by Phil Lollar
The Blackgaard Chronicles: Cross-Check
© 2019 Focus on the Family. All rights reserved.
Illustrations © 2019 Focus on the Family
A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188
Adventures in Odyssey, Focus on the Family, and their accompanying logos and designs are federally registered trademarks of Focus on the Family, 8605 Explorer Drive, Colorado Springs, CO 80920. The Blackgaard Chronicles is a trademark of Focus on the Family.
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of Focus on the Family.
This book is based on Adventures in Odyssey audio drama episodes “The Nemesis, Part 1” and “The Nemesis, Part 2”—original scripts by Phil Lollar.
Novelization by Phil Lollar
Editor: Larry Weeden
Cover design by Jacob Isom
Cover illustration by Gary Locke
For Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data for this title, visit: http://www.loc.gov/help/contract-general.html.
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ISBN 978-1-58997-981-9
ISBN 978-1-68428-200-5 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-68428-201-2 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-68428-199-2 (Apple)
Build: 2019-05-16 15:32:39 EPUB 3.0
For
Hal Smith
and
Walker Edmiston
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Preview of Book Four
Don’t miss Opening Moves and Pawn’s Play, books 1 and 2 in The Blackgaard Chronicles book series. Available from better bookstores everywhere and at www.WhitsEnd.org/Store.
The Blackgaard Chronicles are based on the popular Adventures in Odyssey (AIO) audio drama series. Learn more at www.aioclub.org, including how to get access to the complete library of AIO episodes, exclusive AIO radio dramas, daily devotions, and much more.
Chapter One
Dr. Regis Blackgaard exploded with fury. “Expelled, Richard?” he shouted. “You got expelled from Campbell College over a lousy grade-changing scheme!”
The speakerphone on Philip Glossman’s desk distorted with the volume of the outburst. Richard Maxwell winced at the sound and stared across the desk at Glossman, who leaned back in his office chair, arms crossed over his potbelly, smiling blissfully at the verbal lashing Maxwell was receiving.
“I thought you were smart—even clever! But apparently you don’t even have any common sense! Why would you do something so idiotic?”
Maxwell shrugged. “Hey, you cut off my extra income from the retirement home, remember?”
“You’ve jeopardized this operation for a little ‘extra income’?”
“I didn’t jeopardize—”
“You could have been arrested! You could have attracted police attention—”
“But I wasn’t and I didn’t, thanks to Whittaker. I knew he’d convince them to not get the police involved.” Maxwell smirked. “He’s a goody-two-shoes like the rest of them—the biggest one of all, in fact. He’s all about giving people second chances.”
Blackgaard’s voice turned deadly. “Well, I am not about giving people second chances, Richard.”
Maxwell suppressed the chill that went down his spine. He opened his mouth to respond when Glossman leaned forward and cut in. “Of course, the worst part in all of this is that you didn’t get Applesauce,” Glossman said. “You didn’t even try. And now, you won’t be able to.” He leaned back and smiled once again.
You’re just loving this, aren’t you, councilman? Maxwell thought. Well, see how much you love this. . . . He sniffed and said aloud, “Actually, I did try.”
Glossman’s smile evaporated. The speakerphone sat silent. Maxwell tapped on it and said, “Hello? Did we lose you there, Doc?”
“You tried to download Applesauce?”
“Yep.”
“And? What happened?”
Maxwell shrugged again. “I couldn’t do it from that computer.”
Glossman leaned forward and put his hands on the desk. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Back at the warehouse, you said you could do it on that computer!”
“Maybe,” Maxwell retorted. “I said maybe I could do it. Turns out Burglemeister may be a coot, but he’s no dope. He knows his stuff. He wrote in a subroutine that notifies him when the system is being used for purposes other than those for which it was designed. I had to cover my tracks, so I hid what I did under what Meltsner was doing. That’s how Burglemeister nailed him for changing the grades back.”
“But you still got caught,” Glossman sneered.
“Yeah, well, I thought I had better control over little Nicky,” Maxwell replied. “Who knew? The point is I couldn’t have used that computer. I’m gonna need a dedicated computer with its own access and a secure, private place to operate it from.” He stared at Glossman. “Assuming, that is, that we’ll actually get such a place. How’s the Gower’s Landing shopping complex acquisition coming, Glossy? Mansfield Computers still givin’ you fits?”
Glossman’s face reddened and contorted with rage. He popped out of his chair and started for Maxwell. “You slimy little sneak!” he roared. “I oughta—”
“Sit down, Philip!” Blackgaard commanded.
Glossman stopped and gaped at the speakerphone, then slowly sank back into his chair.
Maxwell was impressed. How did Blackgaard know Glossman had jumped up? Did he have a video camera in this office? Maxwell restrained himself from glancing around the room as Blackgaard continued.
“He’s right,” Blackgaard said. “We still don’t have the building secured. And now, apparently, we’re going to need it more than ever.”
