Jack Handler NY

Solution to Puzzle 17

2012-02-20T10:24:00.001-05:00

Clue: What sort of gun did Kurt carry?
Ciphertext: BUQS JQKT KQQK CSNK EDIO BSKH FFZZ
Keyword: Glock ten mm
Plaintext: Kurt preferred the Glock ten mm

Chapter 90

2012-02-20T10:23:00.001-05:00

Chapter 90—Jack examines

Reginald’s belongings

3:34 a.m., Friday, December 30

Jack placed the bag in the center of his kitchen table. For a few long moments he just stood there, staring at it, as though not wishing to open it. Perhaps he was too tired. Perhaps he simply did not want to go there. But for some reason unknown to him, Jack just could not bring himself to open the bag—at least not immediately.
Finally, he turned and walked over to the refrigerator, and opened it. He was amazed to find it totally stocked. Obviously, Roger had something to do with that. “Someone knows what I can eat and drink,” Jack quipped, actually wishing that he would find a cold beer. Ever since his heart attack, his doctor had insisted he not drink.
“Of course,” Doc Rivers told him, “you must never drink again.”
That was not a major problem for Jack, because he never really liked to drink. But to be told that he must never drink again was not an easy thing for him to accept. The doctor also told him that he must not smoke, or drink more than one caffeinated drink a day. And, of course, he had also to give up salt.
There were two things that irked Jack about this new regimen—one was the issue of the salt. Okay, so he did have a heart attack. It was a minor one. So what. A lot of people have heart attacks. Jack reasoned that if he gave up beer and cigarettes, then it should be okay to have a little salt on his food, followed by a coffee chaser. It just made sense to him—something about the quality of life trumping longevity.
So, as Jack inventoried the contents of his refrigerator, he immediately realized that there were no processed foods, no beer, no soft drinks, no red meat, and no milk.
Jack continued to look around until he found four bottles of water. He took one out, and opened it.
He opened the cupboard just to the left of the refrigerator, and took out a clean drinking glass. As he poured the water into it, he looked into the cupboard just to the left of where he found his glass, and found a bag of sodium free pretzels. “I guess this will have to do for now,” he muttered, tearing the bag open.
He then returned to the bag of Reginald’s belongings, still laying in the middle of his table, held closed with gray duct tape. Jack placed his right hand on the package, as though he were placing it on his friend’s shoulder. For a time, that seemed to satisfy him.
After a moment or two, he walked over to the cupboard drawers, and opened them until he found a sharp knife. He used it to cut the tape.
He then opened the mouth of the bag, and carefully dumped its contents onto the table.
The first thing to tumble out was Reginald’s jacket. Jack immediately chuckled when he looked at it. He recalled all the times he teased Reginald about that jacket. “Who bought that for you, Reg?” Jack had said to Reginald on a recent encounter. “I’ll bet it’s from that boyfriend you never talk about.”
Reginald always humored his friend’s comments. “Jack,” Reginald had responded, “if you ever stop picking on me I’m gonna have to shoot you.”
The next article of clothing that dumped out when Jack turned the bag up and shook it, was a rolled up pair of slacks. Jack noted the large quantity of still-damp blood that soaked the pants. “Amazing,” Jack noted, “the amount of blood that pours out of a dying human being. … Over a gallon, on average. And, in Reg’s case, most of it was left on the street.”
Jack could not resist sliding his hand between the layers of the blood-soaked pants. His act was not in any sense dictated by morbidity. No, Jack had experienced death blood many times in his life. And a few of those times the blood was that of some one close to him. That was the case this time. By allowing Reginald’s blood to moisten his hands seemed to bring him closer to his friend, for one last time.
Of course, the blood was thick and cold. But it was all that was left of his friend.
After a moment, Jack pulled his hand out of the moist cloth. He turned his hand palm up, and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, relishing the sticky sensation it created. He then raised his fingers to his nose, in order to smell the ferrous odor. While most people would be appalled at this, to Jack it seemed a fitting way to say goodbye to his friend.
Jack then slid the pants and jacket to the side, and dumped out Reginald’s shirt, underwear, socks and shoes. They all seemed to come out as a single unit.
Reginald always wore white socks. Jack had teased him about that as well.
Tonight, however, there was only one white sock. The second sock was mostly brown. So-stained by the large amount of blood that had flowed down Reginald’s right leg. “He must have bled out from his right side,” Jack surmised. “Must have caught a round through his femoral artery.”
For just a moment Jack considered examining Reginald’s pants to find the bullet hole, but then thought better.
Instead, he pulled the jacket from the bottom of the stack, and examined all the pockets. Upon finding nothing, Jack concluded that Roger’s men had removed all contents in order to return it to his wife.
Jack then looked through Reginald’s pants pockets. The first one he examined was the right front. Initially it appeared empty. But upon a more careful inspection, he detected a small, tightly folded and blood-soaked piece of paper stuck to the bottom of the pocket.
Fearful that he might destroy it in an attempt to remove it, he instead looked for a pair of scissors to cut the pocket open.
Not finding any, Jack instead took the sharp knife he had used to cut the tape, and cut the stitching on the bottom of the pocket. He then opened it up to get a better look. Sliding the knife between the damp paper and the inside of the pocket, he carefully pried it loose and removed it.
It appeared to have been folded three times.
He took the folded note and laid it on a clear spot on the table.
“I should open this up now, before the blood gets totally dry,” he reasoned.
So carefully he unfolded the paper until it lay flat on the table—face up.
“You sonofabi**h,” Jack quipped, realizing that the words on this little piece of paper were undoubtedly the last words his friend had written. And, fittingly, they could not be read as written. Reginald’s last words were encoded.
“Another cryptogram,” Jack said. “Reg, even from the other side, you still found a way to devil me. Didn’t you?”

Puzzle 18

2012-02-20T10:23:00.000-05:00

Clue: What did Jack do with Reginald’s belongings?
Ciphertext: KFSI WLQO WGJH ODPC DQIO WHQS TFWZ

Puzzle 1

2011-10-31T10:56:00.001-04:00

Clue: What attracted Jack to the waitress?
Ciphertext: UQSU UHPTF UOYK TSBF UWZZ

(Solution published next Monday)

Chapter 1

2011-10-31T10:55:00.000-04:00

Chapter 1—Christmas morn on the bank

of the Chicago River

4:58 a.m., Sunday, December 25

Christmas morning—five a.m. The sun had not yet attempted to peek over Lake Michigan.
And it was snowing. While winter storms surprise no one in Chicago, this was a particularly frigid snow, driven by an incredibly stiff westerly—the sort generally reserved for late January or February.
The wind-fractured flakes jetted past Jack Handler more horizontal than vertical, then bounced along the concrete Riverwalk like miniature snowballs.
The inclement weather did not, however, present a problem to Jack. In fact, he embraced it. The fierce storm suggested he would have no company as he wound up this job.
“What could be better?” he thought.
Carrying an oversized and plastic-lined leather briefcase, he briskly made his way east along the north side of the Chicago River, less than a mile from Lake Michigan.
Just as he reached a pre-selected point along the water’s edge, he turned toward the river. Gripping a support post with his right hand, he swung the heavy case up and rested it on the railing. Then, with a single motion, he unlatched the case and dumped out of it a solid block of ice. Using his thumb, he retained a brown plastic bag that he had wrapped around the ice so that it would not stick to the case.
Once the bag had separated from the ice, he quickly gathered it up and tucked it back in the case.
The water was several feet below the walkway, so the heavy chunk made a loud splashing sound when it landed. Initially disappearing beneath the surface, the little iceberg bobbed up to the surface almost immediately. Only an inch or so showed above the water, but it was enough to reflect the snow-muted lights of the city as it began floating downstream.
Jack hesitated a moment, took a deep breath, snapped the large brown case closed, then resumed his walk eastward.
He had chosen this specific spot nearly a week earlier. In fact, he had barely checked into a nearby hotel when he took this exact trek along the river, searching out camera and light locations. He knew that while he could not totally avoid scrutiny, he did need to find the most appropriate place to discard the package—a point that would pose minimal threat from surveillance or excessive lighting.
On his earlier trip, he had also verified that the usually slow-moving current at this specific location was relatively swift. That would insure his deposit would be swept steadily along.
Initially he questioned whether or not the Chicago River would work for him. Theoretically, it might seem that a better choice would have been a river that flowed into a large body of water, as opposed to away from one. But such is not the case with this river—at least not anymore.
Thanks to a series of man-made canals, the Chicago River’s course was altered back in the late 1800s so that it flowed westward, away from Lake Michigan. The project had been undertaken to block the flow of industrial waste into Lake Michigan, because the big lake served as the city’s water supply.
When Jack initially developed his plan, he painstakingly considered all the ramifications associated with the river’s slow westward flow. He finally concluded that convenient accessibility, and size, outweighed any negative factors. Then, when he found a spot on the river where the current was relatively fast, he knew that the Chicago River would work perfectly.
“Too bad they all don’t go this well,” he thought as he glanced backward, checking to be sure that the ice had successfully begun its journey downstream. He had some concern that the hard west wind might actually blow the ice eastward, against the current. But that did not happen. Jack then smiled slightly, turned his face away from the river, and continued walking. “That’s a cool one hundred and fifty grand.”
Jack walked a little farther, and then stopped abruptly. He extended his left arm, exposing a vintage gold Rolex—a gift from his wife on their third anniversary. He held it up to a dim light he encountered about one hundred and fifty feet up river. He then turned around quickly (as though remembering something he had forgotten), and headed back toward Michigan Avenue. He had worked through the night, and he was spent—perhaps too tired, he thought, to rest well. Nevertheless, he knew that he had to try to get some sleep. He did, after all, have a plane to catch out of O’Hare at one p.m.
It was not until he had nearly reached Michigan Avenue that he realized just how cold he was. His thinly lined tan windbreaker did not block the sub-zero wind-chill gusts. Perhaps he was just too exhausted, and his body had begun to shut down. Or maybe it was because he now walked directly into the teeth of the wind. Whatever the case, Jack lowered his head, pulled the brim of his Cubs baseball cap down so it would not fly off, and held it there with his left hand to block the pelting snow from his squinting eyes. Lengthening his Asics’ stride just a bit, he forced a glance up to the stairs that led to the bridge over the river, then pointed himself in the direction of his hotel, which was on the south bank.
Just as he approached the revolving door leading into the lobby, he was startled when his phone began to vibrate. “Who could be calling me this early in the morning?” Jack wondered. Very few people knew his cell number.

Chapter 2

2011-10-31T10:54:00.000-04:00

Chapter 2—The unexpected phone call

5:13 a.m., Sunday, December 25

Stopping just outside the hotel entrance, Jack removed his phone from its holder, and checked to see who was calling him. When he saw the name “Kitty” on the display, a large smile swept over his tired face. He then continued on into the warmness of the hotel lobby, answering the phone as he walked.
“Kitty, this is awful early to be calling your old man. What’s up?”
“You’re coming to my town today, Right?”
“Yes I am,” he answered. “Are you going to let me buy you lunch?”
“I thought you could take me out for dinner while you’re here,” Katherine (who really preferred to be called Kate) replied.
“Dinner?” Jack said, looking for a place to sit down while he talked to his daughter. “Let’s see, I don’t think it’s your birthday. And I sure know it’s not mine—I stopped having them. Must be some other special occasion.”
“No special occasion,” Kate replied. “I just miss my dad, and I was hoping to spend some time with him. What does he think about it?”
“He thinks that you have an ulterior motive,” Jack answered. “Is he right?”
“Of course he’s right,” she retorted. “Isn’t he always right?”
“Not always, but sometimes. I know my daughter real well, and I just don’t think you normally get up this early—not on a Sunday morning. So, there must be something on your mind.”
“Where you staying? Down by Penn Station?”
“That’s right,” Jack answered. I’m due in about three in the afternoon. Give me a call around five, and we’ll set something up for Monday. Is everything okay?”
“Sure, everything’s fine. I just need to pick your brain a little. You always have an answer for me when I have a tough question.”
“Kitty, I hope this isn’t about sex or anything like that. ...”
Kate chuckled, and said, “Trust me, Dad, you’re not the one I go to for matters of the heart ... or anything related to it.”
“I didn’t think so,” Jack said. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve got yourself into this time.”
“You’re gonna love it,” Kate said. “It is right up your alley. ... And, Dad, if you’re up to it, maybe we can get together yet today. If you’re not too tired.”
“Sure, I’d love to,” he said. “Call me about five.”
“I will,” she said. “And I can’t wait to see you as well. Love ya, Dad.”
“Back at you, Kitty.”
This was a perfect diversion for Jack. His daughter was the most important person left in his life. He and Kate’s mother (Beth) had been married for only three years, five months, and four days, when a bullet intended for him fatally wounded her. Kate was two years old at the time. After Beth’s death, Jack never even dated, much less remarried. Instead, he devoted all of his energy to the raising of his precious daughter.
It had been tough. As a Chicago detective, his hours were very unpredictable, and the pay was not the greatest. He knew that he was going to need some help, so he hired a wonderful Polish immigrant as a live-in. Her name was Val, which was short for something, but Jack couldn’t remember what. He immediately took a liking to the middle-aged woman, and insisted on paying her nearly twice as much as the typical live-in nanny was making at the time.
Jack slipped his cell phone back into its holder, and just sat there for few moments, relishing his memories. He replayed walking into his modest Northeast Chicago home after work, and being greeted by Val. She would be cleaning something when he walked in—the house always smelled clean. As soon as she saw him, she would stop what she was doing, take a couple steps toward him, wiping her hands on her tiny-print loose-fitting housedress. It was almost a ritual. He would walk in and say, “Hi, Val. Don’t you look nice today.” To which she would always respond, “Oh, Mr. Handler.” Then, as her round face flushed, she would momentarily break eye contact with him.
“You should be so proud of Katherine,” she would say. “She got another ‘A’. That daughter of yours is so smart.” Then, pointing down the hall with her eyes, Val would say, “Kate’s in her room studying right now.” She knew that her boss was anxious to greet his daughter, so she would immediately direct the conversation toward Kate.
It pleased Jack that Val was always upbeat. He often recalled when he first interviewed her. He noted that she never quit smiling. In fact, that smile was the reason Jack hired her. He wanted his daughter to be surrounded by laughter, and he knew of no better way to do that than to hire a nanny who loved life, and loved to make the people around her happy.
Beth was like that. She laughed and joked all the time. Of course, she could be appropriately serious when the situation called for it. But she knew how to fill a home with joy. In that respect, Val reminded him of Kate’s mother.
That was the only resemblance, however. While Val was stocky, with brown hair, blues eyes, and thick strong hands; Beth was just the opposite. Grecian ancestry gave Kate’s mother the look of a bronze goddess.
Beth had captured Jack’s heart the first moment he saw her. He had met her on the job. She was the first chair violinist for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, while he was a young cop who had found himself assigned to one of her performances for crowd control. After the concert, he spotted her leaving the theater, and edged his way close to her. Their eyes met, and she smiled.
“Can I hail a cab for you?” Jack asked, smiling back.
That’s all it took. Jack spent the next year winning the heart of this beautiful woman, and they were married exactly fourteen months after their first encounter.
Then it happened. The moment he feared. No matter how hard he tried to block out the events of that awful night, sometimes, especially when he was exhausted, those visions of terror fought their way through his defenses.
Beth had just performed at a concert. Afterward, he took her out for a drink. When the taxi dropped them off at their house, gunmen were waiting. Jack never saw it coming. Two casually dressed men got out of a parked car, approached them, and started firing point blank with 9mm semi automatic pistols. Jack took four rounds before he could draw his “Service Six” to return fire. Beth was hit only once—but that was in the face, and it was fatal. It was clear that the men were after Jack, and his unfortunate wife was collateral. But she was the one they killed.
Even though seriously wounded, Jack got off six rounds from his Smith and Wesson revolver. Two of Jack’s bullets struck one attacker—one in the chest, and one in the neck. Either wound would have been fatal. He hit the second with single round to the heart—also fatal. His other three rounds missed both attackers, and were never found.
None of Jack’s wounds were life threatening. In fact, he lost consciousness only after the volley was finished, and then just momentarily. He took a round to his left hand when he reached out trying to deflect his attacker’s pistol while he drew his own. A second round glanced off his left shoulder, and one lodged in his left leg after it had ricocheted off the sidewalk.
The fourth round would have hit him squarely in the head had the shooter not been hit in the chest as he fired. Instead, it merely glanced off Jack’s forehead, knocking him to the sidewalk. That shot was the last round fired, because by that time both of the attackers had received fatal wounds, and were falling to the ground. They died on the sidewalk only inches apart. That was fortunate for Jack, as he was also face down on the concrete, stunned, immobile, and with an empty revolver locked in his right hand.
Jack never really knew how long he laid there on the sidewalk. For months, the only thing he recalled about the event was waking up with his cheek on the cold hard concrete. It was not clear if the bullet knocked him out, or if it was the concussion caused by the sidewalk when he struck his head.
On this night, sitting in the lobby of that Chicago hotel, in his mind he could still smell the odor of burned gunpowder. And, of course, the horrible ferrous smell of blood—lots of blood. He recalled slowly regaining consciousness, and struggling to comfort his fallen wife. But his hand fell short, reaching only to the warm, sticky moistness that had pooled around her face. In shock, he pushed himself up enough to see death in her dilated eyes.
At that point, Jack wished death for himself, but it did not come.
He remembered trying and failing to stand. He saw the two dead attackers, but had no idea how they got there. He then started vomiting.
He surmises that he must have passed out again, because his next recollection was waking up in a hospital, with tubes in both of his arms, and doctors and nurses hovering over him.
Jack had not wanted the memory of Beth’s murder to captivate his thoughts on this night. But he knew that sooner or later it would crash down on him. It always happened on Christmas. And even though he had kept himself preoccupied with his work, Kate’s call triggered the old memories. He removed a paper towel he had stuck in his jacket pocket to wipe off any excess moisture from the case he used to transport the ice. And, using that paper towel, he blotted the tears from his eyes.
Jack had taken six months off after the attack. He even thought about quitting the force altogether. Instead, at his lieutenant’s suggestion, he returned to Northwestern University. There he earned a master’s degree in criminal justice, and eventually became a Chicago detective.
One of the most significant contacts he made in college was that of a captivating professor. This fellow had retired after twenty years on the force. He and Jack became good friends—probably because the professor had also been shot in the line of duty. When he heard Jack’s story, and learned that raising a daughter alone was exacting an overwhelming financial burden on Jack, he helped his protÈgÈe find part-time work in the private sector.
Jack liked that. In fact, by the time Kate was five years old, Jack was earning more moonlighting than he was at his job with the city. Within a few more years, he had built up such a nice business that he took an early retirement from the department, and turned his avocation into his full-time job.
“What could be so important to Kitty,” Jack wondered, “that she would wake up this early, on Christmas day, just to call me?”
On other occasions, when Kate would call him to get his opinion on something, it always had to do with a case she was working on. Kate had followed in her father’s footsteps. Except, instead of working in Chicago, Kate was a detective based out of a Manhattan precinct.
“I’ll bet she is on a case that has her stumped.” Jack muttered aloud. “Damn, it’s nice to be wanted, … or, at least needed.”

Chapter 3

2011-10-31T10:53:00.000-04:00

Chapter 3—Jack prepares for New York

5:25 a.m., Sunday, December 25

Jack’s mind was racing as though he had just tossed down two double espressos. He was wide-awake. Not only was he excited about going back to New York, now he was doubly wired at the prospect of spending time with his daughter—especially since she was requesting to see him.
“I need something to put me to sleep,” he thought, eyeing the hotel coffee shop. Jack had a sugar issue. He did not fully understand it, but he knew that if he ate a donut or two, with a glass of milk, within thirty minutes he would fall asleep. Usually he would wake back up after a few hours. But that would be just fine this time. All he really wanted was to fall asleep. He knew his mind and body would recover enough to function the rest of the day, even with only a limited amount of good rest
Jack never gloried in past achievements. And he never wallowed in his failures. He simply did not engage in second-guessing. From the moment the ice hit the water less than an hour earlier, he was on a new mission. This one called him to New York. And from what he could surmise, it was a big job, offering a much larger payday.
As he walked through the lobby, Jack was relieved to see that the coffee shop was open, even on Christmas morning. He was going to need his “donut and milk fix” to relax.
Whenever Jack ate in a restaurant, he always sought out a corner booth or table—one that afforded him a clear view of the entrance. He was pleased that on this occasion he was able to seat himself. He found a booth near the rear, one from which he could monitor those entering the coffee shop, as well as keep an eye on Riverwalk activity. He knew that a person in his line of work would stay alive only if he remained keenly aware of his surroundings.
“Sure, Honey, we have milk,” the waitress said, with more than a friendly smile. “Would you like it warmed? With a nipple perhaps?”
Jack looked up at her and smiled. “No, cold and in a glass will do just fine. ... Two percent, if you’ve got it. And how about one of those large frosted cinnamon buns? Could you warm one of those up for me?”
“Darlin’, I can warm up more than that for you.” She set a glass of water in front of Jack. She then placed both hands on the table, and leaned toward him, exposing more than an ample cleavage. “Would you like anything else?”
Jack did appreciate the attention, and the view; but he chose not to acknowledge the flirt. He merely smiled again, and replied, “thanks, one of those large rolls, warmed up, would be great.”
The waitress smiled again. “I’ll be right back, Hon,” she said, as she turned and walked toward the kitchen. Jack’s eyes locked on her shapely form until she disappeared behind double swinging doors. “Youth Dew,” he thought. “That’s what she was wearing—Estee Lauder Youth Dew.”
That was the fragrance that Beth always wore.
He slowly ate half of the white-frosted cinnamon bun, and drank most of his two percent. After about twenty minutes, he caught himself staring wide eyed and unfocused through the window out into the Chicago darkness. The sugar had kicked in. Sensing his heart significantly slowing, he glanced down at his watch. “Five forty-five. Time to head up to my room,” he thought, snatching the bill as he stood to leave.
Just then he heard his cell phone ring. He had turned it on audible after Kate’s call. He recognized this ring tone. “Reg,” he said, “what are you doing up this time of the morning? … Christmas morning, no less?”
Jack’s face grew somber, as he detected his caller’s extreme agitation. He stood motionless, gripping the bill in his left hand, and holding his cell with his right. “Reg, we can’t discuss this on the phone. I’m catching a one o’clock out of O’Hare. I’ll be in the city by three. Why don’t you meet me at LaGuardia? ... Sure. No problem. I am whipped right now, but I’m going to get some rest before the flight. ... See you there. I’ll only have a few minutes though—gotta meet with my daughter, Kitty. You remember Kate—right? ... But we’ll have time to cover the basics ... great. ... See ya then.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Jack thought. Looking down at his phone, he found and pushed the “off” button with his very large right thumb. “I have got to get some rest.”
He then slid his phone into the holder, picked up the bill, and slapped a ten on the table as a tip for the overly friendly waitress. Almost immediately he picked it back up and swapped it for a five. “Can’t have her getting the wrong idea,” he reasoned.
“Time for this guy to get a little shut-eye,” he said to himself. He paid his bill, and headed to his room.
On his way up, Jack could not help but wonder what had made his friend so nervous. The contract in New York had been set up by a very close friend of his, Reginald Black. Up until this call, Jack had not given the job a second thought. “Just another day at the office,” he figured. Through the years he had worked many jobs with his friend, and never before had he ever heard Reginald sound so worked up.
Jack felt his heart start to race. “Can’t let this happen,” he thought. “Got to get some rest. I’ll deal with Reg’s problems when I get to New York.”

