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

by John Hindmarsh

  Mark paced beside him. “It’s a long story. Perhaps Julian will tell you some day; he knows of my—ah—adventures, at least in part. The destruction was carried out by a gang of thugs, apparently a private militia, at the direction of a pastor. All from the South.”

  Clancy shook his head. “I oversaw the rebuild and decoration of his apartment after it was wrecked last year. He mentioned a debt he owes. I understand you helped protect him and his daughter after someone tried to kidnap her?” He looked at Mark. “These people hated you enough to do this?”

  “The events aren’t related.” Mark waved his hand at the blackened timbers. “This was done from more of a mercenary motive, I suspect. Someone paid them. I heard they were forthcoming with details after their arrests. Their trial is scheduled for late next month. They all pleaded guilty. Given they were in mid-assault when the police arrived, I doubt they could do otherwise.” He smiled. It was a grim expression. He wondered how Maeve Donnelly, with her current responsibilities for management of Cerberus US, was going to minimize publicity—the news media had been quick to report details of the attack, describing him as some kind of mystery man.

  “Hmm. Julian mentioned they used hand grenades to fire the buildings. Is it safe to walk here?”

  “The local police and the FBI have searched the area for evidence. I understand they removed anything of a dangerous nature. I’m certain they found everything.” He didn’t mention that twenty or so soldiers from the 145th MP Battalion had also conducted a thorough search. He made a mental note to arrange for a contractor to remove the burnt residue of the buildings.

  “The risk is low; that’s acceptable. The woods here, behind the house, will remain?”

  “Oh, yes.” Mark said.

  He could feel the presence of a watcher. However, there was no threat that he could discern. At the moment.

  Mark continued. “I’d like some protective features in the design. If you have ideas that you can include—?”

  “I’ll do that. I’ve consulted on two or three properties where the owners needed to be safe. I can provide strong elements of security without constructing a fortress.” Clancy continued to the trail that led away from the rear of the house into the woods. “An escape path?”

  “Yes, it’s intended as such. We have a shed about a mile away, well-hidden and large enough to store two vehicles, if we needed to. From there we have easy access to the main roads. It’s not obvious that the building belongs to this property.” Mark indicated the remnants of his former home. “At least, unless someone reconnoiters the place. There’s also a small shed in a clearing about three hundred yards into the woods.” He made another mental note, to remember to check the smaller shed once the architect had departed.

  They walked on. Mark followed the lead of the architect as they wandered the rough circumference of the destroyed buildings examining the ruins. Clancy used his camera to take additional photographs. As they walked, Mark described the interior of the house and summarized his personal preferences for a new building. He hoped Anna would agree; he would check with her when he returned to Boston.

  Clancy waved his hand at the buildings and said, “The sheds are straightforward. I suggest you replace them with simple New England-style farm buildings, basically identical to what you had. Perhaps with additional fire protection. The housekeeper’s cottage—we can copy it. Modernized, it will remain a simple residence. For the main building: I’ll have one of my team come out in a day or so and take detailed measurements. We’ll produce a set of concept drawings for you. That will take perhaps a week or so. When I’ve reviewed those and made sure they’re presentable, we’ll be in contact, yes?”

  “In two weeks?”

  “Indeed. Two weeks. At my offices. I’ll arrange a time. My team will present their ideas. We’ll do some costings, all preliminary. Okay?”

  “Definitely.” They were back at the architect’s vehicle. Mark watched as the man drove off. Now, he would explore deeper into the woods. He wanted to find whoever had been watching them as they walked around the burnt-out buildings. He also needed to check on Gabrielle’s hidden treasure, as she described it.

  Before he moved away from his vehicle, Mark reached inside, took out his Glock and attached the holster to his belt, under his jacket. As he straightened, his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Maeve Donnelly.

  “Yes, Maeve?”

  “Where are you?”

  “New Hampshire. At the property.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s been a lot of social chatter in the last hour or so. Linda Schöner’s analysts think it’s something to do with you.”

  “Already? We’ve been back only a week.”

  “Someone is on the move. Linda’s team is trying to discover who and why.”

  “Okay.” He paused. “There’s an intruder here, although I don’t sense any threat. I still have a couple of chores to do.”

  “I’ll contact Winter Security; they’ll provide an escort for you back to Boston. The team will take a while to get there, though. I’ll talk to the local police and arrange for them to send someone to you. You can wait where you are or accompany the police back to their station in Redmont. My recommendation? Go to the police station.”

  “You think it’s that serious?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 2

  “Jamie, what’s the position regarding Schmidt? Are you up to date?” The man posing the question, Ross Cromarty, was seated in a soft leather chair. Cromarty was a major stockholder in a number of large international corporations, most of which were based offshore for tax purposes. He had a glass of Scotch at his left elbow and held a cheroot in his right hand. The man he was questioning, General Jamie Grovers (retired), sat two yards away, in a similar chair, also with a glass of Scotch. A third man, Ken O’Hare, an assistant director with the National Security Agency (NSA), responsible for FORNSAT Resources, a section of the Foreign Affairs Directorate, listened intently. He was taller than the general and in far better physical condition. He was drinking bourbon. They were meeting in the library in one of four houses that Cromarty owned across the country. This one was located in Texas; it was situated overlooking the Colorado River, north-west of Austin. The locals called it Cromarty’s Castle.

