Cryptic Blood

BLOOD

DON STANSBERRY

International Award-winning author, Don Stansberry, is a native West Virginian and an elementary school teacher.

He is the author of Inky & the Missing Gold and Inky, Oglebee, & the Witches, and his children’s books–which he also illustrated, Koko & Stoney Mom’s Choice Award and Crusty, named a Finalist in the USA News Best Book Awards. Don is the author of Secret Blood, a multiaward-winning book that took top honors for best spiritual fiction at the London Book Festival. It was named a Winner at the Next Generation Indie Book Awards at a reception at The Plaza in New York City during Book Expo America. His second novel, Vulture Bend, is a riveting good vs. evil award-winning story. Don is also part of the Headline Kids School Show Program.

CRYPTIC Book 2 in the Emmanuel Shepherd story

CRYPTIC BLOOD

After a series of cosmic upheavals, life returns to normal. Father Kinzee, now an investigator of religious artifacts, questions the purpose of his new role. One morning, over breakfast with his best friend Simon, a former gang member turned reformed individual, they are approached by a stranger who entrusts them with a significant object. Before they can grasp the situation, the stranger is kidnapped, thrusting them into a perilous world of assassins and the ultra-wealthy.

With official assistance limited, they turn to Simon's former gang for protection against those pursuing the object. As they navigate through a web of greed and corruption, they find themselves entangled in an international manhunt, fighting for survival.

DON STANSBERRY

Cryptic Blood Book 2 of the Emmanuel Shepherd Story

Don Stansberry

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books

Terra Alta, WV

Cryptic Blood

by Don Stansberry copyright ©2024 Don Stansberry All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com mybook@headlinebooks.com www.donstansberrybooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 9781958914380 Library of Congress Control Number: 2024933650

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A

For Patty, the other half of the sky

Introduction As a normal day begins, two seemingly unrelated events happen in different parts of the world.

In an Italian observatory, an object is accidentally discovered in deep space. Its behavior does not follow any known laws of physics. It is reported and fact-checked throughout the astrological community. No one outside of that community pays much attention until factions in the White House realize that it is getting closer in an unsettling way.

In a small parish in Baltimore, a priest hears a confession of an old woman, which leads to a fantastic story of the cloning of Jesus Christ. Soon government officials are questioning the priest and looking for proof of the story. The priest, Father Kenzee, decides to disappear with the proof and, through a series of impossibly random events, is befriended by a reforming street gang.

With the government and the Church both very much interested but still taking the hands-off policy, they watch and wait to see where the truth lies. Once the clone is found alive and brought to the U.S., the powder keg is lit.

Father Kenzee and Simon, one of the gang members, form a deep friendship as they protect Emmanuel, the clone of Jesus.

The government finally must release the information that the object in the sky, now called the Ghost, is a real threat to our planet.

The two unrelated events are now connected, as the media releases information on both. As the world unites to save itself, with Father Kenzee and Simon leading the way, both realize their services may still be needed in the aftermath.

6

Chapter 1 The Cowboy sat quietly, waiting for the man he was about to murder. He looked at the Omega on his wrist and then mentally checked off the timeline. The video feed, thousands of miles away in Rome, would now be on a loop of stagnate footage, the motion sensors remotely turned off, and his contact should be in the wind—thirty minutes to be in and out.

He was cold, even dressed in layers of the latest high-tech clothing and with the heater cranked. A frigid wind blew down the mountain and crashed into a snowbank, sending shards of tiny ice crystals sparking in front of the Range Rover. He shivered. About three kilometers back, he had seen a polar bear meandering along the road. A polar bear, for Christ’s sake.

A vehicle pulled in behind him. It was big and ugly, like something built in Russia and designed for this kind of climate— polar bears and snow. The guy got out and walked awkwardly towards the Cowboy’s vehicle. He was so bundled up he waddled.

The coat was bulky, and the hood was lined with fur. He smiled widely and waved as he approached the Rover’s door. He was having a little trouble staying balanced on the icy gravel and used a gloved hand to steady himself against the side mirror. The cowboy rolled down his window with a big Texas smile.

“Mr. Logrin,” the Cowboy said, extending his hand through the window. The Norwegian continued to smile and shook the hand.

“Mr. Dillion, I presume,” he said with an accent. To the Cowboy, he sounded a little like the Swedish chef on the Muppets.

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Cryptic Blood

“Yep, that’s me.” He quickly studied Logrin, looking for any sign of mistrust. He saw none.

“Can I help you with the seeds?”

“Sure can, Amigo. If you could just step back a little, I’ll slide out and open the back.” The Cowboy watched to see how eagerly the Norwegian obeyed. He picked up a black cowboy hat from the passenger seat and stepped out. The wind blew the door shut.

“Nice weather you got up here,” he said as he held the hat between his side and his elbow.

“It is something one must get used to; we try not to spend too much time outdoors this time of the year,” They opened the back gate as the wind whistled across the parking space in front of the building. “Building” might not have been an appropriate name for it. It was a slate-black rectangle protruding from the bottom of the mountain. Like an alien creation uncovered by erosion, the structure disappeared into the earth and continued underground. The elaborate double doors looked odd in contrast to the minimalist style of the rest of the structure.

The Svalbard Global Seed Vault was the formal name, but it was known around the world as the Doomsday Seed Vault.

“Just grab a handle, partner, and yank,” The Cowboy said.

The container was transparent plastic, the size of a big storage tub with handles on the sides. Inside were two foil-sealed bags, supposedly filled with a new strain of pumpkin seed. The container also held an eighteen-inch steel bar configured like a pry bar on one end and a mallet on the other. It was hidden by the container’s royal blue lid.

Logrin slid a rectangular key the size of a dollar bill into a slot in the wall, and they entered the first set of doors. The air had a sterile smell, but the temperature did not change. Ahead of them was a transparent wall constructed of thick glass with sliding secure doors in the center. To the right, mounted on the wall, was a monitor, a keypad, and a retina scanner.

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Logrin typed and leaned in for the scan, then turned and smiled. “Welcome to the Seed Vault.”

The double doors swooshed open as if there was a vacuum between the rooms. Ahead lay a long hallway with rounded sides appearing like a semi-flattened tube. The lights clicked on, section by section, for at least a hundred meters under the mountain.

The Cowboy was impressed, and he let it show. “And I thought we did things big in Texas!”

Logrin beamed. He obviously enjoyed showing off this place, and he relaxed any reservations he may have had. “You may place the seeds on the carrier there,” he said, nodding at a modified golf cart parked along the wall. “Let’s check to see exactly which section will house your seeds. Every container has an address.”

The security center was twenty meters down the hallway and on the right. They sat side by side with the Logrin driving the cart. They had been inside for six minutes. Twenty-four minutes to go.

“Do you have a family, Mr. Dillion?” Logrin asked.

“Yep, a big family. Problem is, it’s split up among three exwives.” They chuckled.

“There is nothing more important than family,” Logrin said.

He used the same rectangular key to open the office. The Cowboy opened the lid and went for the pry bar as soon as the key was inserted. A soft chime sounded as the door opened and lights flickered on. As Logrin started to turn, the Cowboy brought the mallet end of the pry bar down on Login’s head, fracturing the skull with tiny lightning bolt cracks. He went down heavily on his stomach and lay still on the cold floor.

The Cowboy knelt on one knee beside him and placed the sharp end of the bar at the base of the fallen man’s skull. He leaned into the bar and severed the spinal cord cleanly. The gloves he wore were the newest polar tech variety. He dropped them on the carpet, revealing the surgical gloves he wore underneath. The whole thing took fifteen seconds.

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Cryptic Blood

He pulled Logrin by the legs into the office and behind a desk, then retrieved the pry bar. Behind the desk was a bookshelf that ran the length of the wall. Photos and personal items were dispersed strategically on the upper shelves and office supplies were on the lower ones.

The Cowboy crossed the room, positioned himself behind the desk, and pushed it across the room. He scooted the chair behind it. Then he got a firm grip on the shelving unit and pulled.

It crashed to the floor with an almighty racket, breaking glass and splintering wood. Stepping over the mess, he ran his hand over the drywall where the shelves had been. He used two more minutes sweeping his hand and finding what he hoped was the correct spot.

Switching the pry bar from his left to his right hand, he slammed it into the drywall at a point just above his head and pulled it downward. What was left was a ragged scar in the wall, which ran from his head to his knees. He moved to his left and repeated about a meter away. Next, he tore a horizontal cut that finished a crude doorway. Nineteen minutes to go.

The cleaved drywall fell, revealing a concrete block passageway. It ended at a massive vault door.

The door had no visible lock, hinges, or handles and stood formidable. The Cowboy could see his blurred image in its stainless steel. He retrieved the tote that supposedly contained the seeds and carried it back to the door. The foil bags contained a chemical compound that was fashioned into bricks. He tore open the foil and adhered the bricks to the four corners of the steel door, then retrieved the igniters. They each blipped to life as they were inserted into the chemical. Quickly stepping back into the hall, he produced a transmitter from his pocket and tapped a tiny button. The igniters popped, and the chemical began to burn with a brilliant white heat, many times hotter than the sun.

Fourteen minutes to go.

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Forty seconds later, four holes the size of dinner plates sizzled in the door, tripping some type of relay. The massive door slowly slid to the left and into the wall. A gush of sterilized air rolled out, sending bits of drywall and cinder block particles across the cement floor. Inside, lights flickered on, something the Cowboy had counted on. What he did not know was that the same circuit was also sending an alarm to an organization that even his employers knew nothing about.

The room was unadorned and empty except for one item.

On the center of the floor was a dark gray, carbon fiber container about the size of a coffee table. It lay on the floor as if the room had been built around it, which it had. In fact, the entire Seed Vault was a cover for this one item. The Cowboy neither knew nor cared. He had ten minutes to be on his way.

In Longyearbyen, a town only a few miles from the Seed Vault, Jorge Hydiigen sat at his desk. At fifty, overweight, and with conspicuous ruddy cheeks, he looked like a heart attack waiting to happen. He was contacting sellers for a first-edition Huck Finn. A Japanese customer was interested if he could obtain it at the right price. A sale like that could bring a tidy profit.

He had taken this position years ago when the Seed Vault was being built. His was an occupation that allowed most business to be accomplished over the Internet. For a time, he had traveled extensively, making contacts and positioning himself as a rare book investment broker to the wealthy of Europe. He spoke several languages fluently, was well-versed in literature, and was a wealth of entertaining stories about the authors. His business did very well.

But the book business was only a part of his life and not the real reason he was living in Norway. Slowly, his thumb spun the Masonic ring on his finger.

His thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang. He glanced at the incoming number and then looked at it again, unbelieving. He took off his glasses and answered. He did not 11

Cryptic Blood

speak for the first few moments, and after that, there were only small grunts of understanding. Two minutes later, he was in the back room of his rare bookstore, removing two silver suitcases hidden in the floor. One minute later, he was turning his sign to CLOSED and locking the door.

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Chapter 2

The Cowboy stepped to the container. It was smooth and looked aerodynamic. He kicked it with his foot. It moved a couple of centimeters. Not too heavy, but it looked too awkward to carry. The surface was too rounded to grab. He knelt to get a better look at the bottom. The ends were tapered like a bow of a boat. He stepped to the other end and, for the first time, noticed a flat eight engraved in the carbon fiber. He stood with his hands on his hips and figured his best shot was to get down on his knees and push it out the door, over the rubble from the drywall, across the office, and out to the golf cart. The design of the container allowed it to surf over the surfaces, and the carbon fiber was smooth and tough. He slipped back into the office, lifted the shelving unit back into place, and then shoved the desk and chair back to their original spot.

He lifted one end of the container into the wheel well of the cart, then pulled the other end around more and leaned it against the seat. The container weighed between a hundred and two hundred kilos, a bit less than his weight. The cart’s electric motor pushed it down the corridor and to the outer doors.

The Cowboy used the key card to open the doors and then slid the container across the rough ice to the Rover. He placed it in the cargo area the same way he had the golf cart, one end at a time, He entered the vault a second time to park the cart back in its original spot. He had left evidence, and it would be noticed, but it wouldn’t be noticed quickly.

With three minutes to spare, he was on his way to the plane.

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Chapter 3

The Cowboy had not reached the top of his profession without seeing the big picture. His big picture. He understood that after the transaction had taken place, he was a loose end to his employers. And employers this wealthy and powerful did not like loose ends.

At the outset of this project, he had done two things. The first of which was to negotiate half the money upfront and half on delivery. Four million American dollars had been deposited in an offshore bank account and already moved half a dozen times.

The other four million was insurance money. If his employers were going to eliminate him, they would do it before they paid the balance. If they were going to let him disappear with the money, he would know right away and never have to look over his shoulder again. Well, not exactly never, but he was very good at vanishing and flying under the radar. He had done it before with a lot less money. Maybe South America. Someplace warm.

The second thing he did in preparation for a double cross was to hire a stand-in.

He had met the kid only the night before in the lounge at the Basecamp Spitsbergen, the most upscale hotel around.

The Cowboy had bought him a few drinks and offered him ten thousand kroner to deliver a package for him. Five thousand now and another five when he had confirmation the package had been delivered. All he had to do was ride along on the plane with it. The Cowboy explained that he was road-weary and would do

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just about anything not to get on another jet. The kid was young, bored, and looking for some adventure.

The Cowboy was certain that his employers only knew his general description, and with a little help like a cowboy hat and boots, the kid could get on the plane without a hitch. He was unsure if the pilots were involved or not, so he assumed they were. Better to err on the side of caution.

He picked the kid up in the parking lot, near his car, shaking with cold, and drove directly to Beechcraft Premier. He took his hat off and placed it on the kid’s head. They drove directly onto the tarmac where the plane was waiting. The Cowboy shook his hand and the kid got out.

The copilot opened the door and glided down the three steps onto the tarmac. The kid met him just like a pro. They shook, walked around to the rear of the Rover, opened the hatch, and pulled out the container. It was much easier for the two of them to handle, even with the smooth surface and the bow-shaped ends. The kid winked at the Cowboy as they passed, then went straight up the three stairs and disappeared inside the fuselage.

The Cowboy wasted no time turning and driving out of the airport and back to his hotel.

His thoughts passed back to moments before when they were carrying the container and the figure of the horizontal eight.

He was jolted back into the present as a crazed man driving a Jeep like a lunatic slid over onto his side of the road. He blew his horn, and they passed, mirrors nearly touching.

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Chapter 4

Jorge Hydiigen knew when he saw the plane taxiing out to the runway he was going to be too late. Not too late to save the package, but too late to avoid any deaths.

This was not an airport with strong security. That would have brought attention, which would have been counterproductive to the seed vault and its clandestine objective. Less security was more secure, like hiding out in the open.

Hydiigen drove into the area adjacent to the runway, where the plane would leave the ground. He must be stationary, an ambush predator. He could not try to catch the plane before it began moving because if it did, he would not have time to stop and prepare. The Jeep rolled to a stop beside a steel fence, motor idling.

So here it was, after all these years, he was going to have to kill. His stomach convulsed.

The navigation system was of little use now, so he swept it off the seat and opened the other silver suitcase.

In it was a strange-looking weapon. It consisted of a metal gun stock and trigger and a device like a showerhead at the end of a very thick barrel. From the end of the stock trailed a coiled electrical cord. The whole contraption was about half a meter long and light. It wasn’t balanced like a rifle; a rifle was smooth and organic in its lines. This was industrial-looking.

He gathered the electric cord and plugged it into a port on the side of the suitcase. The foam interior of the suitcase lifted out, exposing another cord, which he immediately plugged into the 16

Don Stansberry

Jeep’s power outlet. The engine hum lowered as the gun began sucking up the juice.

At the end of the runway, the jet was revving up its engines.

The background behind the thrusters blurred with engine heat, and the front landing gear relaxed a bit as the plane began rolling forward.

Hydiigen took the time for a quick glance out the back window. He hit the button for the sunroof and waited for what seemed like minutes for it to open.

The plane was speeding down the runway now. Soon, the speed would be great enough to produce the required lift to be airborne. The snow was swirling at the wingtips in sweeping waves as the engines whined.

Hydiigen squirmed to his knees, still holding the gun. Then, with another grunt, he managed to push the gun out onto the Jeep’s roof and stand in the seat. He could hear the thumping of the plane’s tires as it raced up the runway.

The landing gear was just clearing the tarmac as the jet passed him with a great roar. He didn’t aim the gun; he only pointed it in the direction of the plane. A small green light that glowed on the stock turned to red as he pulled the trigger.

For a split second, nothing changed. The jet roared on, the motors continued to whine, and the gun remained silent. Then, all sound from the jet stopped. No rushing wind, no engine noise, only silence. The plane continued slicing through the air and then started to roll to the starboard. And the speed began to decrease.

It was less than fifty meters in the air when the electronics failed.

The electromagnetic pulse gun left no visible signs of attack.

This was a prototype with an amplifying barrel extension, and very few people knew it existed. The concept was to stop any vehicle by frying the electronics. The effect on an aircraft was much more dramatic.

He watched expressionlessly as the plane passed the end of the runway and scraped the starboard wingtip on frozen ground.

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Cryptic Blood

Then it cartwheeled, kicking up snow and dirt and sending airplane parts in gyrating waves in all directions. The body of the plane smashed into the ground tail first, then broke into hundreds of pieces bouncing across the snow. Thirty seconds after he had fired the gun, the once sleek aircraft lay in bent and broken clumps of metal. *** Because of the lack of electrical sparks, frigid temperatures, low speed, and altitude, the plane did not explode or catch fire.

The jet fuel hit the cold ground and pooled harmlessly.

Hydiigen stood in his seat, staring at the wreckage of a plane crash that he had caused. He wiggled back down into the driver’s seat and threw the gun onto the passenger seat. About fifty meters ahead was a break in the fence, an opening to allow smaller planes entrance into hangers. He avoided the urge to floor the gas and get to the wreckage quickly.

The Jeep pulled out slowly and rolled parallel to the fence until he reached the opening. The debris field started at the end of the runway and stretched out for a couple hundred meters. He knew the color and shape of the container even though he had never actually seen it.

Activity had started in one of the larger hangars as Hydiigen had begun pulling onto the runway. The emergency crews consisted of airport workers with specialized training. In a case of an emergency such as this, employees of the airport dropped what they were doing at their regular jobs and sprinted to the Emergency Area. There, they would gather the equipment needed for the situation. The first wave of responders was four minutes away.

He began praying for a quick find. Most of what lay before him were indistinguishable parts of the airplane. The engines had stayed intact for the most part, along with sections of the wings.

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He eliminated everything bigger than a couch and anything smaller than a wheelbarrow. Then, he began looking for color.

He concentrated on not looking at anything that could be a body.

The Jeep zigzagged through the twisted metal, beginning a grid search. Then he spotted it. He saw the trail first. It had hit and, because of its shape, had slid across the snow and away from the crash.

He followed the trail and pulled in front of the container.

There, like an identifying mark, was the infinity symbol. Loading was easier than it had been for the Cowboy for some reason, probably adrenalin, and he was back in the Jeep and pulling away before the first emergency vehicle arrived.

He was driving on the runway when the first siren started. A fire truck accelerated out of a hangar and passed him on its way to the site. An ambulance followed, but he flagged it down before it passed him. He jumped out of the Jeep, waving his arms.

“I have a man with a badly broken leg,” he said to the ambulance driver. “I am taking him to the hospital. I know there were others on the plane, but I could not find them.”

Before the driver had a chance to say anything, Hydiigen was back in the Jeep and driving away. His mind clicked off options, which were not as cut and dry as they should have been. How was it that the primary security company had missed the breakin completely? Only a handful of people knew the container existed, so who would go to this extreme to steal it? Hydiigen quickly concluded that there were only two possible answers.

One is this was an inside job. Someone in the group had gone to all the trouble to hide it was trying to steal it for themselves. If that was the case, they would know he was the one who brought the plane down and he was in possession of the container.

The only other conclusion was that word had leaked out of its existence, and someone outside of the group had tried to steal it. Which meant they would not know of his role in recovering it.

He would have a much better chance if this were true.

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Either way, Hydiigen could not return the container to the Seed Vault. He realized that his life was currently in grave danger.

He also knew his life would never be the same again, even if he did live through this. The container in the back of the Jeep was equivalent to a bomb. He had to make a quick decision.

At least three dead, maybe more, and probably more to come. These dead men were sacrificed like grains of sand to save a breach. He was next in line to be sacrificed. A decision had to be made. The only way to keep the stone from being stolen was to steal it himself. Hydiigen turned and drove back to the airport, toward the charter jet rentals. The snow continued to fall, beautiful and indifferent.

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Chapter 5 By now, the Cowboy knew that something had gone drastically wrong. He had pulled off the road, changed clothes in the back of the Rover, shaved with a battery-powered razor, and exchanged his cowboy hat and aviators for a Pittsburgh Pirates hat and horn rims. He was now Jeffery Payne, a scientist hitching a ride with a group of NASA guys. He pulled the Rover in through a different entrance and parked it with a group of snow-covered vehicles that looked abandoned.

He walked into the waiting room and nodded hello to a couple of scientists looking out the large windows. Then, he watched the chaos with everyone else. The notion that he could have been killed on the plane did not faze him. The reason that the plane had crashed did. Why would someone pay to have the container stolen only to destroy it? They could have had it blown up right there at the Seed Vault. Something else must be going on here. Maybe something his employers were also unaware of.

He slipped unnoticed out of the waiting room and down a hall, looking for an unoccupied office. He found it at the end, dark and empty.

Being on an island with a NASA base had its advantages. The phone system, with its powerful cell tower, could put the user in touch with anyone in the world. Jeffery took full advantage. He dialed a memorized number.

He heard someone answer on the other end, but they said nothing. He said finally, “What happened?”

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“We were hoping you would know. Were you not on the plane?” a voice said.

“Evidently,” he said.

“Then you do not have the container?”

“I delivered it to your pilots; I completed my job,” he said.

“Your job was to deliver it to us,” the voice said.

“If I had done that, I would be dead, and the container would still be missing. Apparently, there is a third party that you knew nothing about. Either way, our arrangement has changed.”

The voice said nothing; he waited.

He decided to press his luck, “I will expect the rest of my payment, or you can rehire me to acquire the container again.”

He knew that if they didn’t rehire him, they would try to eliminate him soon. If they did rehire him, he could bank some big money and buy some time for an exit strategy.

“Excuse me, sir. Exactly what are you doing here?” He turned to see a serious-looking NASA security guard in the doorway.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m trying to surprise my mom; I’m making arrangements with the church. I’m afraid this crash may delay everything.” The guard’s grim look softened.

“Make it quick,” he said and backed out of the door.

“Well, what is it going to be?” he said into the phone.

“Call this number tomorrow and we will discuss a new price.”

The line went dead.

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Chapter 6 I used to be a priest, but now I’m not sure of what I am. I sat in my office looking at a potato chip with a burn on it. The owner of the chip, with immense pride, turned it over to the church because the spot looked like Christ. I had already taken highresolution photos and documented its characteristics. I cataloged and recorded all this onto a thumb drive and a hard drive and was preparing my report on its authenticity. This is my job now.

I’m still a Father, according to my mail, but I do not have a church or a parish. This is how I serve God, investigating burns on chips and odd-shaped vegetables. I evaluate these anomalies to see if there is a true religious message.

Outside, a bird was singing, as they do in the mornings, not in the early mornings but at the time just before the bees begin heading for the flowers. Like in the factories, when one shift ends, another begins.

Another bird landed on a branch just outside my window. It answered the first bird in song, then flitted away, obscured by the new spring leaves. I noticed a white car parked a bit down the street. I knew it was a rental. I’m not exactly sure how I knew, but I did. Maybe it was its blatant blandness, maybe because I had never seen a car parked in that particular spot before.

I rolled my desk chair a bit closer to the window and inched back the drapes. I couldn’t tell if there was a person in the car or if the shadows were piquing my imagination or my paranoia. My interest in the potato chip waned.

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It had been several weeks since Emmanuel and Central Park.

I realized that the church had buried me in this assignment.

They didn’t know what to do with me, and I could appreciate their situation. We were all profoundly and eternally touched by Emmanuel, but we are humans living in a human world. We got up the next day more enlightened and more spiritual, but we still had to go to work, mow the grass, and take out the garbage.

The doorbell rang, and I jumped. I was wound up, and I wasn’t sure why.

No one outside of our circle had ever spoken about what had happened. We were not recognized by anyone as “being with him” at the White House or Central Park. Our images on the Miracle Shootout and The Noah’s Ark video didn’t exist. They just weren’t there any longer.

I tentatively made my way through the office, into the hallway, and to the front door. It was large and oak and had opaque glass panels on both sides. I could see a figure on the porch. It leaned fluidly into a porch pillar, cool as the other side of the pillow. I opened the door. He was wearing a Beatles T-shirt, which made me smile.

“Hey, Babe, s’up?” Simon said.

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Chapter 7 “You hungry? Let’s go get somethin’ to eat,” he said. We were standing in my living room. “I’m starvin’.”

Simon was always animated, in constant motion, but had a blood pressure of about zero. Skinny and long, he looked as though he was held together with rubber bands. When he first picked me up, he had a medium-sized Afro. Now, it was closer to being shaved. He looked around the room.

“Your house?”

“It’s the church’s house; they’re letting me stay here until they decide what to do with me,” I said. Simon was still looking around.

“Nice, nice,” he said. “Not really my style. Got some doilies on the end tables, I see.” He raised his eyebrows.

He leaned in close. “You think it’s bugged?”

“No,” I said, but I had wondered the same thing.

“Come on, let’s get some breakfast someplace.”

I really didn’t want to go; I’m not sure why. It felt wrong. I knew he would want to talk about Emmanuel, and I couldn’t. The whole thing was too personal and complicated, and I was not ready to deal with it yet. It was like trying to explain the happiest day of your life to someone. I couldn’t convey the emotion or the magnitude. So, instead of talking with my closest friends, I kept to myself and wondered if I was becoming unbalanced.

On the other hand, I loved being around Simon. And maybe he was reaching out the way I needed to. If that was true, I needed to be there for him. Love God and love each other. Then again, maybe he was just hungry.

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“All right,” I finally said. “Let me run upstairs and get some money.”

“Get a bunch, I’m hungry,” he said.

That made me smile, but it also stopped me on the steps.

“Hey, do you have a rental car?”

“Nope. Why?” “Look and see if there is a car parked outside, about halfway down the block. Look out the office window. Real plain-looking car.”

I went on up the stairs. It was an old house. I could hear the boards creaking in the office as Simon walked by my desk.

“Nope,” he said again, but not as clearly.

By the time I returned downstairs, he was waiting at the door, chewing.

“I finished off that last potato chip on your desk. Looked like it was goin’ bad or something, tasted fine though,” he said, then was out the door.

We found a restaurant serving breakfast.

“You know he’s out there someplace; doesn’t that bother you?” Simon asked. “We could be with him, you know, helping him.”

The restaurant was loud and busy. It was a little mom-andpop place called Elkie’s. The plates were the thick white kind that wouldn’t break unless you ran over them with a truck. The forks and knives scraping on them were as loud as the breakfast conversations. The butter was real, and the grease was thick. A man in an expensive suit held the door for another man as he hurried in.

“Believe me, I’ve thought about that,” I said. “If he wanted us with him, he would have asked us. He must want us here.”

“Thought you’d say something like that, you being religious and all.”

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I had to laugh, “Me religious? You’re the one wanting to run off to Africa or some dangerous place to help him. That’s commitment.”

He poured some syrup on his sausage and cut it into chunks.

His entire plate was a shallow pool of syrup. “Naw, maybe I just need some action to keep my skill set sharp.”

I was about to ask which skill set when the waitress appeared.

She seemed a little disgruntled. She was about forty and wore a starched white waitress dress. A chunk of gum was stuck in the corner of her mouth. The named tag said Doris and had a little rainbow attached to it.

“Can I get you anything else, I mean, besides another jug of syrup?” she asked.

I had an omelet, and I was stuffed. Simon, on the other hand, looked like he was just starting.

“How about another stack of pancakes?”

“All out of pancakes,” she said.

“How are you out of pancakes? This is a breakfast place.”

“We’re out.”

“Hash browns?”

“All gone.”

“Bacon?”

“Nope.”

“Can a brother get a piece of toast?”

“Listen, we close at 1:00. If I hustle, I can get out of here by 2:30. My other job starts at 4:00. I don’t get to have the same sparkling conversations at that job as I do here, but I’d still like to keep it. So, like they say, you don’t gotta go home; you just gotta get outta here.” She dropped the bill on the table.

“Damn, I think she’s upset about the syrup.”

I noticed a guy looking at me from another table. He was the guy that had hurried in earlier. When he saw that I saw him, he looked away. He was sweating and looked bad, like sick. He was on the heavy side and, from what I could see, hadn’t touched his 27

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plate. I got that feeling that I get before something happens when the world tilts just a little.

He wiped his forehead with his napkin and stood. He walked directly to our booth. He dragged a chair from the only empty table and sat down at ours.

“Father. Simon,” he said in the way of a greeting.

We were both taken aback that he spoke to us as though we should know him. Even though he was sweating, he had an air of authority about him. His clothing was ill-fitting but looked expensive. Old money, I thought, or else he ran in the circles of old money. He was out of place here, fashion-wise and climatewise. There was an accent, but I could not identify it like it was layered upon other accents.

“I am sorry to disturb you, but time is short.”

“Who the hell are you?” Simon said.

“You’ll have to excuse my manners. I apologize for barging in on your lunch, but I have little time. My name is Jorge.” He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his temples. “I have in my possession an artifact that could change the world in which we live.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. “I desperately need it secured.”

“Well, we sure as hell don’t want it,” Simon said.

I gave Simon a look and said to the man, “Slow down. You want the two of us?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You know who we are?

He nodded.

“I’m not sure we are able to help anyone. What is it that you want us to do?”

“I do not know whom to trust. I know that you have been trusted by the Holy One—both of you. Who else can say that?”

He was letting us know that he knew about Emmanuel. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing. There was a warmth about the guy that I didn’t see at first. He seemed sincere and scared.

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“I could call someone, someone in the government, someone in the church—” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“No! Only you two!” He looked around the restaurant and dabbed his forehead again. “I am sorry. I do not mean to be rude, and I do not want to frighten you, but you must understand the importance of this item. These are very powerful men. They will stop at nothing. Several people have died in the last two days, and I fear there will be many more.”

Jorge looked from Simon to me, almost pleading.

“I don’t know how we can help if I can’t contact anyone,” I said.

“I noticed you haven’t eaten anything off your plate,” Simon said, looking over at the other table.

“I am truly sorry that I have burdened you with this, and if I could create another option, I would, but for now, you are my last resort. I have no right putting your lives in danger.”

“Whoa,” Simon said. “I just gave up a life of danger; I’m not gonna start another one now. Especially since I got no clue what you’re talking about.”

“I am sorry. I was hoping that you would agree and do this willingly, but I have no choice; the process has already started. I can only tell you that the item is of great importance; why it is important, I do not know. Expect the unexpected. God bless.”

He stood, walked out of the restaurant, looked up and down the street and then walked out of sight.

“Is that what we got to expect from now on, crazies tracking us down wherever we go?” Simon asked. “Expect the unexpected.

Sounds like somethin’ they’d say on The X-Files.”

“I don’t know, do you think he was crazy? He seemed genuinely frightened to me,” I said.

“He genuinely frightened because he genuinely crazy.”

Doris was standing by the cash register with her hands on her hips, glaring at us. The crowd was thinning. Her right foot 29

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was tapping out a staccato rhythm on the linoleum. She was still working on the same piece of gum.

“Time to go,” Simon said.

I left money, the bill, and a generous tip on the table. I tipped my head to Doris as we left. Simon picked up some silverware wrapped in a napkin and made like he was sticking it in his pocket, then smiled at Doris. She didn’t smile back.

“Sill making friends wherever you go,” I said.

“Some people are too uptight,” he said.

We walked the four blocks back to my house in the glorious morning sunshine. Down the street, the white car was still there, but now both doors were open, but no one was around. The birds had quit singing.

I stood staring at the car, trying to work out what could have happened.

“Keep walking,” Simon said.

We did. We walked to my house and went in without saying a word. We sat silently.

“Do you think that was the guy’s car?” I said. “He wasn’t that far in front of us.”

“Don’t take long,” Simon said. “One guy walks up the sidewalk when they see him coming, another guy across the street. They pull a gun from both sides and open the door, and he’s got nowhere to go. Third guy drives up, and they all get in.

Only take ten seconds if you know what you’re doing.”

We sat quietly for a few seconds. “Damn, man, I thought he was crazy.”

The neighborhood seemed happy and bright. The flowers were blooming, and someone was mowing grass. A man had just been kidnapped and was probably being interrogated. I had to admit that even though something terrible just happened to someone, my adrenaline was starting to ratchet up. How priestly was that? I was pumping with anticipation, ready to start another what? Mission? Adventure?

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Simon said, “You know earlier when you said Emmanuel didn’t want us with him because maybe there was something we were supposed to do here. You think this is it?”

“I don’t know,” I said, even though I did. “But just in case, give me your cell number.”

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Chapter 8 That night, I called Father Craig, my good friend from the seminary and, I guess, what you might call my link to my bosses. My reports were sent via email to someone I had never met. I received my assignments the same way. If anyone wanted anything other than that, I got a call from Father Craig. I had the feeling that he did more negotiating on my benefit than he let on.

I explained what had happened to Simon and me. Things were beginning to feel a little weird. He was a good listener and waited until I finished before he said anything.

“You’re the king of things getting weird,” he said. “I’ll call the Diocese in the morning and say that you may be indisposed for an indefinite time. They may be tired of creating things for you to do anyhow.”

I trusted him as much as anyone in the world, even Simon and Shine. I started worrying as soon as I hung up. Had I put him in danger? Simon was street-smart and slippery. Shine was just plain tough. Father Craig possessed none of the skills needed to survive the type of individuals that might come after him. Of course, he had God on his side.

That evening, Father Craig contacted Dr. DeRose, one of our seminary instructors. He had written several books and was a religious advisor to senators and the president. He was part of our inner circle when Emmanuel was with us. Recently, he was becoming a formidable power inside the Beltway and courted by both sides of the aisle.

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Father Craig was very vague but explained that he thought I had been placed in some type of dangerous situation and asked him to keep an eye out for me without causing too much attention. He was astute enough to realize that Dr. DeRose would contact Jimmy Reinhart, the president’s brother, and his chief of staff. They had known each other for years as personal friends and political allies. He was a very good person to have on our side.

Father Craig also called Mr. Stubbs, who was until recently the head of a major criminal organization. The gang’s territory had been part of Father Craig’s parish, and the two men had met and grown to respect each other. Together, they were transforming their endeavors into a legitimate restaurant business.

After only a few hours, at least three others knew as much as Simon and I did. By the next morning, the number would have grown to several dozen.

I went to bed feeling very apprehensive. If I had known what was to take place in the next 24 hours, I would not have slept at all.

33

Chapter 9 My phone rang early the next morning. I never get any calls before nine, and this one was just west of seven. Apparently, someone was hard at work all night planning my day because I was being sent to some town in Ohio to authenticate a stain in a tree trunk. About three hours there and three hours back, details in an email. My hiatus would start after that.

I got out of bed and looked out my window. It was clear as far as the corners at both ends of the street. The white car was gone.

I brushed my teeth and looked out the window on the other side of the house. I don’t know what I was expecting, a group of S.W.A.T.-looking guys storming the property, I guess. But it was clear, no paramilitary or ninjas.

After shaving, showering, and dressing, I went downstairs to check the email. I made it through the living room and almost into my office before having the living daylights scared out of me

by Simon, who was slouching at my kitchen table with a halfempty box of glazed donuts and two Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cups.

I jumped and made an unheroic sound; he just sat cracking the tiniest smile.

“You scared me to death,” I said as I pulled out the other kitchen chair and helped myself to a donut.

“Got a call from Mr. Stubbs last night,” he said, mouth still full of donut. “He says you are going on a trip today, and I’m to ride shotgun.”

“How did he know that I’m going on a trip?”

“Don’t know how he knew, he just knew.”

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We sat and ate donuts for the next couple of minutes. Simon took his time eating and drinking. And explaining.

“Mr. Stubbs thinks one of two things is happening. One, the powers that be are trying to get you out of town until this thing, whatever it is, blows over. Two, somebody is setting you up. Sending you into a trap away from whatever protection you have here. Anyhow, more than Mr. Stubbs scurrying around over this.”

“How do you know that?”

He took another sip of coffee. “Because Mr. Stubbs said not to shoot any real cops. We wouldn’t have any interaction with real cops if they weren’t on the case. I have to discern the real from the fake ones.” He smiled, showing the big, beautiful teeth.

“I am working on my vocabulary.”

“What about Shine?” I asked.

“You know and I know that Shine is a bit more domesticated being with his daughter and all, but he’s still a nasty-looking dude. We want to be on the down-low on this, not scaring the hell out of people. Shine sittin’ this one out.” He took a sip of coffee. “For now.”

We finished off the donuts, and within twenty minutes, we were ready to go. I packed my camera and documenting materials into a briefcase and headed to my car. Simon was going to leave his car, a late-model black Cadillac with chrome rims and lowprofile tires, in my garage. He backed in after I pulled out. My tan Camry looked almost invisible compared to his.

“This car gonna make it that far, Kemo Sabe?

He jumped in and rested a sawed-off double barrel against his side of the console. He smiled at my surprise. “I told you I was riding shotgun. Now I know this is gonna be a long ride, so I brought some classic CDs. Let’s start with Wet Willie.” *** 35

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The first goal was Hagerstown. We rolled through the urban sprawl and out into the less congested areas of Maryland. I sang along with Simon and Wet Willie on the choruses and listened to them sing the rest of the time. I glanced in the mirror from time to time, but the weather was too nice and the music too catchy to really believe that anyone would be following us on a day like this. The reality of a man being kidnapped was slowly becoming more unlikely. I was almost able to tell myself I had overreacted to the whole thing.

Once we hit Hagerstown and a rest stop, we headed toward Cumberland and the Appalachian Mountains. Simon switched over to Sly and the Family Stone. The more the landscape changed, the more he perked up and looked out the window. I wasn’t sure how far Simon had been outside of the city, so I decided to mess with him a little. I turned Sly down.

“Rattlesnake country here,” I said. We were on top of a mountain, as miles of forest spread to the right and another group of mountains rose bluish on the horizon. He instinctively touched the shotgun but said nothing.

“Timber rattlers get about six-foot-long and as big around as your arm. Your arm, not Shine’s arm.” He sat quietly, unusual for him, and continued to peer at the countryside.

We climbed the mountain and started down the other side, but our view was cut off. The only thing visible on both sides was the layer of rocks where the soil had been blasted through to build the highway.

“Copperheads too,” I said.

“Alright, man, quit with the snakes. I don’t do snakes. This whole place is kinda creepy to me. I’ve seen movies like this: one wrong turn, and we spendin’ the night runnin’ from a bunch of mutants. You just watch the road.” He turned Sly back up.

When the CD finished, we were still going up and then back down the mountains. The terrain was rough, and it was difficult to look at the surroundings without thinking about the people 36

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who originally traveled this way. That’s what I was thinking about; Simon was going back even farther.

“OK, you see all these layers of rock, right? So, this where they find dinosaur bones out west, right?”

“I guess,” I said.

“How come there aren’t any dinosaurs in the Bible? That’s a big deal, right? There’s, like, The Garden of Eden, then there are the Jews. Don’t say nothing about no dinosaurs. How is that?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You don’t know? You’re a priest and all. You’re a religious investigator. You don’t know?”

I shrugged. I knew he hated that.

“I grew up watching Oprah. I think you’re like her. Act all smooth and calm, but you don’t know much more than the rest of us,” he said.

“Why do you think I know so much? You’re probably smarter than I am.”

“Damn right, I’m smarter than you, smarter than Oprah too.”

He smiled. “We just had some difference in our previous career paths.”

We drove in silence, up and down the mountains. He decided on another CD. Songs in the Key of Life. Stevie Wonder.

“You hungry? Man, I am starving,” he said. We started looking for a place to eat and gas up. It took the rest of that CD and part of a Marvin Gaye to find someplace we could both agree on.

The gas was easy, about a half of a mile off the interstate. The restaurant was another half mile, but it seemed farther. The road went to two lanes and was in a field surrounded by a young crop of corn. We were so hungry by then that neither of us wanted to turn around.

The place was called The Peacock’s Wings and was painted purple and white. There was a long front porch about a foot off the ground and whitewashed rockers positioned so overflow customers would be able to sit comfortably and talk. I’d never 37

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seen something look so out of place. It was as if it had been taken from someplace in Jamaica and dropped in West Virginia.

Simon got out and headed toward the door without a bit of trepidation. I followed.

The inside was even stranger. There were pink flamingos everywhere. They were painted on the walls and printed on the menus. There were plastic ones nailed to the floor and cement ones on the tables. We sat in a booth, and the waitress came over with her little order pad. She appeared normal, in her twenties, with her blond hair pulled back. Her uniform was pink with a white frilly collar.

“Man, those aren’t Peacocks. Why is this place called The Peacock’s Wings when it’s decorated in flamingos?” Simon asked.

“Because we serve fried peacock wings,” she said, then giggled.

Simon gave me a sideways glance, then said, “I’ll just have a hamburger. You got those, right?”

“Do you want ham on your burger or beef?” she said with raised eyebrows. She paused, then let out another highpitched giggle. “I’m just funnin’ you, honey. Of course, we have hamburgers, and I’ll throw some fries on with that, too.”

“I’ll have the same, please,” I said.

She walked away, still chuckling to herself.

“See what I mean,” Simon said. “Mutants.” *** We were on our way again in twenty minutes. The food had turned out to be pretty good. The fries came with a small paper container of blue cheese for dipping, and the pie, which we decided to have only after tasting the burgers, only came in purple. No matter what kind of pie it was, the crust and the filling were purple.

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It was on to Morgantown, then down I-79 to Clarksburg, then Route 50 to Parkersburg. Marietta, Ohio, was just across the river.

The countryside grew less mountainous and more sloping hills, the actual terrain more visible. We passed hollows filled with maple and oak and streams bordered with willows and sycamores. In some places, wildflowers grew freely in the median.

Simon was searching through his case of CDs. “You seem pretty relaxed to be riding shotgun with a real shotgun,” I said.

“I got my eyes open,” he said. “Besides, nothing gonna happen on the way there. It’s the way back that might get interesting.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“You got to be someplace today, right? They expecting you.

You don’t show up, somebody gonna get a call.” He found the CD he was looking for.

“On the way back, nobody expecting you. You already told people that you’re taking some time off. Perfect time for you to get snatched up.”

He found the CD and grinned, “Right here, baby, Billy Preston!”

39

Chapter 10 The Cowboy, whose name and identity had changed many times over the past few days, had renegotiated his contract with his employers. He had been able to follow Hydiigen to the United States but never close enough to make contact. His closest encounter was in Canada, where he missed him by only a few hours, and that was in a farm town airport where the next flight was twenty hours later. That was the snag that allowed Hydiigen to get into the U.S. and travel by van.

That was where the Cowboy lost him and decided to use the vast resources of his employer. Within a day, they had found the van he had rented. By using previous credit card accounts and tapping into highway video streams, they created a program that would not only track where he had been but predict where he was going.

But, after crossing the border illegally and dumping the van, Hydiigen had hidden the object. It could have been anywhere near the hundreds of miles he had driven. He could have also stopped along the route and had the container shipped.

The Cowboy was beginning to respect this Hydiigen, but he was not sure what to make of him yet. He obviously took the container only after foiling the robbery, so he was not a thief.

But why, then, did he not take it back to the rightful owners?

And why was he running with it to America? The Cowboy was beginning to feel a huge disadvantage not knowing the contents of the container.

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Dressed in a dark Brooks Brothers suit and Hermes tie, the Cowboy had held the door for Hydiigen the day before at Elkie’s.

Plan A was to get Hydiigen to give up the container peacefully.

Plan B would not be as pleasant.

He didn’t follow Hydiigen straight to his seat; he took a table in the back and watched for his chance. The waitress came, and he ordered. It quickly became evident that Hydiigen was watching someone else. It also became evident that he was nervous.

He watched as Hydiigen made his way over to a table with a white and a black man and had a lively conversation with them.

The place was too loud to hear any of the conversation, but he could tell the men did not know Hydiigen or what he was talking about.

The Cowboy had to make a decision when Hydiigen abruptly left: follow him or stay with the other two. He decided to follow Hydiigen.

He could not jump up and run out the door, so he wiped his mouth, took another sip of coffee, and then left a twenty on the table. He left the restaurant in time to see Hydiigen being shoved into a van and being driven off down the street. The van took a left and vanished behind a building.

The Cowboy knew he was too far from his car to have a chance to follow, so he strolled to his car and waited for the other two to leave the restaurant. By the time he had followed them five blocks, he knew the car in the garage was registered to the Catholic Diocese and where the driver lived.

That night, he placed the tracking device.

Route 50 was boring and extremely woody. Up and down and around, a person never saw the road more than a mile in front of them. The exits were simple two-lane roads that vanished into the trees. I hated being out of town with less than a quarter tank of gas, so we started watching the signs. There weren’t a lot of choices. Maybe one out of ten exits would have all the businesses clumped around it and nothing listed for the other nine. We 41

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chose a BP that was supposed to be half a mile closer than an Exxon.

The hot, stuffy air smacked us in the face as soon as we opened the doors. The odor of tar wafted up where it had been used to patch cracks in the blacktop. I remembered spending summer afternoons sticking rocks into the oozy stuff as a kid. I used the church’s debit card and began pumping gas.

Simon looked around, bored and stiff as I’d ever seen him. He leaned against the rear of the car.