Chapter 4

2011-10-31T10:52:00.003-04:00

Chapter 4—If we play this right …
3:15 a.m., Friday, December 30

Allison looked up at James, and asked, "What time is it?"

"Three fifteen," James replied without looking at his watch.

James Colson and Allison Fulbright had spent the whole late evening and early morning drinking and spilling Scotch in a fourth floor Central Park East apartment. Allison was doing most of the drinking, and all of the spilling.

She had gathered up every pillow and bed covering from the entire apartment, and piled them on the floor in Bernadette’s office. She sat in the middle of the pile, with a half-full glass. James sat at Bernadette’s desk, logged on to her computer. The only light in the whole room emanated from a small florescent reading light above where he was working, and from the monitor.

"How in hell did we get to this place?" Allison muttered, miserably slurring her words. She was drunk.

James swiveled around to face her. "We’ll survive this, Al. But we have to act quickly ... and decisively."

When that word "survive" bounced around and through Allison’s neurons, it disrupted her whole being. Her bloodshot hazel eyes immediately opened widely, accenting an uncharacteristically pathetic frown on her sixty-year-old face. For just a moment it appeared that she might burst into tears; but she quickly resisted the urge.

There was nothing attractive about Allison’s appearance on this early New York morning. Her bobbed dishwater blond hair was a mess. Whatever minimal makeup she might have started with was gone. And the Ralph Lauren robe did nothing to mask her thick calves and hefty thighs. At virtually every other time during any given day, her patented designer beige pantsuits did that job as well as could be hoped for. But she was trying to relax, and she was drunk—always a bad combination when it comes to ones appearance.

But even though she did have too much to drink, she was not sufficiently intoxicated to insulate her feelings from that horrible word James tossed in her direction.

"Survive! What the hell do you mean by that? Survive? I don’t want to survive, I want to be President. Damn it, James, I’m supposed to be President. Surviving doesn’t mean anything to me. If you don’t get that by now you’re no damn use to me. If I’m not sitting in the Oval Office in two years, I might as well be dead. Don’t you get it? That’s all that matters. That is absolutely all that matters."

Allison had already spent eight years in the White House as the wife of a popular President, and had designs on the office for herself. This driving desire dated back to her days as a law student at Yale. After her husband’s second term had ended, Allison spent every moment planning her return to Pennsylvania Avenue, but this time as the first female President of the United States.

Most political analysts predicted she would win the nomination eight years after her husband left office. However, even though she made a powerful attempt, she lost too many primaries, and was forced to pull out of the race. She felt she was cheated—she was convinced that she had deserved to be the candidate.

"You’re not looking at this from the right perspective."

"What other perspective is there? That bastard printed every word we said. Verbatim! Every damn word that came out of our mouths. It’s all right there in your hands, James."

With that, Allison threw up in the large bowl James had placed at her side. It was not the first time. She had been pouring Scotch for several hours, and much of it had made its way between her lips twice. With a slow mechanical swiping motion, she wiped her mouth off with a towel he had placed alongside the bowl. Then, as very drunk people are prone to do, she examined the towel to see what she might have deposited on it, her head weaving a little as she did.

Allison was dressed comfortably. Before she even knew that she was going to meet with James, she had already finished one glass of Scotch, started another, and traded her heels and favorite pantsuit for the robe and more comfortable foot wear. As she sat swaying on the floor, she suddenly realized that she was wearing only one slipper. For some reason, the whereabouts of the missing slipper began to preoccupy her. She did not try to stand, but she did raise her head enough to peer around the office in search of it.

"But you’re not seeing the larger picture, Al. Mossad does not want you destroyed. I can’t believe they seek that. They are simply trying to prevent an assassination. They distrust this guy as much as we do, but they fear a power vacuum more than his screwed up Mideast policies.

"This is how I see it. They recorded our meetings all right, but they’re holding onto the recordings. And they’ll keep holding them. But only if we give them what they want. They are very good at what they do. If we play ball, there is no way that they will ever release those recordings; at least not in our lifetime. I am sure we can win this thing."

With that, Allison propped herself up against a large pillow that was leaning against the wall. She had, for a moment, fallen on her side, and was lying in a quasi-fetal position. She had found that posture quite pleasant—so comfortable, in fact, that for a moment she considered just falling asleep for a while. But James’ words had got her attention, and now she intently listened to what he was saying.

"What exactly do you mean, my dear James? They have already released the damn tapes ... to that bastard reporter ..."

She had not finished her sentence before James started shaking his head. "No, I doubt that very much. In fact, I’m virtually positive they did not give him the recordings. It’s obvious that all this guy had to work with were transcriptions. And transcriptions don’t mean diddly-squat if you don’t have the actual recordings, or a good witness to corroborate."

James was from the South. In every respect he was a true Southern Gentleman—an African-American Southern Gentleman. Because of his good southern upbringing, he always had an aversion to using strong language in front of a lady. And, even though Allison often sounded more like a truck driver than a former First Lady, James always tried to avoid profanity in her presence.

Allison appreciated the fact that James was always attentive to her, and that he was polite—two attributes totally absent in her relationship with her husband.

James had no obvious flaws. He was ruggedly handsome. It was said about him that he had a voice for radio and a face for TV. His six-foot two-inch frame carried his 187 pounds well. It was obvious to all that he worked out regularly. And not just cardiovascular exercises—he lifted major weights twice a week.

But beyond his good looks, James was liked and respected by all that knew him. He never opened his mouth unless he already knew how his words would affect the people to whom he was speaking. Not that he engaged in nuance. He did not. He just simply thought his words through carefully. And he never lied.

He could often be seen sitting quietly, even in a conference meeting, not saying a thing. Then, at the appropriate time, he would interject something profound—concise and profound. No matter who was talking at the time, everyone stopped and paid attention to what James had to say.

For all the same reasons, both Bob and Allison totally trusted James.

"Okay, I’m listening," Allison said.

Rolling his chair closer to where Allison was sitting, James leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Allison had observed that posture a hundred times before. She knew this meant that James was really on to something. Even though Allison was drunk, her mind was clear enough to critically process James’ words.

Suddenly he jumped up from his chair and briskly walked out to the kitchen. James never did anything slowly, especially when his mind was so magically engaged. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed two bottles of water, and then returned to where Allison was sitting. He opened both. Handing one to Allison, he said, "drink this. We’ve got to flush your system. We’ve both got work to do."

Allison took a small sip of the water. She was not feeling well, and suspected that she would not be able to hold it down.

"Don’t worry about it. Just drink it. Drink as much as you can. If you toss it, that’s fine. That’ll just flush some of that expensive Scotch out of your system."

Allison hated to be told what to do. But she knew James was right. So she took several large swallows.

She then looked James in the eye, and asked: "Okay. What makes you think this idiot writer does not have the tapes?"

"It just figures. If he had the actual recordings, he would be using them right now. Writers, even hack writers like this jerk, they hate to be questioned, much less doubted. If he had the recordings, he would have sent something along with this to prove credibility—something substantial, irrefutable. He would be trying to establish a strong bargaining position."

James paused for a moment, and then continued: "He sent only this transcript. Considering all the allegations that can be inferred from it, it is beyond curious for him to send it without any corroborating evidence. That tells us one thing—he has no proof. He wants us to think he has, but I’m convinced that he’s either bluffing, or, … perhaps he’s not even a real journalist."

"Keep going," Allison said, taking another long drink of water.

"Look. I’ve tickled every friendly news outlet. Nothing suggests that anyone else has specific knowledge about this. The only thing I ran into were rumors, and I think I might have started all of them. … And the thing about rumors is, they don’t mean a thing. If anyone in the media, and I do mean anyone, had recordings, or had even heard the real thing; or if anyone had anything else whatsoever to substantiate this story, somebody would know about it."

James paused again to gather his thoughts, and to get Allison’s attention. He then continued, "Mossad has them. Mossad created them, and they continue to hold them. And, knowing the way Mossad works, they’re not about to give them up, not to anyone; especially not to anyone in the media."

Allison belched in the most unladylike fashion, and then threw up again in the bowl.

"That’s great, get rid of it. We’ve got to get you cleaned out. You’re gonna hold the most important press conference of your life. And it has to be today."

"I can’t do that. Just look at me. I’m a mess."

"Has to be today. And you can do it. It’s Friday. Whatever we get out there today, if it is early enough, it will still carry the weekend. It couldn’t be more perfect. … Well, that’s an overstatement. It certainly could be better. But given what we have to work with, I am sure we can turn this whole thing around, if we do it right. … And right away. At the very least, we’ll buy some time."

"Okay, James, let’s go over this," Allison said, struggling to sober up. Her words were becoming noticeably less slurred.

"That a girl, Al."

James grew quiet for a moment, organizing his thoughts in a way that he knew Allison would appreciate. "If we’re going to pull this off, you have to be up to speed and totally on board," he said. "Here’s the deal. Mossad did a great job. They went to a lot of effort. Now listen carefully here. This next part is very important."

James again rested his elbows on his knees, and looked deeply into Allison’s slowly sobering eyes. "Okay. If Mossad had wanted to destroy you, and your potential presidency, they would have released the recordings to the FBI—not had this fellow give transcripts to us. All they really wanted to accomplish was to avoid a power vacuum. And that’s exactly what they feared would happen if President Butler were to be assassinated."

"So, then, is it off? Is our plan dead?"

"Don’t know for sure. Can’t know for sure, at least not for right now. At the very least, it has been changed. Our job, right now, is to turn this story, or non-story, on its head. We have to deflect whatever comes out, and prevent it from grabbing the headlines. Because, if it is released now, without our doing something to direct public attention away from it, potentially it could be very damaging. … No, that’s an understatement. This story, if allowed to take root, will destroy us all. We have to give the press a bigger fish.

"I don’t think this guy, or anyone else, is about to run this story. But if a story about these meetings were to get out, it could be all that gets talked about for a very long time.

"And that’s what we need—a little time. We need to figure out what Mossad is really after, and how they plan to use what they’ve got for the short term. We need a little breathing room. ... But, I can promise you that we do not have to worry about the actual recordings ever being released to the media. You can trust me on this one, Allison."

"But, James, they do have physical evidence of a conspiracy. And not just any conspiracy. They’ve got proof that we plotted to assassinate the President of the United States." As those words escaped her lips, she finally started to cry.

"That’s right, Mossad does have recordings. And for sure they are incriminating. But that’s not the end of the world. … and, as I said before, we can work through this. In fact, I think this whole matter can end up being a positive thing—if we manage it properly."

"Are you out of your mind? How in hell can conspiracy tapes work for us?"

"They can—I promise you. We just have to handle it properly," James said, in his most reassuring voice.

Allison was not sure she believed him yet, but she wanted to.

"Now, if the Russians had the recordings, it would be a totally different story. But Mossad does not want this country, or you, destroyed. Without us, where would they be? And you have always been a supporter. …So, okay, they’ve got some very embarrassing recordings of us conspiring. Thus far they have used what they’ve got brilliantly. Like a warning shot across our bow. …The bottom line is this, I think. While they may have blocked us here, temporarily, we must keep in mind that we’re playing chess, not checkers. It could be that they just want to be a player. Maybe they think they have a better idea."

James paused a moment, and then continued. "Al, you still can be President. Only the when and the how remain to be worked out. Perhaps all they need is to be assured that the transition will be a smooth one. It might not be this next election cycle, but it will happen. The very fact that Mossad holds those recordings can be beneficial to your cause."

"I heard you say that before. I don’t see how that can happen."

"Once you are in office, and it is quite possible that they may very well help us get you there, they will use what they have—but not to destroy you. …They will expect favors—maybe missiles, missile defense, fighter jets. So, you give them some B-1s. Big deal. They’re not going to use them to bomb DC.

"If we let them help us get you in the Oval Office, they will be willing to support your every move, as long as you consult with them occasionally—particularly on Mideast matters. They will think they have you in their pocket; but you will own them. If we play this right, that’s exactly how it will be."

Just then there was a loud pounding on the door.

"FBI, open up."

Chapter 5

2011-10-31T10:51:00.000-04:00

Chapter 5—Kate’s mystery unfolds

5:15 p.m., Sunday, December 25

Jack’s flight arrived on time at LaGuardia, but Reginald was not there to meet him. When he called to see where his friend was, his call went directly to voice mail. That did not trouble Jack, because in their line of work there were many times when calls simply could not be answered. The unexpected became the norm. Jack left a message that he was checking into his hotel, and that Reginald could contact him later if he wished.
Jack was pleased that he was able to get some rest before and during the flight, and that the cab ride to his hotel was uneventful.
“Kitty, it’s your old man,” Jack said to his daughter. He had called her as he was unpacking his suitcase.
“Dad,” Kate answered. “You’ve landed. Where are you staying? … Wait, let me guess. One of those hotels down by Penn Station. Am I right?”
“Kitty, you’re always right,” Jack teased his daughter. “Even when you’re wrong, you’re right. ... Right?”
“Dad,” Kate said.
“What time is it?” Jack asked, looking down at his watch. “Five-sixteen. Are you in town yet, or are you out on the Island?”
“I’m in town. I’m getting together with you—remember? I thought I would hang around in case you weren’t too tired. Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee yet today? What do you think?” Kate asked.
“Love to, Kitty,” Jack replied, quickly accepting his daughter’s offer. “I would like to jump in the shower first. How about you grab a taxi to Penn Station. We’ll meet up, and figure stuff out from there? Will that work for you? Can’t wait to see you.”
Kate knew her father well. She had anticipated what he would suggest, and he did not disappoint her.
“I’ll call you at 6:10. Does that sound about right?” she asked.
“Perfect,” Jack said. “I should be there by then. It’s only a few blocks.”
While Jack and his daughter were close, neither of them actually went out of their way to get together. But, whenever Jack was in New York, he would always give Kate a call. If she had time (and she always had time for him), she would meet her father at a restaurant—or, as was the case this time, at a coffee shop. But seldom at the same place twice.
The lone exception to that rule was Kate’s favorite steak house. Jack had taken his daughter there three times. It had become one of their favorite haunts. This time, Jack detected a sense of urgency in his daughter’s voice. He had no idea what was prompting it, but he knew she needed something that she was convinced he alone could supply.
Jack checked his watch again, as he stripped down. He knew this shower would take three minutes—no longer. Perhaps a bit less, given his desire to see his daughter. He had learned self-discipline from his time as an Army Ranger. Three minutes for a shower, two to shave, three to five to get dressed. It was not as though he were on a stopwatch, but he maintained that schedule just the same.
He was even a disciplined sleeper. He always tried to go to bed at 9 p.m. But, regardless of what time he retired, he seemed to wake up promptly at 5 a.m. He did not need an alarm, but he still set a reminder on his watch anyway. From 5 a.m. until 6, he worked out.
Sometimes his workout regimen interfered with an appointment. When it did, he merely shifted the routine enough to accommodate it. But he always found time to exercise.
As soon as Jack emerged from his shower, he quickly shaved and got dressed.
Just as he was ready to leave, he opened up a zippered section of his luggage, and removed a heavy Velcro sealed bag. From it he removed an electronic device that he had devised. It was a transportable magnetic lock. He took it out and carried it over to the door of his hotel room. Carefully he positioned it on the door. A permanent magnet held it in place. He then activated the mechanism by turning on a mechanical switch. Instantly, he could hear one side of the magnetic lock attach itself to the steel door jam, and the other to the steel door.
He then disengaged the mechanical lock on the door, and tried to open it. The magnetic lock held it securely. It was rated at 1500 pounds, when the battery was fully charged. That was enough locking power to discourage the largest sumo wrestler.
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out an RF remote, like the one he used to unlock his car. He had programmed the magnetic lock to the same frequency. So, when he hit the button, his door released electronically, and he opened it up. After fifteen seconds, it relocked.
He wanted to test it from outside, so he unlocked his magnetic lock, and went out the door to the corridor. He listened for his lock to engage. After fifteen seconds, he heard the familiar “click” of the magnet attaching to the door jam. He then slid his hotel card into the lock, and turned the door handle. He pushed on the door heavily, but it would not budge. He then looked down the corridor to be sure no one was observing him, and he lowered his shoulder and hit the door with substantial force. Still, the lock held.
“That’ll be just fine,” Jack thought, as he headed to the elevator.
He knew the battery was fully charged, and would therefore secure his door to the maximum four hours. When he returned, he would attach it to a charger. He never left the charger on the lock when he was outside the room. His concern was that he might lose the remote; or, for some unknown reason, his invention might stop working. Were that to happen, he would only have to wait out the battery. After five hours, he knew that it would have discharged sufficiently, allowing him to force open the lock. Jack always had a contingency plan.
When he was inside the room, however, he would activate the lock with the charger engaged. That way he could be quite comfortable that he was untouchable against any attack through the door—at least, any conventional attack. He was well aware that the preferred method for forcing a locked hotel room door was a hydraulic spreader. The way that device worked was to spread the jam of the door away from the lock. Once the standard lock was free, the door could be opened enough to cut any standard hotel secondary lock, thus allowing entry. He also knew that this whole attack could be accomplished with virtually no sound, and would take only a few seconds.
His magnetic lock was not susceptible to this entry method. He had engineered the portion that attached to the door jam on a sliding pivot—that way it could travel the inch or so that the jam spreader might create, and still hold the door securely.
He was very happy with the way his lock worked, and often considered obtaining a patent. But he thought better of it, because he knew that should he do that, those interested in attacking hotel rooms would merely upgrade their methods.
Besides, he knew that once the drawings were filed with the patent office, offshore manufacturers would start mass-producing it for a fraction of what he could. He thought it sufficient that the lock served him well.
Sometimes he wore a disguise when he was traveling—even in New York. But this time, because he was meeting with Kate, he thought it best to be himself. He figured that there would be a fair chance that they might run into someone who recognized Kate, and that she would want to introduce the friend to her father. He needed to be himself, this time, and he was okay with that.
Besides, never in all the times he visited (or worked in) New York had anyone ever recognized him. He did always make it a point to stay at smaller, out-of-the-way hotels. While the hotel he had chosen this time was not particularly small, it suited Jack well because it always appeared to be fully-booked—probably due to the fact that the rooms were very small, and relatively inexpensive. It was a favorite of foreign and domestic tourists who wanted to save money.
Not only did Jack like the fact that this particular hotel provided a good level of anonymity, he also appreciated that it was very conveniently located across Eighth Avenue from Penn Station—only a five minute walk from Madison Square Garden, and a five minute taxi ride from Jacob Javits.
While it did not hurt that the price was right, and that the hotel was conveniently positioned, it was that aura of privacy that won his patronage for this trip.
Today, however, Jack’s privacy was going to be violated. Just as he prepared to exit the hotel on his way to meet Kate, he sensed a person sliding up from the rear much more quickly than suited him. He then saw the man’s reflection in the glass next to the revolving door. He was right. Someone was approaching him quickly.
So, instead of entering the large revolving door, he suddenly stepped aside, and turned toward the man. For just a moment their eyes met. Then, as his training kicked in, Jack checked out both of the man’s hands. He immediately spotted a six-inch long ice pick extending out of the man’s right hand, so Jack took a full step backward to prepare for battle.
But, instead of facing off with Jack, the would-be attacker simply slid the weapon into the pocket of his long wool coat, and proceeded to leave the hotel through the revolving door. Jack chose not to pursue the man. Instead, he remained off to the side, and watched the man squeeze out of the door as quickly as possible, forcibly stopping the mechanism as he exited.
The man glanced back to see if Jack was following. Their eyes met briefly once again.

Solution to Puzzle 1

2011-10-31T10:50:00.005-04:00

Solution to Puzzle One:
Clue: What attracted Jack to the waitress?
Ciphertext: UQSU UHPTF UOYK TSBF UWZZ
Keyword: PERFUME (“Z” is also used as a null)
Plaintext: “Estee Lauder Youth Dew”

Puzzle 2

2011-10-31T10:49:00.001-04:00

Clue: How did Jack refer to the solutions of lines two and three of Kate’s puzzles?
Ciphertext: BKTC TKDDSE OZSF MSRSMNS FHMOUKUSN

(Solution published next Monday)

Chapter 6

2011-10-31T10:49:00.000-04:00

Chapter 6—More questions than answers

6:03 p.m., Sunday, December 25

Jack carefully closed a razor-sharp combat knife with his thumb, and slid it back into his jacket pocket. He had pulled out and flipped open the blade at the first sign of danger. Now that he was certain that he had thwarted the attack, and that Ice Pick Man did not have a partner with him, Jack began to wind down. “What the hell was this all about?” He wondered,
“Damn it!” Jack muttered under his breath. “That was just too close. I’ve got to be more careful.”
There would be no point in pursuing the man—his attacker sought to kill him, he had no reason to return that favor, at least not for right now. Instead, he just stepped outside the hotel to get a better look at the stranger who had wanted to pierce his heart and lungs.
Amazingly young and fit, Jack observed. Especially to be wielding such an unusual weapon. Sure, an ice pick can be a very deadly weapon. But it was hardly a popular instrument of choice by professionals. Jack had heard that only women and old men used ice picks for anything other than chilling mixed drinks. But he knew that just was not the case.
“Really strange—really strange,” he continued to mutter, taking an additional few steps toward the street, in order to get a better view of the man who had just reached the corner, and had turned west on 34th Street. As Ice-pick Man disappeared behind the corner of the hotel, he glanced back to see if Jack was following.
Jack sensed his heart racing. “This is a bunch of garbage,” he said, again to himself. “Here I am running around with this damn knife. Even a can of mace would work better than this two inch piece of steel.”
Jack waited in front of the hotel long enough for Ice-pick Man to get safely away. “What the hell could this be about?” he asked himself. “That guy must be working for someone. But who could that possibly be? And why would someone want to kill me badly enough to hire a professional—and with an ice pick, of all things? And what idiot would try to pull off something like this, right out in the open? Someone must be pretty damn desperate.”
Only two people should have known that he was coming to New York—his friend, Reginald, and his daughter. Jack had worked with his buddy Reginald on several projects. He knew Reginald to be the consummate professional—someone who would not allow any sensitive information to pass through his lips. The success of jobs such as this depended on total secrecy, and Jack was sure Reginald respected that concept.
“Must be Kate has been talking,” Jack surmised.
“Let me think about this. That fellow was too young to be a typical hired killer. Must be he works for an organization. Now, I would guess that it could be the Russians, or maybe Mossad. … I’ve got to see what that girl of mine has got herself into.”
So, at a brisker than normal pace, and with a new-found intensity, Jack took the first walk light at 34th St., crossing over Eighth Avenue. As he got to the middle of Eighth Avenue, he could not resist the urge to glance west down 34th St., just to be sure Ice-pick Man was not lurking around the corner, seeking to complete the job.
Just as Jack had expected, the man was long gone. He then continued crossing 34th, and headed toward Penn Station. After only a few moments, He heard the familiar voice of his daughter.
“Dad!” Kate called out. “Over here.”

