The Foundation: Jack Emery 1 (20 page)

“They’re kissing.” The girls giggled again. “They saw us!”

“Hi girls, come on in.” Michelle smiled as she lowered the knife, then brought her mouth to Emery’s ear. “You’re a very lucky man. I’m coming for you.”

He didn’t move an inch, even as a whole class of elementary schools students filled the room. She threw the knife onto the carpeted floor, stood and walked out of the theater.

Her cell phone was already in her hand.

An ambulance screeched its brakes near the emergency entrance. The driver killed the lights and hospital staff rushed the unfortunate passenger inside. Michelle had 
been parked near the entrance of New York Presbyterian Hospital for over an hour. While she’d killed some time watching the ambulances drop off their cargo, she was getting impatient. 
She looked again at the cell phone that was sitting in its cradle on the dashboard, waiting for the call that would change her fortunes.

Finally, it rang and she smiled and answered. “Hello, Andrei. Took your damn time.”

Andrei Shadd grunted. “I’ve got confirmation from our source at the Stock Exchange. Sarah McDowell has nominated you as proxy for all of her share holdings.”

“Enough?” Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. “Will it be enough?”

He didn’t hesitate. “The eggheads say so.”

“Okay. Get our man ready to purchase EMCorp shares as soon as the news strikes.” She thought for a second, to be sure she’d covered everything. “And security?”

“Taken care of.”

“Good enough for me.” She hung up and took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

Now that she’d been nominated proxy for Sarah, it was time to act. Little did Ernest’s daughter know that she was about to get a whole lot more shares. Michelle also had to trust that Andrei was ready to purchase bucketloads of EMCorp shares once they hit rock bottom. She smiled as she opened the car door, climbed out and crossed the car park, careful not to look too eager. Once she’d passed through the electric doors of the hospital, she found herself in a lobby even busier than the emergency bay. The place buzzed as people rushed around, visiting sick friends and family.

The staff were calmer, walking around in their uniforms with confidence, some clutching takeaway coffee cups. She looked down at her pant suit and brushed some imaginary lint off her jacket, then made sure the wig and glasses she was wearing were firmly in place. Combined with the heavy makeup she wore, she was unrecognizable. She followed the signs to intensive care. A disinterested-looking ward clerk held court at the reception desk, flicking through a magazine. She looked up as Michelle approached.

“Can I help you?”

Michelle smiled, pulled her identification out of her handbag and held it up for the clerk. “Jane Michelham, I’m with the Bureau. I’m here to check in on Mr McDowell.”

The clerk stiffened, stared at the fake FBI identification badge then up at Michelle. “Okay. Are you on the visitor’s list?”

“Should be.” Michelle dropped the ID back in her bag. “My field office was supposed to call you.”

The clerk gazed at Michelle for a few moments too long for her comfort before turning to her computer screen, but she eventually nodded. “Here it is.”

Michelle smiled and did her best not to betray her relief. Andrei had assured her that she had been put on the list of authorized visitors, and the fictional Agent Michelham would have no trouble gaining entry to McDowell’s intensive care suite. Now she hoped that the implied authority of an FBI agent would keep the clerk’s questions to a minimum.

“Great. Can I go through?”

“Sure. Let me check you off. Are there any problems that we should be aware of with Mr McDowell’s security?”

“No, nothing to worry about. This is just routine. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Okay, Agent Michelham.” The clerk nodded and handed Michelle a keycard. “There’s nothing much going on up there, but go through. It’s room 402. The card will let you in.”

Michelle nodded and masked her relief at not being recognized by the clerk. Though she didn’t have a huge public profile outside of Washington, she had made more television appearances lately. As she walked to McDowell’s room, she kept her head down, hidden from the security cameras. Andrei had briefed her on their locations. It wouldn’t do to be careless.

She followed the signs to the right room. She could see through the window of the suite that McDowell’s body was receiving significant technological assistance to stay alive. She thought again of Chen’s failure and her anger spiked. But so too did her resolve to do this herself, rather than risk someone else making another mistake. She scanned the keycard and walked into the room. As she moved closer to the bed, she wondered if she’d been naive to trust McDowell. He was always a chance to get a better offer.

She approached the bed and touched him gently on the arm. “Oh, Ernest, we could have been so good together.”

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small case. Inside was a syringe already filled with a poison that had been organized for her. It was potent enough to do the job, but slow-acting, so it would take hours to stop Ernest’s heart. By that time, she’d be a long way from the hospital. Best of all, it was undetectable. All she needed to do was inject it into one of the IV drips connected to him. 
The syringe gave a little squirt when she tested it, being careful not to let any of the mist touch her.