“I’m gonna check this out,” he said and nodded in the direction of a building adjacent to the parking lot.

It could have started as a gas station, a feed store, or a fifties diner, but now the banner read THE RED SWEATER. The windows were dirty, and there were weeds growing around the foundation, but something about the way it sat there thumbing its nose at things new and trendy made me want to go in.

I bought two bottles of water inside the BP and drove the car across the parking lot. I noticed the green paint was peeling, and the handle on the front door was tarnished from the weather, but when opened, it had a satisfying little squeak. A brass bell rang when I entered. The inside was dim and smelled like a greatgrandmother’s basement. I found Simon perusing the aisles.

“What’s the deal with selling old stuff? Why white people so interested in other people’s stuff? Or worse yet, stuff other people threw out.”

We walked through the place, trying not to attract too much attention and doing an excellent job of it. There were all kinds of old agriculture tools and toys, sewing and cooking tools.

“Maybe the people who collect these things like to remember a good time from their childhood with their grandparents. Or a time that was simpler. I think a lot of this stuff is from the 1800s,” I said.

“Maybe true; ’course a lot of black people not remembering much fun back in the 1800s,” he said. “Some of this stuff just 42

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plain creepy. Look at this baby I found over here.” He gently tossed a box to me.

It was a box about nine inches by four, woven with some type of straw or reeds. Inside was a doll with handmade clothes made from scraps of material. The head was a ceramic nub with a crudely painted face that was topped off with a patch of blond horsehair.

“Man, if anything in this place is haunted, you’re holding it right there. Somebody takes that home, they gonna have moaning and doors banging all night.” *** The Cowboy pulled into the BP, paid for the gas in cash, and pumped it as he waited for them to leave the antique store. He knew to tail someone correctly, there needed to be several cars, a kind of tag team of contact. He did not have that luxury, but he was a pro, and right now, he was right where he wanted to be. Or so he thought.

Nearly a half mile up in the sky, a tiny dot flew large looping orbits around the BP. The Boeing Insitu ScanEagle had a threemeter wingspan and a cruising time of twenty hours. And now its cameras were pointed at both cars.

43

Chapter 11 The directions to the house proved to be accurate. We wove our way through backwoods two-lane roads for another twenty minutes. We were in the middle of nowhere. Finally, we found the house about thirty yards off the “main” road. A faded blue Volvo and a rusted pickup sat in the gravel driveway. The house was aged and worn, adorned with faded yellow aluminum siding and plastic shutters. A TV dish was on the top. Orange caution tape looped through trees and shrubs and continued around the house. The lawn was freshly mowed but not trimmed. A dirty mower was parked idly by the front steps.

We pulled in, and Simon put the sawed-off shotgun in the trunk. I knew he would have liked to have taken it with him, but there was no way to conceal it.

“Can’t feel too good about this one,” Simon said as we rounded the corner of the yard, still just outside the perimeter of the tape and in shin-high grass. “I guess this is the property line ’cause this side ain’t been cut for a while.”

I could hear voices around the back of the house. A couple of the voices came from kids running around and yelling, excited.

I could also hear a man’s voice. He sounded like he had just won something.

A shirtless and shoeless kid with a sucker stuck in the side of his mouth came charging around the house, saw us, and froze.

We kept walking, and he took off back the way he came, yelling for his dad.

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Figuring we were in the right place, we ducked under the tape and continued around the house. A massive pin oak rose from the back of the property, casting shade over the backyard and most of the house. I could smell the faint odor of fried chicken wafting through one of the open windows.

The kid had reached his dad and was trying to tell him of our arrival by yanking on his hand. The father was talking with a guy who looked to be taking notes on a small pad. The dad beamed when he saw us.

“That will be the representatives from the Vatican,” the dad said to the reporter.

The dad, wearing a LeBron James Cavs jersey and belowthe-knee jean shorts, left the reporter like a sophomore leaves a freshman for a senior. He wore high-topped basketball shoes that had never come near a court, and the jersey was so tight in the stomach you could almost hear the nylon tearing. The Cincinnati Reds cap was sweat-stained and tilted way back on his head. He made his way across the yard, the reporter following behind.

“I’m glad you guys are here. That was fast, I just called yesterday,” he said to us, then to the reporter, “They must know this is the real deal.”

We shook hands and introduced ourselves. The dad’s name was Robert, but his friends called him Washtub or just Tub for short. The reporter’s name was Thomas. Thomas was rumpled, tired-looking, and sweating profusely. He had perked up at our arrival, hoping that maybe there was a story here besides the face in the tree.

“It’s over here,” Tub said. The large pin oak we had seen was rooted in the back corner of the yard. Several of the lower branches had been sawed off and scattered across the ground.

A battered chainsaw and gas can were apparently dropped and forgotten when the sacred branch had fallen.

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It had been sheared off about five feet from the ground and was nearly ten inches in diameter. The circle of newly exposed wood had a dark center that covered about seventy percent of the circle.

“Take a gander at this,” Tub said to us with a wave of his arm.

I leaned in and took a gander; Simon looked over my shoulder. We stayed that way for several seconds.

“I’m going to start selling tickets to view it. Maybe even get my old lady to take pictures. Five bucks to get in, ten bucks and you get your picture taken beside it.”

“Look like Johnny Depp to me,” Simon said.

“Johnny Depp? That looks like Jesus, my Lord and Savior,” Tub said. “Who’s going to come and get their picture taken with Johnny Depp?”

“The way it works, sir,” I started, “we take the information and photos, then send it to someone else to make a recommendation as to whether it is a miracle or not. It’s a lengthy process.”

“Can’t you see this is a message from God? We got to share it with the world.”

“Man, this ain’t no message from nobody. If God wanted to send a message, he wouldn’t be hiding it inside of some damn tree,” Simon said.

The reporter was taking notes, and Tub was beginning to see his payday slip away. I could sense the situation turning into an argument.

“What kind of message God sending you with that? Forgive pirates?”

“He talks like a priest,” Tub said. “You don’t.”

“Did I say I was a priest?” Simon said.

The reporter looked up from his notes and asked, “ARE you two representatives from the Vatican?”

“I am,” I said quickly.

“I’m a representative from the ghetto.”

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The little kid with the sucker who had been hanging around the yard started picking up rocks and throwing them at the side of the house. It must have been a common occurrence because the aluminum siding across the back of the house was riddled with dents. Tub either ignored it or was so used to it he didn’t hear. Simon and I jumped at the first hit. After a few throws, he stopped and stared at the sky.

I continued photographing, and Tub continued to fume.

“I don’t need your permission to sell tickets. The church can’t tell me what to do!”

“No sir,” I said, “I just collect the information and write it up.

You can do whatever you like with your tree.”

“Your Johnny Depp tree,” Simon said.

The reporter slipped his notebook into the pocket of his oversized blazer and quietly shuffled off without a word to any of us. I packed my camera and materials quickly, and Simon stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at the image in the wood.

“Could be Cher, I guess,” he said.

The little kid broke out of his trance, galloped across the yard, and yanked on the LeBron jersey. His dad ignored him.

“Bone in the sky, Daddy! Bone in the sky!”

“What’s he talking about?” Simon asked.

“I don’t know, can’t understand him half the time,” his father said. “But listen here, I want to know what you’re gonna say in your report.”

“Bone in the sky, Daddy!”

“Someone will contact you in the next few days. You are absolutely free to do whatever you think is right concerning this tree,” I said. We turned and walked around the house and got in my Toyota. I could still hear the kid yelling about the bone in the sky.

47

Chapter 12 Miles away, a nondescript RV idled at a truck stop. Inside, a technician controlled the Boeing ScanEagle with a joystick and a monitor. The interior of the vehicle was quiet save for the low electric hum of the equipment. He sipped Mountain Dew from a can and listened to Led Zeppelin on earbuds. His internet friends knew him as Sky King, after the old TV show. He had an IQ in the high 150’s and had a taste for Hawaiian shirts. He also had a bobblehead of Fox Mulder attached to his workstation.

So far, the situation has been sublime.

The view on the fifty-inch monitor was that of lush greenery and a broken-down doublewide. He was circling the subjects in half-mile orbits, even occasionally sighting them beneath the tree canopy. He watched as a single male got into a blue Volvo and drove away as he zoomed in and recorded the Ohio license plate.

Then, the two subjects became completely visible and walked to their Toyota Camry. The tech pressed a button and spoke into a microphone.

“Dude, the subjects are about to become mobile again.

Should I continue contact?”

A door opened from an adjoining room, and a silver-haired man stepped through. Wearing black pants, white shirt, and plain black tie, he looked very serious and very in charge. He stood behind the tech and scanned the screen.

“Did they carry anything out?” he asked in a deep smoker’s voice.

“Nothing that they didn’t carry in. Nothing big.”

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“Doesn’t mean that the original target didn’t leave it here, and they’ve come to see it,” the man said.

“Guess not,” the tech said.

The man thought until the tech interrupted him.

“Now or never. Good chance of losing them on these curvy tree-covered roads.”

“Can you get some thermal images of the immediate area?

“Hot or cold?”

“Either. Something that is different from the soil or trees, even if it is buried.”

“I’m going to have it get lower to get through the tree cover.

If I can get close enough, I can probably even get a shape,” the tech said.

“Do it. We know where the subjects are going. We can pick them up in a few minutes. We have assets on the ground. If the object is here and someone moves it, we lose it for good.”

“Bone in the sky!” The kid was pointing now, becoming more and more excited.

Tub stared at him; he was in no mood to be playing around with this little sumbitch now. He felt like chopping down the whole tree.

But the kid hadn’t been this excited since he had learned to belch on command, so he knelt and followed the boy’s finger to a point in the sky. He could see a buzzard but nothing else. Out here, buzzards were flying around all the time.

He watched for a while, and there was something strange about the way it was tracking. I was moving too fast and too steady like it was flying instead of floating on the thermals.

“Tracy,” he yelled. “Tracy, bring me that Jew rifle with the good scope.”

Tracy was not much for being ordered around and let fly with a few choice words for her husband.

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“Come on, Tracy, dammit, this is important. The Kardashians can wait.”

Love won out, and Tracy burst through the screen door. Her jeans were tighter than the LeBron jersey and twice as large. Her T-shirt read, NOT RIGHT. She was carrying three rifles, one slung over each shoulder with straps and one in her thick hands. She banged against the door frame and squeezed through the railing on the three back steps.

“I don’t know which one the Jew gun is?” she said, sounding a lot like her little boy.

Tub took the gun she held in her hands, a state-of-the-art Israeli sniper rifle, and found that the buzzard in the sky was coming much closer.

He sighted the object through the scope. “That’s a drone,” he said.

“No kidding, you moron,” Tracy said. “Petey has been telling you that for the last half hour.”

Tub took his eye off the scope and looked at his son. “How does he know what a drone is?”

“What do you think he’s doing while you’re watching the Military Channel?”

“What are they doing circling us?” Tub said. Then realization crept onto his face. “They know about the tree!”

“What about them two fellas that was just here,” Tracy asked.

“I bet they was decoys. I knew that one weren’t right. Didn’t seem too religious to me. Now we got drones flying around snooping.”

The family stood slack-jawed staring at the drone.

“Bone in the sky, Daddy,” Petey repeated.

“Tracy, go get some shells. Bring the whole ammo bag.”

Tracy, not one to be ordered around, yelled for her mother.

“Mamma, get that green bag in the front wardrobe and bring it out here. You gotta see this.”

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Moments later, an older version of Tracy dragged an olivegreen canvas bag out the door and down the three steps. It thumped from one step to another, and its weight left a trail across the grass. Mamma trudged across the yard to a picnic table and hoisted the bag onto it. Inside were a dozen boxes of various bullets. The four of them started digging in.

Tub and Tracy started loading their weapons. Mamma’s Mamma came to the screen door. “What the hell’s going on out here?’

“Get back inside, Grandma,” Tracy yelled. “You’re gonna get in the way.”

She disappeared, only to reappear moments later carrying two more rifles. “What you all gonna shoot?”

The drone was circling back around at its lowest point yet.

It was also moving at its slowest speed. The tech had switched from video to thermal cameras and had alerted his supervisor that several subjects were now out of the home and in the yard.

All he could see were the reds and yellows of the heat signatures.

“They may have spotted us,” he said.

“Keep searching until you’ve scanned the area. We’d be remiss to have the subjects stop in an area and not do a complete search.”

“And if we’ve been seen?” the tech asked.

“What are they going to do, call the police and report a U.F.O.?”

At that instant, the screen lit up with heat flashes.

“What was that?” asked the supervisor.

“Looks like they are shooting at something.”

There was another barrage of heat flash, and two red lights began to blink on the control panel.

“I got him,” Grandma shouted.

“The hell you did, I got him,” Tub said.

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longer than he was tall, so swinging it up and pointing it toward the sky was not an easy feat. He fumbled around with it for a while until he found he could rest the butt on his hip and still reach the trigger. Just as he pulled the trigger, the gun slipped, and the barrel dropped. The shot went right between Mamma and Grandma and made a perfectly round hole in the side of the house.

There was an instant of silence; then everyone looked at Petey, then the hole, then back at Petey.

“Aw man, now I’m going to have to patch that,” Tub said.

“What are you talking about, patching a little hole? Did you see what he did?” Tracy cried. “Petey, if you shot a hole in the TV, I am going to blister your bottom!”

The drone was now producing a trail of dirty gray smoke that lingered behind it. It began to sink and roll. One system after another was failing, and neither the programming nor the tech could stop the inevitable. It didn’t go down easily, though. The drone circled once more and dropped below the tree line. Only then did the tech hit the abort button.

The supervisor picked up a phone and dialed. “Sir, we no longer have eyes in the sky.”

52

Chapter 13 “You are going to have to calm down,” I said.

“That guy was going to rip off people.”

“You used to rip people off.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same. The people I used to deal with were not good people. He was ripping off good people, people that wanted to believe in something. Stuff like that, I can’t let happen anymore.”

“So, you’re saying it’s not the ripping off that is the sin; it’s OK to rip them off if you’re doing it for the right reason,” I said.

“I’m sayin’ I got morals now.”

We drove for a while in silence, mulling over the rippingoff dilemma. There was not much around, only trees and more trees. The sun coming through the leaves dappled the asphalt. I began to enjoy this road, the curving and braking, twisting and turning, and wondered what it would be like to drive this road in a sports car.

“What you doing, man?” Simon said. “You drivin’ like we in some kind of movie. You got to watch out. If something’s going to happen, it’s going to be soon. Stay on the road. I don’t want to get stuck in the ditch and be having dinner with some Tub family relatives.”

I slowed down, and Simon calmed down. A creek meandered along the right side of the road that I had not noticed before.

As close as twenty feet, sometimes as far as forty, it followed the same basic path as the road. The water swirled in the deep eddies and sparkled in the shallow rapids when the trees allowed 53

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enough sunlight in. Most of the time, though, the water looked cool and refreshing.

Simon was watching the creek, too, but I wasn’t sure what he was thinking. This kind of thing was so alien to his youth that I’m not so sure that he could figure out what would be so great about playing around in a creek.

“When we were kids, we would attach fishing poles to our bikes with masking tape and ride out to this place called the Poor Farm Pond.”

“Poor Farm Pond? Why’d they call it that?”

“The pond was between two hills, big hills. You couldn’t really see it from the road. No one could find it unless you knew it was there. The road was on the side of one of these hills, and we had to walk our bikes down this path through these big trees to get to the pond. But once you were down there, the sky opened, and you could see everything around you, both hillsides. And this was out in the middle of nowhere. You could hear birds chirping a mile away.”

“Why’d they call it the Poor Farm?”

“Our parents told us there used to be a big house there where all the poor people stayed. This was like the 1920s. Wasn’t any welfare or things like that back then. They didn’t let people live on the street back then. Anyway the building itself was gone; just the foundation was left on the side of one of the hills.

“If we started getting bad grades, our parents would tell us we were going to end up at the poor farm. We straightened up after that.”

Simon seemed to consider this.

“When you talk about being a kid, you never say I or Me; you always say we or us.”

“That’s kind of interesting,” I said. “Now that I think about it, almost all my childhood memories aren’t as an individual; they’re as part of a group.” I thought about that for a minute.

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“Anyhow, we would leave in the morning and fish until the evening, then ride back home. It was bigger than a pond. It was more like a small lake. I remember thinking that was the most perfect place in the world. It was like Shangri-la to us.”

He pulled out his phone and started doing something with it. Apparently, my memories were not as heartwarming to him as they were to me.

“Soon as we get someplace where we can get off this road, we’re going to take a different route home,” he said. “Let me figure this out. It may take longer, but we got no place to be. Right?”

“Do you still think something’s going to happen?” I asked.

“Yeah, things adding up that way. I think you think something is gonna happen, too.”

“I did, but now I don’t know. We haven’t seen a car for a long time. I didn’t see anybody following us the whole way here.”

“That doesn’t matter, you ain’t gonna see them,” he said. “Two or three cars tailing you, you gonna notice. The team that took that Jorge guy they pretty slick. They know what they doing.

Professionals like that use maybe ten different drivers. We don’t know what they want or who they are, so they are hard to predict.”

I think he was checking Google Maps on his phone, and without looking up, he said, “I think you kind of want something to happen. You ready to go, you kind of missing the life.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. I had not been a good leader for my church; I’m very devout, but not the religious leader to save souls. I was good with Emmanuel, but now I’m back floundering in a job someone created only to hide me. I was hoping for something more.

“I was pretty good at the whole dark ops thing, wasn’t I?” I said to Simon.

“Yeah, well, you ain’t no Jack Reacher, but you didn’t get killed,” he said.

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Chapter 14 The Cowboy waited at the gas station. By his estimations, the priest and the other guy should be back this way within the next hour. Given the distance to and from and allowing 30 to 90 minutes at the residence, they were bound to be passing soon.

There were no other routes they could have taken up to this point in the road, so the plan was to wait and watch until they drove by.

The massive team that was following the priest had parked a semi along the rear entrance of the gas station. Since they had lost their drone, they were the only resource with eyes on the target. They were also watching a man who seemed to be waiting for someone. Like they were. They were hoping that he was savvy enough to track the target but not savvy enough to expose them.

When the target was confirmed, the crew in the RV stood down. Their job was only to report and give a heads-up to the other resources in the area.

So, when the Camry with the two subjects passed the gas station and immediately turned the opposite way, both surveilling groups were thrown into a panic.

The Cowboy had chosen several spots to intercept the car, but that would no longer be possible with its new route. The large group had deployed their assets along the route back to the priest’s home, not away from it. Now, it was nearly impossible to move all their people and vehicles without alerting everyone involved. Without realizing what he had done, Simon had sent two kidnapping plots down the toilet.

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The Cowboy checked his watch and waited three agonizing minutes before allowing himself to follow.

The large group, without the drone and now with all their resources scattered, decided to follow the Cowboy. The semi rolled out of the parking lot after relaying the information to an operations center and getting confirmation that following the Cowboy would be the protocol. During this time, they would try to identify the man who was also following the subjects. The large truck would work well enough until the other assets could catch up and redeploy. That is, unless the target got into a city where maneuverability would be an issue. *** “This way is a lot longer,” I said.

Simon was looking through his bag of CDs again. He pulled two that he had burned himself. One title was Supreme Temptation, and the other was Songs from June Meadow.

“What do you think, Babe?”

“I’d say that’s a combination of The Supremes and The Temptations. I never heard of June Meadow.”

He smiled, showing those brilliant teeth. “Curtis Mayfield, get it? June Meadow is like a May field. Get it?”

“This way is a lot longer,” I said again.

“Maybe we ain’t going straight home. Maybe we could circle around to Pittsburgh, see the Pirates play. We don’t need to be no place at any certain time. We free as a couple of birds.”

“This bird is getting a little hungry,” I said.

He inserted the CD, and Superfly began to play. “Let’s get off at the next exit and see if we can find someplace normal to eat.”

The next exit came up quickly. It was the kind I hate, no way to get right back on. No entrance ramps near the exit ramp. We emptied out onto a series of one-way streets that left us hopelessly 57

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unable to find our way back to the highway quickly if the need presented itself. We kept going.

The sun was beginning to drop below the mountains on the horizon, and the bright light of the afternoon was turning to the golden hue of the early evening. To the left of the road, a sign flickered to life announcing Jimmy Colombo’s Italian Restaurant.

We pulled into the parking lot without any discussion.

“Wait,” Simon said as I started to get out of the car.

“I would like to know how to get out of here before we go in; just good security tactics.” He activated the navigation on his phone.

We sat quietly as he worked it out, and then it occurred to me that when I was running from the FBI, no one wanted me using my phone.

“What do security tactics say about using a cell phone?” I asked.

“Aw, man,” he said. “I shouldn’t have turned it on. Probably shouldn’t have had it at all. Aw man,” he repeated and tossed it in the back seat after removing the battery.

Inside, the decor was warm and cozy, perfect for a local Italian restaurant. Red checkered tablecloths under glass containers of parmesan cheese and crushed red pepper. The ceilings were black, and plants hung from chained brass pots. Jimmy Colombo met us at the door and led us to a table.

There were maybe a dozen tables in this section of the restaurant, and half had seated customers. We were seated near the kitchen doors. The doors were made of dull aluminum, the kind that swung both ways and had little portholes in the center of each.

Our server, whose name was Ruth, brought us water and a basket of garlic bread. Simon immediately dug in.

“Damn, man, this bread is good.”

I took a piece and agreed. While we were chewing, Jimmy seated another customer a couple of tables away. He wore khakis 58

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with a sky-blue windbreaker that sported a Corvette emblem on the breast. I continued concentrating on the bread, vaguely noticing the man, but Simon instantly became aware. I don’t know why; maybe it was all those years with Shine, but he saw this guy as a threat. He reached for another piece of bread and started eating it, slower this time.

“The guy that just came in, he ain’t right.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Don’t know how I know, I just know. He ain’t natural; he’s just trying to look natural.”

He was sitting at an angle where we could both see him without being too obvious. I was starting to understand what Simon was saying. It was like looking in a fish tank and finding a plastic fish among the real ones. He was reading his menu and then, for no reason, looked over it at us. About that time, Colombo came in with two state troopers and seated them between us and Corvette man.

“Business pickin’ up,” Simon said while he watched them out of the corner of his eye. “They hinky, too.”

“You’re getting paranoid,” I said with a mouthful of garlic bread.

“Their hair ain’t right for state cops. They look hard but not in a ‘protecting your neighborhood’ way. They look like somebody better be protectin’ the neighborhood from them.” He took a sip of water.

Ruth brought out menus, delivering them to Corvette man, then the cops, then us. We all sat there among the real customers, acting like nothing was happening. The kitchen doors opened as a server backed out with a tray of food.

“They ain’t together either,” Simon said. “When you together, you don’t look at each other. That tall cop been eyeballing that first dude. I don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

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Ruth returned with her little order pad. I told her that we needed a couple more minutes. She gave us an absent look and shuffled to get the Corvette guy’s order.

Simon pushed the basket of bread toward me and said, “Take this with you. I’m making a tactical move.” He pushed his chair back, stood, then put his palms on the table and whispered, “If anything happens, run through the kitchen. There’s always a backdoor in the kitchen.” He was about to unleash a chain of events that no one had expected.

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Chapter 15 He walked straight over to the cops’ table and said in a nottoo-quiet voice, “That man has a gun.” He pointed at Corvette man. “I saw him stick it in his pants.”

The man, who had been giving his order to Ruth, froze.

“DO SOMETHING OFFICERS!” Simon screamed. “HE GONNA SHOOT SOMEONE!” The cops, fake or not, had to react. As soon as one of the officers reluctantly stood, everyone else in the place made a run for it. Chairs were knocked over, and drinks spilled. A plate of chicken primavera crashed on the floor. Simon turned and said, “Go!” The fake cops and Corvette man were at a standoff, neither wanting to completely blow their cover. The waitress in the middle was of no value to anyone, but both sides were strategizing how best to use her.

I grabbed the basket of bread and banged through the kitchen doors with Simon right behind me. He was right; there at the far end of the kitchen, past three surprised cooks, was a screen door.

We sprinted past the cooks toward it as Simon looked at one of them and said, “Hey, bro, that garlic bread is top-notch.”

Back in the mayhem, Corvette man had taken Ruth as sort of a makeshift hostage and positioned her between him and the two fake cops. She wasn’t being used as a shield but more as a pick so he could get to the kitchen door first. Both sides had given up the ruse that they were customers. Now, it was only a race.

He half-pushed and half-flung Ruth into them and made for the kitchen. One of the fake cops sidestepped, and the other 61

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deflected the spiraling waitress onto an empty table. It was enough to delay them for a few more beats.

We pelted out the backdoor and jumped off a three-step deck then rounded the corner of the building only to find that our car was blocked in by a huge RV. By the time Corvette man got outside, we were a hundred yards away, entering a thick stand of trees. He spotted us and began to jog our way with a pistol in his right hand. The other two would be right behind him and there were probably more in the RV. Simon was ahead of me, but it quickly became evident that he was out of his element here. He was zigzagging through the trees without any idea where he was headed. In the city, he had once told me, you get as far away from your pursuer as possible, then look for a strategy. That wouldn’t work here; it would get you lost.

The farther we went, the darker it became. The trees were oak and maple, with a few scrub pines mixed in. The empty spaces between the trees were now filled with sumac and vines. We finally got to a place where there was nowhere to walk.

“Wait, listen,” I said. He stopped, and we listened. There was no sound around us. The only thing I could hear was my own breathing.

“We have to find a trail,” I said. “It could be a place where people walk or a game trail, but we can’t keep just crashing through the woods.”

“What do you mean a game trail? We right near a city.”

“There are deer all over the outskirts of towns like this.

Coyotes, too,” I said.

Simon looked around, “All right, I say we find a people trail.”

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somewhere along a stream or river. We backed out and retraced our steps.

Once we were back in a place where we had a better view of the tree trunks, we could see a spacing between the trees that looked like a straight line. We followed that for a way until there was a definite path on the ground. After a while, we heard a crash in the woods behind us. It was a long way off, but it was obvious that they were following.

They were still far behind. The worrisome part was that there was more than one entity after us, and that made us a big deal.

That meant they may be ex-military and well-funded. Maybe night-vision glasses. Way out of our league.

Simon was still ahead of me when he stopped and said, “What’s this?”

A wider trail intersected with the one we were on. It ran from left to right and veered downhill. It wove through the woods and out of sight. Tree branches had been broken off to make the path easier to walk through.

The dusk was coming quickly; soon, we wouldn’t be able to see much at all. The greens and hushed colors around us were turning into grays and black. What was natural before now seemed bent and haunted.

We followed the new path quietly, not knowing how close our pursuers were. About a hundred yards in, I started hearing the peeping of what I thought were frogs along the path. They would cease the peeping as we approached, then start up again after we passed.

“That’s creepy,” Simon said.

The air felt thicker, and the slope dropped more through the trees in the next hundred yards until the canopy broke, and we could see a half-moon in the sky.

Our view opened to the bank of a wide river. On the other side, the darkness enveloped the hillside of trees that ran all the way to the deep blue of the sky. The path emptied out onto a 63

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twenty-yard stretch of shoreline that sloped softly down to the water’s edge. Cattails popped up at spots where the river lapped against the shore.

To our right, a wavering light shone from an old-fashioned oil lantern. On a stump, about ten yards from the lantern sat a man hunched over a fishing pole.

“Shhhh…” he said without turning around. “You’re making enough noise to shake the dust off Moses.”

I had thought we were being quiet under the circumstances, but apparently not. Simon was thinking the same thing but shrugged it off.

“Hey, old timer, what are you doin’ out here?” he asked.

“Catfishin’. What are YOU doing out here?

Neither of us had much to say about that.

“Ha, now you’re quiet. Don’t want to talk about being chased, do ya?” He sat facing away, seemingly concentrating on his fishing line. He held it in his hand, out away from the rod.

“Nobody chasin’ us,” Simon said.

“Yeah, just like there’re about six nobodies about twenty minutes away making just about as much noise as you did. Could have put a freeway through here tonight and been quieter.” He stood and began reeling in the line.

To the left, near the tree line on the downstream side, an old rowboat lay tilted on the bank. A rope was tied from the pointy end to a tree with just the back end in the water. No motor, no seats, just a couple of boards nailed in to sit on.

“Hey, Babe, how much for the boat?” Simon said.

The man pulled the bait off his hook and tossed it into the water. Then, resting the rod across his arm, like a hunter would do with a rifle, he walked to the lantern and extinguished it. He took it off the tree and carried both the lantern and the rod in his left hand and walked to us.

In the dim light, I couldn’t get a good look at his face but I could see he was wearing an old T-shirt and a Yankees ball cap.

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“A hundred bucks,” he said.

I could see it coming. Simon was going to want to haggle over the price. He started, and I said, “Just pay the man.”

He wanted to argue but didn’t. He pulled a big wad of bills out of his pocket and peeled off two fifties and handed them to the man. The man hesitated, then said, “Two hundred.”

“Ain’t no way,” Simon said. “You just said one hundred.”

“Supply and demand, my friend. Just like the stock market.

It’s all in the numbers.”

“What do you mean, in the numbers?” I asked.

“Those men in the woods, the ones that aren’t chasing you, well, they were about twenty minutes away. Now they are about fifteen, by the sound of things, and the demand for the boat went up to about two hundred. Wait a couple of minutes, and it’s probably gonna go up again. Understand?”

I still hadn’t heard any noises in the woods, but what did I know?

“Pay the man,” I said.

Simon thumbed off two more fifties. The man folded all four and put them into his pocket.

“I’ll help you get into the water,” he said.

We climbed in, and each sat on a seat, like two children. The man put a boot on the bow, which he said was the pointed end, and pushed us off. The current slowly spun us around and started us down the river. When we were about ten yards away from the bank, I started searching the bottom of the boat for something to paddle with.

“Hey,” I called. “Where are the paddles?”

“Don’t know,” he called back.

“How do you row your boat without paddles?”

“I don’t,” he said through a smile. “It ain’t my boat.”

He tipped his hat and disappeared into the woods.

The current took us to the middle of the river.

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Chapter 16 I realized that I was still carrying the basket of garlic bread. I handed a piece to Simon.

“Now what?” he said, chewing.

“Nothing we can do now except go with the flow,” I said.

“Not funny,” he said.

Above us, the sky was an inky blue, and the stars were coming out. We drifted into the center of the current, slowly spiraling.

“This bread is pretty good cold, too,” he said.

The banks on both sides of the river started to slope vertically away from the water, blocking out the moon to our left. The trees weren’t visible, just a heavy darkness in contrast to the river, which reflected the minute points of starlight. There was no sound at all.

After a time, Simon said, “What kind of predators they have around here?” He was considering the darkness of the hillside.

“City boy,” I thought to myself.

“Not sure. I know the state has coyotes and wildcats. Bears too. Probably in the deep woods, you’ll find mountain lions,” I said.

“Mountain lions?”

“Just in the deep woods,” I said.

“How deep are we now? I don’t see no lights anywhere.”

“Not that deep, we were at an Italian restaurant an hour ago.”

He settled down, and I felt a little bad for egging him on. But on the other hand, I hadn’t lied about anything. In the dim light, I noticed him glancing over the side of the boat.

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“How deep you think this water is?”

“I don’t know. Could be shallow; we could be walking through it. Could be deep, though.”

“How deep?”

“Fifty, sixty feet. Jump in and see.”

“I’m not jumping out of any boat at night into some dark bottomless water. What kind of aquatic predators they got here?”

“I’ve heard of catfish the size of station wagons,” I said.

“Now you just messing with me. I should have let those fake cops snatch you up. Any more of that garlic bread left?”

I held the plastic basket upside down to show him it was gone.

The board that I was sitting on was getting uncomfortable, so I lay on my back in the bottom of the hull with my head toward the bow. My calves rested nicely on the board where I had been sitting. I was staring straight up at the stars.

“Hey, try this. Feels pretty good,” I said.

He switched to the way I was laying, only his head was to the stern.

“Not bad, not bad.” He had his hands laced behind his head.

“You know, I been thinkin’. I hope you still got some juice behind you, you know, some higher-ups watching out for you.”

“You mean, like, with God?” “No, though I’m not so sure you too well connected in that area, given our recent situation.”

“What do you mean, our recent situation?”

“What I mean is, here we are floating down a dark river without a paddle.”

“I see what you mean,” I said.

“What I meant the first time is with the government and the police. You know the people at the Italian restaurant called the cops. They’re going to find the car, and it has the gun in it. You’re not looking so good unless you got some juice.”

“I see what you mean,” I said.

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“Aw, man,” he said. “They gonna find my CDs. I got to get them back.”

Because of the darkness, I had no sense of movement. We could have floated two miles or twenty. The water was smooth, and the stars stayed stationary. Simon was quiet, and I began to drift off myself. I’m not sure if it was the gentle motion of the water or the absence of sound, but I was as relaxed as I had ever been. And it was good to be here with my friend.

68

Chapter 17 “Psst,” I heard Simon whisper. At the same time, I felt sunlight on my eyelids. “Psst,” he whispered again.

The boat had run aground on a clear spot of land. The bank sloped to the water like where we got in last night. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought we had floated around in a big circle.

Perched on the side of the boat, dividing us, was a large black bird.

“What is that thing?” Simon said.

“It’s a bird,” I said.

“I know it’s a bird. What kind of bird?”

The bird turned its head sideways to look at each of us as we whispered. It had black beady eyes.

“CAW,” it screeched. We both jumped.

“I guess it’s a crow,” I said.

“I don’t like that. Native Americans believed that crows escorted souls to heaven.”

“How do you know that?” I said.

“It was in a movie with Bruce Lee’s kid. You know, called THE CROW.” The bird dipped its head as it looked at us.

I said, “You’re not Native American.”

“Neither are you, but he sure looks like he’s trying to choose between us.”

The crow sat there looking back and forth, even as we remained silent.

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“Get it out of here,” he said.

I flicked my wrist at it. “Shoo,” I said.

It let loose with another CAW, and we both jumped again.

It took a long look at both of us again, then hopped to the floor between us. Simon and I retreated to our respective ends of the boat.

It picked up the plastic breadbasket in its beak, then unfurled its wings and took off.

“I wonder what that was all about,” I said.

“After everything we’ve been through together, you are wondering about something strange happening?” He was shaking his head when he stepped out of the boat and onto the shore. *** We easily found a trail that led away from the river and disappeared into the woods. A people trail. With the cell phone still in the car, I was hoping that there was no way we could be tracked, ambushed, or kidnapped. But we knew we were going to have to take a chance of being seen. We had to find a phone.

It wasn’t long before we could hear tires on concrete—highspeed traffic. The trees became sparser as we exited the woods and entered the back area of a rest stop. The area was wide open and mowed around the restrooms. To our left was another accessible area used as a dog walk. We were twenty yards from the restrooms and another thirty to the highway.

I walked out into the open only to have Simon grab my arm and pull me back to the tree line. The place looked vacant to me, but Simon wanted to watch for a while and be sure.

“We were lucky the first time,” he said. “They get that close again, they ain’t going to make the same mistakes. They probably shoot me, kidnap you.”

“I’m not so sure,” I said.

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“What makes you say that?”

“The guy at the restaurant, at breakfast. He knew both of us, not just me. I think you might be as much a part of this as I am,” I said.

“When did you have time to work all this out?” he asked.

Before I could answer, we heard the roar of motorcycles, downshifting as they pulled into the rest area.

“There’s our ticket,” Simon said.

Like a school of fish, the motorcycles glided into the parking area and came to a stop. There were several types of bikes, something you usually don’t see with groups of guys riding together. Besides that, they looked like typical bikers, sporting leather, jeans, and bandanas.

“Try to look non-threatening so as not to scare them off,” Simon said as we left the woods. I looked back at him. He was smiling.

The first guy we came to was standing by his bike, removing his helmet. He gave us a smile, which I didn’t expect. Some of the others began to gather around.

“We’re in kind of a jam,” I said. “Anybody have a cell phone I could borrow?”

“One of the guys behind the group said, “No cars here. Did you walk in?”

“Nope,” Simon said. “We floated.”

A couple chuckled, then quieted quickly.

“There’s a river back behind those trees. We sort of lost the paddle,” I said.

The first guy we came to seemed to be in charge. The others were looking to him as to how to deal with us. He smiled.

“No problem,” he said and produced a phone from a vest pocket.

I dialed the number I had for Father Craig and turned my back to the crowd.

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I could sense some tension in his voice as soon as he answered.

“We’ve run into some complications,” I said.

“Complications? We’ve been trying to find you all night.

Where are you now?” He seemed rather distraught.

I covered the phone with my hand and turned to the biker.

“Where are we?”

Someone said, “Rest Stop at mile 119, I-76.”

I repeated it to Father Craig.

“Stay there,” he said. “We can send someone for you.”

“Can’t go anywhere, the car is at a place called Colombo’s.

That is if the police haven’t impounded it.”

“Get my CDs back,” Simon called from over my shoulder.

We clicked off, and I handed the phone back to the biker as he was removing his riding gloves.

“Hey, Father,” Simon started.

“Yes?” the biker and I said in unison. We looked at each other.

“You a priest, too?”

He tapped the windshield of his Goldwing. There was a blue clergy sticker there.

“Damn,” Simon said, shaking his head. “I’m going to the restroom. You two can sort out this new little wrinkle.”

The biker extended his hand, “Father Gallagher.”

72

Chapter 18 “Most of the group here are parishioners, kind of a men’s club. Although ladies are welcome. I like to ride. It’s a clever way to bring people together and maybe add to the flock.”

“I have a friend, another priest who thinks out of the box like you do,” I said, thinking of Father Craig.

“Don’t mean to be rude, but I do have to use the facilities,” he said.

The rest of the group followed him toward the building.

Simon passed him on the way out. They nodded to each other.

The priest hesitated before going in. He turned and took a couple of steps back towards us.

“What did you say your name was?” he asked.

I hadn’t said. “Father Kenzee.”

“THE Father Kenzee? The one that was with…HIM?” Simon looked at me. This was the first time we had ever been recognized. Not including Jorge, who seemed to be searching for us. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“Nope, not us,” Simon said.

The priest had been staring at me in a sort of awe. When Simon spoke, his attention turned to Simon.

“You were there too,” he said.

I knew what Simon was thinking. There was no good reason to reveal who we were.

He rushed toward us and took my hand, then laid his other hand over mine in a double handshake. His eyes met mine in a deep stare.

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I felt a warmness rising in me, a compassion that I had not felt before. It flowed from me into him through our hands. In an instant, my feelings were crystal clear.

Emmanuel had left a piece of himself in everyone he had come in contact with. That piece was glowing in me now, brought on by who knows what. I felt like I wanted to embrace everyone on the planet, to comfort and tell everyone to love each other.

Father Gallagher was feeling it, too. I could see the smile.

“This is weird,” Simon said. That broke the spell. Father Gallagher broke the handshake and slowly made his way toward the restroom, looking back at me a couple of times.

“What was that?” Simon said.

“Don’t know,” I answered.

Over on the highway, a beige Chevy pulled off the road and onto the emergency lane. About fifty yards away and directly parallel with us, it sat idling. No one got out.

Simon noticed it first but said nothing.

“When the cavalry coming to get us?”

“I don’t know exactly. Father Craig said he’d call somebody.”

“Things not looking so good for us right now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“See that car still over there on the side of the road? When’s the last time you see a car pull over and no one gets out and looks at the tires or under the hood? I don’t see no smoke coming out from anywhere.”

“Maybe someone is sick, or they pulled off to let someone go to the bathroom?”

“Rest stop is over here. My guess is that they were looking for us, and they are calling for backup right now. I hope that boat is still there.”

At that moment, another Chevy turned onto the exit ramp and cruised stealthily toward the rest stop. Simon saw it. I didn’t; I was watching the first car speeding backward in the emergency lane, heading for the exit ramp also.

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Simon said, “We need to get your new buddy.”

The first car followed the second up the ramp and stopped in the handicapped parking. Simon and I smiled and waved.

“They either calling for backup, or they too dumb to know what to do,” Simon said.

As if on cue the sound of footsteps and whispers grew behind me. Father Gallagher must have told them who we were. They spread around us like a fight on the playground.

“We’ve got a situation,” I said. “The men in the two cars over there,” all heads turned to the cars, “are after us. I don’t know why. Help is on the way, but…”

“We got this,” said one of the bikers.

With that, several opened their leather vests and produced an arsenal of handguns. Father Gallagher was one of them.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We all have our concealed carry licenses.” He carried a nickel-plated six-shooter.

“Damn,” Simon said. “Catholic cowboys. Go figure.”

They surrounded the cars, pointing the guns at the windows.

It was a very impressive sight.

I recognized the two fake cops from the restaurant. I couldn’t see clearly into the second car, but I could tell there were also two of them in it.

The driver’s side window of the first car slid down.

“I don’t know what you people think you’re doing, but I’m calling the cops,” he said.

“Good,” said Father Gallagher. “We’ve already done that.”

An unarmed biker was circling the cars, using his phone to take pictures of license plates and the bad guys.

“To avoid any violence, you have the choice of exiting the cars and lying face down on the concrete until the authorities arrive or driving off unhurt,” Father Gallagher said. “Of course, if you choose to leave, we do have pictures and at least a dozen eyewitnesses. You will have to take your chances.”

The two in the first car considered their options quickly.

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“We’ll go.”

Father Gallagher motioned to the bikers positioned in front of the cars. They stepped out of the way with guns still fixed on the occupants.

“Drive safely,” Father Gallagher said into the window.

And that was that.

76

Chapter 19 “Whew,” Father Gallagher said. “How’d I do?”

“Great,” I said.

“Don’t hurt in negotiations that you packin’ like the Marine Corps,” Simon said.

“Second Amendment,” Father Gallagher said.

“True that,” Simon said.

“What now?” I said.

Simon looked around. “Father, if you and your army don’t mind, stick around here for a few minutes. We’ll go back to the tree line and wait it out back there. Help should be here shortly.”

Everyone agreed.

Simon took Father Gallagher aside. “Have them check their safeties. I don’t think half of them clicked them back on. Adrenalin and everything, they gonna shoot themselves or someone else.”

“Second thing, keep watching up and down the highway for the good guys and bad guys. Don’t think they are gonna give up that easy. I hope we long gone before the baddies decide what to do.”

We were just back in the trees, watching the bikers watch the highway, when we heard a THUMP-THUMP overhead.

“We watching the wrong place,” Simon said. “This gonna be tricky.”

“Why?” I said.

“Because we don’t know who’s who.”

The helicopter was landing quickly in the area of the dog walk. On the side was a State Police insignia, which was a good sign, I thought.

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Simon still wasn’t sold.

The rotor only slowed when it touched down and a guy in a fight suit and helmet jumped out. He looked around for an instant, then walked to the bikers. We watched as they gestured toward us. The guy started walking toward us.

“What’s the plan?” I said.

He thought, then said, “You go hide behind a tree, and I’ll check him out.”

“That’s the plan? Hide behind a tree?”

“You got something better?”

I had to admit that I didn’t, but I wasn’t going to let Simon go and hide myself behind a tree.

“We’ll go together. What’s the worst that could happen?” I stepped out into the open. I could feel him following.

“The worst that could happen? They could shoot the black guy. That’s the worst that could happen.”

The guy in the flight suit took off his helmet and said, “Father Kenzee?”

I pointed to Simon.

The guy said, “Sir, we are to deliver you to the Homeland Security Adviser in Washington. If you would follow me back to the helicopter, we will be on our way.”

“How do we know you’re who you say you are?” I said. “You could be some unscrupulous imposter. We don’t know you!”

He looked down at an index card he was carrying and said, “Snaps is the name of the game.”

Simon looked at me, and I nodded. We walked to the helicopter.

“Why’d you tell him I was Father Kenzee?”

“I wanted to know what it was like to be you for a while.”

He smiled that brilliant smile, “Feels pretty good, don’t it?”

“It do,” I said. “It do.”

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*** Another policeman on board was transferring the pictures from the biker’s phone to a police database as we were strapped in. The already loud compartment became louder as the rotor speed increased. The guy put his helmet back on and handed us each a set of headphones to muffle the noise. He slid the door shut and buckled in himself.

The interior was sparse and military and not much in the way of comfort. There were two pilots plus the guy that talked to us, so that was five altogether. Everything inside began to shudder as they began to throttle up. The crew didn’t seem to notice. I started adding up all our weight.

Taking off in an airplane was always an enjoyable experience for me. The runway rumbled under the plane and then a gentle, horizontal swoop into the sky. This was completely different.

This thing shot up almost vertically. Then, there was an instant where we seemed to stop rising and started moving forward.

Not moving forward that high without anything holding us up.

It was terrifying. Simon was clutching onto the armrests of his seat, looking out the window with his eyes but keeping his head straight.

Once we were flying like a plane, it wasn’t as bad. We were well below the clouds; I figured it would take us a while to get to D.C. The crew talked on their headsets with each other and ignored us, which was fine with me. I was worn out.

The next sensation I had was that I was falling through the floor. I jerked awake and saw that Simon was feeling the same thing. We were descending rapidly. I guess I had slept through the whole flight. A tinny voice came through the headphones and told us we were landing.

The touchdown wasn’t so gentle, but I could tell that Simon was as relieved as I was to be on the ground. They let the engine whine down and stop before unbuckling us. The two pilots took 79

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off their helmets. The other guy slid the door open and inspected the outside of the machine before allowing us to get out.

Once we hopped out, Simon strode around to the windshield and gave the pilots a thumbs-up. They looked at him through the glass.

“Excellent job flying this bird,” he yelled. They continued to look at him. “Been on some wild flights, but you two…you just kicking it back and choppin’ it up.”

One of the pilots saluted, and Simon saluted back.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Just networking, bro,” he said.

