Wild Card pp-8

by Tom Clancy

  Megan shook her head.

  “Wrong,” she said. “Though I was afraid you’d see things that way.”

  “How am I supposed to see them?”

  “It goes back to the project update you can supposedly recite back to me by heart,” she said. “We’ve finished wiring Sedco Petroleum’s deepwater rigs for fiberoptics. Within a month to six weeks we should be finished laying our submarine cables between Monos, Huevos, and Chacachacare—”

  “Those islands in that strait over there?”

  “Boca del Sierpe, right,” Megan said. “The Serpent’s Mouth. It separates Trinidad and Venezuela.”

  “Colorful name.”

  “Give due credit to Christopher Columbus,” she said. “Anyway, we have to get on with some logistical decisions and I don’t think we should wait too long… for our own sake, and because we owe it to the Trinidadians, who’ve done everything within their political and economic capabilities to make us feel welcome.”

  “As in footing a chunk of the bill for our fiber network.”

  “And hammering out that bargain rate government land lease for our base.” Megan smiled wryly. “It’s nice to know you really and truly were paying attention to me before.”

  Nimec shrugged in an offhand way.

  “So we’re looking at either converting our temporary hq on the southern coast to something permanent, or moving the facilities inland and closer to a developed area,” he said. “I got that part. I realize there are different security issues depending on which site we choose…”

  She flapped a hand in the air.

  “Your turn to hit the pause button, Pete,” she said. “Security could determine our choice, and that’s the part I may not have stressed nearly enough. By this date next year we’ll have upwards of a thousand employees living and working on that base, a substantial number of them with their families. You know, and I know, that what’s convenient in terms of transportation, getting supplies in and out, those sorts of things, don’t necessarily dovetail with what’s safest for our personnel… and their well-being’s my top concern.” She paused. “I want your eyewitness perspective on which site makes the most sense. If you say we ought to stay put, fine, give me a list of suggestions on how existing security systems can be upgraded to the highest possible level. If you think changing locations would be best, I’d like your reasons laid out in a nice, bulleted report I can hand the board of directors along with my proposed budget.”

  Nimec considered that.

  “I might’ve been sold on the trip if it wasn’t for the vacation pitch,” he said. “It’d take three, maybe four days for targeted inspections with Vince Scull’s risk assessments in my hip pocket. But I can’t see how to justify two weeks away from here.”

  Meg smiled, combed her fingers back through a long, thick sheet of auburn hair. “Pete, you’ve got to be the only man on this planet who’d fight to avoid this assignment. And you still haven’t heard me say ‘vacation.’ ”

  “You call staying at some tropical resort work?”

  Megan looked at him.

  “Pull teeth all you want, I can stand the pain,” she said. “You don’t need me to tell you Rayos del Sol isn’t just another getaway. It’s an exclusive resort that caters to the world’s most powerful individuals… including our own past and present heads of state. It’s spread across an entire island in the Serpent’s Mouth and has its own international airport and ocean harbor. And lest we forget, it has a security force that’s been assembled by a former head of the French GIGN, Henri Beauchart, who would very much like to personally compare notes with our security chief.” She looked at him. “We should also keep in mind that its controlling owners include members of the Trinidadian parliament who have ties to Sedco, and are highly supportive of UpLink International’s regional presence. They’re eager to put their lush native paradise on proud display for us.”

  There was another pause. Nimec thought some more, tugged his earlobe, leaned forward.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to mention those e-mails you got a couple weeks back,” he said.

  “My intention was to save them for a last-but-not-least.” Megan shrugged a little. “Every aspect of this deal’s been written about in the financial press, including the Rayos del Sol/Sedco connection. To be perfectly honest, I’d dismiss the messages as a nasty prank… somebody’s bush league attempt at throwing a wrench into things… if it wasn’t for that. Vague claims of accounting, inventory, and shipping irregularities at Rayos del Sol with nothing to back them up. Our nameless whistle-blower didn’t see fit to specify which inventories or shipments are supposed to be questionable, or even explain why he or she would choose to make the allegations to an UpLink executive.” She gave another shrug. “As I said, it’s all so insubstantial I’m tempted to ignore it. But it’s probably worth checking out while you’re there.”

