Reciprosity Read online

  Standing at the center of the vast openness was a chamber. Maybe twelve feet on a side and reaching to the ceiling some twenty feet above us.

  We cautiously approached, and the closer we drew, the more concerned I became. The chamber was made of some sort of transparent material. I tapped it with the butt of my 9mm. It felt like glass and the thud announced it was very thick. There were no visible seams to indicate an opening.

  In the center of the chamber was a simple wooden desk. On it stood an aluminum Apple Mac Pro, a large screen display, a wireless keyboard and a mouse. There were AC registers in the floor and ceiling to circulate cool air. On the screen was a giant clock—ticking down. It read 1:03:04. One hour three minutes and four seconds—to what? In unison, we checked our watches. The countdown was set for midnight on the east coast.

  I turned to my associates who were as confused as me. “See if you can find a way in, or maybe get on the roof. There has to be access somewhere. Maybe you can disable the satellite dish.”

  “What are you going to do?” Virna asked.

  “See if I can find some answers in the administration building. Robert Burns was right. The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

  I ran back to the door we had entered and slipped out into darkness. I crouched until my vision adjusted. The admin building was to my left, across another twenty yards of open ground. It looked clear and I dashed across the space to the north-east corner of the building. There was a window at the mid-point of the side wall and light was streaming through. Staying low, I scurried through the tall grass until I was under the sill. I waited and listened, then stood and peeked over the sill. The room looked empty.

  I tried the window. It was locked. I moved to the far west corner and peered around. There was a back door, bathed in floodlight. I scanned the near and far distances. I spotted two sets of guards patrolling the north and west fence line, about the length of a football field away. Barely visible. Two more guards were walking toward me. They were passing the rear of the barracks. I waited and watched them turn between the barracks and the admin building—toward the server building and Virna and Mark.

  I had no idea where my partners were but I wasn’t going to risk them being seen. I stepped around the corner, into the light and said, “Hey, who is that,” loud enough for the two guards to hear but not the whole camp.

  I counted to three, then turned and slowly walked back toward my corner, hoping they would see me but mistake me for one of the other guards.

  One of them said, “What is it?”

  I motioned over my shoulder for them to join me, then I pointed around the corner, as If I’d seen something. I heard them trotting up behind me. They couldn’t see that I was holding my 9mm Phantom against my chest. I ducked around the corner and said, “Hurry, men.”

  I spun around just as they came around the corner. We were three paces apart. No time for fair play. I shot them both in the head, just in case they wore body armor. The forward momentum landed them at my feet, face down in the tall grass, completely hidden in the darkness.

  Silencers are not silent. The suppressed gas still makes a sound as it chases the bullet through the baffles in the tube. The result is more of a loud spit when the gas exits. I crouched and looked around, waiting for a response. The guards by the fence were still walking.

  Satisfied, I hurried to the rear entrance. It was unlocked. I ducked inside—and crashed into a towering monster of a man. Nearly seven feet tall. Apparently he had heard our voices or the shots. Whichever, we were both momentarily surprised—two guards running in opposite directions. Converging. I’m pretty fast on my feet when it comes to assessing my survive-or-die options.

  “Did you hear that?” I shouted. His animal brain took a beat to long to assess the situation. While he was adding one plus one equals enemy at the gates, I shot him in the knee, lowered my shoulder and rammed into his gut. The giant toppled backward and crashed against a table, expelling a lot of hot air and garlic into my face. Stuff went flying. I tried to stand but he was clutching the back of my uniform. A moment later, I went flying—over him and the wrecked desk. I landed upside-down against a cubicle wall.

  I’m still a pretty good shot, even after landing on my head. I didn’t attempt to right myself—no time. I just aimed at the upside-down towering giant as he came toward me, dragging his wounded leg. I shot him in the other knee and he sank to the floor screaming curses that would have even embarrassed Virna.

  Kneeling on the floor, blood oozing from his wounds, the guy was still unfazed as he lifted a metal stool with one hand in an attempt to crush my skull. I shot him between the eyes. It took a full three count for the arm holding the chair aloft to realize there was no longer anyone at home in his dead brain, then the whole mass collapsed in a heap.