A black limousine cruised up the tarmac and slowed next to the helicopter. Once it came to a stop, the back door opened, and Dr. DeRose got out and stood by the open door.

With a smile he said, “Father, Simon. What have you two gotten yourselves into this time?”

80

Chapter 20 Dr. DeRose handed each of us a bottle of water out of the little galley beside his seat, then produced a bag of fast-food hamburgers out of a backpack. We tore into them.

He looked healthy, the way I remembered him at the seminary.

He wore a three-piece navy suit with a burgundy tie and always sported a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. He always had a twinkle in his eye, like he knew something that you didn’t.

Simon and I were sitting in the large back seat, chewing like two little kids. He was sitting across from us, with his back to the driver. The compartment was cool and quiet and smelled of good leather. I couldn’t hear any sounds from the street outside. The partition was up between the driver and us.

I was about to launch into my story. DeRose held his hand up in a kind of stop sign. Then he put his finger to his lips.

“Think maybe the car is bugged?” Simon said.

DeRose closed his eyes.

“Oops,” Simon said. “My bad.”

We rode in silence for the next few minutes. *** Something had been bothering me the last few months, but I had no one to talk with. I broke the silence. “Why hasn’t the world changed?”

“I assume you are speaking in reference to everything that happened with Emmanuel?” Dr. DeRose said.

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The limo moved smoothly through the traffic, like a boat on calm water.

“We witnessed a worldwide miracle. Everyone across the globe saw Him on television.”

Simon perked up without trying to show it. I think he had been wondering the same thing.

Dr. DeRose folded his hands in his lap as I had seen him do many times before. He had been thinking about it as well. But, as usual, he had come up with a conclusion.

“Didn’t you change?” I asked.

“Initially, yes.”

“But?” I said.

He hesitated, possibly to gather his thoughts or possibly for dramatic effect. “How do you think the world reacted after the crucifixion? I mean, when people started believing he was the Son of God. Did they stop going to work? Paying their taxes? Did their day-to-day routines change?”

“I don’t know?” I said. “I know it started a movement.”

“Yes, but there could be a movement starting now in some little place by someone we’ve never heard of. It’s very interesting to me on an academic level,” he said. “We could be on the dawn of a whole new Christianity.”

I thought about that. “I guess I just wanted more. I wanted to see the difference right now,” I said. “I wanted the world to change into a better place.”

“Ah,” he said. “You were with him more than anyone. How have you changed?”

“That’s not really a good example. I was already…”

“Good?” he answered for me. “Most of us never think of ourselves as bad. Even the criminals see themselves as good people that do dreadful things.”

We seemed to have reached our destination. The car was slowing in front of a plain block building.

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“Don’t feel down, Father, just because we are not holding hands and singing hymns together. The world is a mighty big thing to change overnight.” He looked out the window as two soldiers stepped out of the building and positioned themselves on either side of the doors.

“Remember, even some of the disciples forgot his face afterward. It’s very easy to fall back into our old lives and slide all that into the back of our minds.”

Not what I wanted to hear.

83

Chapter 21 The outside of the building was painfully plain except for a moderate bit of rock and pine landscaping. Inside the double glass doors was a metal detector.

They put us in the barest room I had ever seen. Industrial gray carpet, beige walls, and a matching drop ceiling. The fake wood office table was surrounded by eight chairs. Although not metal, they could be folded and hung on racks somewhere, so the room could be used to torture by means of sensory deprivation.

We waited.

Finally, Simon spoke. “So, you sayin’ Emanuel didn’t affect anybody?”

“Not at all. I’m saying that most people continue living modern life by going to work, ballgames, PTA. Whatever. The change is not going to be so visual. He will have affected people on a deeper level, one not so easily seen.”

The door opened, and Jimmy came in.

James Reinhart, brother and chief of staff to the President of the United States. He was the power behind the throne, the guy who should have been president, all things being equal. But he was the Reinhart who didn’t look as good in a suit, didn’t have the presidential hair, and couldn’t raise goose bumps by means of an emotional speech. The brother had all those things and the sense to listen to Jimmy’s advice. Also, the guy had bailed Simon and me out of trouble several times before now.

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at the door and said, “You two can wait this one out.” They looked at Simon, then me, then Simon again. “Don’t worry about him,” he said and closed the door.

“This sure ain’t the White House. I been incarcerated in fancier places than this,” Simon said. He looked at me. “Seems like we got downgraded after we saved the world.”

“Plausible deniability,” Jimmy said. “The president doesn’t know you’re here. I’m not officially here. Anybody that we might involve with you today will not officially be here.”

“Just sayin’,” Simon said.

“Now, let’s hear it,” Jimmy said.

I told him everything.

He listened carefully and let me finish before asking any questions.

“And you have no idea what the man was talking about?”

“Nope,” I said.

“No idea if it is an actual object or it’s a piece of information?”

“Nope,” I said.

“You haven’t received anything that was delivered or in the mail that this thing could be hidden in?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. “The man didn’t seem crazy. I got the impression that he was scared. Whatever he was talking about, he wanted to be rid of it.”

“So, it might be dangerous?”

“No, I don’t think so, just important,” I said.

Jimmy ran the tip of his index finger across the ridge of his bottom teeth. I’d seen him do it before when he was planning something out. His eyes flashed up at Simon, and said, “You got anything to add?”

“Oh, so now you askin’ me,” Simon said. “As an afterthought.

After we have skirted the edge of death?”

“Well, let’s hear it,” Jimmy said.

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“Even though my transgressions are legendary, and my victims are legion, I’m in a quandary over this particular situation,” he said.

Jimmy gave me a blank stare.

“He’s building his vocabulary,” I said.

“I do think that it is paramount to note that there are two separate entities searching for us.”

“You do, do you?” Jimmy said.

“Affirmative,” he said.

“I liked him better when he was a thief,” Jimmy said.

“Alleged thief,” Simon said.

Again, Jimmy was quiet and ran his finger over his teeth.

“I’ve made some calls, unofficially, of course,” Jimmy started.

“Do you ever do anything that isn’t unofficial?” Simon said.

“And he’s back,” Jimmy said. “Listen, the White House can’t be involving itself with a simple kidnapping attempt.”

“But that’s not what this is,” I said.

“I don’t think so either, but right now, without all the facts, that’s all we have: a kidnapping attempt. So, like I said, we are going to handle this in an unofficial manner,” Jimmy said.

“The first thing we need to do is get you some protection.

I’ve made a couple of calls. We’ll get some people working on the identity of the man who came to you and the people chasing you.

After that, we should be able to find out what it is we’re looking for.”

He took out his phone and texted someone.

“Listen, don’t say anything important in front of these people.

When I use government employees in situations like this, they are split three ways. They are working for me plus their own agency, and they are always working for themselves. That makes them hard to trust.”

There was a single knock on the door.

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Chapter 22 Jimmy got up, opened it, and let them in.

Shine was the first to enter. I hadn’t seen him for a while, and I was struck again by his sheer physical presence. He was very dark-skinned, head shaved and gleaming under the fluorescent light. His black T-shirt was very likely a double extra-large but was as taut as a banjo string across his chest and shoulders.

He walked past Jimmy without any kind of acknowledgment.

It seemed to me that this might not have been the first time they had seen each other recently.

Shine and Jimmy had a strange symbiotic relationship.

They were direct opposites in background. Shine being brought up on the streets of the inner city, Jimmy a college-educated Midwesterner with a lifetime in politics. But somehow, they had respect for each other.

Simon put up a fist to bump, but Shine walked right by him.

He gave me a minute nod of the head as a greeting. Same with Dr. DeRose. He strode to the back of the room and stood in the corner with his hands loosely clasped in front.

I could feel his presence even when I turned away like there was an unchained tiger behind me.

Next was a woman in her fifties with a no-nonsense mannish haircut, a purse in one hand and a briefcase in the other. No jewelry, expensive but matronly clothing. Gray a lot of material in her business suit. She looked around with stern indifference, a lifelong bureaucrat. Behind her were two minions that were so geeky they made me look rugged.

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She took a chair at the end of the table where Jimmy had been sitting; the two minions took their places on either side of her.

I glanced at Jimmy, who reluctantly took a chair between Simon and a minion.

Jimmy started with the introductions. “This is Ms. Carter. We are borrowing her from the NSA until we can find out what we have here. These are her associates, Mr. Kayden and Mr. Green.”

Simon stood and reached across the table, “Good to be working with you, my name is Simon.” He shook her hand vigorously. “You too, bro,” he said to Mr. Green and held up a fist to bump. Mr. Green had absolutely no idea of what to do. He introduced Dr. DeRose.

Jimmy went on, “This is Father Kenzee,” I gave a weak smile.

Ms. Carter returned a stringent stare. She opened her briefcase before Jimmy stopped speaking.

“And the gentleman in the back is, uh… Shine.”

Shine stayed motionless.

“And that does it for my unofficial involvement,” he said. He stood, nodded at Shine, and said to me, “Be careful.” I got the feeling he meant to be careful of everyone, including the people in the room. Dr. DeRose stood to leave also.

On his way out the door, Jimmy said to Simon, “The room was bare, so you couldn’t steal anything.” He winked and was gone. Dr. DeRose gave a sharp wave goodbye.

Ms. Carter removed several stacks of papers from her briefcase and spaced them carefully on the table in front of her.

Her two assistants did the same, only their stacks were thinner.

She glanced at Shine in the back.

She asked, “Could you please explain everything from the beginning?

I did. Almost word for word what I had told Jimmy. They listened, but I was sure that they already had a plan built on the information they received before we got here.

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“We are going to take a two-pronged approach to the situation before us.” The two minions nodded in agreement. They had the same haircut.

“First, we will secure Father Kenzee. That is paramount.

Whatever they think he has may involve National Security.”

“Agreed,” Simon said. “That’s paramount.”

“Secondly, we are going to find out what it is that they want.

We are now working through several avenues to determine that.”

She looked at Shine again.

“If you would please take a seat…” she said.

Shine stood.

“Take a seat,” she said.

Simon said, “Shine lacking a bit on his communication skills.”

The situation had escalated quickly. A confrontation in the first five minutes.

“Take a seat, or security will be called, and you will be removed from the building,” she said.

The minions looked frightened.

Shine didn’t blink.

“If I could translate,” Simon said. “That look means hell no.”

“Shine can stand,” I said. “Please go on.”

She let it go. She didn’t want to, but she did.

For now.

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Chapter 23 Ms. Carter told us her plan, which to me, seemed very formal and following a very specific protocol. I figured the bad guys would have that playbook and be watching to see how closely we were following it. I didn’t say anything, but if I could reason it out, I’m sure Simon and Shine were way ahead.

She droned on. Her voice was deep and mechanical. It was my life they were talking about, and I was even losing interest.

Simon was looking under the table. Shine still hadn’t moved.

They were going to take us to a government safehouse.

“Those shoes leather?” Simon asked the minion sitting closest to him.

Mr. Green nodded and smiled.

“Pretty nice, not my style, but pretty nice. How much you pay for shoes like that?”

“Mr. Simon, please!” Ms. Carter said.

“I’m tryin’ to upgrade my wardrobe, being a business tycoon and all.”

“Please,” she said, meaning for him to shut up.

Simon gave her a flip of the hand, signaling for her to go on.

She pulled out a cell and made some calls while we sat and looked at each other.

Our choices for safehouses were in Maryland, Delaware, and Pennsylvania. Apparently, they weren’t OUR choices because she chose Maryland without asking us. She spoke to Mr. Kayden and Mr. Green, and they both started working on their oversized cell phones.

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Simon looked at me and said, “A real beehive of activity.”

“Yeah, but one that we’re not a part of,” I said.

After a few minutes, she announced that the gears of government had been set in motion. We were leaving. “’Bout time,” Simon said. “I ain’t used to stayin’ in one place so long. You become a sitting duck doin’ that.”

Ms. Carter ignored him.

“Could be snipers outside waiting to pick us off,” he said.

“I can assure you, Mr. Simon, no one knows you are here except the United States government.”

“Yeah, they know, but they ain’t admitting it.”

We got up to leave. Shine didn’t move. *** The Cowboy was in a helicopter talking with his employers who were on a different continent. He wore headphones and a wraparound microphone, which blocked some but not all noise.

One spoke with a distinct French accent, “Are you certain the other two were after the priest also?”

“Yes, absolutely. Once they were past me, they chased the priest and the other man into the woods.”

“And you decided not to pursue?”

“No,” the Cowboy said.

“And why is that?”

“I could apprehend the priest and the other man, but add in the other two professionals, no. I would have had to shoot the two dressed like police. That is not in our arrangement, not at the price we have agreed to.”

There was a silence on the phone. That was not uncommon for these people. They were thoughtful and cunning. And efficient. He was now sure that they would have already tried to erase him if things had gone as planned.

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“Very well. Water under the bridge. You do understand the need for urgency?”

“Yeah,” he said. He knew they hated his informality. He was growing tired of them also, but not their money.

The line went dead. The euro trash had hung up on him.

He’d love to find out who they were and drop in on them some night for a spot of tea or whatever it is they drink. But that would prolong the game, and his goal was to get out before it was too late.

The helicopter dipped down to a large blacktop parking lot adjacent to an abandoned factory. Five minutes later, they were on the ground. Two cars pulled into the lot: a white Toyota and a black limousine. The chopper lifted off and quickly became a black dot in the sky.

The Cowboy popped out as soon as the skids touched the blacktop. The cars were parked side by side with only a few feet between them. He stripped down to his boxers and donned a driver’s uniform handed to him by the man in the limo.

The man took the Cowboy’s clothes and said in a British accent, “All is ready. Follow the GPS.” He got into the Toyota, and they drove off.

92

Chapter 24 “Are we ready then?” Ms. Carter said, not so much as a question but more of a command to get moving. She was refilling her briefcase with papers, none of which she seemed to have needed. Mr. Green and Mr. Kayden did the same.

“Don’t like the setup,” Shine said from the back of the room.

Ms. Carter snapped her briefcase closed and stood.

“What you like and do not like is of little concern.”

Shine’s eye twitched minutely.

“Mr. Shine will not be traveling to the safehouse with us,” she said without looking up.

“What?” Simon and I said jointly. Shine didn’t move.

“Does Reinhart know about this?” Simon said. “Because this makes no sense at all!”

“I’d feel much safer if Shine was traveling with us,” I said.

She gave a condescending smile. “Mr. Shine will be joining us later. His assignment, for now, is to go back to your house, Father, and fetch some of your personal things.”

“Fetch? You hear that, Shine? This woman thinkin’ you gonna go fetch like a dog,” Simon said. He leaned back in his chair, ready to watch the fireworks.

Shine didn’t make a sound. A vein in his neck pulsed slowly under taut ebony skin.

“Shall we go then?” Ms. Carter said.

I looked at Simon and he looked at Shine. The three government people walked out of the room, leaving us behind.

“What’s wrong with you?” Simon said.

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Shine took a couple of steps forward, then stopped to let us walk out of the room ahead of him. When we didn’t move, he walked out and left us behind. Without any other options, we followed.

Ms. Carter, Mr. Green, and Mr. Kayden were in the limo by the time we exited the building. Shine was holding the car door for Simon and me, something else that seemed out of character for him.

Simon climbed in first, and I followed. Simon was keeping an eye on Shine. I’m not sure if it was disbelief or that he was expecting him to shoot somebody.

Once we were in, Shine pulled a glasses case from his jacket pocket and donned a pair of aviator shades. Then he reached in, shook my hand, and said good luck. I was the only person who had the angle to see him reach under the wheel well. I heard a barely audible click as the glasses case attached itself to the metal behind the fender. He closed the door, and we were off. *** Jorge Hydiigen sat in a comfortable ergonomic chair at the end of a long oval table. The table itself, originally from a thirteenth-century castle in England, was beautifully refinished but still bore the scars of swords and battleaxes plunged into its surface during some of the rowdier feasts.

The room was large, with a twelve-foot ceiling and gilded woodwork around the windows and walls. There were tapestries and oil paintings on the walls, some of which Jorge recognized as the works of some of the great masters. The furniture that was placed expertly around the room was hundreds of years old.

Only the chairs nestled around the table were modern.

Jorge knew the difference between new money and old money. This was old money and a lot of it.

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He took a sip of tea and placed the cup back on the ornate saucer carefully. He wiped his mouth with a silk napkin.

What a week. The tantalizing deal with the first edition Huck Finn seemed like months ago. He had answered the alarm and responded like a wild man, bringing down a plane and traipsing through the carnage to recover the package. He wasn’t even sure if he had locked the bookstore in his haste.

One of the large doors opened, and several men walked in.

Most wore well-tailored suits, but others sported sweaters or dress shirts open at the neck. The majority were white men, but other ethnicities were evident as well. None were under forty years of age.

Jorge had a monumental problem: Whom to trust?

He was the fourth line of security in the protection of the package. The first line was the fact that only a few people in the world knew it existed. No one at the seed bank knew that the entire building had been built around the secret room or its contents. The second line was geographical. It was hidden in a mountain in a country that was as inhospitable as any place on Earth.

The third was all the technology that surrounded it. It had more redundant systems than a manned spacecraft. No one person was to know all the security codes.

If all these lines were to be breached, he was the last line of defense. He had been paid a hefty sum of money for something he was assured would not happen. But it did, and here he was.

He was also at a disadvantage because he had no clue what the package was or its importance to these powerful men.

Contrary to his appearance, Jorge was a very intelligent man.

He knew he was in a spot here. From the information he had, he deduced that the robbery was an inside job. Probably not one person but a faction of a larger group. To complicate things even more, he didn’t know who these men were. The truly powerful never make the headlines, nor do they want their names known.

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The realization that he might not get out of this alive suddenly struck a nerve.

The men entered the room ambivalent to its opulence and seated themselves around the table as if they had been there many times before. They were quiet, restrained, and dignified.

Most didn’t look at Jorge until he was introduced by a gray-haired gentleman with a crisp English accent. He did not introduce anyone in the group.

“Could you tell us exactly what happened?” he said as casually as if he were asking Jorge to explain a movie.

Jorge went through the activities of that day up until he reacquired the package. Then he stopped.

“And after that?” the gray-haired Englishman asked.

“As I told the men that you sent to kidnap me, I cannot tell you.” “‘Kidnap’ is such a harsh word.”

“What would you call it?” Jorge asked.

“I would prefer the term collect. They collected you.” The Englishman smiled. To Jorge, it seemed genuine. “Could you, then, tell us what happened next?”

“No, I can’t,” Jorge said. There was grumbling from the seated men who seldom heard the word no.

“And why would that be?” the Englishman asked, his voice still light and regal.

“I have given my word to protect this object.” He leaned forward and laced his hands together on the table.

“Let us be honest here. The chances of someone other than a member of your group committing this crime are slim. So, I am straddling a dilemma.”

He paused for dramatic effect.

“To whom am I going to give it? I could be giving it back to the very people that just tried to steal it. A scenario could easily be constructed that I disappeared with the package. But they would have it, and then I would be killed to eliminate any 96

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connection to them. No disrespect, but I do not know which of you to trust.” Jorge took a sip of tea.

“Actually,” Jorge said, “I’m quite sure at least one of you here in this room is involved, and I will only be safe until the package is found. Once it’s found, I go back to being unimportant. I pray that when it is found, it is found by the right people.”

After that, there was a lively discussion that ebbed and flowed in several different languages. Jorge picked up a napkin and dabbed a drop of tea from his lip. Then dabbed a trickle of sweat from his forehead.

97

Chapter 25 “You wrong, man, you so wrong,” Simon said to Ms. Carter.

“Be quiet,” she said dismissively. “You know nothing about this kind of operation.”

“Know nothing!? Hell, Shine take out half the FBI if he wanted to. You all running around in those blue FBI windbreakers looking foolish!”

“We’re not FBI,” Mr. Green said. “We’re NSA.” “You got windbreakers for that?” Simon asked.

Mr. Green smiled and nodded vigorously.

Simon and I were seated with our backs to the driver. The glass partition was up, but it was made with some type of filament inside. It was see-through, but the view was somewhat veiled.

The driver was ignoring us.

I could tell that Simon was getting riled up again at the absence of Shine when I saw him do a double take out of the corner of my eye. Being very coy, he was trying to look back at the driver without turning his head all the way around.

“What?” I mouthed.

“That’s the guy or one of the guys from the restaurant.”

“What restaurant?” I said.

“Shhh. The Italian restaurant that had the garlic bread. You know…”

I was seated directly behind the driver, so I couldn’t get a good look without turning completely around.

“You sure?” I whispered.

“Pretty darn,” he said.

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Then the windows went dark.

I’m not sure how he did it, but the cabin of the limo was as black as a coal mine.

“Hold on a second, let me find my cell,” Ms. Carter said.

“What you think about your plan now?” Simon said.

A dim light barely illuminated the interior of the car as she touched the screen. A moment later, the intensity grew as she found her flashlight on the phone. Looking at them across the way was not a comforting sight.

The window glass looked as dark on the inside as many of the cars looked outside when they had their windows tinted. Mr. Kayden reached over and touched one.

I went for the door handle. I wasn’t surprised when it didn’t open.

“Shoot the window,” Simon said.

Ms. Carter straightened herself in the light cast by her phone, “We are not carrying any weapons. I didn’t think the need would arise on our way to the safe house.”

“No weapons?! And you’re protecting us. We ain’t been gone five minutes yet! What you gonna do, unleash Knick and Knack on them?”

Mr. Green let loose with a little laugh. Ms. Carter gave him a stern look.

“No need for shooting, Mr. Simon. There is also no need for panic.”

Simon looked at me, “Would you tell her to quit calling me Mr. Simon?”

During all this, the car had slowed, and we could feel ourselves making forty-five-degree turns like we were driving through city blocks. Even with the cushy shock absorbers, I could tell the road below us was ripe with potholes and manhole covers.

Ms. Carter turned her phone over and began dialing. Mr. Green watched her, then announced, “Well, no service. Guess that’s a dead end.”

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Simon crossed his arms over his chest and settled back in his seat. “Time to panic now?” he said.

Ms. Carter said nothing and then turned off the light. After a moment, she said, “I’m going to save the battery on my phone, we may need it later.”

“Yeah, what are you going to do? Throw it at somebody shooting at us?” Simon said in the dark.

We rode in silence for a few more minutes, at least it seemed like minutes. It could have been hours or seconds. The darkness and the motion were really throwing me.

“Do you think he can hear us?” I whispered to Simon.

“Yeah, he didn’t turn the lights off until I said I recognized him,” Simon said.

“So, he knows where the safe house is?”

“Believe me, we ain’t goin’ to no safe house.”

I could hear Ms. Carter rustling around. Then she turned on her phone light again. “Could you please tap on the glass?” she asked.

Simon didn’t move. I tapped on the glass.

A voice came through the speakers. “Yes?” “I’m a federal officer with the National Security Agency. You are now breaking federal law, probably several laws,” Ms. Carter said.

“Why don’t you read him his rights? Arrest him now,” Simon said.

She ignored him. “You could be helping yourself a great deal by stopping the car and letting us go now before you are captured.”

“And how am I going to be captured?” he asked.

“The United States government has incredible resources,” she said.

“Yeah, look how good they are at protecting people,” Simon said.

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She was losing patience with Simon. “Would you shut up?

You are not helping our cause here.”

“Yeah, and you’re not doing such a damn fine job yourself.”

Simon looked over to me. “I’m a bit disenchanted with Ms. Carter and her government security.”

The driver/Cowboy said, “Just sit back and relax. The ride is almost over.” The speaker went silent, as did we.

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Chapter 26 The limo took a long turn to the left and came to a stop. I looked at my watch. We had been traveling for about ten minutes.

I heard the driver’s door open and then close. As far as I could tell, the car was still running.

The door on Simon’s side opened, and the light washed in; not bright, but harsh enough to blind us after riding in the dark.

I caught a hint of an odor: chemical or heavy oil.

A tattooed arm reached in, clenched Simon by the shoulder, and pulled him out. I was pulled out next, a bit more gently. The government agents could exit by themselves, having a few more seconds to adjust to the light.

Once outside the car, the sweltering heat blanketed us. We were in a dilapidated building that had once been a factory or some type of loading dock. The only evidence of the machinery that had once been here was the unstained areas of cement on the floor.

There were a couple of large green dumpsters that were dented and dirty near the wall. And there was the usual litter and graffiti found in abandoned buildings. The walls were corrugated steel that ran thirty yards up. At the top were rows of grimy horizontal windows that were closed, allowing some light in but no heat out. I began sweating.

The tattoo guy started patting us down.

“No need,” the driver said as he walked away from us while pulling out a phone. I spotted three other men spread out around

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the space. Each with a submachine gun slung over a shoulder.

Both the guns and the men looked military.

Ms. Carter went into action.

“I demand to know who is in charge here!”

Everyone ignored her.

“No one give a damn about your demand,” Simon said and smiled. “I do like alliteration.”

The driver stopped at a Formica table surrounded by three plastic chairs. Everything looked sticky.

The driver/Cowboy guy waved us over to the table, still on the phone, and the tattoo man followed.

“Have a seat,” he said when we reached the table. The phone was still to his ear.

Ms. Carter sat; Green and Kayden stood behind her. I sat.

“I ain’t sittin’ in that nasty chair, who knows what has happened—” The tattooed arm clamped down on Simon’s shoulder and forced him into the seat.

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” the driver/Cowboy said. “He is being pulled from a meeting.” He placed the phone on the table.

“I’m sure we can handle this diplomatically,” Ms. Carter said.

A voice with a French accent came from the phone. “That will be completely up to you.”

“I am Agent Carter with the United States…”

“I do not care who you are,” said the voice. “I only wish to know if you have the item that was stolen from us.”

The Cowboy and Tattoo moved away from the table. The others with the machine guns watched indifferently. Two were chewing gum. We posed no threat.

“I can assure you that no one here has stolen anything that—” “If you continue to speak, madam, I will have you gagged,” the Frenchman said.

“I’m all for that,” Simon said.

“I wish to speak to the priest and the black man.”

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“The black man? Is that what he said, the black man? Is that what I am here, the black man?”

“Do you have it?” he asked calmly.

Simon said, “What’s in it for us?”

“So, you do have it?”

“I’m not saying we do, and I’m not saying we don’t. I’m just asking what’s in it for us?”

There was a pause over the phone. The room was sweltering.

Mr. Green, who was still standing behind Ms. Carter, started to sway. He looked pale, even for him.

“The benefit is that you stay alive,” the Frenchman said.

“That is a perk,” Simon said. “What you not seeing here is that we may have something you want. From my point of view, your French behind needs us; we don’t need you.”

I gave Simon a silent, What are you doing? He shook his head and leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed.

“Perhaps I should have one of you two shot, then whoever is left will talk to me.”

Simon smiled widely, “You wouldn’t want to do that. We already worked that out. You see, he knows where it is, but I know how to get to it. Neither one of us can give it to you by ourselves.”

There was another pause. Then the French voice said, “We will shoot the woman.”

“I don’t care. Hell, give me the gun, I’ll shoot her myself.”

Mr. Green was looking worse. Mr. Kayden was looking a tad under the weather also. Their suit jackets had sweat through the armpits. They hadn’t spent much time out of air conditioning.

I stood and guided Mr. Green to my seat. He slumped forward to the table and put his head down.

“So, Mr. Big,” Simon said. “What’s in it for us?

There was a rumbling sound, and the huge metal loading dock door began rolling up. The bright sunlight shone in, causing me and everyone else to squint. The gunmen took a step closer to us as a single figure walked calmly in through the opening.

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It was impossible to look at him without staring into the sunshine, which allowed him to raise a gun in each hand and begin firing.Shots peppered the wall behind us, causing dust to fall from the nooks and crannies. The air was filled with the zing of ricochets.

Simon swiftly flipped the table and pulled Mr. Green behind it.

One shooter went down, and the other three were firing back, spraying shots while looking for someplace to take cover. They were yelling excitedly at each other in a language I didn’t know.

I couldn’t understand why the guys with machine guns couldn’t hit the guy.

The lone shooter continued to walk forward and fire with both hands.

“We on the wrong side,” Simon shouted over the gunfire.

Another one of the machine gun guys went down, shot in the thigh. He was screaming in the same strange language. An amazing number of bullets were coming from the man in the doorway.

“What do you mean?” I yelled.

“That’s Shine shooting up the place. We gotta turn this table around.”

In the meantime, Shine had made it to the limo and opened the passenger door as a shield. Shots pinged and sparked as they struck the bullet-proof car. He hadn’t uttered a sound.

Simon half stood and rolled the round table top in an arc until we were on the other side, protected from our kidnappers.

Then he and I grabbed a table leg and started slowly pulling the table, still on its side, back across the floor to the limo. Ms. Carter and the minions shuffled to stay down and behind the table.

Watching her move backward on her hands and knees reminded me of an elephant being made to walk in reverse. The table slid easily on the grimy cement. For the first time, I realized that Shine was not alone, although I could not see anyone else.

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It was loud. Without anything to soften the soundwaves, the noise of the guns was thunderous through the empty building.

The only bright spot was that no one was shooting at us. They were focused on each other. That didn’t mean that a stray shot or a random bounce might be enough to take one of us out, but at least we were no one’s target.

It seemed like hours, but it was probably less than a minute until we reached the limo’s front fender with the three scurrying behind the table. I duck-walked to the rear door, opened it, and pulled in the three government people. I prayed silently for the keys to be in the car.

To my surprise, there was a small black man sitting serenely in the back seat. His head was shaved, and he had a neatly groomed mustache and beard. There were several earrings in each ear. I had no idea how he got there.

Shine took a couple more shots and shouted, “Come on!”

Simon left the table, jumped into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door. Shine did the same on the passenger side.

Simon was shouting and feeling around on the seat and floor, “Where the keys? You seen the keys?”

“Try the ignition,” Shine said calmly.

Immediately, the big motor roared to life, and the dark windows became transparent again. We were all thrown forward as Simon jerked the car into reverse. We shot backwards through the open loading dock door and into the sunshine. They were still shooting as we backed away.

As we scooted through the parking lot, I saw a white Toyota.

Its tires were flat with long slits in the sidewalls.

Simon spun the car around in one quick move and accelerated away from the building. He fingered a few buttons on the dashboard until the partition between us dropped. Glancing in the mirror, he said, “Looks like we picked up a passenger.”

The guy just sat there, expressionless.

“That’s Home Chain. He a shooter.”

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He nodded at me slightly.

“Ms. Carter,” Simon said. “As far as security, you suck. You are relieved of duty.”

“Thank God,” she said.

107

Chapter 27 “You put a tracking device on the car?” I said through the open partition. “Under the fender?”

Shine gave a slight nod.

“Jimmy have you do it?”

Another slight nod.

“Is that why he was OK with you not going with us?”

Another nod.

“And that’s why you didn’t argue about it?”

He didn’t nod this time. I guess he was finished talking.

“Where we headed?” Simon asked.

“Got to dump this car,” Home Chain said from the back. His voice was like a loud whisper.

“No hurry,” Simon said. “It was just used in an abduction of five people. The euro trash we took it from ain’t going to report it missing.”

“Then what are we going to do?” I asked.

Ms. Carter, Mr. Kayden, and Mr. Green sat quietly. Ms. Carter, hair drooping and knees bleeding, looked far worse than the other two. They looked around expectantly like two kids strapped into their first Ferris wheel ride. They were getting their color back.

“I got this,” Simon said. Shine stared at him hard, which was the only way he could stare.

“Don’t be giving me the bug eye,” Simon said. “When you going to start trusting me?”

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Shine turned forward and said nothing, reached into a pocket, pulled out a toothpick, and stuck it in the side of his mouth. “Go,” he said.

Ten minutes later, we passed a trio of guys in an empty lot.

The two Spanish guys were sitting on the hood of a pimpedout Impala. It was shiny and low and had the words, “LITTLE HOMBRE” painted in script across the hood.

One of them was muscular and mean-looking. The other had greased-back hair and a headband.

The third guy was white and on a bicycle. He had a long ponytail and wore a dirty wife beater. His movements were a little too quick like he was juiced on something.

Simon drove past, then stopped and backed up into the lot.

The bike guy looked like he was ready to bolt, but the other two just looked at the limo warily. It wore the remnants of the gunfight.

Simon popped out of the car and walked up to the one in charge, Headband. The muscle guy hopped off the hood as he approached. The long hair on the bike looked around nervously.

Inside the limo, we watched Simon launch into an animated discussion with Headband. All three began glancing at the car as he spoke. They couldn’t see us because of the dark windows.

Headband said something to ponytail, and he pedaled off.

Simon came back and got into the car.

“Give me a grand,” he said to Shine. Shine just stared at him again.

“I’m trading the limo and cash for another car,” Simon said.

Ms. Carter said from the back seat, “They are probably selling us a stolen car.”

“What are you talking about, lady,” Simon said. “We’re selling THEM a stolen car.”

She put her head in her hands and said nothing else.

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*** Ponytail came riding back, and Simon got out. Shine had reached into his pocket, pulled a large roll of bills wrapped in a rubber band, and counted off a thousand dollars.

“Not going to work,” Shine said as Simon walked back to Headband. “He wants me to trust him, and he does something stupid like this.”

They spoke for a few minutes, and then the muscled guy walked to the limo. He tapped on the back window nearest Green and Kayden, then twirled his finger, wanting the window down.

From his perch on his hood, Headband could see the three government people. I leaned forward and waved. Home Chain stayed back.

Muscles looked in and saw him.

“There’s a black man back there, too,” he said.

“What is it, Cholo? The dude here driving around some sort of Rainbow Coalition?” Headband said to Muscles.

Muscles walked back, and Green put the window up.

“Here it comes,” Shine said.

Simon handed over the money, and Headband smiled and put it in his shirt pocket. Simon started yelling.

“Never was a deal, was there?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. He opened the door and was instantly at Simon’s side. Muscles stepped in front of Headband.

Shine had a gun in his right hand that I never saw him pull; it just appeared there. He viciously clubbed Muscles in the temple, opening a gash from his ear to his eyebrow. Then, whipping back, he landed a crunching left to the bridge of Muscles’ nose.

That punch splattered the blood from the gash across the chest of Headband, who still hadn’t moved from the hood of his car.

Muscles dropped, banging his head on the fender on his way to the pavement.

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Green and Kayden had their faces plastered against the window.

“This is my associate, Shine. He a hard case,” Simon said to Headband.

“He’s sure harder than Cholo,” Headband said, looking down at the guy on the pavement.

“Our arrangement needs rehashing,” Simon said.

“You have the gun,” Headband said.

“First off, I’ll take this back.” Simon reached over and plucked the cash out of his shirt pocket. Headband smiled like a snake.

Simon walked around the car, glancing inside to make sure the keys were in the ignition. The car was a beast, long and heavy as many were in the ’60s. It was painted neon green with the kind of wheels that keep spinning even after the car stops. Big bench seats in front and back were covered in tiger stripes.

“This will do,” he said.

“No, no, we have another car coming,” Headband.

“Yeah, right,” Simon said.

At this point, Ponytail, who had been sitting quietly on his bike, let loose with a scream and pedaled straight at Shine.

Shine calmly caught the bike by the handlebars and flipped it up, sending Ponytail off the back with the bike landing on him.

He threw the bike to the side and scrambled to get up, but Shine leveled the gun at him.

“Stay down,” he said.

Simon motioned for us to get out and ushered us into the Impala.

“Phones,” Shine said.

“No, man, not my phone. My phone is my place of business.”

“Shouldn’t have screwed with us, my friend,” Simon said.

Shine walked over and stood on Ponytail’s ponytail, pinning him to the ground.

“Phone,” he said.

“Ouch, man! You’re pulling out my hair!”

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“Phone,” Shine said.

Ponytail wrestled it out of his pocket and held it up.

Headband reluctantly handed over his. Simon took the keys to the limo and threw them down the street.

“It’s all yours,” he said.

“You know who owns this neighborhood, amigo?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re Mr. Big,” Simon said.

“Shut up,” Shine said.

“But look who has the car, and look who has two boys on the ground,” Simon yelled as he got behind the wheel.

We were crammed in the car. I was in the front with Simon driving, me in the middle, and Shine on my right.

Home Chain was in the back with the three government people. The only normal-sized person was Ms. Carter. The other three were small.

We pulled onto the street with Headband staring at us with contempt.

“Well, that was easy,” Simon said.

Shine just stared at him.

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Chapter 28 About three blocks away, Simon started feeling too comfortable with the escape. Shine was watching the mirror. The four in the back seat wanted nothing more than to be out of the car and into some air conditioning. All the windows were down; I’m not sure it even had windows because the interior had been done in such a way that the doors were completely smooth. This ride was way too cool for handles or knobs on the doors.

The dashboard of the car was completely customized, with toggle switches and buttons across the dash.

“How about some music?” Simon said.

“How about some air conditioning?” Home Chain said.

“Just drive,” Shine said, still scanning the streets.

We drove. Ten minutes later, we stopped at a traffic light. We were far enough away from the neighborhood that there were a fair number of cars on the road. A food delivery truck stopped beside us. The diesel engine clattered and pumped fumes into the car.

“How about some air conditioning?” Home Chain said again, over the noise.

Simon started pressing buttons. Mood lights glowed under the dashboard and seats. The dome light changed into a tiny but powerful disco ball. Dots of blue light floated over the interior.

Still no air.

Then he flipped a toggle switch, and we all heard a swoosh of air. The right side of the car popped up three feet in the air and stayed there. Shine and I slid across the bench seat and pinned Simon against the door.

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“What the hell?” he said.

“Put us down,” Shine said.

The light changed to green.

“I can’t move my arms,” he said.

I could, so I reached forward and hit another switch, which was a mistake. Music erupted from hidden speakers. It was so loud it drowned out the diesel engine.

Shine glanced up at the side mirror.

“We got to go,” he said.

I flipped another switch. The windshield wipers swung furiously into action.

The truck beside us was in and through the intersection, leaving it wide open. Even tilted, we had an unobstructed view of everything ahead of us. Traffic was backing up behind the car.

From the streets, both left and right, came guys on bicycles like the one Ponytail rode. At least a dozen.

Then, I saw several more coming down the street directly in front of us. The bikes were undoubtedly good disposable ways of delivering drugs in these neighborhoods. Quick, quiet, and easily dismountable. And now a great means of surveillance. Or attack.

I flipped another switch, and the car dropped down to normal for a second. Then the front end popped up.

We were tilted back in our seats. It felt like the front of the car was pointed at the sky. I couldn’t see anything out the front except clouds and the third stories of some of the buildings.

The bikes were closing in on the car, close enough to see bulges in some of their waistbands.

Home Chain produced two serious-looking handguns from somewhere and said, “Want me to cap a couple of them?”

“Just drive,” Shine said to Simon.

“Damn! I can’t see the road.”

“Just go,” Shine said, pulling out his gun and holding it against his thigh.

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“All right, hold on,” he said and floored the accelerator.

Little Hombre leaped forward, tossing everyone again. I watched the traffic light pass overhead. Simon had his head hanging out the window like a dog, lifting himself on the door with his left hand and driving with his right. The sounds from the back seat were like the screams at an amusement park.

The bike riders in our path were scattering like pigeons. One barely got out of the way, diving off the bike at the last second.

We heard the thud as we drove over it.

The music was still blasting, and the wipers were still thumping across the windshield. People on the sidewalk stopped to watch us pass. Simon didn’t bother to stop at the next intersection or the next. Each time we blew through an intersection, bike riders were waiting. I could see them through the side windows as we passed. All were on cell phones, reporting to the next block down. Then pedaling after us.

“Traffic’s easing up,” Simon said.

Shine didn’t respond.

“One more traffic light and we out of the congestion. Then we gonna out run the bikes. Another clean getaway.”

“People on bikes still coming, though; they aren’t giving up,” Home Chain said, looking out the back window.

“Don’t worry about them. They aren’t going to shoot up the boss’s car,” Simon said.

He seemed pleased with himself, still halfway out the window and putting distance between us and the bikes. The buildings around us were diminishing in size, and more sunlight was brightening the area. We were picking up speed.

Just as we were approaching the last traffic light, Simon jammed on the brakes hard. We screeched down the street.

I could smell the burnt rubber. There was just a brief blip of a police siren, then we hit.

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bumper was about shoulder height. The stomping of the brake was more of a jolt than the impact of the other car.

But it was enough of a collision to wreck the hydraulics that lifted the front of the car. We came down slowly but not completely. Our bumper was resting on the front fender of a police car. It was perpendicular to our car and tilted down in front due to the added weight on its fender. The blue lights were flashing.

Two policemen were out of the car and crouching behind it, guns drawn.

“OUT OF THE CAR! HANDS UP! DRIVER, OUT OF THE CAR AND ON THE GROUND! The music was still blaring, and the wipers were still whipping back and forth.

Simon looked at Shine and said, “They actin’ like we don’t know what to do.”

He slid out and saw the gathering web of bike guys spread out around the intersection. He waved and smiled.

“FREEZE!” yelled the police officer. Simon stopped and put his hands over his head.

“FREEZE!” “I ain’t movin’,” Simon said.

“Not you, lady passenger! Freeze!”

Ms. Carter was attempting to exit the car. She was dragging her purse, had hair hanging down in her eyes, and was wearing only one shoe.

“I’m a government agent,” she said, trying to regain whatever dignity she could.

Once she was out of the car, she reached into her purse for I.D. “FREEZE!” the cop yelled again.

“Get your hand out of your purse. You’re going to get us both shot,” Simon said.

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“I’m reaching for my I.D.,” she told the officer. Using two fingers, she plucked out her badge. It was encased in a flip wallet.

“Drop the purse, then throw the badge to me,” one of the police officers said. “YOU, DRIVER, GET ON THE GROUND!” She threw the badge, case and all, over the top of the police car.

“Why do I have to get on the ground if she doesn’t?” Simon yelled back.

In the back seat, Home Chain looked at the two government men. “You two got gun permits?” They both nodded. “Here then, these are yours.” He handed each of them his guns, wiping them on his shirt as he did.

Another police car arrived. More guns were drawn.

“This ain’t right,” Simon was yelling from the ground.

“PASSENGER IN THE FRONT SEAT. EXIT THE CAR AND GET ON THE GROUND SPREAD EAGLE!” “I guess that’s you,” I said to Shine.

He shoved his pistols under the front seat. He slid out of the car gracefully and looked around at the four guns pointed his way.

He said nothing and started walking towards the other police car, which was parked about thirty feet away. There ensued screams and threats by all four policemen, but Shine ignored all. Once he got to the car, he leaned on the hood, crossing his ankles, then his arms over his chest.

Two officers flanked him, holding their weapons with both hands. Shine looked at them like a lion watching a child at a zoo.

A crowd of onlookers were starting to gather in addition to the bike guys. A low rider on top of a police cruiser was a curiosity even to the most jaded city dwellers. They crowded in around the bike guys, whom they normally would have avoided like the plague.

There was also the strange combination of people to look at.

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white guys, two hard-looking black guys, and Home Chain, who didn’t fit in with anybody. Then there was me.

One of the officers motioned for Ms. Carter to come around the car.

I could hear more sirens in the distance. The crowd was growing, Simon was still on the pavement yelling, and Shine was scanning the rooftops.

“PASSENGERS IN THE CAR, EXIT AND GET ON THE GROUND SLOWLY!” “No, stay in the car,” Shine said. He didn’t yell; his deep voice seemed to carry.

One of the cops holding a gun said, “Shut up.”

Shine glanced at the top of the buildings, “Perfect place for a sniper.”

“Yeah, right,” the cop said, but he looked up. Simon was still on the ground and close enough to hear what Shine was saying.

“Yeah, why you think we traveling with an old white lady?

Huh? Got an answer for that?” Simon said.

One of the cops holding a gun on Shine inched closer to the car, trying to see inside.

Ms. Carter was still in a lively conversation with the officer.

At that moment, another police car pulled in behind the other two, and a big black Suburban blasted its siren at the crowd behind us.

The Suburban didn’t have a light bar on the roof but did have a thin rectangular one near the interior mirror. It slowly pushed its way through the people until it was directly behind us. The front two doors popped open, and two men got out. Suits, ties, and sunglasses. Finally, some real government help, I thought.

They brushed past our two cars and went directly to the cop and Ms. Carter without even a glance our way. They took over the conversation imminently. One gestured at Simon and I like we were the only ones they were interested in.

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The third police car that had pulled in had just one officer in it. I watched him get out and look at the men in the suits, not his fellow officers.

I heard Simon say, “This ain’t right. Shine, something funny.”

Apparently, Shine thought there was something funny too.

He uncrossed his arms and leaned away from the police car.

Ms. Carter and the men in suits were in heavy conversation with the police officers. I couldn’t actually hear what was happening, but it looked as though she and the men in suits were negotiating our release. The local police were having none of it.

The last police officer to arrive was hanging back. He was off to Shine’s left and behind the officer holding the gun on Shine.

He seemed uncertain of where to go.

“You know that cop?” Shine asked the officer.

The officer stiffened his arm and aimed the gun at Shine’s chest, then took a quick glance behind him. He said nothing when he looked back at Shine.

“That good police technique, hanging back where he is?”

The men in suits and Ms. Carter were still talking furiously to the police. They had sided themselves off; the locals on one side and Ms. Carter and the government men on the other. Suits against the uniforms. Neither seemed to be budging.

I had been around Shine enough to see things most people would miss. I saw him relax the muscles in his shoulders and slightly balance his weight to the balls of his feet. He hadn’t really moved, but he had…changed.

The cop to the left was aware that the negotiations were not going well. He started moving.

It really was a beehive of activity. Several sets of blue lights were flashing, the locals and the feds were arguing, the crowd around the perimeter had grown from a few onlookers to dozens.

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and spot Ms. Carter’s single shoe yards off down the street. He could see the bike tires further down intermixed with the shoes of people in the crowd. He could also see Shine’s and the officer’s shoes, and he could see the other cop moving behind the cars.