Chapter 7

2011-10-31T10:48:00.000-04:00

Chapter 7—Kate’s puzzle,

and her old friend Kurt

6:10 p.m., Sunday, December 25

The two hugged each other closely, as only a dad and his loving daughter can hug. “And how’s my favorite daughter?” Jack asked.
“I’m your only daughter, Silly,” Kate chuckled.
Still gripping his daughter’s arms, Jack pushed her back to get a good look at her. “Man, you just get better looking every day. How can a beautiful young girl like you still be single … and in New York City, no less? Aren’t there any red-blooded males in this town?”
“Thanks for the compliment, Dad, but you know I’m not interested in getting married—at least not right now. You’re the only man in my life.”
They had similar discussions before. Jack would like to see his only daughter find a man, a worthy man. He and Kate’s mother had something really special, and he wanted to see Kate find a love like that.
“I know, I know,” Jack said. “I’m just messing with you. … Where’re we headed? Isn’t there a coffee shop around here?”
“Sure is,” Kate replied. “Follow me.”
Kate then grabbed her father’s hand, and pulled him toward the steps leading down into Penn Station. Being that it was Christmas, there were not many other people to deal with. She tightly gripped his hand while they walked. This reminded Jack of the times he and his wife would hold hands just like that. Beth’s hands would be cold, much like Kate’s hand was cold on this night, and he would warm his wife simply by holding her hand.
“Right around this corner,” Kate said. “Here. This is an okay place. At least they have great espressos. I think you will like it.”
As the two of them walked in, Kate pointed to a table in the corner, and told her dad to go capture it. “Still like double espressos?” she asked, as she headed toward the counter.
“That would be great,” Jack said, squeezing into a chair in the corner. This gave him a panoramic view of the mostly empty coffee shop. Kate knew many of her dad’s idiosyncrasies, including his desire to always be in a position to size up his surrounding.
Just a few minutes later, Kate carried two double espressos over to the table. “I’ll grab a couple waters,” she said, setting both of the cups down in front of her father. She returned quickly with two small plastic glasses of water.
“I can’t believe this place is open on Christmas,” Jack marveled.
“365,” Kate said, as she sat down in front of her father.
“Okay, Kitten, what’s going on in your life that’s got you so troubled?” Jack asked his daughter.
Her countenance immediately changed, as though a somber cloud descended over her. He knew something major was up. She just silently stared down at her coffee for a few moments. Finally, Kate looked up at him. The expression on her face puzzled him. He had never before seen her this unsettled.
“Dad, I’ve got myself into something that I do not know how to deal with,” Kate said. “I’ve had tough cases before. I’ve had my life threatened before. But always I felt like I had a handle on what was going on. Gang killings—I can handle them okay. Domestic crime, I can deal with that too. But I do not know what to do with one of my new cases.”
“What can you tell me about it?” Jack asked, making sure not to lead his daughter where she should not go.
“It’s a murder,” Kate said. “That’s obvious, after all, I am a homicide detective,” Kate looked down at her espresso again, and forced a strained chuckle. “But this one has a different feel to it, Dad. It feels like something bigger—something a little strange.”
“Strange in what way?” Jack asked.
“Dad, how many people get murdered with an ice pick, in public, during rush hour, waiting for a train? Doesn’t that alone sound strange to you?”
“With an ice pick?” Jack asked rhetorically. It was obvious that his daughter now had his undivided attention. “I always thought that only old men and crazy women killed with ice picks. And then only on trains, not waiting for them.”
“Right. Exactly.” Kate said. “But this murder was committed in a train tunnel. The victim was on his regular evening commute from DC back to Penn Station. Someone walked up behind him, slid an ice pick right through his left lung, puncturing his heart, pulled it out, and pushed it into him again, piercing his right lung. Death was almost instantaneous. And it wasn’t an old man or a crazy woman. Witnesses say that they saw a young man walk up to the vic and talk to him. Several describe the man as in his mid-thirties, white, well-dressed, powerfully built, and wearing glasses.”
“The glasses might have been to throw you off,” Jack said.
“That’s what we thought, too.”
“Sounds like an episode of Sherlock Holmes to me,” Jack said, trying to lighten up the conversation. “Any one able to come up with a tentative ID for this guy? Or a motive?”
“No. All they saw was the victim being shoved against one of the vertical support beams. He held himself up for a few moments, and then just slid down it. It was during the busy rush hour, and he did not bleed out much. Most thought he had suffered a heart attack.”
“What about the ice pick? Did the killer leave it in the victim, or pull it out?” Jack inquired.
“Strange that you should ask. He broke the handle off, leaving the pick part in the victim,” Kate answered. “… But you already knew that didn’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s what I suspected. It sounds almost like a prison hit. They usually break the shiv off inside the victim, and take only the handle. Much more effective when carried out like that. If it is broken off inside the victim, the vic can’t pull it out. So he just bleeds internally. Plus, it leaves no fingerprints.”
“So, you think that the killer has done hard time? Is that what you are thinking?” Kate asked.
“Not necessarily. Obviously, an ice pick is not a sharpened toothbrush. But the same principle might apply. A break-away tip on an ice pick could suggest a professional hit. In fact, that’s exactly what my initial observation would be.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Kate replied, quite contented to see that her father agreed with her line of thinking. “What makes this even more interesting,” she continued, “is what turned up inside the lining of the vic’s jacket. That’s really why I called you. I want you to take a look at,” Kate said, reaching into her purse and pulling out an envelope.
“Maybe you can make something of this,” Kate said, as she slid the contents out of the envelope, and pushed it toward her father.
“This is a copy,” she said, “the original is still in Forensics.”
Jack received a folded, hand-written sheet of paper from his daughter, and studied it. After a minute, he said, “this is a simple cryptogram. Couldn’t this guy afford a computer?”

SGCN JNRE SDHC SDCJ MHVW
CECP DCQJ MRPP NCNG TNTQW
CRVR DDPKS CDJR DJADA PXZZ
FQOPO PJKA TFGJS

“Oh, he could afford one all right,” Kate replied.
“What sort of work did he do?” Jack asked.
“State Department, mid level,” She said.
“State Department,” Jack repeated.
“Did you say this was a simple cryptogram?” Kate asked. “Can you decipher it?”
“I did say that,” Jack answered. “But simple does not necessarily mean easy. By simple I mean basic. It’s not a complicated encryption. But it is probably not easy at all to decipher. And it would be inscrutable to any encryption software. In fact, without the key, or keys, short cryptograms such as these are virtually impossible to decipher.”
“What do you mean by “keys?” Kate asked.
“Think like this,” Jack said. “All a cryptogram does is substitute one letter for another, in some orderly fashion. It requires that the recipient of the code have the key, which merely explains the method of letter substitution employed by the creator of the code. Knowing the key is critical. Especially if there might be multiple keys. Which I suspect is the case here.” Jack then laid the paper down on the table so he could explain it to Kate. But before he commented on it, he flipped it over to take a look at the back. “This is a copy, right?” Jack asked.
“Right, it is a copy,” Kate told him. “The original is stored as evidence.”
“Take a look at how the message is divided into four lines of characters. That suggests there are probably four keys—a separate key for each line. There’s no software out there that I know of that could crack this without the keys. The lines are too short to develop patterns, or to apply methods involving order and frequency. These things can be created on the fly, and are very effective.”
“So, there’s nothing you can do with it without a key?” Kate asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Jack said. “This guy was with the State Department, you say. Just what was his area of expertise? Do you know that?”
“East European and Asian, primarily,” Kate answered.
“Russia, China, Poland?” Jack asked.
“Russia and China—mostly Russian affairs,” she said.
“I’ll show you how simple this can be,” Jack said. “It probably won’t work, but I think it’s a reasonable place to start. Who knows, we might get lucky. Let’s assume that one of the keys is ‘Russia.’ Let’s apply it to the first line. If Russia is a key for one of the lines, then ‘r’ will take the place of the first letter in the alphabet, ‘a.’ Then ‘u’ is ‘b’, ‘s’ is ‘c’, and ‘s’ is also ‘d’, ‘i’ is ‘e’, and ‘a’ is ‘f.’ From there you basically start the alphabet over, plugging in the unused characters in order.”
“You lost me.”
“Okay, just follow this, Jack said, pulling out a tablet from his pocket and writing as he talked. ‘B’ wasn’t part of the key, so that will stand for the next letter, ‘g’; ‘c’ is ‘h’; ‘d’ is ‘i’; ‘e’ is ‘j’; ‘f’ is ‘k’; ‘g’ is ‘l’; ‘h’ is ‘m’; ‘i’ was used in the key, so we would move on to ‘j,’ which would be ‘n’; ‘k’ is ‘o’; ‘l’ is ‘p’; ‘m’ is ‘q’; ‘n’ is ‘r’; ‘o’ is ‘s’; ‘p’ is ‘t’; ‘q’ is ‘u’; ‘r’ was used, and so was ‘s.’ In fact ’s’ was used twice. That moves us to ‘t,’ which would be ‘v’; ‘u’ was used, so ‘v’ would be ‘w’; ‘w’ is ‘x’; and ‘x’ is ‘y’; and ‘y’ is ‘z.’
Now, because ‘s’ was used for two letters, so ‘z’ wasn’t used at all, we can assume your puzzler used ‘z’ as a null. That means he could just throw a ‘z’ in as a place filler wherever he wished. For instance, to fill out a line; or just to throw people off.
“The likelihood of ‘z’ being used as a null is tipped by its being used for the final two characters of the third puzzle. That suggests that the puzzler employed all the characters in his key, even when duplicated. That produces nulls. It is common practice with short puzzles.”
“Dad, you’re amazing,” Kate said.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Kitty. We don’t know if this will work. To this point this is still mere conjecture—what we came up with is just one way of looking at it,” Jack said, even though he already saw that the third line ended with two ‘z’s’, which strongly suggested he was on to something.
“Take a look at the third line. It looks like it might have two nulls at the end. If we’re right, then this guy of yours was no genius. That would have been too simple. ... Anyway, let’s plug it in and see if it works.”
Kate slid her chair around a little so she could look over her father’s shoulder.
“Here we go,” Jack said, as he applied his potential solution to the puzzle. ‘Hawaii to China in fifty.’ That’s it, for the third line. But you can be sure that the other three lines employ different keywords. We just got lucky with that one line.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Dad. You figured it out that fast? Our best computer guys spent days on it without any success. … But they were using code-cracking software. And you say that approach might not work so well for a puzzle like this. That’s amazing. But if that’s right, ‘Hawaii to China in fifty,’ what would it mean?” Kate asked. “‘Hawaii to China in fifty’ sounds like a fast plane.”
“Beats me, but I doubt that this guy was planning a vacation—and certainly not to Beijing.” Jack said, shrugging his shoulders, and chuckling slightly. “This thing sounds to me like something for the FBI. This was definitely not a gang related killing. How did you get this case?”
“Do you think you can do anything with the other three lines?” Kate asked, disregarding her father’s last question.
“I’m gonna need some time with this. Can I take it with me?” Jack asked.
“Sure—not a problem.” Kate replied, folding it up, she tucked it back into the envelope and handed it to her father.
“Kate,” a man said as he walked up to the table where she and her father were sitting. “Is that really you?”
Kate’s head snapped around. The voice was somewhat familiar, but she could not place it.
“The academy,” he said. “What’s it been, ten or twelve years? I’m Kurt, Kurt Jefferies. Don’t you remember me?”
“Yes, sure I do. How are you doing? You left the force, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Jefferies said. “The private sector pays better.”
“Private sector—exactly what does that mean?” Kate asked.
Jack observed that the man was sizing him up more than should be expected, particularly when there was a beautiful woman present.
“I do investigations for some attorneys. You know, following rich cheating husbands around. It’s nasty work, but it pays well. And you, you’re still with the department?”
“I am. I’m a homicide detective,” Kate replied, just a little uncomfortable about being questioned.
The man then turned to Jack, and asked. “Do you work with Kate?”
“Kate’s my daughter. We’re just enjoying a cup of espresso.”
Jack now was growing a little tense about the encounter—he was fairly certain that it did not happen by chance. And, he was not pleased to be sitting down with this questionable stranger standing over him.
Jack examined the man closely to be sure that he had not seen this Jefferies fellow before. Convinced that he had not, Jack rose to his feet and squared himself off in front of the visitor. As he stood, he again opened the knife inside his pocket, and made certain that he would be able to wield it quickly and effectively should he need to. “We were just leaving, Mr. Jefferies, hope you will excuse us,” Jack said, not taking his eyes off the man standing beside his daughter.
Kate took the cue from her father, and arose from her chair as well.
“Good to see you, Kurt, but we really have to be going,” Kate said, pushing her chair under the table.
“Sure, it was good to see you again too. Can’t imagine bumping into you like this,” Jefferies said, taking half a step backwards, as he sensed his space was about to be violated by Jack.
“And you,” Jefferies said, reaching out to shake hands with Jack, “it was nice meeting you.” Jefferies had observed the Jack was gripping something in his right hand, and he wanted to see if Jack would release it to shake his hand.
But Jack was not ready to take his hand off the knife in his pocket, so he acted as though he did not see the gesture. Feigning indigestion, Jack placed his left hand over his stomach, and said, “Kate, that espresso did not set well with me. How about you? Don’t you think it was a little bitter?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” she said, playing along with her dad. “It is Christmas, after all. Business is slow and maybe it sat out too long.”
“That’s probably the case,” Jack replied, steering his chair with his left hand, as he pushed it under the table with his foot. He still had not acknowledged Jefferies’ gesture. Then, noticing that the stranger had ceased trying to shake his hand, Jack looked over at him, and said, “You will excuse us?”
“Sure, it was good to meet you,” Jefferies said. “What did you say your name was?”
“Kate’s Dad,” Jack said, flashing an icy stare, causing Jefferies to take a full step back. “I’m Kate’s Dad.”
“Now, if you will excuse us,” Jack said, brushing the man back with his right elbow, and taking his daughter’s arm in his left hand. “Have a good day,” Jack added as he walked away with his daughter, still not taking his hand off the opened combat knife in his pocket.
“What was that all about?” Jack asked his daughter, as they walked away. “That guy was no private dick. He was built like a rock. When I brushed against him, he did not budge. And I don’t think that husband chasers pack Glock 20s, at least not in Manhattan.
The 10mm round is more powerful than either the .45 ACP or the .357 Magnum. While the 10mm handguns were initially regarded by law enforcement as a superlative size for their application, beginning in the late 1980s it was generally replaced by the smaller .40 S&W cartridge for police use.
The reason the smaller firearm won out over the 10mm had to do with the type of officers being recruited at that time. Because the 10mm round was considerably longer than both the 9mm and the .40 S&W, it caused the handgrip of the firearm that fired it also to be larger. That because the magazine holding the rounds had to fit inside it.
Beginning in the mid to late 1980s, a concerted effort to recruit more women into law enforcement led agencies to abandon the 10mm in favor of the .40 S&W, and to the even smaller 9mm. Both of these semi-automatic handguns had measurably smaller handgrips, and also a more manageable recoil.
However, the raw knockdown power of the 10mm won the hearts of private professionals, such as Jack Handler. And the Austrian made Glock 20 10mm was deemed the best. Not only was it reliable and accurate, it reputedly absorbed and distributed the recoil better than other 10mm handguns.
When Jack observed the bulge of a firearm, he could determine whether it was a semi-auto or a revolver on the basis of its shape and dimension. And if it was a semi-auto, he could further tell if it was a 9mm, .40 S&W, or a 10mm. He knew this on the basis of the lump caused by the size of its handgrip.
Of course, it was always possible that a large semi-auto could have been a .45 APC, but the odds were great that a professional would be not carrying that piece.
So, if it was a 10mm, Jack thought it a safe assumption that Jefferies’ weapon of choice would be the Glock 20.
“Who do you think he really was? … And what’s this about the espresso setting out too long?”
“You caught that slip up? ... Well, I knew you were ready to go, and I had to say something.
“… But that was weird—the business with Jefferies.” Kate replied. “But I do remember him from the academy. I don’t recall much about him, though, except that he was a little older than the rest of us. I think he had been in the service. Maybe the Marines.”
“That figures. Probably some sort of Special Services,” Jack said. “He’s definitely a formidable dude. And our encounter was not by chance. He sought you out. Must have been tailing one of us.”
Jack wanted to alert his daughter to the danger he sensed. Yet, he did not want to alarm her.
“You, my dear, need to watch your step.” Jack said, carefully choosing his words. “I think you might be in some danger.”

Chapter 8

2011-10-31T10:47:00.000-04:00

Chapter 8—Jack worries

as Kate heads home

6:40 p.m., Thursday, December 25

Jack and his daughter continued walking until they emerged from Penn Station. Jack kept a tight grip on her arm, and an equally tight grip on his knife, as he led her out of the Terminal—east, away from his hotel. For a moment Jack considered telling her about his earlier encounter with Ice Pick Man, but thought better of it. “No need to worry her,” he concluded.
“Where’re we headed, Dad?” Kate asked, as they walked along.
Jack was so intensely preoccupied with their surroundings that he failed to respond to her.
As the two of them approached Sixth Avenue and Broadway, Handler pulled his daughter off the sidewalk and into a small delivery alcove off 34th Street. The smell of urine was powerful, suggesting that it was a favorite spot for the homeless at night. Kate scrunched up her face, placing her forefinger under her nose. “Dad, this stinks,” she complained.
“I know, but we need to make some plans. We’ll have no competition for this spot, at least not until later.”
Jack took a long and careful look around, making sure that they had not been followed. “Kate, I’ll take a closer look at that puzzle tonight. I don’t have business until tomorrow. I’ll call you, and maybe we can get together then. Do you have plans for lunch, or perhaps dinner?”
“Only you, Dad. I’d love to spend as much time with you as possible,” she said. “Just tell me what works.”
“That sounds good,” Jack said. “But you had better watch your back. I do not trust that Jefferies. And we do not have any idea who he works for, or who else might be involved. You can be sure that he is not working alone.”
“What do you suggest?” she asked.
“Take a cab home,” Jack said.
“All the way to the Island?” she asked.
“All the way to your door. I’ll hail it for you,” Jack said, signaling his daughter to wait while he went out on the street. He walked right out in front of the first cab, and forced the driver to stop.
“Get the hell out of my way, you ignorant bastard!” The driver yelled at him, after he had opened his window.
Jack flashed two one hundred dollar bills, and walked over to talk to the mouthy driver.
“My daughter needs to go to Long Island, will this cover it?”
“Yeah, I think it might.”
Jack signaled his daughter to get in the cab, and he walked around to the rear passenger door to open it for her. Before she got in, he gave her a hug, and kissed her on the top of her head.
“Love ya, Dad,” she said, getting into the cab.
“Love ya back, Kitten,” Handler said, closing the door after her.
He then signaled the driver to lower the front passenger window, as he reached in and handed the driver the money. “You take good care of this woman,” he said, with his usual level of intimidation.
“I will take good care of her,” the driver said, checking out the bills to be sure they were not counterfeit. “You can be sure, I’ll take very good care of her.”
Jack waved to his daughter as she rode east on 34th. She then turned and gestured through the rear window for him to give her a phone call. He smiled broadly, and waved one last time.
Still blocking one lane of traffic, Jack remained in the street, taking care to make sure no one was following his daughter’s cab. Finally one of the cars he was hindering started honking at him. Not acknowledging the irritation, he remained in place for another few seconds, and then casually walked over to the curb. He pretended he did not hear one cab driver who had rolled down the front passenger window to share his thoughts with Jack. “What’s wrong with you, Buddy, you got some kinda death wish? Stand in front of me a little longer and I’ll make it come true. You stupid fool.”
Smiling slightly, but not looking in the direction of traffic, Jack checked his watch, and headed back to his hotel. He had the evening free, and he was anxious to tackle Kate’s puzzle. “Perhaps,” he thought, “I can help her get to the bottom of this case before someone else gets hurt.”

Chapter 9

2011-10-31T10:46:00.000-04:00

Chapter 9—Jack attacks Kate’s puzzle

7:10 p.m., Sunday, December 25

The trek back to the hotel took less than ten minutes. As he walked, he scrutinized every aspect of his surroundings. In particular, he kept an eye out for the fellow he had run into earlier—Ice Pick Man. And for Jefferies.
During that short time he re-visited his thoughts about procuring a handgun for protection, instead of the knife. But he decided against it. He was, after all, in the city to do a job. It would be a mistake to jeopardize the whole project for something he should be able to deal with without gambling on an illegal weapon. Of course, he realized that he could get busted for the knife he did carry. New York law often interprets that if a knife looks like a weapon—it’s a weapon. But Jack felt more comfortable justifying his possessing a folding knife, than trying to explain a loaded, illegal firearm.
Besides, a gun would have served no purpose earlier, because even had he been carrying a piece, he would not have brandished it in the lobby of a hotel. He simply had to be more careful.
He did consider that a walking stick might suit the situation well. He always traveled with one—just in case. But, he would worry about that later.
As he approached his room, he inserted his card, and tested his magnetic lock. The door would not budge. That meant that the lock was operating properly. He then employed his remote to deactivate it. He could feel the lock release the door. Once inside, he plugged the adapter in, to recharge the battery. He then re-engaged the magnetic lock.
Twisting off the top of a bottle of water he had purchased in the lobby when he checked in, he immediately tackled the puzzle Kate had given him. While he did feel the need to solve the puzzles—as it might help keep Kate safe—he actually considered the challenge quite enjoyable.
The first thing he did was to copy the entire code text, starting with the third line. Even though he had downplayed the initial success, he was pretty certain that he had solved it correctly. And, just as he had suspected, he quickly became certain that each line did have its own key;. While “RUSSIA” worked for the third line, he could see immediately that it did not help for the other three. Given the great likelihood that he had line three right, he started out with that line, followed by its plaintext solution. He wrote:

Line 3: CRVR DDPKS CDJR DJADA PXZZ = Hawaii to China in fifty (Key: RUSSIA).

He then copied the other three lines, each on a separate sheet of paper.