  It took a moment for my brain to register other sounds. Gunshots and shouting voices. Virna and Mark were in trouble. I rolled over, jumped up and ran toward the front entrance.

  It was time to make some noise. I holstered my Phantom and pulled my magnum—not a moment too soon. Two guards came bursting through the door, MAC-10s leveled. The sound of the 44 echoed through the building as my first target exited the way he came in. The second man was a little smarter. He dove behind a cubicle wall while unleashing fifty rounds into the ceiling. I guesstimated his position and fired two rounds through the flimsy wall. I heard a grunt before the MAC-10 hit the floor.

  By my count, that was nine guards eliminated if you count the two waiting patiently back at our hotel. Mark had estimated twenty-four. I could still hear gunshots at the south end of the complex, so I started jogging in that direction. I have great peripheral vision and spotted three guards running eastward between the admin and barracks buildings—toward me. I dropped to one knee and fired off my remaining three rounds. Bing, bang, boom. An even dozen down.

  I resumed my jog while reloading. I considered switching back to my silenced 9mm, but it didn’t have near the stopping power of the 44. Two men came dashing out of the barracks in their skivvies without their MAC-10s. I stopped and aimed at them. They stopped and stared at me. I don’t like shooting unarmed men. Granted, the giant was an exception.

  I shouted. “Run as fast as you can to the gate and don’t stop until you get to Captain Crunch. Or die where you stand.” They ran.

  Fourteen.

  I was near the end of the server building when my heart stopped. I could see three figures running for the idling helicopter. Then I realized two of them were dragging the third who was kicking and shouting. Virna!

  I was too far away for a clean shot and I couldn’t risk hitting a fuel tank. Two more gunshots drew my attention eastward. I saw Mark running after Virna. I saw two men chasing after Mark. Decision made. I took steady aim, tracked my first target and fired. He fell sideways. Mark heard the sound, spun around and shot the other pursuer.

  Sixteen.

  By the time Mark and I had recovered the Sikorsky S-92 was lifting off. I joined him and we stood together as the helicopter disappeared over the eastern treetops. I gave Mark a quick rundown on my adventure.

  He in turn relayed his. “We waisted time trying to get into that chamber, so we looked for a roof access like you suggested. We found a ladder on the south end. It was floodlit. I told Virna to stay in the shadows by the corner to cover me. I gave her the MAC-10 and a quick lesson, then I hurried up the ladder before I could be spotted. I ran into two guards almost immediately. We scuffled. I shot one and threw the other off the roof. When I looked down, two men had grabbed Virna. You know the rest. I’m sorry, Luke.”

  I gave him one of those manly shoulder squeezes. “Did you see Adams?”

  “Yea. He was one of the men dragging Virna to the helicopter. I slid down the ladder and gave chase. Adams shouted over his shoulder as they ran. He said, see you at city hall. Is that what I think it means?”

  I nodded. Mark new the meaning because he was there, sitting beside me when the trial began. It was where A
dams’ sister died—in a San Francisco courtroom facing city hall.

  Mark checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes. Virna thinks there might be a signal booster on the roof. She said the dish wouldn’t be needed if all Adams intended was to stream video over the internet. She said that’s the most efficient way to share a message without the media editorializing first. It would be near impossible to stop before the damage was done. She also admitted that she would have no way of knowing what sort of satellite system Adams may be connected to, or if he even had the know-how to use such a system. What do you want to do, Luke? The clock is ticking.”

  I looked over his shoulder to the ladder leading to the roof. Then Mark’s question was answered. Three Land Rovers were speeding down the road toward the gate. Reinforcements!

  “Run, Mark!” We dashed for the Land Rover we arrived in. He climbed into the driver’s seat while I took the other and reloaded. “Drive to the north side of the power station and wait until they’re in the complex and dismounted. No lights.”

