Sea of Crises (32 page)

After a moment, though, Nate took a deep breath. Wiping his eyes, he gave Matt a level look. “You better know what you’re doing.”

Matt returned the look. “Yep.”

#

The house was located in the affluent area of Montgomery County, Maryland known as Potomac. It was not as large as some of the other nearby estates, but it was still a comfortable-looking dwelling. It sat a good thirty yards back from the road, the space in front sparsely landscaped, but well-tended, dominated by a large sprawling elm tree to which a few remaining leaves still clung in the late autumn chill. The ground below the tree was littered with a sprinkling of leaves that had recently succumbed to the inevitability of time and gravity.

Nate, carrying a small leather folio, walked up the driveway and turned onto the brick path leading to the front door. He pressed the doorbell and heard a soft chime from within. A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing a trim man with short-cropped gray hair. The man, Nate knew, was in his early seventies, having retired twelve years ago, but he had the fit, energetic appearance of someone who could have been ten, maybe even fifteen years younger. He regarded Nate with a mildly curious expression.

“General Delahousse?” Nate asked.

The man nodded.

“My name is Nate Cartwright. You knew my father, Bob Cartwright.”

At the mention of his father’s name, the man’s expression instantly changed. He broke into a smile and his eyes became animated.

“Of course,” he said. “I can see that. My god, you’re the spitting image.” He opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

They exchanged pleasantries, and Delahousse led Nate to the kitchen. Nate took a seat at the small table in the breakfast nook while the man busied himself making coffee for the two of them. “My wife,” Delahousse said, his attention on the coffee maker, “is out running errands, but she should be back soon. I know she’d want to see you. She always had a soft spot for your dad.”

He turned and considered Nate again. “I guess the last time we saw you was at the memorial service.” His face took on a mixture of sadness and embarrassment. “I should have kept in touch. I’m sorry.”

“No reason to apologize, sir.”

The man poured coffee into a pair of mugs and carried them to the table, setting one down in front of Nate. “Do you take cream or sugar?”

Nate shook his head. “Just black.”

“Like your father.” He set the other mug on the table across from Nate and sat down. “So, how are your brothers?” Though the man had been away from Texas for a long time, Nate could still hear the slight drawl.

Nate hesitated, then said, “They’re as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

Delahousse studied him for a moment, then said, “This isn’t just a casual call, is it? You’re here for a reason.”

Nate nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”

The man smiled slightly. “You are very much like your father. He was a no nonsense kind of guy too. What can I do for you?”

Nate tipped his head toward the leather folio he’d set on the table. “I’d like to tell you a story. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

The man looked intrigued. He nodded.

Nate tried to be as concise and direct as possible. He knew the general was used to being briefed and would appreciate it. But he punctuated parts of the story with reference to certain of the documents he’d brought with him, and Delahousse asked to see a number of them. When he was done, the general set the papers aside and sat motionless, staring for a long time out the bay window overlooking the backyard.

Finally, he returned his attention to Nate. “Is there more?”

“There is.” Nate took a deep breath. “Sir, the people who were responsible for this thought they had covered it up. Now they know at least part of it is out. They seem determined to put the genie back in the bottle. My brothers and I have been on the run for the past several days. These are very bad people, and they’ll stop at nothing.” He hesitated, then continued, “It’s possible I’ve put you in jeopardy by coming here.”

The man raised a hand slightly and shook his head. Then he seemed to realize something, and he gave Nate a shrewd look.

“Did you consider the possibility that I was in on it?”

Nate did not hesitate. “I did, sir. And I rejected it.”

Delahousse nodded. “Thank you, Nate.” He absently drummed his fingers on the table. “The question is, Who was?”

“To pull something like this off,” Nate ventured, “a big part of the administration must have been compromised.”

The general shook his head. “I have a hard time buying that.” After a moment, though, he said, “There
was
that weasel Huffman.” He looked at Nate, and by way of explanation, said, “Deputy administrator at the time of Apollo 18. I could believe pretty much anything about that guy.”

“Is he still around?”

