The man pulled a wallet out of his back pocket. He passed a business card to Caplan.
Caplan glanced at the card. Constructed from elegant cardboard, it held just two lines of text. The name James Corbotch on the first line. And a phone number on the second one.
Caplan crumpled the card in his fist. “This is your proof?”
“Not all of it.” Corbotch flashed his license and several other cards in front of Caplan’s face. “See?”
Caplan ignored them. “You’re boring me.”
“Perhaps this will convince you.” Corbotch took a deep breath. “Your name is Zach Caplan. You used to work as Chief Ranger at Hatcher Station, the Vallerio Forest’s lone outpost.”
Caplan’s eyes tightened. That information was strictly confidential. Nobody outside of Hatcher — not even his closest friends — knew it.
“For three years, everything was fine. You were liked and respected. You grew close to Amanda Morgan, a biologist of the highest caliber. But all that changed five months ago when Tony Morgan, Amanda’s brother, vanished while conducting an unsanctioned visit to Sector 84. An exhaustive three-day search turned up his abandoned vehicle and some bloody scraps of clothing, but nothing else. Since he’d stolen the keys from your workspace, you took it hard, choosing to tender your resignation. Then you moved here, to New York City, where you proceeded to open an urban survival school.”
“How… how do you know all this?”
The old man didn’t blink. “Because I own the Vallerio Forest. It’s been in my family for as long as we’ve been on this continent.”
“Nice try. The Vallerio Foundation owns it.”
“Yes. But I own the Vallerio Foundation through various trusts and dummy corporations. For reasons that aren’t relevant to this conversation, I disguise my affiliation through a lot of legal mumbo-jumbo.”
Caplan heard the man’s words, heard the veracity behind them. He could scarcely believe it. Yet, he knew it was true. The man standing before him was indeed James Corbotch, the perennial top placeholder on Acton’s annual ranking of the globe’s wealthiest people.
“When you left, you sat for an exit interview with Ms. Keifer. At that time, you informed her that you’d never return to Hatcher Station. I believe the expression you used was, ‘I’ll rot in hell first.’” Corbotch paused. “I’m here to change your mind.”
Caplan thought about what Corbotch had said, about how Amanda Morgan needed help. The very thought sent bolts of electricity shooting through him. “Why the mugging?” he asked. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“Like I said, I needed to vet you.”
“For what?”
“For a multi-layered crisis situation. I wanted to see how you’d react, how’d you handle it.”
Caplan rubbed his sore jaw. “So, those guys…?”
“Part of my personal security team.” Corbotch offered a bare hint of a smile. “Of course, I instructed them to take it easy on you.”
That was easy? Caplan thought, rubbing his sore jaw. “So, how’d I do?”
“You passed with flying colors. You showed courage and persistence. You spotted hidden threats, used the environment to deliver creative attacks, and even uncovered my duplicity.” Corbotch paused. “In short, you’re exactly what I need.”
Caplan felt a spot of darkness enter his heart. He didn’t care for Corbotch. And he certainly didn’t like being lied to and manipulated either. “The feeling isn’t mutual,” he said, turning to leave.
“She needs you, Zach.”
Caplan paused. Slowly, he twisted back to Corbotch.
“Last night, a team of armed terrorists seized control of Hatcher Station along with a group of visiting dignitaries. Amanda Morgan, along with dozens of employees, was on the premises at the time.”
“Impossible. Hatcher is protected—”
“—protected by multiple layers of top-notch security,” Corbotch said. “Yes, I know. But that doesn’t change the facts.”
Caplan fought to control his emotions. “How’d it happen?”
“The details are unclear. All we know for certain is that the assault started around eight o’clock. The terrorists seized the Warehouse and disarmed most of the guards. Fortunately, a couple of guards eluded capture and locked themselves into the Lab. They’ve been using the communications equipment to keep my people apprised of the situation.”
Caplan’s forehead started to ache. Gently, he kneaded it, massaging away months of mental pain.
He’d never actually seen the underground Lab. And the scientists who worked there were forbidden to talk about it. He’d once asked Morgan about it and her cryptic response still haunted him. Let’s just say we’re doing something important, Zach, she’d said. Revolutionary, even. It’s going to change the way we perceive this world’s past, present, and future.
“Why Hatcher?” Caplan asked. “Were they after the dignitaries?”
“If it’s a kidnapping-for-ransom, it’s an awful quiet one. So far, we haven’t heard a peep from the terrorists.” Corbotch shrugged. “Regardless of their goals, they’re currently holding dozens of people — including Amanda — at gunpoint. That’s where you come in. You worked at Hatcher. You know its layout and its security systems.”
Caplan frowned. “What exactly do you want from me? Want me to sketch everything out for the police? That’s easy. Just let me—”
“Actually, the authorities won’t be involved in this matter. For reasons I can’t discuss, this needs to be handled carefully and with great discretion.” A crafty look formed on Corbotch’s visage. “In other words, I don’t want sketches. I want you.”
Caplan’s frown deepened.
“As we speak, my personal security forces are prepping to infiltrate the Vallerio. They’ve got firepower and experience. What they lack is ground knowledge of Hatcher Station and its security systems. That’s why I need you to go with them. You’ll be handsomely compensated, of course.”
A whirlwind of emotions swept through Caplan. He thought about Morgan, thought about how much he missed her. He thought about the offer, thought about what he could contribute to the mission. “No,” he said at last.
“But—”
“If you want maps, sketches, I’m your guy. But that’s it.”
“Amanda needs you.”
“Yeah, like an axe to the head. Don’t you remember what happened to her brother? How he died because of me?” Caplan shoved Corbotch’s crumpled-up business card into his back pocket. Then he spun on his heels and walked away. “Get lost. I’ve got a class to teach.”
Chapter 7
As Caplan hiked back to his students, he shot a glance over his shoulder. Given the time of day, the Great Lawn was unusually busy and he saw all sorts of people. Men and women, decked out in faded uniforms, played softball on one of the diamonds. Kids flew kites and kicked soccer balls. Their parents, sprawled out on the grass with little picnic baskets, ate bagel sandwiches and sipped mimosas.
But Corbotch was nowhere to be seen.
Upon reaching his students, Caplan stared at them through hollow eyes. Memories of Amanda Morgan filled his brain. The way she tipped her head when she laughed. The feel of his hand on the small of her back. Her breaths heating up his ear. Her body moving in time with his.
“Thanks for your patience.” Forcing the memories to a tiny corner of his mind, Caplan offered his students a fake smile. “Now, let’s talk about today’s agenda. Namely, knowledge gathering and prep work. Nine times out of ten, brains trump brawn in crisis situations. Knowing how authorities or criminals tend to secure and control areas is paramount to escaping them. And having access to resources — tools, bottled water, food, and weapons — is often the difference between life and death. While everyone else is raiding grocery stores for scraps, you’ll be securing and utilizing pre-planted caches.”