Reciprosity Read online

  From the front of the structure it was easy to see what had happened. Explosives had been strapped to the twelve posts, about ten feet above the floor. A simultaneous detonation had snapped them like giant matchsticks, bringing the top two floors and roof down like a house of cards.

  “I guess the entrance to the cellar is beneath all that?” I asked no one in particular.

  Virna and her brother confirmed my assessment. Then Virna added, “We can get to it through one of the winery buildings.”

  Gino was already climbing over the precarious rubble, shoving timbers and furniture aside. He was near the right side wall where the kitchen would have been when he signaled for us to join him. I told Virna and Leo to stand watch and Giovani and I started climbing carefully over the debris, rifles slung over our backs to free up our hands.

  When we reached him Gino motioned for us to be quiet and listen. We froze in place, balancing on a sixteen-inch diameter cedar beam. We didn’t hear anything at first, then I did. It sounded like whimpering. The hallmark of the once grand kitchen was a massive stone fireplace and cook’s oven in the corner of the building. The lower half of the chimney still stood and the cavernous firebox was slightly visible beneath a shallow pile of debris that was being supported by a center work island.

  The three of us began lifting and moving whatever we could out of the way. After ten dusty sweaty minutes we had cleared enough to see the head of a small boy crouched in the firebox. His face was covered in grime and dust. When his eyes opened my heart leapt.

  Twenty minutes later he was laying in the back of the helicopter, head cradled in Virna’s lap. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “This is Arturo. He is Cook’s son—that’s what everyone calls her.” Arturo was drinking from a water bottle and chewing on a protein bar from the chopper’s emergency stores. “He’s ten, I think.” The young boy held up two fingers to indicate he was eleven.

  While the others were continuing to search for survivors I climbed in beside Virna and sat on the floor.

  “Arturo, my name is Luke. This is Virna. She is Uncle Vito’s niece. Do you understand?”

  He wasn’t looking at me. Virna said, “He’s deaf, but reads lips and signs like a pro.”

  “Deaf? How did you...”

  “My best friend in school was deaf. She taught me how to sign.”

  “And I thought I knew everything about you.”

  She grinned, “You don’t know the half, mister. Move in front of him so he can see you face, and speak Italian.”

  I moved, looked at the boy and said, “Arturo. Puoi dirci cosa è successo?”

  He started to whimper again. Then he carefully placed his water bottle and energy bar in his lap and started to sign.

  Virna translated. “We were in the kitchen. Momma held her head and fell down. I tried to help her. I saw men come through the door. I hid in the fireplace behind the screen.”

  “What time? Do you know?”

  “Prima colazione.”

  Breakfast. Seven or eight in the morning. Six hours ago. “And the explosions?” I asked.

  Arturo picked up his bottle and protein bar, curled into a ball in Virna’s lap and covered his ears. She said, “That’s enough, Luke. Go help the others. I’ll stay here and try to learn more when he’s ready.”

  We didn’t find any further signs of life in the main house, so we walked dow the winding path that led to the winery facilities in the valley.

  We found twenty-two bodies scattered about on the pavement and began examining them for wounds and possible survivors. They were all dead. Not a single bullet wound. Only agony on their faces. A number had dried blood in their ears. We discovered eighteen more bodies in the various wine processing buildings. All of them also appeared to have died in agony—with dried blood in the ears. There was no sign of Vittorio.

  When we joined up after our search, Giovani said, “What the hell happened here, Luke? These poor people just fell where they stood. Not a shot fired.”

  I had an idea which I didn’t like, but I shared it with the others. “Adams, the man who kidnapped me and Virna in California, said they used a targeted ultrasonics weapon called SANDMAN. It can knock out everyone in a pre-determined area, up to a square-mile. No permanent damage as long as it’s dialed to the lowest setting.” I pointed to the bodies. “I think this must be what happens when it’s cranked up to the max. I’ve read about sound cannons and LRAD devices that’ve been deployed by police to control rioters. They’ve even been used by the navy against pirates. They mostly affect the inner ear and eardrum, but some can actually damage internal organs. This SANDMAN can apparently kill. It explains why little Arturo survived. There must be something unique about his deafness.”