  “On vacation,” Nimec said.

  Megan’s eyes were on him again.

  “Repeat the word a hundred times, I still won’t understand why you find it so abhorrent,” she said. “Nor will I concede it’s even applicable. You have legitimate professional reasons for making the trip.”

  “And for bringing along my wife, some fresh cabana shirts, and maybe a jug of suntan lotion.”

  “No crime, Pete,” Megan said. “Your job’s taken you to some very unfriendly places. That doesn’t mean you’d be cheating your responsibilities by visiting a hospitable clime for a change. This isn’t the sort of opportunity that comes around very often. Enjoy it on the company’s tab. Bring Annie so she can enjoy it, too, I guarantee it’ll do both of you a ton of good—”

  Nimec shook his head.

  “We’ve got Chris and Linda,” he said. “They’ve got school.”

  “They also have a grandmother to see they get there and back every day.”

  He gave another head shake. “Annie’s mom lives in Kansas City.”

  “And she just might be available,” Megan said. “In fact, she’d probably love the chance to come visit the kids and spoil them rotten.”

  Nimec started to say something, stopped, at a sudden loss.

  “What makes you sound so sure?” he said after a moment.

  Megan held her hands out and wriggled her fingers.

  “A mildly psychic hunch,” she said, smiling.

  Nimec felt as if he was looking at a good-natured hijacker.

  He smoothed a hand over his hair, slightly grown out from his preferred brush cut at Annie’s insistence. What was it she’d said the other morning? Her remark had come out of the blue — or so it seemed to Nimec at the time — when he’d been readying himself for work, their bathroom’s skylit brightness washing over him as he knotted his tie in front of the mirror.

  “Ricci’s Field,” she’d said from over his shoulder. “Oh how does your garden grow.”

  Nimec had glanced questioningly at Annie’s reflection, noticed the sobriety in her smile.

  “This gray patch,” she’d explained, and fondly scratched the side of his head. “We should dedicate it to Tom Ricci. Post a little handmade sign that says how much we really owe him for putting it there.”

  Looking himself over in the mirror, Nimec hadn’t managed to smile back at her.

  Now he sat opposite Megan in silence, his eyes returning to the blurry view of San Jose that filled her window. He thought about all the opinions of Ricci he’d heard, more than he could accurately recall. Sometimes he would hear a single person give contradictory opinions in what almost seemed to be the same breath. A lot of them seemed to have equal or nearly equal merit. But only three voices counted in deciding whether Ricci had become an unsalvageable liability. Meg had already gone down on record that she’d had enough of him. Rollie Thibodeau had been cagier about his sentiments, which was pretty uncharacteristic for someone who normally had no trouble expressing himself. But he’d always disliked and distrusted Ricci, and seemed resentful of sharing the title of global field supervisor with him. He also
normally aligned with Meg on important decisions involving the company’s security arm. That, Nimec mused, left him straddling the fence alone. If a vote were taken that very morning, he was betting it would come out two-to-one in favor of Ricci’s permanent dismissal. A delay might be his only shot at a different result, and Nimec wasn’t too sure he could find a totally honest and unbiased rationale for why Ricci would deserve it. Or that Ricci, who’d returned none of his phone calls for the past several days, would even want to stick around, which might prove to be the real kicker in the end.

  Nimec looked out at the somewhat indistinct contours of the mountain a while longer, turning things over in his mind. There were decisions and there were decisions. Some were tougher than others, and with good reason. When you had one that couldn’t be reversed and worried endlessly about the consequences of getting it wrong, Nimec guessed that ought to be reason enough to rank it high on the difficulty scale. And maybe knocking a week or two off the calendar was exactly what he needed to get the decision ahead of him right.

  Another full minute of silence passed before he brought his eyes back to Megan’s face.

  “Hope you’re okay holding down the fort while I visit Shangri-la,” he said with a relenting sigh.

