Authors: Russell Blake
“They don’t tell me everything. Just what I need to know,” the driver said, and then jerked the wheel. They pounded over some ruts, and then the way smoothed out.
“How much longer until I can sit up?” Jacob asked, his back beginning to cramp from the position.
“A few minutes. Stop complaining. I’m going to make a phone call, and tell The Council what you said, and verify that you don’t know the details of the operation. You sure you don’t want to change your story?” the driver asked, fishing a cell phone from his pocket as his left hand gripped the wheel.
“Positive. They’ll confirm it. I’m not worried,” Jacob said.
“All right, it’s your funeral,” the driver said, and then his eyes widened and he dropped the phone into his pocket. “Oh, shit. Hang on,” he warned, and then they were twisting and being knocked to and fro as he negotiated a particularly rough patch of terrain. The jostling went on for some time, and the big motor groaned as the driver modulated the gas to better manage the difficult ground.
Eventually, the vehicle began to slow, and then lights illuminated the cab as the tires found pavement.
“Are we clear?” Jacob asked, but the driver didn’t answer, his attention elsewhere. Jacob debated asking again, and then his rescuer stomped on the brakes.
“Okay, you can sit up now,” he said, and Jacob was fumbling for the handle when his door flew open and strong hands pulled him from the seat. He barely had time to react when he saw that they were back at the industrial building, the dead men miraculously walking, apparently no worse for their experience. “Amazing what a few blood squibs can do, isn’t it?” the driver chuckled, seeing the look of shock on Jacob’s face.
“He doesn’t know anything. I think he’s telling the truth,” the driver said to the agent, his shirt still stained crimson, splatters of theatrical blood still staining his profile. “But take him into the interrogation cell anyway. I’ll start with a drug cocktail, and then move to torture – we need to be sure.”
Jacob’s eyes widened as he heard the final words, and he struggled in a panicked frenzy when he realized that his ordeal was only beginning. The driver shook his head as two operatives half dragged him toward the door, and then he turned to the agent.
“This may turn out to be a big waste of time. Hope the old man has a plan B for him, because my money says he doesn’t know much more than we do.”
“Only one way to find out,” the agent said.
The driver looked at the distant lights on the freeway, his expression pensive.
“You got that right.”
Chapter 27
Eight hours later, the interrogation concluded. Jacob had been telling the truth – all he knew was that there was a bomb, and that it was going to be used sooner rather than later. For what precise purpose, or where, he wasn’t privy to, and while he had been told to anticipate something shortly, he had nothing more solid about the timeframe.
The director watched the last of the video of the questioning and sat back heavily in his chair, thinking. After a few minutes, he called Jet and explained the situation, and told her he would have a car pick her up in half an hour.
When Jet arrived she looked rested, a long night’s sleep having worked its magic, and when the director briefed her on what he wanted her to do, she nodded.
“Are you serious about the deal?”
“That’s why I want you to make the offer. Something about deniability, I think you mentioned?”
“Ah. Crafty. I like it. I was going to say, he deserves no mercy, but it sounds like we’re on the same page there,” she said, an edge to her normally calm voice.
The director pointed to the door. “Like minds think alike. Just get him to play ball.”
“That’s my specialty. Or one of them. Consider it done,” she said, standing.
“I’ll be listening.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Jet said, then exited the office and walked down the hall to where two operatives were guarding one of the steel doors. She stopped in front and the taller of the pair unlocked it, offering a wan smile. She didn’t return it, preferring to stare straight ahead as she mentally prepared for what was to come.
Jet entered the cell and moved around the chair until she was just a few feet from Jacob and regarded him without expression. He raised his head, his skin pasty, groggy from the lingering effects of the drugs, and looked at her. His eyes registered surprise at the presence of an astoundingly beautiful woman, but then the light faded from them.
“Jacob Weinstein, I’m here to offer you a deal. I have a proposal for you, and I want you to listen carefully so you get it all the first time. Do you understand? Can I get you something? Water? A trip to the restroom?” she asked, and he became more attentive.
