Reciprosity Read online

“Yea.”

  “Be there at nine tonight. Room 214.”

  “Our shift don’t end til nine.”

  “Make it ten, but no later. She has a busy schedule.”

  “Great. What’s your name?”

  “Jules Winnfield.” What! I loved Pulp Fiction.

  What’s your’s and your buddies?”

  “I’m Jacob, his name is Ronnie.”

  “See you at ten, Jacob.”

  I climbed back in the Jeep and drove toward Cobb Island and Captain Crunch crab bar.

  Virna twisted in her seat to face me. “Now you’re pimping me out for a hundred measly bucks?” She laughed. “I love it. How’d I do? I didn’t overplay it did I?”

  I reached over and caressed her knee. “Oscar for actress in a leading role.”

  She beamed. “I guess they’re our way in tonight.”

  “For Mark and me. You get to play babysitter.”

  She pouted. “I suppose I could go ahead and collect that one-seventy-five you sold me for.”

  “Is sex all you think about?”

  “You know it is. That’s why you’re marrying me.”

  “I’m marrying you for your money and your brain, and because you’re the only woman twenty years younger than me who will have me. So stop it.”

  “Stop thinking about sex?’

  God, I hate these conversations. I never win. “No. Stop being so damn wonderful.”

  That was definitely the right thing to say. Virna unsnapped her belt, crawled over the console, wrapped her arms around my neck and stuck her tongue in my mouth. I nearly drove off the road. It’s very difficult thinking about a vast criminal conspiracy when you’re being molested.

  We found Mark standing beside his Ford in the empty parking lot. Following a warm reunion he briefed us on his reconnaissance, showing us the photos he took from multiple locations around the perimeter between four and eight-thirty in the morning. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the guard patrols. No specific times when they would patrol a given area. It seemed very lax, like the guard Virna and I met at the gate.

  Mark identified the buildings. The largest one with the cooling towers and satellite dish array was the obvious server farm. The first building to its left was a barracks—lots of men coming and going. Possibly a cafeteria inside as well. The next was administration based on the fact that a sign over the door announced ADMINISTRATION. Mark even had a clear shot of John Adams walking in. The two smaller building on the right were also pretty obvious. The tractor was seen exiting the nearest building at 6:00 o'clock in the morning The other building, through the process of elimination, and because the roof was covered in solar panels, had to be the power station.

  “How many men?” I asked.

  “I estimate two dozen. Hard to know for certain since they were coming and going at random times. I counted a maximum of sixteen patrolling the perimeter. One at the front gate. Probably a handful of tech-types maintaining the servers and whatnot. The tractor driver, and Mr. Adams you just identified.”

  “Weapons?”

  “The perimeter guards all carry MAC-10s. Most of the other men I’ve seen either have .45s or carry a Bulldog 12 Gauge.”

  I shook my head. “Odd armament for a rent-an-army, especially for a well funded operation like Overwatch.”

  “Their lack of routine and choice of weapons aren’t the only odd things about this operation, Luke. The way you described the men that intercepted your boat on Lake Lugano, their precision and weapons, sounds like the type of Overwatch operation they advertise. This group acts more like a local gang dressed up like real soldiers. And even that’s a stretch. I haven’t seen one man wearing a tactical vest or body armor.”

  I considered that when we were at the gate. My impression was that they were trying to blend in with the region of farmers. To not look so overtly military. I shared my observation with Mark.

  “Yea. I thought about that so I asked around while I was waiting for you. A couple of locals fishing from the docks said they’ve never ever encountered anyone from that facility. When have you ever heard of an organization like Overwatch not integrating themselves into the community—eating at local restaurants, drinking at bars?”

  I agreed. “The guard at the gate told us they’d only set up camp a month ago, and that nothing worked. Latrines backed up. Phones not working.” Then it hit me. “Wait a minute, that guard at the gate said he was ex-army, yet he called the latrine a toilet. I know it’s a small thing, but...”