  Grovers took a sip of his drink while he considered his reply. He placed his glass down and joined his hands, reaching his arms out.

  Cromarty interpreted the gesture as a subconscious cry for help. Grovers, he had decided, did not have the strength that he required in a senior executive. He could still make use of him, though.

  “A good question. He suffered severe injuries in that helicopter crash. A pity the Russians didn’t do a better job, if you ask me.” He had never matched the other general’s ability to always pull victory out of adversity. Envy was an acid that burned without leaving a visible mark.

  “We know that much,” said O’Hare. “What about now? It’s been over three months.”

  The retired general stared at his second questioner.

  “Well?” O’Hare stared back. He was standing; he had been looking out at the water view as the sun set. He was a non-smoker and waved away a cloud of smoke.

  Grovers wilted. “He’s recovered, physically. I’ve seen portions of his fitness report. It states the man is extremely fit. With reservations, apparently.”

  The first man spoke. “Is your emphasis on his physical condition indicative of other issues?”

  “Yes. There are rumors of some residual issues.”

  Cromarty looked up, suddenly interested.

  Grovers continued. “Well, I don’t think he’s any crazier than usual—I heard dizziness, so it’s more likely his heart than his brain.” He shrugged. “Donnelly is guarding him like a mother lion with her cub; it’s difficult to get anything insightful.”

  “O’Hare, what do you know?”

  “
Sorry, Ross. My people can’t get close, either. I could push, but I don’t need that exposure.”

  Cromarty stubbed out his cheroot with a savage motion. He stood with his back to the lake view. “Listen to me, both of you. Schmidt, and Donnelly, now that she’s running that Cerberus organization, are potential—major—stumbling blocks to my business plans. I’m in the midst of developing my strategy for two financially significant takeovers. I’m also setting up a super PAC for a good friend and business associate. I need to make sure no one—I mean no one—can impede my plans. Grovers, it’s your task, as head of my security, to work out an action plan. O’Hare, you will consult and advise. Between the two of you I want to know that any potential threat can be neutralized. More than a token ‘can be’.”

  “Do we have a budget?” O’Hare asked.

  “Half a mill for planning and five for execution.”

  “You know the execution part has been tried before, without success? Some from other agencies—Mercante, for example—have tried and failed,” said O’Hare.

  Grovers was still considering the implications of the conversation. Cromarty thought the general was unsure he wanted to be involved with the implied activities.

  “Mercante was a fool. A pathological idiot. You know that.” Cromarty lit another cheroot. He didn’t offer one to his visitors.

  O’Hare shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”

  “The budget might be enough for planning,” Grovers said, brave for a change. “Not sure about the rest. It will depend on what we plan, the risks and, of course, the resource costs.”

  Cromarty looked at O’Hare.

  “I agree,” O’Hare said.

  “All right. Let’s say one mill for planning. I’ll add a bonus of another mill, which you can share if I approve the result. After that we’ll determine the execution budget. Bring me a bloody foolproof plan, though.”

  Grovers and O’Hare exchanged glances, silently agreeing to work together.

  “What about your bid for the Cerberus intellectual property?” O’Hare asked, apparently unaware of the nerve he struck.

  “Totally bloody rejected. Kelly and RDEz are in the driving seat. He’s establishing a pharmaceutical company to develop and market whatever products can be created from the DNA research and laboratory work done by the late Dr. White and her team. He’s acquired the Lifelong material—the Midway-related research. I heard he’s got access to some material from the UK, value unknown, via Midway.”

  “So Kelly’s cornered the genetic engineering market, huh?” commented Grovers, unintentionally provocative.

  “Yes, and I can’t stop him—his stock position is a total block. Why don’t you work out a solution to that problem?” The snarl was not disguised.

  “Outside my scope,” Grovers said. “I’ll take on security and related issues, but leave marketing to those experts.”

  Cromarty was unsure whether Grovers had purposefully misread his comment. He said, “Fair enough.” He checked his watch. “We’ve guests coming and my wife will be upset if I’m not ready. O’Hare, spend some time with Grovers, and both of you get a plan together. Find out whatever you can about Schmidt’s current physical and mental condition. Send me your updates. We’ll meet and review in ten days. Feasible?”

  “Sure.”

  “Works for me,” Grovers agreed. He turned to O’Hare. “I’m heading to the airport—do you need a ride?”

  “No, thanks. My chopper’s due in minutes. I’ll give you a call on Monday—I’ll be in Washington all week.”

  “Okay.” Grovers gave a half salute.

  “I’ll show you out,” Cromarty said. He and Grovers left the room. O’Hare turned back to the view of the lake and waited for Cromarty to return. The beat of a helicopter signaled its approach.

  Cromarty was back in less than three minutes. “Anything else?”

  “Are you seriously considering major acquisitions?”

