His brother climbed off of the motorcycle—a classic Indian that Cameron had taken great pride in restoring. It was an expensive hobby. But worse, it was indiscreet. It was a very noticeable bike.
Still, Red liked seeing his brother happy. The risk was slight. And Cameron was smart. He had common sense, unlike their youngest brother. He would be cautious.
“What now?” Cameron asked. “Any word from the client?”
“Only that we should wait,” Red said. “Dr. Kotler and Agent Denzel have the cylinder. I’m told to expect him to make rapid progress from here.”
“What’s the story with him?” Cameron asked. “He’s some kind of history buff?”
“An anthropologist,” Red said. “He’s famous, in his way. Archeology. He goes to sites all over the world, finds artifacts and treasures, and he writes and speaks about his experiences. You can watch some of his speeches on YouTube. Very interesting.”
“And now he’s an FBI agent?” Cameron asked.
“His work with the FBI is consulting,” Red replied. “He’s been doing this for the past couple of years, using his expertise in anthropology to help the FBI solve cases with roots in history. All of this is in the dossier, brother. You should read it.”
Cameron nodded. “Uh huh,” he said.
Red smiled. His younger brother was not patient. He tried. He had improved a great deal since Red had taken him on as a protege. But he was young, impetuous. He hadn’t seen the sorts of things that Red had seen. The wars, the action, the results of missions that went off the rails. Red had been forced to overcome his youthful drive for action and adventure, and to learn patience, timing, precision. Cameron would learn these things as well. He knew the consequences of slipping. So far, he had avoided significant mistakes.
Which did not mean that his execution didn’t need some work.
“Your delivery today, at the café ...” Red started, pausing to see and gauge his brother’s reaction.
Cameron smiled. “A good distraction, just as you asked. Two birds with one stone.”
Red nodded. “It allowed me to get into the building. It was good work. It wasn’t the plan, however. You were supposed to deliver the cylinder to the FBI building in a package addressed to Agent Denzel. You risked it being seized as evidence when you threw it into the café. If Dr. Kotler hadn’t hidden it away, it would be in the hands of the police. There might have been a significant delay to the plan.”
Cameron started to say something, to argue and defend himself. He caught the look in Red’s eyes and stopped.
This was the condition.
Red had allowed Cameron to join him in this business, but there were rules. One rule governed all others: Cameron would never argue when corrected.
Mistakes, Red knew, would be made. It would take time for Cameron to overcome his nature. It had taken Red, himself, years to get past being impulsive and impatient.
Red would break his brother if he got too far out of line, but it was better if Cameron learned these lessons on his own, as Red had. They would last longer, have deeper roots. If Cameron could make sense of things on his own, it would make him far better at this. Autonomy was valuable, but discipline was even more so.
There could never be any argument. Red’s correction was law. An absolute that Cameron could not dispute.
Or there would be consequences.
Cameron paused, took a breath, nodded. “You’re right. I went off of the plan.”
Red studied him, then finally smiled lightly, cuffing Cameron’s shoulder. “I understand. You know that I want you to be autonomous, to think for yourself. It’s the only way this can work. You have to be free to adjust the plan as needed. Sometimes it is necessary to throw the plan away and act on your best judgment. Tell me, brother, was this one of those times? Answer honestly.”
Cameron said nothing for a moment but ultimately shook his head. “No. I risked the operation with this change.”
Red smiled at his brother. The maturity was there. The inner strength that Cameron would need, to keep to this, to do this work. He was very proud of him. The lessons, the training, all of it was paying off.
Red took his other hand from his pocket. He was gripping a set of brass knuckles, the fingers of his left hand laced through them.
With a quick pulse of his arm, Red punched Cameron in the jaw, knocking his brother back.
Dazed, Cameron stumbled but kept his balance, then stood upright again, swaying slightly.
“Step up,” Red said.
Cameron’s eyes were wide, a bit dazed, but he stepped forward, waiting.
Once again Red punched his brother, this time in the solar plexus, knocking the wind from him and driving Cameron to his knees.
“The third,” Red said.
Cameron coughed and wheezed but managed to get to his feet and stand in front of his brother.
Red once again struck, this time at Cameron’s side, bruising his ribs.
Cameron grunted, but stood again, swaying but upright, looking at his brother with a neutral expression.
“Three strikes, as we agreed,” Red said.
Cameron nodded. “Thank you for using your left hand.”
Red shook his head. “You were doing what you thought was right. You made a mistake, but it cost us nothing, in the end.” He dropped the brass knuckles back into his coat pocket and peeled the gloves away from his hands. He reached up, holding Cameron’s face, turning it to look at the welt that was rising on his jaw. “A bruise. A couple of days,” he slapped Cameron’s opposite cheek, lovingly. “Same with your ribs. You may be a bit uncomfortable for a time.”
“I’ll live,” Cameron said, smiling.
Red laughed. “You will,” he said, and kissed his brother on the forehead.
“Now we wait. I want you to go to the construction site. The woman is in the survey trailer. It’s locked tight, and her hands and feet are bound with 18-gauge electrical wire. It’s unlikely she’ll be able to get free, but I want you to watch, just in case. Keep anyone from coming around, of course.”
