Part 15 (1/2)
”No more so than usual,” the older man replied calmly. ”Just one of the president's favorites with one of the president's friends. What could be more natural?”
”I don't know, Old Man, fifty years to life in Leaven-worth?”
The president's friend and adviser winced. ”A not likely scenario, if we all keep our heads.”
The jogger shook his head. ”I can tell you personally,” that's not happening. Ever since word got out about last night s... The look on the Old Man's face stopped him. ”After last night, a lot of us in the Apple Blossom chain are having trouble staying calm.”
”Have there been specific problems?”
”Not yet,” the jogger said. ”But my cell alone is already starting to think crazy thoughts.” He laughed bitterly. ”And it's the smallest G.o.dd.a.m.ned cell in espionage history.”
The Old Man nodded. ”My reason for this meeting.” He checked his watch. ”How much longer can you give me?”
”I don't know. Ten minutes maybe; then I have to get back. I'll be missed.”
”Very well, then, let me bring you up-to-date. The field controllers are dead. As are many support personnel. Canvas has begun search operations and expects to have the situation back under control within seventy-two hours.
”There has been no direct exposure of you or any others in the chain. The only one at risk is me, and the sword over her children's heads should keep the good woman silent.”
”For the moment,” the jogger added.
”For the moment,” the Old Man agreed. ”The toothpaste will be back in the tube in short order, I a.s.sure you.”
The jogger took then exhaled a deep breath. ”Sure,” he said without confidence.
”What we need from you,” the Old Man said carefully, ”is to keep things on track, right? Keep everyone calm, everyone working, everyone on schedule. We are no more at risk than we have ever been. That is your message and must be your example.”
The jogger bit his lips and nodded. ”Okay. Just catch this b.i.t.c.h before anything else happens. I'd like my heart to start beating again in my lifetime.”
The Old Man laughed openly. ”As would we all.”
The jogger began to stretch. ”When do I meet the new field controllers?”
”You already have.”
”You? How? They trust you that much?”
”Not really,” the Old Man replied. ”But they do know me. Since a confused twenty-year-old fell into their hands in Korea, more than half a century before.” He hesitated, as if to reveal more would be to reveal too much. But the look of doubt on the jogger's face convinced him.
”I reached an accommodation with them then, and we have been very good to each other since. They know that I care too much about my payoffs to jeopardize anything. They know they can destroy me quite easily, at a whim, and they know that I am painfully conscious of the fact.
”More to the point, though, they have little choice.” He shook his head sadly. ”This was a terrible time for this to happen, things are just too close. They can't risk the delay of preparing new controls, then getting them into place. They are forced into using me, just as I am forced into taking ever greater risk.”
He sighed deeply. ”It's a vicious circle that will one day immolate both sides, I expect,” he said with genuine sorrow. Then he brightened.
”But not today, or in the immediate future, right?”
The jogger studied the Old Man, paused, then started off down the trail that led back to the picnickers. ”I'll pa.s.s the word.” And he was off at a slow trot.
The Old Man watched him go, then turned and watched the sunset until he was completely surrounded by the dark.
As he had been for the last half century.
The Grand Republic was a resplendent sight on its worst days.
Gleaming white, rising over sixty feet out of the water, the ferry between Bridgeport, Connecticut, and Port Jefferson, New York, had two car decks, an inside observation deck, an elegant formal bar, and a weather deck that could hold over 150 people. It was the pride of the multiferry fleet that serviced Long Island and a virtual historical landmark.
But to Xenos and Valerie, it was simply a place to get to. The world's largest getaway car.
After parking their car on the murky, gray streets of the industrial section of Bridgeport, they'd walked the last three blocks. Weaving through six lanes of cars waiting to board through the boat's gaping raised bow, they made their way to the narrow gangway used for the few carless pa.s.sengers that regularly fled Bridgeport for the fairyland resort of Port Jefferson.
They immediately climbed to the top weather deck, where they both searched the oncoming cars and people that were seemingly devoured by the boat as they drove into its cavernous bowels. Only after the boat had backed away from the dock, made its tight turn around Bridgeport Granite Inc., and given its pa.s.sengers a view of the fetid dying land around the harbor did they finally give up their watch and go belowdeck.
”Who are we looking for?”
Xenos shrugged. He'd slept a little on the trip over and was now experiencing his fifth wind of the day. ”Just stay alert. They said we'd be met.”
He gave her the last of his money-he didn't even have the fare for the tickets he would need to get off the boat-and sent her to the tiny snack bar to buy some coffee. Eventually they settled at one of the incongruous-looking picnic tables with the thin, rickety plastic chairs that groaned their objection to any weight.
Children ran around, people opened some of the large windows allowing cold winds from Long Island Sound to race through the relatively bare deck; some bought snacks and perched on ledges to watch the water go by or the other pa.s.sengers. Some wandered into or out of the bar or up and down from the car decks. The usual mix for a late afternoon ferry ride.
But to Valerie, they all looked like threats, all sinister, deadly. Each man and woman waiting to catch them up and throw them overboard. Each child a smiling accusation of her failed maternity.
So she wasn't surprised when Xenos tensed, staring across the wide enclosed deck, and tapped on her tightly clasped hands.
”We have a problem.”
Valerie shook her head. ”Has it ever been otherwise?” She followed his gaze, sadly recognizing one of the guards from the building. ”You think he's alone?”
”I doubt it,” Xenos said as his gaze s.h.i.+fted to another man in his forties in an elegantly expensive suit who was smiling as he casually walked over to their table.
”Judging by what's left of your face, you have to be the man I'm supposed to be meeting.” He pulled over a chair and sat down, as Valerie edged away from him.
”If I told you that I had a gun under this table,” Xenos said conversationally, ”you'd talk to me, right?”
The man seemed unfazed. ”That's why I'm here.”
”So convince me.” Xenos's eyes never wavered from the casual man's.
”Okay,” the man began after a moment of thought. ”Let's see. What would be the best way to break the ice?” He suddenly brightened. ”Franco says don't worry about transportation. He never walks.”
Xenos slid his gun back into his boot. ”He's okay.”
Valerie exhaled deeply, then leaned in to hear the whispered conversation.
”How bad are things?” the man asked.
”Worse than you can imagine,” Xenos answered. ”We're hot, targeted, with no money and fewer options. We need to get out of the country.”
”Not a problem.”