Line 1: SGCN JNRE SDHC SDCJ MHVW=

Line 2: CECP DCQJ MRPP NCNG TNTQW =

Line 4: FQOPO PJKA TFGJS=

“Let’s see what we can do with these,” he muttered aloud. When Jack was by himself (which seemed to be most of the time), he tended to utilize self-talk to help him think—and generally employed the first person plural when doing it. “What was this poor sucker trying to tell us before he ran into that ice pick? Whatever it was, it got him killed. Let’s see if I can think like him for a while.”
“Okay, the guy worked for the State Department—in Russian and Chinese relations. And the first key was ‘Russia.’ One of the other keys could be ‘China,’ except that might be too short. Wouldn’t make a good key. Could be ‘China something.’ … Maybe ‘Chinatown’? Could it really be that simple?”
Initially Jack doubted himself, but then he recalled just how simple the keyword was for the third line. So, he attacked the ciphertext using “Chinatown” as the key.
He applied this potential keyword to line one. At first he tried it starting from the left. When that yielded nothing, he tried working from the right. Still nothing. So, he moved to the second line.
Immediately he found the name of another state beginning to appear: “ALAS ...”
“That looks like ALASKA … very interesting.”
Continuing with “Chinatown” as the key, he developed the plaintext for the rest of the second line: “ALASKA TO RUSSIA IN FIFTY.”
“So, we’ve got ‘Hawaii to China in fifty,’ and ‘Alaska to Russia in fifty.’ What could that mean?” he wondered aloud. “That can have nothing to do with fast planes,” he chuckled, remembering what his daughter had said. “You can practically drive a golf ball from Alaska to Russia. Has to have another meaning. And it has to be important—important enough to get a man killed. Hell, important enough to almost get me killed.”
Not anticipating any success using the new keyword on the remaining lines, Jack still tried plugging it in—with, of course, the anticipated failure.
He then tried to come up with other keywords. For the next hour he applied every possibility that came to mind. With such short cryptograms, he knew that the keyword would not be terribly long, nor would it be functional if it were too short.
Suddenly he had another thought. “I wonder what the original code was written on?” he asked himself, rapidly calling Kate’s number.
“Kitten, I have a quick question for you. Please do not go into detail, or ask me questions. Okay?”
“Sure, Dad.”
“I’m looking for short answers—one word, if possible. Okay?”
“Got ya.”
Jack carefully chose the correct words to make his request. “What was the original written on?”
Kate thought for just a moment, also carefully weighing her words. “On the back of a ticket for a Knicks-Lakers game—one of those computer printouts. I know that’s more than one word, but it’s the best I could do. Do you think that is important?”
“Don’t know. But your info is wonderful—just perfect,” Jack replied. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow, and we’ll try to get together. Check your schedule. I’m going to be tied up for a while, but will have most of the day and evening free. Just don’t know for sure right now exactly when I’ll be available. Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Sounds good, talk to you later.”
“Got a call coming in, love ya,” Jack said to his daughter, as he received his other call.
“Reg. How are you?” Jack said.
“ … Sure, what time tomorrow?”
“ … How about ten? … No, let’s avoid meeting there. How about Men’s Neckties, in Macy’s? We’ll figure something out from there. … That works? … Great, see you then.”
Jack directed his attention back to the puzzle. Suddenly he realized the significance of the two deciphered lines.
“Oh my God!” Jack exclaimed, grabbing his worksheets. “Hawaii to China in fifty—Alaska to Russia in fifty. We are selling those states! We are selling Hawaii to China, possession to be taken fully in fifty years. And virtually the same thing with Alaska, except we are selling Alaska to Russia—same terms. That’s how the President intends to finance all this deficit spending. Talk about a reverse mortgage! He has worked out a deal with those two countries. They will fund our notes, with the guarantee of receiving those two states in return. Oh my God, Kate, you are in grave danger!”
Jack grabbed his cell, and quickly dialed his daughter. “Kate!”
“Just a minute Dad, someone’s at the door,” Kate said, answering her father’s call and setting the phone down in the same motion.
“Kate! Kate! Don’t go to the door!” Jack implored her. But it was too late. Jack could hear a scuffle, and a muffled scream.
Then all went silent.

Chapter 10

2011-10-31T10:45:00.000-04:00

Chapter 10—Kate’s abduction

8:35 p.m., Sunday, December 25

Jack kept his ear to his phone. When he finally heard at least two men talking, he began to shout: “Kate! Kate! Can you hear me?”
He strained to monitor the muffled sounds of the men, while they seemed to be ransacking Kate’s apartment.
“Kate!” he shouted once more.
Jack then heard one of the men pick up Kate’s cell phone. “Put my daughter on, right now,” Jack said.
There was no response, but Jack could hear a man breathing.
“Do you hear me, you sonofabi**h. I want to talk to my daughter. If you know what you’re doing, you’ll put her on this phone.”
The man who had picked up Kate’s phone responded to Jack. “You’re Kate’s father—right?”
“You’re damn right I am. You put her on that phone right now,” Jack commanded.
“You’re Jack Handler. We’ll be talking to you, and soon,” the man said.
“Look, you, whoever you are, I …”
“You are in no position to be giving orders,” the man calmly interrupted. “If you ever want to see your daughter alive. In fact, if you even want to be able to recognize her body, you listen to me right now, and do exactly what I say. Do you understand me?”
“Let me explain something to you. Obviously you know who I am. Then you must also know what I’m capable of. You release my daughter right now, unharmed. Or I will hunt you down and kill you. I’ll kill everyone close to you. I’ll find your mother, if she is still alive, and I will torture her to death. God forbid you have a wife or children, but if you do I will make them suffer untold agonies. If anything, if even a hair on my daughter’s head, is harmed …”
“You look,” the man said. “Your daughter is still alive, for right now. And we haven’t hurt her, yet. You should be happy about that. But, if we don’t get everything we are after, and I mean everything, I will personally kill her. Then I will come after you, and I will kill you. Now, the only thing you can do is wait for my call. I will use your daughter’s phone. I will tell you where to go and what to do. And you will obey.”
With that, the man unceremoniously hung up. Jack tried to call the number back, but it was obvious to him that the man who held his daughter had popped the battery out of her cell phone to prevent Jack from calling back, or trying to trace the cell.
Jack had never felt so helpless. “I should have warned her. I knew the man with the ice pick was somehow connected with her victim. Why didn’t I warn her when I had the chance?” That was all the second guessing Jack would allow himself.
Jack was used to being in total control. The events of the past couple hours took him out of his element. Now he had to find a way to go proactive—to get back on top of the situation. He had to develop a plan to get his daughter back. But he had no idea who held her, nor could he begin to guess where. He sat down on the small overstuffed chair, leaned his head back, and stared at the ceiling. Immediately his eyes went out of focus. He then closed them, and entered deeply into thought.
“I’m dealing with an organization—could be private—more than likely it has political connections. Perhaps not. Perhaps strictly money. Possibly both. But I do think that it is closely tied to the commuter train murder of that State Department guy, and to this puzzle.”
Jack opened his eyes, leaned forward and scooped up the sheets of paper he had been working on. “Hawaii to China in fifty, and Alaska to Russia in fifty,” he read aloud. “Political. The guys who have my daughter are political operatives. CIA, Mossad, Russian. I don’t know. Can’t even rule out an MI6 connection. They want this puzzle. She is probably safe until they get this. Kate’s friend at the coffee shop—he is probably involved, in some way. Jeff, Jefferies—Kurt Jefferies.”
For a short moment he considered calling one of his contacts in the FBI. He looked down at his cell for a moment, and then he thought better of it. “This thing goes much too deep for that. Who knows who can be trusted?”
Jack did have one friend in New York whom he knew he could always count on—Reginald. So he dialed him.
“Reg, it’s me again. Change of plan. I have to see you tonight. Can you come over here? … I’m at the New York State Regency. Call me when you get close, and I’ll meet you in the lobby. … Yes, it is an emergency. Thanks. … Oh, and grab us some coffee—this could be a long night. … See you in a few.”
Jack began writing down in earnest all he knew regarding the puzzles.

Line 1: SGCN JNRE SDHC SDCJ MHVW=
Line 2: CECP DCQJ MRPP NCNG TNTQW= Alaska to Russia in fifty (Key: CHINATOWN).
Line 3: CRVR DDPKS CDJR DJADA PXZZ = Hawaii to China in fifty (Key: RUSSIA).
Line 4: FQOPO PJKA TFGJS=

Jack determined that he was pretty sure he had lines two and three correctly deciphered. At any rate, he was sufficiently confident that there was nothing to be gained by re-working them any more. So he concentrated his energies on lines one and four.
However, the longer he stared at those two lines, the more convinced he was that he needed keys to decipher them. And he was at a loss as to where to look for them.

Solution to Puzzle 2

2011-10-31T10:44:00.001-04:00

Clue: How did Jack refer to the solutions of lines two and three of Kate’s puzzles?
Ciphertext: BKTC TKDDSE OZSF MSRSMNS FHMOUKUSN
Keyword: KATES PUZZLES
Plaintext: “Jack called them reverse mortgages” (Chapter 9)

Puzzle 3

2011-10-31T10:43:00.001-04:00

Clue: What did Bernadette flaunt?
Puzzle: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

(Solution published next Monday)

Chapter 11

2011-10-31T10:43:00.000-04:00

Chapter 11—Reginald has a clue

9:40 p.m., Sunday, December 25

Once he had written down all that he knew about the puzzles, Jack sat back in his chair, and stared straight ahead. Even though Kate’s abductor did not articulate it, Jack could not help but think that the puzzles had something significant to do with Kate’s current situation. He then stood to his feet, and began pacing around his tiny room. A cloud of helpless frustration had settled over him, and he sensed his need to shake it off.
“I’ve got to get to the bottom of those remaining lines. … I’ve got to decipher them. But what can I do without the keyword, … or keywords?”
Even though he had concluded that the only proactive thing he could do right now would be to crack the remaining two lines of ciphertext, he was at a loss as to how to move forward with it. Something significant was missing. He needed more information. What exactly that was, he didn’t know.
He then checked the battery and reception on his cell to be certain that he would be able to take a call from Kate’s abductors.
Confident that his cell was functioning properly, he sat back down and continued to scrutinize the remaining two lines of the puzzle. “I could sure use a cup of coffee,” he muttered.
Half an hour later Jack’s phone rang. He looked at the calling number to see if was from his daughter’s phone. Immediately he recognized that it was Reginald calling him.
“I’ll be at your hotel in ten,” Reginald said.
“Thanks,” Jack replied. “I’ll meet you in the lobby. … And you did remember the coffee, right?”
Jack knew that he would have to escort Reginald past hotel security to the elevators, so he unplugged the charger from his door lock, and tested it again to be certain it was functioning properly. Confident he would be able to get back in, he locked up his room, and headed down to meet Reginald. He slid his right hand into his jacket pocket, and tightly gripped his knife.
“This is a bunch of bull,” He said out loud, as he stood alone in an elevator. Jack was not used to being on the defensive. And he did not like his dependence on a combat knife.
He had timed it perfectly. Just as he reached the lobby, his friend appeared through the revolving door.
“Hey, Buddy,” Jack said, reaching out to shake Reginald’s hand. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I’ll explain what it’s all about when we get up to my room.” He noticed that his friend was carrying a brown paper bag, just the right size for two large coffees.
“Good to see you too,” Reginald replied, as the two men headed toward the elevator. Jack did not want to waste time, but he was unable to discuss the matter with his friend on the elevator, because an elderly couple had joined them. When the elevator reached Jack’s floor, they exchanged pleasantries with the strangers, got off the elevator, and continued on to Jack’s room.
Just as they approached the door, Jack hit his remote, unlocking the mag lock.
“What’s that all about?” Reginald inquired.
“Just a lock I put on my door when I’m traveling. That way I know my room’s secure.”
As the two old friends closed and secured the door behind them, Reginald inquired: “Jack, is everything okay?”
“No, far from it,” Jack answered. “Kate’s been kidnapped.”
“What are you talking about?” Reginald asked in unbelief.
Looking down at his watch, Jack replied. “I was on the phone with her less than an hour ago—maybe forty five minutes. I heard two or more men enter her apartment, and abduct her. I talked to one of them.”
“ That’s unbelievable. Do you know who it is that has her, and what they are after? Have they made any demands?”
“Not yet. But I sense that they will not harm her, at least not right now,” Jack said.
“Okay, Reg,” Jack said. “I want you to listen carefully. This is what I know. See if you can think of anything I might be missing. First of all, when I was about to leave the hotel earlier this evening, on my way to meet Kate, a young muscular fellow approached me from behind. With bad intentions. I had a feeling, so I turned to check him out. And it was this guy. Reg, you’re not gonna believe this. He had pulled an ice pick and was about to stick the business end of it through my heart. I side stepped him, and he kept going.”
“An ice pick you say?” Reginald said. “That is a bit unusual.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jack responded. “But when I met up with Kate, right after that, she told me about a murder at a commuter train station, and the weapon used was an ice pick. I suspect it might have been the same fellow that I encountered in the hotel. Perhaps not, but the ice pick does make it plausible.”
Reginald’s countenance abruptly turned very somber. “I’ve got to tell you right off the top,” he said, “the fellow who got hit in the tunnel sounds like a guy who was working with me, Jack. He had information for me that he thought critical. He worked at the State Department. That’s what I was hinting at earlier, when I called you while you were still in Chicago.”
“Oh yeah? Working for you? Well, Kate’s got that case, and she was deeply troubled about it,” Jack said.
“I hate to say it, but your daughter is in over her head, Jack,” Reginald said. “This is a matter of national security. It goes all the way to the top. Those are very treacherous men she’s dealing with.”
“What do you mean by ‘all the way to the top?’ … the top of what?” Jack asked.
“I am not sure what my man had for me, but I’ve never heard him so agitated.” Reginald said.
“So, when you say this goes to the top, what do you mean? Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
“Yes,” Reginald answered, “this could go all the way to the President.”
Jack paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. “What sort of transmission device did you use to communicate with your contact?”
“It varied,” Reginald said. “But this time we were going to exchange coats at a restaurant. We’ve done that before. He would put his information in the lining of the coat, always encrypted.”
Jack walked over to the bed and retrieved the large envelope into which he had earlier slid the coded messages Kate had given him. Handing them to Reginald, he asked, “do your messages ever look anything like this?”
“Where did you get this?” Reginald asked, flipping the sheet over to see if there was anything on the underside. “This looks very much like the message I was expecting him to give me. … Actually, this a copy. Do you know who has the original? ”
“I got this from Kate,” Jack said. “She did say it was a copy. From what I can tell, it is a cryptogram. … Actually, it is four separate cryptograms.”
“That’s typically how we communicated, all right,” Reginald said. “But it would be very helpful to have the original. Do you know who has it?”
Jack did not immediately respond to the question, instead he pursued the logic of using cryptograms for this purpose. “That’s a bit archaic, don’t you think?” Jack commented. “Why would you use something so analog in this digital age?”
“It’s safer,” Reginald replied. “Almost any standard encryption can be cracked if you have the right software, or if you rip off a guy’s laptop. But the cryptograms we use are so short, without the keys they are virtually indecipherable. Take these four lines, for instance, typically I would expect each of them to have a different key.”
“I’m pretty sure I got two of the four,” Jack said. “I plugged ‘Russia’ into one of them, and ‘Chinatown’ into another. I got ‘Hawaii to China in fifty,’ and ‘Alaska to Russia in fifty.’ Does that make any sense to you?”
“Yes it does,” Reginald said. “This is all indirectly related to the business I called you in to help me with.”
“What, exactly, are you saying?” Jack asked.
“Look, Jack, I am really sorry that your daughter is stuck in the middle of this, and I will do anything and everything I can to help you get her out. … But I won’t kid you about it, these guys are very dangerous.”
“Okay, Reg, start talking to me. What the hell is this all about? And what is it these guys are looking for?”
“Well, for starters, I think it safe to say that they want this message,” Reginald said. “I think you might negotiate her release with it. At least, you can use it to get the process moving. How and when are you supposed to talk to them again?”
“They said they would call me, using Kate’s phone,” Jack answered. “But I don’t know when. Explain to me what this message is all about, and why it is so important to these guys. … And who are they? They’re spooks, right? But whose spooks?”
“Mossad. At least I know Mossad is a major player. The Russians are involved as well, but to what extent here, I don’t know. … Take your pick. I’m suspecting the guys you are dealing with are either Mossad or the Russians, you know, the GRU. But my guess is Mossad.”
“Why are they so interested in this State Department stuff?” Jack asked.
“Here’s the deal,” Reginald said. “We have known for some time that there have been high level talks between the President himself, and Russia. Recently we learned that he has been talking with China as well. On the highest level. My friend at the State Department got wind of what the talks were about. That was the gist of this message. Apparently our speculation was correct. From the looks of what you have deciphered already, the President is negotiating the sale of Hawaii and Alaska. We surmised that before. It looks like he is planning to use the sale of those two states to finance the debt.
“He has exhausted all the credit he could, and now they are calling in the chips. The deal he has apparently worked out in both cases is to give the residents of those states fifty years to relocate back in the 48, if they wish to. Fifty years is considered two generations. We’ve heard that he intends to give each person who relocates during the first year one hundred thousand dollars. Otherwise, if they choose to stay beyond a year, there will be no payoff.”
“And that information got your man killed?” Jack asked.
“Sure did. Israel is worried. Even though they have virtually no vested interest in either of those states, they fear that should such a deal be struck, it would cause civil unrest in the US, perhaps even start a revolution. And that could be devastating for them.”
“That’s who’s got my daughter? The Israelis?”
“Could be,” Reginald replied. “Probably is. We’re not totally convinced that’s who hit our operative in the State Department. Because, the crazy thing is, the Russians are now actively involving themselves in this thing, but for different reasons than is Mossad. They do have an iron in this fire, and they are hell bent on making sure this deal happens—that they get Alaska. The natural resources there are worth trillions, plus it would provide them with a base in North America. It is really a sweet deal for them, at any price. I’m sure you know that the Russians have no national debt. So that puts them in a position of strength. They are intent on seeing this deal go through.”
“Who, exactly, are you working for this time?” Jack asked.
“Freelancing,” Reginald replied. “You know how that goes.”
“Freelancing. But for who?”
Reginald paused a moment before answering. “Ostensibly I’m working with a group of concerned parties—people both you and I have worked with before.”
“And who might they be?”
“Allison is heading it up,” Reginald answered. “There are three others, and you know some of them … maybe all of them.”
“Allison is in charge? What is the ultimate goal of this group?” Jack asked. He felt comfortable grilling his friend about this because it had already been established that Reginald had called him in to work with them.
“The five us have been meeting for a couple of weeks,” Reginald replied. “Al put the group together to lay the groundwork for her presidency.”
“Is Bob part of this group?”
“No, Al did not think he should be a part of it.”
“That scares me more than a little,” Jack said. “Bob was always the glue that held everything together.”
“I know what you mean,” Reginald agreed, “but Al has done a good job, so far. That having been said, I can’t help but agree with you that I would be a lot more comfortable if Bob were running the show. He invokes an aura of fear that Al is not capable of. I suspect that’s what you mean by ‘glue’.”
“I’m going to need to know who the other parties are, in your little group, and what their roles are; but right now I’m interested in what you and your buddies are talking about, what decisions have been made. And what sort of work has been contemplated that would elicit so violent a reaction by Mossad, or the Russians. Talk to me about that, Reg, I need to understand what is going on here. … My daughter’s life is at stake.”
“Initially we started out reviewing what our options might be heading into the general election. Al was concerned that even though she might successfully challenge Butler in the primary, she would likely lose in the general—that, given this president’s growing unpopularity and the state of the economy. … And if Butler were to consummate a deal for the sale of even one of the states, democrats would be lucky if their own families voted for them.
“We discussed every possible tactic, but could not find one that provided a scenario where she would likely win. In fact, one of our major concerns was that Butler would invoke executive powers, and put off the election altogether. Given his penchant for power, it seems a real possibility.”
“I’ve heard that suggested before,” Jack said, “but coming from the right. I’ve not heard any on the left talking like that—not until just now.”
“And you won’t. But, trust me, it’s in the back of everyone’s mind. With this president, the unthinkable has become plausible.”
“Okay, Reg, given that scenario, what did you guys come up with as a viable option?” Jack asked, already sensing what he was about to hear. “Did you get that far?”
“I’m sure you’ve got this all figured out, right?” Reginald asked, not wanting to mouth the words.
“Maybe,” Jack said, “but I want to hear the words come from your mouth.”
“It was the consensus of the group,” Reginald said, “that …” He hesitated for a moment, obviously looking for the right way to articulate it. “We decided that there was not a way for Al to win against the Republicans,” Reginald finally said. “She possibly could wrest the nomination away from Butler, if there were actually to be a convention and a nomination. But, when it came to the general election, she would lose. And we would lose even more seats in both the House and the Senate.”
“You’re skirting the question,” Jack said. “What did you guys decide to do about it?”
“It was decided,” Reginald said, again hesitating, “that the only way to deal with this would be to see this president leave office before the end of his term. That having been accomplished, he would be replaced by the VP, who would appoint Al to take his place, as VP.
“We agreed that John was too old to want to run for a full term. So, of course, Al would run. And she would have a great chance to win.
“The critical factor here would be to convince the country that the right was to blame for Butler’s departure. The backlash would carry Al into office, and quite possibly we would make sizeable gains in the House and Senate on her coattails. It was our only viable solution. Or so the group concluded.”
“That’s what I thought you were going to say,” Jack responded. “Of course, you know just how insane this whole thing is, don’t you? How the hell could you possibly think I would ever agree to something this nuts? The whole thing is insane. Now you’ve got my daughter kidnapped.”
Jack paused for a moment. He looked over at Reginald, who now sat silently, not able to make eye contact with his old friend.
“Reg, you know me better than any other human being on earth knows me,” Jack said, his voice had assumed a very somber tone. “You fully understand what I’m capable of. … I swear to God, if I did not need you to get my daughter back, I just might kill you on the spot. How could you ever think I would be willing to help with something this stupid? What were you thinking?”
“Look, Jack,” Reginald said, now looking directly into Jack’s eyes, “I had no idea that your daughter would be involved in this. I am truly sorry for that. And I will help you get her back. Then, if you still feel you need to, go ahead and kill me. This thing has got so out of hand, the way things are going, I’m a dead man anyway. And I mean that. I would rather have a friend put a bullet in my brain, than suffer the indignities of a trial.”
“Make me feel better about this,” Jack commanded. “You are my friend, but I am not liking what you have been telling me. What am I missing?”
“Jack, I called you in because you are the only person I trust. I would trust my life, and the life of my family, in your hands. … I am looking for a way out of this, and I figured you would be the only person who could help me pull it off. There is just no way in hell that I could allow this assassination to take place. I knew something had to be done. It could mean the end of the Free World. I do not mean to sound melodramatic, but it is that serious. I don’t think the others in the group appreciate the gravity of what they are planning—what we are planning. As a member of the group, I’m virtually helpless. That’s why I called you in. If I buck the consensus, I’m dead. And this lunacy moves ahead. I’m trying to find an acceptable way out of this.”
“Damn it, Reg, you know I’m not a politically motivated person. You know that. Why would you ever drag me into something like this?”
“Jack, if you can help me here, there’s several million in it for you. You name your price.” Reginald said. “I know that money means nothing to you in light of your daughter’s kidnapping. But once we get her back, you help me pull this off, you will be set for the rest of your life. No more penny-ante stuff. … We just might be able to save the country, and get rich at the same time.”
Reginald paused for a moment, and then continued. “Jack, I am truly sorry that your daughter got dragged into it. I would never have put Kate in harm’s way, any more than I would have done it to my own daughter. But this whole thing is still salvageable, if we work together, like we have before.”
“Forget the money, I need to get my daughter back.” Jack said. “You help me get her back, unharmed, I might be willing to help you. But she comes first.”
Just then, Jack’s phone rang. He looked down at it, and then back up at Reginald. “It’s them.”