  “Fret not,” she said. “I’ll keep our stockades guarded round the clock.”

  “You and Gramma Caulfield?”

  Megan smiled, reached across the desk, and gave his wrist a fond little pat.

  “Leave it to us womenfolk, pardnuh,” she said.

  TERRITORIAL TRINIDAD

  Jarvis wanted to believe the chopper wasn’t out searching for him. Even as he opened the motorboat’s throttle to push it faster downriver than any boat piloted by a sane man should be moving in the pitch darkness, he was wishing he could convince himself they would not do so drastic a thing, send a helicopter into the air after him, a small and unimportant person in their big, important world. Someone who’d not taken so much as an unearned cent from them, and did not let his eyes stray far from the grounds he kept in nice, trim shape for his weekly paycheck. And why not think he’d be found deserving of a fair turn? An honest, hardworkin’ gardener is Jarvis Lenard, we’ll make an exception an’ let him be, they might have said. Save some trouble, ya know. Leavin’ aside that bad seed family relation of his, what have we to fear from the man?

  Jarvis had to smile grimly at the thought. And right so. The bird might be whipping over that southern shore for some purpose other than to track him down. Just as the Sunglasses might’ve come poking around the employee commons for a reason besides his connection to poor Udonis. If he were to give his imagination a stretch, Jarvis supposed he could come up with an explanation that didn’t involve his cousin for the Sunglasses having asked about him in that menacing way of theirs, wanting to know this and that and the other thing from anyone they could seek out that knew him. Surely he could, and no doubt his words would find an accepting ear… but the truth would remain the truth all the same. His mother hadn’t raised any fools under her roof, and it was too late in the day to eat a plate full of lies and nonsense, especially those served up raw by his own brain. Not after hiding for almost a week in the bush with only the few supplies he’d taken from his cabin. Not since spending every dollar he’d saved over these past years, every dollar and more, to grease the hands of a bald hair parasite for use of his flimsy little seventeen-footer. And most especially not at this moment, while he was shooting along the channel at — what was his speed just now? — Lord Almighty, sixty miles an hour, sixty on a moonless night, heading out to the open sea.

  The truth was the truth. Right so, right so. It was there in the sky above that Jarvis Lenard had his evidence.

  The copter was out prowling the night for him. The Sunglasses never gave up. Sinister, menacin’ bastards, yeh. Weren’t going to quit until they found him, caught him trying to reach the mainland. And Jarvis knew that if they did, he would come to the same bloody end as his cousin Udonis and those men out of Point Hope he’d hired to bring him away safe.

  Jarvis glanced over at the left side of the channel, where a forest of mangrove trees had crept toward the water’s marshy bank, their air roots groping out over the mud and rushes like slender, covetous feelers. Though the helicopter was not yet in sight, he could tell it was close upon him from the loud knocking of its blades, and didn’t need to check the GPS box on the motorboat’s control console to know there was a long way to travel before he reached the inlet. Probably his bow lights would be enough to guide him — bright new kryptons, they were, he’d received that much good treatment from the bloodsucking waterfront leach in exchange for emptying his wallet — and Jarvis supposed he could have found his course through the river’s many twistings and turnings by second nature after having lived his whole thirty-five years on earth near its shores. But say he reached the Serpent’s Mouth before daybreak? What lay ahead of him then? A journey of many miles around the cape, with a chance he would be coming into Cedros Bay against the tidal current, all depending how fast he could navigate.

  Could be it would have been none the worse if sweet Nan hadn’t given him a heads-up and he’d stayed put, just waited for the Sunglasses to come for him. Could be. But why bother his mind with second guesses, eh? There were times when you had to make your choice and to stick to it whatever the outcome.

  Jarvis darted along the curving waterway, his bow high, heavy sheets of spray lashing against the outboard’s windscreen as he breasted the surface. Still he was unable to leave the noise of the chopper behind… indeed the sound of its blades seemed closer than before. Holding steady as he could, he once again flicked a glance over his shoulder toward the south bank.