Cameron nodded. “What about you? Any orders from the client?”
Red shook his head. “No, not yet. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up. But for now, I’m going to the movies.”
Cameron laughed. “You and your movies.”
“There is a new one, with superheroes. I like superheroes. They’re colorful.”
“Enjoy, brother,” Cameron said as he climbed back on the Indian, gingerly, a hand to his ribs. He pulled on his helmet slowly as well. The Indian’s engine started with a loud rumble, and in a moment, Cameron was speeding away toward the construction site.
Red watched him go and shook his head. He was a good kid. He learned fast, and he was dedicated. He would have to overcome this unfortunate tendency to act without thinking, preferably before it got him killed. Red would continue to mold him.
The alternative would be sad, but Red would not hesitate. Everything he’d built was too important to allow it to crumble due to youthful impetuousness. Cameron would learn, or he’d have to be dealt with.
For now, he was a good kid, and he was doing fine work. His mistakes, for the moment, were forgivable.
Red climbed into the Chevy and drove to a movie theater a few blocks away. He parked the rusted pickup in a lot near the theater and walked the rest of the way. He’d bought it for cash, had never bothered to register it, and had only used it a few times. Red no longer needed it and would arrange for a car to take him home after the movie.
Inside the theater, he bought popcorn and a soda large enough to drown in and then found his seat. For the next two hours, he enjoyed the spectacle of super-powered fistfights, high-charged action, and buildings exploding and crumbling to ruin as the heroes made last-minute escapes.
Typical stuff. The kind of thing an audience expected. But no less fun to watch. And Red enjoyed every minute of the suspense.
11
BLACK CHAMBER, MANHATTAN
Leo and Bob were h
uddled together on one of the bunks. Leo scratched absently at his cheek, where a scruff of gray was starting to blossom into a full-on beard. They had no real toiletries, no way to shave. They’d kept themselves relatively clean with monkey-baths in the kitchenette sink. And thank God there was a toilet. Toilet paper, on the other hand—well, thank God there were also reams and reams of newspapers and other documents.
It might be a blow to archival history, but they were doing what they had to do.
Food was getting short. By Bob’s estimate, they might be able to ration and have food for another week. Leo had agreed. But the two of them had kept silent about the real problem they faced.
They had measured the room, as best they could. Close enough to figure its volume, which gave them a way to estimate how much air was in the vault.
It wasn’t good news.
Best case scenario, if they stopped using the stove to cook food and kept themselves relatively still, without talking, they could make the air last another couple of days. Best case.
Worst case, they’d already burned through at least a day’s worth of air before realizing their real predicament. It might be too late.
Now they sat, silent and staring at the floor, each sipping cold broth from coffee mugs. Waiting. Waiting for rescue. Waiting to die. Waiting to know which side of the coin was going to land facing up.
Leo didn’t want to die here. But what choice did he really have in it all? The choice had been taken from him, and from Bob. And although he’d never considered Bob much of a friend, he found himself glad for the man’s company, here at what could be the end. They had their differences, but they also had their similarities. Those similarities may have been the sole reason that Leo found Bob so annoying. But they were past that now.
Death, it seemed, was the best therapy for making two people forget their grievances and bond with each other.
Leo had just taken another sip from his mug when there was a very loud, echoing click from somewhere in the vault. It resonated through the room, echoing from the steel walls. It was a hollow, final sound.
Leo and Bob looked at each other. Could this be it? Was this some final call?
There was another sound. Familiar. The ratcheting of a wheel being turned. The locking mechanism from the door.
Leo and Bob stood, hesitated only a moment, and together they rushed forward, shedding blankets and dropping coffee mugs on the cot. They sprinted past the desks and chairs, the wind from their passage blowing over the playing card tower they’d built and causing loose pages to flit from desktops.
The cards fluttered around their feet like Fall leaves as they stopped in front of the vault door, each swaying a bit, unsteady. They stared, jaws slack. They watched.
The door creaked and opened slowly, and two men were revealed as a shaft of light from the vault fell on their faces.
Leo recognized one of them.
“Mr. Kotler?” he asked.
“Dan?” Bob added.
“Professors,” Kotler smiled at them. “You’re safe. Let’s get you out of here.”
Paramedics tended to the two professors as Kotler and Denzel hovered close by. They approached the moment the two professors were cleared.
“Dr. Marvin, Dr. Wiley,” Denzel said.
They’d been given cups of coffee and had blankets draped over their shoulders as they sat on the bumper of the ambulance. Dr. Wiley nodded and said, “Agent …?”
“Denzel,” he showed his FBI badge.
“Agent Denzel,” Wiley said. “Thank you for rescuing us. It was looking pretty grim in there.”
“Dr. Kotler was the one who figured out how to get you out of there,” Denzel said, nodding to Kotler.
“I see,” Wiley said, smiling. “Dan Kotler. It’s been a while. Thank you.”
“Yes,” Dr. Marvin added. “Thank you, Dan. We owe you our lives.”