Chapter 12

2011-10-31T10:42:00.000-04:00

Chapter 12—The call Jack was waiting for

11:05 p.m., Sunday December 25

Jack held out his hand to Reginald requesting silence. “Handler here,” he said.
“You’ve got something we want,” the man said.
“Put my daughter on,” Jack calmly commanded. “I’m not talking to you until my daughter tells me she is okay. Put her on the phone.”
“You will do what I say,” the man said.
“Look, you deaf sonofabi**h. I told you to put my daughter on this phone. I’ve got nothing to say to you until I talk to her. Put her the hell on. Right now!”
Jack listened intently, as he detected the man muffling the phone against his chest. “Go bring the bi**h up here,” Jack heard him telling someone who was with him. “Handler won’t talk to me until he hears from her. Go get her.”
For the first time since the ordeal began Jack was starting to think that he just might be able to gain the upper hand. The information Reginald provided filled in some of the blanks. Now he knew what the kidnappers were after, and how he might bargain for Kate’s safety. Then, when the men holding Kate obeyed his command, Jack further sensed a slight shift. He was, however, still far from confident.
Jack also gleaned an important bit in information from the caller when he told his buddy to bring Kate “up.” That means Kate was most likely being held in the basement, because it is unlikely that the kidnappers would base their operation on any level but the main level, as that would make it too hard to defend. That info would be valuable when it came time to rescue Kate.
Jack continued to listen intently. For nearly a full minute the only sound he could hear was that of the man’s breathing, and the beating of his heart. “Amazingly steady—about sixty beats per second,” Jack thought, “this guy is relaxed and confident. I must be more relaxed and more confident.”
Finally Jack heard the man giving orders to someone he assumed to be Kate. “Tell your dad that you are fine, and that he should give us what we want if he ever expects to see you again.”
After a few more seconds, the weak voice of his daughter squeaked out of the phone. “Dad, you there?”
“Hi Kitten, you okay?” Jack made certain to exude an aura of confidence when he talked to his daughter. If he allowed her to think he was at all panicked, it would weaken her resolve.
“I’m okay. But they said that you …”
“I heard what they told you to say,” Jack interrupted. “I want to know if they’ve hurt you.”
“Not really,” Kate answered. “It got a little rough in the beginning, but I’ll heal up okay …”
With that, the man holding Kate grabbed the phone away from her.
As soon as Jack knew his daughter’s abductor was back on the phone, he returned to his original posture. “You listen to me, you bastard, if you know what’s good for you, you will open the door and release my daughter. Right now. Let her walk outta there. The longer you hold her, the worse I’m gonna make it for you and your family. I promise you that I’ll track you down and kill you. You need to cut your losses, now, and take my advice.”
“Cut the chatter, Handler. I’ve got what you want, and you’ve got what I want.”
That was what Jack was waiting for. Now the negotiations could begin. Up to this point it had all been rhetoric.
After pausing a few seconds, Jack inquired, “What the hell do you think I’ve got?”
“You’ve got the message—the puzzle. Kate gave it to you. We saw her hand it to you in the coffee shop, so don’t mess with me. Now, Handler, my friend, you must understand that we’re not animals. We’re just businessmen, like you. We are not interested in hurting your daughter. We just want the message. Your daughter is blindfolded—she can’t identify us. We are protecting your interests. We can release her if we choose to do so. And we will do just that, once you have given us everything she gave you. You know what I’m talking about.”
“How will I know my daughter is safe?” Jack asked, beginning to think that there might be a solution to the problem. He noted that the kidnapper had a solid mastery of slang and idioms. “He’s grown up in the states. He might be Mossad, but he’s been in the states most of his life,” Jack surmised.
“We do not need to hurt her, if you do what I say,” the man declared. “All we want is the piece of paper she gave you earlier today—the one with the puzzle on it.”
“Then this is what you do,” Jack said. “The two of you—Kate and you—take a cab to my hotel. You already know where I’m staying. When the two of you get here, I will come down to the lobby and meet you. I will give you what you want, and you give me my daughter. That’s pretty simple. You do that, you get what you want, and I let you live.”
Again Jack heard the caller attempting to muffle the phone. “Put her back in the … bedroom, and tie her up.”
Jack was relieved that Kate’s abductor did not deny that he knew what hotel Jack was staying at. That strongly suggested that he was associated with Ice Pick Man. That pleased Jack, because it meant that he might be dealing with a single entity.
Jack also caught the hesitation when he ordered Kate to be returned to the bedroom. “He started to say ‘basement,’ Jack reasoned, “but thought better of it.”
After a few moments, the man again talked to Jack. “Jack, it’s okay if I call you by your first name, right? Jack, can you imagine what your daughter’s hands will look like in an hour, or two hours? It’s pretty amazing what a wire tie will do to blood flow, if it’s tight enough. I’ll bet by morning, her hands will be cold and purple. How long does it take for gangrene to set in? Do you know anything about that?”
“I hope you’re not that stupid,” Jack interrupted. “You know better than to harm her. You’d better pay attention to what I’m telling you.”
“No, Jack, you listen to me. You need to hear this,” the kidnapper said. “Sometimes amputation can save a person who has gangrene. So maybe she will live, if someone finds her soon enough. But I’ve heard that it’s a very painful death. Now, Jack, is that what you want for her? To die up here alone. She’s brave now, but that will change. Once she starts to feel the pain in her hands and arms; once the fever of infection sets in. Then delirium. Then more pain—more pain than she can handle. More pain than anyone could handle—even more than the great Jack Handler could handle. Finally, merciful death. And she will welcome it. She will pray for death. Is that what you want for your daughter? For your beloved Kate? You will find her curled up in a ball in a cold room. You will see the pain in her dead eyes …”
“I hope you’re too smart to hurt her,” Jack told him. “I don’t give a damn about you. But I do have pity for your family. Some of them are probably nice innocent people. They don’t even know what a miserable failure you are, do they? I will take no joy in whacking them. There’ll be nothing in it for me, except revenge. Just know that if my daughter is hurt in any way, I will invest the rest of my life hunting down your entire family, and destroying them in the most vicious way I can imagine. I have a hunch you know more than a little about me. If you do, you know what I’m capable of.”
“You can say what you want,” the abductor interrupted. “I don’t care. I’m not worried. But you need to think about what you do. I’m giving you the best opportunity you will ever have to save your daughter. You need to be smart.” He paused for a second before pushing the button that he knew would trigger a reaction in Jack. “You killed Kate’s mother, … Beth, your wife. Isn’t that right? You didn’t actually pull the trigger, but it was your fault. Well, now I’m giving you a chance to be smarter. Kate does not have to die. You can save her life—if you want to. This is what you need to do. And I really hope you do it. I would like nothing better than to see you and your very beautiful daughter reunited. And unharmed. Isn’t that what you want?”
“What the hell is it that you want?” Jack demanded of his daughter’s kidnapper.
“I told you, I want the information the detectives removed from your friend’s contact at the State Department. That’s it. Bring that to me, all of it, everything she gave you, and you get your daughter back. How simple can I make it?”
“Tell me exactly how we make the exchange,” Jack said. “Nothing happens without my daughter coming back first.”
“Of course,” the abductor told Jack. “I would have it no other way. This is what you do. Bring everything Kate gave you down to the lobby of your hotel at exactly 12:45 a.m. Don’t come down any earlier. I will walk in with your daughter. There will be another man with us. Your daughter and my friend will wait in the lobby, just inside the doors, and I will approach you by myself. Hand me the envelope. I will examine it, and if it is what I am expecting, I will leave. My friend will go with me. And Kate will stay.”
Jack realized that the kidnapper had the stronger hand, so he decided to take a different approach. “You won’t hurt her. You know that she won’t be able to recall the whole puzzle. And certainly not the solutions. But I have the entire puzzle, and I have the solutions.”
There followed dead silence, for an uncomfortable length of time. For just a moment, Jack considered giving the kidnapper more to think about. He had just revealed a pair of aces, no need to show his whole hand—not right now. “The next person who blinks, loses,” Jack was thinking. So, he remained silent.
Finally, Kate’s kidnapper broke the uneasy silence. “You’ve deciphered it? The whole thing?”.
“Damn right, I’ve cracked it—all four lines.”
“Then tell me what they are, and I’ll release your daughter right now.”
Jack pretended he did not hear what Kate’s abductor had just said. “I suspect you’ve already got the third line,” Jack said. “The third line is “Hawaii to China in fifty.”
The voice at the other end remained silent for a moment. “Your daughter gave us that line. What else you got? Give me the rest and we’ve got a deal.”
“Alaska to Russia in fifty,” Jack said. “That’s one of the other lines. Now, that’s all you get until I get my daughter.”
For the first time since this conversation began, Jack felt like he was making substantial progress. It was obvious to him that the kidnapper was getting some information from Kate. But Jack knew she had only that one line to give up. When he provided the solution to the other line, suddenly the kidnapper was more cooperative. Besides, Jack knew that even the most callous among killers did not want to see their own family harmed. He felt that Kate’s kidnapper must know enough about his reputation to take the threat seriously. Jack figured the kidnapper was at least to some degree concerned about that.
“I’ll be there,” Jack said. “And my daughter had better be there too—and smiling.”
With that the kidnapper hung up.
Jack sat back in his seat, and stared at his phone. “Reg, we’ve got our hands full with this. We’ve got to decipher the other two lines, without keys. … Unless you know what the keys are. How about it? What exactly do you know?”
“Not much more than I’ve already given you,” Reginald said. “Tell me all you know. Tell me everything Kate told you about it. Maybe there’s a clue in it somewhere.”
“Kate said the original was on a computer ticket, for a Knicks game,” Jack said.
“A Knicks game,” Reginald repeated.
“Right, the code was written on the blank side of the ticket.” Jack said. “But she didn’t say anything was highlighted or underlined, and there was no additional writing.”
“I think the clue to the remaining keys would have something to do with the fact that it was on a ticket, an NBA ticket,” Reginald responded, deep in thought. “Do you know who they were playing?”
“Lakers,” Jack said. “Kate said it was a Knicks-Lakers game.”
“How much time do we have?” Reginald said, checking his watch. “We’re going to have to get awfully lucky to solve this in time.”
“What the hell do you normally do?” Jack asked, his impatience growing more obvious.
“Usually he would leave a voice mail for me, and it would give the keys,” Reginald answered. “But, as a precaution, he would always put his messages on a piece of printed matter containing the keys, or at least something that would allow me to figure out what the keys were. That’s where I would look now, if I had a chance. Without more information, I’m not so sure if we have long enough info to figure it out.”
“The first two were pretty simple,” Jack said. “Why would the rest of it not be just as simple?”
“Because the meat of the message will be contained in the other two lines,” Reginald said. “It’s all important, but if there is some particularly sensitive information, it would be in one or both of the two lines you have not yet deciphered. Sometimes the keys for the remaining lines would be buried in the plaintext of the easier cryptograms.”
“What are our chances of solving this in the next hour?” Jack asked.
“We would have to be very lucky,” Reginald said.
“Can’t count on that,” Jack answered. “This is what we do. I will come up with some bogus plaintext solutions for the two remaining lines—something that these fellows will hopefully buy. It will have to make sense. These guys do not know whether or not we have the keys. They apparently do not have all four lines of the puzzle. Kate may have a second copy with her, but it doesn’t sound like she gave them anything—only what she could recall. But they are not going to do any more work on a solution, not if they think they are going to get it from us. So, if I can give them something that looks legit, they just might accept it.”
“And, in the meantime, I will see what I can do to decipher it.” Reginald said.
“Exactly,” Jack answered. “It’s our best shot.”

Chapter 13

2011-10-31T10:41:00.000-04:00

Chapter 13—The NBA connection

12:02 a.m., Monday, December 26

Jack quickly set about writing down two sets of the un-deciphered lines of the cryptogram—lines one and four:

Line 1: SGCN JNRE SDHC SDCJ MHVW
Line 4: FQOPO PJKA TFGJS

“No chance these two lines would have the same key?” Jack asked.
“No chance at all,” Reginald replied. “One thing to keep in mind, the key would not be obvious on the ticket. For instance, because it is a Lakers-Knicks game, you can assume that will not be the key.
“… Because the code was written on an NBA ticket, you can be sure that the key, in fact, most likely both of the remaining keys, relates to professional basketball—but not necessarily to the game on the ticket. For instance, I’m going to test ‘Lakers World Champs.’ That because they beat Boston in the 2010 finals. … You see what I’m getting at?”
“I do,” Jack said. “But I’m not going to take a chance on this. You see what you can do to solve one or both of the lines, I’m going to come up with some bogus solutions. Please don’t talk to me until we’re done.”
The two men tore into the cryptograms—Reginald attempting to decipher them, Jack inventing alternative solutions.
Jack decided to start with the fourth line. He assumed that Reginald would attack the first line, because it was longer. Generally speaking, the longer a line of code, the easier to crack. He thought his efforts would be best directed with the last line.
Jack suddenly realized that he had never before tried to bogus up a puzzle. There was something about it that ran counter to his ethical make up. “That ‘OPOP’ is curious,” he concluded. “That would suggest we are dealing with a group of shorter words, not a couple longer ones. And, the fact that there were only fourteen letters used also suggested a group of shorter words.”
He knew that if he did not get this solved, or phonied up, and quickly, he would probably just have to attack and kill the kidnapper in the hotel lobby, and that would be very dangerous for Kate.
As quickly as he could he started plugging in potential NBA phrases—most of them involving the Lakers. None of them worked.
“Could a key involve an NBA team not on the ticket?” Jack asked, violating his own code of silence. “I think you suggested it could.”
“Sure,” Reginald answered. “In fact, that would be likely.”
Jack then remembered the player acquisition of the decade during the summer of 2010, bringing LeBron James and Chris Bosh to the Miami Heat. He first attempted to plug “LeBron James” into the code as the key. He quickly realized it would not work. So he then tried “Miami Heat.” He made up the grid, and started to plug in the letters. He was pleased to see that the ‘OPOP’ that initially captured his interest stood for ‘STST.’ That, he thought, was significant, because those two letters were two of the most frequently used consonants in the English language, and were commonly used in juxtaposition.
As soon as he looked at it as a whole, he knew he had it right. “Must stop him now,” he said, almost shouting. “Line four is ‘must stop him now.’ Holy hell, Reg—could that possibly be right? Is he suggesting that the President of the United States should be assassinated? Damn, Reg, that is what got your man killed. And it could get us all killed.”
Reginald looked up at Jack, and then back down at his work. It was obvious to Jack that his friend was not really surprised at the plaintext.
Jack decided that he should now attack the first line—the one Reginald was working on. But before he could plug in a potential key, Reginald sat back in his chair, and breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve got it. The key is ‘Lakers in seven,’ and the plaintext is ‘from the lips of POTUS.’ Jack, I do believe we have deciphered this whole code. This is just about what I expected. My man in the State Department knew what the group was looking for, and he concluded that he had found it. With the President signing off on the sale of Hawaii and Alaska, he knew that this would divide the country, and possibly spark a revolution. He is stating that the group should implement the plan—and expeditiously.”
“Was he in a position to have this information?” Jack asked.
“Yes he was,” Reginald replied. “If he said that these words were from the lips of the President, then he heard the President say them. My man was legit.”
“How about the fourth line, the one that authorizes the assassination—how could he make that determination?”
“He was my operative in the State Department,” Reginald said. “He was totally aware of what we were looking into, and was a valued advisor. In fact, I think that it was he who instigated the plot to begin with. It is unlikely that Al or Jerry would have come up with it without this sort of input.”
“Jerry, who the hell is Jerry?” Jack asked.
“You know him, he’s Al’s and Steve’s very close friend,” Reginald said.
“And Steve—is that who I think it is?” Jack followed.
“Right.”
“Good God, what sort of unholy group of misfits have you guys assembled? I wouldn’t trust either one of them in matters this important.”
“I know what you are saying, and I agree,” Reginald said. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now we have a decision to make. Should we or should we not give the correct message to Kate’s kidnapper?”
“Look, Reg, we are going to do everything we can to get Kate back,” Jack said, “even if it means giving up secrets. The bastard gets the whole plaintext, just the way we deciphered it. He will know immediately that what he is looking at is accurate, and he will be satisfied. If anything is going to make him satisfied, this will. We will watch him. As soon as he has had a chance to go through all four lines, if I get a bad feeling, I will kill him on the spot, and you take out whoever is holding Kate. She will be just inside the lobby door. We won’t have any extra time. It will happen quickly if it goes south.”
Reginald nodded in agreement, and left the room ahead of his friend to take up a strategic position in the lobby. Jack waited five minutes, and then he headed down as well.
Just then, the cell phone rang again.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “What the hell do you mean by ‘a change of plan’?”

Chapter 14

2011-10-31T10:40:00.000-04:00

Chapter 14—The art of misdirection

12:45 a.m., Monday, December 26

Jack stopped in his tracks. “What are you now suggesting? You said you would have my daughter with you, in the lobby of my hotel. Now you’re changing the plan?”
“That’s right,” the kidnapper said. “It’s back to Penn Station. Bring the material in the envelope to that same place you had coffee with your daughter earlier. Wait until that same table gets empty, sit down, and tape it to the bottom. Pretty simple, huh? Sit there for only a minute. Call me. Then leave.”
“And my daughter?”
“She’ll be there with us. And we’ll be watching.”
“She needs to be with me before I do anything.”
“You’re not calling the shots here, Chief,” the kidnapper told Jack. “You do what I just told you to do. Tape the message to the bottom of the table. And by the time you get back to your hotel, you will have your daughter. Got it?”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Jack countered. “I’ll meet you in the lobby of my hotel as we originally planned. You send my daughter in ahead of you. When I have her in my possession, safe and sound, I will pass the envelope off to you. Everybody gets what they want, no one has to die.”
“Looks like we’ve reached an impasse,” the kidnapper said. “Fortunately for me, your daughter remembers much of the puzzle. I suspect that with a little coaxing, she will remember more.” The kidnapper paused for a moment to let his words sink into Jack’s mind. Then he continued. “Look, Handler, if you don’t mind what happens to your daughter, then neither do I. I will get what I need, one way or the other.
“Meet me at Penn Station, like I told you, give me the rest of the solutions, taped to the bottom of the table. Be there just before one a.m. Your daughter will be with me. All you have to do is leave the envelope, with all the solutions, all of them, under the table just as I said. You then call me on your daughter’s phone, and leave. I don’t want to be able to see you. You need to walk away from that table at exactly one a.m. I will arrive at that time, and your daughter will be with me. I will remove the message from under the table and examine it. If I am satisfied, I will leave. And you can have your daughter back. She knows where you are staying, right?”
Jack sensed that arrangement could work—with some adaptation. The kidnapper would still be in a position of strength, because if he was not satisfied with the solution of the code, he would kill Kate on the spot.
The fact that it would not be feasible for the kidnapper to bring Kate into Penn Station blindfolded was significant. It meant that his daughter most likely would be able to identify her kidnappers. If that were the case, it would suggest that the men holding Kate were now willing to sacrifice themselves for this mission.
Or, it was possible that they were intending to kill Kate? Jack did not like to think about that.
In either case, Jack knew that there would be more than one person involved with the transfer—so that if anything went awry, there would be a gun aimed at his daughter, and probably at him. But he also knew that this would be the best deal he could possibly get out of this kidnapper. And, because it now seemed to be rapidly unfolding, Jack sensed (or at least hoped) Kate’s chances were improving.
“And when you come, come alone,” the abductor said. “If your buddy follows you out, your daughter’s dead. You come alone, to the coffee shop. If you’re a good boy, you will be able to tell your grandchildren this story. Pull anything, and she dies. Do you understand?”
Jack did not respond, he merely hung up, and dialed up Reginald. “Plans changed,” he told Reginald, who had left the room moments before, and had found a good seat in the lobby.
“Yeah, Jack, what’s up?”
“I’ll be walking out in a few minutes,” Jack said. “I’m just getting on the elevator right now.”
“You got another call?”
“I did, and the meeting is back at Penn Station,” Jack said.
“Shall I head down there now?”
“They made you,” Jack said. “You had better stay put. I’ll handle this on my own.”
“How about I follow you after a few?”
“Won’t work.” Jack admonished. “They’ll be watching for you. In fact, you should stay right where you’re at. If I need you, I’ll call. … It’s gonna be the only safe place for you right now. They know you, but you don’t know them. It could get very dicey for you. Might as well meet me at the elevator, and I will give you my key. Someone might fall on you with an ice pick. … I’m on the elevator.” Jack disconnected, and headed down to the lobby.
When the door opened, he looked around for Reginald, and found him standing and talking with the security guard assigned to check guest cards before allowing them on the elevators. Jack did not say a word to Reginald as he passed him, but he slid his card and remote into Reginald’s pocket. Reginald then reached into his pocket for the card, showed it to the guard, and took a couple steps toward the elevator. But before getting on the elevator, Reginald turned to watch Jack as he headed out of the hotel.
Jack did not bother to look around for the kidnapper’s friend, he simply walked quickly out of the hotel, and headed toward the rendezvous.
As soon as he was outside, Jack immediately proceeded to walk right out onto Eighth Avenue, as though he were planning to cross over before the traffic light. But instead of crossing Eighth Avenue, he remained in the traffic lane, and walked toward the intersection making sure to avoid oncoming traffic. He knew that by doing this, he would discourage anyone who might be following him.
Usually this practice worked. But not this time. Just as he reached the crosswalk, he spotted a young, very muscular man following him, even though he had taken precautions. “Damn it,” Jack silently mouthed. Spinning around, Jack grabbed the man’s right wrist, just as he had started to pull an ice pick out of his pocket. In the same motion, Jack pulled his knife out of his jacket pocket, and shoved it firmly through the man’s jacket, and then slightly downward. Jack did not wish to kill his attacker. He merely wanted to force his blade through the man’s clothes, and to cut him a little.
“Are you sure you want to dance with me, you sonofabi**h?” Jack asked. Even though he could think of nothing he would enjoy more than running the knife through to the man’s spine, piercing his lower intestine. “This is gonna be one slow agonizing death. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
With that, the man tried to step back, but it was too late. Reginald had spotted the man leaving the hotel right after Jack, and he suspected his friend could be in danger. Just as the man attempted to pull his wrist free from Jack’s grasp, Reginald slid an ice pick into the attacker’s back, piercing his left lung, and his heart. He immediately pulled the weapon out, and rammed it into his right lung, this time wrenching the handle to the right, snapping the ice pick off inside the attacker. Death was not only certain, but quick.
Reginald eased the man to the street, and in an affected, effeminate voice, screamed over to a bellman, “call an ambulance, this man is having a heart attack! Oh my God, somebody help him!”
As onlookers pushed in, Reginald spoke loudly to the man he had just killed, “I’ll be right back, I’m going for help.” He then disappeared into the darkness.
Jack had already moved on toward his meeting with his daughter’s kidnapper. “That’s one less problem I got to deal with,” Jack muttered as he picked up his pace.
Reginald’s move on his behalf did not surprise Jack. The two of them always had each other’s back. Jack did think it a bit curious that Reginald used an ice pick. In fact, all the way across Eight Avenue, that was all that Jack could think about. He finally concluded that Reginald was making a point—his State Department man had been killed by this man, or one of his buddies, with an ice pick. “It’s just justice,” Jack thought. “It’s fitting as hell. Get the bastard with the same weapon he used to get your man.”
Besides, Jack liked the use of an ice pick in just such a situation. For starters, an ice pick is an amazingly efficient weapon for an aggressive attack. It is easy to push into a man. In fact, most of the time it will pierce even the best body armor, if enough thrust is exerted behind it. It is more effective than a .357, because it will separate the fibers, and slide through. A round from a .357 will flatten, and most often be stopped by the vest.
In addition, if the ice pick hits a rib, it will redirect itself to softer tissue. A bone will stop most knives.
The greatest advantage is that if the shaft of the pick is ground nearly in two, about three inches from the tip, it can be easily broken off inside the victim. The handle is then removed, leaving the business end below the surface of the skin.
The heart is always the first target. And when the heart is pierced, it immediately ceases to pump blood to the brain, and unconsciousness rapidly ensues, followed by death. It has the appearance of a heart attack. Because the entry wound is so small, any bleeding takes place internally, usually into the lungs. That’s why it is always good to puncture both lungs.
Jack took one last glance behind him, and continued on toward the meeting. He now could hope that he would surprise the kidnapper. After all, it appears as though he was supposed to have been killed on the street, and the envelope removed from his body.
But, thanks to Reginald, the kidnapper did not know he had survived the attempt.
Jack was fairly confident, however, that the kidnapper would be at the coffee shop, as a backup plan. And, he thought that he might even have brought Kate with him.
At any rate, Jack calculated that his chances of saving his daughter had improved with Reginald’s elimination of one of the kidnapper’s buddies. Experience told him that there would be a trap.
As Jack entered the coffee shop in Penn Station, his optimism was rewarded. Standing off to the side was a large powerfully built man, wearing a New York Giants cap, and a Giants jacket. He had his arm around Kate’s waste. Jack noted that, as he suspected, Kate was not wearing a blindfold. Instead she had on a pair of very dark Jackie-O sunglasses.
Jack wasted no time. The table he and Kate had shared earlier was vacant, so he walked over to it and sat down. He then taped the envelope containing the puzzle to the underside, and then walked up to the counter as though to order a cup of coffee. There was no need to make any calls—the kidnapper had observed his obedience. Jack’s question was whether or not he would reward it.
Glancing back toward the table as he waited at the end of a short line, Jack saw the man guiding Kate into the chair across from the table from where he had taped the envelope. His first impulse was to walk right up to the two of them, but then thought it better to let the matter play out.
“Kate could get hurt if I act prematurely,” Jack reasoned.
Just then, he felt a heavy hand clutch his shoulder. Startled, he shoved his hand under his jacket and started to pull out his knife.
“Take it easy,” Reginald advised. He had circled around and entered Penn Station right on Jack’s heels.
“Damn,” Jack muttered, “you startled the hell out of me. What are you doing here?”
“I figured you could use some help,” Reginald said, glancing over his friend’s shoulder. “That’s your daughter, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, they’re both here,” Jack said. “I wasn’t expecting you to make it back so soon.”
“How do you want to handle this?” Reginald asked.
“Here’s what we do,” Jack said, developing his plan on the fly. “Get a good look at this guy. Then position yourself outside the coffee shop. Ideally he will leave alone. Follow him. If he takes the subway, or hits the street, try not to lose him. If Kate is still with him, then take him out. Got it? Giants cap and jacket. You can’t miss him.”
Just as Reginald left, the abductor sat down at the table with Kate. As he did, he reached for and removed the envelope. Jack watched as the man opened and read the contents. A smile crept across the kidnapper’s face when he realize he had the real thing. The man then turned and smiled at Jack, who was still standing nearly thirty feet away. Jack took the smile as a signal that he was satisfied with what Jack had left for him.
“May I help you?” the attendant at the counter asked Jack.
Jack turned to respond, “Yes, a double espresso, please.”
“Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Jack replied, as he turned back to check on his daughter.
During that few seconds when Jack was placing his order, the abductor looked back at Kate, smiled at her, and then double popped her with a gun he had concealed under his jacket on the table. Because he was using a suppressor, Jack heard nothing.
The first round stuck Kate squarely in the forehead, slightly dislodging the sunglasses. The second round struck Kate in the middle of her upper chest, with the bullet lodging in her spine. Both wounds were fatal.
Just as Jack turned back around, he observed that as the abductor stood from the table to leave, he adjusted Kate’s sunglasses, and then left.
Not realizing that Kate had been shot, Jack immediately made his way over to her. As he approached Kate, he did sneak one quick glance at the fleeing abductor. He observed the man dispose of some items in the trash container at the door, just as he disappeared.
“Kate,” Jack said. “Are you okay?”
By the time Jack had reached the girl, he realized that she had been shot. Blood was trickling down the left side of her cheek, and off her chin. Because the entry wound was that of a small caliber revolver, there was not a great deal of blood.
“Kate!” Jack yelled, as he removed the sunglasses to get a better look at his daughter.
The instant he got a look at her face he realized that the girl he had thought was Kate was actually not his daughter. Rather it was a woman about the same age, size and appearance as Kate. And she was wearing his daughter’s coat and scarf.
“My God, child,” he cried, “what have they done to you?”
Even though his instincts told him to pursue the killer, he chose instead to remain with the girl. Jack knew that the process of dying was not instantaneous. Even though this beautiful young girl was technically dead, there was a good chance that her mind was still processing what was happening to her. Jack was not about to let her pass alone.
“Darling,” Jack said, gently taking the girl’s head in his hands. “I am so sorry this has happened to you.” He looked into her eyes one last time. They were the eyes of a dead girl, but her lower lip still moved, as though she were trying to talk.
Jack then placed his lips firmly on the top of the girl’s head, and tenderly grasped her shoulders. “I will talk to your parents. I will tell them what a beautiful child you are. I will stay with you.”
Jack knew that he was lying to her when he said he would talk to her parents—contacting her parents would raise more questions than he could answer. But he did remain with her until he felt her body stop trembling, and life slip away.
Realizing that there was nothing more he could do for her, he turned his attention back to the fleeing abductor, Jack hurried over to the trash receptacle to check on what the man had tossed into it on his way out.
Pushing the hinged door on the trash bin in far enough to get a look, Jack saw the Giants jacket lying on top of the trash. “The cap is certainly in there too,” he surmised. “That means Reg most likely missed him.”
Walking out of the coffee shop, and over to where he had asked Reginald to wait, Jack knew immediately when he saw his friend standing there that the abductor turned murderer had escaped.
Just then Jack’s cell rang. “Kitty” appeared on the display.
“Where’s my daughter, you murdering sonofabi**h? I want ...” Jack said.
“She’s fine, and you’ll get her back. Go back to your room at the hotel and wait for instructions,” the voice on the other end said. “I have one more job for you to do.”
With that the phone went dead.
Jack stood there for a few brief moments contemplating his options. He looked over at Reginald as he returned his phone to its holder, and then walked out to the street.
Reginald followed at a safe distance.

