The authorities in Beijing were onto the stolen fishing boat gig. They figured anytime that report came in now that the perpetrator was a Western spy getting the hell out of Dodge. Three times out of four they were right.
The handheld GPS device indicated that he’d reached the rendezvous location seven minutes ago. Since then, he’d been drifting along in neutral. The ocean was fairly well illuminated tonight thanks to the full moon and the stars, and he’d come out of the wheelhouse to the foredeck to get a better view.
As he checked his watch for the third time in the last two minutes, the conning tower of the attack submarine USS Nevada broke through the surface of the ocean inside a massive boil of bubbles less than a hundred feet from the fishing boat. This was the fourth time he’d been removed from country this way, but it still startled him when the massive sub rose from the surface just beside him like that.
Tremendous relief rolled through his system now that the cavalry had arrived. God, it was a wonderful feeling.
A few minutes later he was aboard the Nevada and the fishing boat was headed to the bottom of the ocean after two explosives experts from the sub had detonated enough charges in its engine room to put a gaping hole in the hull.
CHAPTER 10
JACK FOLLOWED Bill’s longtime executive assistant into the spacious fortieth-floor office of the First Manhattan Bank headquarters and sat down in the wingback chair she pointed to.
“Your father should be back in a few.”
She was Rita Hayes, and her voice still had the faint strains of a Brooklyn accent she’d been trying to erase for years—at Bill’s suggestion. She was fifty-two and still very attractive and vivacious, but she’d never been married.
Which Jack had always found interesting. He’d caught her gazing at Bill in very affectionate ways before, though after thirty-three years together maybe that was understandable. Rita was good friends with Cheryl too. So there couldn’t be anything going on behind Cheryl’s back.
“Bill’s downstairs on the equity trading floor with the head of syndications,” she explained. “They’re going over final pricing on a new issue that’s hitting the street tomorrow.”
Rita was basically part of the Jensen family. She and Cheryl often rode horses together out in Connecticut on weekends, and then she’d join Cheryl and Bill for dinner afterward. So she heard all the family dirt. Every last speck of it, Jack assumed.
Still, she was a professional and never let on to what she knew. She never gave Jack attitude when they saw each other or spoke on the phone, which he appreciated.
“Want anything to drink while you wait?” Rita called over her shoulder.
“No thanks.”
When she reached the door, she stopped and turned around. “Was Bill expecting you? I didn’t see you on his calendar.”
Jack shook his head. “No, I just dropped in to say hi.” He saw the surprise in her expression. He’d never come by on his own like this before. He’d always been summoned. “I wanted to surprise him.”
“Oh, OK. Well, if he isn’t back up here soon, I’ll call and let him know you’re waiting.”
“Thanks.”
When she was gone, Jack got up and moved cautiously to the office window. Wall Street was a long way down, and he could feel his heart starting to thump as he neared the glass. He stopped a foot from the window and leaned over to peer out. He’d always had nightmares about being way up in a skyscraper when an earthquake hit. He’d had one of those nightmares just the other night, after Troy’s memorial service. And there was a serious fault not far north of here.
Wall Street was small and narrow, so most people were disappointed when they saw it for the first time, Jack knew. Despite its unimpressive appearance, the street was still one of the world’s most competitive arenas. And Bill Jensen was one of its most successful players. He was a bona fide superstar because over the last three decades he’d made First Manhattan a fortune in fees taking companies public and presiding over what had become the top mergers and acquisitions department in New York City. Now he was CEO of the huge bank, which had offices in all fifty states and most countries around the world.
Jack backed away from the window and moved to a long credenza that was positioned against the opposite wall. Covering the credenza and the bookcases and attesting to Bill’s incredible success was a gallery of tombstones. Lucite-encased announcements of the IPO transactions he’d led, which had originally been published in the Wall Street Journal when the deals had gone down. The many pictures of him shaking hands with politicians and sports stars, which rose from among the tombstones like tall buildings on the Manhattan skyline, only heightened the intimidation factor people experienced within these four walls, Jack knew.
