And with that, the meeting was adjourned. President Kinji’s staff flew into action, and the pilots were brought on board. Everyone was instructed to buckle up to prepare for their flight to Minneapolis, a city they’d seen more of lately than usual. As a result, the media was starting to make some noise, speculating about why President Kinji had stepped up the frequency of her trips there. Even though her trips were not made public, the world always knew of her whereabouts eventually.
Once in the air, and after the plane leveled out to a smooth steady plateau in the sky, Serena and Tom held a private conversation that was only partially overheard by their children, and went no further.
“Tom, I feel so humiliated by this Angels Mark nonsense,” said Serena.
“What do you mean?”
“To be caught up with those deranged brothers, it’s awkward. Their scam is so icky, preying on religious people. They are twisting things that people really do believe passionately in.”
“We weren’t taken in by it.”
“I know, but we are not as gullible as some. Even so, it’s embarrassing to be connected to this. I really admire President Kinji,” Serena said, barely above a whisper. “All that stuff about the Beast, she probably thinks we’re crazy by association.”
“No, I’m sure she doesn’t. Besides, Angels Mark is a real technology they invented, if it works.”
“I think it will. I don’t trust the Tracy brothers, but I do trust those kids in the computer lab,” said Serena.
The two continued to talk in hushed tones, and when they had finally exhausted all topics relating to anything important, their conversation drifted to what their plans might be for dinner.
Meanwhile, President William’s covert detail was following the decoy sedan, with its decoy convoy, all the way to Newton, Kansas. The lead driver, relieved of his Chicago duty, was hurrying home to his wife, a petite brunette named Kelly who was cooking his favorite farm-raised beef in her often-used crock pot.
It would be a long night for the covert team, smelling a supper they couldn’t have, hearing the sounds of TV and laughter, and eventually blinking in the darkness; finally admitting to themselves and to each other that they had been had.
No one wanted to report their failure to Chicago, but one unlucky member of the team drew the short straw. President Williams needed to know: they’d been had. And none of them had the slightest idea where Madam President or her odd cast of cohorts were. The unlucky short-straw bearer held his earpiece away from his ear as Williams bellowed, ranted, and cursed until he ended the call.
17
As William’s five men watched the three vehicles, one of them reported back that everyone was accounted for. The response: Orders are to leave no witnesses. All eyes were trained on the targets; two of the less fortunate assassins were assigned to keep their scopes on the most volatile and least physically attractive witness Clyde Tracy.
Clyde hugged himself tightly, as close as he would ever get to being embraced by another person. This was the highlight of his entire life: the fate of the world was up to Clyde. He had always known that this was his destiny. Everything he had ever done in his life was worth it, for this very moment, one of few moments he had left here on this earth. He would have done it all over again.
Clyde was with President Kinji’s new covert A Team, to oversee the install of Angels Mark and the re-insertion of the modified Identity Chip under Bryce’s skin. He watched the testing of the chip, and gave it his approval. He nodded authoritatively toward President Kinji’s secret service agents. The procedure was complete. He looked with satisfaction at his lab, newly staffed with government suits, buddied up with his teenage hackers: how else could they be brought up to speed on everything so quickly? These kids were having the time of their lives, just as Clyde was. The mood in the lab was buoyant to say the least.
Nancy and Rick were taking lead on the Angels Mark project. Rick said, “We’ll be bringing Bryce back to Chicago now.”
“What about me, about us?” said Paul.
“No, we won’t be needing you,” said Rick.
“Yes you will,” fumed Clyde. “You need someone to analyze the data.”
“We have people who will analyze it. You’re staying here,” said Nancy.
“You can’t take my technology and leave me behind,” said Clyde.
“Someone will be in touch,” said Nancy curtly. She spun on her heels and took Bryce by the arm. Rick took up his other arm. They half-dragged him out of the building even though Bryce was leaving willingly.
