“I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, sir….”
The Fifth Day:
Pursuits
Chapter Twenty
“The death of Professor Metzencroy came as a shock to all of us. Please accept our regrets, Colonel,” the President offered from Washington over the high security conference line.
Chilgers was glad for this method of meeting. It spared him the necessity of keeping his features as composed as his voice. “Your thoughts are most appreciated, Mr. President,” he said humbly.
“Then please accept our concerns in the same light. Mr. Brandenberg, Mr. Jorgenson, and I are curious as to how the professor’s unfortunate passing affects Project Placebo?”
“Not in the least, sir,” the colonel reported confidently. “Please understand that the professor has been sick for some time. He had more or less removed himself from the project actively as of six weeks ago. His participation from that point became advisory or instructional in nature. So he will not be missed on this project in any tangible sense, though with him, sadly, has passed the kind of intangible contribution to the field of science that is not easily replaced.”
“I understand,” said the President.
The deep voice of Secretary of Defense George Brandenberg, filled the room. “But the point now is that Project Placebo can go on as scheduled.”
“I can say yes in all confidence.”
“That’s good,” said the President, “because after going over your report we’ve decided to accept your proposal verbatim, including activating Project Placebo’s final stage, a full-scale Red Flag alert, to coincide with delivery of the doctored missiles from COBRA.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Colonel. If anything goes wrong here, there’ll be hell to pay. The Senate Armed Services Committee will want to put somebody’s ass in their witness chair and, excuse my frankness, but it’s not going to be mine.”
“I understand fully.”
“See that you do, Colonel. When are the doctored missiles scheduled to arrive at Bunker 17?”
“Sunday afternoon, sir.”
“Then following your scenario we should bring the base to Yellow Flag some hours before then. You understand, of course, that all-alert status signaling will be handled from our end. We control the pace and can choose to abort the exercise at any time.”
“Certainly, Mr. President. That’s precisely what I proposed. Technically, I know of no other way it can be handled.”
There it was, Chilgers thought as he hung up the phone minutes later; he had done it. Project Placebo would go into effect sometime tomorrow and from that point it would be unstoppable. Vortex, too, would be unstoppable. Everything had worked out even better than he had let himself hope.
Metzencroy was out of the way and within the next few hours all the remaining holes would be filled.
Chilgers clamped his hands triumphantly together and smiled.
Bane had visited four more of the passengers from Flight 22 with no further results when the feeling struck him. A dread fear crept up his spine and he knew immediately something was wrong. He had lost his COBRA tails one hour into the morning, sick of worrying about them. Now he found himself missing their presence and their actions at any given time as a barometer for the opposition’s intentions.
He had to get to a phone.
“Josh, thank God you called!” The Bat had answered his phone before the first ring had ended.
“Harry, what’s wrong?”
“The King called a few minutes ago, talking crazy and swearing his head off.”
The fear tightened around Bane’s spine. “What about?”
“He wouldn’t tell me, but he wants you to call him as soon as you can.”
“Thanks, Harry.”
Bane plunged another dime down the slot and pressed out the number of the King’s gym.
“Josh boy?” the King rose tentatively. He did not bother to say hello.
“It’s me, King.”
“I lost him, Josh boy, I lost the kid.”
King Cong unlocked the door to his gym twenty minutes later just long enough for Bane to enter.
“It was crazy, Josh boy,” the King explained, following Bane toward the back room where Davey had been staying. “All of a sudden all the lights went out. I was movin’ toward the fuse box when I felt somebody real close by. Shit, he must a been in the same league as you and me — may be better. Anyways, I got a fix on his outline and was movin’ for him when somethin’ that looked like white smoke shot into my face and the next thing I know I’m wakin’ up with a head twice normal size.”
Bane caught the scent of a faint odor in the air. “Panodine,” he announced. “Highly toxic poison, especially in a gaseous state. Fatal even in small inhalations.”
“I’m still breathin’.”
“You wouldn’t be if you were six inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter.”
They had reached the entrance to the back room.
The King fumbled for the right key.
“Soon as I come to,” he continued, finally finding it, “I checked back here where two of my boys were handlin’ the baby-sittin’ chores.” The King swung the door open. “Somebody blew their heads off.”
Bane stepped inside and saw for himself. The two fullback-size blacks lay face down in a pool of blood and brains, the rear of their skulls blown totally away. He couldn’t help but shudder.
“Who could a done this, Josh boy? Who coulda pulled it off?”
Bane was asking himself that same question. A single devastator bullet in the back of the head was Scalia’s trademark as a killer. Could this be Scalia’s work?
Bane shuddered again and at once knew it was. Scalia was in New York and now he had Davey! But the boy wasn’t dead. Otherwise, his body would be lying here with the others. He’d be on his way to COBRA by now. Worse, Trench and Scalia were both in the city, both working for the opposition.
“How long, King? How long ago did this happen?”
“I don’t know for sure, Josh boy. I was out maybe a half hour so figure ’bout twice that or a little more.”
King Cong took a deep breath. “I let you down, Josh boy, I let you down real bad.”
“My fault, King. I should’ve known they’d link you to me.”
The King looked at him with sorrowful eyes. “Yeah, well the dude they sent iced two men like they weren’t even there, Josh boy. And when he came at me I could tell he was quick, quick like a cat.”
Bane started from the back room, froze in his tracks. Suddenly COBRA’s strategy was clear to him. With hard, cold fear he realized the next stage of their plan: the boy was theirs; it was time to clean up the rest of their tracks.
Bane rushed into the gym office and grabbed the phone. He dialed the Center’s number. It started ringing.
Come on, come on! Answer! Somebody answer!
No one did. The receiver slipped from Bane’s fingers and he charged past the King toward the exit.
Trench watched the passenger door open and the tall man slide in. He had only met Scalia once previous to this day and that occasion had found them on different sides, each resolutely trying to kill the other. Now they were working together and their eyes revealed the knowledge that this time any lapse would mean death.
“I’ve taken care of the phones. The people are yours.”
“How many?” Scalia asked, his eyes on the Center’s brownstone.
“Three since noon, just as the colonel informed us.”
“The girl?”
Trench nodded, reluctantly.
Scalia pulled back the sleeve of his overcoat. “Quarter past. I’d better get moving before the others dribble back from lunch. Don’t want to run up the colonel’s bill now, do I?”