The Company of the Dead (12 page)

“I want it hand delivered. After all, that seems to be your forte. My office. Tomorrow. 0800 hours.”

“Tomorrow?”

“You planned on flying Lightholler to Dallas on Tuesday. I want you and your crew here in Houston tonight. I’m calling you in for debriefing.”

Kennedy felt swept up in some tide. A current held him back with landfall a hand’s breadth out of reach. He said, “I have a meeting scheduled in Washington tomorrow afternoon. I’ll send Hardas.” He checked his watch. Two and a half minutes gone. In ninety seconds they’d complete the trace.

“You’ll rain check it. If you hadn’t phoned I’d be contacting you myself. I’m calling you in. Project Camelot—and your role in it—are up for reassessment.”

“My role?”

“Your recent activities have attracted more attention than I would have liked. Too much, considering our goals and your name.”

Anger and indignation swelled to replace fear. “My recent activities are project related and as such they are subject only to the President’s scrutiny.”

“Yet here I am, scrutinising you. Up until today President Clancy was unaware of your separate dealings with British royalty and German intelligence—he’s less than pleased. You’ll have the opportunity to explain your position to both of us tomorrow morning, and it had better be good. This isn’t a request, Joseph, this is a chance for you to place all your cards on the table; convince us that our concerns are ... unfounded.”

Sixty seconds left...

“I’ll contact the President myself if need be,” Kennedy said. “I’m up here to finalise the Union targets for Camelot and I’m in the middle of negotiations.”

“My office. 0800 hours, with your report and a detailed list of all Camelot operatives. If everything checks out you’ll be in Washington by tomorrow night.”

Anger, indignation, and now an element of curiosity. Why bring him down, just to send him back? Why send him back, if he was up for reevaluation?

“And it’s come to my attention that the men in your training camps are ready to ship out,” Webster continued. “I want them on ice until we’ve sorted this out.”

Thirty seconds...

“The camps have been mobilised since the centennial voyage, sir. They won’t stand down without a direct order from me.”

“Then give the order, Joseph. Meanwhile, I’ll arrange four tickets for you on a red-eye. Lightholler, Morgan, Hardas and yourself. Call back in an hour. Susan will have the details ready for you by then.”

“Yes, sir,” Kennedy replied.

Ten seconds...

“And, Joseph, have a safe flight.”

Kennedy cut the connection. He let the phone slip from his hand and stared at the tavern, thinking it through. Webster was suspicious alright but that was all. If the director had any inkling of what was really going on, he’d be on a slab by now. It was that simple.

Kennedy’s secret was known to a chosen few. He’d intended Lightholler to be the last. Months had gone into cultivating him as the final member of the team. Weeks still might be required to secure his willing support. Understanding would come later, as it had to the rest of the men.

For the moment, it looked like CBI knew nothing about Red Rock.

Yet he’d counted on weeks to put his plan into action, and now he had days. Perhaps hours. His options were steadily dwindling and this game had barely begun.

He needed to put through a call to Red Rock.

Patricia Malcolm watched the proceedings with mounting apprehension. Seated towards the back of the room, avoiding the curious gaze of the agents, she fought every urge to run to the door.

Webster knew. He
had
to know. Why else would she be here?

The director’s office was spartan in its decor. The only illumination spilled from a lamp perched at the edge of his desk, an oval of orange-tinged light. She hoped she wasn’t expected to take notes.

Webster hung up the phone and turned to an agent waiting by the door.

“Did you get a trace?”

“He’s at a pay phone in Greenwich Village; corner of Bleecker and Thompson. The number’s engaged again.”

“Have Close Watch send in a team.”

She had never seen the director up close before now. Never seen him without the eye patch. He turned his gaze to take in the rest of the room. The puckered scar that had once been an eye swept over her. It fixed on the agent he’d been addressing.

“Why are you still here?”

“Director Webster, I thought you needed—”

“Don’t think, Robbins.
Do
.”

The agent exited the office.

Webster pressed a switch on his intercom. “Susan, in the unlikely event that Assistant Director Kennedy calls back, please arrange four seats on a plane from Idlewild for tonight. Use a Confederate airline, and get them on a direct flight.” He released the switch without waiting for a reply and turned his attention back across the desk. “Agent Williams?”

