The Foundation: Jack Emery 1 (4 page)

More importantly, with China focused on the island rather than its greater strategic interests, America would have the opportunity to flex its muscle and pull itself off the mat after the financial crisis. It would also signal the beginning of the next part of their plan: for the Foundation—and Michelle—to get a significant presence in the US Congress. Enough of a presence to exert more control.

A minute ago, she’d felt closer to him than ever. Now, Anton was playing a new game. There had been no talk of outing Chen. She’d been his handler. She’d helped him to plan the attacks. Most importantly, she’d given him access to their secure network. He’d repaid her efforts beyond her wildest imagination. The thought of terminating him such success was an anathema to her.

“Are you insane? We gave our word. The man has a family.”

“They’ll be taken care of as well.” Anton laughed. “Bit late for sanctimony. We just killed thousands of innocent people from thousands of families.”

“This is different. He’s our man.”

“He’s a loose end that needs tying up. Once he’s dead, nothing can be linked back to the Foundation.” He sighed. “Look, Michelle, you’ve still got a lot to learn. I’ll get us some room service and we’ll talk about it some more, okay?”

She ground her teeth. “I don’t want room service. I agreed with the plan, Anton, and I still agree with our purpose. But I don’t like being in the dark one bit, and I don’t like selling out our people either. There’s nothing to be gained by killing Chen.”

But he’d made up his mind, and she knew he wouldn’t change it. In making this decision, Anton was revealing a part of himself she hadn’t seen before. He’d always been ruthless, but until now she’d never considered that he’d so ruthlessly deal with someone who’d done a good job. She had to wonder if she’d suffer the same fate one day.

She lay down next to Anton, who was now on his back with his head resting in his hands. She didn’t say anything, but rolled over and feigned sleep to consider her options. It felt like everything had changed. She was a woman of her word. She’d promised Chen that his family would be safe.

A few hours passed. When she was sure Anton was asleep again, she climbed carefully out of bed, grabbed her cell phone and walked to the bathroom. She locked the door and dialed a number from the address book. It rang for what seemed like an eternity until the call was picked up.

“This is Rodriguez.”

She exhaled with relief. “This is Dominique. Are you still in Taipei?”

“Sure am. At the embassy.”

“Okay. A Taiwanese family need to be looked after. I’ll text you their details. I want them taken to the States. Set them up with a house and some cash. This is urgent.”

“Okay, shouldn’t be a problem, but I’ll need Anton’s green light. This will blow my cover at the embassy.”

She paused. She’d anticipated this. “Anton is indisposed. You can consider this from the top, though.”

“Your call.” Rodriguez sounded unconvinced. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I just need to get to Shanghai!” Jack leaned in closer to the small Japanese woman behind the Air China ticket counter. “My wife is missing and I need to reach her!”

The woman nodded sadly. Though he was enraged, Jack could see that she was unsure about how to proceed with the shouting
gaijin
in front of her.

“
Sumimasen
, sir. I am sorry. I’m unable to get you on a flight to Shanghai. Many airlines have stopped flying, and the remainder are full. There are no available seats aboard Air China or any of our partner airlines. Have you tried Japan Airlines?”

Jack stared at her for a long few moments, then took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, and everyone else. Look, money is no object. I’ll buy you a Ferrari. I just need a seat.” Technically it was true, with Ernest McDowell footing the bill.

Despite this, the woman shook her head and looked behind him. Jack turned to see two Japanese police officers standing rigidly, batons in one hand and radios in the other. They nodded at him, and gestured with their white-gloved hands for him to step away from the counter and over to the side.

Jack exhaled deeply. “Sorry, guys. I know it’s not her fault. I just need to get over there. This is important, you know?”

The policemen looked at each other. They clearly didn’t know, but just wanted Jack to stop harassing the desk staff. His shoulders sagged. They’d probably seen the same thing a hundred times in recent days, and stood with him while he calmed down. After a few minutes one of them patted him on the shoulder and they moved on.

Jack didn’t push his luck. While he was glad he hadn’t been arrested, he was clearly no longer welcome at the Air China counter. It had been his last port of call for the day—he’d tried every other airline that was still flying from Tokyo to Shanghai. He’d have to renew his attempts to beg, bully or bribe a ticket tomorrow.

He sighed and walked away from the ticketing area, resigned to the fact that he was probably not going to reach Erin any time soon. He made his way to the bar that had become his second home since arriving at Narita, in between irregular sleep on plastic chairs and abuse of airline staff. The bar was empty, apart from a few people killing time. It frustrated him that even though he couldn’t get where he wanted to go, others could. In one corner sat a Japanese man with a briefcase at his side, laptop out. In one of the booths, a couple faced each other and talked with passionate eyes and expressive faces, their relationship not yet weighed down by the baggage of time.

