One of the Secret Service agents, obviously bored, handed him the satellite phone. The agents knew as well as Pitcock that protecting the vice president was less dangerous than Black Friday at a Victoria’s Secret outlet.
“What is it, Rita?”
“Mr. Vice President, excuse me for interrupting your important event, but I’ve just heard something that you need to know about.”
Pitcock sighed. Rita Sorenson was his chief of staff, but she was also the biggest gossip in D.C. If she heard something important, it wasn’t likely to be, say, a conversation between Russia and North Korea picked up by the NSA. It was usually about which senator was in bed with which lobbyist, or which congresswoman had had the fat vacuumed out of which part of her body. And Pitcock didn’t give a damn about any of that.
“I’m all ears, Rita,” Pitcock lied.
“Our upstanding Mr. President has a new squeeze—Yasmine Matthews, CEO of NutriAm.”
Pitcock could picture Rita’s gleeful grin, and he smiled himself. Maybe it hadn’t been such a dumb idea after all to hire a Desperate Housewife as his chief of staff.
14
ExCeL London, Aloft Hotel
Markus, or Mark, or whatever his name was, was taken completely by surprise. His vision clouded, he stumbled, and finally his body went limp. Tom had grabbed the Atlas agent inside the hangar as soon as he climbed out of the car. Mindful of his duty, Markus was intent on escorting Tom all the way to the plane. But he didn’t stand a chance: Tom’s iron chokehold quickly sent to the land of dreams.
The pilot had trotted down the steps of the Gulfstream to help Tom, and together they carried the unconscious man into the plane. “Can I ask what this is all about?” the baffled pilot asked.
“Better not. Help me get him undressed,” Tom said.
The pilot pulled off the man’s jacket while Tom went to work on his trousers.
“One thing I’ll say, Mr. Wagner: there’s never a dull moment with you,” the pilot said.
“Happy to oblige. Just don’t say a word to Ms. de Mey about how much fun we’re having, or I’ll be out of a job before I’ve even started.”
Tom pulled on the suit, clipped on the ID card and took a key card out of his jeans—the all-access card he’d stolen from Maierhofer earlier when he’d hugged him. He slipped it into the breast pocket of the jacket. They tied and gagged the unconscious man, carried him back outside and heaved his slack body into the trunk of the car. Tom got in and drove off.
He parked the car at the back of the hotel and made his way to an out-of-the-way back entrance to the curvaceous palace of blue glass where most of the meetings were taking place. He held Maierhofer’s key card to the card reader and with a buzz the door opened. Tom was inside. These security precautions are a joke, he thought as he made his way along a corridor toward the lobby.
The noise swelled as Tom entered the overflowing hotel lobby. He needed a better vantage point if he wanted to find Noah. He climbed the designer spiral staircase beside the self-check-in counter to the first floor. From there he had a good view over the entire foyer. He leaned casually on the glass balustrade, scanning the room. Nothing.
Slowly but surely, the hopelessness of what he was trying to achieve dawned on him. How was he supposed to find Noah among all these people? He was probably holed up in a hotel suite somewhere, or maybe sitting in a conference room. Maybe he’d already placed a bomb and left London altogether. Tom wondered again if he ought to try one more time to get Maierhofer on his side and use Atlas’s considerable resources. All of these thoughts shot through Tom’s head as his eyes flicked from one guest to the next.
Suddenly, an icy tremor ran down Tom’s back. He turned around and froze. Noah Pollock was standing twenty yards down a hallway, talking with a man. Tom did not recognize the second man, who had his back to him. Tom stared in disbelief. Seeing his former best friend without his wheelchair was very, very strange. Slowly, instinctively, Tom’s hand dropped to his hip, but he was not armed. Despite the milling crowd, Tom saw Noah hand the man a briefcase. Good. At least Tom was not too late. But what was in the case? A bomb? Or just a bribe? He had to get closer.