  “They might be militia,” Virna offered. “That guard had a tattoo on the back of his hand. A praying angel. In ancient Greece and Rome it was the symbol for Adrasteia or Nemesis—the goddess of divine retribution and revenge. I didn’t think of it at the time but John Adams had the same tattoo on his left bicep. I noticed it when I treated his wounds. The name Adrasteia means she who cannot be escaped.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. Virna was rarely wrong in her analysis, and Adams certainly fit the profile of a man on the trail of revenge. “Virna, what was it he said on the boat in Lugano? After he said ‘I’m not going to kill you because a long time ago in Mexico, you saved my sister’.”

  “He said, we—you and he—are even now. Then he said I won’t be so charitable with the others.”

  I repeated the words I won’t be so charitable with the others, to see how they felt in my animal brain. That thing that lives in all of us—that helps us recognize good from evil, that tells us when to be afraid—agreed with its smarter half. “Virna, I think you’re right, sweetheart. I think Adams has plans for the remaining members of the Endowment. The people he believes are responsible for his sister’s death. The others.”

  Mark said, “Who are the others? I thought you killed the last of them in the Maldives.”

  “Well, to be fair, I didn’t know I had killed the VP until his phone rang. And Dax killed Laenker. They were the last players identified in that group photo you found.”

  Virna had to be the spoilsport. “Not exactly, fellas. If we’re talking about the same photo you showed me, what about the two empty chairs at that table?”

  Mark and I stared at each other for a heartbeat, then he pulled his oversized iPhone from a jacket pocket and started tapping and sliding his fingers. When he was done he held the phone so that Virna and I could see the image.

  “I keep a digital record of all my cases in the cloud.”

  I looked up at the cloudless sky.

  Virna punched me in the side. “No time to be funny, Luke.”

  The photo was the same as I remembered. What neither Mark or I recalled were the two empty chairs at the table. Not one, or three, or four, but two.”

  Virna smiled at our lack of observation. I’d be smiling too if I had Virna’s photographic memory. Then she rubbed salt into our wounds. “Remember Alice’s live feed from the presidents private study? What if Thomas Novak, one of the founding members of The Endowment was spying on all the others? Maybe that’s why he was killed by Adams’ sister, Madelyn Hedrin, on orders from her adopted father...”

  “William Bull Hedrin, Secretary of Defense,” Mark concluded.

  Then Virna said what we were all thinking. “Adams is planning to kill the president.”

  I didn’t care for the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. He was a bellicose, self-centered, would-be autocrat, and if he were a private citizen I would have no sympathy if someone took a pot-shot. But he is the president.

  I summed up our meeting. “We have to find out what Adam’s is planning. Search his computer or those servers.” Maybe ask him personally. I quickly told Mark about the two guards planning to pay for the pleasure of Miss Hooker’s company tonight. Virna smiled. Mark liked the plan. Then Virna put the kibosh on my plan.

  “I have to go with you.”

  “No. We discussed this,” I said with a little too much force. “Plus, we will only have the two uniforms.”

  “Stick me in the trunk,” Virna countered just
as forcefully. “I’m the only one here who knows how to hack a computer or the servers, and I need to be on site to do it. Who knows, maybe Adams is planning on bringing down the grid, or blowing someone else's building up. Or sharing the Looking Glass files with the—Oh merda! Luke! Mark! That’s it! He’s going to broadcast all of the dirty little secrets in those recordings to the world. He could topple governments. Cause riots. Crash the stock market. Ruin the president’s golf game.”

  Now that was funny.

  Mark added, just as glibly, “Maybe we should just let him do it. This administration could do with a good enema.”

  Also funny and also not helpful.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Okay, Virna, I know you’re right. We can’t run the risk of innocent people being harmed just because some avenger wants justice for his sister. Mark, when does Captain Crunch open? I think we should have a good meal, then return to the motel and grab some shuteye. We’ll need all our stamina tonight.”

  Mark looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes. I’m starved.”

  * * *

  Jacob and Ronnie were right on time, pulling their Land Rover into a parking space right in front of our room. Mark was waiting in his room next door for my signal.