“Shine,” Simon said.

“Got it,” Shine said.

“Hey, Home Chain,” Simon said. “You up?”

“Oh yeah,” he said from the car. He snatched the guns back from Kayden and Green.

The cop was coming quickly but moving awkwardly. Both hands were down; he was carrying something in each.

“Heads up,” Shine said to the officer as the other one approached.

“Watch out,” the cop coming up from behind said. “This one’s a mean one.”

Before the officer could respond, the cop brought up a handheld Taser and zapped the officer in the back of the neck.

There was a crackling sound, and the officer went down beside the car.

“Officer down!” he yelled. With that, he slid the handheld Taser into his pants pocket and brought up the other hand, which held another kind of Taser. It was the kind that shot two small electrodes at the target.

He shot Shine in the chest.

Everyone at the scene stopped and watched.

The needles buried themselves in Shine’s chest muscles.

I heard him grunt and saw the tendons in his neck tighten along with the muscle and sinew in his arms. He didn’t go down.

The cop turned a knob on the gun, and Shine grunted again.

A vein rose from his temple, and his head glimmered in sweat.

There was only the set of his jaw as a facial expression as he stared at the cop. He still didn’t go down.

I was watching it all from the middle of the front seat.

Then, several things happened at once.

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“Hell, no!” Simon said from the pavement. He was up and sprinting at the cop who was still attached to Shine via the electrodes. He put his shoulder down and ran right through him like a defensive end running through a quarterback. The cop let out an “Oomph,” and the electrodes jerked out of Shine’s chest.

Shine wavered for only a moment, then leaned back on the car.

At the same time, the two men in suits and shades pulled their guns. They weren’t pointing them at the prisoners; they were aiming them at the police. Ms. Carter noticed a split second before the other police officers. They looked down at the guns, then back up to the faces of the men in suits.

There was a sharp, crack, crack of gunshots behind me, and the two men in suits fell. I looked in the mirror and saw Home Chain slide smoothly down into the back seat. He had gotten out of the back seat and shot two people without notice.

The shots sent the crowd scrambling, multiplying the chaos.

Simon got up, looking a bit dazed. The cop he had tackled took off running between cars, leaving behind the cruiser he had driven in. No one pursued.

The gangsters on bikes took off like roaches when the kitchen light goes on.

Simon watched the guy run off, then turned and ambled into the middle of the scene.

To no one in particular, he said, “So, are we under arrest or not? Somebody make up their mind.” *** We did not get arrested.

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the ground, and a wrecked lowrider named LITTLE HOMBRE. On our way out, we passed ambulances going back toward the intersection, sirens blaring. The day before had started with Simon and I going to look at a face in a tree. In the interim, we had added five people to our group, been chased by two international cabals and a local gang, shot at, and tased. All that after being pursued through the woods and spending the night on the river in a boat we could not steer.

Simon looked at me and said, “Never knew a white man could lead such a troubled life.”

Before long, we were back in the same barren building, waiting for Jimmy to return. But this time, guards were posted at the doors and the entrance to the drive. Not FBI agents, Marines with rifles slung over their shoulders. Once we were back in our room, another one was posted outside the door.

We waited.

Preoccupied. *** “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked me for the third time.

“I’m fine,” I said.

Simon said, “Yeah, we okay, too. Thanks for asking.” Jimmy gave him a blank stare.

“Shine only got tased a little, and I was layin’ on the street with bullets whizzing over my head. But that’s OK, we black. We used to it.”

“You got tased?” Jimmy asked Shine.

“Just a little,” Shine said in his deep voice.

“Why is everybody ignoring my contribution to this situation?” Simon said.

“What did you do?” Jimmy asked.

“I almost had a deal working with Mr. Big. I was getting things done.”

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Ms. Carter spoke up, “They were going to shoot me!”

“I didn’t say it was a good deal for everybody.”

Jimmy looked at Shine and said, “So, what do we do now?”

Simon interrupted, “You mean unofficially?”

“I told you before we can’t do anything officially.”

“Man, I don’t know how you fill up your days. Nothin’ you do is official.”

“Shut up,” Shine said to Simon, then to Jimmy, “I take them, hide them. You find out what’s going on.”

Jimmy nodded. “What about them?” He glanced at Ms. Carter and her minions.

“Gotta take them too.”

“What?” Simon and I said together.

“They’re not safe running around,” Shine said. “Sure thing bad guys know who they are. If they can’t find these two,” he nodded at Simon and I, “they will come looking for them.”

“May I say something,” Ms. Carter said irritably.

“No,” Jimmy said. “For now, you are on paid vacation with Tweedledum and Tweedledee. We’ll find someplace safe for you three.”

Kayden and Green smiled and gave each other a weak high five.

“But that was my original plan,” Ms. Carter said.

“Yeah, but your protection component proved to be somewhat lacking,” Simon said and smiled.

Jimmy passed over that comment and said, “Let me know when you get settled in wherever you are going. I might have another way we can work at this.”

“Unofficially?” Simon said.

“Of course,” Jimmy said.

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Chapter 29 Mr. Stubbs, Shine’s boss, was the current CEO of an expanding and increasingly legal chain of ribs restaurants called Sampson’s. His former job had been the CEO of a successful and highly illegal street gang. Having more foresight than the people around him, he noticed that all his contemporaries were either dead or incarcerated. Mr. Stubbs was a frightening and ruthless man, but he was not dumb. He decided to go legit as quickly as he could. He cut ties with associates and built a relationship with a church in his neighborhood.

Shine was one of the first to jump on board. Stubbs gave all his workers an option: come with me or not. If you come, I’ll protect you; if you want to stay in the life, fine, but you going to end up dead sooner than later. About half stayed.

And although his logic was sound and his heart in the right place, it’s hard to take the stripes off a tiger. They were about 80 percent legal now. The remaining twenty percent were illegal activities dealing with strong-armed business actions, which Mr. Stubbs saw nothing wrong with.

That said, Shine was still privy to many safe houses, endless burner phones, and all things related to hiding someone.

“Where we going?” Simon asked Shine as we were seated in the back of a shiny black van. Shine started the engine but said nothing. The passenger door slid open, and Home Chain slid leisurely onto the seat.

“You coming too?” Simon said.

“Thought I might,” Home Chain said and looked to Shine.

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Again, Shine said nothing but slipped the van into gear. Home Chain pulled the door shut. We took a couple of turns, then slid onto an entrance ramp. Moments later, we were engulfed in evening traffic.

The sky was beginning to dim, and the sodium vapor highway lights started to glow with their pinkish light. The buildings in the distance became higher as we headed downtown. Shine drove expertly, never too fast or slow, always keeping pace with the traffic around us.

Shine and Home Chain were in the front seats, Simon and I in the next row, and the three government people in the large bench seat in the back. Ms. Carter took up most of the room.

We rolled along.

“Been thinking,” Simon said to no one in particular. “About testicle transplants.”

I heard a “humph” from the back that I was sure was from Ms. Carter.

Home Chain turned around and said, “What you need a testicle transplant for?”

“I don’t; I just been thinking about them.”

“Is that a thing?” I asked.

“Don’t know, they transplant all kinds of things. You seen that rat with a human ear on its back? On the internet.”

“That real?” Home Chain asked. Shine remained quiet.

“Sure it is,” Simon said. “But listen, say somebody has a testicle transplant because of an accident or something.”

“I think it would be called a testicular transplant,” I said.

“OK, a testicular transplant, whatever. And say this guy has a kid afterward. Would the kid have the DNA of the guy or the donor? And what if the guy was white and the donor was black?”

“Not gonna happen,” Home Chain said. “No black guy gonna be donating those, even if he’s already dead.”

“Man, you’re missing the point…”

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Shine turned off the highway and down a wide avenue.

The pedestrians wore nicely tailored business suits and carried briefcases. We watched through the van’s darkened windows as they walked hurriedly. Moments later, Shine pulled into an underground parking garage.

“We’re staying here?” Simon asked.

“Hiding in plain sight,” Shine said. He turned and handed out envelopes. “These are your room key cards; you are already checked in.”

“That’s not possible,” Ms. Carter said. “To check into a hotel, you must provide identification and a credit card.”

“That’s what’s wrong with you,” Simon said. “You think everybody follows the rules.”

Shine ignored them both. “You are going to go up these stairs and into the lobby. Don’t look up; there are cameras all over. Don’t go up together— act like you are alone. Don’t use the phones. Don’t leave the room.”

He looked at Kayden and Green, “Since Home Chain has decided to come along, you two are going to bunk together. You all right with that?”

They nodded together like they had practiced it.

The room was about the same as most hotel rooms. The bed was a queen, the fridge and microwave were found beside the door to the bathroom, and the furniture consisted of a bureau, a table, and a desk. The air smelled clean, and the air conditioner wasn’t too loud.

I got in the shower and let the water wash the day away. Then I crawled into bed without even turning on the television. I was out in seconds.

Sometime during the night, the lamp on the desk came on.

I rolled over to look at it, and there, sitting cross-legged on the desk, was Emmanuel. I jumped so badly, I hit my head on the headboard. He smiled that brilliant smile.

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“What… what are you doing here?”

He looked down, still smiling. “Sitting,” he said.

I was too shocked to form an intelligent question.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” he asked.

“Of course, but…”

He remained silent, seemingly amused by my bewilderment.

“Is this real?” I asked.

“Of course, it’s not real,” he said.

“This is a dream?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“It feels real,” I said.

“It does to me, too.”

“In the Bible, there was a lot of information given to people in dreams,” I said.

He nodded slowly. Then he readjusted his knees, tucking them in a little closer.

“So, why are you here now, in my hotel room?”

“Or in your dream?” He smiled again. “I understand that you’ve been feeling a bit abandoned.”

“I have. We’ve been in some rough situations lately. We were chased out of a restaurant, spent the night on a river, and almost attacked at a rest stop.”

His smile widened, and at once, I felt embarrassed. He had seen so much worse.

“But I provided a boat, a helicopter. I even sent you a priest on a motorcycle.”

Now, I felt even worse than embarrassed. I was ungrateful.

The lamp turned off.

The last thing I heard was his voice.

“I want you to know that whatever you might be, you are never abandoned.”

Sleep washed over me.

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Chapter 30 Jourge Hydiigen relaxed in an incredibly comfortable armchair. It smelled expensive. On the floor was a Persian rug, and the coffee table before him was a beautiful Brazilian cherry.

A massive but cold fireplace graced an entire wall, flanking another two walls filled with shelves of books. The fourth wall was constructed of glass overlooking the rear of the property.

The view was striking: endless forests without another structure in sight.

He had been given the run of the second floor of the estate, which, as far as he had explored, consisted of his bedroom suite and the library. The place reminded him of the castle of the Beast, as in Beauty and the Beast.

The remark about being kidnapped must have struck a nerve because since then, he had been treated like royalty. The staff had been friendly and courteous but distant. He had tried to engage in conversation just to get a sense of language but was always answered with a nod or a smile. His phone was gone, and he had not found a TV. He had yet to figure out what country he was in.

For the time being, he was content perusing the shelves, finding several first editions and even a signed Hemingway.

A large, soundless door swung open, and the Englishman appeared. He crossed the room as silently as the door and sat in the matching leather chair across the coffee table. The leather creaked as he crossed his legs at the knee and laced his fingers on his lap. He smiled warmly.

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“Are you able to enjoy the library? I do apologize for keeping you confined, but I hope, we will be able to have this whole matter settled shortly, and you can go back to your normal life.”

Jorge remained quiet. He wasn’t sure where this was going.

“Do you have any idea what is in the container that you so bravely acquired?” the Englishman said.

Jorge took a sip of tea that had been sitting on a coaster on the Brazilian table. Turning point here, he thought to himself.

“I have seen it, yes. But I have no idea of its importance.”

The Englishman chuckled an honest good-natured chuckle.

“That, Mr. Hydiigen, is something I can agree with. Oh, the things we do, those of us with too much wealth and too little time.”

“So, I was looking at the correct thing: a rock?” Hydiigen said.

The Englishman smiled. “You opened the container?”

Hydiigen nodded slowly, hoping he had not sealed his fate.

“The latch opened due to the airplane crash.”

The Englishman uncrossed his legs and stood gallantly. “I do appreciate the predicament you are in, Mr. Hydiigen. And I can understand that you are taking the logical path, especially since you do not know whom to trust. And I do agree with your assessment that the robbery was committed by one of our own.”

Hydiigen felt a “but” coming.

“But I must tell you that the group I represent is getting impatient. They are used to getting what they want. I am the buffer between you and them, Jorge. I am the lion tamer in a cage full of lions. You are the meat.”

He spread his hands, the gesture implying, I’m doing what I can, but time is running out.

“So,” Jorge said, “Since the cat seems to be out of the bag, so to speak, and you know that I have seen the contents, is there any harm in sharing with me its importance?”

The Englishman sat back down and considered his words carefully.

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“You have put yourself in a daunting position, a daunting but admirable position. Our group appreciates what you have sacrificed in your responsibility to us. We recognize the danger you have put yourself in. But like I have said, these are men who are used to getting what they want when they want it.” He stopped and stiffened. “That is the company line. I think we owe you a bit more.”

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Chapter 31 I woke the next morning to a knock on the door. As I got up to answer it, I walked by the desk. There was a Yankees cap on it. I was past it by the time I realized what it was. When I turned back to look, it was gone. I stood and stared until the knock came again.

Shine delivered a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and a razor. I assumed he had done so with everyone in our group. The morning news mentioned nothing of our stand-off on the streets the day before. Washington was a busy place.

The phone rang. Shine gave me a room number where all of us would gather. I left the way I came in, with only the clothes on my back.

Simon was waiting for me in the hallway, a ball cap pulled down low. We went to the elevator and waited. When the bell dinged, I half expected hooded gunmen to be waiting for us, but the car was empty.

We met in a small conference room. I was surprised to see Jimmy there with a couple of Secret Service agents. He gave me a nod. He was sipping coffee, and the agents were watching the door. Several carts of breakfast foods were positioned around the table, steaming and aromatic. Ms. Carter, Green, and Kayden were eating. Shine was standing near the wall, not looking at anything but seeing everything.

Simon walked in and went right to the pancakes.

Jimmy stood, and everyone turned to him. Everyone except Simon, who was focused on the food like a cobra on a rat.

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“We struck out with the pictures the bikers took at the rest stop, no hits at all. Same with all the evidence in that warehouse and the bodies we have from the shootout. The intel suggests that they were from somewhere in Europe and have no records here. They weren’t from the Middle East, so the NSA has a low priority in tracking. We are checking some of our connections overseas, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. So, that leaves us with some creative search avenues.”

“Sounds like off-the-record to me,” Simon said without looking up.

Ms. Carter started to protest, but Jimmy cut her off. “—unless you would like to retire.”

She looked back down at her food.

“And you four…how did we gain another person?” He motioned to Shine, Simon, Home Chain, and me. “…are going to meet someone.”

Thirty minutes later, we were in a Chrysler 300 with blackedout windows heading for a seedy part of D.C. “Wonder whose territory this is?” Home Chain said. He wore a navy windbreaker that was way too big, which led me to believe he had guns strapped somewhere under it.

“How you get the name Home Chain?” I asked.

Home Chain didn’t answer, but Simon did.

“When we was kids, he moved into the neighborhood. Told everybody he had a brand-new ten-speed racing bike. Purple metallic paint and white tape around the handlebars? That what you told us?”

Home Chain didn’t answer.

“Anyhow, none of us ever saw that bike. We ask, where’s that new bike, and he would say, ‘Home,’ and we’d say why, and he’d say, ‘Chain’s broke.’”

Shine pulled up to a graffiti-decorated parking structure that had a Keep Out sign stapled to a sawhorse that was blocking the entrance.

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“Move the sign,” he said to Simon.

Simon got out of the front seat, moved the sign, let Shine drive through, replaced the sign, and got back in the car. We rolled up two levels and pulled into a parking space near the stairwell.

“You sure this is the right place?” Simon asked.

Shine gave him a look.

“All right, you the big dog, no need to get all bristled up,” Simon said.

The light coming in through the open structure illuminated the emptiness of the lot. Wind had rolled up the soot and grime of several years along the edges of the walls. A smorgasbord of garbage had gathered in the corners, the bright, colorful wrappers now faded by age.

We got out and closed the doors softly, which seemed appropriate in this place. For the first time, I noticed that Simon had brought a military-style flashlight with him. Shine placed the car key on top of the front tire, out of sight unless you were looking for it. The three of them stood silently and listened before moving, something I had seen Shine do before. We headed to the stairwell.

Simon turned his ball hat backward as we started down the stairs. At the next landing, we came to a steel door that had Level One stenciled on it.

Shine pulled out another key and inserted it into the doorknob. It creaked open, revealing only darkness. Shine motioned to Simon and stepped aside. The flashlight shone on another staircase descending at least two levels.

“This is great. Now we going down a mysterious staircase into darkness,” Simon said. “I’d say this symbolic of something.”

“Maybe Dante’s levels of hell?” Home Chain said.

Simon shook his head, “I’m certainly associating with a better class of criminal as of late.”

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passageway littered with industrial equipment branched out in front of us. Some pieces were coated with dust and some with a mossy kind of growth, but all of it appeared abandoned.

Shine took the flashlight from Simon and led the way.

We walked for several minutes. Every so often, I could hear scurrying sounds coming from under the equipment. No one else seemed to be bothered by the rats if that’s what they were.

I found it curious that Simon could be afraid of being in the country at night and not seem bothered here in the least.

We came to a point where I could hear the soft sound of traffic rumbling above us.

“We crossing under the street,” Simon said to me. “You know where we going, Shine?”

“No.” “More good news,” Simon said.

After what seemed an incredibly long way, we came to another door which Shine unlocked with the same key. We climbed another two flights of stairs.

At the top was a door newer than the doors we had recently passed through. We huddled around it on the landing.

“Now what?” Simon said.

“Someone is supposed to meet us here,” Shine said.

Simon started pounding on the door. “I’m not going back through all that.”

Suddenly, the door swung open. The light was bright compared to the flashlight beam we had gotten used to. There, standing in the florescent light, was a plump, pimply-faced kid who looked about fourteen.

“It’s about time you got here,” he said. *** The Cowboy sat in a Holiday Inn contemplating his next move. Never in his career had events gotten so muddled up. He 134

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had decided to bail on the whole project, take what money he had received upfront and disappear. Not his style, but it would be the prudent thing to do. He knew his employer believed it was always best to get rid of the witnesses. Just a rule of thumb. Men like that do not like the loose ends that may come back to haunt them.

But on the other hand, he was not a dangerous loose end.

He had never met or even seen his employer. There was a lot of insulation between them. There was too much going on here to make a quick decision. But then again, it was the indecisive who got burned.

About halfway through the self-discussion, his phone rang.

The number was blocked, so he was sure of who it was.

“Still answering your phone?” the man said in his French accent.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Considering your success rate so far, I wondered if you have considered retiring.”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the phone.

“So, are you still in my employment?”

After a pause, the Cowboy said, “Yes.” “Then let us alter the plans a bit since you have failed to deliver the package or the two people who may know where it is.

Let us now concentrate on the man who shot down the plane you were supposed to be on.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“I do,” he said in the French accent.

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Chapter 32 The pimply-faced kid looked at Shine and said, “You’re scary.”

He turned and started walking away. “Come on,” he said. He had a roll around his waist that jiggled through his oversized T-shirt. Every couple of steps, he reached around and gave his back belt loop a tug.

The building looked as if it had been abandoned at about the same time as the parking garage. No windows and industrial carpet that had seen better days. There was the unmistakable odor of McDonald’s. I wasn’t sure if it was the building or the kid.

We followed him to a large room, again, with no windows.

Scattered around were five desks filled with computer hardware.

Thick cables snaked across the floor haphazardly. Ceiling tiles had been pushed askew to allow blue cords to drop from above.

“Hackers,” Home Chain said.

“Government hackers,” the kid said proudly. Two monitors blinked to life as he sat down in an oversized ergonomic chair.

There were dozens of Wendy’s and McDonald’s bags littering the area around his station.

“You ain’t no government hacker. You look like you a sophomore in high school,” Simon said.

“I’m thirty-one,” the kid said, taking a suck on a gallon-sized Coke. “YOU look like the guy behind the counter at Burger King.”

I’m not sure why Simon was in a predatory mood; maybe it was the food smell that got him all hyped up.

“I’m not sure how you can help us,” I said, trying to regain some order before Simon became more argumentative.

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We stood in a ragged semi-circle at the side of his desk. He twisted the chair around and gave a head flip to get his hair out of his eyes. He took another pull on the Coke.

“So, what happened to you?” he asked.

I gave him a short version of what had happened.

“The first guy that approached you, he had an accent?”

“Yeah,” Simon said.

“And you didn’t recognize it?”

“It sounded like when Tim Conway played that old man and would say ‘Mrs. Wiggins’ on The Carol Burnett Show,” Simon said.

The kid stared at him blankly. “Who’s Carol Burnett?”

“Man, don’t anybody watch TV Land?” Simon said.

He started typing, then said, “Sound like this?” He hit a key, and a man’s voice came on and spoke a few words.

“Nope,” I said.

“How about this?” Another voice came on.

“No, but you’re getting closer.”

After a couple of more tries, we found one that was very close. I looked at Simon, and he said, “Yeah, maybe.”

“Scandinavian. When did this happen?”

“Last week,” Simon said. “Man, don’t you have any more chairs?”

“There are some folding chairs in a room down the hall.” He motioned with his head. “I’m going to write a quick program to check on anomalies in Scandinavian countries last week.”

“How long that going to take? Man, I don’t want to be hangin’ in this cheeseburger-smellin’ place all day,” Simon said.

The kid said. “I’ll be finished by the time you get back with the chairs.”

Simon and I left Shine and Home Chain watching the kid bang away at his keyboard. We walked in the direction that he had nodded. The room was open but dark. I found the light switch. The chairs were folded and leaning against the wall. They 137

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were old and dented and scratched like they had come with the building. We each picked up two and started back to the others when Simon noticed light coming from farther down the hallway.

“Check it out,” he said and started walking.

The hall ended in a T, and from the right, light shone through the crack around a door.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Do you trust that kid in there? What if Mr. Frenchie has us scammed? We could be serving him up all the information he needs.”

“We don’t have any information,” I said.

“That’s what I mean,” he said. “We don’t want him to know that we don’t know anything. That would be way worse than lettin’ him think we know everything.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I followed him anyway. We tiptoed up to the door, which was ajar, and peeked around the corner. We leaned the chairs against the wall. Inside was a young Asian girl sitting at a workstation, hunched over a laptop. Her hair was so shiny and black that it almost looked blue.

“Who do you think she is?” Simon whispered.

“Probably another hacker,” I said.

“For the government? When did they start hiring kids?”

“I don’t know. It’s not our business,” I said.

“Yeah, it’s not our business until it IS our business. This don’t smell right.”

Before I could stop him, he opened the door and said, “Could you tell me where the personnel office is? I’d like to fill out an application.”

The girl looked up slowly, like a cat waking from a nap, and smiled a dazzling smile.

“I know who you are, Mr. Simon.” She stood from her workstation and walked toward us with her hand outstretched.

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Simon shook it without saying anything. Then she extended it to me. It was small and warm in my hand.

“How did you know I was back here?” The voice was demure and soft.

“That’s what I do, I see things that other people don’t,” Simon said.

“We were getting chairs and saw the light,” I said.

He shot me a glance.

“You a government hacker too?” Simon asked.

She smiled sweetly and said, “Where did you hear that?”

“Doughboy in the other room shooting off his mouth.”

“Clooney talks too much; he thinks he is big cheese.”

There was a slight Asian accent there, but to my untrained ear, it didn’t sound quite right.

“Clooney?” Simon asked.

“Yes, that is his online name for this week. He changes it often, always to a movie star.”

“What’s his real name?” I asked.

“I do not know. We only share the space occasionally.”

“How old are you?” Simon blurted out.

“Twenty-six. How old are you?” she asked coyly.

“I am the perfect age for a twenty-six-year-old,” he said.

“I’m about that same age,” I offered.

“Right now, nobody cares about you,” Simon said, still looking at the girl.

“Clooney and I were asked to assist you. I have been working on some background research. You two are very interesting.”

“Well, yes,” Simon said. “I already have two assistants back in the other room with that kid, Clooney. But I’ll be happy to add you to my corps of assistants. I’d enjoy working with you.” He smiled widely.

“Uh, let’s get the chairs back to the others and see if Clooney has found out anything for us,” I said.

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“I will join you later,” said the girl as she stepped back to her workstation. “I need to conclude my research.”

“Hey, uh, what’s your name,” Simon said.

She hesitated, then said, “You may call me Veronica.”

“What was that all about?” I said as we lugged the chairs back up the hall.

“What? That? Man, you’ve not seen me in the moment, have you? The suave Simon, the smooth Simon, the sexy Simon.”

“Nope, I haven’t. You think it’s going to work on her? She seems intelligent.”

“You kiddin’? Right now, she floating. She been Simonized.”

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Chapter 33 There was a soft knock on the heavy wooden door. The ageless oak had muffled the sound so deeply that Jorge barely heard it. It swung open smoothly, unexplainably smoothly, for a door that approached a quarter ton in weight. A maid carried in a silver tea set and placed it on the table between them.

“Tea?” the Englishman asked.

Jorge sat comfortably in the chair but uncomfortably on the horns of his dilemma. “No, thank you,” he said.

The Englishman dismissed the maid and talked while he prepared his own.

“May I call you Jorge?”

“Certainly,” Jorge said.

“We, meaning my associates and I, are very fortunate. Most of us have never known hunger or misfortune; our wins were immense, and our losses, if any, were minuscule. When I tell you we are the upper one percent of the one percent, it is not a boast.

I am simply telling you to help you understand the situation in which we find ourselves. I am often ashamed of my position when I see the suffering in the world.”

He stirred his tea and took a sip. Jorge waited patiently.

“The one thing we don’t have,” the Englishman continued, “is time. That is becoming painfully clear to members of our group.”

He smiled a lifeless smile. “In twenty years, most of the group will be gone. It is a cruel reality for a group of men who have never had to face a cruel reality in their lives.”

“Time will eventually defeat us all,” Jorge said.

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The Englishman sipped, a spark starting to appear in his eye.

“But what if it didn’t? What if we could find a way to defeat time?”

“And this leads back to the object that I was protecting?”

The Englishman smiled. He loved spinning a tale and enrapturing a listener.

“Let us regress. Are you familiar with the Antediluvian patriarchs?”

Jorge shook his head.

“No matter. They lived before the flood. The Great Flood.

Noah and his family. According to the Bible, many of them lived to great ages; Noah himself was reported to have lived nearly a thousand years. Back then, life was so dangerous very few lived that long, but the human body was able to continue as if there were no aging process.”

He took another sip. “After the flood, something happened, and the patriarchs and their non-aging disappeared.

Jorge leaned forward in his chair. “Would it be possible to have that spot of tea now?” His mouth was starting to dry.

The Englishman talked as he poured. “You must understand all of this is conjecture and speculation. The grasping of old men who have the funding to chase anything that may lengthen their stay on Earth.”

He handed the tea to Jorge. “So, something affected the entire population of Earth in a generation. Again, I can’t say this enough this is hypothetical with many, many unanswered questions. But it does follow a line of logic even though the dates may not match up.”

He settled back and chose his words carefully. “So, what would be the most efficient way to affect a planet’s population?

Most likely a virus. A highly contagious virus that, over time, retards the regeneration of cells. Humans start to age. Our life cycle has quickened dramatically. More speculation: Where did this virus come from? What caused the Flood? If we are to believe 142

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my associates, a meteor strike would be the correct answer. A meteor impact in the right area may cause catastrophic flooding, a meteor that carried a virus that was not destroyed by the heat of entry into Earth’s atmosphere.”

Jorge leaned back in his chair and took a sip of tea.

“I can see you are starting to understand the incredibility of this scenario. But, please let me continue and open your mind to the possibility.”

Jorge nodded, “I am sorry and have to admit that I am a bit taken aback.”

“I understand completely,” the Englishman said. “I felt the same at first. And remember, I’m just explaining the thought process; I’m not encouraging you to endorse the validity of the narrative.”

“I’m sure you are not familiar with the types of meteors; I surely wasn’t. There are three types: stony, iron, and stony-iron,” the Englishman went on. “What we are interested in, for our discussion, is the stony-iron. It may be absolutely littered with pockets and canyons within the structure of the body of the meteor. Depending on the size of the meteor, there is enough space to hold enough of the virus to spread across the globe.

“Now, let us fast-forward a few thousand years to the Knights Templar. I know what you are thinking: The Templars are involved in every mystery since the time of Christ. They have been the scapegoats and the champions in different versions of the same stories. I can assure you the Templars were real, and their wealth was based on real collateral, not conjecture. And this stone was part of the things they thought were valuable.

“But what if they possessed more than the Ark of the Covenant or the Holy Grail in King Solomon’s Temple? What if they found the stone, the large meteor that caused the flood and brought a shorter life span to the human race? I’m sure the alchemists of the time would have been extremely interested in that stone, along with kings and powerful men of the era.

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“Let us fast-forward again to the year 2000. If you remember, there was a great deal of talk of the end of times and the world collapsing because of some type of computer failure. It was during this time that my organization decided to take an inventory of all the relics we have in our possession. There was no disclosure of what we had or where these items were located. Remember, we are an international consortium. These relics were spread across the world. Many were not in secure locations; many were unknown to the other members of our group.”

“May I ask,” Jorge said. “If this is the object that I have been protecting, why is it so important? Lives have already been lost over an unsubstantiated theory.”

“I’m sure you are aware of the process of reverse engineering,” the Englishman said. “If a virus does exist, there is a possibility of studying it, then neutralizing it. Imagine a vaccine that would allow the cell renewal process to occur throughout a person’s life.

Like the patriarchs. You can see how attractive this would be to aging billionaires.”

“Hmmm…” Jorge murmured.

“I myself see many problems arising. Allowing the wealthy, and they are the ones who would benefit from this, to live longer and become even more powerful may not be something the world needs,” the Englishman said. He set the cup down and clasped his hands on his lap. “Now the question is what to do with you since you no longer have the Infinity Stone.” *** “Longyearbyen,” Clooney said as they came back into the main computer room. “Look at this,” he said and swiveled one of the screens around. “Three seemingly unrelated things happened last week there. And this is a place where nothing happens. There is a NASA post there, but it’s just boring stuff. There was a plane 144

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crash, a guy went missing, and there was an accidental death at the Doomsday Vault.”

“A death where?” Simon asked.

“The Doomsday Vault. It’s a seed vault that is supposed to have every seed in the world, so if the world gets blown up or radiated or something, anybody left could start planting again.

A bunch of rich guys started it. I think Bill Gates was involved, some others you might have heard of.”

“Somebody died in a warehouse full of seeds?” Simon asked.

“Sounds kind of fishy.”

“There have always been conspiracy theories about the Doomsday Vault,” Veronica said as she came into the room.

“Like what? I asked.

“There may be things kept there other than what is officially listed. Like dangerous seeds, seeds from other planets, military experiments with plants that could be weaponized.”

“Look at this,” Clooney said. “This is the guy that is missing.”

On the screen was a cheesy picture of Jorge. It had been taken years before. He had longer hair and was about twenty pounds lighter.

“That’s the dude,” Simon said.

Clooney typed on the keyboard. “This was in their newspaper two days after the plane crash and seed vault death.”

“I’d like to know how Mr. Frenchie is connected to all this.

Either he’s trying to steal whatever this is, or he’s trying to steal it back from this Jorge guy,” Simon said.

“But Jorge didn’t seem like the bad guy. He wanted to get rid of whatever this is,” I said. “I think he was protecting it.”

Simon was bending over Clooney, looking at the screen.

Veronica was beside and to the right. She bent over also and balanced herself by putting a hand on his shoulder. Simon looked at me and grinned widely.

“Simonized,” he said.

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Home Chain, who had said nothing this entire time, said, “Who owns the Seed Vault?”

“Good question,” Clooney said and began typing.

“How do you find something like that?”

“Taxes,” Veronica and Clooney said together.

“Also, charters,” Veronica said. “In most countries, land or buildings that are owned by groups must be listed somewhere in public record.”

“I agree,” Simon said. Everyone but Clooney looked at him.

“With Veronica. About the public record.”

“Yeah, sure you do,” Clooney said. “This may take a couple of minutes.”

Everyone loosened their concentration on the computer screen and mildly backed away, leaving Clooney to bang away on the keyboard.

Simon and Veronica gravitated toward each other.

“So, how much does the government pay you to do this kind of thing?”

She had kind of a girlish laugh. “We do not get paid, but we do not get prosecuted. We have no need for money.”

“What do you mean no need for money?”

“She means we use the internet to steal whatever we want,” Clooney said. “And we’re protected federally as long as we screw around with China and some of the other countries that are screwing around with us.”

“We do the little irritating things like hacking into government television and spending their money. The CIA has its own department for more serious things like satellite interruption and intercepting military information.”

“You do all that from here?” I asked.

“We move quite often,” she said. “Some days, we walk in, and we are told to report to a different place, and the new spot will already be up and running.”

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“DLS,” Clooney said. “The group that built the seed vault is called DLS. This may take more time than I thought.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“The members that own DLS are not really people; they are corporations that are owned by larger groups of people. It’s like an octopus that grows more tentacles at the end of each tentacle.

These guys sure don’t want anyone to find out who they are. This is going to be fun.”

“Clooney does not like anyone to have secrets,” Veronica said.

“You gotta get these guys out of here,” he said to Veronica.

“You must go,” she said to us.

“But—” Simon started.

“Clooney is a genius, a pig…” she looked at his workspace, “but gifted at what he does. You must go.”

She took us out a completely different way, much quicker and less confined. We came out in a closed section of the subway and had to duck under a taped-off area that read, “Men Working.”

“I hope to be seeing you soon,” she said to Simon before we separated.

“I’m sure you will,” he said, then took her hand and kissed it.

“Si-mo-nized,” he said to me and winked. *** “May I make a suggestion?” Jorge said to the Englishman.

His mind had been racing through the entire explanation. He was concentrating on his lifespan rather than the lifespan of his kidnappers. He liked this Englishman but was still reluctant to trust him. American baseball was boring to him, but he did like the thought process. They always played the percentages. No matter what they felt was correct, they always went with the best odds. His best odds of staying alive through this was to make himself attractive as an ally. And to show that he posed no threat to anyone.

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“Certainly,” the Englishman said.

He chose his words carefully. “As you know, I no longer have the stone. I do not have the means or connections to sell it or to study it. Frankly, I’d like to wash my hands of the entire thing,” he paused, “But here we are.”

Jorge felt certain the room was bugged, but by whom, he didn’t know. He was going to have to hope it was bugged by the Englishman and no one else. If it was, it would mean almost certain death.

“I am no longer a liability to you, but I may be an asset.”

“How so?”

“I could be the bait.”

“For?” “The people who originally stole the stone. Are any of your associates here now?”

“No, everyone has gone.”

“Tell them I have escaped. You don’t know how, but I am gone. And you think that I know much more than I am saying.”

The Englishman was getting interested. “And he will come after you?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

The Englishman thought for a moment, trying to work out the complications. He had prioritized retrieving the stone first and then finding the traitor. But why not do both at the same time?

“Why would you offer yourself as bait for us, as you say, your kidnappers?”

“What other choice do I have? I see no way of getting out of this on my own. I must trust someone.”

The Englishman poured another cup of tea and offered to do the same for Jorge, who declined.

“But how do I trust you? What assurances do I have that you will not disappear and leave me, so to speak, holding the bag?

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My associates will think I have disposed of you, and I am the one who stole the stone.”

Jorge smiled. For the first time in a while, it was an honest smile. He felt like he was brokering a deal, a big one.

“Allow me to explain how this would work….”

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Chapter 34 Simon was watching Dragnet when I entered his room.

Around him were trays of room service, empty. The aroma of maple syrup filled the air.

“This got to be one of the worst shows ever. I can’t stop watching it.”

I sat down on the couch beside him.

“See, look. They line up for the camera unnaturally. You don’t talk to somebody shoulder to shoulder; you face them.”

“Like we are now?”

“No, we sitting down; they’re standing in a hallway. Friday, Gannon, and some man with funny glasses. I got the idea that they only have one camera, so that’s the only way they can shoot it.”

“How long have you been up?”

“A while. Look. They always touching each other and doing hand signals. Why would you have to tap somebody on the shoulder and motion them down the hall when you can just say follow me?”

“You look at the world differently than most people,” I said.

“Yeah, most people look at the world; I SEE the world. You hungry? I’m thinking about ordering some pastries for my breakfast dessert.”

“On the government’s dime?”

“I don’t know whose dime. I just know it ain’t mine.”

We watched Joe Friday give a rapid-paced speech to a hippie.

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“Do you remember the guy on the river? The one who sold us the boat?” I asked.

“The boat without paddles. Yeah, I remember him.” He paused, “What about him?”

“I just wondered if he looked familiar.”

“You asking me now? That was days ago.”

“So, nothing special about the guy?” I asked.

“OK, yeah, it was Emmanuel,” he said.

“And, what, you didn’t say anything?”

“Didn’t know it was him until later when he told me it was him.”

“What do you mean later? He told you?”

“I was lying here on the couch and fell asleep. When I woke up, he was sitting there in the chair. Indian-style.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Seemed kind of personal. Then I thought maybe the whole thing was a dream.”

“Yeah, that crossed my mind also,” I said.

“You talked to him too? That’s why you asked about the boat.

Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I think I was afraid it wasn’t real,” I said.

There was a coded knock on the door, then it swung open.

“Time to go,” Shine said.

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Chapter 35 “How do I look?” Simon asked.

“Good,” Home Chain said. “But you smell like syrup.”

Shine nearly smiled.

We were in a beat-up cargo van with a back seat but no back windows. I was in the passenger seat, Simon and Home Chain were in the second row, and Shine was behind the wheel. I had ridden with Shine many times and knew he didn’t like answering questions, and he especially didn’t like answering questions while driving.

“Where we going this time? Why don’t they come to us? We gonna have to crawl through another rat-infested, subterranean hide-out this time?

“Shut up,” Shine said. We rode in silence.

Thirty minutes later, we were in the suburbs. The middleclass suburbs. Not the kind where police made regular rounds and not the lower class where the gangs knew who was coming and going, the kind where everybody minded their own business.

We pulled up onto a slanted driveway. The front door opened, and Veronica waved to us through a screen door.

Once inside, Veronica said, “Clooney has some interesting information.”

“He’s still Clooney? I thought he changed his name every day?” Simon asked.

“He will stay Clooney for the rest of this caper. He likes to classify each case as a caper.”

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The house was empty except for the computer equipment, which was in the family room. This time, it looked as though there was enough for only Clooney and Veronica, whereas the last place had several unoccupied workstations. The house here in the ’burbs was for our job only, so someone way up the chain thought it was important. Jimmy had taken the FBI out of the fray, and now it looked like only a dark side of Homeland Security.

“Are you sure the French guy was real, or was he just using an accent?

Like, was he a German using French to throw you off?”

Clooney asked.

“Sounded real to me,” Simon said.

I nodded.

“OK, I have three guys that have companies in France and are associated with the seed vault.” He showed us three headshots on the screen.

“I didn’t see him, you know,” Simon said.

“Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Clooney said.

He tapped on a picture of the first guy, and a video came up. He was making a speech at a podium during a presentation at a museum. People in formal wear were seated and standing behind him, enjoying his apparently witty remarks.

“Sounds like him. Do you have anything of him speaking in English?”

“Yeah, hold on. He finishes in English.”

We continued to listen and watch. With about a minute left on the video, he started speaking in English.

“That’s the voice,” Simon said.

I nodded again.

“Let’s listen to the other two before you say you’re completely sure.

We did, and the others weren’t even close. We were as sure as we could be.

“Francois Arquette,” Clooney read.

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“Looks cocky to me,” Simon said.

“Francois Arquette?” Veronica asked. “I know this name.”

She stepped around to look at the picture on the screen.

Then, she lightly scooted herself toward Clooney’s workstation.

After a few seconds of her fingers fluttering across his keyboard, a list came up of all the times his name had been in the news.

Most recent first.

“Here,” she said and clicked on the link.

The title of the story read “Museum to receive Monet for display.”

The article went on to say that the famous art collector and businessman Francois Arquette was to grant permission to unveil a lost painting by the French artist Claude Monet. An invitationonly reception is planned for Mr. Arquette.

“My parents are invited to the reception for this man and his gift to the museum. They are on the board at the museum. I was sure I knew the name from somewhere,” Veronica said. “The reception is tonight.”

“Her parents are loaded,” Clooney said.

“And they let you do this?” Simon asked.

“They do not know,” she said. “I also teach at a community college.”

“What do you think, Shine? This look like an opportunity?”

Simon said.

“For what?” I asked.

“This is the man who snatched us up. We got to turn the tables, get him and get some information,” Simon said.

“And some payback,” Shine said.

“Ret-tro-bution,” Simon said and smiled.

I didn’t like the sound of any of this. I knew Simon often went off half-cocked if Shine wasn’t there to rein him in. Shine was the most violent man I’d ever seen, but he was measured and logical.

They were slipping back to the time when they were half a step ahead of the law or a bullet.

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“How?” I asked.

“Find out where he is staying, snatch him out of his hotel?”

Simon said.

“Nope,” Home Chain said calmly. “Dude like that, he’d have security everywhere.”

“On his way to the reception or after?” Simon asked.

“Nope,” Home Chain said again. “Same thing, too much security. They got the advantage.”

“We’ll do it there, at the reception,” I said.

“Well, look at this: We got a priest planning illegal activity,” Simon said, smiling.

“And a white one at that,” Home Chain said.

“We’ll need a diversion,” Shine said.

Clooney, who had been quiet all this time, said, “I got this!”

“Got what?” Simon said.

“The diversion. I think. How did your parents get the invitation?”

“I do not know,” Veronica said.

“Can you check? If they got it on their phone, I have the perfect caper.”

Veronica turned and dialed a number on her cell.

“What do you mean, an invitation on a phone?” I asked.

“A lot of events like concerts and social functions like this don’t use paper anymore. They send you a QR code. You just flash it in front of a scanner when you get there.”

Veronica was still on the phone, but she nodded to Clooney.

“Can you get her to send it to you?” he whispered.

She held up a slim, delicate finger, turned away, and continued talking.

Clooney started typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Ordering cell phones,” he said.

“Man, just tell us what you’re thinking. Quit being so dramatic,” Simon said. “Who’s paying for these phones?”

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“One of my fake companies. It has almost a billion in assets,” he laughed.

Veronica had hung up. “I am sending the code to you.” Then to us, she said, “I have cloned my parents’ phones. They are elderly and do not care to learn about technology. This should be simple.”

“Why’d you call them if you practically have their phones?”

Simon asked.

“I always ask their permission when I need to look into their affairs,” she said.

Clooney was giggling to himself but still not telling the others what he was up to.

Shine had had enough. He pushed Clooney’s head forward in his ergonomic chair and grabbed the material of his T-shirt in a massive hand. Then he twisted, drawing the collar of Clooney’s shirt tight across his throat.

“Time to stop wasting our time and tell us what you are doing.” He held the shirt until a vein in Clooney’s forehead enlarged, then he let go.

Clooney told them.

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Chapter 36 The Cowboy lay behind a fallen tree far from the manicured grounds of the Englishman’s estate. The binoculars were stateof-the-art military grade, as were the materials that made up his camo clothing. He had been there all night.

He had surveilled the north side of the building and moved to the west, which was the front. The early morning dampness had fallen while he waited. The night shift was leaving and the day shift was arriving. There was no other movement. Of course, the staff parked behind the mansion and entered through the servant doors.

Of what he had seen so far, the service doors would be how he would enter the property. He would have to research the staff, find an easy mark, break into their home, and steal an ID card, then come back in the middle of the night to find Hydiigen.

The plan was formulated, all but the details, when the area around the formal entrance became very active.

A dark gray Rolls-Royce Ghost came from behind the building and stopped at the steps that led to the massive frontispiece. The driver exited the car and stood by the front fender. Next, an older, formally dressed gentleman opened the massive doors from the inside and swept out onto the flagstone porch.

A bird chirped somewhere behind the Cowboy, breaking the silence of the forest.

The older man waited patiently, and before long, Hydiigen himself stepped out onto the porch. He was soon followed by the English billionaire who owned the property.

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This would have been simple, the Cowboy thought, if I had brought the rifle with me.

The two shook hands, and Hydiigen descended the steps. The driver opened the door for him. The Englishman waved, then turned and went back inside. The driver closed the rear door, got in himself, and drove away.

The Cowboy unzipped a pocket, pulled out a satellite phone, and dialed.

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Chapter 37 Arquette, dressed in a paisley robe, answered. He was in the Presidential Suite; his security was in an adjoining room.

“Oui,” he said.

“Elvis has left the building,” the Cowboy said.

“What do you mean?”

“The target is gone. He just left the estate in a Rolls-Royce.”

Arquette paused, then said, “I will get back to you.”

The Cowboy stood and started walking. It was a long way back to the car. He had just topped the rise of a rolling hill when his phone buzzed.

“They are saying that he escaped,” Arquette said.

“You ever hear of an escape where the prisoner gets a car and driver? I know the English are well-mannered, but come on.”

“You say you witnessed this?”

“From a distance.”

“Are you sure it was Hydiigen?”

“I wasn’t that far away. Yeah, it was him.”

“Why didn’t you shoot him?”

“I didn’t take the gun with me. It’s not a good practice to carry a sniper rifle through a billionaire’s backyard. I was surveilling.”

“Can you follow him?”

“No, I’m about two miles from the car. He’s long gone.”