Again, the general shook his head. “He died almost immediately after the mission. Heart attack. Surprising, too, because he wasn’t that old.”

Nate arched his eyebrows.

Delahousse started to say something, then stopped. He dropped his eyes to the table, obviously thinking. After several seconds, he looked up, staring at the ceiling with a distracted look. Finally, he again focused on Nate.

“When Apollo 18 was revived, Bob learned about it at a meeting in Stu Overholdt’s office.” His look sharpened. “There’s no way Stu was involved in anything like this.” He glanced away for a moment. “And, in any event, Stu died a few years ago. Pancreatic cancer.

“But,” he said after a few seconds, and there was a new expression on his face, “at that meeting, there was someone else.”

Nate felt his heart quicken. “Do you remember who it was?”

The general nodded slowly. “I do,” he said, almost reluctantly.

Nate waited patiently. It seemed as though the general was having a difficult time processing what he’d remembered. Finally, the fire returned to the man’s eyes.

“This wasn’t just anybody,” he said.

Nate hesitated. Then he said, “Who was it?”

#

Senator Harrison Burton leaned forward, his face flush, the perpetual scowl deeper than Krantz remembered it.

“How is that even possible? One man?”

Krantz chose his words carefully. “This man is… different.”

“Bullshit,” the Senator growled. “That’s just an excuse. You have an entire organization. Unlimited resources. There’s no way one guy trumps that.” He gave Krantz a penetrating look. “He’s got to be working with others.”

Krantz shook his head. “He works alone. For the most part. In almost twenty years, he only had contact with two other operatives, the members of his tactical team. They’re both retired. We’ve got them under surveillance, and we know exactly where they are at this moment. One’s in Eastern Ohio, the other’s in South Florida. They haven’t moved in the last twenty-four hours.”

“But you have no idea where this Marek fellow is.”

“That’s not true.”

Burton cocked his head.

“He was moving south,” Krantz said. “We got a positive identification from two nights ago. He and the others stopped at a restaurant in Pennsylvania, just outside Harrisburg.”

“Two nights ago,” Burton snorted. “He could be anywhere now.”

Krantz nodded slightly. “We think he’s here.”

“Here? Where’s
here
?”

“Here in the D.C. area.”

Krantz was amused to see the Senator glance involuntarily around his own office. After a brief moment, the man seemed to realize the absurdity of it, and he again fixed Krantz with a black look.

“I’m losing my patience,” he said, a menacing softness to his voice.

Krantz resisted the urge to point out that Burton wouldn’t know patience if it bit him in the ass. And, not for the first time, Krantz considered how easy it would be to kill the Senator. There were a dozen ways he could do it at this very moment. A quick blow to the windpipe would bring on a slow and painful death, which, under the circumstances, had a certain appeal. Of course, the man would probably flail and make noise. That wouldn’t do. Better to just yank him out of that stuffed chair, whip him around and snap his neck. A nice, quiet, instant death. Krantz could then set him back down in the chair, call for medical assistance, and, by the time anyone realized the man had been internally decapitated, Krantz would have quietly slipped away.

But, as tempting as it was, Krantz knew he wouldn’t do it. The Organization, and his ambitions for The Organization, depended on the political cover the Senator provided. Theirs was a truly symbiotic relationship. As long as Burton controlled the oversight, Krantz could do what he wanted. Provided he arranged the occasional dirty work for the Senator. The wet work.

Of course, over the past few years, Krantz had been preparing for Burton’s succession. The man couldn’t live forever. He’d already cheated death for an impressive length of time, too attached to his power to let go. Too damn mean to die.

The practical problem Krantz had was that the next ranking Republican on the Armed Services Committee was that boy scout from Nebraska. No way he’d play ball. And forget the Democrats. No, Krantz’ future was tied to the other two senior Republicans in line for the Committee chairmanship, both reasonably malleable and both possessing some nice ugly skeletons in their closets. If the boy scout hadn’t retired by the appropriate time, he’d meet with a tragic accident. It would be so much easier, Krantz reflected, when he would be able to function without having to kowtow to his political overseer. To be able to call all the shots, rather than have some called for him by a worthless bureaucratic hack.

