The Medusa Stone pm-3

by Jack Du Brul

  Harry White sat naked on a wooden chair with heavy silver tape binding his wrists to the chair’s arms and more of it wound around his thin white chest just below his sagging pectoral muscles. Electric wires were clipped to his nipples, and deep bruises surrounded his mouth and blackened both eyes. There was a look of terror on Harry’s face. The morning’s Washington Post lay in his lap. Jesus, the paper meant that they’d been in his house at most a half hour ago.

  When he finally spoke, Harry’s usual rasping voice sounded more like a child’s plea. His speech sounded scripted.

  “Mercer, I was grabbed last night after leaving the bar.

  * * *

  I don’t know who is holding me, but they are serious in their intentions.” As if to prove this statement, a hand appeared from off camera and backhanded Harry viciously. It took him a few moments to recover, his chest heaving in fright and pain. “They demand that you go to Eritrea and find the diamond mine or they will kill me. You have no choice. If they find that you are not planning to go, parts of my body will be dumped on your doorstep, culminating in my head in two weeks’ time.”

  Harry stopped speaking, his rheumy eyes focusing beyond the camera’s range for a second as if listening to someone. Then Mercer heard another voice, one masked by an electronic synthesizing device. “Dr. Mercer, listen to your friend. We do not wish to kill him, but the discovery of the mine is too important to us to worry about the death of one old man.

  “You have six weeks to accomplish the task. If you are not successful, Harry White will be killed. If you attempt to find us, Harry White will be killed. If you tell anyone what has happened, Harry White will die. His life, or his death, are your responsibility.”

  Two men entered the frame, though Mercer could not see their faces. One wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso while the other positioned himself next to the old man’s hand.

  “We will be in contact with you periodically when you get to Eritrea,” the voice droned. “When you find the diamonds, you must tell no one but us, or your friend will be brutally tortured before his execution.”

  “Mercer, listen to me,” Harry shouted at the camera. “I’m not a hero. I don’t want to die. I haven’t had a cigarette in hours, and I’m already starting to get the shakes from the DTs. For Christ’s sake, do whatever they want, kill the fucking President if that’s what it’ll take. Just get me out of this.”

  Without warning, the one man grasped Harry’s pinkie finger and snapped it so quickly that a look of surprise hung on Harry’s face for a few seconds before the waves of pain contorted his features. He screamed, bubbles of saliva dripping from his mouth. The video ended abruptly.

  Fear welled up in Mercer and he staggered back against the bar. He saw Tory again on the platform and himself in a train car and he saw her head explode the instant before the gunman ended his own life. He’d done nothing. It didn’t matter to him that he’d been forty yards away and the gunman had one arm wrapped around Tory’s throat, the pistol screwed into her ear. He’d been paralyzed with fear then, and it slammed into him again now. It pinned him to the bar and he struggled against it. He had been powerless that one time and vowed never again. But in all the times since then, it was he who was in danger, not someone he loved. Not Harry. He felt trapped, out of control, which for him was the worst of all. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the dark television, his mind shrinking away from what he’d just seen.

  And then came a spark of rage and he grabbed on to it, feeling it grow so he could think again. Rage was something he could control and channel and use. His fists balled at his sides so his knuckles strained against the skin. Harry was in trouble, Harry who had saved his life and who had been a friend for so long, a father in every way that really counted. Seeds of guilt crept on him because had they not been friends, Harry would have awakened this morning in his own bed, bleary-eyed from last night’s drinks, but none the worse for wear. Mercer could use the guilt too, because it focused his anger. And if his guilt and his rage were strong enough, they would crush the fear.

  Five minutes passed before the rational side of Mercer could finally take over from his emotions and allow him to think of some plan of action. First and foremost was finding who had kidnapped Harry. His first thought was Prescott Hyde. Mercer knew the State Department maintained a covert arm for just such activities. Grabbing an old man from his bed and bypassing Mercer’s home security system would be child’s play for them. But they didn’t need Mercer that badly, not like this. There were dozens of men equally qualified to conduct the search in Eritrea. Selome Nagast, he thought. No, she was on Hyde’s side. That left, who?