“Sir,” replied a balding man wearing horn-rimmed glasses.

“Should they board that flight, I want a squad of tactical agents waiting for them at the airport, your best men.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what about Saffel?”

“He’s being brought across this evening.”

“Has he said anything to your men?”

“Not as yet, Director.”

“Perhaps he’ll be more forthcoming once you’ve outlined to him what comes of treason against our fair state.”

Williams’ face contorted. “I’ll make it clear to him, sir.”

Webster favoured him with a smile before shifting his attention to Malcolm. She felt the fear rising within her. It looked like all of Joseph’s contacts were being run to ground. She hadn’t spoken to the bastard for almost two years but she was going to be dragged down with him.

“Miss Malcolm, you’re presently assigned to...” Webster glanced down at a notebook on his desk, “Lab Division.”

“Yes, sir. Evidence Response.” The reply was almost lost in her throat.

“You worked Maritime with Kennedy.”

“Yes, sir. In 2006.”

“You’re the only person I have on active duty who worked with Kennedy prior to his current project. The only one he didn’t take with him, that is.”

He paused, and she waited for the axe to fall.

“I’m shifting you to OPR, effective immediately.”

“
OPR?
” She could barely contain her surprise.

He ignored her interruption. “You will have full access to data concerning Assistant Director Kennedy, Agent Malcolm. I want you to build a case. I want you to sift through everything there is to know about him, from his shit-heel of a great-grandfather to that joke of an election campaign. I want a list of
all
his aft liates, including those of colour. I want a list of every contact he has made in the last three months. And I want to know why he has become so interested in the
Titanic
.”

“Yes, Director.”

Shock mingled with amazement. She’d expected to end the day in a prison cell at best. Instead, she was receiving an unprecedented promotion. The murmurs sweeping the room confirmed that the move had taken all the agents by surprise. She felt every eye upon her.

The Office of Professional Responsibility was the Bureau’s division that investigated any and all allegations of criminal misconduct by CBI employees, from the smallest infraction to outright treason.

What has Joseph gotten himself into?

She was assailed by a mixture of emotions. This transfer meant elevating her to a department that had previously been closed to women. She was going to be the first female agent in the Bureau’s history.

“If he’s truly gone rogue, I want to know who he’s working for—the Germans, the japs, or our Union brothers. I want to know what makes him run.” Webster’s eyes flicked away from her as if he’d just completed an unsavoury task. “Agent Cooper?”

“Sir,” the man seated next to Malcolm replied. He’d been gazing at her disapprovingly.

“Right now Kennedy is somewhere in Greenwich Village. The last Close Watch has on him are the transcripts we lifted from MI5.” Webster tapped his pencil against the ornate base of the lamp. “Coordinate with Robbins. Your boys are in charge now. I want a tail on him ASAP. If he doesn’t go to Idlewild, I want to know where he is and where he goes at all times. I want to know who he talks to and what he says. If he defecates, I want to know what he’s had for lunch.”

“Do you want me to split teams or transfer Close Watch to Kennedy?”

“Our observation of Lightholler has been compromised,” Webster said pointedly. “Use your own men. I suspect that one will almost certainly lead to the other.”

Cooper smiled.

“This is a dry operation, Agent Cooper,” Webster continued.

“Of course, sir, it’s just that my department ain’t exactly known for its surveillance.” Cooper sounded mildly disappointed.

“I know what Wetworks does, Agent Cooper. You’ll get the chance to do what you do best.”

“Yes, sir.”

“On my sanction.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malcolm squirmed in her seat, unconsciously shifting away from the man. There was a whispered exchange among the agents behind her that she didn’t catch. She wondered why the director had asked her to build a case, when the verdict appeared all but decided.

“As for you, Agents Reid, Carter.”

She heard the two men behind her shift in their chairs.

“I’ll give you the precise location of Alpha and Bravo camps. Kennedy says they’re mobilised. That could mean anything. Take four squads each. I want all of his senior staff replaced with our men. You’ll be given a list of all the veteran officers who’ve served under his command. They’re to be culled from the ranks. I want the rest left unarmed. Arrest them, ship them to New Mexico, I don’t care. I just want them under wraps. The last thing we need is Kennedy’s private army running wild.”

