The Director nodded. ‘I can see that logic. Do you have any idea who that somebody might be?’
‘That’s your area, isn’t it? Do we know who owned the camp in Texas yet?’
‘Yes, a company called March Violet Partners. It’s based in Liberia.’
‘What a surprise. The partners’ names are presumably straight out of a mystery novel.’
‘So it would appear,’ he said dolefully. ‘We are, of course, interrogating everyone on the scene.’
I thought of the man with the badge that had gone missing from his cap, but I wasn’t going to share that with him. I still didn’t know why he had summoned me.
Either the Director was a mind reader or he wanted to change the subject. ‘Mr. Wells, there are two reasons I invited you to Washington. The first is that I thought you would appreciate seeing one of the survivors of the Antichurch massacre.’
My heart missed a beat. Who could that be?
‘Sergeant Quincy Jerome of the Airborne Division is in Walter Reed hospital.’
Jesus, Quincy.
‘He underwent an emergency operation, but he is out of danger. One of his lungs collapsed.’
I nodded, suddenly doubtful of my ability to speak without breaking down. Only now did I realize how much I’d needed some good news.
‘You will be driven to the hospital in the evening,’ the Director continued. ‘Secondly, I know how much you have been through, Mr. Wells, and I don’t just mean in the past days. Allow me to offer my sincerest commiserations, and those of the entire Bureau, for the deaths of your wife and son.’
I didn’t correct him over Karen’s status. I would have married her if she had survived and would always think of her as my wife.
‘In gratitude for your help in closing the Rothmann case, I would like to invite you to accompany me to New York tomorrow. I have to attend the UN Climate Change Conference, but we will arrange a press conference afterward. The White House has instructed the Justice Department to drop all charges against you regarding the attack on the President at the cathedral here, and I would like the opportunity to clear your name in public.’ He sat back and regarded me with an encouraging smile. ‘As you’ll understand, that will also give me the opportunity to blow the Bureau’s trumpet after the successful end to the operation in Texas.’
I could see he would want to do that, with Rothmann and the others dead. It all seemed very quick, but if that was what the White House wanted, who was I to stand in its way? More to the point, I would be in New York, where I could get hold of Sara’s treasure trove, if that was what it turned out to be.
‘Thank you,’ I said, trying to sound more impressed than I was. I hadn’t trusted Peter Sebastian that much, but I found myself wishing he was still alive.
Thirty-Five
My FBI shadow Simonsen, whose name I saw on his ID tag before we left the Hoover Building, took me to a plush hotel not far from the White House. He checked me in using a Bureau declaration of my identity and a credit card with my name on it.
‘Two-thousand-dollar-a-day limit,’ he said, handing the piece of plastic over with what looked like disapproval. ‘I’ll be back at 6:30 to take you to the hospital.’
I went up to the room, which had a good view of the surrounding buildings but not much else, and took a shower. Then I headed out and located a cafe with a bank of computers. There were a lot of messages in my in-box, all of which I disregarded except Roger van Zandt’s. He had traced the email used by Sara’s broker to an apartment block in south Manhattan. I added him to the list of things to be done in New York. Then I went on the internet and did a search for ‘Hercules.’ Bingo. Third from the top, after a TV series and a thrash metal band, was Hercules Solutions, a company described as having ‘private security and military expertise.’ I logged on to its website, which had numerous bells, whistles and links-and a corporate logo with an image of the ancient hero gripping a pair of snakes that looked very like the one I’d seen on the big guy’s disappearing cap badge. The bottom line was that H.S. was a world leader in the provision of security for individuals, businesses and sovereign states; it also ran training courses at all levels and had compounds in several U.S. states and foreign countries. Were these the people behind the Hades complex? I clicked about the site, but found no locations in Texas-the nearest camp, ‘a fully integrated firing range, physical training and operations center,’ was in northern Oklahoma. Going back to the home page, I saw a picture of a smiling, middle-aged man, whose face was smooth as a baby’s and whose brown hair looked like it had been dyed a dozen times. He was the company’s chairman and CEO, and he was also a Baptist preacher-the Reverend Rudi Crane. I’d have moved quickly on, having a severely limited tolerance for men of the cloth, but I noticed a link to his forthcoming engagements. Tomorrow he would be attending the UN Climate Change Conference in New York-Hercules Solutions being committed to the most economical and sustainable use of resources in all its global activities.
Things were coming together at a frightening rate. I did a search for March Violet Partners. The Director had been right. The company was registered in Liberia but, unlike the H.S. site, there were minimal links and very little information was given out, although one of its subsidiaries was Cerberus Security. The holding company was involved in international trade and consultancy, but it didn’t say in what commodities and services. There were few references to it elsewhere, and nothing linking it either to Texas or to Hercules Solutions. Perhaps I’d have to ask the Reverend Crane himself. Maybe the Director could introduce us. I had no doubt that they would know each other.
‘Good coffee?’ Special Agent Simonsen asked when he picked me up outside the hotel. There was a hint of a smile on his thin lips.
‘I only drink tea,’ I lied. It didn’t surprise me that I was being watched. The Feds could check what I’d been doing on the computer, but it would take time and I had the feeling that everything would come to a head in New York soon.
The hospital was a military one, a lot better organized and staffed than the facility in the camp where Karen and our son had died. I pushed them from my thoughts, feeling like a traitor-the only way I would get through this was by focusing on the worrying number of targets I was gathering.
‘Quincy,’ I said, as I approached the tube-festooned, monitor-haunted bed in the single room where he lay. ‘How goes it?’ His upper body was swathed in bandages.
He looked up with initial bewilderment, and then recognized me. ‘Matt,’ he said, his voice rough from the feeding tube that had been inserted down his throat. ‘You okay?’
‘You should see the other guys. What about you?’
‘I’ll live,’ he said, frowning as he tried to move an arm. ‘Got a smashed shoulder on one side and a collapsed lung on the other. They say I’ll come through.’
‘Shit, I’m sorry, Quincy,’ I said, wiping his forehead with a tissue. ‘I didn’t think Sara…would…’ I let the words trail away as guilt flooded through me. Of course I knew she would kill him; that was what she did. I should have tried to stop her.
‘Forget it, man. What happened to her?’
‘I…I killed her. Rothmann’s dead, too, not by my hand. He killed the hit man Apollyon.’
‘Jeez, I missed a big show.’ He took a ragged breath. ‘Matt, I-’
I raised a hand. ‘Don’t talk, Quincy. You need to rest. I’m just glad to see you alive and doing well.’ I leaned closer. ‘Listen, did you ever hear of a company called Hercules Solutions?’
‘Shit, yeah,’ he gasped. ‘I…I was seconded…to them in… Iraq. They…they were cowboys. Paid…a fortune and killed anything that moved, ’specially after some of their people got…taken out.’
‘They’re run by a reverend.’
‘Yeah, I met him out there…’
‘Really? What’s he like?’
Quincy coughed painfully. When he finished, I saw that a smile had formed on his lips. ‘He…he makes like he’s full of love for everyone, but he still lives and breathes the old South. I didn’t tell you I was Jewish, did I? So…so I made sure my Star of David was obvious. He…couldn’t get out of shaking my hand, but he…looked like he wanted to spit in my face.’