Glossman tugged at his collar. “I’m meeting with Webster again tomorrow, sir,” he said nervously. “We’ll do everything we can.”
Maxwell chuckled and said, “So far that hasn’t been much.” Glossman started to rise again, but Maxwell put up his hands. “Sorry—cheap shot. Listen, boys, I think I can help you out here.”
Glossman scowled. “You think—”
“Quiet, Philip,” Blackgaard ordered. “Do go on, Richard.”
Maxwell grinned and winked at Glossman, whose face reddened again. Maxwell rose from his chair and paced the room. “Before I came here today, I stopped by Odyssey Retirement Home.”
“Stealing from them again?” sneered Glossman.
Maxwell chuckled. “Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted to say hi to some of the old folks there—particularly one named Mary Hooper. Sad case, really. Her family put her in the home when her husband died. They tried putting her in several homes, actually, but she got kicked out of them all, so they ended up at ORH. Easy to see why: She’s not a very nice person. She’s grouchy, snippy, and downright mean most of the time—even to kids like my sister’s friend Donna. I wouldn’t want her living with me, either. She sort of made up with her daughter a few weeks back, but I can tell you firsthand that Mary Hooper does not like her son-in-law. At. A
ll.”
“I’m getting bored, Richard,” Blackgaard said.
Maxwell slid back into his chair. “While I was at the home, I checked the records, Doc. Found out two very interesting things. Y’know, they really need to improve their security. I mean, it is private information, after all—”
“The point, Richard!”
Maxwell smiled. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but he loved testing Blackgaard’s patience. It was so easy. “First, ORH has quite a few code violations—city code violations.”
Glossman sat up.
Maxwell’s smile broadened, and he leaned in toward the speakerphone. “And second: Mary Hooper’s son-in-law . . . is Bob Mansfield . . . owner of Mansfield Computers.”
There was a pause. Glossman’s eyes darted alternately between the phone and Maxwell. When a deep chuckle wafted through the speaker, the councilman smirked unctuously in spite of himself.
“Very good, Richard,” Blackgaard intoned. “A recovery from your blunder at the college.”
Maxwell thought about sneering at the phone, but then he remembered the hidden camera and instead just nodded graciously and smiled.
Blackgaard went on: “You know what to do with this information, Philip?”
“I can think of one or two things, yes,” Glossman replied, still smirking.
“Richard, get Philip the specifics on what you will need computer-wise. If this is handled properly, we can kill two birds with one stone.”
Maxwell couldn’t help twisting the knife. “That’s a big if,” he said. “Need any help with that, Glossy?”
Glossman’s smirk faded. “I’ll handle it on my own, thanks.”
Blackgaard’s voice turned dark. “Make sure you do, Philip.”
Chapter Two
Sometimes after a problem has stymied you for a long time, when a solution presents itself, the speed with which the problem is solved can be mindboggling. Glossman marveled at the rapidity with which the takeover of the Mansfield Computers property happened during the next few days. All it took was a phone call, and a whirlwind of nefarious activity spun up in Odyssey, though almost none of the participants knew its roots—at least not completely—nor that the whirlwind was aimed squarely at Bob Mansfield.
Glossman’s call was to a colleague of his, a city inspector named Noah Ewell—who just happened to be the brother-in-law of Holden Webster of Webster Development. Ewell then paid a surprise visit to the Odyssey Retirement Home.
After a haphazard examination of the facility and a cursory perusal of its records, Ewell instantly proclaimed the home in violation of several ordinances and codes. He ordered Molly Helprin, ORH’s director, to bring the facility up to city standards immediately or it would have to be shut down.
When Helprin asked if there were any way to avoid that, Ewell said she could delay the shutdown by first calling the family of a specific ORH resident—one Mary Hooper.
Helprin called Hooper’s daughter, Barbara Mansfield, and informed her of the pending shutdown, and that Barbara would have to come and get Mary. Upon completing that conversation, Barbara naturally and immediately called her husband, Bob, at his computer store.
The whirlwind had turned into a tornado and had plopped down right in Bob Mansfield’s office.
He hung up the phone on his desk and sighed heavily. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. His mother-in-law was getting kicked out of yet another facility—which meant she would have to move in with them.
He remembered the last time that happened. It was nonstop fighting. His mother-in-law never missed an opportunity to put him down, going so far as dredging up hot-button issues from ten years ago. And, he had to admit, he often gave as good as he got, though he tried not to.
In the end, it was simply too much. They had decided that for the stability of their own home, they needed to put her in a facility. But she proved just as mean and hateful in all of them, and one by one, they refused to keep her.
Barbara and he finally found Odyssey Retirement Home, which assured them that the only way it would turn her away was if it closed down, a situation they were further assured was next to impossible. And now, the impossible was apparently very possible.