  Virna was propped up in bed, sheets strategically positioned to show a bare leg, shoulders, arms and a hint of breast. I was peeking through the closed curtains to the right of the door, making certain our horny bozos were alone and not armed. I was armed—harnessed weapons under my jacket.

  Our guests looked like they changed into clean, neatly pressed uniforms. Maybe they hoped to take Virna dancing after the party. Jacob knocked on the door.

  I opened it and ushered them in quickly. Then I slammed the door shut with a loud thud—my signal to Mark that our uniforms and ride had arrived. “Get your asses in here. Don’t want some nosey neighbor thinking we’re having a party.” Songs always pop into my head at the oddest times. Now, all I could hear was Shania singing Party for Two. I smiled and said, “Party for two over there,” and waved my arm to indicate the lovely Miss Pieralisi laying naked in the bed.

  They took three steps toward her. Virna threw the sheet aside. They gaped at her sensational body—then their eyes refocused and saw the Walther PPK, she was resting on her stomach, pointed at them. There was that moment of hesitation just before realization sets in. By then it was too late. I pressed both barrels of my handguns against the backs of their heads.

  “If you want to enjoy the rest of your lives, on your knees now. Hands behind your backs.”

  There is always one idiot who insists on not obeying orders. Ronnie spun around. I took one step back while simultaneously kicking him in his deflating manhood. He bent over in agony and fell to his knees. Jacob was a good boy and after seeing Ronnie gasping for air, dropped to his knees and placed his hands behind his back.

  Virna climbed out of bed, dressed right in front of them and said, “Sorry, fellas. It would never have worked. You simply don’t measure up. Get the drift?” She walked over to the far wall and banged on it three times.

  Ten minutes later Mark and I had our naked partygoers gagged and tightly secured in the bathroom with heavy-duty plastic ties around their ankles and hands behind their backs. As an added precaution, I rolled them over on their backs, asshole to asshole, legs in the air like the cycling exercise and tied their knees together with an electrical chord.

  Mark and I changed into the army fatigue-style uniforms. Virna’s denim jumpsuit was dark enough to be near invisible in low light. I pulled my shoulder harness back on and holstered my .44 magnum and my silenced 9mm CZ75 Phantom. Mark wore his service .45 in a shoulder holster and stuffed plastic ties and a roll of duct tape in his pockets just in case we trip over a guard. Virna stuffed her Walther in a hip pocket. We locked the bathroom door, hung a do-not-disturb sign on the outer door, and climbed into the Overwatch Land Rover.

  “Anyone need to use the john before we go,” I said to lighten the mood. “We have a plan. Now it’s just a matter of time before it blows up in our faces.” I thought that was quite witty.

  Virna wasn’t amused. “Not funny, Luke.”

  Mark quoted Robert Burns. “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

  Virna still wasn’t amused as we sped down the highway. “You boys laugh it up. It’s bloody uncomfortable back here.” She was laying between the front and rear seats with a blanket pulled over her. “It smells like someone barfed back here.”

  “Hush now. We’re getting close to the facility.”

  “Fine. One last thing before I pass out. What do we do if they catch us.”

  Mark and I both said, “Start shooting.”

  9

  A single guard stood at the gate. He apparently recognized the Land Rover because he opened the gate without giving us a second glance. His lack of attention was reassuring. I drove on toward the cluster of buildings. The server building was lit up like a Christmas tree. The other four buildings had simple floodlights over the entrances, casting elliptical cones of light over the adjacent landscape. The areas between the outbuildings stood in darkness, with an occasional light streaming through a window. A Sikorsky S-92 blue and white helicopter was idling on the helipad.

  The entire complex of buildings ran north and south. Two smaller buildings on the west, two on the east, and the server building in the center. The helipad was flooded with light, turning it and the long server building into a giant exclamation point. I remembered from Mark’s briefing that the first building on the east was where the tractor was kept. There was no one in sight and when I pulled around to the entrance I could see three other Land Rovers parked alongside the tractor. The entire front of the building was open so I pulled in and parked beside the others. I counted to ten before switching off the ignition.