Michelle glanced at McDowell, ready to inject the syringe into an IV. His eyes opened.

She froze in place, all thoughts of the syringe leaving her mind as a million possible scenarios jostled for attention. 
He had the look of a caged animal, clearly confused about where he was. He was unable to move, under the influence of some pretty strong drugs, but there was no mistaking that his eyes were locked onto hers. Michelle took a deep breath and jabbed the syringe into the IV. She was morbidly curious about how the poison would work, but couldn’t afford to stick around.

“Nothing personal.” She pressed her thumb on the plunger. “I didn’t think it would be as easy as they said it would be, Ernest.”

There was no response. He gave no indication that his body had just been invaded by poison. His eyes continued their unblinking stare.

Without further delay, she removed the syringe from the IV and, careful not to let it prick her, put it back inside the protective case. She slid the case into her bag and allowed herself a nervous laugh. She knew that at this moment the poison was coursing through Ernest’s system, and would soon start to shut down his body.

She needed to get away and be ready to console Sarah when the inevitable call came, even as the Foundation scooped up a motherlode of EMCorp shares once news of McDowell’s death hit.

Things were looking up.

***

Jack sighed as he put down his cell phone. He sat up in bed, turned on the lamp and ran a hand through his hair. He glanced at the clock and wasn’t impressed. He had been asleep for a few hours since he’d arrived back in New York and checked in to a shitty motel, but it was still well before midnight.

He’d have gone back to the Wellington Hotel, but didn’t want to risk it given Dominique now knew who he was. He was afraid. Worse, he’d had to tell Celeste and Peter to go to a motel, unsure of how much Dominique knew. He’d also called Li to warn him, but clearly he’d been too late on that front. The news had come in a few hours later.

Now Ernest was dead too. He had no doubt that Dominique was involved, given how many pies she had her fingers in lately, but it still came as a shock. In hindsight, perhaps it shouldn’t have. She’d shown herself so willing to go to nearly any length to consolidate her control that murder hardly seemed out of the question.

He picked the phone back up and called Celeste. She answered after a few moments.

“Jack? Everything okay?”

He sighed. “Sorry to wake you. I just heard from work. Ernest is dead, Celeste. ”

“Fucking hell.” Her voice was throaty and she was clearly struggling to wake up. “So now Ernest is gone, along with your lead at the embassy. I’m sorry, Jack.”

Jack sighed again. In truth, he was more shocked by the death of Li. He’d slowly become used to the idea of Ernest not waking up, but Li had been the key to everything. Though he’d filled Celeste and Peter in on the threat from Dominique, he’d provided only basic details about the conversation with Li. With both dead, he spilled it all.

“Li was shaping up as a great source, linking Dominique to EMCorp and the war. He also told me that Ernest cut a deal with the Chinese to get us released. Looks like he was caught between the two of them and killed. But it’s over, Celeste. We had them, now it’s over. Li was the only real link. And now Dominique is free to do whatever she likes.”

“She is.” Celeste went silent for a moment. “Unless we get something off the USB. But I spoke to Hickens earlier. He’s having some trouble. He’s untangled some of the encryption but some of the information has been destroyed.”

Jack frowned and laid back on the bed, keeping the phone to his ear. “Meanwhile, we're all in danger. You, me, Peter. None of us might survive this.”

“I'm sure we'll be fine. With Ernest and the embassy staff dead the threat of anyone finding out about their control is now neutralized. She’ll just forget about it.”

Jack doubted it. “Stop kidding yourself. These people don't leave loose ends.”

“Then I’ll harass Hickens even harder to get me the contents of that USB and we’ll go after Dominique. There’s nothing else to be done.”

“No. I want you and Peter to stay out of it. I’m going to take care of her.”

She scoffed. “So you want me to hide while you act like some lone gunman? You need to let me help you, Jack. You need to let
others
help you.”

“No, I don’t.”

He hung up and instantly regretted it. He knew that Celeste was right and that he should let her help him, but he wasn’t prepared to risk her getting involved any deeper. They were in danger and it was his fault. Once more any good in his life, lovingly built, was crushed under the weight of circumstance.

He should have left it alone, let the police and the authorities deal with Ernest’s shooting and moved on with his life. But he’d thrived on the game since finding the voicemail on Ernest's cell phone and had been playing with fire ever since. He’d pushed too hard and let Michelle Dominique force his move. He’d gambled and lost.