Mansfield removed his horned-rimmed glasses, set them on his desk, and leaned his lanky frame back in his office chair, which squeaked faintly at the move. He squinched his eyes, pinched the bridge of his thin nose where his glasses normally sat, moved his bony hand up through his thick, brown hair and down his neck, giving his nape a brief massage. He couldn’t bear having Mary back in his home again, he just couldn’t!
Even though Mary and Barbara had supposedly made up recently—Barbara said they’d actually had a warm and wonderful moment together—he was skeptical it would last long. Especially if they were forced to live in the same house. Mary was just too set in her ways. And she’d never liked him. No, it just wouldn’t do.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his office door. He sat up and called out, “Come in.” The door opened to reveal someone he didn’t want to see almost as much as he didn’t want to see his mother-in-law. Mansfield exhaled heavily, dropped his chin to his chest, and growled, “What do you want, Webster?”
Holden Webster oozed his squat, oily, rotund form into the room. His fleshy face was all smiles. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in and see if you’d changed your mind about my offer,” he said.
“I really don’t need this today, Webster,” Mansfield replied.
Webster moved toward the desk, still smiling. “Oh, c’mon now! I bet you need it more than you realize!”
Mansfield looked at him incredulously. “Are you thick or something? For the last time, no! I’m not interested in moving!”
Webster’s face turned solemn. “Are you sure? It really is a sweet deal. Buying out your lease, moving you to a new location—all expenses paid. You really have nothing to lose.”
“I’ve already lost something,” Mansfield snapped. “My patience!”
Webster chuckled loudly. “Good one! But seriously—this deal won’t last forever.”
“Is that a promise?”
Webster raised his chubby hands. “I mean it! Once it’s off the table, it’s O-F-F off!”
Mansfield mimicked his movements. “Then let it be O-F-F off, and you O-U-T out!” He jabbed his finger toward the door, then turned his attention to a stack of papers on his desk.
Webster lowered his hands, smiled shrewdly, and shook his head slightly, jiggling his multiple chins. “Okay. Have it your way.” He walked back to the door, put his hand on the knob, and then said, “Oh, one more thing: How’s your mother-in-law?”
Mansfield stopped shuffling papers, looked up, and blinked. “What?”
Webster still faced the door. “I think you heard me.”
“What do you know about my mother-in-law?”
Webster turned around, a look of mock concern on his face. “Just that she may need new living arrangements very soon.”
A chill went down Mansfield’s spine. “How did you . . .”
Webster walked back and sank his bulk into a chair in front of the desk. “My brother-in-law is a code inspector for the city. He might’ve mentioned it, y’know, in passing.”
Mansfield’s mind was starting to spin. “Your brother-in-law mentioned my mother-in-law to you?”
“Well, not her specifically, but he did say that because of code violations, all those poor folks at the home would have to find new living arrangements.” Webster shook his head, jiggling his chins again. “Sad.”
“How . . . how did you even know my mother-in-law lived there? Have you been spying on me or something?”
Webster winced. “Spying is such a creepy word . . . I prefer researching.”
Mansfield felt his face getting hot, and he clenched his fists. “Research about what? What’s going on here? Why is what happens to my mother-in-law any of your business?”
“Because I’m your friend,” Webster said since
rely. “And I want to help you.”
“Friend?” Mansfield scoffed. “Since when? And help me how?”
The portly man leaned forward, the chair moaning under his girth, and rested his beefy forearm on the desk. “Suppose I told you that it’s possible for your mother-in-law to stay where she is?” he said evenly. “Would that be worth something to you?”
“Worth something? What do you mean?”
Webster smirked. “Now who’s being thick?”
Mansfield’s eyes narrowed. “This building? You want me to trade my mother-in-law’s living arrangements . . . for this building?”
Webster just smiled.
Mansfield’s jaw hardened. “Get out of my office,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Now, now, no need for hostility—”
Mansfield bolted out of his chair and slammed his hands on his desk. “You’re trying to extort me!”
“Not extort, help—”
“Get out of my office before I throw you out!”
Webster hoisted himself up from the chair. “Okay, okay, take it easy!” He made his way to the door, opened it, and stepped through. “When you’re ready, you know how to get in touch with me.”
“Out!”
The door closed. Mansfield shook with fury. The gall! The unmitigated gall! That blackmailer would not take his building from him! If that meant his mother-in-law had to move in with him again—as unpleasant a prospect as that was—then so be it! Maybe her reconciliation with Barbara would make things different this time.
He picked up the phone and called his wife. “Barbara? It’s Bob. Get a room ready. We’re bringing your mother home.”
But even the stiffest of resolve can crumble in the face of reality. The following day, Bob, Barbara, and their two kids went to pick up Mary Hooper from Odyssey Retirement Home. Within ten minutes of their arrival, Mary had insulted Bob three times, screamed at Barbara, and made both of her grandchildren run from the room crying.
After comforting his family, Bob went to the phone in the lobby and dialed Webster’s number. The oily voice answered, “Webster Development.”