  “Okay. Everyone out. Stay low and move to the rear of the building. Use the vehicles for cover.”

  I climbed down and opened the door for Virna. She hopped out and I followed her until we found Mark crouched behind the tractor. He was motioning to a rear doorway. He cracked it open. It was dark beyond, where the building cast a shadow in the dimmer, moonless light. The larger server building in the center and the smaller administration building at the north-west position were our objectives.

  We exited the vehicle shed through the rear door and slid along the outer wall to the north. Mark was in the lead, then Virna and me. We hadn’t taken ten paces when Mark signaled to hit the deck. The grass was tall, unkempt like the rest of the facility and the guards. Two of those unkempt guards came around the corner and nearly tripped over Mark. He reached up, grabbed the first guard by the waistband and jerked him down. While he was subduing the first man, I scampered forward and made a flying body block into the second man before he could raise his Mac-10. The blow knocked the wind out of him and I extinguished the remainder with a non-fatal blow to his larynx.

  I checked on Mark. He was binding his man with ties and wrapping duct tape around his mouth and head. When he was done he tossed the roll and some ties to me. I told him and Virna to drag his heavier captive into the vehicle shed. Then I hoisted my man over a shoulder and carried him through the door. We concealed the guards beneath the tractor where they wouldn’t be discovered until morning.

  Back outside we picked up the Mac-10s and I took the lead. At the corner I crouched and looked around. The area between the east buildings was clear. We ran across to the building we figured was the power station. Crouched again in the tall grass, backs against the concrete wall, we waited and listened. The vibrating hum from a generator was distinct.

  “Definitely the power station,” said Mark.

  I nodded agreement and crept on to the next corner at the north end. Another survey of the ground toward the north-west. It was open with tall grass and a few scattered silver maple trees. In the far distance I could just make out two men walking along the perimeter fence line. I cursed myself for not bringing my night-vision binocular. I signal
ed for Mark and Virna to note the patrolling guards, then I led them around the corner and along the north-face wall to the next corner. I was thankful the CCTV didn’t work—according to Jacob.

  There were no guards at the north end of the sever building, and none in sight to the south. “Let’s go. Stay low,” I whispered.

  We covered the twenty yards of open territory and again paused in the grass, our backs against the north wall of the server building. Listening. Not a sound except the faint hum of the generator. We found a door near the north-west corner. It was your basic safety door with a traditional pin and tumbler lock. It was locked.

  Mark moved forward and produced a lock pick set and a small device about the size of a cell phone. He held a button down on the side and ran the face of the device around the doorframe. “What?” he whispered. “Every respectable PI carries them. I don’t detect any electrical circuit so I think it’s safe.” He unlocked the door in record time and slowly opened it a crack and peeked inside. A shaft of blue light escaped, casting a weird glow on his face. He closed the door and turned to Virna and me. “How big a server farm did you anticipate?”

  We looked at Virna. She shrugged and said, “Depends on a number of factors. Total load on the servers, the operating system and software, applications, type and number of files and databases, the number of users, frequency of access, file sizes, security tools, whether the system is static, dynamic or both.” I winked at mark as Virna continued her dissertation. “Our GCE farm in Turin housed nearly a hundred servers with varying capacities and loads, but it was servicing a worldwide delivery service, millions of users, not to mention the security aspects. The archive of Looking Glass recordings resided on three dedicated servers. I configured a fourth to store any new data from those last two sources.” She finally stopped when she saw us smiling. “Why are you guys making faces? Mark, is it massive? Are there lots of servers?”

  “You’ve never seen anything like this,” Mark said as he opened the door and we hurried through.

  Crouching in the corner we allowed our eyes to adjust to the bright blue light. The interior of the building was cavernous, nearly twice the size of a basketball court. Half as wide as it was long—and eerily silent. What we saw, or more accurately what we didn’t see, was not what we expected. The space was nearly empty. No rows of server racks. No network of cables.