  Mark reversed at full speed out of the vehicle shed and backed all the way north to the darkness, did a Rockford spin and shot forward to the temporary shield of the power station. We waited and listened. The roar of the engines drew nearer. I sensed two were stopping short of the helipad. Then bright headlights were stabbing through the darkness to the east—the direction we needed to go.

  The third Land Rover came roaring around the corner, thirty feet in front of us, kicking up a a cloud of dust. We ducked down. It sped past, hardly taking note of an empty vehicle. Mark waited until it was a blur in his side view mirror, then he gunned the idling machine and we shot forward.

  We were through the gate and on the highway in less than ten seconds.

  DAY FOUR

  10

  The midnight video was the first episode of a daytime drama that hit the internet like a shockwave. The ratings were off the charts. The reviews were damming. The phones starting ringing in Washington almost immediately. Tokyo calling. Tel Aviv calling. Paris calling. London calling. The Post and Times and the networks were calling. At a little after one in the morning, President Christoph’s aid woke him up. Ten minutes later he was apoplectic as he watched himself on TV.

  The image was stark, like a tawdry B-movie. A young blonde woman was sprawled face-up on a disheveled bed. Her lifeless head and arms hung limply over the edge. Her long blonde hair brushed the carpeted floor. She was naked and very dead. This was obvious to the millions of viewers gazing at her empty blue eyes and tear-stained eyeliner that had run and dried at the outer corners. The camera angle appeared to be from behind and above a dressing table scattered with toiletries. The scene captured the entire room like a neoclassical painting by Henry Fuseli': the bed, the woman, and three men on the opposite side of the room. Christoph was clearly visible sitting in a chair absently twisting a ring on his left index finger. The two men were standing to his right. One was a famous hotel and casino owner. The other was the well known Chairman of The Endowment, William Richard Laenker—now deceased. Christoph was wearing a bathrobe. He looked shaken. Hair disheveled. Tears staining his red face. The men were wearing expensive suits. They were calm. The owner was speaking.

  “Don’t worry about it, Bulldog. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  Laenker said, “Not to step on your slogan, but this gets buried in the desert.”

  The owner responded, “That’s exactly what I mean. My men will handle it in the usual fashion.”

  Christoph stammered. “I, I, I don’t understand how this happened. My detail can’t find out... my wife... oh, God.”

  “It’s being taken care of, Dom,” said Laenker.

  Across the bottom of the video a crawler stated:

  Resign in 24 hours, Mr. President,

  or the full recording will be released.

  Next episode in three hours. Stay tuned.

  Below that, the date, time, and map coordinates were clearly visible. The video progress bar had stopped approximately two-thirds of the way through a two-hour recording, indicating previous unseen footage. Probably the murder act itself. And the cleanup afterwards.

  * * *

  Mark and I were sitting on the bed in his motel room watching the first video on CNN. We were also watching the fallout from news outlets around the world on his laptop.

  Mark asked, “Have you seen this before? Didn’t you and Virna have access to all the Looking Glass files before it was shut down? I know this wasn’t included in the files you sent Ray. The ones he took to the White House that convinced the president to cover up what you did in the Maldives. The VPs death, and such.”

  I was thinking about Virna and missed the first part of Mark’s question. He repeated his first question.

  “No. We never saw this recording,” I answered. “There were hundreds, perhaps a thousand files. I’m pretty certain Vittorio Cassine hasn’t seen it either, and he has—had—the complete record on the servers in Turin. If he had seen this it would already be in the public domain and a new president would be sitting in the Oval Office.”

  Mark said, “You know there’s going to be more. You didn’t see it, but when Virna and I were looking for a way into that glass chamber the clock on the display changed. At the thirty minute mark the clock moved into the upper right corner and seven smaller windows popped up. Each had a clock counting down. The next one is scheduled for three o'clock in the morning on the east coast. They’re all scheduled for three hour intervals. The last one will air three hours before the deadline Adams gave the president.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do to stop it,” I said. “And I don’t think we should even try. Our focus has to be on rescuing Virna.”