“Did he have luggage?” Arquette asked.

“No, unless it was already in the car. I guess he didn’t have time to pack when he was kidnapped, so no, no luggage.”

“Why do all Americans try to be humorous?”

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“Who said I was American?”

Arquette hesitated, “I will get back to you shortly.”

The Cowboy kept walking. Thirty minutes later, he was storing the equipment and camo in the trunk or boot, as the English call it. His phone buzzed again.

“Plans have changed again. He is no longer a target. You are to follow and observe,” Arquette said.

“Follow where? I lost him.”

“He is coming to America, possibly to retrieve the stone.”

“How do you know?”

“The Englishman has a jet. The pilot has filed a flight plan to the D.C. area,” Arquette said.

“On my way,” the Cowboy said and hung up, wondering if this was a trap. And if it was, who was setting it, the Englishman or Arquette.

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Chapter 38 The museum’s entrance was flanked on each side by Ionic columns. Three on each side and uplighted by spotlights, the effect was impressive. To enter the building, one had to walk up a dozen steps from street level and then pass through a marbletiled mezzanine to get to the security checkpoint. Beyond that was a wide extravagant staircase that led to the second floor where the reception was held. It was an elegant affair for about a hundred and fifty people. That was the number on the original guest list. Unbeknownst to the organizers, that number was going to double.

Tuxedos had been ordered for Simon and me via Clooney’s company. For a hefty sum, they were delivered and fitted at the house within minutes of being ordered. Also delivered were a hundred cell phones which were activated and dispersed by Simon and Shine’s former associates. The recipients of the phones were members of several homeless shelters near the museum.

The rest were dispersed to former gang members.

Clooney had hacked the museum’s computer system and sent the QR invitation-code to all the phones. The homeless of the city were going to have a bang-up time tonight.

To cap things off, Clooney had alerted the press. The museum was reversing its elitist view of the arts and offering a chance to the city’s least fortunate to come and enjoy an evening of Chagall, Vermeer, and Monet. That would get the press there without being too sensational to alert the museum officials. Of course,

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a less-involved diversion could have been created, but Clooney liked the panache of a grand caper.

Photographers and reporters started to gather on the museum stairs around 7:00, the time the event was supposed to begin. Simon and I arrived in a rented car, also provided by Clooney, and allowed the valet to take the keys and park it in an adjacent parking garage. We walked up the steps with the throng of invitees, all in formal wear. It was the most elegant event I had ever attended.

I held my breath as we scanned our QR codes. It beeped pleasantly, and we were in.

“So far, so good,” I said under my breath. We breezed through the metal detector.

“What’d you think was gonna happen?” Simon said. “You think they gonna throw us out looking as fine as we do? I could have held up a banana peel to the scanner, and nobody would have said a word.”

We mounted the inside staircase and stood at the side near a railing. From there, we could see out over the mezzanine. The wall to the outside was glass, so we also had the perfect view of the entrance steps. Simon was more interested in our reflection on the wall than looking outside.

“Damn, man,” Simon said while adjusting his bow tie. “If I was up here talking to Denzel, people down there would be saying, ‘Who’s that dude up there talking to Simon?’”

Before I could comment on that, a long black limo pulled in.

A couple of others had pulled in before this one, but this limo was preceded by an SUV from which a security team popped out, military style. They surrounded the car as one of them opened the rear door, and a very large man got out. He stood and surveyed the scene before allowing the next man to exit the car. This had to be Arquette.

He moved up the steps with the agile self-assuredness of a person who had always had protection. He was underdressed 162

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without looking so. The light gray suit, black tie, and white shirt fit him perfectly. I could see the black shine of his shoes through the glass wall. His black hair was gelled straight back, although it had a slight wave to it.

Simon quit paying attention to himself and watched Arquette and two of his team start up the stairs. The rest waited with the car, which looked as if it were not moving from the spot until he returned.

An elderly bald man in a tuxedo met him at the top of the cement stairs and pumped his hand thankfully. They spoke momentarily, then turned and started up the steps toward Simon and me. They swept past us with just a glance. Two of his men stood at the entrance to the reception room, and the third, the largest man, disappeared with Arquette into the reception room.

“Shall we go in?” I said to Simon.

He didn’t answer. He stared down at the steps below.

Then he said, “Look at this.”

Veronica was coming up the stairs, flanked by two old and very white people. She wore a sparkling blue gown cut low in front and even lower in the back. We watched as they made their way up to where we were standing. She was dazzling.

She glanced up and saw us staring back down at her. She smiled, and her radiance doubled. The two elderly people were breathing hard by the time they reached us. Veronica was a head taller than both and had her arms interlocked with theirs.

“Mother, Father, may I present Father Mac and Simon, the two I was telling you about. Father Mac, Simon, these are my parents, the Hamiltons.”

Mr. Hamilton, who was nearly bald with only a few wisps of silver hair spirited toward the back of his head, raised his hand for me to shake.

“A man of the clergy, well, that is remarkably interesting.” His grip was weak and his breath a little shaky. His tuxedo looked expensive but out of style, like from an old movie. “Mr. Simon,” 163

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he said, releasing my hand and taking Simon’s. “A black man.”

“Well spotted, sir,” Simon said, being diplomatic.

“How wonderful, my dear,” Mr. Hamilton said to Veronica.

“Very progressive.”

Before Simon could react to that, I said, “Very nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Hamilton.”

Mrs. Hamilton had had her hair done today; it looked sturdy.

Frozen in time since the sixties. Silver with a tinge of blue. She was reminiscent of Mrs. Howell from Gilligan’s Island. She had a faraway look of strong medication. Her gown, like her husband’s tuxedo, was expensive but from another time. The jewelry, on the other hand, was not. The diamonds were massive and sparkled in the light. So, too, was the sapphire necklace around her neck.

“Our daughter explained that you are taking one of her classes at the university,” she said. “I expected to see someone younger.” Her voice was thin and shaky.

“Yes,” Veronica said quickly. “I have students of many different ages in my programming classes.”

“I’m refining some of my coding skills,” Simon said, playing along. “The Father here isn’t doing so well keeping up. The professor and I are doing our best to bring up his grades.” A tiny smile crept across his face.

“I, on the other hand, hope to learn a great deal from your daughter in the future,” he continued. Veronica looked down demurely.

At this point, the people in the mezzanine began filtering toward the reception hall. The scene appeared exactly as it was: a group of elitists gathered for a snobbish social event. We walked in with them, the upper two percent.

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Chapter 39 The room was large, with dozens of richly decorated round tables spread across a carpeted floor. The entrance to the room was slightly elevated, so to reach the floor, one had to descend several steps. Extravagant chandeliers hung from the high ceiling and lit the room in a decadently rich light. To the left was a raised platform which held the head table. An empty easel stood to the left where the honored guests would be seated. A large round table of hors d’oeuvres anchored the center of the room. This allowed access to the smoked salmon, shrimp, and caviar from all sides.

Simon and I followed Veronica and her parents, partly because they seemed to know what they were doing and mostly because Simon was not going to detach himself from Veronica.

“Should we look for place cards?” I asked.

“No,” said Mr. Hamilton. “Too much politics to where people sit, so the directors decided on first-come, first-served.”

“Hummph,” Mrs. Hamilton muttered. “It shows a lack of etiquette. Many people will decide not to attend.”

“Fine,” said Mr. Hamilton. “They’ve already paid their money, which will come off their taxes. Let them stay home and order pizza!” Both Hamiltons laughed.

“How much is this dinner?” Simon asked Veronica.

“Two thousand dollars a plate.”

“Damn,” Simon said. “How big are the plates?”

Veronica stifled a giggle.

“And Clooney pays for all of this? Does he ever get caught?”

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“Rarely,” Veronica said. “If he does, the CIA bails him out and slaps his wrists and he goes back to being Clooney again. They love most of his work, so they put up with his antics.”

The Hamiltons found a table that was acceptable. Simon pulled the chair out for Veronica, and I did the same for Mrs. Hamilton. As soon as we were all seated, both Simon and I received texts. THE GUESTS ARE ARRIVING.

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Chapter 40 Down on the street below, behind the Frenchman’s limousine, a recycled school bus pulled to a stop and opened the accordion door. The press started popping flashes at the huddled masses spilling out of the bus. Each held a cell phone with the program QR code.

Home Chain, dressed in a ragged Army jacket and faded jeans that hung down to mid-thigh, was leading the pack. Security stopped them before they got through the first door.

“This event is by invitation only,” the security official said.

Another officer joined in quickly, blocking the door. The homeless continued streaming off the bus, forming a pool of humanity at the glass doors. The odor was impressive. While the press crews watched, more homeless materialized, several pushing shopping carts filled with debris. One poor woman was dragging a threewheeled wagon filled with wet cardboard.

“Home Chain started yelling loud enough for the reporters to hear.

“FIRST, WE INVITED, NOW WE NOT INVITED. WHAT’S UP WITH THAT?!”

The job requirements for these guards had never been more than asking a bum to move along or informing someone that parking was not allowed in a particular place. The growing number of vagrants and the thought of being on the 11:00 news was above their decision-making position. The second officer got on his cell phone.

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Back in the Banquet Room, Veronica was watching Arquette at the head table.

“Look,” she said to Simon and me. “There seems to be a problem.”

We watched Arquette and the bald man who had met him on the stairs.

“Mr. Arquette is not happy,” Veronica said.

“How do you know?” Simon asked.

“I can read lips,” she said.

“Maybe someday you can read my lips,” Simon said.

“She’s an exceptionally talented girl,” Mr. Hamilton said.

“I bet she is,” Simon said.

I kicked him under the table.

“Ouch,” he said.

“Mr. Arquette would like to present the painting before the dinner so he can leave. He says he has urgent business in France.

The other man says the dinners are ready to be served, and they will not stay warm,” Veronica said. “Mr. Arquette is not happy.

He says he has an El Greco that he was considering allowing the museum to show, but now he is not sure.”

At that point, the bald man reached for his cell phone and answered. He excused himself and left hurriedly, leaving Arquette aghast. He skittered down the staircase and into the mezzanine only to see the crowd outside of the glass wall. Cameras flashed as he stepped through the doors to the officers.

Home Chain had wrangled a TV reporter and was doing an interview with another homeless man. This one was authentic.

“They invited us, but now they aren’t letting us in,” Home Chain was saying. He was wearing a baseball cap pulled down and thick black glasses.

“Not lettin’ us in,” the homeless man repeated.

“This is Roy. He’s a veteran. He ain’t getting in.”

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“Served my country,” Roy said. “Not gettin’ in.” Roy was black, shorter than Home Chain, and had a warm smile, even with a couple of teeth missing.

The security guard spotted the bald man and went to him.

The cameras followed.

“What do you want us to do? They all seem to have the QR codes on their phones.”

“Have you checked to see if they are valid?” the bald man asked.

“No, sir. We figured it would be harder to get them out once they were in the mezzanine.”

The bald man looked down to see a small woman wearing several layers of clothing slide her arm under his elbow. She looked up at him as if she were waiting to be escorted into the ballroom.

“Take a couple in and see if they have the correct codes,” the bald man said, brushing her arm away.

She gave him a wink and smiled a toothless smile. *** Someone in the crowd started chanting, “Let us in, Let us in,” which was soon picked up by most of the crowd, although a small percentage of the crowd turned it into Row, Row, Row Your Boat.

The bald man, who could not fathom how things had gone so horribly wrong so quickly, pointed to Home Chain and Roy. “See if those two have the correct code.”

The security guard plucked them out of the crowd, got them into the building, and ushered them up to the tuxedoed volunteers working the QR scanner. A cheer went up as the crowd saw Home Chain and Roy on the other side of the glass.

Roy raised two fists into the air as he walked.

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“Please place your phone in front of the red dot with the QR screen up.”

Roy did as he was told, and a soft, pleasant chime flowed from the speaker. They went through the metal detector.

The bald man was standing with his head in his hands as the machine chimed. The guard, who was standing there with his thumbs in his belt loops, said, “It chimed.”

“I’m aware,” the bald man said. He spread his fingers without taking them off his face and looked at the crowd outside the windows.

The guard said, “Election year, a lot more voters at home watching the news than the two-thousand-dollar-a-plate people upstairs.” He was also aware that his salary was from public funding.

After a moment, the bald man said, “What can we do? Let them in.”

As soon as the doors were opened, a monstrous cheer went up, echoing through the marble walls of the museum.

“Did you hear that?” Mr. Hamilton said.

“Yes, Dear, I heard it. What was it?” Mrs. Hamilton said.

“It sounded like a cheer coming from a bullfight,” Mr. Hamilton said.

The two thought that funny and chuckled for an uncomfortably long time.

Arquette had had it with the museum director and was about to take control of the situation when the cheer rose from downstairs. He stood at the podium and tapped the microphone to see if it was on.

“Madames and Messieurs,” he said in his heavy French accent.

“I do not wish to interrupt the wonderful evening you are about to have tonight, but I have an urgent business to which I must attend. I would wish to present the museum with this painting before your salad gets warm and your vichyssoise gets cold.” His little joke went over everyone’s heads.

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At this point, Home Chain and Roy appeared at the top of the stairs and were about to descend onto the ballroom floor.

“WHAT UP, RICH FOLK,” Home Chain shouted at the diners who were watching Arquette. Everyone turned to the stairs.

“WHAT UP,” Roy repeated.

As if on cue, white-gloved servers flowed into the room from three sets of double doors, carrying plates high and white towels over their forearms. Their entrance was a ballet of efficiency.

Across the room, the first wave of the homeless tsunami hit the top of the stairs. A faded smear of colors flooded down the stairs and between the tables, heading for the hors d’oeuvres and filling any empty seats at the tables.

Arquette, who was not used to being interrupted by anyone, was now being interrupted on two sides. He stopped speaking as a man in a dirty gray jogging suit dragged a shopping cart up and over the stairs. Arquette’s two security men became alert.

At this point, the two-thousand-dollar-a-plate people were making as much racket as the homeless. Their dinners, delivered by the servers, were being plucked out of the air as they were lowered to the table. The hors d’oeuvre table was three deep all the way around. The homeless had dispensed with using plates and were eating from the serving bowls and platters.

Our table of eight had only five seats occupied: Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, Veronica, Simon, and me. The other three were quickly filled by Home Chain, Roy, and another guy nobody knew.

Home Chain said, “How things going on this side of the economic divide?”

“How things going on this side of the economic divide?” Roy repeated.

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Chapter 41 The new man, who was seated between Home Chain and Mr. Hamilton, shouted to no one in particular, “This food have any Crisco in it?” He slammed his hand down on the table and looked around at the others. He had a long gray beard and matted gray hair. He was white and wore an old plaid suit jacket. “My mother always used Crisco when she cooked,” he said softly.

“Mine did, too,” said Mr. Hamilton and patted the man’s hand softly. “Perhaps we can ask a server.”

But the servers were too busy to answer the questions about the food. One team was desperately trying to replenish the hors d’oeuvre table, and the others were trying in vain to keep up with the food being delivered to the guests. The people implanted by Clooney were finishing off a plate and asking for another. Simon watched a man empty an entire platter of shrimp, ice and all, into his jacket pocket.

“My name is John,” Mr. Hamilton said.

“They call me Rabbit,” the man said. “Cause of my ear.” He lifted one side of his long hair to reveal a shriveled bud of an ear.

“This is all very interesting,” Simon said, “But we got to be watching when to make our move. Arquette looks like he gettin’ antsy.”

“What type of move is that, dear?” Mr. Hamilton asked his daughter.

“Father, we are going to try to talk to Mr. Arquette privately,” Veronica said.

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The servers were having even greater difficulty moving through the ballroom as more of the newly invited guests continued to arrive. The bald man stood at the top of the stairs while the crowd flowed in around him.

Rabbit suddenly stood and shouted, “Crisco!” Then, he pushed his way into the mass of people. Another homeless man took his seat.

The new man wore the same type of ragged clothing as everyone else except that on his head was a battered New York Yankees cap.

“Emmanuel, what are you doing here?” I said and felt stupid as soon as I said it.

“I might ask you the same question,” he said. The noise in the room softened, and all I could hear was his voice, clear and strong. I glanced around the table; no one else noticed.

“It appears you are here to conduct a kidnapping, surprising conduct for a man of God.” I was stunned and amazed at how quickly I had fallen into a scheme to kidnap someone without realizing that I was committing a crime.

“I... I thought I was doing the right thing,” I said, looking for an excuse when there really wasn’t one.

“Millions of lives have been taken by people thinking they were doing the right thing. Have you heard of the Crusades?”

He wasn’t mean or degrading. He wasn’t even accusatory; he was just being himself.

A woman with frizzy gray hair walked by carrying a bejeweled Mayan ceremonial cup, which was filled with champagne.

“I’d like one of those, dear,” Mrs. Hamilton said to her husband.

“You’re not really here, are you?” I said to Emmanuel.

He smiled that knowing smile, “Why is it you always ask that question? Does it matter?”

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“It would be nice to know if you are physically present or part of my conscience,” I said.

“I will always be part of you, whether you realize it or not.”

“He is preparing to leave,” Veronica said.

I looked away from Emmanuel for just an instant, and when I looked back, a toothless woman was sitting where he had been, scooping up great globs of caviar with garlic bread.

Before I could stop anything, the other three were up and moving. Veronica worked her way through the throng of bodies until she was near the head table. Her shimmering dress was easy to follow among the drab and dirty colors.

Home Chain and Simon were harder to follow as they were camouflaged by their clothing, Home Chain in his homeless gear and Simon in his tux. More importantly, they knew how to stalk.

Roy was no longer at the table; he had disappeared with the rest of them.

“Where has everyone gone?” Mrs. Hamilton said, momentarily rising out of her medicated stupor.

“They will be back shortly,” I said. “We need to have a word with Mr. Arquette.”

I stood and left for my position. The seats quickly filled with homeless people, leaving Mr. Hamilton to chat and Mrs. Hamilton to stare into oblivion.

Once she knew everyone was in place, Veronica started for the head table. Home Chain and Simon circled behind.

“Mr. Arquette,” Veronica shouted over the din. “This is no longer a safe place for you.”

As the security guards turned to look at her, Simon and Home Chain stepped up on the platform and zapped the guards in the neck with tasers. They dropped immediately. With a little effort, they were both rolled under the table and covered with the table skirt. No one noticed.

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Arquette looked back as he felt the thump of the men dropping. When he turned back, Veronica was holding a small chrome gun.

“This way, please,” she said over the noise.

Arquette hesitated, and Simon pushed him in the back.

“Do what the lady says, Mr. French.”

He started forward, and Simon saw Veronica with the gun.

“Damn girl, I didn’t think you could get any sexier.”

She smiled without taking her eyes off Arquette.

They moved toward me, and I opened a door near the corner of the room. Framed in the doorway stood Shine, savage and imposing, black T-shirt straining to cover his massive chest and biceps. He wore black jeans and work boots, looking every bit like a black Mr. Clean.

Arquette may have thought of getting past me and escaping from those behind him, but as soon as he saw Shine, those thoughts must have disappeared. I stopped in what must have been a staging room for the kitchen. The original plan had been to take the kitchen elevator to the bottom floor adjacent to the loading dock. A van was waiting there to take us to a location to question Arquette. After talking with Emmanuel, I knew I couldn’t go through with it.

“Change of plans,” I said.

“What?” Simon said.

Shine said nothing, but I did see the slightest raise of an eyebrow. That was as surprised as he got.

“I want some time alone with this French fry.”

“Not going to happen,” I said to Simon.

“He kidnapped us.”

“And we are not going to behave as he did.”

It had dawned on Arquette who we were and what was happening. He had thought Simon and I were civilians caught up in this. Now, seeing Shine up close and the addition of Veronica and Home Chain, we were getting a little more respect.

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For the first time, I noticed Home Chain was not with us.

“Where’s Home Chain?” I said.

Simon turned and looked back through the door. “He’s coming. Walking funny, though.”

I turned to Veronica. “Ask Clooney if there is an empty room nearby.” She repeated what I said. Her earpiece was completely concealed by her long, silky hair.

She listened, then said, “Through that door, down the hall to the right. He is upset that you called him Clooney with Arquette listening. Now he will have to change his name.”

“I am not going any further with you people,” Arquette said.

His voice sounded strong and in command. I hoped he wasn’t that confident.

Veronica brought the gun up again. Arquette smiled.

“You will not shoot me here in the museum.”

Silently and quickly, Shine moved behind Arquette and grabbed the collar of his jacket and shirt. Then, in one smooth motion, he reached up under the bottom of the jacket, got hold of the back of his belt, and lifted him off his feet.

“Which way?” Shine asked.

Arquette’s face turned red, but the only thing more undignified than this would be to try to flail unsuccessfully.

The room turned out to be a type of storage room, with huge stacks of chairs, mounting equipment for paintings, and various supplies for a museum.

Home Chain caught up with the group, along with a friend.

“What’s he doing here?” Simon said.

Home Chain gave an “I don’t know” shrug of his shoulders.

Roy looked at everyone as though he had never seen them before. “What up, rich people?” he said.

“Are we OK in here for a few minutes?” I asked.

“Yes, our friend is in control of the entire building.

“Is that how you got the gun in? He took control of the metal detector?”

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“He is in control of the entire building,” she repeated.

Shine, who had been holding Arquette parallel to the floor, asked, “Put him down?”

“Sure,” I said.

Shine released him. He dropped straight down and hit the floor with an “Oomph.”

“I guess that’s French for ‘ouch,’” Simon said.

Arquette stood up quickly and dusted off the front of his suit.

Then he said, “What is it you want from me?”

“I personally would like not to be shot at anymore,” Simon said.

“Or kidnapped,” I said.

“Or ambushed,” Home Chain said.

“No more damn ambushes,” Roy chipped in.

“We also need some answers,” I said.

“And why would I tell you anything?”

“You hear that, Shine?” Simon said. “He think he in control of this situation.”

Shine, who always seemed to be one step away from any confrontation, shot out his right hand and clasped it around Arquette’s neck, then lifted him into the air.

The tendons in Shine’s arm were like steel cables. He held him straight out and looked him in the eyes. His throat was very close to being crushed.

Arquette flailed with both arms and legs, but Shine’s reach was too long. His face began turning a purplish brown, and his eyes bulged.

I could have had a baseball bat and brought it down on Shine’s arm, and the bat would have broken.

Then something in Shine softened. I had no doubt that Emmanuel was speaking to him. Shine put him down.

Roy was impressed. “Big man there could have crushed you like a grape!” Home Chain nodded.

“Let’s start this over,” I said. “What is it you are looking for?”

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Arquette was coughing and trying to catch his breath.

“Infinity Stone,” he croaked out.

“What’s that? A stone, like a real stone? A rock?” Simon said.

Arquette nodded.

“You been killing people and shooting at us over a rock?”

“Listen,” I said. “We’ve never heard of this stone and have no idea where it is.”

“No idea,” said Roy. “So, stay out of our business,” Simon said. “We got to you once; we can get to you again.”

“Americans, always so smug,” Arquette said.

Simon stepped to Arquette, but Veronica got there first. She threw a tae kwon do punch that twisted right into his upper lip and snapped his head back.

“Damn, girl!” Simon said.

“You got some violent friends,” Roy said to Home Chain.

Veronica touched the bud in her ear. “Our friend says the bodyguards are up and moving.”

“Time to go,” Shine said.

“Stay away,” Simon said. “Shine like a Great White shark; most of the time, when he grabs you, he don’t let go. You lucky today.”

“What we gonna do with him?” Home Chain asked.

“Leave him here. I’ll fix the door,” Shine said.

“Au revoir,” Simon said as we closed the door behind us.

Veronica looked at him in awe.

“What? I’m an onion, Babe. I got layers.”

Shine found a chair and jammed it under the doorknob.

We wound through the hallway until we were at the junction where we had met up with Shine. Simon was to walk Veronica back to her parents and meet up with us later. The rest of us were to exit through the loading dock, a path found earlier by Clooney.

“Why you walking funny?” Simon said to Home Chain.

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Home Chain smiled a proud smile, then pulled a gleaming sword out of the leg of his baggy pants.

“It’s some Duke’s. I thought if I ever had a fireplace, it would look dope over the mantle.”

“Put it back,” Shine said.

“But—” “Put it back,” Shine said again.

Home Chain was not about to argue. He dragged the sword behind him as he and Roy walked away.

“Would have been real dope,” Roy said sadly.

“Did we get it?” I asked Veronica.

She touched her earbud and asked Clooney.

She nodded. “Arquette’s phone is cloned. Clooney said it had many layers of protection but not enough to protect it from a genius. Those are Clooney’s words.”

Shine and I went down the hall and out to the street, taking the same path we would have taken Arquette. The mayhem inside continued. I could hear a few different sirens coming our way.

“Are those coming for us?”

Shine shook his head, “Doubt it. Arquette’s men wouldn’t involve the police. Party upstairs probably getting out of hand, rich people calling 911.”

We walked to the van casually, something Shine had taught me, and waited there for Home Chain. I knew that Shine was aware of everything around us. He was analyzing every possible danger and how to circumvent it. I felt safer with Shine than I did at the White House.

“Do you think he’s going to leave us alone now?” I asked.

“Doubt it. He knows that we know he’s the one that started this mess. Once he gets the thing back, he’s going to erase the trail.”

“And we’re the trail?”

Shine didn’t say anything. He just pressed the key that unlocked the van.

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We got in and sat in silence. He didn’t start the motor, something else he had taught me. A parked vehicle with its motor running gets noticed more than with the engine off.

“Do you ever see Emmanuel?”

He hesitated for an instant, then said, “Yeah.”

“In dreams?”

“Yeah.” Then a second later, “Other times too.”

Home Chain was coming up the sidewalk. Roy was by his side.

Shine rolled down his window. “What’s he doing?”

Home Chain shrugged, “I guess he’s coming with us.”

“What up, rich people,” Roy said.

Shine would never have allowed something like this in the past. He might not have even allowed it earlier this evening if I hadn’t brought up Emmanuel. He pushed the button to slide open the side of the van.

It wasn’t long before Simon came gliding down the sidewalk.

Shine hit the button again, and there was Home Chain and Roy staring back at him.

“What’s he doing here?” Simon said.

“What up?” Roy said.

“Shut up and get in,” Shine said.

We pulled away from the curb and started back to the safe house where Clooney was waiting for us. I looked back at Simon, and as the streetlights passed by, I could see a red smudge on his cheek.

“Is that lipstick on your cheek?”

Simon reached up, touched his cheek, then looked at his fingers. A huge smile spread across his face.

“This is the first tiny spark in the Big Bang that’s about to happen!”

“BANG!” Roy yelled. We all jumped except Shine.

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Chapter 42 Hydiigen’s plane landed and taxied to an empty hangar. The Englishman had a rental car there waiting for him. It was a nice one, a Cadillac STS. The super-rich didn’t skimp. Although he was sure the car was due to the ability to track rentals rather than an amenity, he considered it a nice gesture.

The public goodbye on the steps of the estate was just a production to show that he was leaving. They thought it would be picked up by a satellite or a high-altitude drone. No one had any idea that the Cowboy was close enough to witness it in person.

He had formulated a simple plan on the airplane. He was going to take the new ID and credit cards the Englishman had given him and go back to the priest and see how events were happening there. Whoever had stolen the stone in the first place would certainly check back with them periodically since the Englishman had announced where he had been captured.

Hydiigen decided to stay in an upscale hotel and have a nice meal before heading to the priest’s house the next morning.

Then, he would try to draw out the traitor. *** Shine pulled into the garage and closed the door behind them. Simon was still flying high from his night with Veronica.

Shine was never tired, but the rest of us were worn out from the night’s excitement.

“You didn’t get followed, did you?” Clooney asked.

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Shine gave him a blank stare.

“Tonight was pretty fun,” Clooney said. “But you didn’t get much from him.”

“We got that he’s the one that started this whole mess. And he’s lookin’ for a rock,” Simon said.

“Yeah, and you told him my name,” Clooney said.

“Lest we not forget,” Simon said. “That’s not your real name, you moron. Besides, he probably didn’t hear it real well, being horizontal and all.”

“Listen,” I said, trying to get things back on track, “Can you find out anything about this stone he’s looking for?”

“I’m going to work on it,” Clooney said, “But that kind of stuff is more up Veronica’s alley. What I’ve found so far is like folklore.”

We decided to turn in. The house had been chosen for several reasons, one of which was the amount of bedrooms. We each had one. Roy decided to curl up in a corner on the floor.

The Cowboy called Arquette from the airport and asked for any updates. There was nothing new, only theories about what the target might be doing. Arquette had concluded that the Englishman and target were now working together to retrieve the stone, and once it was back in the hands of the group, it would be irretrievable. Arquette had someone at the airport who would report on the plane and its passenger once it landed.

The Cowboy was now traveling as Jamie White, a businessman coming home from a convention. He wore expensive jeans, a summer-weight navy blazer, a white oxford button-down, and blue Gucci loafers. He also added a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that made him appear much more upscale than the Cowboy ever had.

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Chapter 43 I woke the next morning to the smell of coffee and bacon.

Shine had gone in the middle of the night, the time the neighbors would notice the least, and bought enough supplies for a week.

He seemed just as happy cooking for a bunch of guys as he did knocking heads together. Happy may have been too strong of a word. The aura of violence that radiated from him was diluted when he was cooking—the Emmanuel effect.

Clooney was at his workstation. He had switched from Coke to energy drinks, and several cans littered the floor around him.

I stepped around the bundle of cords that snaked across the floor and into another room and sat on the sectional with a paper plate of scrambled eggs and toast. Simon followed me in and sat down at the end of the sectional. Roy was snoring softly right below him.

Simon nudged him with his foot. “Hey, Roy,” Simon said.

Roy sat up and looked around, clearly not knowing where he was.

“What up?” he said.

“Go get you something to eat. Shine got a mess of food in the kitchen.”

Roy’s demeanor became more enthusiastic.

“He got you some new clothes too. After you eat, you need to get a shower.”

Roy wandered off into the kitchen.

“I don’t know what you guys are thinking, bringing a bum into this operation.”

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“Who you calling a bum, computer boy? You’re sittin’ there with garbage all around you. When’s the last time you took a bath?”

Clooney said nothing.

“You lookin’ pretty bum-ish to me.”

“Anything new?” I asked.

Clooney looked up from his screens for the first time.

“Veronica has found out some interesting tidbits.”

“She coming over?” Simon asked in a near panic.

“I don’t know,” Clooney said, “You ask her. She’s your girlfriend.”

Simon beamed.

“The Templars, I know back to the Templars, created the first banking system throughout Europe. To do that, they had to have something very valuable to guarantee that their system was creditable, and everyone’s money was protected. Many people throughout history have thought it might have been the Holy Grail or the Ark of the Covenant. Veronica’s research is starting to hint that maybe it was this rock. You know Nicolas Flamel, from Harry Potter, was a real guy. Science back then was trying to find ways to turn rocks into gold. For some reason, this stone was important, then it wasn’t, or someone thought it was and hid it all these years.”

“So, do you think she might come over? If she’s coming, I got to get in the shower before Roy does,” Simon said.

“What’s going on?” Home Chain said as he sauntered in with his paper plate of breakfast. Shine leaned against the door frame, a towel draped over a massive shoulder.

“Arquette has been chatty with another guy. They don’t mention any names, but it looks like this other guy is following Hydiigen, the guy that you two met. The one who disappeared.”

“We know who he is,” Simon said.

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“But did you know that he was in England, and now, apparently, he is coming back here? And this other guy is tailing him.”

“So what’s this Hydiigen coming back here for?” Home Chain asked.

“To get the stone,” Shine said. “Or to find you two.”

“So, Hydiigen is going to lead Arquette right back to us,” Simon said. “He already a bit irked.”

Roy brushed by Shine and into the room, still chewing.

“We gotta get rid of Frenchie,” Simon said.

“I can do it,” Home Chain said.

“Pow-pow,” Roy said, shooting us with his fingers.

“No!” I said. “Out of the question.”

“How do you kill a rich person without killing him?” Simon said.

“Make him a poor person,” Shine said.

“I have an idea,” Clooney said.

“Make him a poor man,” Roy said.

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Chapter 44 Arquette knew that the best thing for him to do now was to rely on the Cowboy to finish the job and get the stone. He should stay in France and conduct his business as usual. But he couldn’t.

It was not in his nature to stand idly and allow something as important as this to play out.

Perhaps it was time for his El Greco to be presented to the museum. He would fly unannounced, carrying the painting himself and causing a scene—a perfect cover story. Having a private jet there to take the stone to a free port in Geneva would be one less problem once the stone was his. Maybe he could even get the Cowboy to board the plane with him. Then, they could find a suitable spot in the ocean in which to drown him.

Clooney highjacked some identities and got gift cards for Shine and Home Chain. They went shopping for all of us and returned with new wardrobes. Everyone was happy except Simon, who didn’t think the clothes represented his new social standards. Showered and shaved and well laid out in new clothes, Roy looked like a new man.

“Arquette will be here this afternoon,” Clooney said. “I found his pilot’s flight plan. So I figured with all the characters coming, I’d better get some security on your house.” He took a swig of the power drink that Shine had bought him. “I got some CIA tech guys to put cameras all over your house.”

“The CIA takes orders from you?” Simon said.

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“They don’t know who sent them; they just follow the work order like worker bees. They do a great job. All the newest stuff.

Look.”

He swung the monitor around to us. There on the screen were all of the rooms in my house, to be technical, the Diocese house.

The shot changed every five seconds, all through the inside and the four corners of the outside.

The grass on the outside was long, and I realized that I hadn’t been home for several days. I needed to let Father Craig know I was okay.

Simon said, “What are those tracks in the grass?”

Clooney zoomed in. It looked as if cars had been driving through the sideyard to get to the backyard.

“Do these cameras move?” I asked.

“The outside ones do, yeah,” Clooney said.

He used the arrows on the keypad to follow the tracks into the backyard. When one camera stopped, another took over.

“Zoom out,” I said.

The view changed like you were walking backward, revealing a brand-new stone wall.

“Was that there before?” Simon asked.

“Nope,” I said.

“The Church pay for it?”

“Pretty sure they didn’t, not really like them.”

“Impressive, though. Were all those bushy little trees there before?”

“Those are called shrubs, and no, they weren’t.”

“Hey, I ain’t Martha Stewart. I don’t know what they’re called.”

“I think we’d better go and see what else is new,” I said.

“Shine,” Simon yelled. “The boys are ready to roll.” ***

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About the time Clooney had pulled up the views of the new landscaping, Jorge Hydiigen was checking out of his hotel. He had talked his way out of his luxury jail, but the future looked bleak. He was not the sort for a lifelong cat-and-mouse game.

He wanted to be back in his bookstore, where he was good at his job. His words and actions there led to sales, not life-or-death scenarios.

The Englishman had leaked word, very discreetly, that Jorge was retrieving the stone and placing it in a free port in Delaware.

Jorge was the bait, but both he and the Englishman felt confident that Jorge would not be touched until he had the stone in his possession.

He did have one trick up his sleeve, literally. The Englishman’s security team had access to some of the newest devices. The one given to Jorge was a flattened canister of chloroform that fit against his forearm under his jacket sleeve. The firing button looked like a modern car key, which fit easily into a pants pocket.

Like Spiderman but instead of a web shooting out of his wrist, it would be a stream of chloroform.

Jorge didn’t much care for it. He gave himself a fifty-fifty chance that he would knock himself out.

At the same time as Jorge was checking out, the Cowboy was landing at Dulles. He only had a carry-on, so after deplaning, he took a cab to Hertz and rented a mid-size car, which seemed pretty small to him. His plan was to check into a hotel close to where he had last spotted Hydiigen. Basically, because it was the only option he had, even though that was a long shot, he would hang around and eat at the same place he had trailed him to before. Then, he would have to wait for more information.

Arquette was still in Europe, but not for long. His Challenger 3500 was taxiing down a runway and lifting into the sky. The El Greco sketch was in a silver custom container and secured in the

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back of the cabin. The storage compartment had been readied to receive a parcel the size of a coffin.

He was working the phone to find any info about Hydiigen’s whereabouts.

189

Chapter 45 Shine, Simon, and I climbed into the van. Home Chain was to stay at the safe house with Clooney and Roy. Shine was the only protection that Simon and I needed, and since things seemed to be ramping up, Home Chain was that extra layer for Clooney.

Even though I hadn’t seen them, I knew Home Chain had at least two guns on him and probably more stashed around the house.

The trip was about forty-five minutes and took us halfway around the Beltway. My neighborhood was very similar to the neighborhood of the safe house, only it was located on the other side of the urban sprawl. Both were more like Mayberry than D.C., except that my neighbors talked and were friendly. We hadn’t seen anything like that at the safe house.

It struck me that my role as an actual priest was becoming more distant every day. In a time when vocations were at a crucial level, I was nowhere to be found. My devotion wavered at times without me even knowing it until later or by an appearance

by Emmanuel. I could not remember the last time I had given a homily or heard a confession.

“What you so quiet for?” Simon said.

I tried to explain what I was feeling. Shine kept driving; Simon had thoughts on the matter.

“From what you told me, you pretty much sucked at being a priest before, so be happy because you ain’t half bad at this kind of life, a least for a white boy.” Simon had that big grin on his face.

“You didn’t choose this life over the other one; it just happened to you. Is that Divine Intervention? I don’t know.

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“Look at Shine and me. We used to be hard, now I’m just a pussycat, and Shine, he still hard, but not like he used to be.”

Shine looked over at him.

“OK,” Simon said. “He still the hardest man on the planet, but he notched it back a couple.

“What I’m saying is we all on a different journey since we met Emmanuel.”

Most of Simon’s explanations didn’t warrant a response.

We pulled onto my driveway, right beside my Camry.

Someone, somehow, had had it delivered back here from Colombo’s.

Simon leaped out of the van and ran to it, looking in the window.

“Yeah, baby,” he said. “CDs are still in it! You got an extra set of keys?”

“In the house,” I said.

“How we gonna get in the house?”

“There should be an extra set of house keys under the plant on the porch.”

Shine and Simon stopped in their tracks.

“You know what I said about you not being half bad in this kind of work? I take that back.”

I went up the two steps to the porch and got the key. Shine said, “Someone coming.”

“Good morning, Father.”

“Good morning, Mike,” I said. Mike was my mailman. We spoke most mornings.

“I was starting to get worried. Your mail was piling up.

Knocked a couple of times,” he said.

“I was out of town for a few days. Sorry, I should have let someone know.”

“Next time, I’ll hold your mail. Just happy you’re all right. I had a lady fall down the steps once. Nobody found her until I called the police for a welfare check.”

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“I’ll do that next time,” I said. I could tell Shine was getting antsy being outside. His head was on a pivot.

“Must have got out of town so you wouldn’t have to put up with that mess out back,” Mike said. He wasn’t in any hurry to be on his way. “Boy, I’ll tell you what, there was a mess of them.

Must have been twenty or so. Only took them two days. Miss Hopkins said they brought in truck after truck of stone and plants. Must have made it beautiful back there.” He was hinting at an invitation so he could tell the rest of the neighbors.

I didn’t bite, so he handed me my mail.

“Thanks, Mike,” I said and unlocked the door.

We went through the house; I found nothing out of place.

The car keys were on the dining room table. We checked the garage. Simon’s Cadillac was still there, keys in the ignition.

“Let’s go see,” I said. We passed through the kitchen and out through the back door into the backyard.

The wall was massive. It arched from one side of the yard to the other in a flattened semi-circle. It stood about shoulder high and was capped off on each end with tall ornamental grasses.

Around the interior of the wall was a four-foot-wide bed of black mulch with boxwood planted every six feet or so. Behind the wall, where before there were only weeds and overgrown sumac, were now beautiful young sycamore trees in an arch that repeated the curve of the wall.

The wall itself was comprised of stones that were so different in size, shape, and texture that the whole thing looked uniform in its irregularity. It was a thing of beauty in a spot that could not be seen by any of the neighbors.

We stood and stared.

“Is it in there?” I said.

We stared some more.

“We know about what size it is,” I said.

“That eliminates a bunch,” Simon said.

“And it supposedly came from space,” I said.

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“So that means it should be kind of melted-looking,” Simon said. Shine and I looked at him. “Science channel,” Simon said.

“I see it,” Simon said.

“Me too,” I said.

We stood and stared.

“Once you see it, you can’t unsee it,” Simon said. “Kind of like those 3-D posters they had when we were kids.”

“Good idea, though,” Simon said. “Hiding it in plain sight.”

“What are we going to do?” I said.

“If Hydiigen and Arquette weren’t coming back, I’d say leave it. No one could trace it back here, but they are coming back,” Simon said. “What do you think, Shine?”

“Take it,” he said.

“Where to?”

“Have to get it out of here. We can decide that later, Shine said. “You have a pry bar?”

“I’m not sure what that is,” I said. “There are some tools in the room in the back of the garage.”

“Back the van around,” Shine said to Simon.

I was left alone, staring at my beautiful wall, which was about to be demolished.

I heard Simon backing the van around the side of the house, then it stopped. I heard Mrs. Cummings, my elderly neighbor, say, “Are you one of the landscapers, dear?”

Simon replied, “Nope, just a criminal working for the FBI, unofficially.”

Thirty minutes later, we were back on the road. Shine had found a crowbar, which I learned was much smaller and harder to leverage than a prybar. But Shine, being one of the toughest men on the planet, made quick work of taking the wall apart. But he could have easily taken an entire house apart with it, Shine being Shine.

The wall around the empty space had fallen in on itself. There was no way to repair it unblemished, so we left it the way it was.

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I slid the side of the van open, and Shine carried the stone by himself and placed it in the back. His black, sweaty shirt clung to his massive frame.

“So, Hydiigen must have started all this before he got snatched up,” Simon said.

“Maybe that’s why he was so apologetic. He was throwing us into this before we even agreed to do anything.” I said.

“Sad to think we the most trustworthy people he knows.”

We rode through the Beltway traffic, not too fast and not too slow.

“Damn,” Simon said. “I forgot my CDs.” Simon was shotgun beside Shine. I was in the second row and kept looking at the stone on the floor behind me.

I had always thought, hoped, that Emmanuel had left a little of him in each one of us.

“So this is our journey now?” I said out loud.

“Maybe,” Simon said. “I guess we don’t know ’til we know.”

I had a hunch. “Turn on the radio,” I said.

A commercial for getting out of timeshares blared through the speakers.

“Hit the scan button, see where it stops,” I said.

Simon pressed the button. It stopped at a station. The first piano chords of “Let It Be” rang out.

“Damn,” Simon said.

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Chapter 46 We pulled into the garage, and the door slid vociferously down behind us.

Clooney and Home Chain were in the kitchen waiting for us.

“Was the landscaping there as a distraction? Did they get inside your house?” Clooney asked. “Did they take anything?”

“No, they left something,” I said. “Go look.”

Roy appeared out of nowhere and joined them in the garage.

One of them opened the rear door of the van and Home Chain said, “That’s it?”

“You brought it here?” Clooney said. “This is a clandestine operation!”

“Clandestine operation,” Roy repeated.

“Someone is going to track it here, and we’re going to get caught. If I get arrested again, my deal is off, and I’m going to jail.”

“Calm down,” I said. “Nobody’s going to jail.”

“Spoken like a true white man,” Home Chain said, then smiled.

“I read a little book about a rock once. It was on a planet all alone, and its only friend was an alien,” Roy said.

“Was the rock’s name Rocky?” Simon asked.

“Nope, that would be silly. It was Stoney.”

“Funny-looking rock,” Home Chain said.

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had been poked with all sizes of fingers. Apparently, the holes continued through the center, creating pockets internally.

“Looks like something a million years old,” Simon said.

“All rocks are a million years old,” Clooney said.

“Thought you said this was not a rock; it was a meteorite?”

“Yeah, well, a meteorite is a rock from space.”

“What are we going to do with it?” Home Chain said.

“What to do? What to do?” Roy said, tapping his chin.

“I have a plan, and, oh yeah, this fits in perfectly,” Clooney said. “Give me a few minutes.”

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Chapter 47 As he had done before, Hydiigen parked a block away and walked to the parish house. He noted the tire tracks in the grass and how one set looked fresher than the others. He also noted that the house felt still and empty, no movement or lights on inside, even though there was a car in the driveway.

He walked without hesitation, in case he was being watched by snoopy neighbors, up the two steps and knocked on the front door. He listened and waited.

At this point, he was certain that he was being followed, though not sure how closely. He had been lucky enough to fall into the right hands last time. This time, the real bad guys were after him, the ones who had already killed and seemed ruthless enough to do anything to get what they wanted.

Subtly, he did a three-sixty and scanned the street. Then as confidently as he had walked in, he walked off the porch and followed the tire tracks around the side to the backyard.

As he rounded the corner of the house, the wall he had designed came into view. He was pleased and impressed until he had walked far enough to see the section that had crumbled. It was as if a small missile had been fired into a section. The stone had collapsed and scattered around the base, leaving an ugly scar. In the debris, he could not see the stone for which the wall had been built.

Hydiigen stood and stared, trying to figure out the implications. Had he misplaced his trust in the Englishman?

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guys gotten here first? Both had the resources and the time if he had made an error somewhere along the way.

Or had the priest figured it all out? If he had, where could the stone possibly be now? If the U.S. government had it, would they know what it was? Would they know it could possibly change our length of life? If the CIA had it, well, Jorge trusted them even less than the bad guys.

Too much to consider standing here in a backyard. He wanted to run, but he made himself walk normally around the house and down the sidewalk. He got into his car and drove to a new hotel, more paranoid than ever.

Clooney had been working feverishly; first on his laptop then texting on a clean phone. He was wearing headphones, trying to block out the sound of the TV. Shine was in the kitchen, working up something for dinner, and the rest of us were watching Michael Strahan on the $100,000 Pyramid. Clooney’s workstation was right across the room.

