“Christ almighty!” Sam swore. “I get it. Someone’s trying to make certain no one leaves the Capitol.”
“You have to be kidding me!” The Secretary of Defense fixed her emerald eyes on the river as the scene unfolded. “Then why don’t they head to the east side, for goodness sakes?”
Another bullet struck the water, missing a man in a suit by no more than a foot. That settled it for the survivors. They turned and started swimming toward the east side. The shots immediately ceased.
“There they go,” Sam said.
“Sure. But now it’s obvious the terrorist intends to keep them on that side of the river.”
Sam's wry voice carried a cheerful note, “Yeah, but at least we know his intention isn’t to intentionally kill anyone. Not yet, at any rate.”
In the silence a cell phone started to ring from up front.
The pilot looked back at Sam. “Hey, I think that’s your phone.”
The Secretary of Defense passed his cell back to him.
He answered it. “Hello?”
“Sam Reilly?” The voice was garbled by a voice-scrambler.
“Speaking,” Sam replied, turning his cell onto speaker mode and gesturing to the Secretary of Defense to listen. “What can I do for you?”
“Right now, all I want you to do is pass a message onto the good-looking redhead next to you.”
Sam’s pulse skipped as he scanned the area around him. The terrorist, whoever he or she was, had eyes on him and was close enough to know exactly who he was with. “Okay. What’s the message?”
“No one but you comes in or out of the capital. The German nuclear bomb is hidden within the capital. If you play the game correctly everyone gets to go home. If you break any of the rules, it’s game over and I detonate the bomb.”
“What are the rules?” Sam asked.
“No one from Congress leaves the capital. My teams have surrounded the perimeter of the city, the edge of the Potomac, and the Anacostia. If I see special forces from the police or military encroach on these positions a lot of people will die. No air traffic anywhere in the city.”
“Okay. I’ll pass the message on.” Sam noted a slight flickering of sunlight coming from the edge of the Potomac and wondered if it was their attacker. “What do you want from me?”
“Your participation.”
“In what?”
“A game. A contest. Winner takes all.”
Sam squinted, trying to see if he could get a better view of the man. “Okay. Sure. How do I play?”
“You’re about to make your first move.” A series of bombs went off along K street NW, 11th Street NW, and Rhode Island Avenue NW, effectively cutting the capital in two. “There. I’ve made the game board smaller. I’m only interested in those to the south of that line. I’m afraid I’m going to be busy for a while now, but I’ll let you know when it’s time for you to make your next move.”
Sam stared at the series of fires that split the capital in half. He turned to face the Secretary of Defense. “What are you going to do?”
Exiting the helicopter, she picked up her secure satellite phone. Sam followed her lead, as did the pilot. “First, I’m going to make a call to ensure the police and special forces keep back from the city’s perimeter, the edge of the Potomac, and the Anacostia. I’m also going to put a stop on air traffic.”
The Secretary made her calls as she walked.
The two of them strode into an elevator. “Now, I’m going to inform the President of our situation. He has advisors who will want to consider the next steps to take.” Her piercing green eyes fixed on him. “The question is, Mr. Reilly, why in hell does this terrorist want to play a game with you? More importantly, what are you going to do about it?”
Sam shrugged. “I have no idea why he picked me. But for now, I’m going to catch a flight to New York to see that kid. I’ll get my people to find out everything they can about his grandfather. We’ll find a connection.”
“Is that the wisest thing to do?” Her eyebrows narrowed. “I mean, given that this extremist wants to play this game with you specifically?”
“He didn’t say not to go anywhere. Besides, he said he would be busy for a while.”
“In that case, I’d better organize a military jet to take you to NY. That way you’re no more than an hour away. I want you close, just in case the man with his finger on the button wants to contact you again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Manhattan, New York
Alex Goodson struck Sam as being the kind of guy who was book smart but lacking in any sort of social or street sense. Yet, he wasn’t exactly stupid in that way, either. Instead, Sam noticed the young man was trying to be something that he was not. Looking around the place, it appeared more like Goodson didn’t seem to be able to connect his intelligence to anything useful.
For example, the building that Goodson had bought in Manhattan, a four-story brick walkup with a cell phone retailer and an internet service provider at the bottom, was rocking a twenty-four-hour gaming party when Sam reached it.
When he introduced himself, Goodson shrugged. “It’s not my fault that those treasure hunters caused so much trouble, okay? I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
Sam stopped himself from gaping at the kid. Of course Goodson, and nobody else, was responsible for posting the map online. This had directly led to the swarm of treasure hunters that had swarmed the area right afterward.
The kid’s reaction showed such a profound lack of insight into the situation that Sam had to take a mental step back and start over.
“Hi,” he said. “My name’s Sam Reilly. I’ve been sent by the Secretary of Defense to try to sort through the information that your grandfather left you. We need to find out who might have taken the bomb that was on that plane.”
“You didn’t find it?” Alex asked, opening a beer fridge full of energy drinks and soft drinks. “Jeez. That’s not good.” He opened his soda, a can of Dr. Pepper. “You want one?”