Cautiously, and as discreetly as possible, Tom edged toward the pair. He took out his phone to take a few photos for proof, but just as he clicked the shutter his iPhone was almost knocked out of his hand by a guest hurrying past. A sudden disturbance down in the lobby had drawn the curiosity of quite a few of the visitors, who began to crowd at the railing behind Tom to see what was going on.
“Get your hands off me! Let me go!” screamed a woman, lashing out with her feet as two security guards dragged her through the lobby. “I have to talk to the director-general. It’s a matter of life and death!”
Like everyone else, Tom had turned away for a moment, distracted by the fracas. But when he turned back, Noah and the man had disappeared.
“Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” Tom cursed, jamming his phone into his pocket and zigzagging through the crowd. At the end of the hallway, he looked left and right. Empty. Noah was nowhere to be seen. “Goddamnit!” Tom cried.
He chose a direction and had taken two steps when he saw an agent from his old unit looking meaningfully at him and speaking into the microphone on his wrist, his other hand already on the butt of his Glock. Tom spun the other way, but stopped again. From the other side, another Atlas man was heading his way, and a third strode toward him along the hallway he’d just run up. He was trapped.
He had to act fast. He backed up, slowly, not letting the three agents out of his field of view, until he was literally standing with his back against the wall. The men closed in cautiously. Their first priority seemed to be not to cause a disturbance. As Tom leaned against the wall, he felt something pressing into his back. Installed on the wall was a little red box with a switch inside it—that was the solution. Not as elegant as he might have wished, but certainly effective. Tom smashed in the glass panel on the front of the box and pressed the fire alarm.
Seconds later, chaos broke out. Visitors ran like headless chickens for the stairways and exits. The deafening alarm wailed on every floor of the hotel. Doors flew open and people came streaming out of the conference rooms. Tom calmly dropped to his knees, laced his fingers behind his head and let the agents restrain him. He put up no resistance.
“You’ve really done it this time, Wagner. Snatching Maierhofer’s key card was an idiot move,” one of the men said as he searched him for weapons, taking everything Tom had in his pockets.
“You’ll pay for that big time,” said one of the others, a nasty smile on his face.
“Maierhofer will get over it,” Tom said. He smiled. For the time being, he’d thrown a wrench in whatever plans Noah had, and all of the guests would get to safety.
15
François Cloutard’s suite, Kulibin Park Hotel, Nizhny Novgorod
“Don’t look at me like that. It’s not as if I shut myself in a convent after your father died.”
Theresia de Mey was standing in the bathroom in nothing but her underwear. She looked at her daughter with a mixture of guilt and annoyance, unsure how to react to the situation.
“Papa isn’t dead. He’s missing,” Hellen said, hurt.
Theresia de Mey’s face softened. She went over to her daughter and embraced her. “Hellen, how many times have I told you to accept things for what they are? You’re right, of course: we don’t know for certain that your father is dead. But he’s been missing for more than ten years.”
Theresia wanted to say more, but couldn’t. The whole subject was as difficult for her as it was for her daughter. Since Hellen’s father had disappeared, Theresia had never been able to fall in love with another man. And she feared it would be no different with Cloutard. But she swept aside her melancholy thoughts.
“We need to stop this. I have a right to a private life, too,” Theresia said, gathering her clothes and getting dressed. “Far more interesting for me is the fact that Tom is once again doing his own
thing, as I’ve just heard.”
Hellen swallowed. She could forget the cover story she’d been planning.
“Tom had some news about Noah and—”
Theresia raised her hand. “Not another word. I don’t know why you always defend him. Tom Wagner is selfish and irresponsible. He thinks about no one but himself. I’ll probably have to find a replacement for him, and soon. Our situation is too precarious to rely on him.”
“Too precarious?” Hellen asked with a frown.
“What your mother is trying to say is that UNESCO is considering cutting Blue Shield’s budget.”
Hellen glared angrily at Cloutard and ignored his answer.
“Maybe you’ve heard—the global economy is going through a recession,” Theresia said, her voice growing louder. “And cultural financing, like it or not, is the first to suffer. We need to find something to justify our existence to UNESCO . . . something like El Dorado.”