  Giovani nodded, “Yes. The boy was born without ears or eardrums. Something called anotia-microtia. That’s why he grows his hair long, to hide the deformity. Great kid. Never play chess with him. He always beats Don Vittorio.”

  “Speaking of Vittorio,” I said.

  Giovani shrugged. “Forty bodies. That accounts for about two-thirds of the employees that work here on a daily basis. In harvest season the numbers would be double that, not counting the field hands and drivers. Let’s hope the rest are in the tunnels or safe room.”

  I asked, “Are the radios still not working?”

  Giovani tapped the radio on his belt. “Static. I checked a landline. It was dead. Cell signal also.”

  “EMP?”

  “Could be. All of the equipment has shut down. Even the emergency backups are down. Or maybe your SANDMAN weapon knocked them out.”

  I shook my head. “That wouldn’t explain why your radio isn’t working now. How do we get into the tunnels?”

  17

  The winery was a massive operation with warehouses, crushing and processing buildings, bottling lines, laboratories, aging facilities—all servicing vineyards that covered nearly 20,000 acres. Giovani led us into the largest structure on the lot. A 90,000 square-foot, multi-level, gravity flow processing and aging building designed to compliment the timber-frame main house. He led us through an entrance on the lower tier, down a long side gallery to a doorway with a sign that read Trattamento Delle Acque Reflue—Sewage Treatment.

  I asked him, “How do you know so much about this operation? I thought you were a field operative for the Creed.”

  He smiled. “I worked here as a young boy. Worked my way up to security chief. Then Don Vittorio asked me if I’d like to do something more adventurous. Here I am.” He opened the door. “And here we are. Hundred meters down this tunnel are the old caverns the original winery used to store the aging barrels. No sewage,” he chuckled.

  I asked Gino to head back to Virna and keep an eye on her and the boy. He agreed and Leo and I followed Giovani into the square concrete tunnel. Maybe eight feet on a side. The tunnel was well lit and very cool—and very damp. Water was seeping in through cracks in the walls and ceiling, leaving large puddles on the floor. Halfway down the tunnel we climbed six steps to a second level and continued on. It only takes around thirty-seconds at a brisk pace to walk the length of a football field. It took us forty-four seconds. But who’s counting. Well, I confess, I was. Natural habit when my life might be in danger.

  A steel safety door greeted us at the end. Giovani punched in a code on a keypad where the door handle would normally be. That was followed by a buzz and a series of clicks. The door swung inwards and a gust of air rushed past us as the pressure in both spaces equalized.

  The cavern was huge, half as long as our tunnel and maybe eighty-feet wide, with a series of granite arches supporting the ceiling and walls. The space was well lit by modern overhead LED fixtures. A few dozen ancient wine barrels stood against the left wall. Further along that wall I could see stacks of medical supplies and shelves stocked with every emergency food type one could imagine. About two-dozen bunk-beds lined the right-hand wall. The center of the cavern was filled with tables and chairs, couches, TV stands—and
people.

  Vittorio stepped out from the crowd and approached us. He was covered in dust. His cloths were tattered. Blood was caked in his white hair. He held out his hands to greet us. They were battered and bruised, like he’d been digging bare-handed.

  “Giovani, Lucious, Leonardo,” he cried out our full names. “Thank God for small miracles.”

  We held him by his hands, his shoulders and did a sort of group bear hug.

  I said to Leo, “Fetch Virna and Gino and the boy. Bring them down here.” He nodded and ran back through the safety door. I asked Vittorio, “How many survived?”

  His smile turned to a scowl. “Seventeen and me. How many outside?”

