3 Lies (35 page)

“Then we should tell them to release the hostages.”

He softened his posture. “If I thought they would do it without question, son, I would. But they’ve been under too long. They wouldn’t trust those instructions. I sure as hell wouldn’t. If they’re smart, they’ll suspect the one we send for a meet.”

“He’s right, Clint.”

“We don’t even know when or if these guys will show. But if they do, Bryant and I will have the tactical experts on hand to get your lady off safely. It’s her best shot.”

Clint sat at the desk and hovered over his computer. “Alright. Let’s get this sent.”

Merlin had said little during the day. Clint thought he would’ve headed home once the authorities were involved. Merlin said he wanted to keep an eye on things. Clint figured things meant him. Clint was glad to have a comrade at his back.

“Read the last draft again,” Doug said.

“Zuni. Meet at abandoned pier N42° 31’ 04” and W 70° 50’ 49” immediately. Do not disembark. Two agents will board upon arrival. Final instructions then. Babbage.”

“Send it.” Chester opened a suitcase. It contained several automatic pistols. “We need to go in armed. They’ll expect it.” He took out a Sig Sauer P228 9 mm, dropped the magazine, checked the chamber, and handed it to Doug butt-first.

“I’ll have snipers crawling all over those coordinates. By the time the ship shows up, they’ll be in position and invisible.”

Binard did pushups on the floor while they waited for Salif to join them in the main salon. “We have new instructions.” He said.

Jaman put a foot on the coffee table and leaned forward. “Perhaps these instructions will make more sense than shooting at people in broad daylight.”

Binard’s eyes flashed hot as he rose. “It seems we finally agree.”

“This is a regrettable business.” Amir laughed. “You two in agreement. I do not think it bodes well for the day.”

“Everything went wrong.” Binard turned to see Salif coming from the galley end of the ship. His voice trailed to a whisper. “We were fortunate to escape.”

Salif greeted him on the stairs with orders. “Prep the ship for travel.”

Amir asked, “Where are we going?”

Salif sat on a stool with a wireless keyboard and mouse in his lap. The main monitor displayed a nautical chart of the eastern seaboard. He zoomed to a tighter view.

“About ninety-five kilometers south-southwest of our current position.” He tapped the screen. “Marblehead, Massachusetts.”

Amir stepped over to the monitor and sat on the other stool. “Why are we going there?”

“We have orders.”

He tired of Salif’s egocentric leadership. At his hand, the team had endured unnecessary danger. They deserved a complete answer. “Why are we going there?”

Salif lifted a chin his direction and squared his stool toward his. They were equal in size and strength. Amir placed his hands upon his knees.

Jaman took a step toward them. “Why are we going?”

Binard stood rigid. He started to say something but stepped back from the group after a glance his direction from Salif.

Salif gave a slight shake of his head. Any strength in his alliance with the omega dog had diluted to a whimper. “We have orders to meet two agents at an abandoned pier.”

“What agents?” Amir wondered if it might be any of the men from earlier in the mission. They should be long gone by now.

“I do not know.”

“But is this wise?” Binard reasserted himself into the discussion. “This was not part of the original plan.” The morning’s failure had loosened his tongue.

Salif measured his words. “I was not told what agents. I tried to reach the controller for more information but did not get through. Regardless, we have clear, precise orders. We will follow them.”

“Do you think the mission will be concluded then?” Jaman looked tired.

After ten weeks of planning and execution, they all were.

“It is possible. The message said we will receive our final instructions then.” Salif swiveled his stool back to the monitor. “In the meantime, Jaman, plot a course.” He handed Jaman a piece of paper with the coordinates.

“Maybe the controller will be one of the agents to meet us. You would recognize the voice, Salif.” Amir amused himself with the comment. He, too, would recognize the controller’s voice.

“Yes, by voice, but I also met the controller three years ago. I know Babbage by face.”

By 2000 hours, nighttime had swept away the last crumbs of skylight. The ocean waters massaged the Marblehead shore in darkness, the promised moon over an hour away from showing a full face. They watched for any sign as they continued their wait for the Hatteras.