  Mercer didn’t know. But he was sure he was in over his head. He had options, namely going to Dick Henna, but he also knew if he was going to get Harry back safely, he would have to go to Africa. There was someone out there with access to expert home breakers capable of kidnap and possibly murder. Harry was his responsibility and he would do whatever it took to bring him home.

  He couldn’t let himself consider the consequences if the kimberlite pipe didn’t exist.

  Arlington, Virginia

  Because Mercer had no way of knowing if phone lines had been tapped or his home bugged at the same time the tape was delivered, he spent the day in Tiny’s cluttered back office, a room just bigger than a phone booth and plastered with horse-racing pictures. While he worked, Paul kept him supplied with coffee and sandwiches. Mercer told Paul everything, and the former jockey agreed that in a situation like Harry’s kidnapping, involving the police wasn’t the right move.

  Mercer did place a call to Dick Henna, and they agreed to meet later that night. Mercer suspected he would be tailed but had a plan for shaking them while not drawing attention to the fact. Much of what he did during the afternoon could have been accomplished at his place, but Mercer hated the idea of working under a microscope, and as he made his preparations for going to Africa, there were a few details he wanted to keep to himself. It was a little past four when he was ready to tell Selome Nagast and Hyde that he would go to Eritrea after all.

  “Embassy of Eritrea, how may I direct your call?” The receptionist’s accent was thick.

  “Selome Nagast, please.”

  Mercer waited fifteen seconds as the woman checked her directory. “I am sorry, sir, but there is no one here with that name.”

  “Are you sure?” Mercer realized it was a stupid question.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is it possible she works at the embassy but doesn’t have a phone listing?” Mercer asked hopefully but a niggling doubt was forming in the back of his head.

  “We have a new voice-mail system,” the receptionist explained. “Even temporary employees can receive messages.”

  “Thank you.” Mercer kept the suspicion out of his voice and dialed Prescott Hyde. He wondered if his dismissal of Selome Nagast as Harry’s kidnapper had been premature.

  “I’m surprised to hear back from you, Dr. Mercer. You made it clear yesterday that you aren’t interested in our venture.”

  “Let’s just say I’ve had a change of heart. I’m on board now one hundred percent and wanted you to be the first to know.” Mercer said nothing about Selome. At this point, any information he had was a weapon, and now wasn’t the time to use it. “I’ve already started working on the project. I’ve got heavy equipment en route from South Africa, three D-11 dozers, a couple of big front loaders, six Terex dump trucks, and a Caterpillar 5130 hydraulic shovel. All of the iron is leased for six months except the 5130, which Eritrea is going to have to buy.”

  “Hold on there. I’m with Selome right now and you’re on a speaker phone. She’s shaking her head something fierce.”

  “Dr. Mercer, I can’t authorize any of that. It’s just too much money.” Selome’s voice sounded distant over the speaker connection.

  Somehow he’d expected her there. It only deepened his suspicions.

  “Listen, you two wanted this project in the first place. If I’m goin
g to get results, it’s got to be done my way or not at all,” Mercer said sharply. “I didn’t set this six-week rule, you did. If I’m expected to find anything, I’m going to need to move a lot of dirt. I’ve got a pretty good lease package for us, and if need be, I can get a sales contract on the excavator for when we’re finished with it. That’ll save you a couple million bucks. You’re lucky — my first idea was to bring in a walking dragline with a forty-million-dollar price tag, but we’d lose too much time with its on-site assembly. As it is, the 5130 will take two weeks to put together once it’s shipped in.”

  “You don’t understand. We just can’t do it this way,” Selome protested. “I can’t guarantee your safety if you present that kind of target.”

  “By the time the equipment rolls in, I’ll have pinpointed the best site, and you’ll only have to protect a single camp. From what I understand, nearly every Eritrean over the age of thirty has a military background, so surely you can muster a protective force? When I’m doing the actual prospecting, I’ll basically be on my own, so you won’t have to worry about me.”

  “We wanted something much more low-key,” Selome said.