He took off his headphones. “Who’s your contact?” he asked.

“What do you mean, our contact?” Simon said.

“Who do you work with? Who sent you to me?”

“Why?” Simon said.

“Why are you always so hard to get along with?” Clooney said.

“Why you look like you should be working at the Pizza Hut?” “We have a man in the government that put us in contact with you,” I said.

“Who’s he with? What agency?”

“All of them,” Simon said. “Even the ones you ain’t heard of.”

“So he’s pretty high up?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” I said.

“I need you to contact him, and then I have to talk to him.”

“You’re pretty demanding, Pizza Boy,” Simon said.

“Now?” I asked.

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“I need some things as soon as possible. I need government authorization for this stuff. Gets it done quicker. We need quick,” he said.

I called. Clooney listened.

I talked to Kim, his secretary. Jimmy was in a meeting, but she would have him call back as soon as possible.

“His calling back after his meeting,” I told Clooney.

“So, he has a secretary?” Clooney said.

Simon mumbled under his breath, “Yeah, Secretary of State, Secretary of Defense…”

I went back to the couch, and Clooney went back to the computer. We watched a woman lose the 100K because she could not give a list of things an anteater might say.

My phone buzzed.

Jimmy wanted to know how we were doing and if we had been shot at recently. We chatted for a minute while Clooney grew impatient.

I covered part of the phone with my hand and said to Simon, “He wants to know if you have stolen anything out of the house yet?”

“Tell him as soon as I figure out how to get them home, the washer and dryer are mine. All the copper plumbing, too.”

Clooney was ready to grab the phone out of my hand.

“Listen, we need something. Talk to this guy.”

Clooney talked to Jimmy, and then handed the phone back to me.

“Do I want to know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

“Probably not,” I said. Then I asked, “Have you been having any dreams?”

“Do you mean… dreams that seem real? Like you can’t tell if it’s a dream or someone is really there? With someone from our past?”

“Yeah, dreams like that.”

“No,” he said and clicked off.

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Clooney sat at the workstation and said, “Ugh… looks like we had a visitor.”

Simon muted the TV. “Where? Here?”

“No, at the parish house. Look.”

Clooney slid one of the monitors towards us.

“That’s the guy,” Simon said. “From the restaurant! We thought he was dead.”

There was Jorge knocking on the door. Another camera caught him walking around the back of the house. Then another standing and staring at the wall.

“What’s he doing?” Home Chain asked.

“Looks like he’s wondering where his rock went,” Simon said.

“And what to do next,” I said. “When was this?”

“Hour ago, give or take.”

“How’d you miss that Super Sleuth?” Simon said.

“I guess I was working on this other stuff and didn’t notice the alert,” he said sheepishly.

“I hope you didn’t get him killed; you better figure out where he went.”

Suddenly, Clooney felt this getting very real.

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Chapter 48 Before Arquette’s jet had touched down, he had been on the phone with the press. He wanted an alibi for coming back to the country and wanted video evidence of him doing so. It was good PR for him to be on the news and in the papers doing charitable work. Besides, he loved to make others scurry around for him, like a king.

He personally carried the El Greco in its custom-made transport case into the offices of the museum. The chances of a criminal mishap were slim since this was an unannounced visit, sort of, in the presence of a dozen photographers and cameramen.

Also adding to the percentages were three armed men in black suits just out of camera range.

Reporters stuck hand-held microphones in his face as he walked and cheerfully answered questions about his donation.

They mounted the stairs as he had on the night of the donation dinner, but this time, instead of climbing the interior stairs, he stopped at the information desk. The girl working there was surprised by the entourage.

“Would you please tell me the location of the director’s office?”

He was heavy on the French accent for the video cameras.

The information girl gave the directions and called ahead to the director’s office for a heads-up.

Arquette led the group to a bank of three elevators. Two were on this level, and the other was floating around somewhere else.

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“If you wish,” Arquette said to the group, “You may go to the third floor and set up your equipment. I will await the next car to take me up.”

Most were happy to comply, although there were some grumbles that contained the words “arrogant” and “elitist.”

When the door opened on the third floor, the director and his assistant were standing by her desk with the press crowded around the room.

“Monsieur Arquette,” the director said with his arms opened widely. “You have surprised us.” It was the same bald-headed man that Arquette was ready to strangle at the dinner. But today, they were both all smiles and pleasantries.

Arquette switched the painting from his right hand to his left, charged across the room, and shook hands with the director.

Cameras flashed.

The director said, “The details of the display of this work have not been finalized yet, but we will begin working with Monsieur Arquette to decide how we will best present it to the public. In fact, we were not even sure of its arrival date. So, we have a bit of work to do to prepare.”

“How do you know it’s real?” one of the reporters asked.

Laughter burst out.

“The museum, as per protocol, checks the provenance of each work that is displayed. We also have scholars who examine every item we display. Our reputation depends on it, especially since the Salvator Mundi.”

“Perhaps these lovely people would like, how do you say it, a sneak peek?” Arquette said.

A look of horror spread across the director’s face. “Monsieur, no! The lighting here will not represent the painting at its best.

Plus the security, we should wait…”

But Arquette was already looking for a spot to set the case down.

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“May I?” he said to the attractive assistant. With a gentle swipe of his hand, he pushed all of the items on her desk to one side. He placed the case and released the latches.

“Gloves, we need gloves,” said the director in a shrill voice.

Two sets of white cloth gloves were fished out of a nearby office. Once these were donned by Arquette and the director, they lifted the painting.

There was a smattering of applause by those who had a free hand, and the director launched into a dissertation on El Greco and his work.

His words faded into white noise for Arquette, who had concreted his alibi for a far more important piece of history. *** Jorge had been back on the phone with the Englishman and told him that the stone was missing. He had thought it the perfect spot, the only spot really, given his time constraints. Trustworthy people as well, although somewhat unwilling at the time. There was no way that they understood the value of what he had left them. Only a few in the world knew what it was, even he didn’t at the time, so it was unlikely that the priest and the other man had removed it. There was only one likely culprit, and his identity was still unknown.

The Englishman told him to stay where he was and be available for additional information which would be coming soon. Jorge felt like a sitting, blindfolded duck.

The Cowboy, being the pursuer, had more to do than just wait around. Arquette had set some of his loyal staff on the digital pursuit of his target.

They learned of the plane’s landing location and its arrival time. It didn’t take them long to hack into the CC security to scour the airport’s rental sites, follow Hydiigen to one of them, 203

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and watch him rent a car. They saw him drive out of the airport but lost him on the highway.

The Cowboy was impressed they found the make, model, and color of the car all the way from Europe. It was never far from his mind that anything Arquette could do for him could also be done to him.

Now, even though he knew what he was looking for, he didn’t know where to look. He decided that his first plan was still his best. Go to the place where they had last been seen. Perhaps the priest was the first thread to unravel.

Jimmy’s secretary Kim had called back with the information Clooney needed to start the ball rolling. With that done, he started working on Arquette’s cloned phone. He followed the same logic as Arquette’s people had done with Hydiigen, but Clooney had a few more tricks up his sleeve. In one of his legendary hack victories, he had found an NSA program that allowed the user to track the paths of people to and from locations. From Arquette’s phone, a call had been made to one of the dummy companies that he owned. On this list of assets was a small private jet that had filed a flight plan to Dulles. It was interesting to Clooney that Arquette’s personal jet had also filed a plan to Dulles.

He also broke into the CC security cameras at the airport in the same way Arquette’s people had. There were no cameras in either of the hangars where the jets deplaned, although Clooney did see a car service leave the hangar that housed Arquette’s jet.

From the other hangar, Clooney grabbed several images of a businessman with a carry-on walking up a staircase into the terminal.

He printed off four or five and stuck them to the magnetic board behind him.

“Hey, any of you recognize this guy?”

No one got up off the couches, but they looked over at the board.

“Nope,” Home Chain said.

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Simon slowly ambled over. “Yeah, that’s the limo driver, Arquette’s guy. Shine, come and take a look at this.”

Shine came in from the kitchen, towel still on his shoulder.

“Yeah,” was all he said and walked back into the kitchen.

“Looks like all the principals are here. Things starting to ratchet up,” Simon said. He sat back down. They were watching Gilligan’s Island.

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Chapter 49 Clooney was sloppy, immature, and intolerable, but he wasn’t a slacker once he set his mind to do something. His plan was coming together perfectly.

He came to me because I was the one who had treated him the nicest.

“You need to take it to this address,” he said, handing me a sheet of paper.

At the top was an official FBI letterhead, complete with the seal and printed in color. The body of the letter was full of instructions and codes. The bottom had several signatures.

“What’s that?” Simon asked.

“It’s the first cog in our caper,” Clooney said.

“I don’t like you,” Simon said. “But I do like a good caper.”

“Any of you seen The Thomas Crown Affair?” Clooney asked.

Everyone put their hand up, including Roy. “Remember the scene at the end with the guy in a bowler hat and briefcase? We’re going to pull a misdirection that will scramble their brains,” Clooney said. .We were armed to the teeth. Clooney turned pale when he saw the firepower we were loading into the van. His world of crime did not include bullets or guns.

Home Chain had pistols holstered on each hip, which he quickly covered with a windbreaker. His pants were baggy, so I’m sure he had smaller guns strapped to his ankles.

Simon was carrying a sawed-off shotgun and had a shoulder holster for a big pistol. It was shiny and silver.

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Shine wore a black leather waistcoat. I had never seen him in anything like it before. He was still foreboding but somehow more refined. I’m sure there were guns underneath.

“You look good in that,” I said to him. He didn’t respond.

“You do,” Simon said. “Though I don’t know where you’d get a jacket that size. Maybe at the Shrek Store.”

“You lucky you don’t get tagged,” Home Chain said.

“Naw, Shine and I crack on each other all the time. Don’t we?”

Shine looked at him but said nothing.

“Why all the guns?” Clooney asked.

“The people we got coming into town, they already kidnapped and shot at us once. We preventing it from happening twice,” Simon said.

Shine had another burner phone and put the address into the GPS. “Thirty-five minutes,” he said.

Simon tried to get into the driver’s seat, but Shine grabbed him by the collar and pulled him out. “Why can’t I drive?”

“Little Hombre,” Shine said.

Shine drove. I sat in the shotgun seat because I was the one without a gun. Shine didn’t want any truck driver looking down into the untinted window and seeing a weapon.

Simon and Home Chain sat in the next row with most of the artillery, and Roy sat on the floor of the cargo bay with the stone.

We backed out of the garage and drove without incident.

I couldn’t see Roy from my position in the front seat, but Simon whispered that he was hugging the stone like he was hanging onto the stump of a tree.

Home Chain looked as cool as a cucumber and Shine had his usual demeanor, an unmoving bomb just before it explodes.

Simon was nervous. He was talking even more than usual.

Shine told him to shut up, which he did until he couldn’t any longer.

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“Put on the radio,” Home Chain said.

I pushed the power button. Dylan came on singing Like A Rolling Stone.

“We got divine intervention,” Simon said. “See, Father,” he said to me. “We doing the right thing.”

Roy, in the back, sang along.

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Chapter 50 The building was large and constructed of corrugated metal.

A huge parking lot spread across the front; it was empty. Tall chain-link fence surrounded the property. There was razor wire at the top. I could hear crows somewhere in the distance.

The gate was large enough for a trailer truck to pass through if it had been opened. There was a call box. Shine pulled up next to it and pressed the TALK button.

“Can I help you?” came a tinny voice from the box.

“FBI,” Shine said.

The chain-link gate rolled open. We rolled in and circled to the left. A guy in jeans and a T-shirt was standing next to an open door big enough to drive a plane through.

We entered, and he pulled a looping chain that brought down the giant door.

He came over to Shine’s window and said, “Just pull up there to the scanner. He nodded toward a metal rectangular box the size of the van. Windows had been cut into each side. On one end, a door had been opened.

We stopped and got out. They left all but the concealed guns under the seats. I went to the guy while Shine, Simon, and Home Chain spread out and looked for signs of an ambush.

I handed him the paper. He read it, then said, “You all don’t look like FBI.” “That’s the point,” Simon said from his position near the van.

“You look like you could be FBI,” he said to me.

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“That’s cause he’s an administrator,” Simon said. Then to Home Chain, “Wait till he gets a load of Roy.” “Are you the only person here?” I asked.

“Yeah, business hasn’t been great. You guys might be saving me.”

He was tall and unkept and looked like he hadn’t had a good meal in a while.

“Is the item in the van?”

“In the back,” I said.

We opened the back doors, and there was Roy with the stone.

“Interesting,” he said. “We are doing the rock, not the human?”

“Correct.”

“All right.” He rolled over a cart like they have for plants at Lowe’s.

Shine and Simon placed the stone on the cart, and the guy rolled it into the little building.

“What’s the process?” I asked.

“The scanner will measure it with a laser down to a hundredth of a millimeter. Every little dimple, hole, or bump.

That information is fed into the computer, and then the 3-D printers can start. These new ones are impressive. The AI in them is insane. They will even color match. In a couple of days, you’re going to have sixteen of these rocks, plus the original.”

“How do we tell them apart from the original?” I asked.

“Weight,” he said. “The new ones will be much lighter.”

They took the stone off the cart and placed it on a pedestal in the middle of the building. A podium had been set up outside of one of the small windows. A laptop was on top. He started typing.

“You can watch the scan if you like,” he said.

We gathered around the windows, everyone but Shine who stayed vigilant.

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A thin green light fanned out over the over the stone.

Whatever structure the light was attached to slowly revolved around the stone. The light dipped into each pore and crevice.

“As soon as it’s finished, we’ll have to go in and flip it so the bottom will be scanned.

“What was this place before you moved in?” I asked.

“I’m not sure exactly, part of the tech industry. All the infrastructure was perfect for me, though.”

Shine walked over to us.

“What do you think?” Simon said softly.

“Don’t know,” Shine said. “Should be safe.”

“Feels kind of funny, everybody lookin’ for this thing, then we just drop it off to a nobody,” Simon said.

“Yeah,” was Shine’s reply.

“Do you mind if we peruse the building?” Simon said to the guy. “Shine is a very security-minded agent.”

“FBI agent called Shine? I thought you guys always said something like, ‘This is Special Agent Clark.’”

“That’s just on TV,” Simon said. “Can we look, or do we need to get a warrant?”

“No… I mean, yeah, you can look around. Hey, you guys called me.”

“I know who called whom.” Simon liked to use the word “whom.”

“What is your name?” Simon asked.

“Colin,” he said. “It’s on the contract you brought.”

Simon gave him a cold stare. “Last name?”

“Cummings.”

“Oh, you have one of those rhyming names? Like Lex Luthor or Son of Sam?” “What’s he talking about?” Colin asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said.

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“Perhaps your background check wasn’t deep enough.

Sometimes these new agents lose their patience and don’t do their due diligence.”

“Do their due diligence,” Roy repeated. I had forgotten he was here.

Simon pulled out a burner phone and called Clooney.

“I need a deeper dive into a guy named Colin Cummings.”

“What?” Clooney said.

“Just do it,” Simon barked. He spun around and headed toward Shine and Home Chain, who were on the other side of the building.

“What was that all about?” Colin asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “He’s got a bit of a Napoleon complex.”

“But he’s not short.”

“I know, and that makes it worse.” I changed the subject. “Do you have security cameras other than the one on the front gate?”

“Sixteen of them. Inside and out. I can pull them up on any laptop.”

“Perfect,” I said, knowing that Clooney could do the same.

The laptop beeped, and a voice said “Step one of two complete.”

“Could you help me flip it?”

We did, and the process started over again.

Simon walked back after talking with Shine and Home Chain.

“We feel that the facility is secure enough for the time being.

Do you have a guard come in at night?”

“Nope, I am staying here. I have a bed in the office. Like I said, the money has been tight.”

“What about food? Do you leave to get it?”

“No, I won’t while the printers are working; I’ll have it delivered.”

“Ok, then. I think we are set,” Simon said, still using an official voice.

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“Our numbers are on the contracts, just in case anything happens,” I said.

“Like what?” Colin said. “This is getting a little hinky.”

“Anything odd,” I said. “Cars hanging around, an unannounced visit from a city inspector, anyone wanting in the building. Things like that.”

“How long?” Shine said, walking over.

“A couple of days. Let’s say about this time Thursday.”

On the way back to the safe house, Simon said, “We could have waited and brought it back with us.”

“Nobody’s going to find it there as long as we weren’t followed,” Shine said.

“What are the chances this is going to work?” Simon asked Shine.

“About fifty-fifty,” Shine said.

“Unless Clooney sells us out,” Home Chain said. “Then they go down to about zero.”

“No chance,” Roy said.

We ordered some pizzas from Pizza Hut, drove around until they were ready, stopped, and got some gas for the van. Since Roy and I were the only people not armed, and we weren’t sure we could count on Roy to pay the correct amount, I was the one to pay for the gas and get the pizza.

We walked in, and Clooney stood as he smelled the pizza.

His plan, he announced, was coming along nicely.

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Chapter 51 The Cowboy drove by the priest’s house several times. He decided there was no one around even though the car registered to the church was parked outside. It was a quiet neighborhood, and he was sure that he had not been noticed by anyone. He did not understand why the car would be outside instead of in the garage, but he didn’t want to stop and draw attention.

He allowed Arquette to feed him information, but he was conscious of how much info he was feeding back to Arquette. He didn’t trust him enough to allow him to know exactly where and when he was going to be in a certain place.

Arquette had supplied a list of hotels within a ten-mile area of the restaurant. It only made sense to search there first, given that Hydiigen had arrived here and had no known contacts anywhere else in the States.

He had stopped at a Walmart and bought some Scotch tape and a burner phone. The phone Arquette had given him was left in the room; he was sure he was being tracked. Every time he left the room, he stuck a piece of tape between the door and the frame. Not a trick an assassin would fall for, but it couldn’t hurt.

Besides feeling vulnerable, he felt very unprofessional. Each step had unraveled to the point where now, he was just driving around without a real plan, and looking for someone. Up until the plane crash, the operation had been highly planned and executed, but since then, it had been a trainwreck. He felt like a quarterback after the play had broken down, scrambling around, hoping for a bit of luck.

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He would cruise the parking areas of the hotels, starting with the ones nearest the dinner where he had come close to picking up Hydiigen. This was a suburb, so there were not a lot of hotels like in the city. Some of the more upscale places had secure parking, meaning you couldn’t just drive through. At those places, he would bribe a desk clerk or a parking attendant and give them a card with his number. Someone somewhere would be able to identify Hydiigen’s rental car.

The Cowboy hadn’t decided how long he was going to continue to stay on this job. He should have taken the front end of the payment and split. He would be on a beach someplace by now, always looking over his shoulder, but he was looking over his shoulder now. His instincts told him to leave then, but greed and pride took over.

He promised himself that he would give it another week. If he couldn’t wrap it up and get the second payment by then, he was out. He drove and waited for more information from a man he couldn’t trust. *** Jorge Hydiigen was normally a patient man. The deals he brokered for rare books sometimes took years. More and more often, the books were acquired by investment groups looking for physical assets in their portfolios. They were also great conversation in their social circles. It was much more difficult to convince a group of investors, as opposed to a single investor, the worth of, say, an early monk-copied Bible. In many cases, time was his ally, and he had learned to use it well.

Not so much now. Since learning that the stone was gone, he had no solid plan, and his patience was waning. He regretted his decision to place the stone in the unknowing hands of the priest.

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might be wanted for murder back home. Remorse washed over him.

He also was becoming more concerned over the well-being of the priest and the other man. With the stone gone and the house abandoned, they may be in danger or even worse.

The downing of the plane was a decision that he was forced into. But, the decision to force the stone on the priest was on him and him alone. If something happened to them, he was as guilty as the bad guys.

What he decided to do was risky, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

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Chapter 52 Jorge walked to his car as the streetlights flickered to life with a pink glow. The parking lot of the hotel was only half full, so Jorge felt somewhat sure that his short journey across it was safe. He checked the back seat, looked under the car for any distinctive additions that could be bombs or trackers, and only then unlocked the door.

He made the ten-minute drive to the priest’s house in just under thirty minutes, backtracking and driving through residential neighborhoods to be positive he wasn’t being followed.

He parked in the exact place he had the first time he had surveilled the house, the morning he had watched the black man drive up in the old Cadillac and knock on the front door.

On that morning, he was not sure of what to do, so he left only to meet up with them again in the diner.

Tonight, he wanted to be seen, hopefully by them and no one else.

Getting out and closing the car door as quietly as possible, he walked quickly across the road and up the sidewalk, then onto the porch. A small light came on before he could knock. He wondered what motion sensors he had activated when he was here before.

Once the light was on, he could see the camera. This was much better than he had hoped. The original plan was to Scotch tape a note to the front door with his phone number on it. The tape, unknown to anyone, had come from the same Walmart bin from which the Cowboy had gotten his tape.

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He held the note up to the camera, being careful not to expose the letterhead from the motel. He hoped that only the good guys were watching.

As Jorge was checking out his car in the parking lot, the desk clerk was checking out Jorge. The Cowboy had visited earlier and left a twenty and his number, promising ten times more if the car was found. The desk clerk, whose name was Bruce, had a budding fentanyl addiction that he was nursing along nicely.

Two hundred bucks was looking good at the moment.

Bruce had called and given the information and asked when the rest of the payment would be delivered. The Cowboy said he would be right over to see if the information was correct, and then Bruce would get paid.

Once the phone call ended, Bruce called his dealer, who also worked for DoorDash. But that was a moot point; the Cowboy had no intention of paying him. *** Clooney was more aware this time when he received the security alert.

“Hey, the guy is back,” he said.

Simon and I jumped off the couch and came behind Clooney.

By the time we got there, Jorge was gone.

“Where?” Simon said.

“You took too long.”

“What do you mean, took too long? I was here before you finished the sentence,” Simon said. “He was here too,” he said, nodding to me, “He fast for a ….”

“You were going to say white guy, weren’t you?” I said.

“Nope, I was going to say priest,” he said sheepishly. “I’m racially sensitive.”

“Listen, you two morons,” Clooney started. “Oops, sorry, Father. I keep forgetting that you’re a priest.”

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That kind of took me aback for a second. What kind of servant of God gives the impression that he isn’t?

“I have it recorded,” Clooney said.

He played it back.

“That’s him, all right,” I said. “What’s the note say?”

Jorge had held the note too close to the camera. The autofocus didn’t work that close.

“Looks like a number. Phone number?” Simon said.

“Can you fix it?” I asked.

Clooney’s mind was already going. “Maybe I can email it to myself and put it through a program. Gonna take a minute though,” he said.

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Chapter 53 The DoorDash dealer arrived before anyone else. He pulled his Mini Cooper under the awning of the entrance and allowed the automatic doors to swoosh open as he entered the lobby.

Bruce was sitting in one of the pleather armchairs near the dead fireplace. Being the sharp entrepreneur he was, he didn’t have the dope with him. He would have to see the cash first. Even though he knew Bruce, that was not a good business practice.

The continental breakfast area was vacant, but the TV was on. They watched Rizzoli & Isles and chatted about basketball.

Unknown to them, Jorge had arrived back at the hotel and parked in his original spot. He walked past them, nodded a greeting, and waited at the elevator.

“Not checking out, are you?” Bruce yelled with enough panic to make the dealer jump. He could feel his two hundred slipping away.

“Why, no, not yet,” Jorge said as the elevator door opened. He thought it an odd question, but a great many things about this country were odd to him.

They watched the numbers above the doors climb to seven.

“Funny,” Bruce said. “I thought he was on five.”

“Who?” said the dealer.

“Never mind,” Bruce told him.

“Listen,” the dealer said. “I got to go; I can’t hang around here all night. I got business.”

“A couple more minutes,” Bruce said. “He’s coming, I swear.”

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*** Clooney, true to his word, had worked his magic and got the number.

“Who is going to call?” he said.

“I can,” I said. “He came to my house. He must be looking for me.”

“Yeah, I remember. I’m just the black sidekick,” Simon said.

“Put it on speaker.”

I dialed the number.

Jorge had taken the elevator up to the seventh floor and came back down the stairway to the fifth. He opened the metal door and peeked down the hall. His phone buzzed, and it made him jump.

“Yes,” he answered, closing the fire door behind him “This is Father Kenzee. Is this Mr. Hydiigen?”

“Yes, it is,” Jorge said. “Could you hold for just one second?”

Jorge pulled his key card out of his pocket and tapped it on the scanner. He looked around as he entered the room.

“All right,” he said. “I must apologize for leaving you with an item you asked not to be involved with. I must admit, I was somewhat panicked.”

“We didn’t understand at the time, but we understand a little more now. We would like to get the whole picture, at least your part of the story.”

Hydiigen hesitated. “Certainly, but may I ask first, have you been to your house recently?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And have you removed anything from it?”

“Do you mean from the landscaping?”

“Yes,” Jorge said.

“Yes, we have it.”

“Thank goodness,” Jorge said, relieved. “My fear was that it went back to the people who stole it in the first place.”

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“I think we should talk in person,” I said.

“I agree if it is safe for the both of us. How do I know if this is you? You could have hacked into the security system of the house and got my number that way.”

“What was I eating that first day in the restaurant?” Simon interrupted.

“Is this the black gentleman?”

“Damn, here we go again. The black sidekick. How come nobody remembers my name?”

“Everything, you were eating everything. And covering it with syrup.”

“I wasn’t there, and even I know that’s right,” Home Chain said. Roy nodded.

I looked at the others.

“Meet somewhere,” Shine said as he walked in.

“Not too far away,” Simon whispered. “If it’s an ambush, we don’t want to give them time to set it up.”

“We can meet in the middle,” Jorge said. “I’m about ten minutes away from your house. You can pick a spot.”

“Our location now is not that close to my house,” I said. “We are at least thirty minutes away.”

“Send him to Wings,” Home Chain said. Simon nodded.

“It’s a Mexican place on 46th Street. Put it in your GPS,” Simon said.

Jorge agreed. “I’ll see you there. Should I wait inside?”

“Sure,” I said.

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Chapter 54 About the time Jorge was hanging up, the Cowboy walked into the lobby of the hotel. He was genuinely surprised to see Bruce with another man watching TV. He walked to them.

“He just got back,” Bruce said. “Went up to the seventh floor.”

“Who’s this?” the Cowboy said.

“Just a friend. You got my money?”

“Sure,” the Cowboy said. “What’s his room number?”

“507 or 707. I thought he was on the fifth floor, but he went up to seven. I’m not sure. Now, you got my money?”

“Sure,” the Cowboy said and shot them both in the chest.

The shots were loud, but people, especially travelers, tend to ignore noises like that.

There is always a backroom behind the counter of a hotel.

The Cowboy grabbed the dealer by the feet and pulled him into the backroom. He found the security recorder and managed to extract the memory stick. He shoved it in his pocket as he went back to get Bruce.

As he had done with the dealer, the Cowboy got hold of his ankles and pulled his body off the chair. His head hit the floor with a “thunk.”

At that moment, the elevator doors opened, and Jorge started to step out. The Cowboy looked up, and their eyes met. Both froze.

Jorge unfroze out of fear. He hit the “Door Close” button, then hit five.

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The Cowboy was only steps away, but by the time he got to the door the elevator was on the way up.

A second elevator stood ready beside the first. The Cowboy pushed the button for it to come down. The door opened immediately. He hopped on and pushed five.

Jorge, taking a huge chance, hit the three button. It stopped at three, and Jorge hopped off, hoping the elevator would continue on to five. He got to the staircase and listened. There was nothing but the silence of an empty space.

The elevator car stopped at four to pick up a family going down to the pool. In bathing suits and full of vacation excitement, they got on the car going up instead of waiting for the other car to go down. The Cowboy was trapped. The family laughed when a little boy said, “I thought we were going down!”

The Cowboy hopped off on five about the same time Jorge was exiting the staircase. The problem for Jorge was that he came out behind the hotel, and his car was parked in the front. Not wanting to get back into the fray, he began walking, realizing that he had been very lucky. This time. *** Shine, Simon, Home Chain, Roy, and I were already in the van when my phone buzzed again.

“Sorry, change of plans,” Jorge said. He explained what had happened as he walked.

“He looked up and saw me, and our eyes met. I knew at that moment he was after me.”

“Where are you now?” Simon asked.

“I’m not sure,” Jorge said. “I see a billboard up ahead. I think it is advertising an insurance company. It has a lizard on it.”

“Gecko,” Simon said.

“Keep walking,” Shine said.

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“If he keeps walking, he’s going to be in Santo’s neighborhood,” Simon said.

“Depends on how fast he walks.”

“Go to the billboard, wait there for us,” Simon said. Jorge agreed and hung up.

“Problem solved.”

“Yeah, unless he’s being followed,” Home Chain said.

“Sounds like the same guy that kidnapped us,” I said.

“Yeah,” was all Shine said.

“We got to get rid of this guy,” Simon said, “How?” I asked.

“Like dump his body in the Potomac,” Simon said.

“No. No violence,” I said.

We rode in silence.

The Cowboy stood silent in the hallway on the fifth floor.

A sixth sense told him that the air was still. No one had been here in a while. He realized that Hydiigen had doubled back. He pressed the button, and an elevator rose from the third floor.

He heard a scream come from the lobby. When the door opened a moment later, he saw the family huddled together, the parents shielding the eyes of the kids.

The father looked at him and said, “Someone’s been shot!”

There was Bruce, face up, in a pool of blood. His heart must have still been beating. The Cowboy kicked himself mentally for allowing a mistake like that.

“Quick,” said the Cowboy. “Get back to your room. The shooter might still be here. I’ll call 911.” He should have shot them there in the elevator, but a family gunned down was going to draw a lot more attention than a couple of twenty-year-olds.

The cops would not let that slide.

The parents hustled the kids back into the elevator. The Cowboy walked through the lobby and out into the parking lot, where he spotted Jorge’s car. A flicker of hope passed through the Cowboy.

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He got into his car and rounded the building, looking for an exit to the stairs. Once he found it, he tried to put himself in Hydiigen’s shoes. He most certainly would walk along the road and head to the most lit area. The Cowboy drove slowly towards the lights.

Jorge was walking quickly and out of breath. He thought about contacting the Englishman and explaining that the plan was working well, and he would like a bit of help, but eluding this killer seemed to take priority.

The road was a four-lane, with two lanes of traffic going in opposite directions. He was walking towards oncoming traffic.

He looked over his shoulder constantly to see if he was being followed. Once he got to the billboard, he found that the giant pole supporting it was a good twenty yards off the road. He could only stand here, on the berm, between the road and the guardrail.

He might as well have painted a bullseye on his back.

Traffic on the road was sparse. Most cars only slowed a bit when they spotted him standing there. Then he noticed a car on the other side of the divided highway that was moving slower than the others as if it were searching.

Jorge stepped over the guardrail and scooted over the embankment before the headlights landed on him. The car passed and kept going.

“Sorry, change of plans again,” he said into the phone.

“Why? What happened?” I said.

“I believe I may have been spotted. They have already driven past me once.”

“OK,” Simon said. “Go to the other side of the road. If they come back, they will be on the opposite side. You’ll be able to spot them before they spot you. Keep crossing every time you see them, so you are on the opposite side than they are.”

“You’re pretty good at this stuff,” I said.

“Still alive, ain’t I?” “Then what?” Jorge asked Simon.

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“Should be a stop light up ahead, go right. Walk two or three blocks until you come to a laundromat. Go inside and wait for us. Watch out the window, but don’t get seen. We’re in a white van.”

I hung up.

“Hope he stops at the laundromat,” Home Chain said.

“Me too,” Simon said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Next block down is the bodega. Sometimes, pretty nasty people at the bodega,” Simon said.

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Chapter 55 The Cowboy had spotted Hydiigen cowering under the guardrail, but there was no way to stop and get him in the car without causing a commotion. Even though the traffic was light, there were enough people to call the police from their cars if they spotted an altercation between two normal-looking people.

If it were two street people, the drivers wouldn’t give it a second thought.

He kept going until he could turn around. It took longer than he would have liked. He had to wait at the light and go around a couple of blocks until he was back on the right road.

Again he slowed near the spot he thought Hydiigen might be.

He spotted him walking on the other side of the road. This was turning into a nightmare. Now, he would have to drive clear back to the hotel before he could turn around again.

Hydiigen had also spotted him and picked up the pace. The intersection was a half mile away.

The Cowboy watched Hydiigen in his rearview mirror. He could see the figure crossing the highway. The Cowboy pounded his fist on the steering wheel. He put his foot into the accelerator.

If he didn’t get him before he got to the stoplight, he would lose him, and he would have to start at square one again.

Jorge realized that it was going to be a sprint to get to the intersection. If he could get there, he could fade into any of the side streets or businesses. He would be very difficult to find. The love he had for spy novels was paying off in real life.

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He was breathing even harder now, sweating freely. He was not used to this kind of exertion. He listened for the traffic coming behind him, waiting to hear if anyone was slowing. It was useless to look for the car now; the darkness had fallen, and all he could see behind him were headlights. The berm was uneven and rough, and he was blinded by the occasional car coming at him.

It seemed to take forever, but he reached the intersection without seeing the car again. He had to cross all four lanes to take the right and hit the correct street.

This was not a light that had a walking signal for pedestrians.

Jorge waited for a break in the traffic and dodged behind a delivery van. He made it to the median between the two roadways and stopped to judge the timing of the final two lanes. He was on a cement island to which the light poles were anchored. He was illuminated like an actor in a play.

The green light was turning yellow, and the traffic slowed.

Within seconds he would be able to cross into relative safety. As the cars stopped at the light, he stepped out into the street and crossed in front of the car in the first lane. As he passed the car in the next lane, he glanced up and saw the killer behind the steering wheel.

Jorge froze. Their eyes met for the second time. Then Jorge smiled and waved, realizing that if this man was trying to kill him, he could have already shot him. No, they wanted him for information and that meant a kidnapping on a busy American street. Not an easy thing to do one-on-one.

Jorge walked on across the street then stepped up onto an actual sidewalk and didn’t look back until he heard the traffic start to move.

The car with the killer in it turned at the light and slowly drove past Jorge, then on up the street. It went to the next stop light and then turned right.

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a small tree planted. Tiny buds were growing on the ends of the twig-like branches.

Jorge moved between the parked cars and crossed the street on the opposite side of where the car had turned. He walked past a kid dribbling a basketball, then a young Asian man locking a bike to a railing.

By now, his breathing had gone back to normal, but his shirt still had sweat rings under the arms and around the collar. The front of his pants was dirty from his time on the ground under the guardrail. For a rare bookseller, he was a mess. None of the people on the street noticed his appearance.

He walked through the next intersection, then the next, keeping his head on a swivel and looking for the killer. Without realizing it, he walked right past the laundromat.

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Chapter 56 The Cowboy had found a parking place on one of the side streets. He felt like luck was starting to swing his way. He jogged up the street parallel to the one Hydiigen was on. The neighborhood didn’t look great, which meant people were going to mind their own business. Once he got to a spot that was probably a block beyond Hydiigen, he would cut over to the same street and wait for him to walk by.

He scanned the area as he waited. A kid in an oversized Wizards jacket leaned against a light pole a block away. He kept his hands in his pockets and absently looked up and down the street.

The kid spotted Jorge first. He pulled a phone out of his pocket and called someone. The Cowboy watched and followed his sight line straight to the oncoming Jorge.

Again, he was on the wrong side of the street. Hydiigen was searching behind instead of ahead; he kept looking over his shoulder. The Cowboy crossed the street and passed by the kid.

He was nearly up to Jorge when Jorge spotted him.

The Cowboy saw the panic in Jorge’s eyes. Jorge cut back through the parked cars and across the street. He darted in front of an oncoming car. The driver honked and skidded; Jorge passed through and onto the sidewalk. The Cowboy followed.

Neither noticed, but the spot where they crossed had four open parking spots where no one dared to park, right in front of a bodega that was open. Jorge had only taken one step, and the Cowboy had caught up.

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The Cowboy had a gun held against his thigh. He grabbed Jorge by the shoulder and spun him around, leveled the gun at his stomach.

“We are going to walk quietly back to my—” the Cowboy started to say when he felt cold metal on the back of his neck.

“You need to rephrase that,” Simon said. He held a big black pistol.

“This is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world,” Simon said. “I always wanted to say that.”

Bangers started to pour out of the bodega. Jorge, the Cowboy, and Simon stood motionless. Instantly, there were ten men all with the same weird haircuts in a semi-circle around them. They all were armed, warned by the lookout, and ready to protect their turf from whatever was going on.

“What we got here?” said the guy with the most gold chains.

“What we got HERE?” Simon said. “Rejects from the Warriors?”

At that moment, the van slid into the empty parking places.

The door slid open, Home Chain and Roy were inside with a gun in each hand, aimed at the group. Simon slowly inched the pistol away from the Cowboy’s head and toward the group.

A metallic click came from the doorway of the bodega. A barrel pointed out at the van. Everyone heard it, and like a signal, the gang slowly raised their weapons.

Gold Chains said to Simon, “You got a smart mouth.”

“You ain’t got nothing smart,” Simon said.

The longer this played out, the more time they had for reinforcements.

I was in the passenger praying for Emmanuel to show up when I heard the driver’s door open and close behind me.

Shine, unarmed but massive, strode around the front of the van and into the middle of the confrontation. As he passed by Simon, he put his hand on Simon’s gun and moved it back down to the Cowboy’s back.

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He came up to Gold Chains, grabbed the front of his shirt with both fists, and pulled him close enough to whisper in his ear. The tendons in his forearms taut under the skin.

Anyone in the gang could have shot him, but no one did.

Even Gold Chains, who was at point-blank range, didn’t give any sign that it even entered his mind.

Shine whispered something, and Gold Chain’s eyes widened.

Then Shine shoved him away and turned back to Simon.

“Get in the van,” he said to Simon.

He pulled a stunned Jorge gently by the arm and guided him into the very back seat. Simon, gun still drawn, folded into the seat beside him.

Home Chain pulled the door closed, and Shine got back in and pulled away from the curb.

I watched out the window as the gang turned their attention toward the Cowboy.

“What will they do with him?” I asked.

“Depends on how he acts,” Simon said. “If he gets mouthy with them, they going to put a beating on him. If not, they probably just take his gun, phone, and money and send him on his way. They running a business; they don’t need problems.

Right, Shine?”

Shine kept driving.

“Well, that was all very exciting,” Jorge said, sweating profusely. “Wild West and all.”

“Just the way we do,” Home Chain said.

Roy turned around and stared at Jorge. “What up, white dude?”

We entered the kitchen with one more mouth to feed. Our group continued to grow, making Clooney more and more uncomfortable. The good news, especially for Simon, was that Veronica was there with an enormous amount of Chinese food.

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just happened, or maybe Shine wanted us to be alone. Not much happened by accident around Shine.

“I have to ask,” I said to him. “What did you whisper to the gang guy with the chains? He looked scared to death.”

Shine said, “‘Peace be with you.’ That’s all I said. I don’t know why I said it. It was like I became someone else. He looked at me like I changed into someone else.”

We were both quiet. “Maybe you did,” I said. *** Clooney had already started eating out of the container at his workstation. He seemed to eat neater with chopsticks than with any of the other utensils he normally used.

Simon gave an awkwardly long hug to a blushing Veronica.

But she did not pull away. He gave me a wink.

Introductions were given all around. Clooney made Jorge give him his cell phone. Jorge told his story from the beginning.

“And this stone, no one knows if it really holds the key to anything?” I asked.

“All speculation,” Jorge said.

“So,” Simon said, swallowing a piece of General Tso’s Chicken, “We only knew about Arquette. We thought he was the one who snatched you up after the dinner. We didn’t realize there were two groups until after we got chased at that Italian restaurant.

Well, I had some thoughts that it might be more than one group.”

He smiled at Veronica.

“And I had never heard the name Arquette. The Englishman thought it must be a member of his group, but he never mentioned a name. I must let him know who—” “No way,” Clooney interrupted. “Nothing goes out of here until we’re done. This operation is totally dark. We’re dealing with some rich, powerful people who have more resources than some 234

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governments. One wrong move, and we are totally screwed. No one does anything without checking with me first.”

“Got it,” I said.

Simon mock saluted. Veronica giggled.

“How is it we are going to return the stone to the rightful owners?” Jorge asked.

Clooney glanced at me, and I looked at Shine. He gave me the slightest shake of his head.

“First, we need to take Arquette out of the picture,” I said.

“Then we will deal with the stone.”

“And we can all go back to our normal lives,” Jorge said.

Simon looked at me and said, “Yeah, whatever that is.”

“Arquette is staying at the St. Vincent. I suggest that Simon pay him a visit tomorrow, and we can get this ball rolling. You think you can do this without totally messing it up?” Clooney asked.

“Man, I’m the John Shaft of this operation.”

“Shaft?” Home Chain said. “He’s a mean mother—” “Shut your mouth,” Simon said in a woman’s voice.

“I’m just talking about Shaft,” Home Chain said.

They all laughed. Even Shine had a sliver of a smile.

“I don’t understand,” Jorge said.

“Me neither,” I said, laughing.

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Chapter 57 The next morning, the Cowboy woke up on a bench overlooking Chesapeake Bay. He could hear seagulls and smell the water. He ached all over, and his mouth felt swollen. To be honest with himself, the whole side of his face felt swollen.

This was it; he was done. He had told himself all along that he should have ended it when the plane crashed. Now, his clothes were torn, he had no money, and he was certain that several teeth were loose. All that being said, he was probably lucky to be alive.

He could still walk away with half the money plus all the money he had hidden away.

All he had to do was get to a nice hotel, tell the concierge that he had been mugged, and ask for a computer to access his money, then disappear. As he stood, pain racked his ribs and back. He began limping toward downtown.

An hour after the Cowboy had decided to retire from his current profession, Arquette was having orange juice and Eggs Benedict from a room service cart. He had tried calling the Cowboy to no avail. He stopped calling when it occurred to him that the phone might have fallen into the wrong hands.

The thought of being this close to acquiring the stone excited him. But having the plan disrupted again angered him. So much so that he was finding it difficult to enjoy his breakfast.

The nightstand phone rang. He took a sip of juice before he answered.

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“Mr. Arquette, there is a man here at the desk insisting on speaking with you,” the hotel manager said. “He is becoming quite agitated.”

Arquette’s first thought was the Cowboy. His phone must have been compromised, and this was the only way to make contact. But his anger rose quickly. They were never to be seen together.

Now, he was making public contact.

“Put him on,” Arquette said.

The phone was handed over.

“Good morning, Mr. French Fry,” Simon said.

Arquette recognized the voice immediately but was too stunned to say anything.

“Did I wake you? You not much of a talker first thing.”

“Walk away now or my security will be down and drag you away,” he said in a soft low voice.

“I’ve already got about six hotel security people around me right now, threatening to call the cops. Couple more of your goons aren’t going to make much difference.”

“You do not want to cross me again, I can assure you.”

“Francois, again with the threats,” Simon said. “The last two times didn’t go so well for you, did they?”

“Put the manager back on the phone.”

“I don’t think I shall,” Simon said. “If I leave now, you’ll never get THE STONE,” he said loudly.

“Do not speak so loudly.”

“Cops come now, I gotta tell them what this all about.”

Arquette was not used to being on the side without any leverage.

“You heard from your boy lately?” Simon said. “The one that has been chasing Hydiigen?”

Arquette had gone from surprised to angry, and now he was starting to get panicked.

“Stay there. I’ll send two of my men to fetch you.”

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“Fetch? What, you think I’m a dog?”

Arquette had the pleasure of hanging up on him.

Simon handed the phone back to Mr. Rayburn, the manager.

“Mr. Arquette is sending someone down. He also said that I should pick out a gift for myself in the Men’s Shop and charge it to his room.”

Mr. Rayburn smiled, but it was forced.

By the time Arquette’s men exited the elevator, Simon had picked out a stunning Thom Browne briefcase. “No need to wrap it,” he said. “I’ll carry it out.”

They flanked him in the elevator, with Simon a step ahead.

They were not the size of Shine but still bigger than Simon, dressed in dark suits.

Simon sniffed them. “You don’t smell French.”

They didn’t react.

One of them nodded down the hall when the elevator door opened. They walked in the same formation to a double door at the end.

“They train you to walk like a flock of geese?”

One knocked, and the other opened one of the doors.

Arquette was sitting at the room service cart in a white hotel robe.

“I like the robe, very classy. Don’t suppose there is one lying around my size?” Simon said. He carried his briefcase to a couch at the foot of the bed and sat.

“What is it you want?”

“The first thing I want is to know that you are wearing something under the robe. I don’t want any nasty surprises if you know what I mean.”

Arquette ignored the comment.

Simon stood and moved the breakfast cart close to the couch.

“What, no pancakes?”

“What has happened to ‘my boy’ as you put it?” Arquette asked.

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“Don’t really know. I just know he’s out of the picture.”

“And you’ve come here to tell me that? And by the way, how did you find me here?”

“First, I didn’t come here to tell you that, and secondly, I have ways.”

Arquette took a sip of juice, trying to appear relaxed.

“I know where the stone is,” Simon said. “But not for long.”

“What do you mean?”

“I know where it is, but they are going to move it. Soon.”

“When?”

“In the next couple of days.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Money,” Simon said.

Arquette let this sink in. “And you can get the stone for me?”

“No, no. That ain’t me. I’m not stealing nothing.” Simon picked up a piece of toast and scooped a pile of blackberry jelly onto it.

“A million dollars. I give you the location and when it’s being moved. Then I disappear, never to be heard from again.”

“A million dollars is a great deal of money,” Arquette said.

“It is to me, not to you. You’ve probably already paid that much to your boy, and he ain’t produced squat. He gone.”

Simon took a bite.

“And why should I trust you?” Arquette asked.