Jack was thirty, but he still felt like a naïve kid when he came in here. That little brokerage shop he traded bonds for on the other side of the island was as about as important to the world of high finance as a pimple on the ass of an ant. First Manhattan was the lion that ate the anteater that ate the ant.
Jack picked up a photo of Bill standing next to the governor of New York and nodded. Bill always stood the same way in pictures. With his suit coat unbuttoned and his thumbs hooked inside his belt about a foot apart.
“Hello, Jack.”
Jack looked up quickly at the sound of the deep voice. “Uh, hi, Bill.”
Bill grimaced as he closed the office door and limped stoically toward the big leather chair behind the platform desk. He was a tall, silver-haired man who’d put on a few pounds after suffering a nasty knee injury playing squash several years ago—which was why he’d turned to skydiving to get his kicks. He couldn’t cover a squash court anymore, but he could jump out of an airplane. He’d already reinjured the knee twice smashing into the ground on landing, but neither injury had stopped him from going back into the sky as soon as he could.
As Bill eased into the chair and it creaked beneath his weight, it struck Jack that he seemed worn out—physically and emotionally. He’d seen Bill tired, but not like this.
“Why have you always had such a hard time calling me Dad?” Bill asked somberly.
Jack put the photo back on the credenza and sat down in the wingback chair that was positioned directly in front of Bill’s desk. It always reminded him of a witness stand whenever he came here. This time was no different.
“What do you mean?”
“You called me Bill just now. Why not Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
Because you try to throw me out of a plane in the middle of the night and then tell me you wish I was more like Troy when I fight you off.
That was what Jack wanted to say, but he didn’t. He was looking for peace today. He’d thought a lot about what Hunter had said at the memorial service.
“I mean, I know I’m not your real father,” Bill went on, “but I’ve taken care of you like your real dad would. So why don’t I get that handle?”
“I guess because—”
“I don’t feel any closer to you today than I did when you were a kid,” Bill kept going. “Maybe not as close, and we weren’t very close then. At least you called me Dad back then.” He shook his head, still frustrated. “Jesus, we didn’t talk at Troy’s memorial service last weekend. I’m not even sure I saw you there. Were you?”
“Of course I was,” Jack answered defensively. “You and Cheryl were so busy with everybody else. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“That’s another thing. Can’t you at least call her Mom? I guess it’s OK if you want to call me Bill like I’m some old uncle you only see a few times a year at family functions. I guess I don’t really care. But it would mean a lot to Cheryl if you’d start calling her Mom, especially now that Troy’s gone.”
Jack fidgeted with the cell phone he’d dug out of his jacket. He had no intention of actually trying to reach anyone, but he desperately needed something to do. “Well, I—”
“What do you want, Jack?”
Jack shrugged. “Can’
t I just stop in to say hi?”
“Sure, but I don’t think that’s what’s really going on.” A smug grin seeped its way into Bill’s expression. “On your way to Brooklyn? Got something going on over there?”
Jack’s eyes flashed to Bill’s. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Incredible. Bill must have had him followed at some point. That was the only way he could possibly know what was going on in Brooklyn. Christ, he was a control freak. How the hell could Cheryl have put up with him all these years?
“I mean it, Bill. If you’re talking about—”
“I don’t think you’re stopping by just to say hello,” Bill said loudly as his smug grin faded, “because of an e-mail I got a few minutes ago.”
“I don’t care about—”
“It’s from Jamie Hildebrand.”
Bill had called Jamie a few years ago when Jack and Hunter were fired from their previous jobs, and within an hour he had new positions for them. They weren’t great jobs because Tri-State wasn’t a great firm. But the salary covered Jack’s living expenses, including rent on his one-bedroom apartment outside of Greenwich.