  “You know what she means,” Hyde broke in. “A small team, minimal equipment and maximum secrecy. You’re talking about bringing in an army.”

  “That’s what it’s going to take,” Mercer snapped. “I tried telling both of you that earlier. Selome, you said your government doesn’t want to get involved in a mining operation. You just wanted oversight, right? Well, consider this a trial run, but this is going to be my show. I’ll bring in the equipment I need and any people I want. If you don’t like it, if it isn’t what you expected, well, tough shit. This is what you got.”

  Hyde finally broke the silence. “I guess we caught a tiger by the tail here. You’ve taken us both a little by surprise. We need some time to digest all of this.”

  “You’ve got until Friday. That’s when I catch my flight to Eritrea. I plan to be in Asmara on Saturday morning and in the area of the search no later than Monday. I have a lot to go over with both of you before I leave, but that can wait until tomorrow. For now, you need to start working on getting me local support once I’m in country.”

  “And if we take your earlier advice and abandon the project?”

  There was no malice in Mercer’s voice when he responded. “Then I call a few friends, and within a month Eritrea will be dug up from one end to the other. I’ve got the contacts to guarantee your nation will be stripped clean with total impunity, and there is nothing either of you can do about it. I’ll talk to you again tomorrow.”

  Mercer was panting when he hung up. He was gambling with Harry White’s life when he just bluffed Hyde and Selome, and it made him tremble. His nerves were fraying. He dialed the phone again.

  “The Knight Medical Group,” a receptionist chirped.

  “Is Terry there?”

  “Dr. Knight is with a patient. May I have him call you back?”

  “He’s playing video games in his office,” Mercer said. “Why don’t you give him a buzz and see if he’ll talk to me. This is Philip Mercer.”

  A minute later Terrance Knight came on the line. “Great timing, Mercer. I was on the final level of Doom and I still have two men left.”

  “I’m getting better. The last time I called it was coitus interuptus with one of your nurses.”

  “Yeah. She sued me for sexual harassment a week after she discovered my sperm count is too low to knock her up.”

  “That’s what I love about you, Terry. Your lurid attention to detail.” Mercer chuckled for the first time today. Terry Knight had been his personal physician ever since he moved to Washington. “I’m going to Africa again. I need a gamma globulin, a cholera booster, and I think I’m ready for another tetanus. And I’ll also need anti-malarial pills for a couple of months.”

  “God, I love patients who know what they want. I’m going to give you an oral polio booster as well. The CDC in Atlanta posted warning for most of the continent. Since you’re headed to Africa, I’ll throw in a box of condoms while I’m at it. I doubt you’ll get lucky, so give them to a doctor before you come back. Anything else?”

  Mercer laughed again. “Yeah, put together a med kit for me, nothing more elaborate than a couple of aspirin and a suture set. Write me a prescription for morphine and antibiotics.”

  “You sure you don’t want a defibrillater and a portable CAT scanner?” Terry joked.

  “No, not this time, but maybe later. I’ll be in sometime tomorrow for my shots.”

  “Hey, I’m the doctor, I tell you when you come in, remember?”

  “Go back to Doom, Terry.”

  “Knowing you is doom.”

  Mercer sat back as far as possible in the cramped office, rubbing his eyes. There were a million details to be considered, yet his thoughts kept returning to Harry White. He was a tough old bird, a war veteran, but he was eighty now. Mercer focused on what his friend must be going through and used that anger to shove aside the exhaustion and refocus.

  Tiny ducked his head into the room. “How you doing?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “I know what you mean. Do you realize today is the first day in twelve years that Harry hasn’t come in. God, I never realized how much I loved the bastard until he’d gone.”

  Mercer straightened quickly. “He’s not gone, Paul. I’ll get him back. No matter what it takes, I’ll get him back.” His bravado sounded empty even in his own ears.

  * * *

  After Mercer had hung up on them, Prescott Hyde and Selome Nagast looked at each other, both having similar thoughts. Hyde’s office in Foggy Bottom was well appointed, more New York executive than government official, with oil paintings gracing the walls and an antique desk that had been in his family for generations. The carpet was a thicker pile than standard issue, and the matching wing-back chairs had been given to Hyde’s father by President Kennedy. Selome was sitting in one of the chairs, dressed in a simple business suit.