He pushed himself up from the bed and walked to the minibar. He opened the door and stared inside. He ignored the soft drink, instead eyeing off the bottles of beer waiting to be opened. They glistened and held the prospect of mental relaxation, at least for a night. For Jack, that was good enough.

As he cracked the first beer and slumped into the room’s single armchair, he sighed deeply and tried to clear his thoughts. He wanted the world to go away, to leave him alone and for the carnage around him to stop. It was a forlorn hope, because as soon as one thought exited his head, it was replaced by a newer, darker one. He took a long swig of the beer and thought of the maelstrom of death and violence that had surrounded his life in recent months. Erin, Celeste, Ernest, the war in China, Li—his torture. In one way or another, it was all linked to one person, pursuing one agenda.

As he worked through the supply of beer, Jack wondered if it was worth fighting for anything anymore. He considered drinking until he couldn’t lift a bottle, comforted by the thought of dark oblivion. He was not afraid of death, because he had nothing left to lose. He’d been on borrowed time since his release. Time granted to him by Ernest McDowell.

Long after he’d finished the final beer and moved on to the small bottles of hard liquor, he decided that it was time for redemption. He decided, whatever the cost and however much the odds were stacked against him, he’d go down swinging. He decided it was all or nothing. Everyone lost sometimes. And some people lost big. But he also knew that the difference was how well you fought back and recovered.

If he was sure of one thing, it was that he could get rid of Michelle Dominique from the world’s throat.

Jack hated the phone. He hated its incessant buzz, face down on top of the wooden dresser. It had reverberated like a hammer drill against his skull several times now. When it had stopped, he’d fallen asleep again in seconds, but before long the pain would start over, punctuating the first hangover of an unreformed alcoholic. This one hurt more than most.

He’d tried a pillow over his head, then tried throwing the pillow at the phone, before, in desperation, he tried to will the phone into spontaneous combustion. None of these ideas had worked. Now, as he lay face down on the mattress, the springs of the cheap bedding cutting into his cheek, the phone started to buzz again. He pressed his face into the mattress and let out a shout of rage.

That didn’t work either.

He stood uneasily and kept a grip on the furniture as he made his way to the dresser. He answered the phone, tried to talk and realized his throat was as dry as the Gobi Desert. He must have sounded like some sort of terrifying alien menace to whoever was on the other end.

“Jack? It’s Peter.” His tone was all business, without a hint of appreciation for the pain Jack was in. “Any sign of Dominique or her people?”

“Hello.” Jack’s attempt to force a word failed. He swallowed several times and tried to get some moisture into his throat, then tried again. He didn’t appreciate the chuckle on the other end of the line.

“You sound like shit, Jack.”

“Feel like it too.” His stomach roared. “What do you want?”

“Just checking in. You’re clearly alive, if a bit worse for wear.”

Jack couldn’t argue with that. He’d worked his way through the minibar with a vengeance, then called reception for a restock. The staff member who’d brought the fresh booze to his room could barely conceal her disdain as she spied the empty bottles. Jack had worked his way through most of the fresh stock as well.

But, for all that, he was alive. Deep down he wondered if they’d find him at the hotel anyway. If they did, it would make his experience in the Chinese prison seem like a Caribbean cruise. While the Chinese had tortured him, they’d deliberately kept him alive. Dominique had no reason to.

Blood everywhere. Cold, hard concrete. Fear for Celeste Adams. Confusion. Pain. Lots of pain. And shit. In his pants and on the floor
.

“Jack?” Peter’s voice cut through Jack’s flashback.

“I’ll live. How’re you going?”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Honestly? Don’t think it has sunk in yet. I’ve worked for him for years. He was closer than family. It’ll take a while.”

“Sorry, mate.” Jack didn’t really know what to say to console Peter.

“Thanks. Got some good news for you, Jack. Hickens has been trying to call you. He couldn’t get through and so he called me instead. He’s cracked it.”

Jack sat down on the edge of the bed, shook his head and tried to clear away some of the fog. “The USB? You’d better not be teasing.”

“Kidding you about the key to all of this? I’m not. He’s filled me in. We’ve cracked the USB. He lost a heap of information in the process, but he said what he opened was a treasure chest. It all points to this Chen guy, but there’s stuff about it all: Dominique, the Foundation, the attacks in Shanghai, the war, their run for Congress. Everything.”