He nodded at the bartender and pointed at the nearest beer tap. “Kirin, please.”

The bartender smiled and Jack watched as he slowly filled the glass. He found himself hypnotized by the slow swirl of froth through the amber liquid. He longed for the numbness that the beer would induce, once he’d had enough of it. He craved it. He needed it.

The bartender placed the beer in front of him. “Four-hundred and twenty yen.”

“Airport prices.” Jack fished around in his pocket for a 500-yen coin, which he handed to the bartender. “Thanks. Keep the change.”

As the bartender walked away, Jack’s cell phone rang. He fumbled around in his pocket and dug it out. He didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Jack? Oh, Jack, thank God. It’s Celeste.” The relief in her voice was clear.

The beer shook in Jack’s hands, so much that he placed it on the bar. Celeste was calling. Erin might be alive. Or might not be. Celeste was calling. Not Erin. It was too soon to know for sure, or so the US Embassy had told him. Celeste seemed relieved, so it might be good news. Or might not be. He wanted answers. But didn’t.

He felt empty. “Hi, Celeste.”

“Jack? The line isn’t great. I’m calling from Beijing Airport. They evacuated me out of Shanghai for some minor medical treatment, but I’m fine. It took me a while to find a phone and get sorted, but I spoke to Jo. I’m flying to Tokyo.”

“Why?”

“I’m sorry, Jack.” Her voice started to break and he heard a sob. “Erin is gone. She was standing near me when the bomb went off.”

Jack sagged. “How? I saw you on the TV…”

Another pause. “It was a large piece of shrapnel. I’m so sorry. I waited with her as long as I could. She was gone by the time they forced me into an ambulance.”

Jack felt dizzy. He leaned toward the bar to catch himself, but failed. He slipped off the stool and hit his head on the bar on the way down. The phone clattered down next to him. He reached up and touched his head, then looked at his hand. Blood. He’d split his head open. He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself.

Celeste’s words had kicked in the doors of his preparation, and he felt the grief rushing in. He’d thought himself mentally fortified for Erin’s death, though he’d hoped she was still alive. The reality of it was unbearable. The woman he’d loved, despite their recent issues, was gone. He picked up the phone.

“Jack?” Celeste’s voice dripped with concern. “Jack? Jack, are you okay?”

He just wanted to be alone. “Thanks for telling me.”

He hung up and stood. He righted the stool, sat again and a single tear streaked down his cheek. It was all over. His wife was dead. Deep down, ever since he’d left the bar in New York, he’d known it was likely Erin was dead. The life they’d built together was in ruins. The events of the last few months seemed trivial now.

He took a mouthful of his beer and considered what he’d see if he was outside of his body. He’d see a wreck of a man, mourning the death of his wife and the wasteland of his life. He’d see a man with a beer and little else. He’d pity him. For a while he thought of nothing, just tried to clear his head of the noise, the mess and the despair.

Soon, the sobs came, long and drawn out. Each one felt like it penetrated him to his core. He was as alone in the airport as he was in the world.

***

Ernest conceded that the hospital was quite nice, with a sloped driveway and an impressive garden that gave way to a four-story white building at the center of it all. It was far better than the rest of Ohio, at least. He was frustrated that it had taken him nearly a week to visit his wife after the meeting with Mahoney, because of issues with the US and UK governments, crazies blowing up half of Shanghai and leaving several of his journalists dead or missing.

“You know, Peter, this place is a pain in my ass to get to. Are you sure there’s no way we can get her moved to another facility? In New York, perhaps?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m afraid the doctors were insistent. She’s to stay at this facility in this fine state. They say that to move her will be detrimental to her wellbeing.”

Ernest sighed as the car came to a halt. He opened the door and climbed out of the black sedan with a groan; his back was giving him hell. At least the driver had parked in the spot closest to the hospital front door, ignoring the “CEO” sign. They entered a cavernous lobby so white it hurt his eyes through the double automatic doors.

A large security guard was seated behind a desk with his feet up and his stomach protruding, the buttons on his blue shirt threatening to burst from the strain. Ernest could barely mask his contempt for Sandra’s gatekeeper. He approached the desk and the guard pointed at the guest book on the counter. Ernest stared for several seconds, before scrawling his name and the time on the page without a word. Peter did likewise.

The guard took his feet off the desk, rummaged around in a drawer on the reception desk and held out a meaty hand clenching two identity tags. “You’ll need to put these on your jackets, gentlemen.”

Ernest looked at the tags, then down at his suit jacket, appalled at the idea of a pinhole in his five-thousand-dollar suit. He raised an eyebrow at the guard, who didn’t seem to recognize that he was talking to Forbes’ fifteenth richest man.