Hellen knew her mother. Once she got going, it was better to keep your mouth shut.
“And we can’t wait around until His Lordship Tom Wagner finally decides to do his damn job.”
“We will take care of it, Theresia,” said Cloutard. “You do not have to worry about a thing. Hellen and I are a good team, as we have shown many times already.”
That was before you jumped into bed with my mother, Hellen wanted to say. But for the sake of peace, she managed to hold her tongue.
“I assumed as much. You’re flying to Vienna today,” Theresia de Mey said, now fully dressed again. With her business outfit, her authority seemed to return.
“That . . . could be tricky,” Hellen replied, looking at the floor.
Cloutard and Hellen’s mother both knew instantly what she meant.
“You cannot be serious!” Theresia snorted. “Let me guess: Wagner took the Gulfstream to London.”
Hellen nodded.
“Quel connard,” Cloutard hissed, rolling his eyes.
“I’ll sort it out. Make sure you’re ready to leave. One way or another, this starts today,” said Theresia.
She had picked up her handbag and was tapping furiously on her phone as she went to the door. Hellen had no interest in being left alone with Cloutard just now and also left. She had to figure out how to deal with her mother having an affair with a crook.
Cloutard wanted to say something, but he did not get the chance. The door had already closed behind Hellen and Theresia. “Without Tom, this will not be so easy,” he said softly to himself. He could see his hopes going up in smoke once again. He had really wanted to be part of this team and, together with Tom and Hellen, to do at least a little good for UNESCO. For years he’d thought of no one but himself, after all. But maybe it had been stupid to rely on Tom. And maybe he himself, François Cloutard, wasn’t made for this team. Maybe he was no more than a crook, and never would be. He made a decision. He went to the safe, took out his cellphone, and looked up Isaac Hagen’s number. The former SAS man, who occasionally worked for AF, owed him a favor.
16
ExCeL London, receptionists’ break room
“Aren’t you supposed to read me my rights? What about a phone call? I want to talk to my lawyer. I have rights!” Tom shouted, laughing, as his former colleagues departed, slamming the door behind them and locking it. Tom turned around and looked into the face of a surprised young woman—the same woman who had caused the disturbance in the lobby, inadvertently making Tom lose sight of Noah.
“Do you do this?” she shouted over the still-wailing alarm, waving her hand in the air overhead. When Tom said yes, she nodded, impressed.
“I saw you earlier. You put on quite a show,” Tom shouted back as he rattled at the door handle.
“I’m a scientist with the Genesis Program. I was trying to warn the director-general about a new biological threat, but no one wants to believe me. What about you? Why all the fuss?”
“A biological threat? There’s a lot going on here. I came to warn the security team about a terrorist, a guy they’re looking for internationally. No one wants to listen to me either. That’s why all the fuss.” He also waved his hand overhead.
Just then, the alarm fell silent. Tom rubbed his ears with relief, then stepped toward the young woman.
“Wagner, Tom Wagner,” he said.
“Dr. Sienna Wilson,” the woman said, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“May I?”
Sienna nodded. Tom pulled up a chair and sat opposite her at the table.
“What do you think they’ll do with us?” Sienna asked.
“Us? You’ll probably get off with a warning. Me . . . hard to say this time.”
“This time? You do this a lot?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tom’s laugh died in his throat. “Lately I’ve practically been a magnet for morons and trouble.”
The door flew open and Maierhofer stalked in with two of his officers.
“Voilà,” said Tom, gesturing toward Maierhofer as if presenting a new car.
“You may leave,” Maierhofer barked at Sienna. “Don’t let me see you here again. Next time, I’ll hand you over to the local authorities. Have I made myself clear?”
Sienna nodded, and Maierhofer signaled one of his men to escort her outside. The officer took her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, and she did not resist as he led her to the door. “It was nice to meet you,” she said to Tom. “Good luck!”
“Oh, luck isn’t going to be much use to our dear Mr. Vahgner this time,” Maierhofer said. The second officer shut the door behind Sienna and her escort, then turned and planted himself in front of it.