“Do you really think that’ll happen, sir?” Carter ventured. It was clear from his tone that by the end of the sentence he was sorry he’d asked it.

“Agent Carter, I’ve no idea what sort of stunt the major has up his sleeve.” Webster’s good eye bore down on the man mercilessly. “But while a man can scarcely carve out an empire for himself with four thousand men, he can certainly bring one down. I appreciate that all of you have had to assimilate a great deal in a small space of time. Up until this meeting, most of you had never even heard of Camelot. By the time this whole thing is over, you’ll likely wish you’d remained ignorant.

“For the past three years we’ve trained men at two facilities: one in Nevada, the other in Louisiana,” he continued. “At a designated time, and coincident with a number of other planned events, these men will cross the northern border. They’re highly skilled in sabotage, demolition, force multiplication, insurgency and a number of other unpleasantries. In
no
way can they be linked with our government. Their targets include major Japanese industrial centres in the Union and the Demilitarised Zone. Their aim is to bring about the paced destruction of key facilities. This will precipitate a buildup of Japanese soldiers in the North. Timed correctly— shall we say at a time when Japanese soldiers are needed elsewhere—it will lead to a substantial consumption of manpower.

“Agents of the CBI and Union intelligence have been placed in military and judicial posts throughout the North and South. Both the Confederate and Union provisional governments will respond to the disturbance with a declaration of martial law. The Union will mobilise, and offer assistance to the japs. We’ll mass our troops on the border in friendly support during this time of crisis.”

Webster rose from his seat and placed both hands wide on the desk.

“They can keep Alaska, and good luck to them, but finding themselves outnumbered and outgunned, thousands of miles from home, a firm diplomatic shove will push them out of New York and back onto the West Coast, and they’ll
thank
us for it.”

He paced slowly back and forth behind the desk.

“There’ll be a continent-wide call for intervention, and that’s what both our governments will provide. A show will be made of bringing the vandals to justice. German sponsorship will be slight but apparent. Having accomplished its objectives, Camelot will result in something that should have occurred well over a century ago: a confederation of united states stretching from Canada to the Mexican border, under
Southern
leadership.”

He picked up his eye patch and turned it over in his hands.

“The men at Kennedy’s two camps were drawn primarily from indian and negro stock; a considerable number came from his old command in the last Ranger War. They were trained by and remain utterly loyal to him. This loyalty may extend beyond patriotism and it may not. But you all know what a capable few were able to do at Mazatlan. What do you think an army of such men, scattered throughout the Union and Confederacy, would be capable of accomplishing?”

There was a murmur of discontent.

“Understand that you’re all suspended from your current duties till this matter has been dealt with.” He stared at them intently. “I want Camelot contained before any of our associates in the Abwehr or Kempei-Tai start looking for someone to blame. Make it happen, gentlemen.”

One by one they left their seats and exited the room.

“
Agent
Malcolm.”

She stood at the office entrance, one hand resting on the door’s frame.

“There’s one more thing...”

Fighting through the lunchtime crowds, Morgan made his way south in the direction of Canal Street, with brief detours to the various book stores that punctuated Broadway.

He was held up by a traffic jam near Union Square that had spilled onto the sidewalk. Two carriages had collided. Following what could only be described as a breach of etiquette, the streets were full of samurai. One group wore the royal blue sashimono and scarves of the Emperor’s Imperial Watch; the other was decked out in the crimson body armour of the Shogun’s Guard.

As a result of the Japanese expansion, the four main islands of the Homeland constituted less than two per cent of the empire’s land mass. So before his death, Emperor Hirohito, Ryuichi’s father, had reinstated the office of Shogun. Handing Ryuichi the central reins of power, he’d apportioned the east and west to his younger sons Hideyoshi—Ryuichi’s younger twin— and Tsunetomo. The Western Shogunate supervised China, Korea and Manchuria; the Eastern covered the Pacific conquests, occupied North America and the satellite nation of Union states. In each place, however, Emperor Ryuichi maintained his own significant forces.