“I could use both,” he said simply, sounding defeated.
She walked behind him and knocked on the door. A few moments later it was unbolted, and she ordered one of the guards to uncuff the prisoner, take him to use the toilet, and bring him a liter bottle of water.
When Jacob returned he looked better, although still a shell of the powerful man who had been lying in bed only a short time before. He accepted the water with trembling hands and drank greedily from it, dehydrated from the drugs as well as the near-constant sweat of fear. The guard let him drink, and then sat him back in the chair. He was about to re-cuff him when Jet shook her head.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing those. There’s been enough barbarism for one night,” she said, cocking an eyebrow as she locked eyes with Jacob.
The guard appeared to hesitate and then shrugged, deferring to her. He handed Jet the cuffs, then returned to the door and left.
“Mr. Weinstein, I want you to carefully consider the position you’re in, as well as my suggestion for how you can extricate yourself from it. You are guilty of treason. You’ve admitted it. We have it on tape. Your guilt is not subject to debate – you’re guilty. The penalty for treason is life imprisonment, but in this case, it will be death. There’s no way for you to escape that fate – no lawyering, no amount of money, no connections will allow you to dodge it. Do you understand? In fact, they’ll probably just haul you to the nearest field and put a bullet in your head rather than having to suffer the public humiliation of one of the country’s most respected citizens being branded a traitor.”
Jacob nodded silently.
“The only way that you can atone is to help us avert the terrible event you’ve put into motion. But you don’t know enough to do so. Which means there’s only one way to help – you need to call a meeting of The Council and find out what’s planned, and when. If you refuse to do so, you’ll die. Probably before the end of the day. Nobody will mourn you or notice your passing – you’ll simply cease to exist. Your legacy will be lost, and you’ll be just another forgettable businessman who made a few bucks and then faded into history – into obscurity. You’ll die cold and alone, probably in a drainage ditch over in the field you drove through, and your remains will rot buried under a thin blanket of mud. But before that happens, they’ll proceed to physical torture you can’t even imagine. You’ll beg for death before they’re done. Am I getting through to you?” she asked, her voice melodious to his ear, her cadence almost hypnotic.
Jacob nodded again, and then answered, “Yes.”
“What I’ll need you to do is make a call, or calls, and convene a meeting. You’ll be wired, so we’ll hear everything you say. You need to find out what’s planned. That’s it. Once you do, we’ll take the rest of the members into custody, and only you will leave a free man. That’s the only deal being offered.”
He glared at her. “You want me to betray the men I’ve worked with for decades – to build a better nation? Because that’s what all of this is about. Building a stronger country. A country that isn’t divided, filled with recriminations and acrimony and self-doubt. That’s why I did all this.”
“Mr. Weinstein, save the filibustering for someone who cares. You don’t even know what it is that you’ve done. You’re so deluded that you’ve gone along with a plot, and you don’t even know exactly what the plot is. For all you know, they’re planning to detonate the bomb in downtown Jerusalem to stoke outrage over terrorism and prod the government into laying waste to millions of innocents. You’re in way over your head, and the destination – the only end point for you on this road – is death before nightfall, after hours of unspeakable agony. I’m offering you a way out. Help us stop whatever atrocity these madmen are planning. And then walk away, free and clear. The country doesn’t need brinksmanship or Armageddon to prosper. That’s delusional thinking, and I think part of you knows it.”
Jacob appeared to consider her words, and Jet gave him time. He needed to arrive at the correct conclusion himself, without too much prodding. She deliberately took a few steps away from him, allowing him to regain some self-respect.
Carrot and stick.
Betray your friends like you betrayed your country, or be executed and forgotten.
Momentary unpleasantness exchanged for survival. An irresistible offer.
It wasn’t a lock, but she had seen what she had aimed to establish in his eyes – a glimmer of hope, and then of calculation. She paced for a few moments, and then stopped and faced him, addressing him by his last name again a part of her tactic.