“Oh, you shouldn’t. My friends trust me, and look what I’m doing to them; I’m selling them out,” he said while chewing.

“You really got nothing to lose. You’ll never miss a million, and you got a chance of getting the stone.”

“A chance?”

“Like I said, I tell you where it is. The rest is up to you.”

Simon surveyed the cart while Arquette tapped his finger on a plate.

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“Big risk, big reward,” Simon said, deciding on another piece of toast. “There is a guy on a TV commercial that says, ‘Talent is everywhere, opportunity is not.’ This is big for me. Not too often that I got something to trade for a million. And it’s a deal for you, too.” He took a bite. “But like I say, it’s a limited-time offer.”

“What about the priest?”

“He’s a truly nice man. He doesn’t know about any of this, so leave him alone.”

“And how did you come across this information?”

“Man, I’m like the real-life Jason Bourne. I’m crafty.”

“Crafty or not, I could have one of my men dispose of you right now.”

Simon leaned back on the couch.

“You could, but then you would never get the stone. Plus, I got a friend who is going to the cops if I don’t walk out of here in a few minutes.”

“How would this work?” Arquette asked.

“Once you decide it’s in your best interest to pay me, we meet somewhere out in the open. We swap the money for the info.”

“You want cash?”

“No, baby, I’m higher tech than that. You could shoot me after I give you the time and place. I got an account in the Cayman Islands. Admittedly, it’s only got around fifty-four dollars in it right now, but it’s a real account. You transfer my million into my account, and I give you the time and place the stone is being moved.”

“Where is it being moved to?” Arquette asked.

“I don’t know, but I think it’s like a fortress, like it’s part of the government. The place to snatch it is in transit.”

Arquette started tapping his finger again.

“Tick-tock,” Simon said.

He stood and pulled a folded-up piece of notebook paper out of his jeans and tossed it on the cart. “Here’s my number, call me when you decide. Don’t be dumb.”

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He started for the door and Arquette said, “Wait.”

Simon stopped.

“I do not want to call your phone. I will give you a burner.”

He stood and walked into another room, then closed the door behind him.

Simon shook his head and said to himself, “Different worlds.

Nobody in mine would leave me in a room alone.”

He walked over to a closet. There on an upper shelf were three hotel robes, each folded neatly and packaged in plastic. He took two and placed them in his new briefcase.

When Arquette returned, he was back sitting on the couch.

Arquette handed him a phone with a phone number taped to it.

“I will call this phone soon. If anything happens before I call you, call the number I have attached. I will make arrangements on my end.”

“You’re gonna have no regrets,” Simon said as he walked to the door.

“This is gonna be your personal triumph, like Napoleon at Waterloo.”

“Napoleon lost at Waterloo,” Arquette said.

“Huh, I thought he beat that piano player, Duke Ellington.”

Arquette slammed the door behind him.

After leaving the building, Simon walked four blocks east and waited on the corner. The van pulled up without coming to a complete stop. Simon slid in.

Shine looked at him.

“I think he bought it,” Simon said.

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Chapter 58 Sixteen pallets were arranged into neat rows along the side of the warehouse. Strapped down on twelve of the pallets were 3-D copies of the stone. The copiers in the booths were hard at work producing the last four. Off to the corner was a seventeenth pallet which held the genuine stone.

The vans had started to roll in as well. Four identical vans at a time, then the drivers got back into one of the vans to take them to bring four more.

Clooney was cockier than ever. He had never pulled off a caper this intricate, with so many variables and so many nuances that were so creative. This plan would not only protect the stone but lure out all the factions responsible for the crimes.

He had printed off company logos to be placed on the sides of the vans. Adhering them to the sides would be a job for later in the evening. The decals read ‘Capital Heating and Air Conditioning.’ He had even included a caricature of a little man in a gray uniform holding a wrench. The man looked a great deal like Simon.

Colin was glowing. The copies were perfect, the business was finally starting to make money, and his estranged wife was talking to him again. His life had certainly brightened since he hooked up with the FBI. He loved these guys.

Jorge had a restful night at the hotel even though a double homicide had occurred downstairs. After waking, he made a decision.

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Jorge was bugging out; this escapade was over for him. He called the Englishman and told him the man had followed him to Washington and killed at least two people. The stone was soon to be in the hands of the U.S. government, and he did not have to worry about it falling back into the hands of those who tried to steal it. If he wanted the stone back, he would have to do it through diplomatic channels. He had survived a successful kidnapping and unsuccessful murder attempt. The people in this country were too close to the edge of insanity for his liking. He assured the Englishman there was nothing else he could do here.

He would be happy to continue his commitment to the group as he had before if he could only go back to Norway.

The thought of his little book shop felt warm and wonderful.

The Englishman agreed, and he thanked him for his honesty and his above-and-beyond service.

Jorge took the Englishman’s credit card and headed for the airport.

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Chapter 59 Kim, the Chief of Staff ’s secretary, answered on the second ring and asked me to hold. He was on in seconds.

“Must be a slow day,” I said.

“There aren’t any slow days,” he said.

“I won’t keep you then.”

“What do you need?”

“Some more FBI agents,” I said.

“You didn’t like the last ones we sent.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Well, no.”

He sounded distracted like he was talking to me and doing something else on his desk.

“We need sixteen,” I said.

“Sixteen?” Now I had his attention. “I can’t just send you sixteen agents. That’s as many as we sent to get Bin Laden. What are you doing that you need sixteen agents? Sounds like you’re invading a country.”

It wasn’t unusual for Jimmy to get fired up, but it was usually Simon who did it, not me.

“It’s just for a couple of hours as a distraction. They are just going to drive a van around for a few minutes. Come to think of it we probably need two in each van, so thirty-two agents.”

“There’s no way. Do you know the paperwork it took me to get those last three, plus the favors I had to call in?”

“You did the paperwork?”

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“Well, no, but somebody did. This isn’t going to happen. I can’t keep running government assets for the Vatican, or whoever it is you’re tangled up with this time. Are you still working with the other two? The computer experts? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

I had an idea. “Do you know someone at the Academy?”

Jimmy thought, then yelled to his secretary, “Kim, do we know anybody at the FBI Academy?” She said something that I couldn’t hear clearly.

“Ok, we might,” he said.

“What if you asked for some of the junior agents to volunteer?

Like extra credit. Maybe get their picture taken with your brother?”

“We call him Mr. President around here.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“When would you need them?” Jimmy said begrudgingly.

“Not for sure, sometime in the next couple of days. But they would have to be here within a couple of hours of when I call.”

“That’s just great. The instructors at the Academy will love that. Anything else?”

“Have you ever heard of the Infinity Stone of the seed vault?”

“Seed vault, yes. Infinity Stone, no. Geeze, what are you into?”

“You might want to look them up,” I said.

“Have you ever heard of the Catholic Church involved in some sort of time travel?” he asked.

“No. Are you kidding?”

“Forget I asked.”

“Anything else?” he asked again.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “There may be a man walking in the South Norfolk area who is an assassin for a European billionaire. Might be a good idea to pick him up until this thing is over.”

“Geeze,” he said again. “I’m a political appointee. I can’t just have somebody picked up. People have rights, even assassins.”

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“Can’t you tell the NSA director to put out an APB or a BOLO or some acronym on him? I think it will pay off big if they can be patient.”

“Is that it? I mean, is there anything else that I can do for you?”

“You are sarcastic today,” I said.

“Now I have a question for you, as your friend.”

“OK.” “Are you still a priest? You’re sure not acting like one.”

He hung up.

That stung. *** Arquette texted and wanted the information. Simon said no texting; he wanted to hear Arquette’s voice.

“Now, do you believe it is me?” Arquette asked.

“Yes, I do,” Simon said happily.

“I am going to take you up on your offer,” Arquette said.

“Smart choice, Francois. Here’s how it is going to work.”

Simon explained the interaction.

“Why do we need to meet in an open area?” Arquette asked.

“Because you might get the information then shoot me,” Simon said.

“If I have the information, why would I have someone shoot you?”

“Because I think you’re mean like that,” Simon said. “That’s the way you Frenchies are.”

“But after you have the money, you could shoot me,” Arquette said.

“Why would I do that? You still aren’t thinking right. We’re both getting what we want.”

Arquette said nothing.

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“I know it’s you now, so I’ll text you the time and place. This is gonna be great, Frenchie. It’s gonna go so well you’re gonna want to kiss me on both cheeks, and I’m gonna let you.”

Simon hung up. “How’d I do?”

“You sounded good, excited.”

“I’m going to let him sweat for a while. What we need is a picture of one of the vans with the decal on the side—a bad picture, like it was taken undercover. I’ll send it to him with the address of the meet. This is fun,” he said.

I had to admit, it was fun for me too.

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Chapter 60 The meeting was set for that evening in a large parking lot for a defunct battery factory.

Everyone was giddy. The good news, especially for Simon, was that Veronica was there. Clooney was insisting that she had to be part of the plot to handle the technical aspects. Simon happily agreed.

“Bonnie and Clyde, baby,” he said.

We were at the house. If everything went well, we would not be back. The people who ran Clooney and Veronica would scrub the house and move the equipment to the next location. Everyone but Clooney would spend the night at the 3D warehouse. He would remain in the house until the scam had been completed.

I had to call Jimmy back. He was not going to be happy.

“What now?” he said after Kim had transferred the call.

“We’re going to need those agents a bit longer than I originally thought,” I said.

“Not going to happen,” Jimmy said. “These people are not just sitting around at the Academy. They are actually in training.

Plus, I can’t send them into a situation that isn’t safe. I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know the people that you’re with, and they don’t exactly follow procedure. I’m sorry, figure something else out.”

“Thanks for trying,” I said, and meant it. I could tell below all the gruff he felt bad.

“Let me know if there is anything I can do unofficially.”

“Did you find anything on the seed vault?” I asked.

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“I have a dossier, but I’ve only perused it.”

“It’s interesting,” I said.

“OK, OK, I’ll read it.

He started to hang up, then said, “You didn’t have anything to do with a mess at a museum, did you?” *** In the living room, Home Chain and Roy were watching The Munsters. Simon and Veronica were having a quiet conversation off in the corner, and Shine was somewhere that Shine disappears to. Clooney, as always, was perched behind his computer screens.

“We have a slight glitch,” I said. “No one to drive the vans.”

“No FBI?” Clooney said.

“Nope, Jimmy couldn’t do it. More than likely didn’t want to do it. I can’t blame him,” I said.

We thought quietly, only hearing Herman’s deep “Ho, Ho” laughter.

“We have drivers,” Home Chain said.

Roy raised his hand, “I can drive,” he said.

“See what I mean,” Home Chain said.

Clooney chuckled. “This is great, just perfect.”

He began crafting a text.

Twenty minutes later, Shine started shuttling homeless people to the warehouse.

249

Chapter 61 The sky was azure and cloudless as Veronica pulled into the empty parking lot. They parked at the west end. Arquette and his crew would be looking into the setting sun if they pulled into the east end, which they did. Two big black cars with at least six of Arquette’s men inside.

Simon and Veronica got out and opened the trunk. Simon lifted out a drone and placed it on the pavement. Veronica removed the controller from the back seat. The drone floated into the air and followed above as they began the walk to the center of the lot.

Simon was dressed as usual in a loose black T-shirt and jeans.

Veronica was the complete opposite of the elegant, gowned beauty at the museum. She wore black spandex tights and a tight crop top. A dragon tattoo rose out of the tights and twisted around her back, coming around on the other side of her rib cage.

Her ponytail was pulled through the back of her black baseball cap. She wore several heavy gold chains. The micro camera was hidden in her aviator sunglasses.

Arquette’s men got out of their cars and stood with hands folded in front, waiting for him to emerge. All were large and muscular under their dark suits. They could have doubled as Secret Service agents.

Arquette got out and began walking towards Simon and Veronica. The two security guards from the hotel room were at his sides.

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“This feels like the third Pirates of the Caribbean when the two sides are walking toward each other on the sand bar,” Simon said. “You seen it?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she said.

“We’ll have to watch it then, all three movies.”

They met in the middle. The sun was dropping, creating a layer of pink on the horizon. The only sound was the drone humming overhead.

“What is that thing doing?” Arquette said.

“Whoa, what happened to the silver-tongued devil I heard at the museum? Is that all just an act, Francois?” Simon said.

“Who is she? Why is she here?”

“She’s my old lady,” Simon said. “And she’s here to fly the drone.”

“And why do you need the drone?”

“Same reason you got these thugs, protection.”

“The drone does what?”

“I told you I was high-tech, baby. The drone is recording us.

The feed is going back to a safe place. If something happens to us, the recording is automatically sent to Channel 5 News. If this all goes smoothly, I get there and delete the feed. I got this covered.”

“What if we complete the deal, and you send it in anyway?”

“What kind of schools they got over there in France? What?

Did you go to school to get stupid?” He turned to Veronica, “That’s one of my favorite lines from The Godfather.”

He turned back to Arquette, “Why would I want to incriminate myself if we do this deal?”

“Do you have the information?” Arquette said.

Simon handed him an index card. Arquette looked at both sides.

“There is nothing on it.”

“Invisible ink,” Simon said. “Takes a special light to see it.

Arquette glared at him.

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Simon said, “You put the money in my account. ZZ and I walk back to the car with one of your buffalo here, and we give you the light. If he doesn’t like what he sees, he can shoot us then.

You can blame it on him.”

Arquette was steaming.

“Take it or leave it,” Simon said.

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Chapter 62 Back at the house, everyone was gathered around the monitor, watching Veronica’s video stream. The microphone was in one of her chains. The drone was not filming like they said it was; it had a far different task.

“Shall I call my banker?” Simon asked.

“Why do you need to call the bank?” Arquette asked.

“This is all new to me. I don’t want to mess anything up. Plus, ZZ doesn’t trust you, do you, honey?”

Veronica had no expression and remained silent. “She the quiet type. Silent, but deadly.”

“Are you armed?” Arquette asked.

“Heavily,” Simon said.

“But my men are also armed. And there are twice as many of us as there are of you.” Arquette smiled a greasy smile.

“Frenchie?” Simon said. “You keep underestimating me.”

Simon raised his hand and made a twirling motion.

The mirror on Arquette’s car exploded. A half second later, a gunshot echoed across the parking lot from somewhere in the abandoned factory.

Everyone jumped except Simon and Veronica.

“Now shall I call my banker?”

Again, Arquette glared.

Simon produced a phone and punched in some numbers.

“Mr. Saxton, please,” he said, smiling widely.

“Yes, I would like to confirm a transaction coming into my account. No, not yet. Yes, momentarily. Yes, I will hold.”

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“Your turn,” Simon said.

Arquette pulled a phone out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and began putting in numbers.

“Wait,” Simon said. “Let me see the total before you hit the send button.”

Arquette pushed a few more numbers, then held the phone up for Simon and Veronica to see.

“You counting those zeros, baby?” Simon said. ZZ allowed a smile to creep across her face.

“Those are dollars, right? Not some euros or something weird like that?” Simon asked.

“Dollars,” Arquette said.

“Okay, send it, baby!”

Within a millisecond of the send button being pushed, the drone picked up the signal and gathered the rest of the money in Arquette’s account like a vacuum. It was suctioned into a Clooney account, then split into dozens of ten-million-dollar accounts that were transferred to banks all over the world. Then split again and transferred into more accounts. The cloned phone had allowed him to create the algorithms and codes to break through the firewalls and into the virtual vault. All that in the time it takes to blink.

Simon still had the phone up to his ear. Clooney came back on.

“Sir, the funds have been successfully transferred into your account. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

“No, Mr. Saxton, that’s it for today,” Simon said.

“Well, Mr. French, it’s been great doing business—” Simon started.

“The light,” Arquette said. “To read the invisible writing.”

Simon chuckled. “There isn’t any writing on the card; I was just messing with you.”

One of the guards took a step toward Simon. Arquette didn’t stop him.

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“That kind of stuff is funny to me. I’m sorry. Just relax. Tell King Kong to take a step back.”

“The stone is in a warehouse on Suncrest Boulevard. It’s in the one-thousand block. You can’t miss it, security fence all around it. Everything else in the area is closed. Kind of like this place.”

“The security there, is it good?”

“Oh yeah. It looks soft on the outside, but they got it laced up on the inside. You’re not gonna get in there; way too risky.

They are moving it sometime tomorrow. That’s gonna be you best chance.

“Where are they moving it to?”

“Don’t know,” Simon said.

“How are they moving it?”

“They are using a regular van, like a company van. Here I have a picture.” Simon found the bad photo of the van and showed it to him.

“Not an armored car?”

“Nope, this is all on the down-low. They figure nobody knows where it is, so why advertise they have something valuable? It’s gonna look like a couple of air-conditioning guys going out on a job.”

“How do you know it’s there? Arquette asked.

“Because I took it there.”

“Why there?”

“Because that’s where they told me to take it.”

“Who told you?”

“The FBI,” Simon said.

“You said nothing of the FBI being involved,” Arquette said.

“You didn’t ask,” Simon said.

“If they are running this, we will need more men.”

“That’s all on you,” Simon said. “I wouldn’t worry about the FBI on this one. They think this assignment is beneath them.

Bunch of Captain Americas wanting to root out terrorists.

They’re not worried about anyone stealing a rock from them.”

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Arquette was thinking.

“That’s all I know; you can do whatever you need to do. So, in the words of some famous French guy, au revoir, we’re outta here.”

They turned and started walking back to the car. Just for good measure, Home Chain put another shot into the pavement ten feet away from Arquette’s shoe.

Once in the car, they drove to the back of the factory. Home Chain was waiting for them.

They called Clooney. He was screaming into his headset.

“We got it! All of it! We did it. We made a rich man poor!”

“What about any other accounts?” Veronica asked.

Clooney calmed a bit. “I’ve got a virus eating through his accounts. If there is other money, he won’t be able to touch it. He won’t have any idea what happened.”

“Oh, he’s gonna know,” Simon said. “But hopefully, he won’t be able to do anything about it.”

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Chapter 63 Simon reached across the console and held Veronica’s hand.

“We make a pretty good team.”

She smiled but didn’t say anything.

“I kind of liked this ZZ persona. Which one is the real you?”

“I am a little of both, but mostly Veronica,” she said.

“That tattoo is hot. How come I didn’t see it in the evening gown?”

“The tattoo is too low across the back to be seen in that dress.

Either that or you weren’t looking in the correct place.”

“Oh, I was looking,” Simon said.

“Hey, you two know I’m still back here,” Home Chain said from the back seat.

I was with Colin trying to explain why an army of homeless had invaded his place of business. I hoped white lies were acceptable to Emmanuel because I was producing them like Old Faithful produces steam.

I told him that the FBI had a program to hire homeless for menial jobs. Clooney had also placed an extra ten thousand in his account to house them overnight, hoping that none of them broke anything. Two men, Jess and Mutt, got into the copying booth and managed to get Mutt lasered. Collin stopped them before a plastic Mutt was created.

The place smelled like pizza and body odor, with body odor the slight winner. They were a loud, happy bunch, full of pizza and a warm, dry place to stay. The thought of a nice paycheck also added to the cheer.

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My biggest worry was their driving ability. I prayed there would not be a demolition derby as they exited the building. All I had done was ask for a show of hands of who could drive.

Colin’s biggest worry was that they would come back.

A few conversations continued, but most had quieted once they had snuggled into their sleeping bags that had been acquired

by Clooney.

Simon and Veronica had pulled their bags over, away from everyone, and were deep in conversation.

Someone had turned off most of the overhead lights. I sat there in a folding chair, staring at a stack of empty pizza boxes and thinking about what Jimmy had said. Not acting like a priest anymore.

I supposed he was right; my life was not normal for someone in my position. The last thing I had really done for the church was to investigate the face in the tree, and that wasn’t very priestly.

The strange thing was that I felt closer to God now than when I was a pastor of a church. I certainly was more efficient in this role. I was torn.

One of the homeless men got out of his sleeping bag. He found another folding chair and pulled it directly across from me.

It was Emmanuel. “How’s it going?” he said.

I had to smile. He always showed up when I had some doubts.

“You are speaking a little more, hip?”

“I am picking up the slang from you and your friends,” he said. His smile radiated across the building. I couldn’t believe no one else noticed.

“I sense you are having some self-doubt,” he said.

A soft snore rose from the mass of bodies.

“Yes, or maybe self-worth might be a better way of putting it. Am I worthy of calling myself a man of the cloth anymore?”

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Another snore came and joined the first. Strangely, they were harmonic.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Words have meanings and different connotations, but in the end, they are just words.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.

“Are you here in this situation because you chose this route?” he said.

I had to think back to how this started. It seemed like so long ago.

“Someone came to Simon and me for help, then he disappeared.”

“So, you got involved to help someone? Like the Samaritan?”

“Well, yes.”

“And your lives have been at stake at times?”

“Well, yes,” I said.

“And what of the effect you have had on the people around you? Are you a Godly presence in their lives? Do you show them how patience and love can be lived?”

I didn’t know how to answer.

“Words are just words. How you live is the true measure.”

“So I just keep doing what I’m doing?”

“God puts you where are. How you act is up to you,” he said.

He stood.

“Do what you can,” he said and started walking.

“That’s it? It’s that simple?” I said.

He turned back to me, but it wasn’t him. It was a grizzled old man.

“What’s simple?” the man asked.

I got the burner phone and called Clooney. “Slight change of plans,” I said.

He let loose with a string of cussing that burned my ears.

“Just words,” I thought to myself.

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Chapter 64 “Hear me out,” I said after he calmed down.

“We don’t want any of these people getting hurt. Some of them might think what they have is valuable and not want to give it up if they get stopped.”

“OK,” he said.

“What if we put only one stone in one of the vans? There will still be a diversion. They’ll still have to follow and stop each van.”

“Who’s going to drive the van with the one fake stone?”

“I will,” I said.

“Why you?”

“I’m the good guy in all this. It wouldn’t be a surprise if I was the one handing it off to the FBI.” “What about the extra stones we had made?”

I thought for a second, and then I had it. “We can use a couple of them to make everyone happy. The rest Colin can have. He can store them here in the warehouse,” I said.

“Is he going to want to do that?”

“We can pay him. We have a couple of billion lying around.”

I knew that would be the clincher for Clooney. He would love to use Arquette’s money in a plot against Arquette.

“All right, that doesn’t mess things up too badly. I can write up some government contracts to pay Colin per month indefinitely,” Clooney said.

“We all set for tomorrow?” I asked.

“Yeah, unless you start changing the plans again.”

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I talked to Colin, and he agreed. He was ecstatic to get a guaranteed income for something he had already created. The warehouse had plenty of square footage that he was not using.

We found a space in the rear of the property that was large enough and had a sliding metal door. Within minutes, we had loaded all but one of the fake stones into the room.

261

Chapter 65 The day started sunless, just a brightening light spreading across an overcast sky. Arquette had deployed his men in parked cars at carefully selected spots in surrounding streets. None could be seen from the warehouse. He was the only person to have eyes on the building itself. His car was hidden near one of the abandoned buildings a half mile away. He watched the doors through Leica binoculars. Nothing was happening. He could see no lights or movement from inside. Doubt began to creep in. He was beginning to wonder if he had been double-crossed, and he was watching an empty building.

He had picked up a few extra men. The addition of FBI into the mix had added an extra risk, no matter what the black man had said. They would be well trained even if they weren’t enthusiastic about this mission. He was putting one of his team in each car along with one of the new men. He felt his experienced men would have no trouble with the FBI; it was the new people that he worried about.

Several miles away, in a Walmart parking lot, the black tractor-trailer used in the two unsuccessful drone missions sat ominously in the early light. From the outside, it was a dormant dark husk, but the interior was teeming with activity. The same pilot was at the controls, but this time, he had a whole new set of flyers to work with.

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of individuals or vehicles on the ground, all while keeping a record and predicting behavior.

The only drawbacks were time and distance. The drones’ battery life was limited along with their range. Once out of range, the system could predict where the target was going but could not follow it. Any attempt to intercept a target would have to be done within a specified range. They were going to try to beat Arquette to the punch.

The top section of the trailer had a retractable roof like a sunroof in a car. A dozen drones sat there, charged and waiting for launch.

The pilot, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, was having yogurt for breakfast and listening to the Ramones on earbuds. His boss, dressed in the crispness of a military man, slapped him on the top of his head. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Gabba gabba hey,” the pilot said. *** Shine had left in the middle of the night before any of the surveillance teams had been put in place. He had met with Jimmy, who had been unofficially apprised by Shine since day one of this situation.

Jimmy was issued a government car, which he hadn’t used since his brother had become president. The car was for family errands by aides and assistants for everyday household things.

Jimmy and his wife were trying to patch up the marriage, but as of now, she and the kids were still out of the house.

“Take the car, leave yours in the garage,” Jimmy told Shine.

“Please don’t get it shot up like the last one you had. And don’t let anyone get killed.”

“Only the bad ones,” Shine said without smiling.

The tone gave Jimmy chills.

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Shine drove around and found a Dunkin’ Donuts and bought four large containers of coffee and a baseball hat. Once those were in the back seat, he headed to the warehouse.

He slouched down in the seat to hide his height and pulled on the baseball hat as low as it would go. By winding through a grid search around the neighborhood, he spotted two of the surveillance cars. After that, he drove to the gates of the warehouse, called inside, and drove through the opening gates.

“They’re out there,” he said to me once he was inside. “I stopped looking after I spotted two.”

Simon appeared when he smelled the coffee. “You get any pancakes?”

Arquette was on the walkie-talkie. “We have movement,” he told his men in the cars. “Car with government plates. One driver, no passengers. It may be soon, or it may be later, but we can at least assume this is the right place. It could be an FBIissued car. Stay alert.”

The scanner in the trailer crackled. “They’re talking,” said a technician with a German accent. The mission leader appeared in the doorway.

“What did they say?”

“A car has arrived at the warehouse. They are staying vigilant.”

“Everyone on their toes. Launch the primary drone to observe the building. If we see the van leave, we launch the swarm. Got it?”

All the techs in the trailer said, “Yes, sir.”

Without looking, the drone pilot raised his arm and gave a thumbs-up.

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Chapter 66 The aroma of coffee wafted across the warehouse. The printer in the office started shooting out copies of instructions for the exodus of the vans. Clooney chose routes that were so far apart that any cars following would be spread thin.

Clooney was also sending assignments of who would be paired with whom, which was causing some disagreement.

“I don’t care who goes with who, just so there are at least two in each van,” Clooney said over the phone.

“Some of them aren’t waking up so good,” Simon said, pulling up a folding chair. “They’re used to sleeping as long as they want.”

“They need some food,” I said.

“I need some food,” Simon said.

“Let’s get some food,” I said.

“Who’s going to drive? We don’t want to be recognized. We’re not supposed to be here.”

We looked over the group of prone bodies. “I don’t know,” Simon said. “Can we trust one of them to drive to Dunkin’ Donuts?”

“We’re trusting them with the stone,” I said.

“Yeah, but this is donuts we’re talking about,” he said.

In the end, we asked Colin if he would go. Shine peeled twenties off a roll of bills he pulled out of his pocket and handed them to him.

He used the same car that Shine had arrived in, which sent both surveillance teams into a tizzy. Arquette decided since it

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was a car that would not be able to transport the stone, they would let it go.

The other team in the trailer decided to track it with the Beta drone as far as they could. They videoed the driver going into Dunkin’ Donuts and then leaving minutes later with several large bags.

“Do you think it’s a dead drop, sir,” asked one of the technicians.

“It’s an order of donuts, you moron,” said the pilot before the supervisor could answer.

“Could be a diversion,” the supervisor said. “Swing Beta back to the warehouse.”

The drone was flown back and positioned above. A few minutes later, the car returned and reentered the building.

“Donuts,” the pilot said.

Twelve dozen donuts later everyone was ready to go.

“I’m not so sure this is a good idea, getting them all sugared up and sending them out on the road. Should we wait until the morning traffic calms down?” I asked.

“No,” Shine said.

“We’re gonna do better the more confusion there is. We gotta make this seem real,” Simon added.

“It’s time,” Shine said. “Call Clooney.” *** The Hino vans were lined up single file to prevent anyone from being out of order. Each was shiny and white, with the caricature of Simon plastered on the side.

Simon hadn’t really noticed it until now.

“That look familiar?” he asked me.

“Do you mean the picture? No, doesn’t look like anybody I know.”

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Home Chain and Roy started passing out the T-shirts with the same logo on the front. Clooney had also ordered baseball hats with the logo on the front panel.

When the drivers shuffled by wearing both, Simon looked up and said, “Come on, man.”

Even Shine had a little smile.

Simon was giving each person in the vans a twenty-dollar bill and mumbling about getting no respect.

Everyone was raring to go. A couple of them had trouble buckling their seat belts. That should have raised some red flags, but we were too far along to start double-guessing and rethinking. One guy jumped out of his van and made a last raid on the donut table, searching frantically through the boxes. He found some singles, tossed them in a box, crushed it under his arm, and dashed back to his van. The others in the vans whooped and hollered.

I was the seventh van back in the line, six in front and nine behind me. Home Chain was at the large door, waiting for it to go up. Once the first van left through the door and cleared the parking lot, he was to signal the next van. Every ten seconds or so, another van should leave and add to the confusion.

We were sure Arquette’s plan would be to stop the van a few blocks away. That way he would avoid any FBI interference by agents left in the building. We would soon see.

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Chapter 67 It nearly didn’t get started. The door raised, and the first van pulled out slowly. It stopped as the gate gradually swung open.

The driver of the second van didn’t wait for his signal and busted out of the warehouse and ran smack into the rear of the first van. A headlight busted and tinkled to the pavement. The two in the first van had their heads snapped into the headrests.

Luckily, they acted like nothing happened. As soon as the gate opened completely, they took a left and drove on. The two in the second van took a right and drove right through a stop light.

After that, the plan went more smoothly: odd numbers to the left, evens to the right. Once the odd numbers got a block over, they would split north and south. Being number seven, I came out and turned left. After that, I had no idea of what was happening behind me.

As soon as the door raised, Arquette was on his radio telling everyone to be prepared to intercept the van. He gave the order to follow when the first van came out of the darkness of the warehouse. Then he watched the van get rear-ended by another van. He froze when they drove off in different directions.

“We have two targets. Marquise, a van should be approaching you….”

The third van appeared and drove off in the direction of the first.

“We have three vans peeling off in different directions if…” there was a pause. “Four vans now.”

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The vans continued to pour out of the warehouse. Arquette watched as his anger grew.

“We have multiple Hino vans with an air-conditioning company logo on the sides. Detain every van you see. Check inside,” he screamed into the radio.

The supervisor in the trailer was watching the monitor and saw the first two vans hit. “We have two targets,” he said into his headset. “Launch the swarm.”

The controller quickly sat straighter in his chair and pulled out his earbuds. His three monitors sectioned off into many smaller screens, each with a feed from one of the drones. Once they were at a prescribed altitude, the artificial intelligence found the growing number of targets and narrowed the number of images to one per van. Each van had only one image on the controller’s screen instead of several views of the same target.

He watched the sixteen vans and smiled to himself. Whoever set this up was a genius. *** Clooney was frustrated. He could not tell what was happening.

The traffic cameras were sparse in that part of town, and when he did catch a glimpse of a van, he couldn’t tell who it was and if they were going in the right direction. The only thing he could do was watch the tracker he had put on the Father’s phone.

The drivers were having a good time in the vans. Every last one had given up on the instructions that Clooney had written and was driving large squares through the streets. They would drive a couple of blocks, take a left, then a couple more, and take a right at the block. Every time one would pass another, they would blow their horns and wave. It got funnier each time they passed.

Arquette was not enjoying this. At all.

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“Stop any van you see! Make sure there is nothing hidden in the back!”

He had his driver round the building and head in the direction of the last van that left the warehouse. They caught sight of it as it slowed for a four-way stop. The driver gunned the motor and was quickly behind it. The van they were following pulled out, and before they could follow, another van blew through the fourway in the opposite direction without slowing down. Arquette watched them go, both wearing their baseball caps sideways.

For the first time, Arquette noticed the logo on the side of the van looked a lot like someone he knew.

The driver followed the first van and let the second one go.

“Stop it,” Arquette yelled at the driver.

The driver raced ahead, slowed, and angled the car, blocking the van in a lane.

Arquette jumped out and tried to open the van door. The two inside just smiled at him.

“Open the door,” he screeched.

They seemed amused at his behavior, which made him even angrier.

Arquette looked around, then pulled a pistol out of his shoulder harness and tapped it on the window.

The driver opened the door.

Arquette grabbed the driver by the shoulder and pulled him from the seat.

“That ain’t nice,” the guy in the passenger seat said.

Arquette stepped up into the van and looked over the seat.

The back was empty.

He climbed out, walked past the man that he had just yanked out, and got back in the car.

“Does anyone have anything?” he said into the walkie-talkie.

“Searched one van, got nothing.”

“We looked inside of two others, nothing in either.”

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Behind them, the driver put the van in reverse and backed away. He busted off a mirror on a parked car and knocked over a mailbox a little farther down the street, then pulled away down a side street.

“We are stopping the same vans,” he said into the walkietalkie. Another van crossed in front of them two streets away.

“After you search the van, take the keys.” He put the walkietalkie on the seat beside him and rubbed his eyes.

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Chapter 68 The supervisor looked over the pilot’s shoulder at the monitors.

“Watch,” the pilot said. “They’re searching the same vans.”

The supervisor said nothing.

“I hope this works. They may not be smart enough to find it for us.” The interior of the trailer was quiet except for the sound of the computer fans. Soft lights blinked on the consoles; everyone was working efficiently, oblivious to the chaos happening around them.

I was driving along, waving and honking at the other vans that passed me. I was really starting to enjoy this.

The problem was that I was nearly to the highway. If I wasn’t caught by then, I would have swing around and weave my way back toward the warehouse. That might just be too easy, even for them.

I glanced into my mirror and saw a black sedan heading for me. I took a right. It was still behind me and closing the gap.

The street was a narrow two-lane with cars parked on both sides. I slowed to let him close the gap between us. He passed and cut me off.

The guy got out of the passenger side and pulled a gun. He walked and pointed it at me at the same time.

I took my hands off the wheel and held them up. He grabbed my door handle and didn’t seem surprised that it wasn’t locked.

“Out,” he said.

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I put the van in Park and slid out. He got in and looked in the back.

“We got something,” he yelled to the man still in the car.

The man in the car got out and held the gun on me. The other one came around and opened the side door.

The stone was covered and tied with a painter’s drop cloth.

The man pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and cut the cords. Then he peeled back enough of the section to see it was what they were looking for.

“We got it,” he said. “Let Mr. Arquette know.”

I started to walk away.

“Where you going?”

“I don’t know what you guys want, but I don’t know nothing about anything. I’m just a delivery guy,” I said.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say so.”

“Uh-oh,” I thought. “This wasn’t part of the plan.” *** The warehouse felt empty with everyone gone. Colin, who had kept out of everyone’s way, started cleaning up all the trash.

Roy had left Home Chain’s side for the first time and was helping collect the donut and pizza boxes. He was also searching for any tidbits left inside.

“Feels like we got left out of the action,” Simon said to Veronica.

“Got left in the lurch!” Roy yelled from across the room.

“Shut up!” Simon yelled back.

“Got left in the lurch, down at the church,” Roy yelled back a little more quietly.

“But everything is going according to plan, is it not?”

Veronica asked.

“We sat on a perch when we got left in the lurch down at the church,” Roy sang.

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“Shut up!” Simon shouted again.

Roy didn’t shut up, but he did lower his voice to a mumble.

“This ain’t feeling right. Shine, this feeling right to you?”

“Nope,” Shine said.

“I’m calling Clooney,” Simon said.

“Put it on speaker,” Shine said.

Everyone gathered around the phone. Everyone except Roy, who was trying to figure something to rhyme with “lurch,” “perch,” and “church.”

“What?” Clooney said in lieu of hello.

“What happening with vans?” Simon asked.

“I can’t see squat,” Clooney said. “There’s not enough traffic cams.”

“What about Father Kenzee? can you call him?” Veronica asked.

“I could, but I wanted to see all the vans. It’s not going to help much talking to just one of them.”

“I’m gonna call him. You do what you want,” Simon said.

“Call him on his phone, not the burner,” Clooney said.

“He has two?”

“I didn’t want him calling me on his real phone.”

“But you have a burner too.”

“It’s way harder to track two burners than one,” Clooney said.

“Remember, I got caught once, not happening again.”

“I’m calling,” Simon said.

“Don’t call the burner,” Clooney said before Simon hung up.

Simon called. No answer.

“That’s not right,” he said.

“Nope,” Shine said.

“We know the general direction he went,” Veronica said. “We could be the eyes on the ground.”

They piled into the government car, which was a tight fit for all of them, especially with all the guns. Colin raised the door, and they drove off to the left.

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“Something seems to be happening here,” the drone pilot said to his supervisor. He used a mouse to click on one of the live videos on his monitors. It enlarged, and the scene showed three men out of their vehicles. By the positioning of the car, it was clear that the van had been forced over. Two men in suits were around the van, and the van driver was standing back.

“I think you’re right. When they stopped the other vans, they didn’t linger; they left. This might be the one. I need confirmation before I make any calls. Keep an eye on this one.”

275

Chapter 69 I started to sneak off while they were both looking at the visible part of the stone. They weren’t paying too much attention to me. If I would have inched away and gotten behind a parked car, I could have made it. I moved too quickly.

“Hey! I told you not to move!”

“No, you told me I’m not going anywhere. I thought you meant in life in general,” I said. Simon was really rubbing off on me.

“Put him in the car,” the other one said.

He walked past me, grabbed my shoulder again, then opened the car door and pushed me in the back seat.

“You want me to call, or do you want to call?” one guy said to the other.

“I don’t have his number, do you?”

It was fairly evident that one of these guys was a bit farther up the IQ ladder than the other one.

He slammed the door on me, and I saw it. The key was lying on the console. Push-button ignition might stop hot wiring, but it didn’t help with auto theft when the key was left in the car.

As soon as he turned to go back with his buddy, I climbed over into the front seat. I landed with my ribs thudding into the stick shift and my head hitting the steering wheel. I was quick, but it wasn’t my most graceful moment. While I was scrambling to get into the driver’s seat, I reached out to pull myself up on the steering wheel. I hit the horn by mistake.

The long blast so close made both men jump.

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“Hey, what are you doing?” He walked back to the car.

I pushed the door lock button. All four doors locked with a loud click.

He was on the passenger side, bending down and looking in at me. He pulled a pistol out from under his jacket and tapped the window with the barrel. “Open the door.” He said.

I shook my head.

“You don’t open the door, I’m gonna shoot you. I swear to God.” Instinctively, I pushed myself back against my door and away from him. My hand felt something in the pocket of the door. It was a pistol, the grip sticking up from the pocket.

I pulled it out and pointed it at the guy. His face went from annoyance to fear.

Without any thought, I turned my aim to the right and shot out the back window. It exploded with a deafening sound. The guy with the gun dropped out of sight. Immediately, there was a scream. The man standing near the van was now leaning back against it, holding his leg.

The man on the ground was no ballerina. He was floundering on the cement, trying to get away from the car without getting in my line of fire.

I pushed the start button, and nothing happened. I was at the point of panic when a message came up on the dashboard that told me I needed to press the brake for the car to start.

I did, and the motor turned over. It roared into life as I yanked the stick into reverse and gunned it.

Except I wasn’t in reverse; I had put the car in drive. I was looking out the back window when the car started forward.

Instead of hitting the brake, I pushed the accelerator harder. The car jumped the curb, and I ended up in someone’s yard throwing a fishtail of dirt and clods of grass. The house was on a corner lot. Instead of pulling back onto the street, I rounded the house, ruining two of the yards.

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There was no real logic to my thought process, but I did manage to get the house between the bad guys and myself. I used the driveway to get back out onto the street.

Shine had told me once, “In a situation when you don’t have an advantage, get as far away as quickly as possible, then reevaluate.”

I was doing that when I met another of Arquette’s cars. As they passed by me, they saw a lone man driving and no one in the passenger seat.

I acted as calm as a man who had just shot someone could.

I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw their brake lights brighten. They stopped and started backing up. I hit the gas again and took a right, almost hit a pedestrian, and took another right.

I was on a four-lane now, two lanes on each side of the yellow line. The traffic here was much heavier. I was weaving through it, not having any idea where I was going. I nearly sideswiped a car that was changing lanes, and I could hear horns honking behind me. I passed through a traffic light just as it was turning red.

In the mirror, I could see one of the black sedans weaving through the traffic I left in my wake. Emmanuel appeared in the seat beside me.

“Have you ever seen the bumper sticker that says, ‘Jesus is my co-pilot?’” he said. “Ta-da.”

“I need some help here,” I said.

“Did you not just have a getaway car handed to you?”

We took a left turn too fast. Emmanuel was thrown into his door.

“And you gave me a gun?” I asked.

“No, that came with the car,” he said. “You didn’t have to shoot anybody. That one’s on you.”

Someone else honked a horn at me.

“Michael, you’re going to hurt someone. You need to pull over.”

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I knew he was right; he always is.

I heard sirens. Two police cars were approaching, so I pulled into the nearest open space. They sped right by.

I started to say something else, but Emmanuel was gone like he was never there.

Once they passed, I got back on the road at normal speed.

The black sedan was still behind me, only a couple of cars back. It seemed that now I was traveling at a normal speed, they weren’t quite sure what to do. Maybe they thought I would open fire on them again. I decided to turn and start back to the warehouse.

The ball was in their court now. *** The pilot and his supervisor watched the entire thing play out.

“The delivery man that’s being chased has to be a professional driver, or he’s really lucky,” the drone pilot said.

“My money is on lucky,” the supervisor said. “Can you switch back to the van he was driving?”

“I can, but he’s almost out of range. If he keeps going, I’ll never get him back, even if he turns around and comes back into range. Too many black sedans.”

“Let him go. We need to see what happens with the van he was driving.

“You got it.” The screens switched back to all the individual cameras on the drones. He moved the cursor and tapped on the view of the van.

The two men were still with the van. One was on the ground, leaning back against it. The other was hovering over him.

Because of the black suit, it was impossible to tell how badly he was bleeding.

“I can’t believe the driver shot him,” the pilot said.

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“He could have shot the closest man, but he didn’t. Must have just wanted to wound him. Pretty good shot, missed the femoral artery.”

“How do you know?”

“There would be blood everywhere if he hit it.”

“We’ve got some movement,” the pilot said.

“Yep, here comes the cavalry.”

Arquette’s car, along with two others, stopped in the street behind the van.

“Get him in the car. Take him to the hotel, and we will see how bad it is. Don’t let him bleed all over the seats.”

Arquette waited until the man was helped into a car and driven away before he exited his car. He was impatient. He had never seen the stone in person.

This had gone tragically sideways. The shooting had complicated everything he thought he knew. He tried to rationalize what he knew.

“Mr. Arquette?” one of his bodyguards said. “We need to get you away from here. This was a scene of a shooting.”

He was right, of course, but if the drivers were FBI, the place would already be swarming with agents. They would not send an agent out alone and allow him to improvise like this.

Some of the neighbors had come out of their houses to see what was happening.

“Who tore up Wendel’s yard?” one of them said.

Arquette got out against the bodyguard’s advice and his own better sense.

The stone was mostly uncovered now, its shroud pulled back by the others who wanted to see what all this was about.

It lay there ugly and out of place against the clean white interior paint of the new van. Arquette thought that somehow it would have a beauty of its own, something one would have to see to understand. But it didn’t. It would have looked more natural sticking out of the dirt somewhere.

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Arquette stared for a couple of seconds, then walked away, got back in his car, and started barking orders.

The neighbors were getting closer and trying to look in the van. The crowd thickened.

“Are the keys still in the van?”

Someone said they were.

“Have two of the men get in the van and get it out of here.

Someone is going to call the police if they haven’t already.

Into the radio, he said, “Go with the van to the airport. One of you stay in front and the other stay behind. Let’s be sure that no one steals it back.”

The cars and the van pulled out, leaving the gawking neighbors milling in the street.

Arquette said into the radio, “I’m interested in the van driver who stole one of our cars and shot one of you. Does anyone have an idea where he could be?” he said sarcastically.

“We got him,” said a voice on the radio.

“You have him in the car?” Arquette asked.

“No. We’re following him.”

“We need to have a conversation,” Arquette said. “With this man.”

“We’ll get him boss.”

Arquette hated to be called “boss”—it sounded too American.

“Get him and bring him to the airport. And remember, he is armed; we do not want anyone else getting shot and drawing more attention to us. Do you think that any of you could possibly do that?”

“You got it, boss,” one of them answered.

“Americans,” Arquette mumbled to himself.

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Chapter 70 Arquette had taken the bait. He had the fake stone and was taking it to wherever. We didn’t care. By the time he found out it was a replica, we could say the FBI had it, and it was out of our hands. Simon had told him the truth and not reneged on the deal. His guys had screwed up. Not us.

The only snag had been me. None of us figured they would be interested in the driver. We thought they would be happy with the stone and forget about me. That is the way it would have gone if they had not gotten the extra local men. When they shoved me in the car, a chain of events began that no one expected. Now, I was important.

My phone buzzed. It was Simon.

“What’s going on? We’ve been hearing sirens.”

“Got in a little shootout,” I said.

“A shootout?”

“Well, not really a shootout. I was the only one doing the shooting.”

“You shot a gun. Where’d you get a gun?”

“It was in the car I took.”

“You stole a car?”

“I guess you could say I stole a car and a gun. And I shot a guy,” I said.

“You shot a guy?”

“Just in the leg. You’re going to have to quit repeating everything I say. It’s making this conversation too long.”

“Where are you?”

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“I’m driving one of their cars. Big black Mercedes-Benz. Not sure where I am. I saw a 7-Eleven and a restaurant called The Empty Plate.”