Chapter 15

2011-10-31T10:39:00.000-04:00

Chapter 15—Allison reflects

10:30 a.m., Tuesday, December 13

She abhorred the restrictions the Secret Service placed on her. Not only did she resent the loss of privacy, but she simply did not trust them. In fact, she did not trust anyone—at least not totally. But she was particularly suspicious of the Secret Service. If someone’s paycheck was signed by any but her own hand, that person’s loyalty could not belong totally to her.
Perhaps she learned too much from her husband when they were in the White House. His relationship to the Secret Service was possibly unique. To Bob, the Secret Service was just that—a service. Sometimes he used them a little like OJ used Al Cowlings, to spirit him around secretly.
She had heard that Bob would crawl under a blanket in the rear of an agent’s private car, and then be chauffeured around to private parties. Other times he used the Service to keep people away from him—friends and enemies.
Her husband was able to garner the loyalty of the Secret Service for a few good reasons. First of all, they feared him. Plus, Bob rewarded them well for their service to him. Not only did he pay them handsomely under the table, but Bob’s agents were well known around DC as the go-to guys for girls and drugs—all thanks to their relationship with him.
Allison did not share Bob’s ability to use the Service in such a self-serving fashion. But she did develop her own method of working with and around the agents assigned to protect her.
For instance, when she was ready to venture out on her own, secretly, Allison would lock herself in her bedroom, leaving the Secret Service sitting outside. It was always understood that when she entered her bedroom, she was virtually entering her own private country, of which she was not only the president, but lone citizen as well. No one, other than herself, ever dared challenge her on that, and few ever even challenged the Secret Service agents assigned to protect the privacy of this former First Lady.
Once inside the bedroom (which was actually more like a giant safe room than a bedroom, given the physical security employed in its construction), she would then enter a special walk-in closet. She had three closets which were accessible only from her bedroom. They all looked the same, unless you were Allison. She knew that in the back of one of these closets was a secret door. It opened to reveal a small spiral staircase which led upward—upward to a secret apartment, and to her secret life.
When using the staircase, she would always first take off her shoes. She had some very good reasons to go barefoot. First of all, the space inside the staircase was very tight—so tight, in fact, that it made her uneasy to use it. The last thing she wanted to do would be to stumble and injure herself. “These damn stairs,” she frequently muttered, “I’m gonna kill myself on them one of these days. I don’t know why the hell they could not have put in the elevator that I wanted. I can’t imagine how I am going to do this in my old age. Guess I’m just going to have to move back into the White House.”
With that comment, she would chuckle, sometimes out loud, other times through clenched teeth and a grin.
Actually, she was well aware why she was not allowed to have the secret elevator she wanted. For one thing, no elevator could ever be installed in the City of New York without a permit; not even for a former First Lady. And permits meant there would be architectural drawings filed with the city.
Second, elevators had to be inspected periodically. That meant that the elevator she requested would not have been very secret.
But a spiral staircase, even a secret spiral staircase—that was a different matter. She merely waited until construction was finished, and the inspectors had signed off on the project. Then she hired a different contractor to construct the staircase. That way she avoided having to take out permits, and inclusion in the final architectural drawings. Of course, her little side project was illegal, but that didn’t matter to Allison. All it took was a lot of money, and she had plenty of that.
Not only was it safer, she thought, to use the spiral staircase without shoes_ but if she always removed her shoes before going up or down, she would never confuse herself with regard to wardrobe. She did, after all, maintain a totally different set of clothes in each apartment. And, not only was it a different set of clothes, elements of the wardrobes were stylistically distinctive from one another—totally so.
The third reason she never wore shoes on the spiral staircase was to avoid noise. She did not want to gamble on someone, such as an overly observant agent, hearing the hard soles of her shoes clanging on the steel staircase, then zealously investigating. No, Allison had no desire to advertise her secret. The spiral staircase, Allison believed, was the key to keeping her sanity—in her self-talk she referred to it as her “staircase to heaven.”
During the renovation of her building, Allison had purchased the apartment directly above her apartment under a different name—Bernadette Lowery. Her status and connections allowed for that. Using her secret staircase, when she wanted to venture out on her own without the Secret Service tagging along, she would lock her “safe room” door, enter her special closet, and head up to the apartment above hers.
Interestingly, also during the renovation, she had the opportunity to buy the apartment beneath hers, as well as the one above. Apparently, when the existing tenants discovered that a former First Lady was moving into the building, several of them opted to move out, not wanting to deal with all the media attention and security personnel. Initially she considered buying only the one above. That, she thought, would be ideal for the development of her secret persona. By placing Bernadette above her, she would be the only one able to hear noises passing through the floor. Actually, she was more concerned about the noticeable lack of noise emanating from above, because the only person ever to enter that apartment would be herself, disguised as Bernadette.
After giving it considerable thought, she decided also to purchase the apartment below hers for the Secret Service to use. While, technically, one agent always had to be stationed inside her living quarters, she knew that if they had a separate apartment it would provide her with a higher level of separation from them.
By far the most energetic aspect of the whole project involved the addition of new elevators. Initially the eight-story building had only two—one used by the residents and their visitors, and a larger service elevator. The service elevator was used by residents only when moving in or out of the building, and for deliveries of larger items. Workmen doing construction, and the building’s maintenance personnel also used it on occasion. But, generally speaking, it probably was not needed more than a couple times a week, if that.
Nevertheless, Allison insisted that there be three additional elevators incorporated in the renovation drawings. Initially the architect objected, but soon he learned that once Allison had made up her mind, there would be no compromise.
She explained that the Secret Service needed its own elevator, and she needed hers; plus, she needed her own service elevator. She did not discuss this matter with the Secret Service, because she knew that they would insist on sharing the use of her elevator.
Her intention was to share the new service elevator with the Secret Service, as well as her personal elevator. The third new elevator (the one she originally demanded for the Secret Service) she actually intended for the exclusive use of the occupant of apartment two—Bernadette Lowery. That way, when Allison was moving about as Bernadette, she would never have to come face to face with any other occupant of the building, at least not in the narrow confines of an elevator.
She was particularly concerned about Bernadette being stuck face to face with female Secret Service agents. She feared that no matter how good the disguise, another woman, particularly one familiar with her, would eventually see through it.
Another interesting aspect about the new elevators involved the way the elevator doors were controlled. All three of the new elevators could be accessed through the lobby, just as could the two existing elevators. But there was a second door on each of the three new ones. Allison’s private elevator (the one she was planning to share with the Secret Service), the new service elevator, and the elevator she was intending for Bernadette’s use, all could be accessed from a rear parking lot, where the Secret Service parked their cars.
The tenants always had to use the single doors on the passenger elevator, and then walk around and through a secured door that led to the same parking lot. That did not change. Those residents (the ones not associated with Allison and the Secret Service) still had to follow the old procedure.
The original service elevator did, however, open from front and rear. That way deliveries could be made from the courtyard, or through the lobby.
Access to all elevators could be gained at ground level through the use of proximity tags. In the cases of the two original elevators, tags had to be presented at a distance of five inches or less. That feature had been added prior to Allison’s renovations. Nothing changed for the original occupants in that regard either.
Of course, all the original elevators, and the new ones, could be accessed and used to go down to the ground level with the simple push of a button. Any other operation would not have met with the approval of the inspectors.
The three new elevators worked in a slightly different fashion. They all were equipped at ground level with a biometric reader, as well as the prox reader—at both the lobby and rear access points. That way Allison and the Secret Service could simply place their right hand on the reader, and gain access to an elevator. So, if they did not want to present their tags, they could still use one of the new elevators.
Bernadette, however, never used the biometric reader. She always used only her tag.
The building was equipped with an inordinately large natural gas powered generator. This generator was added at the special request of Allison and the Secret Service. It was designed so that if the power to the building failed, the elevators and emergency lights would still function. Of course, that emergency generator also backed up the power in Allison’s, Bernadette’s, and the Secret Service’s apartments. The rest of the building’s tenants did not enjoy this feature, nor did they even know about it.
However, even if they had known, they would not likely have cared much, because prior to Allison moving in, there was no generator at all. At least now the elevators functioned during a power outage.
Of course, there were emergency stairs. They could be accessed from the ground floor by using the same type of tag reader as was located at the front door, the courtyard (rear) door, and for all the elevators. That was a plus for everybody.
There were, however, additional readers in this stairwell at three locations—those were the doors leading onto the floors housing Allison’s entourage (her two apartments, and the one used by the Secret Service). In all three cases, Allison’s apartments occupied an entire floor.
The lock on the ground level door leading into the stairwell could also be accessed by a high-security key. The only people holding those keys were Allison, Bernadette, and the Secret Service. That means should the elevator fail altogether, all residents of the building could still use the stairs by accessing it using their prox tag.
However, if the reader system failed as well, only Allison’s people had keys to access the stairwell from the ground floor. Those same keys would access the doors leading onto Allison’s floor, and the Secret Service’s floor. But only Allison’s key would also access the emergency stairwell door leading onto Bernadette’s floor. That meant that she, and only she, could ever access that floor from the stairwell.
On the stairwell side of each of the three special floors was a hidden color camera. There was a monitor just inside of each of those doors. They were there so that anyone desiring to enter the stairwell from any of those three floors would be able to see if someone was lying in wait.
There were, in fact, several very sophisticated closed circuit color TV systems in place at her building. Again, Allison had designed much of it. From her apartment she was able to monitor the activities in all the common areas throughout her whole building, and outside the building front and rear. The Secret Service, as well as Allison, could access that part of system.
However, the cameras on Bernadette’s floor and in Allison’s safe room, could be accessed only by Allison via monitors in her safe room, and in Bernadette’s apartment.
Access to Allison’s private closed circuit TV system was also biometrically controlled. But these readers were not like the ones that controlled the elevators. These were retina readers. They were more sophisticated than the others. She had considered employing retina readers at the new elevators, but decided against it for hygienic reasons. Thinking that only she would ever be able even to attempt a retina read from within her private apartments seemed to justify that application in those instances.
There was one glaring exception made regarding ease of access to the CCTV system. Inside the stairwell that led from Allison’s apartment to Bernadette’s was a station where every camera inside and outside the whole building could be accessed without using any sort of biometric or card readers. Allison had set it up this way intentionally. Her thinking was that this stairwell, the one between her apartment and Bernadette’s, would serve as a “safe room” within safe rooms.
In the event of an emergency, she could retreat to the secret stairwell, and there wait until it was safe to leave—either through her apartment, or through Bernadette’s.
Therefore, she designed it so that all cameras could be accessed on the upper landing without any additional security precautions. All she would have to do, in such an emergency, would be to open a small door, and it would reveal a monitor and a sophisticated digital switch.
Below the door that concealed the CCTV controls was another door. That one, when opened, exposed a seven-day supply of food and water, and necessary toiletries. It also contained an inflatable mattress just small enough to fit nicely on the landing when inflated.
Also, the door of that storage area had a fold-down cushioned seat, so that she could view the monitor for extended periods of time in relative comfort.
Allison had done a masterful job at designing every aspect of her secret life, and she took a lot of pride in it. “Imagine what I will do as President?” she often asked herself.
Allison kept her elevator tag in her purse. When she was on ground level, she merely had to hold her purse to within a dozen inches of any reader, and that would activate the special prox reader granting access at that particular point. However, when entering Bernadette’s elevator, she would always remove an access card from her purse, just like the other residents of the building had to use.
As she expected, she had no problem having her plans approved by the City of New York, and the Secret Service. No one ever wanted to do battle with Allison. Those who did were always severely punished.
In fact, at times it seemed as though she intentionally provoked fights, just so those around her could observe the futility of trying to stand up to her. Besides, it was always lucrative doing business with Allison.
The construction end of the project went as anticipated. And, just as she expected, the Secret Service insisted on sharing the use of Allison’s elevator, seeming oblivious to the existence of Bernadette’s private use of the elevator initially designated to them. Even Bob, Allison’s quasi-estranged husband knew nothing about the existence of Bernadette’s apartment.
The truth is, Bob had for years viewed Allison as one of those proverbial “sleeping dogs.” If Allison was not screaming at him, or throwing things in his direction, he pretty much didn’t get involved in her life. And he certainly made every effort not to antagonize her by involving himself in her affairs without invitation.
When Allison wanted to move about incognito, she would make certain that her keepers knew that she was retiring to her bedroom. Then, once she had secured her bedroom door behind her, she would access her special closet, enter the staircase, and make her way up to Bernadette’s lair. That’s where the transformation would take place. There she would don the Bernadette persona.
When Allison first began to develop the disguise, she had choices to make: Would Bernadette be older or younger? Would she be a flirt, or a tough broad? And if she were a flirt, would she be a straight or a gay flirt? Those were all decisions that had to be made before the wardrobe could be selected.
Allison decided that Bernadette would be a little on the younger side, and that she would be a bit more coquettish than was Allison. And that Bernadette would definitely be gay. Allison liked the idea of being able to be openly gay—something she could not get away with in the White House. Besides, as a lesbian, she would be permitted to maintain a higher level of anonymity, as that would help defend against guys hitting on her. In every respect, Allison liked Bernadette more than she liked herself.
Depending on how much time she had to work with, and where she was going, she would begin selecting what she would wear. Normally, when functioning as Former First Lady Allison, she always had attendants to help her with these mundane tasks. But upstairs, as Bernadette Lowery, she was totally on her own.
Initially she had help putting the wardrobe together. But when it came to selecting a particular outfit, and putting it on, there was no one to help her. She would have liked to have had someone she could trust enough to share this confidence. But there was just too much at stake. If she ever wanted to get back into the White House, every aspect of the plan must work perfectly. There could be no loose ends.
As Allison, she wore very little makeup, and she seemed to relish the more masculine outfits. That was the case partly because she had to perform in a masculine world, out-spitting and out-bragging even the big boys. She could handle that very well, as Allison.
But Bernadette did not have to worry about such stuff. Bernadette had a much softer side. She smiled more, and flirted more. And, best of all, Bernadette got to wear sexier clothes—much sexier clothes.
Allison realized that her thighs were a little too stocky to do much with as far as showing leg, she felt she could produce healthy cleavage. And that she did with amazing skill. While Allison was not shy about such things, Bernadette flaunted.
Then, of course, there was the alluring hairdo. She spent nearly $20,000 on that one, single piece of the puzzle that was Bernadette. She had researched it thoroughly. She knew that if the hair worked, the whole disguise could work.
Twenty grand was nothing, compared to the millions she had spent renovating her three apartments. True, the Secret Service was provided to her compliments of the US government. However, she did take it upon herself to provide them with their apartment. It would not have been necessary to arrange for such an elaborate setup—the officers could have commuted. But she concluded that she could control them better by making their lives a bit more cushy. Plus, by so doing, she kept the Secret Service out of her hair, and out of Bernadette’s wig.
Up until this point, the Bernadette persona served Allison mostly as an element of convenience. It allowed her to get out on her own without all the trappings of a former First Lady. Now, however, her life was taking a different direction, and the effectiveness of the Bernadette disguise took on a new level of importance. It became so significant, in fact, that many lives depended upon it.

