Helius Legacy

by S Alexander O'keefe

  “Who was the male caller?” Paquin asked.

  “He identified himself as John Caine.”

  “Was the name Richard Steinman mentioned in these exchanges?”

  “Yes, sir. The transcript indicates that Steinman left a message for Caine and instructed him to call Marenna.”

  “Thank you,” Paquin said, and terminated the call. “There’s your answer.”

  “Steinman.” Mason said the name as if it was something loathsome.

  “That’s right. Our information indicates that Mr. Steinman and Ms. Marenna met at law school. It would appear that Steinman made contact with Mr. Caine before his death, but it doesn’t appear from this conversation that he had any contacts with Ms. Marenna about Helius. What those contacts were and what information was exchanged is not clear.”

  Mason hesitated. It was obvious that he didn’t want to accept Paquin’s conclusion, but felt compelled to do so by the facts.

  “Very well, Mr. Paquin. That presents a real problem. You see, the information that Mr. Steinman—”

  At this point, Paquin pointedly glanced over at Onwuallu and then glanced back at Mason. Mason’s latent paranoia made the connection immediately. He stopped in midsentence and looked over at Onwuallu, who didn’t understand what had just occurred.

  “Mr. Onwuallu, your participation in this meeting has been very helpful. However, I know that you have a long flight back to Harare tonight, and I don’t want to keep you from the pressing business you have there.”

  Then Mason stood up before Onwuallu could say anything. Onwuallu realized that he’d been outmaneuvered by Paquin, and he slowly stood up. He was looking down at the table as he stood up, but Paquin could see the rage in his eyes. By the time he looked over at Mason, the Liberian had regained control. He nodded politely to Mason, his face tight, but respectful.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mason. It was a pleasure,” Onwuallu said, his eyes on Paquin.

  Mason just nodded and turned his attention back to the financials in front of him. Onwuallu continued to look at Paquin as he walked to the door. The restrained rage and almost kinetic threat in his eyes made it clear that Menard Onwuallu didn’t consider the matter to be closed. At that instant, Paquin made a decision. Onwuallu would have a fatal accident once the current problem was solved. When Onwuallu closed the door on the way out, Mason continued as though he’d never been there.

  “As I was saying, this development could be very problematic, indeed. If Mr. Caine communicated the information provided to him by Steinman to the press—”

  Paquin quietly interrupted him, “We cannot be sure of anything based upon what we have, but we have to assume that Caine didn’t obtain enough information to understand the whole picture. Otherwise he would have already gone to the authorities, or alternatively contacted us directly to negotiate a price. Either way, we have to proceed on that assumption.”

  Mason looked at Paquin for a moment before responding, “I agree with your assessment. Now tell me, where does that leave us? How do we find Mr. Caine and his new female friend, and eliminate them?”

  Paquin stared as his hands for a moment, and then looked directly at Mason. “We have to pursue concurrent strategies. If we find the girl, we find Mr. Caine. This is her home turf, so it’s likely that she selected their present refuge. As we speak, the resources necessary to find that location are working on the problem. We also know that Caine and the woman will be seeking more information. We have to focus on what they’re after and get there first.”

  Mason nodded his head approvingly, and then raised an issue that Paquin had expected him to bring up earlier.

  “Mr. Paquin, there is something in all of this that I don’t understand. Why hasn’t Mr. Caine contacted the police? It would seem an obvious course of action.”

  “There are a number of potential explanations. Mr. Caine could be a criminal himself, which means police support is not an option, or the explanation could be more complex. Now that Ms. Marenna’s involved, I suspect the situation will change. She’s a lawyer, so we can assume that she will try to gain help from law enforcement. When she makes that effort, we will intercept the communication, find her location, and eliminate the two of them,” Paquin said, with quiet confidence.

  “Very well, Mr. Paquin. I will leave the situation in your … capable hands, with the understanding that there will be no more problems.”

  Paquin just nodded, and Mason turned his attention back to the financials in front of him, signaling that the meeting was at an end.

  Austin, Texas

  December 6, 1999 / Monday / 6:50 a.m.

  Onwuallu sat in a dark blue Lincoln Continental, staring at the front of the Helius Building. Rage was still pulsing through him. Paquin would pay dearly for his lack of respect. It was just a question of when and how. Based on what he had heard in the meeting, the “when” could be very close. Contrary to Mason’s instructions, he intended to stay in Austin and make sure that possibility became a reality.

  Onwuallu leaned back in the seat and reviewed what he’d learned. Mason had invited him to come to Austin to discuss Helius’s efforts to secure drilling rights in Sudan from the Sudanese government. Negotiations had reached an impasse, and Mason wanted Onwuallu to find someone within the power structure in Khartoum who could be persuaded, for the right price, to intervene on behalf of the company.

  After the meeting, Mason had unexpectedly asked him stay and to participate in a meeting with Paquin. According to Mason, he wanted Onwuallu’s “insights” on a problem that Paquin was having difficulty resolving. Although Mason had described the problem as minor, Onwuallu could all but smell the anger, and more surprisingly, the fear, behind Mason’s controlled facade. Onwuallu also sensed a potential opportunity to usurp Paquin’s position.