“No tag, no entry, sir.” The guard shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Fucking hell. Peter, give me your jacket.”

Peter frowned.

Ernest slid off his jacket. “I saw that look, stop whining, I’ll buy you a new one.”

In most circles Peter would be considered well dressed, but their suits couldn’t be compared and Ernest was in no mood to haggle. After a short pause, Peter undid the button on his jacket and gave it to Ernest. Ernest slid the jacket over his shoulders and clipped on the security pass. The jacket fit well enough and he handed his own to Peter.

“Wait here.”

The guard waved Ernest through and after a short walk down the hall, he found Sandra’s room. He peered in through the small circular window on the door before he entered. She was seated near the room’s largest window, which gave a good view into the garden. He opened the door as quietly as he could to avoid disturbing her, but as usual it didn’t work.

“Good morning, Ernest.” Her voice was cool. “Nice of you to fit me into your schedule. I haven’t seen this little of you since our honeymoon.”

He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, but backed off when she pulled away. “Sorry, it’s been a frantic week.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Though when you didn’t visit right away the staff were a bit worried I might get sad and end myself. I couldn’t stop laughing.”

The couple of days in hospital had clearly ticked her off. She still looked beautiful though, even in her pajamas. Peter had done some digging about her incident. Sandra had harassed a couple at a charity function, but the couple had laughed it off as stress. Though no harm was done, it was a concern. Ernest felt guilty that it had taken so long to get here, but he had other responsibilities. She knew that.

He gestured for her to move over on the sofa and sat next to her. He placed a hand on her leg and she placed her hand on top of his. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Ernest exhaled deeply and tried to relax. It felt like the first moment he’d been off the clock in weeks. He closed his eyes, and she cuddled in to him. It was as close to perfect as he could remember.

He thought about their marriage. He’d courted her, briefly, but in reality Ernest was sure that Sandra had targeted him. He didn’t mind, he loved her and she was an impressive woman in her own right. When Sandra had arrived on the scene, she’d been an enigma. An intelligent Chinese beauty who was completely opposite to his previous wives. This fact hadn’t stopped the two of them being regulars in the trash magazine society pages, and Sandra had found herself compelled to quit her legal career because of the publicity. He’d considered trying to have a child with her, to add to the adult daughter he already had, but at his age he’d decided against it.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She lay down in his lap. He struggled to think of a more serene moment they’d spent together in the past few months.

“Sandra? What can I do to help?”

“Short of staying here with me?” She laughed sadly. “I want all of it to go away. The hacking, the inquiries, the attacks in Shanghai. I can’t handle it all.”

He smiled down at her, though she couldn’t see his face. “I’m working on the first two. The hacking has stopped and I’m doing my best with the inquiries. It’s bleak.”

“Okay.”

“As for the terrorist attacks, I can’t do much about them, Sandra. I lost some people over there, and a few more are injured.”

He felt her tense up. “I’m worried, Ernest. Please be fair in reporting it. We don’t need your usual henchmen stoking the flames of war.”

Ernest frowned. She knew his business and what made it profitable as much as he did. “What happens next is up to the Chinese, Sandra.”

***

Michelle sighed as the car sped along the quiet road. She was seated in the passenger seat next to her driver, Mr Liu, on the way to a small private airport in the middle of nowhere. They’d left Shanghai in the afternoon. Now, hours into the drive, Michelle just wanted to get on the plane and close her eyes. That was still a few hours away though.

She was mad at Anton for his betrayal of Chen, but madder yet at his ability to get out of the country from a normal airport—he’d managed to get a commercial flight, but it was Foundation procedure not to have two leaders on the one plane. By the time her flight had come around, it had been canceled. Now she had to fly out of a dustbowl airport. The only consolation was that Chen’s family should have been extracted by now, though it would anger Anton and probably cause her problems down the track.

Mr Liu, who’d been silent for the whole drive, suddenly cursed under his breath in Mandarin. She knew enough of the language to recognize he’d said something about sons of whores. The car headlights picked out a drab sedan parked across the road and blocking it. She feared that this surprise was not a good one. As their car drew closer, she could see two men in Chinese military uniforms leaning against the sedan. While they seemed casual, talking and smoking, she felt threatened.

“Want me to turn around?” Liu spoke calmly in English.

Michelle swallowed hard. “I don’t think that’d be the stealthy way to handle this.”

He shrugged and kept driving. Spotting the car, one of the soldiers stood up straight and sauntered into the middle of the road. He held up his hand with the palm facing outward and blew a small whistle. Liu stopped the car a few yards away from the impromptu checkpoint. He killed the engine but left the headlights on. Liu was experienced in dealing with Chinese authorities, including in less than official ways, so she could do little except hope that he was worth what the Foundation was paying him.