  “Well, what do you think?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “I just don’t think we can afford it. He’s talking about millions of dollars, and the best we’ve been able to come up with is three hundred thousand and a lot of that is for Mercer’s consulting fee. I never thought about all the equipment we would need.” Hyde’s voice was dull with defeat. “We should call the whole thing off. It was a long shot at best anyway.”

  “You call it off, and I’ll have a congressional committee knocking down your door within twelve hours. They would love to hear how you really obtained the Medusa pictures from the National Reconnaissance Office,” Selome hissed. “We can come up with the money somehow.”

  “Buying those pictures from Donald Rosen cost me nearly everything I have. If my wife finds out I took a second mortgage on our house, she’ll kill me.”

  “I don’t care about your domestic problems. We are going to need more money very soon if this is going to work. I’ve had expenses on my end, too. Do you hear me complaining about them? Mercer is the best shot we’ve got. We need to support him, and that means cash. We both have our sources. If need be, we can cut in a few more people. We’re talking about a billion-dollar payoff when this is done. That’s worth a little more risk.”

  “This is getting out of control,” Hyde complained.

  “No, it isn’t. We’re still in control. We just can’t allow ourselves to forget it, that’s all.”

  “I don’t know…” Hyde’s voice trailed off.

  “You don’t know what?” she accused. “We’re about to make a major discovery, one that will lift my country into the twenty-first century and provide jobs for thousands. Both of us will get what we want if we don’t lose perspective. We’ll get the money, Bill. We have to.”

  “You’re right,” Hyde nodded slowly. “I just don’t like the fact that Philip Mercer has suddenly decided that he is in charge.”

  “But that’s why we wanted him in the first place.
Like he said — what he wants, he gets. It’s up to us to make sure it goes smoothly.”

  “You scare me, Selome,” Hyde said suddenly, looking her directly in the eye, seeing beyond the beautiful shell to the person who lay beyond.

  “Good.” She had Hyde caught between his greed and his fear of exposure. To her, he was inconsequential, a means to an end, but it was reassuring to know how easily he could be dominated. She knew it wouldn’t be possible, but she wanted to see what happened when Hyde’s wife discovered how her husband had lost their house. The greedy pig would get what he deserved.

  * * *

  Paul Gordon drove, the headlights of his aging Plymouth lancing into the night. Mercer sat next to him, sweating heavily in two bulky sweaters and a leather jacket, a pair of skateboarder’s knee pads over his jeans. He fingered the motorcycle helmet on his lap. Both the helmet and the pads had been borrowed from his neighbor’s son.

  “About another mile.” Paul glanced at Mercer in the intimate confines of the car. “You sure you want to do this?”

  On this deserted stretch of road deep in the heart of Virginia horse country, it was easy to spot the headlights of the car that had been following them since Arlington. “Yeah, Tiny, I’m sure. It’s the only way.”

  “I’ll say some good words at your funeral,” the little man said, his eyes barely above the arc of the steering wheel. “We’re coming up on it now.”

  Mercer put on the helmet, cinching it tight beneath his chin. Ahead, the road curved sharply, the turn traced on its outside by a white picket fence belonging to one of the numerous Farquar County farms. Just out of view, Mercer knew there was a thick copse of pines within feet of the uncoiling road.

  Easing into the corner, Tiny used the emergency brake to avoid telltale brake lights. Mercer didn’t even take the time for a breath. He threw open the car’s door and allowed himself to be sucked out by the vehicle’s centrifugal force, landing hard on the macadam and tucking into a tight ball as his body began to roll. The darkness swallowed him as Tiny accelerated away, his car vanishing even before Mercer came to a stop. New scuffs marked his battered bomber jacket, and his shoulder ached from the first contact with the road. He scrambled into the woods, ducking into the underbrush as another car passed by. He caught a glimpse of two dark-complected men as the car continued in pursuit of Tiny’s Plymouth.