  As the meeting had progressed and the extent of Paquin’s problems with this John Caine and Marenna woman had become clear, Onwuallu could barely restrain himself. The fool had all but opened the door for him. All he needed to do was to persuade Mason to allow him to take over the operation. Once he eliminated Mason’s problem, he would have the political capital necessary to get away with killing Paquin. Then Paquin had turned the tables on him seconds before he’d weighed in with his proposal. Worse, Paquin had somehow managed to persuade Mason that Onwuallu should be excluded from the balance of the meeting. As he thought back on the final minutes, Onwuallu realized the phone call Paquin had made was staged. Unfortunately his little scheme had worked.

  For now, Mason had decided that Paquin was indispensable. But that could change. If Paquin failed to eliminate John Caine and the woman quickly, Mason would be forced to look elsewhere for help. Onwuallu smiled to himself. Nicholas Paquin’s life was about to get more complicated. He dialed a number on his cell.

  “Porter.”

  “Mr. Porter, we will be staying in Austin for a day or two longer.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “I have heard that Austin can be a dangerous city. Please acquire some protection for the two of us. Say two side arms, and something with a longer range.”

  “Very good, sir,” Porter answered, a smile in his voice.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  Austin, Texas

  December 6, 1999 / Monday / 1:00 a.m.

  Andrea parked the truck on a narrow two-lane road just across the street from a collection of small wooden cottages that were clustered around a main building. The glowing oblong sign attached to the main building advertised the “Bluebonnet Motel.” All of the cottages were dark, but a light was still on in the office in the main building. The parking lot was partially illuminated by a bug-encrusted light on top of the lamppost in the center of the lot. Three cars and a van were parked in the lot.

  Andrea dropped her head back on the headrest and looked up at the roof of the pickup.

  “I must be insane,” Andrea said in exasperation.

  Caine smiled. “It’s not that bad, and you’re the one who picked it out.”


  “You told me you wanted a hotel that accepted cash that wasn’t an SRO nightmare in downtown Austin. This is the only place I know that … and by the way, I haven’t been here in fifteen years. Now, please tell me why we can’t simply check into the Hilton downtown?”

  “Cash has no digital signature. Credit cards do. If these people have access to up-to-the-minute credit card information, the instant the Hilton runs your card or mine, which they will insist on doing, the bad guys will know exactly where we are. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

  “John, these people are not the police or the FBI. They don’t have access to that kind of data,” Andrea said.

  “Sure about that? They found you and me quick enough.”

  Andrea turned and looked over at Caine. “If I was suspicious, which I totally am right now, I might be inclined to think that this whole thing—”

  “—is a scheme to get you in a compromising position? Ye of little faith: I have that covered,” Caine finished.

  He stepped out of the truck, pulled out his cell phone, and punched in a speed-dial code.

  “Hello, Tomas, it’s John. Sorry to wake you. Listen … I know, but I have a problem. I’ll tell you about it later. Right now, I need you to talk to someone. She needs to know that I’m a perfect gentleman. Answer any question that she asks, and this time don’t lie,” Caine said with a smile and handed the phone to Andrea.

  “John, what’s going on?” Andrea said, looking at the phone.

  “His name is Tomas Moreno, Father Tomas Moreno. Ask him anything about me.”

  Andrea could hear the male voice on the phone demanding that Caine pick up, and she reluctantly accepted the phone. Caine closed the door of the truck, waved, and started across the street toward the motel.

  Ten minutes later, Caine walked back across the street and climbed back in the truck. Andrea looked over at him without saying anything for a moment. Then she turned and started up the truck.

  “Okay, we’ve established that you’re a big supporter of a local Catholic school, you were an Army Ranger, and there’s at least one person in the world who is confused enough to think you’re a complete boy scout.”

  A smile played across Caine’s face when he responded, “I couldn’t pull anything over on Tomas, even if I wanted to. He’s a former Marine drill instructor.”

  Caine pointed to the far end of the parking lot. “Quail Cottage—the one over there on the right, and yes, there are two beds.”

  Austin, Texas

  December 6, 1999 / Monday / 7:30 a.m.

  Caine was already up and fully dressed when Andrea woke the next morning. He was sitting at the little table near the window, with a small pad of paper and a pencil. A large cup of coffee was in front of him. A second cup and a brown paper bag were on the far side of the table. When Caine realized that she was awake, he called, “Good morning” over his shoulder, but didn’t turn around.

  Andrea waved, but didn’t say anything. She wanted to get in the bathroom and make sure she didn’t look like too much of a nightmare before she sat across from another human being, particularly a male human being. Twenty minutes later, she came out of the bathroom feeling almost human. She walked over to the other chair at the small table and sat down. Caine pushed a paper coffee cup and a blueberry muffin across the table.

  “Good morning. Breakfast is courtesy of your local Quick Stop gas station down the road,” Caine said.

  Andrea smiled. “Thank you. Why, it almost seems like I’m on vacation.”

  Caine returned the smile. “Not quite.”