  Giovani shook his head. “We found forty, Don Vittorio. All dead.”

  Vittorio was still holding our hands as he sank to his knees and started weeping and praying. Giovani detached himself and walked toward the seventeen survivors.

  I stood there, helpless—my anger had long ago reached the do not disturb if you value your life stage, which is normally when I would go on the war path. I knew that would be coming soon enough because Vittorio, who was an atheist, rarely prayed unless he was preparing to do exactly what I would do—honor the Creed, or as Adams would have said, seek reciprocity. You harm me, I harm you. You kill one of mine, I kill two of yours. Or maybe all of yours, like in Mexico, or the Maldives. This time I was pretty certain my path would lead me to Scotland and an ex president.

  A few minutes past before Vittorio stood and began explaining what happened from his point of view. “That tower on my new multi-level processing building, the one you came through, is not just petty ornamentation. It’s a functioning air traffic control tower. Later this year I planned on putting in a runway on the south side of the winery. Anyway, the radar detected five helicopters approaching from the northwest. Seconds later all the electronics went out. CCTV, phones, lights, computers, everything. I barely had time to get most of the family down here to safety. This cavern was modified to shield against everything but a direct nuclear blast. Even so, the entire cavern shook when something exploded above us. I went up the stairs and opened the safety door. It swings inward. All this debris and dust came tumbling through. Knocked me down. Damn near buried me. My eldest grandson, Petra, pulled me free. We attempted to dig through the debris pile to find survivors but it was impossible. It was Petra who held me back when I tried to exit through the tunnel to get help.”

  “He was right to do so,” I replied, “otherwise we would have found your body out there with the others.”

  We could hear someone running down the tunnel toward us, then Leo came through the safety door, followed closely by Virna and Gino carrying the young deaf child. Virna joined me and Vittorio while the two men took Arturo to join Giovani and the rest of the survivors.

  Virna caught her breath and said, “Arturo remembered some details. His mother had fallen behind the large kitchen work table. He was kneeling beside her when he saw the legs and feet of two men come through the doorway from the dining hall. They stopped and looked around. From under the table Arturo was able to peek up and see their faces—and read the lips of the one who was speaking Italian. The man said, ‘No one’s here. Let’s blow this place and report back to The Elms.’ That’s all. He crawled into the fire box behind the screen and waited for someone to help. Arturo said the whole house shook like an earthquake, then everything started falling down in front of him. He pulled his shirt up over his head to keep the dust out of his mouth.”

  “Christ! The poor lad,” I said.

  Vittorio was mumbling quietly. Then he looked at me and growled, “Kill them all, Luke. Whatever it takes. But bring me the one in charge. Bring me President Christoph.”

  I agreed Christoph was probably behind this, given what happened on the flight, what the two flight attendants told me, and what Virna told me about the Guardian Eagles and Helena Kincaid’s ordeal. But I needed more to go on, and I had a pretty good idea where to start.

  I said, “Do we have any contacts in Las Vegas?”

  Vittorio smiled. “You planning on doing some digging in the desert?”

  “After I have a heart-to-heart with that hotel owner.”

  Virna broke in, “You mean the one who arranged the coverup of that poor girl Christoph killed in that first video Adams released?”

  “Yea. I imagine he knows where a lot of bodies are buried, and a few secrets about Christoph. A man like that doesn’t get where he is without knowing everything there is to know about one’s partners.”

  Vittorio said, “Well, you better not waist anymore of our time. The news this morning reported that the FBI had already interviewed him once via teleconference. It may only be a day or two before he’s indicted. I’ll have a jet waiting for you in Turin. Leo will fly you there now.”

  “And then he will fly Virna to Lugano,” I added. “Send Giovani with her for security.”

  Vittorio raised a concerned eyebrow.

  I explained, “We put a contingency plan in action before we left San Francisco. She needs to be in Lugano with Alice for the plan to work.”

  I silently hoped that Kate and Ray and his team had accomplished their tasks.