“Fucking hell. Peter, we might just have a fighting chance.” Jack couldn’t hide his excitement. He smiled; now he could do what he’d pledged to last night, the one thing that had the potential to return him from the precipice of self-destruction: send a swift kick right to the head of the person responsible for all of this, Michelle Dominique.

“More than a fighting chance.” Peter laughed softly. “This deals us back into the game, and we’re sitting on a great big stack of chips.”

Jack didn’t say anything right away. He considered what came next. He’d known that when he’d handed over the USB, it had been a long shot to produce a dividend even if Hickens could break it. Now, it seemed like he had. And unless Ernest’s former assistant was exaggerating—something he wasn’t known for—it changed everything.

“Will it be enough?”

“Maybe.” Peter didn’t hesitate. “But there’s a catch. We’ve got fragments. We’re going to need to talk to Chen to bolt all of this information together into a story that will make people listen. Clean yourself up, you’ve got a flight to catch.”

“Where to?”

There was a pause. “That’s the interesting thing. Taiwan. Hickens found a clue on the Darknet that Chen has fled there, but we’ve got nothing more concrete than that. It’s not a great lead, but you’ve got to find him. I’ll email you.”

Peter hung up and Jack grunted and threw the phone on the bed. His head suddenly felt quite a bit better, but it would be improved by a few more hours’ rest. He lay down again but doubted sleep would come. There was too much to think about, too much to do.

He was just dozing off when the phone rang again. This time, he reached for it as quickly as he could. He thought it must be Peter again, but he smiled when he saw the caller identification. He hadn’t expected her to call. He took a deep breath, exhaled and then answered the phone.

“Hi.”

“Jack? It’s me.” Celeste sounded cautious. She’d clearly cooled down since their last conversation. He was glad that she was talking to him. “Enjoy your drink?”

“Yep.”

“Where are you? Peter told me you had a sore head.”

“I’m at a motel. Come over and we’ll go from there.”

“Go where? There’s nowhere we can run from these people.”

Jack was relieved she recognized the danger. “There might be one place. I’m not sure any of them have heard of Yeppoon, Australia, let alone been there. We’re going to fly home—to my home—and that will give us time to think and consider our next move.”

She didn’t talk for a minute, and despite the situation, he smiled at the look he knew she’d be making: there would be a frown in the ridge between her eyes, and her forehead would be wrinkled with worry.

“Okay, Jack. Okay. I’m out of ideas so I’m happy to go with yours. I’ll be over there within the hour.”

He hung up and took another long breath and let it out through gritted teeth. He hated lying to Celeste, but had no choice. If he was going on a wild-goose chase to find Chen in Taiwan, then he had to do it alone. And to do that, he had to know she was safe. He stood, still unsteady, and looked around the room. He had an hour to make himself respectable, get packed and ready to fly. All the while he had to try to stay upright and keep the contents of his stomach from exiting his body.

No sweat. For Jack, this was living.

***

Michelle hated meetings, but was looking forward to this one. She could have attended the extraordinary general meeting of the EMCorp board and significant shareholders via video link from Washington, but she gained particular satisfaction from slaying her enemies in person. Metaphorically, at least. She was not going to give this one up.

Seated around the table were the usual members of the EMCorp board, along with the top twenty significant private and institutional shareholders. The most prominent of these was Sarah McDowell, but Michelle also had a seat at the table, following the Foundation’s purchase of a large amount of stock. The board had called them all together to determine control of the company moving forward. They’d resolved to sort the matter quickly.

She looked down the table to Sandra Cheng. She looked like she was about to drop dead on the spot, with heavy eyes and limp hair. After her divorce, she’d gained a board seat. Now Ernest was dead. It looked like the news had hit Sandra particularly hard. Michelle nearly sympathized with the stress the woman must be under—the death of her ex-husband and the fact that Ernest’s daughter had chosen to confide in Michelle rather than her stepmother. Sarah, for her part, just looked sad.

As if on cue, Peter Weston cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve got a lot to get through. Moving right into it—”

Michelle interrupted. “Excuse me, Peter, before we kick off, I’d like to ask that the meeting minutes record condolences to the family and friends of Ernest McDowell.”

Weston could hardly hide his scowl. “Very well.”

She smiled. “Ernest was a visionary. He’s a terrible loss for all of us. Sarah and Sandra, let me offer my personal condolences for your loss.”

Michelle looked down the table and saw several nods and sad smiles. Sarah gave her a warm smile. Sandra didn’t even manage that, offering nothing but a half-hearted nod.