Kotler stood with his hands in his pockets, chin nearly to his chest. “I appreciate it, and I’m very relieved you’re both safe. But I think I owe both of you an apology. Whoever did this ...” he gestured vaguely to the Yardley building. “They meant it as some sort of message for me. I’m responsible for the two of you being in there.”
Marvin and Wiley glanced at each other, and it was Marvin who responded. “Dan, whoever did this, that’s who is responsible.” He turned to Denzel. “Do you have any idea who it is?”
Denzel shook his head. “No, but I’d like to ask the two of you some questions, if you’re up for it.”
“Please do,” Wiley said, actually smiling.
“Wait,” Marvin said, his expression becoming worried. “My family ... my wife?”
“Your families are both fine,” Denzel said reassuringly. “We had them moved to a safe house as soon as we knew what was happening. They know you’re safe. We’ll take the two you there after you’ve been cleared by a doctor.”
Marvin nodded, accepting this.
“Ask whatever you like,” Wiley said.
Denzel started probing, asking questions about what they’d been doing before being kidnapped, who they might have been in contact with, and whether they’d heard or seen anything that might be useful.
Kotler listened for a while but stood back after a time. He was watching the crowds—hundreds of New York citizens and dozens of reporters and news crews had gathered at the barricades. This was the second big event of the morning, involving the same two people, and it wasn’t escaping notice. The press was hot on the story, shouting questions and taking photographs. Kotler’s face would be in the papers once again. There would be snooping and intrusions.
He took his phone out of his pocket and called his apartment building.
Ernie, the building’s doorman, answered, and after a quick greeting Kotler asked, “Has anyone come around, asking for me?”
“No sir,” Ernie replied. “Not for some time.”
“Some time?” Kotler asked. “When was someone there last?”
There was a pause from the other end of the line, as Ernie either thought it through or checked some record. “About a month ago, I think. You were out of town, still in Egypt I believe. You sure have some adventures, Dr. Kotler! But someone came by to visit. A man. Older gentleman. He didn’t leave a name but asked if I knew when you were expected back.”
Kotler thought about this, considering.
“I apologize, Dr. Kotler. I should have told you. It slipped my mind.”
Kotler smiled. “No, Ernie, it’s fine. I appreciate you letting me know. I expect that there will be reporters coming by over the next few days. I wanted you to know that I haven’t given anyone permission to come up. And I may stay elsewhere for a week or two.”
“Should I tell anyone where you are?” Ernie asked.
“You can say I’m out of town. Let them guess all they like.” He paused for a moment. “There’s video surveillance on the lobby, isn’t there?”
“Yes sir,” Ernie replied.
“If I sent an FBI agent over, would you be able to find the footage of the man who came looking for me?”
“I sure can, Dr. Kotler. I’m supposed to ask for a warrant, but since you’re giving permission, I think I can fudge it.”
Kotler smiled and thanked him, then hung up.
He turned just as Denzel was approaching. “I don’t think we’re getting anything useful from the good doctors,” he said.
“I may have another lead,” Kotler said, explaining about the man at his building.
“I’ll send someone over to get the footage. You think it might be our mystery figure?” Denzel asked.
“I’ll take any lead I can get right now. We’re burning through our 24 hours.”
“You think that’s still in play? You got those men out of the Black Chamber. Wasn’t that what our mystery figure was aiming for?”
Kotler shook his head. “At first I thought this was about getting into the Black Chamber, but it’s pretty clear this is about something else.”
“Any
ideas about what?” Denzel asked.
“I’m working on it.”
Denzel thought for a moment. “What was it?” he asked.
“What was what?”
Denzel glanced back at the Yardley building and said, “The passcode. You were so sure you knew it, and you were right. What was it?”
Kotler smiled. “It was right in front of us, but when the engineer said it was a seven-character word I knew I had it.”
“And it was?”
“Faraday,” Kotler grinned. “My great grandfather’s middle name.”
12
SURVEY TRAILER
Ludlum struggled for hours and finally made some progress on the knot of wire binding her feet.
It had come at a cost.
Her fingers were sore and bleeding, cut and blistered from the activity of feeling, twisting, pulling, over and again. Her shoulders ached, and her back was cramped and sore. She hurt all over, but she couldn’t give up.
Another tug and twist, more pain, but something different finally happened. The wire loosened, the knot released, and she was able to free her feet.
She rolled into a sitting position, stretching her legs and rolling her ankles with relief. She also stretched her neck from side to side, trying to release some of the tension. It felt good, but she only allowed herself a moment.
With her feet free she at least had a bit of mobility. It was the first step, and there was still more work to do.
She braced her feet on the floor, her back pressed against the wall of the trailer, and then pushed herself into a standing position.
So far so good.
Now able to move, she started exploring the trailer, looking for anything that might help.
There was a desk and a couple of tables, some chairs, and scattered piles of blueprints and survey maps. There were also some instruments that Ludlum recognized as survey equipment. That gave her a pretty good idea of what this place was, at least. Though she wasn’t sure it helped.
There was a large cabinet in one corner, locked with a padlock. There might be tools in there that she could use, but at the moment she had no way to get to them.
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