  * * *

  A thousand miles to the north, former President Christoph was standing outside his castle watching delivery men unload his personal belongings from his previous home, the White House. President Clay had been gracious enough to overnight them to his ancestral home. There were crates of first edition manuscripts and books. A prized diorama of hand-crafted miniature soldiers fighting at Gettysburg. A gold-framed mirror and favorite armchair from his study. And boxes of cloths, jewelry, watches and shoes. He directed his majordomo, Liam York, to show the delivery men which rooms each item should be taken to.

  Christoph was not the kind of man to dwell on his past deeds, immoral, criminal or otherwise. He was above that sort of self-examination. In fact, his only regret was being tossed out of office before his term was up and his primary task completed. But he would still fulfill his destiny. That had just been assured. The Creed was dead. Genesis was his to control.

  DAY SIX

  18

  The sun was just rising as the GCE jet ferrying me to Las Vegas landed at McCarran International Airport. We taxied to the GCE freight terminal standing alongside the FedEx and UPS terminals. Ray, Mark and Della were waiting for me as I walked down the steps to the tarmac. We did the quick hug and handshake routine, then I followed them into a GCE locker room. My toolkit was resting on the floor and a new tan business suit was hanging against a locker. White shirt, brown loafers and belt completed the ensemble. Della always did have a great eye for style. I changed while they briefed me on the status of our plan. I was sitting on a bench, pulling on socks and shoes, when Mark sat down beside me with his iPad Pro.

  “This is the video Kate Novak acquired with authorization from her friend in the Oval Office. It’s from one of three ET-11 surveilance satellites her company built before her husband launched Looking Glass. They are in geosynchronous orbit above Area 51. They basically keep watch for intruders—and little green men looking to get their spacecraft back.”

  We all laughed at that and it felt good to laugh.

  “This is all really cool classified stuff,” Mark continued. “They triangulate and capture all movement in a five-thousand square-mile area, at oblique angles. Day and night. They can distinguish between man and animal, and the various cameras on board can image in great detail down to a license plate. According to Kate, given time they can even do facial recognition. This video was recorded at the precise coordinates my contact gave me, and within the time window we’re interested in.”

  I didn’t ask how he knew the location, he simply assured me that this area of desert has a population equal to that of an NFL roster.

  “In fact, insiders refer to it as the gridiron.”

  Della said, “So, the Mob has no idea they might be film stars?”

  “No. This stuff is ne
ver shared with local authorities. And the President has no idea Kate shared this with us.”

  Ray injected, “It gets wiped once we finish our little sting.” Then he handed me a new cell phone. “Della put Virna’s number in the favorites list.”

  I thumbed through the list, which include my three teammates, and tapped Virna’s name. It was early evening in Lugano and she must have been expecting my call because she answered on the first ring.

  “Luke!”

  “Is this the lady of the house?”

  “Damn right. God, it’s good to hear your voice.”

  “And you, sweetheart. Are you settling in okay?”

  “You bet. Just finished measuring for new drapes.”

  We both laughed, and again it felt good.

  “Is Alice giving you any trouble?”

  “Not a bit. Leaving her in stand-bye mode was a good move. Glad I thought of it.” Virna chuckled at her lame humor. “Only problem was, she had to give me a complete, minute-by-minute rundown on all the activity in and around the house. Including a detailed report on a family of mice living in the cellar. She even showed me video. We have a large family of squirrels running helter-skelter on the roof tops. We have a nightly parade of badgers on the terrace, deer grazing where we landed in the helicopter, and a wonderful red fox that stares at me through the patio doors. It’s all so wonderful. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

  Home. “Me too. What about our eye-in-the-sky?”

  “On-line and tuned in to the broadcast. Looking to see you on TV soon.”

  “Make sure you get my good side.” We both laughed again. Then I could hear her sniffling. “Hey, babe. Don’t cry. You know I play it safe.”