“Wait, wait!” called Bryce. The two agents ignored him, so Bryce kept talking, shouting over his shoulder, while Clyde and Paul followed him out the door to catch his every word. “Gustavo, the general, he’s sympathetic to your cause. Talk to him!”
Bryce was pushed into yet another government vehicle and rushed to a secret runway where a small jet was waiting to return him to the White House.
The two brothers went back into the computer lab; Bryce’s parting comments weighing on their minds. Clyde asked Paul, “Where’s that detective lady?”
“Who?”
“Serena what’s-her-name.”
“She’s a detective?”
“She used to be.”
“What do you want her for?”
“My lab is tied up, my hackers are tied up, and besides, they’re watching us.”
“You want her to find the general?”
“They said they don’t need us. We’ll see,” said Clyde defiantly.
“She went home with the rest of her clan. But there’s security on them.”
“We aren’t going to scare her. No reason for security to have their panties in a bunch. Let’s pay her a visit.”
The farmhouse the Meadows family was resting comfortably in was only a few miles from the lab. In less than ten minutes Paul and Clyde were at her doorstep, where they were greeted with suspicion by two secret service agents.
“What are you doing here?” asked the one with carroty red hair, hair that was impressively fluorescent even while diminished somewhat by his crew cut.
“We just want to talk with Serena,” said Paul.
The second agent, a black male who stood an impressive six feet nine inches at his full height, was stooped over to fit under the standard-sized door frame. “You can talk to her from here.”
Serena heard the conversation and came closer. “What do you want?”
“We got a tip that General Gustavo is willing to work with us, but we need help in finding where he is. President Kinji’s team is using the lab,” said Paul.
“Gustavo…Wasn’t he interviewed a few years ago, before the Big War, back when the national debt ceiling crashed?” Serena shut the screen door before unidentified biting bugs made their way into the house.
“I don’t know, maybe,” said Clyde, who hadn’t flinched when the door was shut almost in his face.
“Yes, I remember,” said Paul. “He was part of a press conference, about our readiness to go to war. It was right after the markets seized up and the U.S. caused the world economy to crash.”
“The default had a catastrophic effect on financial markets. We made a lot of enemies. I can remember a little of Gustavo’s speech now,” said Serena.
“What difference does this make?” asked Clyde.
“Maybe none. Why are you here?” asked Serena.
“We told you that already. We got a tip.”
“From who?” asked Serena.
“Bryce. From Bryce. Look, we need your help in finding the General. The lab is all tied up with Kinji’s people. You’re supposed to be a detective, or at least you were. Can you find where he is?” asked Paul.
“Does President Kinji know about this?” asked Serena.
“She’s the one who wants us to talk to him,” Paul lied.
“She didn’t contact me,” said Serena.
“She went back to the White House, when they brought Bryce back,” said Paul, which was the truth.
Clyde, sensing she needed more verification of Kinji’s involvement, appealed to her ego, “President Kinji said that you’d be able to find him, no problem. Was she wrong?”
Serena blushed at the idea of President Kinji recommending her specifically. “I don’t know if I can find him, but I can try. Come in.”
Clyde flashed a leering grin at the two agents as he walked past them. The puppet master hasn’t lost his touch! He and Paul joined Serena and Tom at their kitchen table, where they sat for a good hour before Serena found what she was looking for.
“I had to pay one of those services to dig a little deeper than what I could find for free, but I finally found a home address for him. You didn’t tell me he had a residence in Minnetonka. That’s what, less than two hours’ drive?”
Paul and Clyde registered genuine surprise on their faces. “We didn’t know he was so close,” said Paul.
“You’re going to go talk to him?” asked Tom.
“Yes,” said Paul.
“Did she want us to come with you?” asked Serena.
The brothers hesitated, working through the pros and cons quickly. On one hand, they wanted all the glory of the mission. On the other hand, they could use some help. Serena might be the better conversationalist, especially if the general wasn’t home, and only his wife was available. “Yes, she assumed you’d be coming with us,” said Paul, looking at Clyde for validation, and receiving it with a slight nod, that he made the right decision.