Weston waited for the small amount of chatter to die down and then continued. “First item of business: the ongoing leadership of the company.”

Sandra leaned forward. “I hope you’ll all be willing to support my bid for chairmanship, given the trauma we’ve all gone through.”

Michelle chuckled as several outraged board members barked their disapproval. One she didn’t know spoke. “Sandra, you’re grieving. There’s no need to be silly.”

Sandra was unrepentant. She raised her hands, palms facing outward, to block any attempt at rebuttal and further flare ups of the argument. “My family and I hold enough of this company to retain the chairmanship. Ernest may be gone, but it’s important that we keep things in the family.”

Michelle cleared her throat. “Excuse me if I’m being too forward, but I do wonder what particular family you’re referring to? The man who divorced you or the stepdaughter who hates you?”

As Sandra blustered, Weston spoke up. “Ernest’s will specified that his entire portfolio go to his daughter. There’s no correlation between Sarah’s holding and your own, Sandra. I’ve invited her to this meeting to make her views known.”

Anthony Tanner, a Foundation-aligned board member, spoke up. “Indeed, given the size of her holding, we should hear from her.”

Michelle smiled. Tanner had been easy to buy off: a large amount of money and a small number of revealing photographs outside the Ruby Slipper. He was another piece of the EMCorp puzzle in her pocket, and also an effective mouthpiece in her current fight to gain total control. Michelle sat back as Sandra started to protest.

Tanner shook his head again. “You have the floor, Sarah.”

Sarah looked nervous and unsure as she looked down the table. “Okay.”

Sandra tried to steal the march. “Sarah, tell them that you want me to be chairwoman. It’s ridiculous to consider any other possibility.”

Michelle was fascinated by the interplay between the two as Sarah narrowed her eyes at Sandra.

“That’s not what I want.” Sarah’s voice was haunting. “I’m combining the weight of my shareholding with Michelle’s stock. I trust her to look after the best interests of my father’s company.”

Michelle felt a wave of relief wash over her. After having Ernest in her hand, then losing him, this was sweet vindication. McDowell had been a loose cannon, a man of such immense power and ego who had proved difficult to control. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. She’d ensure her appointed chairman was completely loyal.

She smiled, aware the others were looking at her. “I thank you for the show of faith, Sarah. I’m sorry, Sandra.”

Sandra bristled but kept her mouth shut, and Peter Weston leaned forward as though about to talk, a look of concern on his face.

He didn’t get the chance, as Tanner forestalled any reply. “Right, who will it be, Ms Dominique?”

“Thanks, Anthony.” Michelle nodded to Peter Weston and gestured toward the door.

Weston looked confused, but moved as instructed. Michelle waited as the doors to the boardroom were opened to admit a tall, well-dressed man—Michelle’s answer to controlling EMCorp. She was not actually interested in the daily workings of the company, just in ensuring it was on message. Her flunkies would sort that out, so she could focus on her bigger problems: Chen, Jack Emery and the approaching election.

As the newcomer walked to the head of the table, Michelle kept talking. “I’d like to introduce Gavin Marles. He joins the board and assumes the chairmanship with a wealth of experience. He has the full support of Sarah McDowell, myself and several other significant shareholders. I hope you’ll join me in endorsing his board appointment and chairmanship unanimously.”

Michelle didn’t add that Marles was also as pliable as they came and in utter lockstep with her agenda. As she looked up and down the table, there were no dissenting voices. She was impressed that the board members could read the situation. Even Sandra, who sat with her arms folded and a sour look on her face.

Marles smiled. “Good morning, all. It’s a pleasure to be here. I intend to hit the ground running, with a review of all of our operations. I’m concerned that at times in recent months our focus erred slightly. I intend to rectify that.”

Michelle smiled. Marles might be a patsy, but he was a capable one. Most importantly, he was her patsy. He’d ensure the war was covered properly. Just as importantly, he’d throw a wave of support behind the bid for Congress by the Foundation candidates.

“Now, with the chairmanship settled, I’d like to get onto the guts of the meeting.” Marles paused. “Peter, could I ask that the shareholders be excused?”

Weston nodded, a sad look on his face. “I’ll send minutes of this meeting to everyone in attendance. You have the company’s thanks for taking the time today. There’ll be light refreshments served in the executive dining room that you’re all welcome to enjoy.”

Michelle smiled and stood without a word. She walked toward the door and met Sarah McDowell. She placed a hand on the young woman’s back and guided her through. Sarah turned her head and smiled, but kept quiet. The meeting had gone as they’d planned.