Clint had assured Chester he would stay at the hotel. Actually, Chester threatened to have him arrested if he didn’t. Instead, Merlin and Clint waited in the car over a mile from the dock while Doug and Chester prepared for battle. Merlin kept vigil with a pair of binoculars in a constant sweep of the watery horizon. They couldn’t see the pier but had a clear view of the channel, and the ship could only approach from one direction.

They’d sent the text message for the ship to come—like a homing signal—but they had no way of knowing if it reached the Hatteras. Even with positive contact, there was no guarantee when the ship would arrive. Could be minutes, hours, days. The ship was likely still in the general area, but when discussing an ocean, close didn’t count.

Destroyed during a squall, the abandoned pier originally enjoyed the commerce of tourists and fisherman alike. Around it stood the skeletons of a fishery, a cannery, and a sundry of defunct seaside attractions. Several thickets of white pine and black birch dotted the landscape along with decayed warehouses that once serviced both commercial fishers and pleasure craft. Plenty of places for a sniper to lie in wait.

Clint’s laptop glowed as he examined the unauthorized CatSat transmissions sent by Todd. He decrypted a set of instructions from a transmission two months ago. It appeared fairly routine. The instructions targeted a specific type of equipment. He crosschecked the model number referenced in the transmission against a list of equipment known to contain CatSat chips.

South Korean Joint Air-to-Surface Standoff Missiles.

CatSat already updated the JASSM class missiles for the South Korean Air Force. Why would Todd hide transmissions to change the programming on these missiles? His mind spun through a series of possible scenarios, but the facts wouldn’t fit.

What did the changes do to the missiles? Clint needed the programming analyzed. The possibilities unnerved him. An error in targeting? Tactical delay in firing? On-site detonation? Those outcomes would benefit a customer Todd would want to hide: North Korea.

Clint willed his imagination to slow down. He clipped the code into an encrypted email and sent it to Avi Kalush for analysis. He had to understand the exact changes made to the missiles before taking this scenario any further.

But if it were true, Todd would be seriously concerned about the Supreme Court encryption case,
U.S. v. Nedal Electronics.
If the authorities were able to decrypt any of these older transmissions, they would arrest Todd Westerfield for treason. With the deaths of agents—perhaps even Beth—they could add multiple charges of murder.

And what was the Supreme Court doing about the kidnappings? Where was the dogged investigation to find out the real reason for this travesty? Tradition. Justice. Honor. Trust. All the dictums of public expectation worn as another robe for the photo shoot. Platitudes that merely castrated their ability to move a corpulent posterior off the damn bench and do something. Each justice on The United States Supreme Court had living, breathing, love-making skin in this game, and none of them, not one, brought Beth closer to home.

It reminded Clint of the statue in Harvard Square. John Harvard. Founder of the University, in 1638. But the year was wrong. He wasn’t the founder. And the sculptor had no idea what Harvard really looked like.

But there it was. The Statue of the Three Lies. Three lies carved in stone.

Like his marriage to Paige, once diamond-solid, now even a baby couldn’t keep it from crumbling to dust. Todd, his friend, partner, brother, loveable cad—was he now a treacherous turncoat? And Abe Melinger, the man of shrinking character. Yet here in the middle of danger, who stood at the shoulder with Clint? He trusted Merlin, the down-and-nearly-out Portsmouth pirate, over the Supreme Court’s Chief Justice. What a world.

“I think she’s coming mate.” Merlin said, “Have a look.”

Clint’s hands rattled as he took the binoculars. He let his strained vision settle. A ship motored toward the channel about two miles out near Bakers Island. Too soon to be certain. At least with these lenses.

“Have you seen any snipers?” Clint handed back the binoculars.

“I’ve searched around all the building tops. No glints of steel that I can detect. But there are lots of places to hide around here.”

Another ten minutes passed. It was the Hatteras. Heading straight for the pier with Beth on board. Chester had a medical chopper standing by to evacuate her to safety, comfort, and relief. But it was now a week since her last dialysis session and maybe too late to save her.

“The ship is slowing down. Maybe—maybe this is it.” Maxine worried over the small patch of floor. There wasn’t enough room for her to pace.