Sam restrained a grimace. “No thanks. Can I see the note your grandfather left you?” The FBI and the CIA had made copies, and had already gone through everything in the kid’s apartment. It didn’t seem to have bothered him.
Alex said, “Hang on a sec.” He left Sam on the second-floor landing. Except for the commercial spaces on the ground floor, the other tenants in the building appeared to have been evicted – or bribed to leave, probably. Workmen were carrying out their possessions: mattresses, shelving units, pet carriers, boxes that clinked as they were carried. The blaring music suddenly stopped. Someone was using a power drill on one of the floors above.
“The stuff the government guys went through is up on the fourth floor,” Alex shouted from somewhere in the apartment building. “Head on up. I’ll meet you in a sec.”
Sam climbed the two flights of stairs. From what he could see of the landings, the apartments were being stripped out and turned into server rooms.
A moment later, the kid entered the room, holding a beer. “Here, I thought you might need this. You look like you’ve had a pretty crappy day.”
Sam shook his head. “Thanks. But I kind of need my wits about me right now. I think one of those might just put me to sleep. I’d be better off with a coffee or a stimulant.”
“I can get you one of those, too.”
“You have coffee?” Sam asked.
“No. But I’ve got a fridge full of energy drinks.”
“No thanks.” Sam grimaced again. His eyes swept the array of fiber optic cabling being routed throughout the stairwell. “What are you setting up in here?”
“Oh, just a gamer’s paradise.” Alex grinned. “Me and some friends of mine have had this on a ‘someday if I win the lottery’ wish list for years. High-end systems all networked together, games already installed, tech support on hand. We’re going to have a tournament as soon as I can get everything set up in here. It’s gonna be awesome!”
Alex was tall, skinny, pale, and his
face had been ravaged by acne. A typical basement-dweller, he seemed a combination of smart and stupid, with two left feet. Friendly enough, he was the kind of guy who’d probably never been on a date. The kind of guy who got left behind in a world full of adults. There was something else there, too. Sam blinked.
Behind his bumbling exterior, Sam was certain the kid’s pale gray eyes were sharp and filled with intelligence.
Was it all a show? Could Alex really be intelligent enough to fake everything?
Sam patted him on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be a lot of fun. Where would I find your grandfather’s things?”
Sam watched, but Alex didn't flinch or seem to respond negatively to the paternalistic gesture.
“Oh, sure. Follow me.”
Alex led him to the rearmost apartment, which had been left more or less intact. A tiny, galley-style kitchen, a bathroom with about six square inches of open space to stand in, a bedroom stuffed with a modest full-sized bed. The sofa was ratty but the television had been upgraded to the point that it reminded him of the military command wall screens found at some military installations he’d been to.
Alex left Sam at the café-sized kitchen table with an archive box full of paperwork.
“This is all Grandpa’s stuff,” he said, then walked into the living room and switched on the TV. In a few moments, he was playing some kind of video game with a set of headphones on, the least concerned guy in the world.
The fact that millions of people could have died today because of his carelessness seemed to have completely escaped him.
Sam shook his head and started going through the box that probably fifty government agents had already pawed through.
Chapter Fourteen
Sam read through the old papers and journals for a couple hours.
What he learned was that William Goodson had been an interesting character, far more driven and purposeful than his grandson. Reading through newspaper clippings, the man appeared to be an all-American hero. He had flown bomber planes during the Korean War, worked for Lockheed-Martin for a number of years, then shifted to piloting commercial jets for American Airlines. He had kept records showing his donations to several charities and his church. He had retired from his position on the advisory board a few years before his death nearly a decade ago and had rented the very same apartment that Sam was sitting in now. This stirred Sam's inner alarms a little, but he couldn't quite put a finger on why.
Most of the records that were in the box pointed toward a normal, everyday life. The life of an ordinary man who had left Germany in the 1940s after World War II, married, had a son, lost his wife in 1995, and watched his grandson grow up. Then he had died. More than a decade later, when his own son had died, he left millions to his grandson.
Where had William Goodson’s generous largess come from?
Had Grandpa Goodson and Alex’s father quarreled or something? Why didn’t the man simply impart his massive wealth to his own son? Why wait until his son had died to bequeath his wealth to his grandson?
The Secretary of Defense might have well been right. It appeared that Alex Goodson didn’t have anything to do with the terrorist threat to Washington, D.C. Yet there was no doubt in Sam’s mind that everything about Alex and his inheritance led to more questions than answers.
He picked up an old photo of William Goodson. There was no question of familial connection. The two men could be the same person, separated by about seventy years. He pictured Alex dressed up in an old American Airlines pilot’s uniform.
Sam’s ocean blue eyes fixed on William Goodson’s gray eyes, strong jaw line, and rigid expression.
Who were you, really?
The man had turned out to be a World War II German bomber pilot carrying a fake passport, who had crashed. Unable to carry out his mission, William Goodman had assimilated seamlessly into the country he had come to destroy.
It was almost as if he had had a change of heart.