  Andrea took a sip of the coffee and nodded at the pad of paper he was writing on. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve been jotting down some facts in an effort to try to bracket who’s on the other side of this thing and why. Let me tell you what I have so far. Twenty-four hours ago, a group of men were airlifted to within striking distance of my cabin in Snow Valley. My guess is they were sent there to take me out. This tells me that the opposition has major resources and an organization in place capable of doing these things.”

  “They also seem to have found a way to get inside my townhouse and put a tap on my phone. Then they tracked me to the Portman Lodge and … tried to kidnap me,” Andrea said.

  When she mentioned the kidnapping attempt, the memory of the brutal experience came racing back, and a wave of involuntary fear swept over her. She glanced over at the curtained window.

  Caine noticed the look. “It’s okay. I’ve been watching.”

  Andrea looked over at him, but he was looking at the writing pad again.

  “John, there’s not too many people with those kinds of resources. It almost seems like a government thing, which doesn’t make any sense. No law enforcement agency would pull something like this. It’s too far outside the lines, and they would have no reason to. If the FBI, ATF, or some other agency wanted to take me into custody, they could have stopped by my office with a warrant,” Andrea said.

  Caine glanced up from the pad.

  “You’re right. If a government outfit is behind this, then it’s foreign.”

  Andrea took another sip of her coffee and smiled.

  “My life is just not interesting enough to attract that kind of attention,” Andrea said, with a wry smile. “How about you?”

  When Caine didn’t react to the question, Andrea stopped smiling and leaned forward. “Is there a reason why you’re not answering my question?”

  Andrea’s voice was polite, but Caine could hear the undertone of suspicion.

  Caine hesitated and then said, “The answer to that question is a little complicated.”

  “Try me.”

  “Andrea, the military unit I was with for about a decade engaged in operations all over the world. Some of these operations would be of interest to any number of foreign governments. But that was a long time ago, and the feelers that I put out came back negative.”

  “Wait a minute. I thought you said you were with the Army Rangers? Anyone who wants to learn about United States Army operations can just look through past editions of the New York Times or Washington Post. They don’t need to chase you around Texas to find out.”

  “Andrea, I’m not talking about the U.S. Army, and like I said, I think that road is a dead end. The key to—”

  “What army are we talking about?”

  “I can’t answer that. There are secrecy laws, and there are people who could be put at risk by any disclosure.”

  Andrea looked at him, her face unreadable. Then she pushed her cup aside and laid both of her hands on the table in front of her.

  “First, if people are trying to kill me because of something in your background, I think I have a right to know why. Second, I’m a lawyer. Keeping confidences is something I do for a living, and those confidences can be protected by the attorney-client privilege.”

  Caine looked at her for a moment.

  “Explain to me how the privilege works and what I need to do to make sure it applies to what I tell you.”

  “The privilege protects confidential client communications. You hold the privilege. I cannot disclose any communications encompassed by the privilege without your permission, and except in extremely rare circumstances, I cannot be compelled under the laws of this state, or the laws of the United States, to break the privilege. As far as what you need to do to make sure it applies, if you hand me a piece of paper and that pen, I can take care of that.”

  Caine tore off a piece of paper from the pad and pushed the paper and the pen across the table.

  Andrea picked up the pen and wrote a short paragraph on the paper and then handed the paper back to Caine.

  “Please read the contract, Mr. Caine, and sign where indicated, if acceptable. We will work out the financial arrangements later,” Andrea said with a smile.

  Caine looked at the paper and then signed it at the bottom.

  “Okay, what’s next?” Caine said.

&nbs
p; “Is the information that you are about to communicate confidential and are you providing this information to me in order to enable me to protect your legal rights? Say yes.”

  “Yes,” Caine answered.

  “Very well, the privilege applies. Now, where was I? Yes, you were about to tell me about this complicated situation.”

  Caine doodled on the pad a moment and then looked over at Andrea.

  “After I left the Rangers, I served with La Légion Étrangère for ten years.”

  “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “I’m sorry. You would know it as the French Foreign Legion.”

  Andrea looked over at him, her face a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. It’s not that big a deal. There are quite a few Americans in the ranks. The secrecy issue relates to the covert operations unit that I was assigned to during the latter part of my service. No one knew the unit existed, except the commander of the Legion, the head of the DGSE, and a few men at the very top of the French government.”

  “What did this unit do?” Andrea asked, her voice quiet.

  “The operations covered a broad range from simple surveillance to high-intensity combat and everything in between. We were an off-balance-sheet resource that the French government used to quietly solve problems. None of our operations ever hit the newspapers.”

  “John, I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems obvious to me that all of this must have something to do with you and that covert unit.”

  Caine shook his head.

  “That was my initial read as well, but I think it’s wrong for a lot of reasons. Very few people knew about the existence of this unit. To access the name and address of a former member of the unit, someone would need very high security clearance. It’s possible someone pulled it off, but it’s unlikely, and like I said, my inquiries in that direction have come up negative. From what I can see, your friend Steinman is the key to this. Otherwise, why would they have gone after you?”

  “John, you called me, remember?” Andrea said.