert’s a good friend. He’s in Europe at the moment, otherwise I would’ve asked him to phone you in advance.”

  “I see. I lost some good people. When you stand back and try to let people exercise their discretion, it’s disappointing when they fail.” He paused. “May I ask what the purpose is of your visit?”

  “I’ve a very good friend I’d like to have someone take care of. He was very badly hurt in an accident. He’s someone you may know, and I need to be confident he’s treated very well. I’m sure Senator Boothby would also want this, if he was alive today.”

  “Your friend’s name?”

  “Schmidt, Archimedes Schmidt. He was a victim of a helicopter accident. He’s still in intensive care—he‘s in critical condition and has scarcely improved.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of him.”

  Wentworth watched the conflicting emotions on Barker’s face.

  “That was most unexpected.” He stood. “Sir, I’ve been remiss. Would you join me in a bourbon?”

  “Why, yes. Thank you.”

  “Good, good. If you’re a bourbon man, you’ll enjoy my favorite—Woodford Reserve.” The reverend opened a liquor cabinet and returned with two filled glasses. He handed one to Wentworth. “Your health.”

  Wentworth returned the salute. The reverend was correct, the bourbon was smooth. He sipped again and placed the glass on the small table beside his chair.

  He said, “Schmidt?”

  “Yes, Schmidt. I believe I fully understand. I can make arrangements to, uh, care for your friend. How much, may I ask, are you willing to contribute to his well-being?”

  Wentworth mentioned a sum. Barker responded with another sum, double the first. Wentworth considered the amount for about thirty seconds. “Deal. I’ll arrange to transfer the money tomorrow, if you give me your account details.”

  Barker wrote details on a slip of paper and handed it to Wentworth.

  “What guarantee can you give for success?”

  “I’ll stake not only my personal reputation,” puffed the reverend, “but also my life. For this person, you can rest assured I will do my utmost. If we fail, I’ll refund 50 percent. Now, do you have some information for me, perhaps his hospital location?”

  ~~~

  Maeve had used all her persuasive abilities to convince the doctor supervising Schmidt’s treatment to allow her to visit. She had said, “He has no family. I’ve known him for years. A friendly, familiar voice may be what he needs.”

  Whether it was her argument or her demeanor that won the day, Maeve was unsure. She had spent an hour in discussion with the doctor, and at last he had agreed, almost begrudgingly. He was aware of the Cerberus process and seemed to blame Maeve for Schmidt’s decision to undergo the treatment. Maeve, on the other hand, suspected Schmidt’s recovery process was being assisted by his early genetic changes.

  She made herself comfortable in the chair set back, a distance away from Schmidt’s bed. He was hooked up to a number of monitoring devices. A tube was providing oxygen. A saline drip kept him hydrated. Drugs kept him unconscious. Temperature and blood pressure measurements were displayed above his bed, as were his heartbeat and another five or six indicators, all relayed to an external station where the duty nurses monitored everything.

  Maeve opened her laptop; she was unable to sit idly while she had so much work to do. She had promoted her senior analyst and now Linda Schöner managed the entire team of analysts, her responsibilities encompassing everything from data gathering to ensuring data patterns were identified, assessed, and communicated to Maeve. Captain Helen Chouan had accepted responsibility for two MP companies, both now located at Camp Brewer and her promotion to major was pending. The structure was an irregular but expedient solution to the loss of Colonel Dempsey. In addition, Maeve had taken control of all Cerberus teams, again delegating to senior members. She was still familiarizing herself with Schmidt’s management structure and finding gaps as she dug deeper.

  She yawned. Her laptop was downloading e-mails. The first one was a report from Linda Schöner and the details woke her up. The report contained the current analysis of several data threads the teams were tracking. The first item was a trip by Wentworth. He’d traveled to Georgia and her team tracking him had lost his cell phone signal. The significant item in the report was that the signal had disappe
ared close to where Reverend Barker lived. Barker also was on her analysts’ watch list. He had received a light sentence because of his cooperation with the FBI investigation of Senator Boothby’s activities and the raid on the LifeLong laboratory complex. But Maeve was convinced Barker still managed a militia group associated with his church.

  The second thread of interest was from Europe. Her team had access to internationally sourced NSA data and continually conducted dynamic data analysis against the massive stream of raw data the agency managed to pipe into its servers. Her team had also tapped into numerous video camera systems. Maeve read the section describing how the team had tracked Midway to an address in London, south of the Thames. Her analysts then had continued to monitor the security system at the location. They reported two sets of visitors, neither of which were aware of the cameras recording their presence.

  The first group of visitors removed three teenaged children from the premises. One of the cameras had captured their vehicle’s registration plate as it departed and her team was tracking down the owner.

  The second set of visitors, timed at two hours later, jarred her into full focus. The man who seemed to be the leader, and who used lock picks to enter the building, was someone the team knew—Ricardo Mercante, a senior CIA manager.

  She sat back in the hospital chair, now unaware of its discomfort, her mind racing. Mercante. Well, well. She checked further. In both cases the security system had detected the numbers of the cell phones carried by each visitor. This, she thought, was a sophisticated security system. Maeve fired off a quick response to Linda, directing her to track all the cell phones belonging to the people who had entered the old Bible school. They would also trace calls using NSA data stores; the harvested metadata would be very interesting.