Jake exited the steel shed, never glancing back at the emptied husk of a man behind him, who was sobbing into the one arm that wasn’t handcuffed to a steel chair.
***
The moment the door of the shed swung shut, Jake steadied himself against the trunk of a nearby maple tree. He was shaking and fought to stop the moisture accumulating in the corners of his eyes from sliding down his face.
He closed his eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. Finally, regaining some semblance of control over his emotions, he walked the twenty or so yards to where the white minivan was parked. One of his men was monitoring the area for trespassers, but this was possibly the most secluded spot in Princeton and they hadn’t expected to have to turn anyone away.
He opened the door to the minivan and slid inside. His second in command, Major John Kolke, who had been monitoring the interrogation on a video monitor, was waiting inside, along with a lieutenant.
Jake turned to the lieutenant, his eyes still wet. “Please excuse us,” he barely managed to get out. “I need to be alone with Major Kolke.”
The moment the man left, the major caught his commander’s eye. “Are you okay, sir?” he asked softly, concern written all over his face.
Jake didn’t answer the question, but looked deathly ill. “What kind of hold does Kira Miller have on these people?” he whispered, his eyes wide with horror. “How could he have been willing to risk his daughter’s life?”
Kolke shook his head solemnly but did not reply.
“I can’t do this anymore,” muttered Jake, his eyes becoming moist once again. “I’ve been in firefights against overwhelming odds, and I’ve never complained. But this is too much to ask of anyone.”
“Colonel, I know the scene was devastatingly realistic. And I know you had to commit to the bit a thousand percent. But you’ve immersed yourself too deeply into method acting. Pull yourself back. You know it was only a special effect. That little girl is probably scribbling in a coloring book at her preschool even as we speak.”
Jake shook his head. “I know that. But what I did to that man’s soul wasn’t a special effect. I tortured him far worse than if I would have pulled out his fingernails. It was beyond cruel.” He looked away. “If you could have seen the look on his face.” He shuddered. “I have a little girl myself. I can’t even imagine . . . ”
Jake lowered his eyes and fought once again to compose himself.
“You had to learn if he was holding a bluff all the way to the end,” said Kolke. “And now you know. He was. The important thing is that we’re within twenty-four hours of bringing down the most dangerous person on the planet. You’ll be saving millions of lives.”
Jake nodded but didn’t look any better.
“Colonel, you’ve just proven once again that you’re the right man for this job,” continued Kolke. “Rosenblatt wasn’t the only one being tested. If killing a single innocent girl to save millions—or even just pretending to do so—eats at your soul, you’re the right man. If you can do something like this and it doesn’t tear you apart, then you’re the last person who should wield the kind of power that comes with this job.”
Jake looked away, alone with his thoughts for almost a minute. Finally, he took a deep breath, put his hand on the arm of his second in command, and said, “Thanks, John. This helps.” In reality it hadn’t helped much, but Jake knew it would have to be enough. He had a job to do.
“Now that you’ve cracked Rosenblatt,” said Kolke, “do you still want four men surveiling his family?”
“No. That’s overkill. Recall Perez and Ferguson. Tell the other two we don’t expect trouble, but to be cautious since there won’t be any backup for them to call in. And that if anything suspicious happens, don’t hesitate to use the satellites.”
“I’ll tell them.”
Jake nodded and turned to the small monitor. Rosenblatt had sobbed himself dry. His head was still down on the table and he was whimpering softly. “He’s shattered,” said Jake. “But I think he’s reached the point where he can make himself understood. I’d better go back in and get the information we need.”
“What’s the plan once you do?”
“He’s just an innocent pawn. Once we kill Miller and imprison Desh and the others in the core council, we just have to make sure none of the peripheral players have access to her treatment. She’s the only one capable of developing it from scratch. Once she’s dead the threat is over. We’ll hold him until we’ve taken her out, and then we can let him and the others go back to their lives. We can keep them under surveillance for a few years, just to be sure. . .”
He stepped out of the minivan, but turned back to face John Kolke before he left. “I’d love to tell him the truth the moment he gives Kira Miller up. Tell him his little girl is fine. That it was all just a computer generated illusion.” He sighed. “But I can’t, of course. Not until we’re sure we’ve got Miller. Just in case we still need leverage on him.” A pained look crossed his face.
“Keep in mind how many lives you’re about to save,” said Kolke once again. “The country needs you.”
“Yeah,” said Jake in disgust. “I’m a fucking hero.”
He moved away from the minivan as its door slid quietly shut behind him. When he reached the steel shed, he took a deep breath, gathered himself, put a stern expression on his face, and opened the door.
Where are you, Kira Miller?
He was just seconds away from—finally—finding out.
4
Dr. Anton van Hutten, full professor in Stanford’s department of applied mathematics and theoretical physics, stepped lightly onto the steep escalator, moving to one side of the grooved silver steps to let those in more of a hurry rush down unobstructed. He had a broad cherubic face, thinning hair that was turning white, and black-framed Harry Potter glasses that contrasted with his hair and light complexion. Several men and one woman formed a rough semicircle fifteen feet from the bottom, each holding up a sign with a name on it. He walked over to one of them, a man wearing tan slacks and an Oxford knit shirt who had an air of self-assurance and competence.
“Dr. van Hutten?” asked the man as he approached, lowering the sign on which van Hutten’s name was written.
The professor nodded.
“Welcome to Denver. Did you check a bag?”
Van Hutten shook his head. “I’ve only brought myself, I’m afraid.”
The driver nodded and motioned for him to follow. Van Hutten knew they were proceeding to the vehicle that would transport him to the somewhat mysterious Center for Research Excellence, abbreviated CREX, a think tank nearby.
Van Hutten had received a call two weeks earlier from a woman who introduced herself as Devon—no last name given. She was affiliated with CREX, a think tank near Denver, she explained, and wanted to sign him up as a consultant. Was he available for a full day in two weeks time?
He wasn’t sure, he had told her. He had several important meetings in the morning and early afternoon on the day she had suggested.
But Devon had assured him they’d be happy to host him from five in the afternoon until nine at night. While normally they would ask him to fly commercial, in this case they would schedule a chartered flight so he could return home that night. And when she described the pay—one thousand dollars an hour—van Hutten quickly decided that her proposal would work just fine.
One thousand dollars an hour.
And if he would spend the late afternoon and evening at their facility, they would guarantee a minimum of ten thousand dollars.