  That was when he got his first fearful look at it, a sleek black shadow which might have blended seamlessly into the night except for the tiny red and blue pricks of the running lights on its sides and tail. The helicopter whirred in over the mangroves he’d just left behind, a spotlight in its nose washing the treetops in sudden brilliance. Jarvis saw them churn from its rapid descent, their interwoven branches beaten into wild contortions by the downdraft of its rotors.

  The long shaft of the beam sliced ahead of the oncoming bird, roved over the trees and across the reeds to the water. It made a quick sweep over and past Jarvis, and then reversed direction and locked on his speeding craft.

  Jarvis kept his eyes raised for only a moment before he brought them back to his windscreen, blinking as much from fear and agitation as the somehow otherworldly glare. His hands clenched around the butterfly wheel, he shot into high gear and poured on speed, pushing the outboard to its max, holding onto that wheel, feeling its jerky resistance and holding on tight, certain the wheel would tear free of his grip if he loosened it the slightest bit, spin right out of his fingers and send the boat careening onto its side.

  The helicopter attached its trajectory to him even as he struggled to retain control. Cutting across the shoreline to the river, it veered sharply west and then swooped down low at Jarvis’s back, came down in pursuit like an enormous predatory nighthawk, the fixed, fierce eye of its spotlight shafting him with brightness. And the noise, Jarvis had never heard anything like it. The knock-knock-knock of the copter’s rotors beating the air had transformed into a deafening roar as it drew closer and closer, and the sound that assaulted him now seemed to outwardly echo and amplify the accelerated pounding of his heart.

  And then, out of that clamor, a voice from the bird’s public address system: “Bring the boat to a halt! We mean no harm! I repeat, Jarvis Lenard, we mean no harm!”

  Jarvis raced around a looping bend in the channel, hoping to buy whatever thin slice of time he could, aware that separating himself from the helicopter would be almost impossible.

  He felt no surprise when it stuck to his tail as he took the turn, then gained on him, pulling practically overhead, its spot blazing down like the noonday sun.

  “We want only your cooperation!” the voice blared over its loudspeakers. “I r
epeat, we want only—”

  Jarvis squinted, trapped in the lights, struggling to stay his course while barely able to see what lay ahead. Cooperation, no harm, was that what they’d told Udonis and the rest when they caught them? As if the Sunglasses would find someone like him worthy of their attention, bother to dig up his name, ask his whereabouts of every acquaintance whose path he might have crossed lately, and then send a helicopter into the air after him — a search helicopter in the hours between midnight and dawn — without harmful intent. And was there any chance they had sent the bird up alone?

  No, no, Jarvis thought. The Sunglasses, they did not operate so. Others from the fleet would be headed his way, he knew. Closing in at that very moment, launched off their pads or turned from patrols elsewhere on the peninsula, all of them summoned over their radios by the helicopter that had picked him up. And while no proof had ever been given to him, he’d heard talk among the employees that they carried electronic eyes that could penetrate the darkness, guide them straight to him in the night, make an image of a man by reading the heat that came off his body.

  Cooperation. No harm.

  Jarvis again considered those words with a black and stinging sort of amusement — and all in an instant had an idea. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that they expected him to give up trying to scram with a simple, trusting smile on his face. Jarvis Lenard’s mother hadn’t raised any fools, no she hadn’t. But if the Sunglasses were expecting to find one tonight, he would be right glad to oblige and give them a peek at what they wanted.

  A peek and nothing more, though.

  His hand on the shift, Jarvis throttled back hard, cutting the engine with a jolt that nearly sent him overboard. He held onto the wheel, swaying to and fro, afraid the lightweight boat would capsize from its abrupt power-down.

  The helicopter, meanwhile, came gliding straight on from behind and pulled to a hover not thirty feet above his head, hanging there almost like a toy dangled on a string, its blades churning the water to make the boat pitch even more violently. A hand over his eyes to shield them from the aircraft’s bright light and blasting wind, Jarvis craned his head back and saw two helmeted crewmen behind its bubble window.