“We know where that is. Just pull over, and we’ll come and get you.”

“It’s not going to be that easy. I have a couple of cars right behind me,” I said.

“We’re already in the car,” Simon said. “Keep driving slow on the same street.

Another black car came from a side street, turned right on red, and slid into the lane in front of me. He started to slow down, boxing me in.

“Bad news,” I said to Simon. “I just got boxed in. I have nowhere to go.”

“Do you have two phones? Clooney said you had two phones.”

“Yeah.”

“Make sure they are both on and muted. Stick the burner inside your sock under your pants leg. Put the other one in your pocket. Stick the gun in your waistband, but don’t touch it when you get out. If they think you are going for it, you’re gonna get shot.”

“Ok,” I said and did what he said. “I’m completely stopped now.”

“They’re going to search you. Let them take the gun and your phone from your pocket. Don’t offer to give them up, just let them take them,” Simon said.

The men got out and surrounded my car. One particularly large one motioned for me to get out, which I did.

“Search him,” he said to another guy. He found the gun easily and took it. Then he stopped frisking me.

“What about a phone?”

He searched me again and found the phone in my pocket.

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lead car. The man frisking me was large around the middle and didn’t bend very well. He didn’t search below my knees.

“You,” the man who waved me out said. “Drive that car back to where we started this morning.”

“You,” he said, nodding to me. “Get in the car over there.

Back seat. I’ll go with you to make sure you behave.”

This guy didn’t shove me or put his hands on me, although I’m sure he would have if I had made a bad move.

“You’ve had a very busy morning, haven’t you?”

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Chapter 71 Simon called Clooney, “You tracking the Father’s burner?”

“No, but I can. Give me a sec.”

He came right back on. “OK, I have him. He’s traveling north.

Where’s he going?”

“Shine?” Simon said.

Shine, with a minuscule shake of the head, said, “No.” “We’re gonna follow him until we can figure out where they are taking him,” Simon said.

“They’ve got him? Who’s got him?”

“Arquette… we think.”

“I hate to tell you this, but the drones are at about twenty percent of their power. We’re going to have to bring them back soon.

“What do we have?” the supervisor asked.

“The van that caused all the commotion is headed north. The car chase is over, and the driver has been apprehended. The car he is in is also heading north. If I can squeeze a couple more minutes out of the drones and the car and van make a few turns.

The AI can predict where they both will end up.”

“Don’t take too long. These drones are too expensive to be dropping out of the air.”

“You’ll know as soon as I know. Anyway, they won’t be dropping, they’re programmed to calculate how far it is to fly back. They will return before the batteries die.”

“Just like the last one did?”

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“That one got shot down,” the pilot said. “Had nothing to do with me.”

“Still expensive, though.” *** I was in the big car with the three big men, two in the front and one in the back with me. He took up seventy percent of the seat.

“So,” I said, “How about them Yankees?”

“You got the wrong city, sport,” the man in the back with me said.

“What are Yankees?” the one in the passenger seat said in a strange accent.

“You guys don’t really work together, do you?” I said. “What?

Is it like some foreign exchange for criminals?”

The man beside me laughed. “I kind of like this guy,” he said to the others. Then to me, “But I still have to shoot you if you do something stupid, so don’t do nothing stupid.”

“Where are we going?” I said to make conversation.

“Yeah,” said the man with me, “I’d like to know too. My kid’s got a soccer game tonight.”

“Both of you shut up,” the man with the weird accent said.

“And it is called football, not soccer. Americans.”

“Nope,” I said. “It was actually invented in Wyoming by a guy named Larry. And he called it football.”

The guy beside me laughed again.

“Shut up,” the man in the front said again. “Both of you.”

I made a gun with my hand and shot the man through the seat. The man beside me smiled and nodded. We rode in silence for a while, then I said, “How about the radio?”

The driver looked at the man in the passenger seat. He shrugged. The driver depressed the dial. The Stones came on singing You Can’t Always Get What You Want. The man in the 286

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back seat sang along with me. When it was over, he fist-bumped me.

“Deno,” he said. “Deno DaTaglia.”

“Father Kenzee,” I said and extended my hand.

“Oh my God, it’s you. I knew I knew you from somewhere’s.

My wife is gonna blow her top. You was with Him, right? You’re the guy? Oh. My God!” “AI says they are going to the airport,” the pilot said to the supervisor. “Ninety-six percent accuracy. And some of the drones are coming home.”

“That’s it then,” he said.

He left the war room and stepped through the narrow hallway to his office. The diesel engine was running, and he could smellthe fumes coming up through the floor. The rear of the RV was designed to protect the sensitive and expensive equipment, not for his well-being. He got on the phone and relayed the information.

To his surprise, the voice on the other end thanked him and said their part of the mission was over. He was told to return to home base and disassemble the team.

Shine changed lanes and pulled across three lanes of traffic.

Roy was in the back seat and toppled onto Home Chain. Horns blew until they saw who was driving the car, then they went silently on their way.

“Shine got an inspiration, I can tell. Where we going?”

“Airport,” he said. “Got to be the airport.”

“Damn, man. He’s got the stone, and now he’s got the Father.

And that makes him a liability. I knew we shouldn’t have let him drive the van.”

“Got to get there before they take off,” Shine said.

Simon called Clooney. “You tracking the Father?”

“Yeah,” Clooney said.

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“Is he on a route that would take him to the airport?”

“Sure is.”

“Can you find out where Arquette keeps his plane?”

“That should be easy. I’ll text the coordinates as soon as I find them.”

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Chapter 72 The Cowboy sat in a Starbucks at the airport. He had learned not to sit at a table on the edge of the seating area. Always sit a row over and near the wall. Lessons learned from a past life.

He had cleaned himself up a good bit, even though he had to wear a COVID mask to hide the swollen mouth and eye.

With new tan slacks and a navy button-down shirt, he was as unremarkable as a traveler could get.

With a quick pull down of the mask, he could sip his coffee and wait to go through security later in the afternoon.

He noticed a man walking down the concourse who had a familiar stride. As the man came closer, he realized why.

Jorge was unknowingly headed his way, rolling a suitcase at his side.

A million to one chance, the Cowboy thought. Fate had finally swung his way. An easy chance to get the rest of his money and disappear. He left his coffee on the table and fell in ten yards behind Jorge. He dialed Arquette’s number.

“I have your package if you have the rest of my money.”

“You have what package?” Arquette asked.

“Hydiigen,” the Cowboy said.

Arquette hesitated. He nearly told him that he didn’t need Hydiigen anymore; he had the stone. But then it clicked.

Arquette was as happy about his good luck as the Cowboy had been. Two loose ends at once. “Where are you?”

“Where are you?” The Cowboy said.

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“I’m at the airport: private jet area, hangar thirteen. But I am scheduled to leave soon. When can you get here?” Arquette asked.

“Give men ten. Have the money ready to transfer, no Bitcoin.

And, Mr. Arquette, are you listening?”

“Yes.” “I’ve made provisions, no screwing around, no double cross, or you get burnt big time. Understand?”

“Oui,” he said and clicked off.

The Cowboy kept walking. ***

my

“Deno the Dino, they used to call me in school. Because of

robust size,” Deno said. “I used to break their pinky fingers when I heard them.”

I surmised it would be good to have a friend like Deno the Dino.

We went through the gate and around the private area of the airport. The road was lined on each side with dozens of Quonsetstyle hangars. A guardhouse with a steel gate separated us from the hangars. The driver flashed an EZ Pass type of gadget to a card reader. The steel gate rolled to one side. The road led to the rear of each hangar. The planes were brought in through larger doors on the opposite end of the building, where the pavement led to the runways. As we passed through the gate, we couldn’t see any of the airplanes, only the normal-sized door for people.

We stopped at a hanger marked 314. Once out of the car, the man who told us to shut up knocked on the door. Another big man opened it from the inside. We walked through.

A sleek private jet was parked inside, along with the van that transported the stone. The stone itself was still on its pallet in the middle of the floor. They had loaded it onto a rolling cart thing 290

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like you see at Lowe’s. The jet had its door open, and an unfolded set of steps dropped to the hangar floor. Arquette was standing over the stone along with a couple of other guys. He was smiling widely until he saw me.

“And here we have the thorn in my side,” he said. He walked toward our group, calculating as he came. “You understand if you had not ambushed me at the museum, you would not be in the predicament that you are in now. You are the only thread that leads back to me. You have made it difficult to allow you to leave.”

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Chapter 73 An elderly gentleman was helping an equally elderly woman out of an airport wheelchair at a Cinnabon. While their backs were turned, the Cowboy smoothly rolled the chair away without breaking stride. Moments later, he was directly behind Jorge.

“Mr. Hydiigen?”

Jorge turned and stopped.

The Cowboy didn’t. He plowed the wheelchair into Jorge’s legs and scooped him up. Seated, Jorge turned to look at the Cowboy.

“Don’t do or say anything, and you won’t be hurt. Understand?”

Jorge nodded.

“This is called a carotid sinus massage. It won’t hurt you, but you may wake up with a headache. It’s better than being drugged, don’t you think?”

Still rolling the chair, the Cowboy applied pressure to Jorge’s external carotid arteries. Jorge slumped to the side.

He found a security guard and said his friend wasn’t feeling well. He asked for directions to the private hangars. The guard said he would call ahead so they wouldn’t be delayed.

This part of the airport was quiet, especially for an airport near a large city. Many of the private jets were owned by corporations who used them sparingly. The attraction was not particularly for their use but for tax write-offs. Using the airplane added to its expense; owning it added to the value. The accountants walked a tightrope.

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This part of the airport was also an important stop for items getting into the freeport system of storage. Some of the areas had vaulted storage, others less secure. Since an item was legally considered “in transit,” it could not be taxed by any country while in the freeport system—no matter how long it was kept there. Many of the vanished pieces of art around the world were thought to be in the vaults. Whether stolen or looted by the Nazis, experts agreed this was the place to hide illicit treasures.

Shine pulled the car up to the closed steel gate. “How we gonna get in there?” Simon said.

Shine got out of the government car and inspected the gate, the locks, and the hinges. Then he got down and looked at the wheels that allowed the gate to roll.

“Going to have to force it,” he said, getting back into the car.

He gently nosed the front bumper up to the gate. Then, he slowly pushed the car ahead. It met the steel and stopped. He increased the pressure gradually until the tires were spinning, pumping blue smoke. The noise was very loud but like an industrial noise you would hear at an airport. Burnt rubber hung in the air, and the car began to fishtail against the gate.

He released the accelerator, and it got conspicuously quiet.

“Check it,” he said to Simon. He got out and checked.

Through smoke he could see the steel had bent along the beam’s length. But a little over a long way added up to a six-inch gap at the end—just enough for them to squeeze through. Shine backed the car off the road and onto the berm, then joined the others on the inside.

The sky was darkening with the threat of an afternoon thunderstorm. The wind kicked up a bit. Some of the dusk-todawn lights were coming on.

They jogged up the road with Simon reading the GPS coordinates off his phone. Once they found the correct hangar, Simon opened the door and peeked inside.

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There was a short hallway which opened into the large hangar. Simon could see the tip of an airplane wing through the end of the hallway. He could hear voices near the airplane, but he couldn’t hear who it was or what they were saying. Past the plane, he could see that the large hangar door was open. The hangar lights were bright compared to the dimness outside the hangar door.

To his right was a metal door. He slowly turned the knob and looked inside. It was dark but appeared to be an office. There was a wooden desk, a battered swivel chair, and several avocado green file cabinets.

He pulled the door shut and put his finger to his lips.

At the end of the hallway, stacks of shipping crates created a barrier between Simon and the people in the hangar. Some of the crates were wooden, and some were heavy cardboard. But all were haphazardly stacked around the back of the hangar. A few were bubble-wrapped. None looked like they had gone through customs.

They stayed against the corrugated walls as they crept closer to the voices. Home Chain and Shine had pulled their guns.

At the end of the hallway on the right, just after it opened into the hangar, was a rough wooden staircase that led to the top of the arched ceiling. An upper level had been built to maximize the storage space. It was littered with the same kinds of containers, only smaller. These had been stacked against the railing, leaving a narrow passage along the back wall.Simon was close enough to hear what was being said.

He heard Arquette say, “You are making it difficult for me to allow you to leave.”

Shine moved to Simon. “Go around to the front and distract them. We’ll spread out back here.”

Simon nodded and slipped out the back door. A light rain was starting to fall.

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*** I had heard the conversation and knew Jorge was being brought here to the hangar.

“You have the stone,” I said. “Why do you need Jorge?”

“Oh, I see you are on a first-name basis with our Norwegian friend. Again, you are still a thorn in my side.”

“Make that two thorns,” Simon said, walking in through the hangar door. He winked at me, “What’s up, brother?”

He walked over to us, bouncy and loose as a slinky.

“I said the priest doesn’t get hurt. I got you what I promised.

Now you reneging?” Simon looked at me and said, “I got your back.” Then he smiled that big smile. The rain began to fall harder outside. A cool breeze blew into the hangar.

He turned back to Arquette, who had produced a small chrome handgun from somewhere.

“I told you where and when the stone would be leaving. That was my part of the deal.”

“But you did not say anything about the diversion with all the vans.”

“Man, I didn’t know about the vans. That was all the FBI.” “Those were not FBI agents driving the vans,” “Maybe they lowered their hiring criteria,” Simon said. And to me, “How about that word, ‘criteria’?”

There were still five of Arquette’s men around. The three that brought me, his driver, and the man that drove the van.

There were no guns visible, but I was sure each had at least one somewhere on them. None of them were impressed with the word “criteria.” Thunder rumbled in the distance.

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Chapter 74 The Cowboy had talked the airport security into giving them a lift to the private side. This was not the NSA for sure; they were helpful and friendly. Jorge was put, wheelchair and all, into the back of a van while the Cowboy chatted with the driver.

The driver pulled up to the gate and tapped his ID against the reader. The bent gate shuttered as it tried to roll itself back across the road. It got about halfway and stopped, but enough for the van to pass through. The Cowboy repeated the number of the hangar to the driver, who drove the length of the road to come around to the business side of the hangar.

They stopped in front of the open door. The security guard lowered the wheelchair lift, and the Cowboy wheeled Jorge off and waved to the guard. The drizzle turned into a heavier rain, dampening their shoulders.

Jorge was still dazed when the Cowboy rolled him into the hangar.

“Here he is,” the Cowboy said to Arquette. Then he saw the stone on its pallet. “That’s it? You have it?”

“Yes, and with no help from you,” Arquette said.

The Cowboy was so engrossed with the stone he did not see the small chrome gun in Arquette’s hand.

“Ugly, ain’t it? All this for an ugly rock that does nothing,” Simon said.

The Cowboy turned his attention from the stone back to Arquette. “Nevertheless, I want the money we agreed on.”

“Where’d you get this guy, Francois, Yelp?” Simon said.

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“Yet, here we are. I have the stone, and you have nothing I need, and you still want to be paid.”

Outside the hangar door, the rain came down harder, darkening the pavement and starting to form shallow puddles.

“Man, your face looks bad. Take off the mask. Let’s see how well you did in my world,” Simon said.

Both the Cowboy and Arquette ignored him.

“We had a deal,” the Cowboy said.

“You can’t trust him, he’s French,” Simon said.

“You assured me,” the Cowboy said.

“Just pay him,” I said like my two cents mattered. The other men in the hangar were quietly watching with interest.

Arquette slipped his gun into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tapped in some numbers. He stared back at the Cowboy.

Then he tapped in a few more.

Outside, the thunder rumbled, closer this time. The rain continued to fall at a steady pace.

Jorge was starting to mumble something, but the Cowboy and Arquette continued to stare at each other.

A voice came on the phone, and Arquette put it up to his ear.

We could only hear half of the conversation. “…Yes. …What kind of a problem?…What?…That cannot be correct! …”

He slipped into some very angry-sounding French words that Simon and I could not understand, but apparently the Cowboy could.

“You’re broke?” the Cowboy said.

“It seems that the bank has made a terrible mistake. There will be repercussions for this.” He thought for a moment, clicked off and then began tapping in more numbers. “Yes, I would like to check the balance of an account… Certainly…” he typed in more numbers. “No, there must be a mistake.”

The color drained from Arquette’s face.

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“Damn, I’m sure glad I got paid before the money disappeared,” Simon said. “Did you fill up the jet before you got broke?”

“I want my money,” the Cowboy said.

“Looks like you all ain’t getting paid either,” Simon said to the five men standing around. “Better tell your buddies to get their thug resumes on Indeed ’cause this job has been terminated.”

The men glanced at each other without saying anything. They had been around long enough to know when a ship was sinking.

One started for the cars, and the others followed. Deno winked.

“Sorry, Mr. Arquette, business is business,” one said.

“Doesn’t loyalty mean anything here in America?” Arquette yelled.

“You were saying?” the Cowboy said.

They took the two cars and drove away.

“Where are you going?” Arquette screamed. “Come back. I’ll pay double!”

“Two times nothin’ is still nothin’,” Simon said.

The Cowboy started in again, “I still want my money. You slide on this, and I’ll ruin you and your reputation.”

Arquette, in despair, pulled his gun and shot the Cowboy in the heart. He fell onto the floor with a small, ragged hole in his new shirt.

“Didn’t see that coming,” Simon said.

I bent down and started giving last rites.

“Now what? I suppose you want me to give you back the money you gave me?” Simon said.

“That would be a start,” Arquette said.

“That ain’t happenin’,” Simon said. “Veronica got it locked away somehow.”

“Who is Veronica?”

“I mean ZZ. She got lots of names.”

“You have the stone,” I said, standing up. “Just take it and go.”

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Jorge was finally coherent. He pushed himself out of the wheelchair and stood. He looked down at the body of the Cowboy. He quivered unsteadily, then sat back down.

“He will be of no help. I will need you two to load the stone onto the plane, and then we will take off together. If you misbehave, I will shoot you and drop your bodies into the ocean.”

“Just another couple of loose ends taken care of,” I said.

“One question, Mr. French?” Simon said. “You got no money to pay the pilot. Who’s going to fly the plane?”

“That will not be a problem,” came a voice from inside the plane. Everyone turned to look.

Exiting the plane and coming down the steps was the Englishman. He wore a perfectly fitted pale gray suit, white shirt, and black tie. His ebony shoes flashed under the hangar lights.

Jorge beamed.

“Who’s this guy?” Simon asked. *** “It is the man that first kidnapped me, then set me free. He released me so we could find the stone and return it. He is on our side,” Jorge said.

I wondered. This didn’t feel right.

Jorge started towards the man with his hand extended.

“Stay where you are,” Arquette said. And to the Englishman, “Why are you here?”

“Seems like they know each other,” Simon said.

“They are in the same organization. Arquette stole the stone from them,” Jorge said.

“So intelligent, but such a naïve idiot,” Arquette said to Jorge.

Arquette gave a narrow smile. “I’ll ask you again, why are you here?”

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“Why do you think?” He walked over and tapped the Cowboy’s leg with the toe of his polished shoe. “Is this the master criminal you hired?”

Simon and I were standing there like two simpletons, not knowing what was going to happen next. “What’s the plan?” I whispered to Simon.

He shrugged, “This is it,” he whispered back.

“What do you mean, this is it?” I said, trying to keep my voice under control.

“It’s all I got. You got anything?

Jorge looked very perplexed.

The Englishman said, “This has been a muddled-up affair from the beginning. The surveillance team has cost millions.

Now, we have bodies on two different continents and witnesses strung all over. They may not realize what the stone is, but they know you have gone to a great deal of trouble to get it.”

“You mean WE have gone to a great deal of trouble to get it,” Arquette said.

“No one has seen me,” the Englishman said. He was standing very straight with his hands clasped in front of him. “The only people that know I’m involved are standing in this room.”

With a flick of his wrist, something clicked in his blazer sleeve, and a small gun appeared in his hand. He raised it and shot. A pea-sized hole appeared in Arquette’s forehead. He dropped to the ground, his head landing on the Cowboy’s thigh.

“Did not see that coming either,” Simon said.

I bent down to start the last rites for Arquette.

“Man, I hope you have an unlimited supply of those,” Simon said. “The bad guys are dropping like flies.”

“But you were my friend,” Jorge said. “I was helping you retrieve the stone.”

“It was my plan once Arquette lost the stone. I allowed you to believe it was your plan. You led me right to it, as I knew you would,” the Englishman said.

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“When we had our conversations, you said it would be wrong for the people to live longer.”

“I said it would be wrong for people, not for me. I feel the need to extend my life much longer.”

“You don’t even know if anyone can find a way to make it work,” I said.

“No, but I do have a team of scientists ready to try,” the Englishman said.

“Then they will be loose ends as well?” I asked, standing back up.

“Perhaps, or maybe they will be willing to keep a secret for some of the reward. A scientist who lives for five hundred years may do a great deal of good. But that is all many steps away from where we are now.”

The Englishman’s back was to the back of the hangar. I saw a movement behind him, up on the landing. “The area in the seed vault has already been repaired, along with the video loop.

Anyone in my group will see the false image and believe I have reacquired the stone. It’s not as if anyone will actually check on it personally. I have made sure this time there are secondary security systems, which is what led to this whole debacle.”

“So now that we know all of that, he ain’t going to let us go,” Simon said.

There was an awkward silence. The Englishman was trying to figure out how to kill us.

I watched his eyes flicker to my right.

Deno stepped into the hangar. He had been standing just outside the big door, listening. He was soaked from the rain. His slicked back hair was falling into his eyes. He pushed it back with ham-sized hands.

The Englishman wanted to be startled, but his composure wouldn’t allow it. Thunder boomed outside. Deno stepped between the Englishman and Simon and me. He cleared his throat.

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“I don’t know your name, so I’ll call you Mr. Big since you seem to be calling the shots and shooting people, of which I have no problem.” He paused and gathered his thoughts, “Mr. Big, there seems to have been a lot of people getting shot around this area in the recent minutes.”

“Who is this man?” the Englishman said.

“My name is Deno DaTaglia. I was employed by Mr. Arquette this morning,” he said, looking down at Arquette’s body. “I am sure I am no longer in his employ since he seems dead. At least for the time being.”

Deno nodded at me and said, “I’m not sure if you know who this is, but this man is famous in a religious way.” He nodded towards me.

“Hey, does anybody remember me?”

We heard the low roar of a diesel engine approaching. A fuel truck rumbled past the hangar door. The driver didn’t look our way; he seemed to be focused further down the road. If he had, he would have seen the bodies with us standing over them.

The Englishman instinctively lowered the gun. I thought Deno might lunge at him, but he didn’t. He seemed to want to settle this without violence, excluding the bodies on the floor.

As soon as the truck had passed, the Englishman raised the gun.

“So,” Deno continued, “I am not sure what type of criminal enterprise is happening at this particular time, but I am asking that you do not inflict any killing on this priest.”

“The priest?” Simon said. “What about me? Does no one remember me?”

The Englishman took a long look at Simon, then shot Deno in the chest. I thought he had missed. Deno stood there without even changing the expression on his face. He took a step towards the Englishman, and the Englishman shot him again. This time, Deno went down, not like the other two, but gently. He stooped, 302

put a hand down, and sat as if he were sitting on the ground at a picnic. Then he rolled over flat.

“You three will grab the bodies and pull them over behind the shipping containers. My pilot cannot see them when he fetches the stone.”

“No,” Simon said.

Jorge didn’t move; he was trance-like.

“No?” the Englishman said.

“Nope,” Simon said. “We got the place covered. This ends now.”

The Englishman glanced to the sides. “Well, where are they, these friends of yours?”

“Please put your gun down,” I said.

A smile cracked the Englishman’s face. “You really don’t expect me to turn around, do you?”

“Shine, tell him you’re back there!” I yelled.

There was complete silence.

“Home Chain?” I said.

“And now, if you don’t mind,” the Englishman said, “The bodies.” He motioned with the gun.

“Nope,” said Simon.

“Please, I’m begging you, don’t raise the gun towards us.

Please!”

The grandfatherly face turned vicious. “You look a bit stronger,” he said to Simon. “You are useless,” he said to Jorge.

Then he looked to me. “That means you are more dispensable.”

He started to aim the gun towards me.

Before he could raise it halfway, his body jerked violently with the impact of four bullets. He fell, slamming into Jorge, both sprawling across the floor.

I glanced up. Home Chain stood in a cloud of blue smoke, a pistol in both hands. Shine was about twenty feet away, pistol drawn but unfired.

“Saw that coming,” Simon said.

303

Chapter 75 My first call was for an ambulance. It arrived about two minutes later. I guess it pays to get shot at the airport. Deno was conscious and, even with two bullets in him, talkative. He made me promise that I would meet his wife and kids. His mouthy mother-in-law also. That would surely move him up a few pegs in her book.

I had told 911 there had been an accident, so security didn’t come until the EMTs saw the pile of bodies.

Jimmy was my second call. I said we had an international mess on our hands, and he said, “Of course you do.” He knew exactly who to send.

Roy stood over the bodies and repeated the phrase: “Boys, we in trouble now.”

After a very quick conversation, we decided that Shine and Home Chain should vacate the premises immediately. They got to the car as the ambulance rolled in.

The EMTs got Deno on the gurney. Jorge was next. He, they were sure, had a torn ACL from the Englishman falling on his legs. They called a second ambulance for him.

The security people, not as friendly as the ones that had helped the Cowboy and Jorge, swarmed in with guns drawn. The place was as packed as a Taylor Swift concert. Within minutes, we were cuffed and seated against the wall.

Simon advised us not to speak to anyone until help arrived.

“Doesn’t that make us look guilty?” I asked.

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“We are guilty,” he whispered.

“Boys we in big trouble,” Roy said. *** “Here we go,” I heard Simon say as a big black government car pulled up in front of the hangar door.

The rear door swung open, and Mr. Kayden stepped out. Mr. Green got out of the driver’s door. They were followed by Ms. Carter.

“Aw man,” Simon said.

All looked much rested since I had last seen them after the kidnapping and escape in “Little Hombre.”

“Who is in charge here?” she said to a security guy who blocked her entry into the hangar. He went and got someone else, and they both went back and spoke with her.

Mr. Kayden waved at us from across the hangar. We couldn’t wave back with our hands cuffed. He and Green wore the same generic style of suits and ties as they had worn when we had last seen them. And they had the same goofy smiles on their faces.

After that, several black vans arrived. Gradually, the security people filtered away, and FBI people filled the room. They were divided into teams, some taking pictures, others retrieving evidence. Everyone ignored us.

Ms. Carter was still discussing something with the two security agents who were left. Kayden and Green were listening intently.

“I’m out of here,” Simon said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving,” he said. He rolled to his side and pushed himself up against the wall. He was standing in three seconds.

“You’re going to get in trouble,” I said.

“See that pile of bodies? You think we’re not in trouble already?”

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Then, he simply walked along the wall until he got to the hangar door and disappeared into dusk. I sat there with Roy. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast. Large puddles formed in the low spots in the blacktop.

It was several minutes before Ms. Carter glanced our way and noticed something was wrong. She charged our way, Kayden and Green following in her wake like baby ducks.

“Where’s Simon?” she asked.

“He left,” I said.

“What up, white woman?” Roy said.

“Where did he go?”

I raised my shoulders in a shrug.

“You got a file on me?” Roy asked.

She looked around the room wildly.

“Get these two into the car before we lose another one,” she said to Kayden and Green.

They helped Roy and me to our feet and guided us to the car over the protests of the remaining security people.

The car was like the one we had before. The two back seats faced each other, and the front seat could be separated from the back by a partition.

Green was driving; Kayden sat in front with him. The big engine roared to life, and we turned a 180 in a wide arc, heading back the way they had entered. We passed through the broken gate and down the two-lane that led back to the main airport.

“I see someone,” Kayden said.

I leaned up to look through the windshield.

A silhouette was ambling down the center of the road, smooth and easy, with hands cuffed behind his back.

Kayden pulled the car beside him and matched his speed.

Ms. Carter rolled down her window and said, “Get in.”

“How do you still have a job after last time?” He kept walking.

“Get in,” she repeated.

“What up, Simon?” Roy said beside me.

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“What up, Roy?” Simon said. He stopped walking.

“Get in,” she said again.

“Might as well,” Simon said. “Nobody left alive to kidnap us again.” *** To everyone’s surprise, Clooney was still at the safe house with all his equipment. He sat behind his monitors and the rest of us on the sectional. Simon and Veronica sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall, holding hands. Shine leaned in the doorway.

“I cannot believe that you were not involved in this,” Ms. Carter said to Shine. “You either,” she said to Home Chain.

Neither replied.

My phone was on the coffee table when Jimmy called. We listened on speaker.

“Okay. Let’s hear it,” he said.

We started from the beginning, even the things that he already knew. Simon filled in what I left out. After an hour, we were finished.

I could tell he had been taking notes as I talked. He only asked a few questions, so I could tell he had already known most of the things I was telling him. I would have bet he already had a plan in place, and I was solidifying his cover story.

Ms. Carter had started to interject once, but Jimmy had cut her off quickly. It hit me that was why she was here; he had leverage on her because of the mess she had caused the last time.

Now, she had to do whatever he said, including going along with this coverup. Heaven help me I was starting to understand politics.

“Everyone go back to what you were doing and where you were before this whole thing started. Father, go back to your house, Clooney, or whatever you go by, clear out. A team will be 307

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there to relocate your equipment by dawn. Simon, go to wherever it is you sneak off to and wait. You all will be given instructions later tomorrow.” Jimmy hung up.

Clooney motioned to Veronica. Simon and she walked over to him. They talked quietly for a moment, and then Simon smiled widely. He motioned with his head for me to come over.

Clooney was frantic. “You didn’t have anything to do with this?” he said angrily. “You’re the only person I know who has the skill to do it,” he said to Veronica.

“I swear,” she said.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Arquette’s money. It’s gone, all of it. Over three billion. Poof, vanished,” Clooney said. He was sweating. “It’s really impossible.”

Simon was smiling. He said to Clooney, “Tell him where it went.”

“Africa! It all went to Africa. Two billion is set in a fund for a hospital. A billion has been used to buy food! Do you know how much food that is?”

I had to smile along with Simon. “You think it’s about five loaves and two fishes worth?”

“I’d say that’s about right,” he said.

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Chapter 76 Simon and I were having toaster waffles the next morning at my house. We were up early for the trip we were about to take.

I had turned the TV on to see if there was any mention of what had happened at the airport.

I was putting a couple more waffles in the toaster when he yelled from the living room.

“Aw man, you got to see this!”

I walked in to see the serious face of Ms. Carter.

“Special Agent in Charge Carter is being given credit for unraveling an international ring of smuggling and espionage that has led to the arrest of dozens of factions throughout Europe.”

The reporter continued. “Special Agent Carter will be ending her career with the FBI later this month and is due to receive a special commendation in a ceremony with the president.”

“Can you believe that?” Simon said.

“America is a tangled and dark jungle,” I said.

We cleaned up the kitchen, got in the van, and pulled out of the driveway.

“So, the FBI got the fake stone at the hangar. Aren’t they going to know it’s not the real one?”

“If they take it and hide it in some warehouse, like at the end of Indiana Jones, no, they won’t know it’s fake,” I said. “But, if they test it and find out it’s fake, they can’t do anything because they aren’t supposed to have it. That would only get them in trouble.”

“What about the rest of the fakes?” he asked.

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“Shine is taking them to Mr. Stubbs. Shine says that Mr. Stubbs has plenty of places to hide them.”

“I bet he does,” Simon said.

We crossed through the neighborhood and skirted the city.

We got on U.S. 48 and started the trip.

“There is something that has been bothering me,” I said.

“Ok, shoot. This brother is here to enlighten.”

“At the hangar, when the Englishman was about to shoot us, I yelled for Shine to say something. To let the Englishman know someone was back there and he would have to surrender.

Why didn’t Shine say something? Or Home Chain, why didn’t he speak up?”

“You got to understand Shine. Arquette had shot at him, more importantly, his friends, me and you. Shine could never let that go. Once Arquette was dead and Shine found out the English guy was just as responsible, he wasn’t going to let that go either. That’s his moral code. For him, not protecting his friends is a sin.”

“But he didn’t shoot. Home Chain did.”

“That’s cause we were there. Shine is a near-perfect shot.

Home Chain is a perfect shot. It’s impossible for him to miss.

Impossible.”

I could see Shine thinking that way.

“Killing is never good,” I said.

“Yeah, I get that. But I know you’ve read the Old Testament.

Those dudes were big on vengeance,” he said. “Got anything else?

I got the time, and I got the answers.”

“How about Veronica? How are you doing with her?

“She’s fine, real fine,” Simon said.

“And?” I asked.

“She’s out for a while. Going to Greece with her parents. She says it’s good for her to keep up her appearance with them as a society person, better for her cover as a hacker.”

“Are you OK with that?”

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“Gotta be,” he said. “I ain’t some hanger-on flunky. Do kind of miss her, though, and she ain’t even gone yet.”

We drove on.

“You know,” I said. “This is the first time in a while we’re in a vehicle together without a gun hidden somewhere.”

He shook his head, “You know old habits, man. They’re hard to break.”

I winced. “Where?” “.45 in the glove box, shotgun under the tarp in the back.”

“Why?” He shrugged, “Don’t know until you know,” he said. “Kind of like love.”

I mulled that over.

“How about some music?” I said.

Simon had his collection of CDs for our trip. The stereo system in the van was cheap, but at least it played CDs. He slid in the Delfonics.

“Here we go, baby!” *** “You sure this place is still here?” Simon asked. “It’s been a minute since you been a kid.”

“I found it on Google Maps,” I said.

We were driving through West Virginia in a different rented van. Simon had changed the plates in each of the three places we had stopped. We had rented it under one of Clooney’s fake IDs and credit cards. Marvin Gaye was singing on the terrible stereo system. The road was crooked and the scenery pretty. Every once in a while, the afternoon sun would peek through the trees.

“Got your phone?” he asked.

“Burner,” I said. “You?” “Burner,” he repeated. He was quiet for a while, looking out the window.

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“You know I been thinking, what if Yellowstone did blow up?

Then, would it be a good thing for those people left to live for a really long time, you know, to repopulate?”

“I guess,” I said.

“Or an asteroid hit and wiped out all but a few people? What about then?”

“I don’t know. What are you really asking me?”

“Are we doing the right thing, dumping the stone?”

“Emmanuel told me to do the best we can.”

“Yeah,” he thought for a moment, “I can see him saying that.”

Marvin sang Mercy, Mercy, Me. We sang along. *** We pulled the van off the side of the road. The berm dropped off about six inches, so the van was listing to one side. Beyond that was a hundred-yard slope down to the pond, or where we thought the pond should be. The entire area was so tree-covered it was difficult to know if the pond was there or not. Dozens of buzzards floated in circles high above the trees.

“That’s creepy,” Simon said, looking at them.

“Must be a colony around here somewhere,” I said.

“They going to attack us if we get near it?”

“No, they’re scavengers.”

“Still creepy, though. You came out here as a kid? You must have been nuts.”

“It’s not creepy to me. It’s peaceful.”

We got out of the van. I looked for a path, and Simon kept an eye on the vultures.

“Don’t look up all the time,” I said. “Watch the ground for snakes.”

I saw him jerk his head down and stop walking.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be easy to see. There are only big ones out here.”

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“Damn, man. Stop messing with me.”

I found an opening in the tree line where the tall grass had been matted down, maybe from deer, maybe coyotes. It zigzagged down the hill into darkness.

Simon was right behind me. “I think I found a path,” I said.

“See any snakes?”

We pulled the aluminum boat out of the back of the van.

It hit the pavement with a bang. The stone was inside the boat, along with a set of oars.

“How come there are no cars out here?”

“This place isn’t a way to get anyplace. There are better ways to get where you’re going than come through here.”

“The country is a weird place,” Simon said. “I don’t like it.”

The trees had grown so that parts of the path were covered from above. They created a dark tunnel, the branches of the trees on one side of the path converging with the branches of the trees on the other.

The boat, with the heavy stone in it, wanted to slide downward ahead of us. It was difficult to keep it under control on the bumpy, uneven path. Besides that, exposed roots and clumps of briars kept pulling at our pant legs. With one of us on each side, hunched over and holding onto the smooth metal, we inched our way downward.

As we rounded a blind curve, the quietness was shattered with an explosion of squawks and feathers. Turkeys popped into the air and flapped loudly, fluttering in all directions. Frightened, they bolted, some running past us and others flying and hopping down towards the pond.

Both of us stumbled and let go of the boat. I fell backward and landed on my behind. Simon belly flopped into the dirt. The boat and stone careened down the hill. It picked up speed and caught the turkeys, frightening them again. They popped up like popcorn in front of the accelerating boat.

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The path rounded again, but the boat didn’t. It hit a tree and flipped sideways, launching the stone out the side and into a barrel roll. It crashed through the underbrush loudly. We could still hear it after it disappeared from sight.

“Geeze,” I said, still on the ground.

“What the hell were those things? Were those vultures? I thought you said they wouldn’t attack?”

“Those were turkeys,” I said.

“Like Thanksgiving turkeys?”

“Yes,” I said.

“They didn’t have that tail thing all spread out.”

“Not all of them do, just the males, I think.”

“Why’d they try to ambush us?”

“They didn’t; we just scared them.”

“Scared THEM?” I stood and looked down the path. “We have to find the stone before it gets dark.” We started down the path to get the boat.

“Those were some ugly birds. I’m having ham next year,” Simon said.

We flipped the boat back over onto its bottom. It was wedged against an oak tree and an extremely prickly blackberry bush.

Simon got several punctures quickly.

“Why is nature so confrontational? Now I understand why people built cities.”

The oars were strewn along the path but easy to retrieve. We tossed them into the boat. The boat itself was easier to manage without the stone in it.

The stone was more difficult to find. We followed its path of destruction, having to step high over splintered saplings, bushes torn out by the roots, and broken branches.

We found it at the water’s edge as if a miracle. So, we left the stone and retraced our steps, then got the boat and followed the original path.

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Once we came out of the tree cover, the sky opened to a beautiful scene. The orange sun reflected on the still water and gave the air a crispness that could never be found in any city.

There was something, the angle of the sun or the pureness of the air, that amplified the clarity of sight. I could see every leaf on every tree. The silence was so absolute that it was striking. The only things moving were the vultures high above us.

Even Simon was speechless.

“Man…,” Simon whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” I whispered.

“It feels like I should, like church or something,” he said.

The pond was situated as if we were at the bottom of a funnel, and the hills around us were covered with thousands of trees.

And again, the beauty of this place was we could see everything, and, from the road, no one could see us.

The pond was much larger than I remembered. It probably could have been considered a lake. But it was still hidden from anyone who didn’t already know of its existence. Or maybe a hotair ballooner.

“It feels like we are the only people on Earth,” Simon said.

“You can see for miles around us, and we’re lower than everything else. Strange.”

Launching the boat wasn’t as easy as when we were running from the men at the Italian restaurant. Simon was in it when I pushed off and hopped in. It tipped violently to one side and then the other until we settled down. But at least this time, we had oars. We paddled over to where the stone had stopped.

“How we getting it into the boat? It’s heavy.”

“I guess we’ll have to lift it,” I said. “Putting it back in was not part of the plan.”

“Hey, you dropped it too,” he said. “Don’t be puttin’ this all on me. You’re the one supposed to have outdoor clairvoyance. I didn’t know those turkeys were going to attack us.”

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The boat wobbled, but we both managed to get out without falling into the water. We moved the boat as close to the stone as possible.

“I’ll take this end. You got that one,” he said.

Huffing and puffing, we man-handled the stone to the end of the boat and dropped it in, then scooted it to the center with our feet.

We pushed off and rowed to the center of the lake. It seemed the hard part was over.

“How deep you think this is? Deep as the river?” Simon asked.

“No idea,” I said.

We sat there for a few moments, soaking it all in. In the silence, a fish jumped and splashed back into the water.

“Damn! What was that?”

“It was just a fish jumping.”

“Why did it do that?”

“Probably just going after a bug. This is the time of the day they come out.”

“What? The bugs or the fish?”

“Both,” I said.

After a while, I said, “We might have a problem.”

“Getting this heavy stone out of the boat without tipping it over?” he said. “I was thinking about that too.”

“Yep,” I said.

We thought quietly.

“There is a plug somewhere in the bottom. I guess we could sink the boat with the stone in it and swim to shore.”

“Nope, no way,” Simon said. “Ain’t going in the water with no fish.”

“It’s not the fish you have to worry about.”

Simon looked at me.

“It’s the snapping turtles. Got teeth like can openers. Once they get hold of you, they won’t let go,” I said.

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Simon looked at the green water.

In the end, we rolled the stone to one side of the boat, and we got on the other. We used the oars as wedges and levered the stone up to this edge.

“Seems like we should say something, you know, important,” Simon said. “This thing came from somewhere in space, has been hidden for thousands of years, and now we’re hiding it again.”

“Do you want to say something philosophical?” I asked.

“I do,” came a voice to my right.

We both jumped. The stone nearly rolled back into the boat.

Emmanuel was sitting beside me.

“I would like to say that something undesirable is about to happen,” he said. Simon and I were still shaking from being so startled. Plus, we were still straining with the weight of the rock.

“This stone, and thank you for helping all those in need,” he interjected, “this stone will roll into the water, causing the both of you to flip off the back. At least one of you will drown.” He smiled pleasantly.

I was still so surprised by his visit that I didn’t say a word.

Simon was not. “We all know who can’t swim.”

“Is there anything we can do to prevent that from happening?”

I asked.

He smiled that caring smile. “To quote Stairway to Heaven, ‘There is still time to change the road you’re on.’”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but Simon looked sheepish.

“Let’s hear from our new millionaire,” Emmanuel said.

“Aw, man,” Simon said.

“What?” I said.

“The money Arquette transferred, I kept it. I got that money.

Veronica set up a real account. Clooney was so busy transferring the rest of the money he forgot about the measly million.”

“You were going to keep it?” I asked.

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“Well, yeah. I’d never seen that kind of money before.

Arquette wasn’t going to need it after he was dead.”

We were still straining with the weight of the stone on our oars.

“So, if he gives it away, one of us might not drown?” I asked.

Emmanuel smiled that brilliant smile.

“Tell him you’re going to give it away to a worthy cause.”

“Wait,” Simon said. “What if you’re the one who’s going to drown?”

“Come on,” I said.

“All right, I’ll give it to St. Jude’s. I like Marlo Thomas.”

“Now? I can’t hold this much longer,” I said.

“On three,” he said and counted down.

We put our full weight into it, and the stone rolled over the side and hit the water with a giant KERPLOP. It disappeared into the green with a ten-foot plume of pond water spouting into the air. It fell back down directly on us. Simon and I were soaked.

Emmanuel wasn’t touched.

“The next time your conscious takes a misstep, just call on me. I’m always here.”

Emmanuel stood and the boat rocked. Simon and I grabbed the sides to steady ourselves. Emmanuel smiled then stepped out of the boat and onto the surface of the water. Then he walked across it to the bank waving without looking back. We sat silently for a few moments, stunned but not really surprised.

“Aw man,” Simon said. “Look.”

We had both dropped our oars when the water hit us. They floated ten feet from the boat.

At that moment, it was the funniest thing that we had ever seen. We laughed for the next several minutes.

Simon said, “So, I’m poor again.”

“Nope, maybe moneyless but not poor,” I said.

I put up a fist so that he could knuckle-bump me.

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“Aw man, poor and floating in some pond in Wild, Wonderful West Virginia with a white dude that wants to fist-bump.”

“Life is good, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Did you check to see if we had cell service out here?” I asked.

“Nope. You?” “Nope,” I said.

We made ourselves comfortable in the boat, our feet at opposite ends and our heads toward the middle. We knew how.

We were veterans.

“You know we never did get to that Pirates game,” I said.

“We’ll go. We can see if they are playing in Pittsburgh next week. I was thinking about treating you to a doubleheader. That was when I had money, but now....”

The night enveloped us, turning the green water black and exposing a billion stars in the indigo sky.

We were silent for a while. Then Simon repeated, “Feels like we’re the only people on Earth.”

Just then, a shooting star blazed across the sky and disappeared in an instant.

I knew exactly how he felt, but I also had another overwhelming feeling. I knew that we were never really alone.

“…Seek, and you will find. Knock, and it will be opened for you.”

Matthew 7:7

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Books by Don Stansberry Isle of Shadows Crusty Koko & Stoney Secret Blood Vulture Bend Cryptic Blood

320

BLOOD

DON STANSBERRY

International Award-winning author, Don Stansberry, is a native West Virginian and an elementary school teacher.

He is the author of Inky & the Missing Gold and Inky, Oglebee, & the Witches, and his children’s books–which he also illustrated, Koko & Stoney Mom’s Choice Award and Crusty, named a Finalist in the USA News Best Book Awards. Don is the author of Secret Blood, a multiaward-winning book that took top honors for best spiritual fiction at the London Book Festival. It was named a Winner at the Next Generation Indie Book Awards at a reception at The Plaza in New York City during Book Expo America. His second novel, Vulture Bend, is a riveting good vs. evil award-winning story. Don is also part of the Headline Kids School Show Program.

CRYPTIC Book 2 in the Emmanuel Shepherd story

CRYPTIC BLOOD

After a series of cosmic upheavals, life returns to normal. Father Kinzee, now an investigator of religious artifacts, questions the purpose of his new role. One morning, over breakfast with his best friend Simon, a former gang member turned reformed individual, they are approached by a stranger who entrusts them with a significant object. Before they can grasp the situation, the stranger is kidnapped, thrusting them into a perilous world of assassins and the ultra-wealthy.

With official assistance limited, they turn to Simon's former gang for protection against those pursuing the object. As they navigate through a web of greed and corruption, they find themselves entangled in an international manhunt, fighting for survival.

DON STANSBERRY