  “I agree.”

  “Let’s change out of these uniforms, pack up and head west.”

  Mark again agreed, then added, “Ray called in a favor from an old navy buddy and arranged for me to tag along with a small group of brass flying in from Alameda for some sort of conference at the Naval Support Facility in Dahlgren. Only fifteen minutes away. They’re scheduled to fly back in,” he looked at his watch, “six hours. There’s a hotel near the base entrance. We can grab some sleep. Can’t stay here. Too hot.”

  “Good plan. I’ll meet you at your rental in ten.”

  Back in my room I changed cloths, packed our bags, stacked them by the door, then hurried into the bathroom. Our two captives looked at me with apprehension.

  I said, “I’m gonna let you go. Two rules. Don’t try anything and stay in this room for twenty minutes after I leave.” It would take them that long to get the blood circulating and free themselves. I cut the ties binding their hands and backed away. “One last thing. Most of your buddies are dead. If you want to live a full life I suggest you find a new line of work.”

  They stared at each other, then nodded agreement.

  I closed the bathroom door, grabbed our bags and my toolkit and met Mark outside. The Overwatch Land Rover was parked at the rear of the motel building where it wouldn’t be discovered for some time. We tossed all our gear in the backseat of Mark’s Ford and drove off. My mind was restless and I couldn’t stop thinking about what Adams planned for Virna. Why he wanted to meet in San Francisco. I reasoned that what ever it was, Virna would be safe until then.

  * * *

  Virna was restless as well. The Hawker 400 private jet they were on was old, noisy and cold. She was curled up in a rear seat with a blanket and pillow Adams had supplied. The eight-seat, twin-turbofan aircraft felt cramped even though there was only her and her two kidnappers in the cabin. She cursed herself for letting Adams get the drop on her. She never even got the chance to use her Walther PPK Luke gave her.

  Adams was sitting opposite her in a facing seat. He was examining her Walther like it was a toy, pointing it this way and that way and saying ‘bang’ before returning to his examination of the craftsmanship. “Do you know what this is, Virna...may I call you Virna? We should be on a first name basis since
we’ve come to know each other so intimately.”

  Virna was too tired to argue. “Sure, John. Why not.”

  John Adams was a handsome man, she had to admit. After all, she wasn’t brain dead. He was of similar size and age to Luke, but shorter by a couple of inches. The scar wasn’t distracting, but his blue eyes didn’t seem to go with his jet-black hair. Then it hit her.

  “Why do you die your hair? I bet you’re better looking as a natural blonde—like me.” She instantly regretted that last bit because he had seen her naked and already knew that to be the case. She was expecting him to leer at her or lick his lips like old Hollywood villains. He didn’t.

  “Very observant, Virna,” he said. “Your’e one of the brightest women I have ever encountered. It’s easy to understand why Luke loves you. It will be interesting to learn just how deeply that love runs.”

  That got Virna’s attention. “What do you mean?”

  “Later. For now, let’s examine this weapon.” He handed it to Virna who accepted it with considerable trepidation. “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded. Did Luke tell you anything about this particular Walther?”

  She studied it, “He said it was his wife’s.”

  “Interesting. Here’s a little trivia for you. When they were filming the first James Bond film, Dr. No, there was a scene where ‘M’ insists Bond replace his Beretta for a new Walther PPK—something about the Beretta jamming on his last mission. So the day before the scene was to be shot, Bernard Lee, the actor who played ‘M’, learned that the prop gun wasn’t going to be available, so he took his own unregistered PPK to the set for the scene. He had removed the firing pin for safety. At the end of the day he returned his Walther to its wooden case. He later gifted the gun to a friend as a payment for a favor. A few years ago, that Walther PPK was put up for auction. The starting bid was set at forty-thousand dollars. The auction was called off after the authenticity was challenged. Here’s the interesting thing about the gun you’re holding, the one Luke gave you. The serial number matches that of the Walther PPK Bernard Lee took to the set. I know that to be the case because the prop master made a note of it in his log. A log I own.”