  “If I can remove stumbling blocks that might embarrass me, yes. I have some friends who want to join with me—it’ll cost big money, and I mean big, and the returns are huge. I could self-fund it all, of course. The problem is the FBI either holds or has access to material I’d prefer not to see the light of day. Donnelly will be aware of it. Schmidt is worse; he knows everything, or his people do. If it’s released, it will kill my offers.”

  “We’ll have to see what we can do.” The helicopter was closer, landing.

  “Indeed. By the way, there’s a larger bonus if you can neutralize another potential problem.”

  “He shouldn’t be too difficult,” O’Hare pointed outside. “That’s my ride—I’ll talk with you through the week.”

  Cromarty watched the NSA officer walk out the door. Minutes later he heard O’Hare’s helicopter depart. His dreams could become nightmares if he wasn’t careful. He poured himself another glass of Scotch.

  Chapter 3

  After Mark finished his discussion with Maeve, he called Anna. She was in Boston with Niland and Gabrielle, their two unofficial Cerberus wards. All four were genetically engineered. Mark did not know his origin; records of his early childhood were non-existent. Anna and the two children had been processed in embryo by Cerberus scientists. Maeve headed up Cerberus US, and Mark, during his recent visit to London, had been appointed CEO of the UK organization.

  “I met with Joe Clancy. He seems to understand what we need. He said he’ll have some ideas, concepts, for the house, to show us in two weeks.”

  “That’s good. Does the place feel sad?”

  “Heartbreaking. The house is like a blackened skeleton. The barns and cottage are burnt rubble.”

  There was a pause as each absorbed the emotion.

  “I should’ve come with you.”

  “No, it was best I came alone.”

  “Did anything survive the attack?”

  “I don’t know whether the shed is still standing. I haven’t had a chance, yet, to go look. I’ve sensed an intruder. I’m waiting for the local police to arrive.”

  “They’ll love that. They probably think our place is a vortex of violent crime. Is there anything else?”

  “Maeve called. She said there’s been a lot of social chatter and Linda Schöner thinks I’m the focal point. Her analysts are trying to discover who’s behind it.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Maeve wants me to wait at the Redmont police station until one of Winter’s security teams can escort me back to Boston.”

  “She’s that worried?”

  “She’s being extremely cautious. I’ll stay with the police, though, until my escort arrives. I can’t ignore her advice.”

  “I should hope not. I’ll be anxious until you return.”

  “I’m armed. I’ll wait here until the police arrive. I’ll see if they’ll go with me while I check the shed. Expect a text from me when I leave the police station.”

  He ended the call. He knew Anna would worry until he returned. He wanted to explore, to look for the intruder, and to check for Gabrielle’s art books containing her drawings. She had left them in the small shed at the back of the house. She’d planned, a week or so before they had departed for London, to use it as her studio, and had begun to take possession by moving in an easel, paints, a chair, and some of her artwork.

  He was tempted to wander and on reflection, reconsidered, deciding it was more prudent to wait by his vehicle as he had indicated to Anna. There would be time enough to look around once some of Redmont’s law enforcement arrived.

  The sound of the approaching siren roused him from his reverie. He checked his watch. Ten minutes. Either they had been nearby or they were driving well in excess of the speed limit. He watched as the police vehicle threaded its way through the entrance and around the patches of broken glass. The driver brought the vehicle nearly up to Mark’s toes.

  Two officers exited the police car. One, a senior officer according to his rank chevrons, approached him. His hand was on his weapon.

  “Mi
dway? Mark Midway?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Lieutenant Harkness, Redmont police. Can I see some identification?”

  “Yes. I’m armed. Can I remove my Glock, first?”

  Harkness drew his weapon. “Leary, get over here. Search this person. He said he’s armed.” He turned back to Mark. “You should know the routine. Turn around, hands on the vehicle. Make anything like a wrong move and you’ll wake up in hospital. Maybe.”

  Mark turned around and placed his hands on his SUV. He spread his feet. “I thought you said you understood Major Dempsey’s message—what was it? Ah, yes: Don’t mess with the people who live here.”

  Leary laughed.

  Harkness said, replacing his weapon. “Shit—you must be Midway. No one else would know that. You guys haunt my dreams. I’m still trying to explain to the chief what happened here when Dempsey’s men blew up his MRAP. We haven’t seen the promised replacement, yet.”

  Leary reached under Mark’s jacket and removed the Glock and its holster. He dropped them onto the front seat of the police vehicle. “Anything else?”

  “No. My wallet’s in my jacket pocket—mind if I get it out?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Mark withdrew his wallet and opened it to show his driver’s license. He handed the wallet to Leary who passed it to Harkness.

  “Okay,” confirmed Harkness, returning the wallet. “You can stand easy. You appear to be the person we’re supposed to meet. You think there’s an intruder here? Also, your contact—Maeve Donnelly—said your safety’s been threatened, and she’d like us to take you to our station. She’s arranging a security escort for your return to Boston?”

  “Yes, she’s a cautious person. She was the director of the FBI—you might recall she was kidnapped a year or so back. Her driver was shot and killed by the Russians who kidnapped her, and she resigned shortly afterwards.”

  “I remember that,” said Leary. “And Cox—what was his name—ah, Nikita Yanovich—he was Russian, too.”