“I want them all terminated,” Burton was saying, and Krantz refocused.

“We’re working on it.”

“You’re not understanding me,” the Senator said quietly.

“You mean Marek’s former team members?”

“I mean everyone.”

Krantz took a deep breath. Taking down Carson and Kemp would be ugly. And, there would be repercussions. The rest of it, no big deal. But those two former operatives were well-regarded. There’d be dissention in the ranks. And, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already pissed off Marek enough …

He considered the Senator. The man scowled back at him.

Finally, keeping his face impassive, Krantz said, “All right.”

#

The elevator doors opened, and Krantz stepped into the hallway.

“I want those orders coded Juliet Charlie Actual,” he said into the cell phone. “And no exceptions. The target is to be destroyed, no matter the circumstances.”

He turned and headed toward the exit. With Marek on the prowl, he felt vulnerable, and his senses were on high alert. He was traveling with a larger security detail than usual. They were waiting for him just around the block, and they’d meet him outside the main entrance as soon as he gave the word. Because of the strict scanning provided by the Capitol Police, no one could enter the senate office building with weapons, so he felt reasonably safe inside. Still, he was taking no chances, and he was very much aware of everything and everyone around him.

“Now, as for Carson and Kemp,” he said, entering the rotunda. His steps slowed. Then he came to a halt. “Stand by,” he said abruptly, and he terminated the connection.

Somewhat incomprehensibly, not thirty feet away, bathed in the light of the midday sun pouring through the overhead oculus, was Marek. The cocky son of a bitch was just standing there, looking at him. He had his hands in plain view, not that it mattered. Even Marek wouldn’t have been able to smuggle in a weapon.

Of course, it was possible the man was playing the decoy, distracting him so an accomplice might sneak up and take him from behind. But Krantz knew there was only one man alive who’d be able to perform that kind of maneuver against him with success. And that man was standing right in front of him.

Krantz sighed. “You can’t run forever.”

“I’m not running,” Marek replied calmly.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know who ordered it. Who’s calling the shots.”

Krantz shook his head slowly. “You’re here. That means you already know.” His own words suddenly gave him pause.

Marek said nothing. His eyes, unblinking, studied Krantz.

A warning sounded deep in Krantz’ consciousness. But the realization that, instead of Marek, it was the man’s twin he was looking at didn’t strike him until the moment the hands from behind came gracefully across his chest and up under his chin, clamping themselves in place, quickly and effectively immobilizing his upper body. A part of him couldn’t avoid a professional nod to the technique. And the setup.

It was an awesome kill.

The last thought that went through Krantz’ mind was the idle question whether he’d actually hear the snap of his neck before the spinal cord was severed. He didn’t.

#

From the far side of the rotunda, Nate watched as Matt lowered the limp body of the man known as Krantz to the marble floor. The whole thing had happened so quickly, if he’d blinked, he’d have missed it.

“I need help here,” Matt was saying loudly. “Someone call 911.”

A woman cried out and pointed in Matt’s direction, but whatever she said was drowned out by the sudden cacophony that filled the large area. People began crowding around the prostrate figure, talking at once, their voices echoing off of the domed ceiling. Matt allowed the onlookers to push past him, casually backing away. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. Peter, who had turned as soon as Matt had put his arms around Krantz, had calmly strolled to the main entrance. As Nate glanced his way, he stepped out and was gone.

A pair of Capitol Police officers pushed their way through the throng and began urging people back.

“I’m a doctor,” a man in a tweed jacket called out, and he was allowed through.

Matt had eased his way to the rear of the crowd. He now pivoted and, without hurry, walked to the entrance. Nobody tried to stop him. He pushed open the door, and he was gone as well.

Nate took an involuntary step toward the people gathered in the center of the room. Through the crowd, he saw the doctor kneeling by the body. After a moment, the man looked up and spoke to one of the police officers. Nate couldn’t hear him, but he could read his lips clearly. “He’s dead.” The police officer asked him a question, and the doctor merely shrugged, as if to say, I don’t know.