“Vahgner, Vahgner, Vahgner,” said Maierhofer in a chillingly calm voice, pacing back and forth in front of Tom, who was still sitting at the table.
Tom raised a finger and shrugged innocently. “It’s ‘Wagner’ . . .”
Every bit of color drained from Tom’s face as Maierhofer slammed both fists onto the table.
“Have you completely lost your mind? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? Can you begin to imagine the consequences of your actions? Count yourself lucky the G20 doesn’t meet till tomorrow morning and most of the heads of state are still in their embassies. If you’d pulled this stunt tomorrow, I’d have had you summarily shot and they wouldn’t have fished your body out of the Thames for days.”
Tom was angry at himself. Tomorrow. Of course. The summit was taking place the next day. Idiot, idiot, idiot, he thought. That was why Noah was here now. Tom hadn’t prevented anything. The briefcase was probably only the money for the assassin or something like that.
“Captain, listen to me. Noah was here. I saw him just now. He gave a man—”
But Maierhofer cut him off.
“Cut the crap. You’ve gone too far this time.”
“Captain Maierhofer. Noah’s here. And that means that AF is here.”
“A . . . F . . .” Maierhofer pronounced the letters individually, dragging them out. “Absolute Freedom. You know, nobody has ever been able to demonstrate to me that this all-powerful terrorist organization even exists. Wagner, this isn’t a Bond film. Noah isn’t Blofeld,” Maierhofer growled.
“I couldn’t agree more, Captain. Noah isn’t Blofeld. He’s more like Dr. No. Because of the prosthetic hands . . . uh, legs, in his case. Also, he’s not the leader of the organization,” Tom said.
“Shut the hell up,” Maierhofer seethed.
“I meant what I said earlier. I want to call someone. If you arrest me, I have the right to contact an attorney.”
“All right, Wagner.” Maierhofer turned and snapped his fingers. “Give me his phone.”
The man handed the phone he’d confiscated when Tom was taken into custody to Maierhofer.
“Think hard about who you’re going to call. I think you might have used up all your favors with the chancellor.”
Maierhofer dangled the phone in front of Tom’s face, but he was startled when it suddenly began to vibrate. Maierhofer looked at the
screen, which read “POTUS.”
“What’s POTUS?” Maierhofer asked.
Tom’s face instantly brightened. My ticket out of here, he thought, holding out his hand for the phone. “President of the United States,” he said with a grin.
The phone continued to vibrate. “Don’t mess with me, Wagner,” Maierhofer snarled. Tom snatched the phone from his hand and took the call. Briefly, he explained his predicament. Then he ended the call and laid the phone on the table.
“Do you seriously expect me to believe you just spoke with the U.S. president? Wagner, you’re even crazier than I thought.”
“You don’t have to believe me. Just wait a few minutes and we’ll see who’s crazy.” Tom put his feet up on the table, folded his hands behind his head and grinned at Maierhofer.
“What’s going to happen in the next few minutes?” Maierhofer asked.
“Well, the president’s going to be speaking at the WHO event tomorrow, isn’t he? Which means that half a dozen Secret Service guys from his advance security team are already here. Correct me if I’m wrong. You must have met them already, right?” Maierhofer’s expression darkened. “A phone call from George and one of his men will be at that door any second.” Tom used the president’s first name to rile Maierhofer.
“I’ve had enough. Wagner, you’re officially under arrest. Get him out of my sight.” Maierhofer nodded to the officer by the door, who immediately came and dragged Tom to his feet.
“Oh, by the way,” Tom said as the officer snapped handcuffs around his wrists. “If you’re looking for Markus or Mark or whatever his name is, he’s taking a nap in the trunk of his car. It’s parked out back of the hotel.”
Maierhofer opened the door, but was startled to find a man in a black suit standing outside, holding an ID card for Maierhofer’s to read.
“U.S. Secret Service,” he said.
The Golden Path (A Tom Wagner Adventure Book 4) Page 5