Solution to Puzzle 3

2011-10-31T10:38:00.000-04:00

Solution to Puzzle Three:
Clue: What did Bernadette flaunt?
Puzzle: _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Answer: Healthy Cleavage (Chapter 15)

Puzzle 4

2011-10-31T10:37:00.001-04:00

Clue: REGINALD
Ciphertext: MUQD SJLQ SXTY APKH TDNW PKJL QSIN

(Solution published next Monday)

Chapter 16

2011-10-31T10:37:00.000-04:00

Chapter 16—Allison recruits Reginald

11:15 a.m., Tuesday, December 13

Bernadette was sitting at a table next to the small fence that separated the eating area from museum exhibits, when Reginald Black walked by on his way to the sandwich counter. She had chosen a seat right there so she could catch him as he passed. “Reg. How are you?”
“I’m well,” Reginald said, quite obviously caught by surprise. “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
“My name is Bernadette. I am a very good friend of Allison’s.”
“Okay,” Reginald responded, suddenly aware that the handsome woman he was talking to was actually Allison. “And you? How are you?”
“I’m pleased to say,” Bernadette answered, “I’m always great.”
“Well, Bernadette, I’ll just grab a sandwich and join you.”
“No need, I bought one for you, and a soda. Just hop over the fence and sit down.”
Reginald had no problem stepping over the low fence—he was in excellent shape. While pushing sixty from the wrong side, he exercised daily. It was rumored that he ran several miles every morning before breakfast, but he never boasted about it. He let his trim physique tell the story.
“So, Bernadette, tell me. What’s on your mind?”
Reginald never questioned Bob or Allison about anything. If asked, he gave his opinion—but never unsolicited. While he was caught off guard by Allison’s disguise, he didn’t question it. However, sitting across the table from Allison in disguise, Reginald found it a struggle to demonstrate the same level of respect he was accustomed to showing Allison.
“Here’s the deal.” Bernadette said. “A few of my closest associates share a concern with me. I’m sure you’ve heard the chatter. … Namely, the seats that have been lost, and those that are about to be lost. And, it’s not just the fact that they’ve been lost—it’s which ones that have been lost, and how badly. It has a number of us very concerned.”
“I understand the problem,” Reginald said.
“Well, my three associates, my friends, and I, have agreed that we would like you to join us for a private discussion or two, regarding our options.”
“Okay.”
“Reg, somehow we’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
“It might not be that easy. The public is running scared.” Reginald said. He paused for a couple seconds to gather his thoughts, and continued. “Actually, Al, I mean Bernadette, it’s not they’re so much running scared, they’re flat panicked.”
“Exactly right. And they are angry. The mid-terms were the worst ever, and who knows what to expect with the next presidential election. Even if I challenged and won the nomination, I might not win. Hell, I probably wouldn’t win. I’ve never seen it like this before—you can cut the anger and mistrust with a knife.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“We can’t discuss it here, or anywhere in public.”
“I understand.”
“What I want you to do is this: I want you to put your fine mind to this. Our group will attack the problem from every conceivable angle. But do not write anything down. There must never be a handwritten note, nor a computer entry. We will simply think about it first, and then we will talk about it.”
“Makes sense.”
“One of the reasons we want you to consider this project is that we all know you can be discrete. And that you can make things happen.”
“Who are the other three?”
“I can’t reveal them to you at this time. If you decide you want to be a part of our group, you must let me know after you have had a little time to digest what we talk about today. Then, if you want in, you can let me know when I contact you the next time.”
“How and when will you contact me?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay.”
“Here’s the deal, Reg. Bob has his own thing going. He will not be a part of these discussions. So, if his absence is the deal breaker for you, then don’t get involved.”
“Is Bob aware of any of this?”
“He is not. ... Now, I know that the two of you were very tight. Bob thought, rather he still thinks, that you are one of the best minds in the country. He trusts you completely.”
Allison felt that by appealing to Reginald’s ego, he would be more likely to acquiesce to her wishes. But Reginald did not respond to her comments.
“If there is one thing I know about my husband, it is this—if he feels he can trust a person, that person is pretty damn straight. Bob is a great judge of people.”
“Bob is a friend of mine. And I have always admired his talents,” Reginald finally said.
“That’s why we decided to approach you. We believe you can be trusted.”
“I would still like to know who the other parties are.”
“Can’t tell you right now. Suffice it to say you know them all. And if you made a short list, they would all be on it. Nobody new.”
“If I change my mind once I find out, or after the first meeting, is that a problem?”
“Damn right it is. Once you’re in, that’s it. Just like with Bob. Once you’re in, the only way you get out is on a gurney.”
“That sounds very ominous. I’m not sure I can accept those terms.”
“That’s why Bernadette and not Allison is meeting with you here and now. There is not a way to know what we will end up with if we do nothing.” Bernadette then slid in closer to Reginald, bringing her nose to within a few inches of his. She had seen Bob do this many times to make a point. Besides, she did not want anyone to overhear her next words. “Reg, this country is on the verge of a revolution. People are angry. More angry than ever before—at least in recent history. … And they have no jobs, and no prospects. This guy just keeps spending money like there’s no end to it. We cannot possibly survive this fiasco without rampant inflation, or worse. And when people start spending ten dollars for a loaf of bread, or a gallon of gas, they’re going to revolt. Now, my fear is that this just might result in a real civil war, not a simple political turf battle.”
“I know what you’re saying. It’s the worst I can recall. At least when Newt rode into town on his white horse, we had someone we could attack—and we did. But this time, it’s our own guy.”
“Newt will look like a damn white knight, compared to what we’re about to see. Every idiot conservative thinks he’s going to win next time. All our friends are gonna be sent packin’. It’s gonna to be a damn blood bath, if we don’t stop it.”
“Well, Al, uh, you’ve given me a lot to think about. I’ll wait to hear from you. Give me a few days.”
“You’ve got two hours. I’ll call you in two hours. If you want in, you will respond with this: ‘I would love to come to dinner.’ If you decide to take a pass on it, say ‘Sorry, I can’t make it.’ Not a word more, and not a word less. It is strictly hardball from this point on. No hard feelings if you opt out. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand. I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
With that, Bernadette stood to her feet and reached out to shake Reginald’s hand, “It was really great seeing you again, Reg. We must do this more often.”
Reginald then stood, smiled and returned the gesture. “It was great to see you too, Bernadette.”
Bernadette briskly walked away, as Reginald scooped up the remains of their lunch, and tossed it in the appropriate receptacles. True to form, he stayed behind to clean up the mess. That was one of the other characteristics that had endeared him to Bob.
As Reginald finished cleaning up, and prepared to walk away, he took a look around him at some of the thousands of statues and other artifacts housed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So much of it revolved around the public figures of past centuries.
Leaders would rise to power, develop an overinflated view of their significance, and then die. And all too often their demise would be ignominious. Many, if not most, were summarily dismissed by someone younger, and envious.
Reginald took his time leaving, because he did not want to follow too closely on “Bernadette’s” heels. Instead he took a little side trip, through the magnificent new Greek and Roman Galleries. Completed in 2007. Reginald did not like to visit The Met without at least taking a quick walk through the thousands of displays.
One of his favorites was the “Black Bedroom,” originally built by Agrippa for Emperor Augustus. “I wonder how many leaders were murdered in beds like that,” he wondered, “while they slept peacefully, convinced that they would rule forever.”
Reginald had an uneasy feeling about his meeting with Allison. There was just something different about this one. He wondered just what his outcome would be if he accepted her offer. … Or, if he rejected it.

Chapter 17

2011-10-31T10:36:00.000-04:00

Chapter 17—The quorum completed

1 p.m., Tuesday, December 13

Bernadette always wore glasses. They were part of the disguise. Allison, on the other hand, was dependent upon contact lenses. Thinking that it would enhance the persona if Bernadette wore glasses (primarily because Allison did not). The glasses that Bernadette should wear, Allison concluded, ought to be photochromic—the type that self adjusted to sunlight, becoming sunglasses outside, and clear in the absence of ultraviolet radiation. That meant one less thing Allison had to keep straight.
As Bernadette walked down the numerous steps leading out of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, heading toward Fifth Avenue, she began to admire her accomplishment, regarding her creation of Bernadette. She pulled this whole thing off without Bob’s help. She did not even enlist the help of her top aides. It was totally Allison’s idea, and Allison’s design—from the secret apartment (with its multiple elevators, and spiral staircase), to the Bernadette persona. She pulled it off—almost entirely by herself. She smiled slyly as she replayed the way she fooled Reginald with the disguise. If she could make it work with Reginald, she could make it work with almost anyone, anywhere.
As she reached the first landing, she realized just how critical it was to consider details. For instance, if she were to take a spill down the steps, it would most likely result in injury, and an unexpected trip to an emergency room—perhaps worse. The shoes she was wearing were Bernadette’s kitten heel shoes. “I have to watch my step here,” she thought, before descending the rest of the way to the sidewalk.
“I just might keep this apartment even after I’m back in the White House,” she was thinking as she turned up Fifth Avenue, and began her trek home. “It might be a little tricky to get out of the White House and get up here without the Secret Service sticking to me like glue. But I think I could make it work. I would simply slip down and out, just as I do now, while the agents watch TV.” She loved the freedom, and the anonymity; she saw no reason to give it up—not ever.
“How many former first ladies get to hail their own cab,” she pondered, sensing a little smile creep across her face. Well-dressed middle-aged ladies did not have much trouble hailing cabs, and Bernadette was very good at it. Raising a gloved hand, and virtually stepping out into Manhattan traffic, she captured the first on duty taxi she went after, just as she did every time.
“Fifth Avenue and 94th,” she told the driver, as she opened the cab door and slid in.
Sometimes, when she was at the MET, or the Guggenheim, she would simply walk back to her apartment, it would only have amounted to an additional twenty minutes or so. But this time, she did not want anyone to know where she had been. Not that anyone would be concerned about the activity of Bernadette, she still wanted to be prudent. After all, she had just met with Allison’s friend, Reginald. Someone could be tailing him.
Five minutes later the driver pulled up and stopped at the corner. When he turned around to collect, Bernadette handed him a twenty dollar bill, and thanked him. She knew that it was just as bad to over-tip as it was to stiff. Twenty dollars covered the fare, and a reasonable tip. The driver was pleased, but not overly so.
Bernadette greeted the doorman with a smile. She never spoke to him, however—she concluded that there was no point for him to hear her voice. He might recognize it. As Allison, she would not be expected even to acknowledge the doorman—that was the job of the Service.
Bernadette got on her elevator, and off at her floor. “Smooth, as always,” she thought.
Once in the apartment, she quickly found her favorite chair, sat down and kicked off her shoes. “Damn these things, I don’t know if I will ever get used to Bernadette’s shoes.” She loved the rest of Bernadette’s wardrobe, but preferred Allison’s comfortable flats.
She slipped off Bernadette’s glasses, leaving them on the dresser, and opened up the small refrigerator she had in the bedroom. Taking a bottle of water, she walked stocking-footed back to her chair, and tucked her feet up under her. That chair, Bernadette’s favorite chair, a blue leather recliner, had become Allison’s happy place. As she sat there, she began to ponder her meeting with Reginald, and wondered whether or not he would come on board.
Bernadette opened her bag, and pulled out a throw-away cell, and dialed her friend.
“This is Bernie, can you make it for dinner on Sunday?
“I didn’t expect you to call so soon. …”
“Well, I’m calling now, can you make it, or not?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“That’s great, I’ll be in touch.” With that Bernadette clicked off.
Bernadette breathed a sigh of relief. The group was complete. Now the heavy lifting must begin.

Chapter 18

2011-10-31T10:35:00.000-04:00

Chapter 18—First meeting scheduled

8 p.m., Tuesday, December 13

The thought crossed Allison’s mind to have her group of notables meet in Bernadette’s apartment. It was, after all, one of the most secure places in the free world. But then she thought better of it. Even though it would have been possible to maintain privacy there better than any other place she could think of, once the meetings were finished, the hideaway would be rendered virtually useless. So, she had to come up with someplace else.
Not only would she not hold the meetings in Bernadette’s apartment, she thought it would be less of a distraction if she ran the meetings as Allison, not Bernadette—at least to start out.
She was sure that Reginald and the other three members of the group questioned how she eluded the Secret Service as Bernadette, yet they did not know about the apartment. She continued to sit in Bernadette’s favorite chair, as she considered her options.
She recalled that sometimes Bob would have a friend rent a car, and he would hold private conversations in it. He always felt pretty safe doing that. She thought that she might give his approach a try for at least one of the meetings—perhaps the first. She could have James pick up a full size car, perhaps a Suburban. Anything but an Expedition—that’s what everyone drove in DC.
She thought about it a bit more, and then concluded that even a Suburban would stand out too much, in New York. The perfect car, she concluded, would be a Cadillac Escalade. No government workers would ever want to be seen in one of those. But Allison felt she could pull it off. Actors, lawyers, lobbyists and Republican businessmen drove Escalades—no one paid much attention to people riding around in a black Escalade with heavily tinted glass.
“That’s it!” Bernadette becoming Allison exclaimed as she sprang out of the Bernadette’s chair. She was not quite ready to return to Allison’s apartment, but she was beginning the metamorphosis.
She had one more call to make. She had to call James and tell him to rent the Escalade.
“I don’t care what color, as long as it’s black and clean, with tinted glass. It should be new—at least no more than 10,000 miles.”
The request caught James a little off guard. Generally James would meet Allison in a restaurant, or at a bar. And when he did, he would usually drive his own Escalade, or take a cab. He knew immediately what Allison intended to accomplish with the rented car. He had been the one who frequently would rent a car for Bob, during the Fulbright presidency.
On those occasions, he would meet the President after the “escape” from the White House had already taken place. Bob would sometimes be under a blanket in the back of a car or SUV, and sometimes he would actually be hiding in the trunk. Usually it was a “special” member of the President’s detail who had spirited him out. And then that same agent would meet James and the President later for the return trip.
So, James knew what Allison was up to with the rental—it was an excellent method to accomplish anonymity. She did not have to explain anything to him.
“Should I already have the other two with me when I meet you?”
“There will be three others, Reg is joining us.”
“He is? I didn’t think he still had it in him. Did you give him any details?”
“What’s there to give him? We haven’t developed any yet. All I told him was that three or four of my closest friends were going to meet to discuss future events—future events in light of recent elections, and what the future might hold for us. No specifics.”
“And he’s in on that basis?”
“Yes he is. I think you underestimate his resolve, and his brilliance. Reg is a very bright guy.”
“I know he is. But he always seems like he’s got a … like he’s got a bad case of constipation. He acts like a Republican much of the time. He thinks like one too. He’s just too conservative. Not politically—in that regard he thinks like we do—at least I assume he does. … The thing is, with Reg, you just never really know what he’s thinking. He’s always so proper. … Being around Reg is like being around your dad. …That is, if your dad packed a Glock.”
Allison chuckled. “We can use that. He will balance you out.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I really like and respect Reg. I’m the one who recommended you talk to him. He is a good addition. I’m just shocked that you got him.”
“Me, too. But Reg has always thought for himself. That’s why Bob liked him. He constantly bi**hed about Reg, but when he had a tough decision, or a tough job, he always came back to him. Reg has an amazing ability to see the big picture, and get things done. I’m glad you suggested we bring him in.”
“Does he know that once he meets with the group, there’s no turning back?”
“I told him. He’s good with it.”
“But he doesn’t know who he’s getting married to, does he?”
“He will tomorrow.”
“Man! I can’t wait to see Reg’s reaction when he gets in that Escalade with Steve,” James said, chuckling a little.
“He might not be constipated any longer,” Allison added. “That just might solve his condition.”
“He just never liked Steve. … Don’t get me wrong. A lot of people have issues with Steve. But I don’t know anyone who detests him like Reg does. I really think he hates Steve.”
“I wouldn’t say he hated Steve. I think it’s more a case of generation gap. Steve is a true Metro-sexual—if there even is such a thing. And Reg … Bob suspected he might have doubts about himself. I don’t know—I’m no damn psychologist. All I know for sure is that it’s gonna be interesting. … But Reg is a big boy. He knows what Steve brings to the table. And he knows he can trust him. Reg’ll just have to get past his hang-ups.”
“I would agree with that—Reg has hang-ups,” James said, not able to get the smile off his face.
“But, I do have some other reservations,” Allison said. “One of the reasons we were able to have those great meetings back during the White House days was that Bob took charge. I’m fully aware of that. He rode all of us like a ten-dollar whores. Pardon my sexism, but you know what I mean. Remember the time he beat the hell out of Roger? I always wondered if he did it just to make a point. He never talked to me about that. Whatever the reason, Bob had a way of expressing himself clearly. No one doubted who was in charge when he was around, and no one really ever knew just what he was capable of. Not even me.”
“I’m pretty sure none of us ever wanted to know the answer to that one,” James said.
“That’s what I’m getting at,” Allison said. “Bob could pull it off. He could take all those different personalities, scare the hell out of them, and get them to work together.”
“Are you suggesting that you might not be able to do that?” James asked.
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“I do think that you need to be aware of the potential problems, especially with Reg and Steve. We both understand the genuine animus they hold for each other. But we still have to get them to work toward a common goal.”
“I know that. Trust me, if you think Bob was a tough bastard, I am going to be worse than he ever dreamed of being. I’m just hoping I can pull this off, James. And it is not like these meetings are going to be open-ended. We will have no more than four meetings of the whole group. That’s it. There will be assignments, and responsibilities. And the individual members will report back to me, and only me. But, if you see something growing, particularly between Reg and Steve, be ready to jump in. Nip it. You might catch something that I miss.”
“I understand. But I still would pay to see Reg’s face when he gets in the car with Steve.”
“You’re not gonna have to pay for it. Pick me up at the regular place, 10 a.m. Bring Jerry and Steve with you. I will have Reg with me. You will drive. I will give you directions when I get in. We will meet for no longer than sixty minutes Then you will drop Reg off where I tell you, then me. … Oh, and I’m not sure if I am going to be Allison, or Bernadette. Be prepared.”
“You got it, Boss.”

Chapter 19

2011-10-31T10:34:00.000-04:00

Chapter 19—The first meeting

8:54 a.m., Thursday, December 15

James was on time. That’s not terribly significant, in that James was always on time. In fact, throughout all his years working with Bob and Allison, with numerous meetings every day, no one could recall James ever having been late. It would, of course, have been difficult to know that for certain, because no meeting ever started without Bob, and he was never on time. Suffice it to say, James always showed up before Bob did—so, whether or not he was actually on time would be moot.
It was now 9 a.m. James was stopping in front of the designated midtown coffee shop to pick up Jerry and Steve. As he hugged the Escalade up close to a parked car, he lowered the tinted passenger window so that he could be recognized. With that, the two men exited the coffee shop and briskly trotted between two parked cars. James pulled up a few feet, allowing them to open the back door and jump in.
“What’s with the Escalade, James?”
“Not allowed to talk about anything other than the weather right now—Boss’s orders. I’ll let you know when it’s okay.”
“You should tickle your ass with a feather, Old Boy.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said it’s particularly nasty weather, don’t you think?” Jerry blurted out.
“Just get in and be quiet. Okay, boys?” James told them. “...And don’t think you’re fooling me with that ‘Little Murders’ line. You’re not the only one who spent time in the Village.”
Jerry’s eyebrows arched. “Are you sure about that?”
They both had a lot of admiration for James. They had all worked closely together during the eight years of Bob’s presidency. They knew that when James said something, he meant it. So, they just sat silently until they arrived at the parking garage where they were to pick up Allison and Reg.
James knew why Allison had told him to keep the guys silent until she joined them. For one thing, she wanted to establish her leadership over the group. She wanted them to view her as the tough guy.
Another reason for them to remain silent was once they were all in the Escalade, he was going to wand them all for recording and transmission devices. He had already discussed this with Allison. When she and Reg got in, she would give the order, and he would go to work.
“Who’s the fourth fool?” Jerry blurted out, forgetting what James had just said.
“Silence, please.”
“Sorry, James.”
James expected his command to be obeyed. He said nothing more, as he stared at Jerry through the rear view mirror.
Jerry immediately realized what he had done wrong. He was beginning to get the picture.
James pulled over to the side and stopped. When he did, Allison and Reginald approached the car. Reginald and Jerry were old friends, but when Jerry spotted Reginald, a small smile crept across his face. He realized that the fireworks were about to start, as soon as Reginald got a look at Steve. He, too, was well aware that those two definitely did not like each other.
While Jerry smiled at the site of Reginald, Steve’s expression was vastly different. When he got a look at Reginald walking with Allison, he audibly groaned, and rolled his eyes back in his head. “Oh, hell, I do not believe this.”
“You can be quiet as well,” James commanded.
James had a way of dressing people down without actually insulting them, or raising his voice. His firm tone was expected, and even applauded by those who worked with him. No one really minded his taking charge. Perhaps if he were ever to make eye contact with someone while he was scolding, it might have been a different matter. But James had a way of sticking his very large face in your face, and almost yelling at you, but at the same time he never actually looked you in the eye while he was doing it. He might be scrutinizing the second button on your shirt, or glancing out the window, but his face would be in yours to the point that you would smell the cigar he had smoked an hour earlier. But he did not make eye contact—not when he was scolding.
James knew Allison would recognize the vehicle, so he did not roll the window down. Besides, he was probably sadistic enough to make sure he got a good look at Reginald’s face when his friend first realized that he would be working with Steve.
As they approached the car, Reginald reached out to open the front door for Allison. Their hands met at the handle, and she prevailed. “Damn it, Reg, just get in the back,” she commanded. “And do not say a word—not one damn word. Not yet.”
With that, Reginald opened the back door, and got his first glimpse of Jerry and Steve. He knew that James would be part of the group. But he did not know specifically about the other two.
Now, Reginald had no problem whatsoever with Jerry. In many ways, the two of them were a lot alike. They were about the same age—roughly early sixties. And they came up the same way. They were both intellectual ideologues. And, as much as possible, they both avoided the limelight. Neither one of them made it a practice to engage the media, unless forced to do so.
Steve, on the other hand, was much younger than the rest. And he loved the cameras. It had frequently been said that the most dangerous place in DC was between Steve and a camera. While that was a common clichÈ, it was thought that it might have been used first when alluding to Steve’s penchant for publicity.
Jerry tolerated Steve, but he did not did not really like him. Reginald, however, loathed Steve.
When Reginald’s eyes met Steve’s, it was totally obvious that he was not happy about what he was getting into. However, Reginald was very much aware of protocol. Allison had told him to get in and shut up, and that is exactly what he was going to do. His face got purple, but he never opened his mouth.
“Okay, James now has a job to do,” Allison commanded. “I do not expect to hear a damn word out of any of you until James gives the okay. So sit still and shut up.”