Of course, if Bill had really wanted to help, he would have gotten them jobs at his huge bank the way he was always offering to do for Troy. Good traders at First Manhattan made the big bucks, much more than traders at Tri-State, because they had so much more money to play with. But the old man had never done that.
Bill pulled out his cell phone, donned his reading glasses, and worked his way to the message. “It says here you walked into Jamie’s office an hour ago and quit. Didn’t give him a reason, didn’t thank him for taking you and Hunter on when jobs in New York were scarce because the economy was in the tank. Just quit for no reason.” He looked up over his glasses. “Mind telling me why?”
Despite that edge to Bill’s voice, Jack felt a wave of positive energy surge through his body. It was time for them to connect, for them to get close, for him to lose his bitterness about being adopted. And he was convinced that what he was about to say would do it.
“I’m going to Alaska, Bill.”
“Excuse me?”
That didn’t sound good. “Uh, I’m going to Alaska, to Dutch Harbor.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
That definitely didn’t sound good. “I want to find the captain of the Arctic Fire and see if he told the cops the truth about what happened to Troy. Or if there’s more to the story.”
“What do you mean, ‘more to the story’?” Bill demanded. His expression was suddenly an angry mess. “Troy went overboard in a storm. He was out on top of the crab traps trying to tie one down when a rogue wave hit the ship. It happens up there on the Bering Sea, and it’s as simple as that.” Sadness rippled through Bill’s expression, mellowing the fire. “Troy never should have been on that damn ship in the first place. I should have told him not to take the job. It was my fault, not the captain’s. End of story.”
“Well, yeah, that’s the official word we got. But don’t you want to be sure?”
During the last few days Jack had researched the Alaskan crab boat business on the Internet and called an old friend from college who was living in Alaska to ask him about it. It turned out that most of the captains who sailed from Dutch Harbor were stand-up guys with good reputations. But a few weren’t. Sage Mitchell, the captain of the Arctic Fire, was one of those men who weren’t.
Something about that photograph of Troy standing in front of the ship was still bothering Jack too. Really bothering him. He felt like he was so close to making some kind of breakthrough, but he couldn’t quite get there.
“There were four other men on the Arctic Fire that night,” Jack kept going. “All of them survived the storm. It’s always been the other way around when something like that happens around Troy. He makes it and the others don’t. Or he saves the others.” Jack shook his head. “It doesn’t add up, Bill. Troy’s a survivor. He’s incredible when it comes to that. He was basically bulletproof, almost untouchable.”
“How do you know there were four other men on the ship?”
“I’ve got a friend up there,” Jack explained. “He’s pretty connected, and he found out. It’s not really that big a state when you get right down to it, not population-wise, anyway.”
“Who is he? What’s his name?”
That seemed like a strange question to ask right now. “What difference does it make? Look, I just think we ought to—”
“Stay away from Dutch Harbor,” Bill warned as his expression turned steely again. “You hear me?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Jack shot back, rising out of his chair. This conversation wasn’t turning out right at all. “You can’t keep me away from there.”
“I won’t give you any money,” Bill countered, coming out of his chair too. “You can’t have much saved, which, I’m sure, is the real reason you’re here. What are you going to do without it?”
“I’ll figure it out.” Though Jack wasn’t sure what “it” was going to be. Bill was exactly right. He didn’t have much saved. And it bothered him to hear how Bill knew that. “I’ll figure it out,” he repeated.
Bill glared across the desk. “Why are you really going to Alaska?”
“Because you haven’t,” Jack snapped. “Because you’ve been sitting on your ass for a week and you haven’t done anything.” It had taken every ounce of courage he had inside him to say that. “And I can’t believe you haven’t. I mean, you’re so suspicious of everyone and everything, and you’ve bragged to me so many times about how being paranoid has been such a key to all your success in the business world. So why would you take some crab boat captain’s word for what happened? Some guy you couldn’t even pick out of a police lineup who claims Troy was the only one who went into the water that night. The other four guys on the ship are all family, they’re all close. Troy was the only outsider. Something doesn’t seem right about all that, Bill.” Jack could feel perspiration seeping from every pore in his body, but he’d stood up to Bill Jensen in his office on Wall Street. It had been terrifying at first, but now it was an awesome moment he’d never forget. “You loved Troy so much.”