“Mr. Weinstein, time’s wasting. Your office will begin wondering where you are soon, and that could trigger a defensive reaction within your group if they have you under surveillance, which they very well might. So it’s decision time. Do you help us put an end to this craziness, or do you suffer the unspeakable and then die a pointless death? Oh, and just in case you’re feeling virtuous, you should know that while you were drugged you divulged the names of the other members of your little circle. So if you decide that you’re not going to play ball, we’ll be moving to the next in line, and they’ll get the offer…and you’ll get the bullet. At this point all you’ll be doing is saving us a little time. It won’t affect the outcome at all. Because one of them will talk – just as you did – and then we’ll still have the information we need, only you’ll be history. This is your only chance. Choose wisely.” She fixed him with an unwavering stare. “Make your decision – what’s it going to be?”
Jacob closed his eyes as if in prayer, and then gazed up at her with the look of the eternally damned, a haunted expression on his face, no defiance left in him.
“How is this going to work?”
Chapter 28
The restaurant was closed for a private event, the owner having given the staff the night off when he’d received the call late that morning requesting the premises for a meeting. The rule was that if any of the nine members of The Council wanted to meet, the others had to make arrangements to do so as soon as possible. When Jacob had made the calls, agreement had been assumed, and it had merely been an issue of timing. The event had been set for five p.m., and as the hour approached a steady stream of expensive vehicles arrived at the rear door, disgorging their occupants before disappearing so as not to attract untoward attention.
Jacob was the last to arrive, and he had fortified himself with several single malt Scotches and a half a Xanax before having his car take him to the restaurant – one of dozens owned by a prominent Council member, who also controlled a significant portion of the local commercial fishing fleet. Jacob strode purposefully to the service entrance, as had the others, and the surveillance group a block away in a hastily commandeered office could detect the clicking of his heels as he made his way into the recesses of the brick building to a private dining room on the second floor.
Jacob nodded to the assembled men when he entered the room, and then took a seat at the large round table. He examined their faces, studying them, and saw both resolve and fatigue – men whose lives had been long battles, with no quarter offered nor expected, a Who’s Who of the financial might of the nation. David wasn’t among them – Jacob had brought him into the information loop many years ago, but he wasn’t an official member of The Council, lacking the experience – and the bankroll – to be an equal.
“Gentlemen, a meeting has been convened due to the special request of one of our group. As the member calling the meeting, Jacob will now address the gathering. Jacob?” the oldest member, Eli, said in a gruff voice that still resonated with authority, honed over an illustrious career as one of the most famous attorneys in the land, and later, one of the larger residential real estate landowners.
“Thank you all for coming. I wanted this meeting because it occurred to me that we’re now very close to our ultimate ambition coming to fruition, and yet I have literally no idea what it is, precisely, that we’re about to do. I know, as do you all, that it involves the detonation of the second device, but beyond that and assurances that it’s for our mutual good, I’m in the dark, and I’ve been waking up in the middle of the night, unsure that I’m comfortable with not knowing what’s planned. Therefore, I’m proposing that the security committee brief us all – today, at this meeting – so that we know what to expect and how our money has been spent. Given that last week we were told that the event, whatever it is, is imminent, I can see no reason to keep the inner circle out of the loop any longer. So I propose a vote, by a show of hands. I want to know what’s being done in my name.”
“Before everyone votes, I should let you know that our contractors – no, our partners in this affair – were attacked in Libya only hours ago,” Saul, the head of the security committee, said,
sotto voce
.
“Attacked? Related to our matter?” Jacob demanded. “And when were we going to be informed?”
“Jacob. Relax. We don’t know that it had anything to do with this. Early reports suggest it might have been insurgents – the house was in Benghazi, and that’s seen more than its share of violence in recent months,” Saul assured him, sounding reasonable. “There’s no hint that this involves our operation. But it
is
an indication of how vulnerable we all are, even now.”