It was all so simple. Forgetting the mug, he plonked down into the chair. The coffee splashed out over his dress shirt and poured down his trouser legs.
“Shit!” he stepped aside, grabbed a sheet of paper and tried to blot out a large brown spot on his belly. It didn’t work. “Melanie!” he called for his secretary without raising his head.
The opening door caused a window pane to rattle in its wooden frame.
“Sir,” she sounded excited.
“Get me a few tissues, please.”
“Sir, I was just trying to tell them…”
“Thank you,” a strange male voice dismissed her.
Jessup raised his head. A tall ginger-haired man stood before his desk. Dressed in a cream-colored trench coat, he had a long face and a slightly aquiline nose. His eyes seemed to pierce everything he looked at. He glanced over the office and fixed his gaze on the Shelby file in front of Jessup.
“Sir,” the secretary gave him a guilty look.
“You can go, Melanie. I’ll fetch some tissues myself later.”
When she closed the door behind her, the man showed Jessup his ID.
“Agent Archer.”
Without further ado he reached for a spare chair, turned it around and straddled it back to front.
Jessup moved aside. Behind the glass partition, several of Archer’s agents crowded in the hall staring at their boss.
“Let’s get straight down to business,” he said.
“As you wish,” Archer pointed at the file. “You give me and my men whatever you’ve got on Shelby and Baker, and we’ll leave.”
Jessup paused, then nodded. Leaning against the back of the chair, the agent rose and walked to the door.
“Oh,” he said. “One last thing. The President’s arriving tomorrow. Make sure there’s no rioting. Keep the migrants under control. The Mayor has already given them the afternoon off, so make sure they’re back in their camps by thirteen hundred.
Jessup ground his teeth but kept himself under control.
“How about the President’s safety?”
“The standard procedure,” Archer reached for the door handle. “Your people will assist my agents with on-site inspection. They will be responsible for cordoning off the possible cortege routes.”
He opened the door and added out loud,
“It’s the President’s request to have no police inside the Memoria building. Their security will take over there. Make sure you control the adjacent streets and the airport. The air gate over Manhattan is also their responsibility. No police choppers.”
Jessup didn’t speak. He wished he could hurl his unfinished coffee into the agent’s smug face. How dared he humiliate the entire police force, all those people who’d sacrificed their lives to protecting each and every New Yorker. But even here Memoria had to have its pound of flesh. He was out of it now, and as for speaking directly to the President, he now had a slimmer chance than a snowball in hell.
Without looking away, Jessup moved to the desk and pressed an intercom key.
“Melanie. I want you to ask Lieutenants Salem and Gizbo to see me now. Tell them to bring everything they have on the Shelby case.”
Before Jessup heard the secretary’s “Yes, sir,” Agent Archer closed the door behind him. He went to his men still crowding in the hall and spoke to them glancing back at Jessup through the glass.
Jessup drummed his fingers on the desk and opened the file. He’d have loved to have known two things. First, what kind of item had Shelby collected at the post office. And secondly, what the man planned to do next.
The Captain wasn’t going to abort the investigation.
They woke Barney up before lunch. He drove them away from the kitchen table and started cooking. In jeans and T-shirt, he opened the fridge and produced a large cut of neck for a stew.
“Migrants’ meat,” he said.
“Pardon?” Frank perked up.
“They raise cattle in those camps,” Barney threw the meat onto the table and reached for the biggest knife on the rack. “Without them, New York would have starved a long time ago.”
Max moved his laptop onto the window sill. Frank collected their notes covered in diagrams and question marks. He moved closer to the fridge and to Barney in order to tell him their brainstorm results.
Barney sliced the meat on the board, his enormous shoulders unmoving. He listened carefully, nodding whenever Max asked if he understood what Frank was saying. When Frank came to the shootout, Barney forgot his meat and turned to him, listening. Once Frank finished, Barney gave the coach a meaningful glance.
“Same people,” the coach summed up. He ran his hand through his crew cut. “All bald, mind you. Any idea why?”
“Experiment volunteers,” Barney suggested. “Same as Claney.”
“Yeah, right,” said Frank. “Children volunteers.”
Barney stared at him.
“You do the math,” Frank said. “Claney is the same age as you two. When Baker was testing his technology, he was the same age as I am now. Afterward, they solved the hair loss problem. Now think. The attackers are all my age. All have hair loss. Why?”
Barney stuck out a quizzical chin. Frank went on,
“Let’s assume they were subjected to Baker’s experiments while still children. Kathleen found out and wanted to go public and report Memoria’s child abuse. You think it’s serious enough?”
The two men nodded.
“Until now, it seems to add up,” Frank glanced at the sheets of paper in his hand, sat back and crossed his legs. “One thing I don’t understand is their military training. What’s that got to do with Baker’s experiments? Another thing. Those who attacked me at the post office couldn’t speak clearly. They didn’t seem to be able to form complete sentences. Could that be a side effect of the experiments? If so, how does Claney tie into the picture? He can talk the legs off a chair, that one. We’ve just heard him do it.”
“Barney? What do you think?” Max adjusted his glasses. The laptop started sliding off his lap. He caught it by the monitor just in time. “Any ideas?”
Barney took the cutting board and used the knife to sweep the chopped meat into a large pan.
“Well,” he mused, picking his teeth with the knife. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but it’s possible they were specially trained. They wanted to use them whenever need be.” He looked at Max. “Did I make myself clear?”
“More or less,” Max shut the laptop. “Are you implying that their volunteers were intended to perform secret missions, just like I used to do for Hopper?”
“You got it,” Barney picked up a lid and covered the pan.
“Right,” Frank butted in, “but why them and not somebody else? What makes them special? All this fantasizing may not do us any favors.”
“Sometimes fantasizing is the best way to find a solution,” Max said.
“Yeah, right,” Barney shrugged, put the knife down and lifted the pan. “I’ll never forget how you sank that U-boat in the Gulf of Mexico. And they didn’t believe you then, either!”
“Leave it,” the coach said. “We’d better try to find a connection between Claney and the baldheaded attackers. And if there is one, then what exactly is it? So let’s have a think and then a meal, and then Frank can finally go get some rest.”
Without answering, Barney put the pan onto the stove and opened the fridge, looking for some vegetables. Max set the laptop aside. He dragged the bag from under the table, took out an assault rifle and began taking it to bits, placing each part onto the window sill.
“And what if-” Frank stopped himself.