“But I’m trying to figure out why you hate me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve tried taking care of you, Jack. I’ve always tried making you feel like my own son even though—”
“See, that’s the damn problem. You’ve always had to try. You never had to try with Troy.”
“Well, I—”
“Admit it.” Jack had a reputation for not taking crap from anyone. In fact, the only person he’d ever bowed down to consistently over the years was Bill. But now that was over, and it felt good. In that instant it had felt like he’d grown up all the way. “You know it’s true.”
“Leave Troy alone,” Bill warned. “My God, what’s wrong with you? What’s all this really about?” As Bill’s voice trailed off, a look of understanding slowly slid across his face. “Oh, I get it. You’re trying to dig up dirt on him so you can throw mud on his grave. Still competing with him even though he’s dead, are you?”
“No. I just want to—”
“Leave him alone!” Bill shouted. “Let him rest in peace!”
“Give me a break, Bill! Look, maybe if I go up there I can finally do some good for this family. Maybe then I’ll feel like I’m part of it. Maybe then I won’t think about how I’m adopted.”
Bill gazed at Jack steadily for several seconds, and then his chin dropped slowly to his chest. “You really think that, don’t you?” he mumbled. “That you’re adopted, I mean.”
“I think about it every day,” Jack admitted, trying to figure out what the hell Bill was driving at. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
He could have sworn he’d seen a mist in Bill’s eyes as the old man’s chin had gone down. He leaned slightly to the side and checked again. Sure enough, there were tears, and suddenly Jack felt a fear he’d never known. A
fear that started as a slight uneasiness but quickly intensified.
Bill Jensen rarely talked about his emotions, and he never showed them—not sadness or fear, anyway. He hadn’t broken down even as he’d given an incredibly emotional eulogy at Troy’s memorial service. His voice hadn’t cracked once even as people in the audience had sobbed.
It seemed surreal for Jack to see Bill like this. And for the first time he understood how much he’d depended on this man over the years for everything. How Bill had been everyone’s rock for so long.
“What is it, Bill? What’s wrong?”
Bill sank back into his chair. “You never figured it out,” he whispered.
“Figured what out?”
Bill turned his head to the side and grimaced as if he were remembering something that caused him great pain. Like the image of a horrible accident that was burned so indelibly into his memory that even though the tragedy had happened years ago, it was still vivid in his mind.
“Come on. I—”
“You’re Troy’s half brother,” Bill admitted almost inaudibly. “Cheryl’s really your mother, but I’m not your—” He coughed several times as he fought to keep his composure. “Six months after we were married, Cheryl and I separated. We didn’t get divorced, we just separated.” His voice was shaking. “She went away for a few years because I was so damn focused on my career. And by the time I got around to begging her to come home, she was eight months pregnant with you by someone else. She stayed away until she had you, and then she came back. We kept everything very quiet,” he explained, “and on the advice of a psychiatrist who was a friend of my father’s, we told you and everyone else that you were adopted.” He shook his head dejectedly. “It was stupid, but we were young and we didn’t know any better. Once we told everyone, we couldn’t take it back.” He swallowed hard. “And I guess I was hurt, even though I had no right to be hurt because I was the one who wanted to be on my own again without any responsibilities. I was the one who sent Cheryl away, and I was such an idiot to do it. Anyway, the story about adopting you from someplace in Brooklyn was a bunch of crap. I…I just assumed you’d figured all that out for yourself somewhere along the line. Or that Cheryl had told you. I really thought she would have by now.”
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