“We need to go right away,” said Clyde. He looked back through the kitchen into the living room at where the kids were working on various projects. “This time, leave the kids at home.”
“Good point. You’ll be fine, won’t you? The agents will be here,” said Serena.
“Yes,” the three kids said, nearly in unison. By now they were unflappable.
The red-headed agent stopped them as they headed out. “We’re supposed to stay with you.”
“We’ll be right back, please keep an eye on the kids,” said Serena.
“We are not babysitters, ma’am.”
“Isn’t the detail assigned to the house?” asked Tom.
The red-head answered, “I’ll go with you. Special Agent Thompson will stay here.”
Clyde and Paul went together in Clyde’s vehicle. Tom and Serena rode with the red-head who introduced himself as Special Agent Salisbury. With the team of Thompson and Salisbury split up, neither man had backup, but given the egos of both agents, neither one thought twice about breaking protocol.
The journey to General Gustavo’s home felt long. It had been a draining twenty-four hours. And now it was getting dark. It was hard for Tom and Serena to keep their eyes open. Fortunately neither of them was driving.
The two vehicles, Clyde’s jeep and Salisbury’s government issue, pulled up alongside the front entry of the house, a modest home in a nice suburban neighborhood. The four of them lagged behind while Salisbury led the way, as he insisted upon doing.
Before Salisbury could ring the bell, the door was opened by General Gustavo himself. “Identify yourself, Agent.”
“Special Agent Salisbury, Sir.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“He stayed back on detail.”
“Come in.” General Gustavo ushered them all inside. “We can talk in the den.” He led them down to the finished basement level, to the farthest room from the stairs, a room with no windows. “Please secure the room, Agent.”
“Sir? Secure the room?” Salisbury was confused. Why would the general need his home office swept? Wouldn’t he know if there was someone lurking in there? But his legs carried him into the room as ordered.
Gustavo promptly shot him in the back. It made little sound. The thud of Salisbury’s body as it fell to the floor seemed louder. Blood pooled around him as the four visitors stared at his prone body, his trademark red hair now made a dark crimson. It seemed like blood was everywhere.
Salisbury must have hit his head on something on the way down to account for all that blood, thought Serena. We’re all going to die. She began to pray.
“Bryce!” yelled Clyde.
General Gustavo grinned. “It was a nicely set trap. The President wants you out of the way. But not until you tell me what Kinji knows.”
“If you’re going to kill us anyway, why should we tell you anything?” asked Serena.
Tom did not have his gun with him; the secret service had not returned it. He looked around him for a means of escape. He could find none. He kept looking.
Paul looked at Clyde with despair; Clyde’s arm was still in a sling and neither of them had a weapon. He said, “Make us a deal and we’ll tell you want you want.”
“I don’t make deals. I’ll pick you off one by one until you talk.” Gustavo snorted like a bull. “Starting with you.”
Gustavo pointed the gun directly at Paul’s head. Seeing his brother in danger triggered something primal in Clyde. Unhindered by the sling, and feeling no emotion, no pain, Clyde charged at Gustavo, screaming a most unholy shriek as he lunged.
The attack was so quick, so unexpected, and accompanied by such a surprisingly hideous sound, that Gustavo was caught off guard. Clyde was at this throat, with both of his hands, the arm sling twisting under pressure, as he grasped hold of Gustavo’s neck, strangling him with his bare hands.
Gustavo’s eyes bulged and he managed to squeeze off a round, but he was no match for Clyde’s insanity. He was limp and lifeless without ever uttering another syllable.
Gustavo dropped to the floor, immediately followed by Clyde himself. That one round, that the general had fired off while in the throes of death, had hit Clyde at extremely close range, a fatal wound, which was now obvious to the remaining three witnesses to the past few seconds. No one moved at first, and then Paul rushed to Clyde’s side.