Settling in America, he had put down roots after falling in love with a local girl. Margery Pull had a sweet, kind face and worked as a schoolteacher until her marriage.
Sam took another look around the living area. Neither lavish nor stingy, it wasn’t the apartment of a multi-millionaire or a miser. The yellow enamel sink was worn and chipped, but it was clean.
He stood up and stretched.
The kid glanced over at him, paused his video game, and pulled his headphones off.
“Find what you needed?”
“Alex, if it’s not too personal – I don’t see anything in here that explains how your grandfather became a millionaire.”
“I know, right?” Alex grinned. “I had no idea. I don’t think Dad did, either. Grandpa was always complaining about me not getting a job because nobody was going to take care of me when he was gone.”
“So where do you think it came from?”
“German relatives. He inherited the money back in the forties, mostly. I guess Germany was pretty much in an uproar at the time, so he was lucky to get anything at all. But the money was in Swiss bank accounts, so the Germans couldn’t touch it. That’s what I’m guessing anyway. The money’s been sitting in a local bank for nearly eight decades.”
Sam sighed. Money hit some people in strange ways. He’d grown up around it all his life, tended not to think about it – but some people became obsessed with it. William Goodson didn’t seem to fit in that category. If anything, it looked as though the man had simply stored the money away in a bank for safekeeping and lived off the ordinary wage that he’d earned.
None of it made sense, even if Sam believed the story about rich, dead German relatives. Still, it was most likely cash the Reich had put into an account for his grandfather as incentive to blow up D.C.
No need to tell the strange, backward kid that, though. Let him have his fun.
Sam left his cell phone number with Alex. “If you can think of anything at all that might help, give me a call.”
“Sure.”
Thirty seconds later, the kid was back in front of the hundred-and-ten-inch TV with his headphones on.
Sam shook his head and watched the game for a few minutes. It looked like one of those real time strategy games, set in some sort of urban warzone. It was from the perspective of the characters on the ground. He couldn’t see very much of the surrounding city, but it could be set in any modern civilization around the world – possibly even in the U.S.
He watched as Alex selected various soldiers in black balaclavas and tasked them to guard or secure various locations. The place looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. In the background there was a hot air blimp. It was tethered to a rope above a building, with a large advertisement for some local law firm.
Alex suddenly noticed Sam’s interest. He paused the game again. “Hey, you wanna play a game?”
“What?” Sam thought he misheard the kid.
“You wanna play a game with me?”
“No, thanks.” Sam lips curled into an incredulous grin, revealing a small dimple to his cheek. “Um… maybe another time. I’m a little busy right now.”
“Oh, yeah, what with?” Alex asked.
Sam shook his head. Was this kid for real? “There’s a terrorist attack on our nation’s capital.”
Alex stood up and grinned, making a poor attempt at feigning embarrassment. “Oh right, of course. I forgot. Just remember, I offered to let you play my game instead. I think you’d find it a little more fun.”
Sam felt like hitting the kid, but it was obvious that it wouldn’t help. As bright as the man might be, he wasn’t synapsing the way normal individuals should. Perhaps it was better Alex should lock himself in a gaming room, away from the rest of the world.
He stood up to leave.
“Remember what I said, if you can think of anything about your grandfather that might help, please give me a call.”
Alex nodded. “Will do. Good luck with your game.”
Sam paused. “What did you say?�
�
“Good luck with your game.”
“I’m not playing any silly computer game here. Don’t you understand, this is real? I’m trying to stop a madman with a nuclear bomb from destroying our capital and everything good that stands for democracy.”
Alex appeared unfazed by the reproach. He made what appeared to be a genuine smile. Despite the small scars of his once pockmarked face, the kid would have been considered handsome. “I know.”
“Good.”
A wry smile and mischievous look formed on Alex’s face. “I hope you win, Mr. Reilly.”
Chapter Fifteen
Sam stepped out of the front door of Alex’s apartment. He glanced out at his ride and the uniformed officer who was waiting to take him back to JFK airport. Taking two steps at a time, he reached the third set of landing steps, when his cell phone rang.
He picked it up on the first ring. “Sam, speaking.”
“You were right,” was the first thing the Secretary of Defense said.
It was unusual for her to give an inch. The small crease of a smile formed across his face. “Thanks. I thought I was, but what about?”
“The bomb wasn’t moved out of that wooded area in the last week or even the last month.”
“How far back did you have to go?” Sam asked.
“Five years.”
In other words, after Grandpa William Goodson’s passing – but long before the death of Alex Goodson’s father. “That had to be from satellite records, right? That was fast.”
“We have some very patient people working for us, and some very good computer algorithms.”
“And?” he asked.
“And the empty casing for the bomb was already outside the downed aircraft.” The Secretary sighed heavily. “Actually, not just outside of it, but outside of the mine shaft. It’s left laying on the surface nearby, intermingled with the rest of the dilapidating mining equipment from the late 1930s.”
“Wait – you didn’t mention that before.”
The Heisenberg Legacy (Sam Reilly Book 11) Page 8