As if in answer, the ship slowed further, moving in another direction.

“I think they’re going to park this thing,” Vonda said. “Are we ready?”

She and Maxine had cast lots. Maxine lost. “I can do this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have to. They’re going to kill us anyway. We all know it.”

Beth lay close to the door, at the edge of the mattress with her eyes closed. Emmy slept against the farthest wall, the motion of the ship lulling her under.

“I’m sorry I can’t help,” Beth said.

The engine noises confirmed that the ship had stopped.

“Let’s do it.” Vonda bent down over Beth. Then the clamor began. Maxine banged on the door. Vonda stomped and hit the ceiling with her hands. They planned to keep this up until they got some attention.

Salif stood at the helm. “What is it?”

“The women are in hysterics,” Binard said, “thrashing about their room.”

“Find out what they want and get back here. I want everyone on hand when we receive our visitors.”

~

Black-Mask opened the door amid women screaming. “Stop it.” He waved his gun at Maxine. “Move.”

Vonda must’ve confirmed that he was alone this time. No one kept his company outside the door. She broke out crying.

“What do you want?”

“We—we think she’s dead.”

“Dead?” His voice quivered when he said it.

Even if he planned to kill Beth, apparently letting her die brought him no joy.

“She hasn’t moved for hours.” Maxine backed away from Beth. “We want her out of here.”

“I checked for breathing, but she’s not moving at all.” Vonda covered her face.

His eyes searched her still form. He holstered his weapon and leaned over her body until his face nearly came to hers.

Maxine brought down the sharpened pencil into his neck. The full end of the pointed wood pierced his flesh.

He screamed. He pulled the pencil from his neck, staggered, as if woozy.

Vonda smashed his nose with the heel of her hand. He reeled, clutched his face. Maxine kneed him in the groin with all her might. Black-Mask doubled over to the floor in a groaning heap.

“C’mon.” Vonda stepped over him into the bathroom. She took a leg.

Maxine grabbed the other leg and helped drag Black-Mask into the bathroom. Vonda pulled his mask off and shoved it into his mouth. They had sacrificed a sheet for strips of cloth to secure his limbs and keep him from calling for help. Vonda checked the bonds then tucked his gun in her pocket and closed the door.

Both women were breathing hard. Maxine plopped on the nearest cushion and fell to her back.

Emmy started to rouse from her sleep.

“Does anyone know what to do with a gun?”

Maxine shook her head. “Just pencils.”

Nervous laughter skittered around the room.

Beth raised her hand. “I’ll take it.”

“But are you ready to use it?” Vonda sat next to her and slid it under the blanket. “If they saw us, they’ll be here soon.”

Maxine’s euphoria ended in tears. “Another one will come. They can’t leave us alive.”

“Maybe not,” Beth said, “but we don’t have to go quietly.”

“You ready, son?” Chester and Doug stood on the near side of the pier. At the other end, the Hatteras awaited the arrival of the two agents.

Doug kept a firm leash on his emotions. He’d envisioned walking down this dock, but he never envisioned feeling this inadequate. He could use some of double-oh-seven’s swagger about now. He’d already been shot at once today. He was ready. To run. To faint. To scream. To throw up. He was not ready to walk down those planks.

“Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

“Good man.” Chester led the way.

A steady onshore breeze kept the Hatteras pinned between two forks of the pier. Someone on board cut the engine. The ship sat with the aft shoreward. No one disembarked. A single light on the aft deck was the only sign of welcome.

Doug wished he were with Clint and Merlin back in the hotel, safe. Anywhere but on this pier. Somewhere in the dark, a helicopter awaited recovery of a sick woman. Snipers hid among the shadows. Natalie conspired with the enemy. No cloaks left only daggers. Doug took another step toward uncertainty.

Chester paced the walk toward the ship. No sudden moves. Both men were armed because it was expected, but their hands stayed out in the open. Caution plucked Doug’s anxiety.

They reached the ship and stepped onto the aft deck. The door opened, and they entered the empty cabin. A gun muzzle pressed behind his ear. “Hands up.”

“Screw it.” Clint opened the car door. “I’m going down to the dock. Let him arrest me.”