“Nooooo! Nooooo!” Paul wailed. He held his brother’s head in his lap, staring down in horror as blood frothed from Clyde’s mouth. “Quick, Serena! You believe for real, right? My brother deserves last rites.”
Serena stammered, “I’m not a clergy. I’m not sure what you want—“
“Pray! He’s dying! My brother is dying!” Paul sobbed.
Serena didn’t know how to pray for the soul of a man like Clyde, so she recited the Lord’s Prayer from memory:
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy Kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven…”
The mention of Heaven caused a great outburst from Paul, who was now soaked in his brother’s blood. He clutched at Clyde’s shirt, grabbing him into a floppy, unresponsive embrace.
Serena let her words trail off and tried to look away from the macabre sight, but a mixture of horror and fascination kept her eyes rooted to the two brothers. Seeing the blood pooling on the floor, and all over Paul, and the blood spatter from Gustavo all over the walls, furniture, and floor, she studied her new green trench coat with its trendy styling and chic belt for signs of crimson: whew, no blood stains. She glanced at Tom, who was turning quite pale and looked ready to faint.
Paul began rocking from side to side, holding his brother’s body and wailing. While Paul was consumed and distracted, Serena and Tom took the opportunity to slip out of the room. They called 911; then President Kinji at the special number she gave them.
18
While Bryce’s trap was ensnaring Clyde, and General Gustavo as collateral damage, Bryce was dutifully playing for the other side. He slipped into President John Williams’ private office areas without raising any suspicion whatsoever, which was as he expected. The tricky part would be to access and copy his uncle’s files without his fingerprints setting off any alarms. He hoped the Angel Mark worked. He couldn’t care less about helping Ann; he did care immensely about being caught helping her. He had every reason to have a healthy fear of how far John would go if he knew that Bryce was selling him out. He feared John much more than he feared prison, but he preferred to avoid both. If th
is Angels Mark technology worked, he would extract the files with no one the wiser.
He held his breath as the download indicator bar filled. The transfer speed was the best there was, and Bryce was soon out of his misery. No alarms. Nothing. He had done it! He worked his way through every folder, including those that were hidden. He himself had organized most of these, so he knew where the secret files were. At this point, he was all in and wanted as much incriminating evidence as possible to get protection for himself from John. He figured the only chance he had was if they branded John as not only a traitor, but the world’s most wanted terrorist. If they got all of John’s people too, Bryce had a fighting chance of hiding away somewhere and starting a new life. He copied everything he could find, even files he didn’t think were important.
Just as he finished copying the files, Bryce’s heart stopped beating. President John Williams, his revered and feared uncle, was standing in the entrance to his private office area. “Hey, Brycer! What are you doing in here?”
A practiced liar after years of picking up girls and lying to his parents about his whereabouts, it was natural for Bryce to concoct a plausible story on the spot. “I was hoping to check my e-mail. The battery on my phone is dead.”
“What’s wrong with your office?” John asked. Not suspicious, not judging, just a simple question an uncle might ask his nephew.
“I’m avoiding Caroline,” he said, which was partially true, actually. He had slept with Caroline a few times, and now she expected a ring. That was never going to happen, especially now.
John chuckled. “Understood.”
Bryce smiled full wattage, a ladies’ man just like his uncle, the good old boys’ club, partners, on the same team. “You have a full plate today. How are you going to fix this thing with Kinji?”
“Oh don’t worry about that, I have my people on it. By this time tomorrow, she won’t be a problem,” said John ominously.
Bryce shuddered inwardly. Better her than me, he thought. Relieved that he had gotten away with betraying his uncle in plain sight, Bryce slipped down the corridor and left the White House for a restaurant well known as a spot for politicians to gather. No one would think twice about Bryce being there, or seeing him meet up casually with someone from Kinji’s staff, placing his flash drive into the palm of Breyana’s pretty little hand.
Angels Mark (The Serena Wilcox Mysteries Dystopian Thriller Trilogy) Page 13