Chapter 20

2011-10-31T10:33:00.005-04:00

Chapter 20—The wand

9:56 a.m., Thursday, December 15

The first meeting was just about to begin. But before Allison would allow it to proceed, she had the matter of security to deal with. “James, go ahead and do your thing,” she commanded.
“Okay. Let’s start with cell phones. Everyone open your cells, and remove the batteries. Then do the same with your notebooks, laptops, and any other gadget you might be carrying. Remove the batteries from any electronic device that has one.” No one had a problem with that. They all started popping open their electronics and removing batteries.
“I suppose that means that Reg needs to pop the one out of his Glock?” Jerry quipped. “It does have a lazar sight, right Reg?”
No one even smiled. Then James got out of the Escalade, and walked around to the rear hatch. He hit the release button, and retrieved a small black case, not unlike what high school students might use to transport a saxophone. He then closed the hatch, and returned to the driver’s seat. Opening the case between himself and Allison, he removed from it a very expensive looking stainless steel and black plastic piece of electronic equipment. “This will tell us if we’ve got company,” he said as he turned it on, and adjusted the settings.
“Al, you can be first,” James said, “just set your purse on the floor.” He then swiped the wand across her seated torso. The device was emitting a low-volume tone, but he did not seem alarmed about it. He then passed the wand over Allison’s purse. Still there was no change in the tone.
“Okay, now you check me out,” he said handing the wand to Allison. She seemed very comfortable, wielding the wand like a weapon. Again, the tone did not change—it remained steady at a low volume. Allison asked, “should it be making a noise like this? Maybe it needs to be adjusted.”
“I just calibrated it, and it is on the right settings. Maybe there is some ambient interference in the building. It’s not sounding an alarm, so we need not be concerned.”
When she had finished wanding James, she handed the device back to him so he could proceed to check the three sitting behind him. As he reached the wand back to Jerry, it went nuts.
‘What is going on with you?” James asked, as he “frisked” Jerry with the wand. “You’re the reason this thing is acting up. It doesn’t like something about you.” What’s up with you, anyway?”
James then made a startling discovery—the wand went into full alarm as it moved past Jerry’s head. “I’ll be damned!” Jerry exclaimed. “It’s my implant. It doesn’t like my implant.”
“What’re you talking about?” James asked, as he pulled the wand back to silence it.
“I have a cochlear implant. I have ninety-percent loss in my left, and seventy in my right. With the implant I can hear almost normal. It’s great, but your wand wouldn’t agree.”
“What can we do about this?” James asked, looking over at Allison.
“Yeah, I have known about his implant for months. It shouldn’t be a problem. Just wand the rest of his body and see what you get. Is there some setting to accommodate something like that?”
“There’s nothing I can do to compensate. Fortunately it’s only his head. Mr. Bionic Brain here.” James then paused for a moment, and thought about what he was doing. “Allison, I am not going to be able to check out the other two with him in the car. He’s going to have to get out for a few minutes.”
“No problem,” Jerry said. “Slide out Reg, and let me get some fresh air.”
Reginald opened the door and let his friend out, and then got back in. James quickly scanned Steve and Reginald. “That is weird—this thing goes totally silent with Jerry outside. Maybe we should leave him out there.”
“I don’t think so,” Allison said, lowering her window and inviting Jerry back.
Jerry opened the back door, expecting Reginald to slide over to the middle to allow him back in. But Reginald would have no part of that. He pushed past Jerry, exiting the Escalade altogether. He then motioned for Jerry to get back in first.
“You guys are like a couple high schoolers,” Allison chuckled.
“Reg doesn’t want to sit next to Steve—afraid he might catch something,” James observed.
“I’ve got long legs, that’s all,” Reginald explained. “The outside just works best for me.”
“Okay,” Allison said. “We all passed James’ wand. We will do this every time we meet. We will assume nothing. That means no one will say a word until we have all been thoroughly checked out.”
“May I ask a question, now?” Reginald asked.
“Sure,” Allison answered.
“The wand that James used, I’ve never seen anything like it. It doesn’t look like the ones we used in the White House. Where did that come from? CIA?”
“No, not CIA. Mossad. I got it from one of my buddies. It’s better than anything we’ve got. In fact, the CIA is now buying them from Israel.”
“But it didn’t seem very sensitive with Jerry. You had to put it right up against his head before it went nuts.”
“Right. But that’s a good thing. It has to see a powered microphone, or some sort of transmission device, before it will sound. When I first powered it up, I did question the tone, but I knew we would get to the bottom of it.” Reginald started to interrupt with another question, but James was not finished. “Had there been a hot transmitter anywhere within fifty feet, any kind of transmitter, wired or wireless, it would have set off a major alarm. That’s why you powered down your cells and notebooks.”
“So we’re good?” Reginald asked.
“We are. I checked out the vehicle thoroughly before I picked anyone up. So, right now, we’re good.”
Allison then jumped in. “This is how it is going to work. We will have a total of four meetings—no more, perhaps less. Each of them will be one-hour long—no longer. No one will take notes. In fact, no one will ever write anything down. No one will discuss anything about the meetings with another human being. Ever. You will not even discuss the meetings or the content of the meetings with other members of this group, should you have occasion to get together outside this forum. Is all this clear, so far?”
No one said a word, but all four of the men did acknowledge their compliance, in one way or another. It was obvious to them all that Allison was taking charge. She had learned a great deal from Bob through the years.
“Now, one more thing before we begin discussing the issues at hand,” Allison added in a very somber tone. “The five of us are now committed to this group. No one will be permitted to quit, not until we have ended our fourth meeting, and arrived at a decision. Am I perfectly clear about this?”
They all heard what she said, and knew what she meant. The only way out of this quorum was in a box.
Reginald then recalled his thoughts as he walked through the Greek and Roman Galleries earlier, and he wondered what his life might have been like had he never become involved with the Fulbrights.

Solution to Puzzle 4

2011-10-31T10:33:00.004-04:00

Clue: REGINALD

Ciphertext: MUQD SJLQ SXTY APKH TDNW PKJL QSIN

Keyword: REGINALD’S AGE

Plaintext: "Pushing sixty from the wrong side" (Chapter 16)

Puzzle 5

2011-10-31T10:33:00.002-04:00

JERRY’S WARNING
Ciphertext: GHWL CGVL TMOL VLQY RGQL AUHC LQLZ

(Solution published next Monday)

Chapter 21

2011-10-31T10:30:00.000-04:00

Chapter 21—The Group makes its

first decision

10:21 a.m., Thursday, December 15

Allison opened with her first directive, "As I said, the meetings will be no longer than one hour in length. And there will be no more than four of them. If we find we can’t get done what we need to get done under those constraints, that would indicate a lack of consensus, then we’ll simply dissolve the group. Unless we are on the same page, unless we all view the problem in a similar fashion, it wouldn’t matter how many meetings we held, or how long they were."

The four men had heard all this before. When Allison originally approached them individually, she had made this clear.

"All of you probably already know why we are having these meetings. But just in case you’re not sure about it, I’ll tell you."

She was on a roll, and the guys knew it. There would be no interruptions.

"Virtually every contested seat in the House went south—we lost them all. Same is likely to happen in the Senate next election. It seems likely that whatever we did not lose in the mid-term, will be lost in the presidential. Unless things change—and I mean radically change. This guy is about to run the country into the ground, and the people know it. They don’t believe a word he says, and he can’t sell anything. … That is, even if he had something to sell."

"Do you size him up as a one-termer?" Steve asked. Everyone knew that was a question that did not need asking. Steve was simply tossing Allison some raw meat.

"Definitely. And if the Republicans put up a strong candidate, and even if I were the nominee, I might not beat him, or her. The direction we’re going, and the speed we’re traveling, who knows what will be left in two years. If they take control of both houses, and the White House, they will consider it a mandate, and overturn all the gains we have made over the past twenty-five years."

"What are you looking for from us?" Jerry asked.

"Next week we’re going to have our second meeting. I will contact each of you separately to let you know the exact time and place. In the meantime, I want each of you to be thinking of different approaches we might consider. Brainstorm it. But, as I said before, do not commit anything to writing—not in any form. Do not record anything. Just think it through, and be prepared to talk about it."

"Are we going to continue meeting in this truck?" Jerry asked. "Because, if we are, I think we ought to put it in some mud and see how it does. I’ve always wanted to see an Escalade covered so thick that you can’t read the plate."

"I’ll let you know what to expect," Allison replied, almost cracking a smile. She respected the intellect and creativity of each member of the group. But she really liked only Jerry and James. She had learned to tolerate Reginald and Steve during her years as First Lady. Bob leaned heavily on Steve for public relations. Bob believed that Steve could put a happy face on a dead pig. It just seemed as though Steve had a unique gift for viewing everything through the eyes of the public, and always knew just how to spin an issue.

Still, Allison knew that Bob did not really like Steve very much either. In fact, in private (and sometimes among friends) Bob referred to Steve as "My Little Gay Buddy." That is where Reginald got the notion the Steve was gay. And Reginald was more than a little homophobic.

Even though Allison knew that there was no one better at what he did than Steve, like her husband, she only forced herself to tolerate him. But she did trust his loyalty. The element that kept Steve loyal to Bob and Allison was not his character. He was loyal to them because he was scared of them. He knew, as did all those who ever worked closely with the couple, that to cross them in any fashion was to commit suicide—figuratively at least, if not always literally.

And this time, and these meetings, were as heavy as any of these men had experienced. They knew that Allison was stone cold serious, and that they had better not only obey her every word, but her every wish as well.

As far as Reginald was concerned, Allison did not really dislike him. She trusted him implicitly, and she greatly respected his judgment. But he had too many hang-ups for her liking. For instance, Reginald would frequently excuse himself from a meeting, ostensibly to use the rest room. But she knew that all he was going to do was wash his hands. He washed them so many times during the day that he constantly had to squeeze on some hand lotion. That bugged her—not only was she irritated by the constant interruptions, she hated the smell. The hand lotion that he used came in a pink tube, and smelled like cheap perfume. She even gave him a box of lotions that she thought more masculine, but he never used them. When she asked why, he told her that they all irritated his skin.

However, Reginald was not a member of the group because of his soft hands. He was the master of dirty tricks. He was totally ruthless—perhaps brilliantly so.

Others might choose the target, and determine the appropriate level of punishment. But when it came to facilitating retribution, it was always left to Reginald.

Even though Allison loved what Reginald was capable of doing, she still found it hard to like him.

No, Allison liked only James and Jerry. Of course, it helped that both of them went out of their way never to offend her.

After only twenty minutes into it, Allison was satisfied that the meeting was over. The brain trust she had assembled needed no nursing. They were all big boys, and she knew that when they got together the next time, each of them would bring their particular talents to bear on the problem. Her only goal for this first meeting was to make sure they were all agreed as to what the problem was, and were prepared to attack it.

"We’re finished. I’ll be in touch with each of you and give you the specifics for our next meeting. James, drop Reg off so he can catch a cab, then take care of the other two."

With that, Allison got out of the Escalade, and left by herself. No more was said—the first meeting was over. As soon as Allison got out, Reginald did as well. Opening the front passenger door, he said, "hope you don’t mind my sitting up here with you, James. I need a little room to stretch out."

"Not a problem," James replied, as he entered traffic on his way to dropping off the rest of the group.

As he did, a black Ford Expedition with very tinted windows pulled out behind them, and followed them at a safe distance.

Chapter 22

2011-10-31T10:29:00.000-04:00

Chapter 22—Allison prepares for

meeting two

11:16 a.m., Thursday, December 15

As Allison, who was actually dressed as Bernadette for the first meeting, headed back to her apartment, she contemplated what had transpired during the previous forty minutes. As she walked along, she repeated audibly what each person had said, as best she could recall.
Ever since her days at Yale she had done that when she wanted to commit something to memory. She would repeat lists, dates, facts of any type, and court rulings. She had become a walking encyclopedia. To a large extent, she credited her academic success to this ability. Unfortunately, over the course of the past few years she found this ability to be diminishing.
When it came to the content of these meetings, Allison was adamant about creating a clear recollection of everything that was said, and who said it.
“Then Reg complained about sitting in the middle. His legs were too long. So he had Jerry slide into the middle. I am pretty sure it was because he did not want to sit next to Steve. Of course, when he closed the door, he gripped the handle with a sanitized towel. He has always had such a powerful aversion to germs. That was Reg.”
And so she went on, repeating everything that occurred during that meeting, and in the order it occurred. Even though she might not have been as good at this as she once was, it is likely that no one could have done a better job at making the most of self-talk. As she walked along, she fired off a non-stop regurgitation of the events of the past hour. She did not miss a point, or a nuance.
As she walked, she recalled how this practice used to garner negative attention on the Yale campus. She would start repeating what she had read as she walked down the steps of the law library. As she passed other students, she sensed their glares. She assumed most thought she was just a little eccentric, talking out loud to herself as she turned up York Street. Now, however, such behavior did not warrant a glance. Passersby simply assumed she was talking on her cell.
Once she had satisfied herself that she had verbalized the entire meeting, she ceased speaking aloud. She then contemplated the best time and location for the next meeting. “We need to get back together within a couple days, I do not want to waste this momentum. Tuesday, we’ll meet Tuesday. And we have to find a better venue. The Escalade was okay, but it was altogether too close.”
She was confident that no one would recognize her, if she were alone. But when the other four were present, it could put her disguise in jeopardy. Anyone who watched cable news would easily recognize James and Steve—especially Steve. Then, once those two were identified, it was only a matter of time until someone concluded who she was. “I have to find a better, more private venue. And it should not be in a car, not even an Escalade. And it must not be totally as Bernadette. We must meet in a place where I can be Allison, at least in part. The Bernadette disguise is just too distracting for the others.”
Bernadette had reached her building. She smiled at the doorman as she passed him, and took the
“Bernadette elevator” up to her apartment.
“I wonder if Jerry still has that cottage in the Catskills? That would be perfect, at least for one of the meetings. I could pick up a key from Jerry, and have James go up early and do a sweep. If I remember correctly, cells don’t work there, and he has no telephone line. Still uses a generator for power, I bet.”
That was it. She would break the news to Jerry later that evening. He liked Allison as much as she liked him, perhaps more. During all their years working together, he never denied any request she had ever made of him. “He would be happy to comply,” she concluded.
And he did. He told her later that evening that he would gladly permit the group to use his little cottage. “Al, of course I don’t mind. What’s mine is yours—you know that. But keep in mind no one has been up there in nearly a year. My new bride is not fond of roughing it. It can’t be very clean, and it probably doesn’t even smell very well right now. Shall I run up there and clean it up?” He asked her.
“Definitely not! You simply pick up Reg and Steve. I will have James go up a few hours early, and make sure there are no active bugs. If he detects anything, we will postpone the meeting. But if all is well, and I strongly suspect it will be, then I will drive up there by myself. I still remember where it is. And so does James. He never forgets anything.”
“That works for me. When is the next meeting?”
“Tuesday at 6 p.m.”
“Next Tuesday? Why so soon?”
“Jerry, don’t give me lip. It will be Tuesday, without an argument, and that’s it. If I said we were meeting yet tonight, you would be ready. And so would everyone else. You know that.”
“Tuesday it is. Should I call the other two to set up a pickup?”
“No, I’ll call and let them know where and when.”
“Sounds fine. I’ll tell you where the key is. There is a large oak tree on the south side of the cottage—less than fifteen feet from the cottage itself. At the trunk, there is a rotten plank. Under the plank is a zip lock bag. It has the key to the front door.”
“I’ll pass that information on to James.”
“That’s not all. I have an alarm system. The code is 7-6-8-9-1. The 7689 is the combo, and the 1 is the off key.”
“7689, followed by the number 1.”
“That’s right. There is a thirty second delay on the front door.”
“What the hell do you have an alarm system for, you don’t have a telephone or power? What good can that do?”
“I guess it just makes me feel better. I have a big battery, and a solar cell. I should probably put up a wind driven generator. But the solar cell works well enough to power the alarm.”
“I will pass that information on to James.”
“Al, can I ask you one question relating to the meeting tonight?”
“Hell no. We’re not going to get that started. What goes on during our meetings, stays there. There will be no conversation relating to it outside everyone being present.”
“I understand that, but did you see the way Steve and Reg glared at each other? I don’t think ...”
“No Jerry, sometimes you don’t think. And sometimes you think too much. And right now you’re talking too much. Did I not make myself clear? There will be no conversation about any of this. None. Do you understand me? I really like you Jerry, and I know you respect me. But you’re gonna do what I tell you to do. I am in charge here. Do you understand me?”
“I sure do. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s right.”
As soon as she ended the call to Jerry, she retrieved a small electronic recording device from her bedroom, along with a thumb drive, and verbalized into the microphone all the events of the first meeting as she had remembered them earlier on her walk back to her apartment. She kept the thumb drive in a small jewelry safe behind the thermostat in her (Bernadette’s) bedroom.
She was pleased with herself about that safe, because she had installed it herself. After she had the apartment renovated, she requested a functioning wireless thermostat in her bedroom. After some objections from the contractor, he complied with her wishes. She then procured the small wall safe, removed the thermostat from the wall, and attached it to the cover of the safe. It was just large enough to accommodate a few pieces of jewelry, and half a dozen thumb drives.
Once she had finished the recording, she removed the thumb drive and put it in the secret safe. She then replaced the device in her bedroom. She felt safe leaving the recording device simply lying on her dresser, because it had no hard drive, so no information would be stored on it—therefore, if found, it could not compromise her or her plans.
Bernadette then re-assumed the identity of Allison, double checking every aspect of her metamorphosis until she was confident that all was perfect before opening the door to the secret closet, and beginning the descent to her other identity.

Chapter 23

2011-10-31T10:28:00.000-04:00

Chapter 23—Meeting two

4:18 p.m., Tuesday, December 20

Even though she did not use it very much, Bernadette did own a car. She kept it at a parking garage within walking distance of her apartment. That car was another monument to Allison’s thoroughness. When she set about establishing the new persona, she knew she wanted Bernadette to have the ability to own and drive her own car. The challenge was getting the appropriate license and registration set up.
For that she took a few trips back to her “beloved” New Orleans. Actually, Allison loathed almost everything about Louisiana. She had a dim view of most of the residents of the state, and she was not particularly fond of her memories as its First Lady.
But there was one thing she really liked about this southern state. She had a lot of connections there, many of whom were viewed as shady. But to her, shady meant useful.
On one of her early trips to Louisiana after leaving the White House, she contacted a man who was able to create virtually authentic identities. He had worked closely with her and Bob (mostly for Bob) on many occasions, creating people out of thin air, secret bank accounts, both in the US and abroad, and false identities for foreign nationals involved in various types of smuggling. Allison knew this man to be the best at what he did, and to be able to keep secrets. Had he not been able to perform the latter with ultimate determination, he would not still be breathing sweet Louisiana air. She knew she could trust him.
He was happy to help her, and he was equally happy to keep the secret from her husband. He had a great working relationship with the former president. But as far as he was concerned, Bob was just another client—no more or no less important to him than a member of organized crime.
For obvious reasons, Allison had no idea what his real name was, only that he could be contacted via a post office box in New Orleans. That anonymity was fine with her, and obviously fine with his other clients. He had no interest setting up an email account. “Keep it simple,” was his motto.
So, with the help of her “PO Box Buddy,” she set up the Bernadette identity and procured a social security number, even paying a small amount of federal and state taxes. For an acceptable (to her) retainer, this PO Box Buddy handled all the filings. The one thing she needed most of all, was the driver’s license. That he was also able to obtain for her, through the Louisiana Office of Motor Vehicles.
Initially she inquired about a passport under Bernadette, but he quickly talked her out of that.
So, on Tuesday afternoon, as Allison/Bernadette made her way to the parking garage, she could not wipe the smile off her face.
The drive to Jerry’s cottage could take two hours—perhaps a little more, depending on traffic. She knew it would have been impossible to make any sort of time on a Friday afternoon, as half the city would be trying to make it up to their cottages for the weekend. Tuesday, she thought, would be ideal.
By the time the attendant handed the keys to her, it was about two-thirty p.m. She handed him her customary twenty dollar tip, and they both smiled. Of course, as was her practice, Bernadette did not utter a word.
The drive was uneventful. Even though traffic was extraordinary for a Tuesday afternoon, she still was able to arrive in the vicinity before five p.m. With about a half an hour to kill, she considered paying a visit to a nearby bar, one she and Bob had frequently stopped at when they went up to Jerry’s cottage.
She did, however, quickly change her mind about that. “These folks are so nosy, they’re going to be asking me questions I do not want to respond to,” she thought.
So, instead she just drove through a fast food restaurant and bought a burger and a soda. She received the white bag of food, and pulled into a parking place at the restaurant to eat. This, she thought, was an experience very alien to her, but one she totally enjoyed. She glanced at her watch several times, trying to gauge her completing the meal with the time she needed to leave for the cottage. She did not want to arrive too early, and she knew she could not be late.
When finished, she opened the car door, got out, and tossed the remains in the trashcan. Once back in the driver’s seat, she glanced in her rearview mirror, backed up, and was on her way.
She realized that same smile consumed her face—the one she wore as she initially picked up the car earlier that day. “I really like being able to do this,” she said aloud. And with that, she belched. The sound of her own voice, and that of her extraordinarily loud belch, brought more than a smile to her face. Now she found herself loudly chuckling at what she had just done.
“God, do I love this!”

Chapter 24

2011-10-31T10:27:00.000-04:00

Chapter 24—Arriving at the cottage

5:55 p.m., Tuesday, December 20

Allison did arrive on time—only James got there before she did. He had found the key in the place described by Jerry, and had completed the sweep for bugs.
As Allison drove up, James motioned for her to park beside his car, which was nearly fifty yards from the cottage. She had no notion as to why he would make that request, but she complied. Before she got out of her car, she removed Bernadette’s wig and glasses. “I think I can conduct this meeting best as Allison,” she had concluded.
As she approached, James explained.
“If we keep the vehicles a reasonable distance from the cottage, I will not have to wand them for pick up devices. It will save time and trouble. Hope that’s okay?”
“No problem. You’re in charge of security. Do what you think best.”
Before James allowed Allison to enter the cottage, James had her stop, remove the battery from her cell, and then he scanned her entire body, just as he had done at the first meeting.
“Now you scan me,” he said, holding the wand out for Allison to take.
She then proceeded to pass the wand over his body, head to toe.
“Looks like you’re clean.”
The two old friends smiled at each other, and walked into the cottage.
“Jerry said he had not been up here in some time,” Allison said. “Looks pretty lived-in to me. I had expected it to smell musty. I hate that. It messes with my allergies.”
“It wasn’t bad when I arrived. I did find some cleaning stuff, and tidied up a bit. I’ve got allergies too. And we all know Jerry. He’s a walking sneeze machine. Get him going and he’s useless.”
“What time did you get here?”
“Around one.”
“Damn. You’ve been cleaning up that whole time?”
“Pretty much.”
“God, James, is there anything you don’t do?”
James grinned, a little embarrassed.
Just then a pulsing sounder went off, startling Allison. “What the hell’s that?” She asked.
Jumping to his feet, James moved quickly to the door, picking up the wand on the way. “Jerry’s got this rigged with a driveway alert. I’ll bet that’s Jerry, and probably Steve,” he said, as he exited the cottage and headed out to meet the two arriving members of their group.
Jerry, seeing where Allison and James had parked, pulled his car in beside them.
“What the hell is this all about?” Jerry yelled out to James, as he and Steve started walking toward the cottage.
“Steve,” James called out, “you wait by the car for a few minutes, please.”
Jerry was beginning to remember the drill. As he approached James he slipped his cell out of its holder, popped the back off and removed the battery. “There, I’m clean as a newborn baby.”
Just as before, as Jerry approached the wand, it began to sound a warning tone.
“Hang on, Mr. Bionics,” James said, stopping Jerry a good twenty feet from the cottage. James then carefully passed the wand from each of Jerry’s shoes, on up his legs, and finally along his chest. As he reached Jerry’s head, the machine again went nuts.
“Leave it to you, Jerry, to make my life really difficult,” James complained. “I suppose I should be glad you don’t have one of those electronic penis implants. You know, like the one you’ve been checking out.”
“Go to hell! I don’t need any help with that. If anything, I need a reduction.”
“That’s not what I heard. Those interns have been saying something else. By the way, what’s in that box, Jerry?” James asked, pointing to a box Jerry was carrying in a plastic shopping bag.
“Sandwiches,” Jerry answered. “And some bottled water. Can’t really drink the water up here.”
“Hope you’ve got a raw hamburger in there for Reg,” Steve quipped, taking a few quick steps toward the door, wanting to enter the cottage before Reginald reached it. He had caught a glimpse of Reginald’s car coming up the drive, and he did not want to get caught up trying to make small talk with his nemesis. Steve flashed a smile in James’ direction, and started trotting toward him.
“No special orders,” Jerry said, “not even for Reg.”
“Steve, I’m ready for you, boy,” James said, lifting his wand in Steve’s direction. “Jerry, you’d better get in there, Buddy. Allison is locked and loaded. Flash her your disarming smile, before the rest of us come in.”
Jerry just flashed James the finger, and entered the cottage.
“Hey, James, how ya doin’?” Steve said as he approached. He had already removed the battery from his cell, and was ready for the wand. James checked him out and motioned for him to enter the building. He then focused his attention on Reginald, who had already walked up to where James was standing.
“Evening, Reg. How are you? Have any trouble finding the cottage?”
“I’m doing well, thank you. And Jerry’s directions were clear. Had no problem finding it. I take it everyone’s here?”
“You’re the last one. Don’t forget the cell battery,” James said, as his wand began to tweet as it approached Reginald’s pocket where he kept his Blackberry.
Reginald reached into his jacket pocket, retrieved his phone, and removed the battery. Reginald had not forgotten to remove the battery. He just wanted to test James’ thoroughness, and the effectiveness of the Mossad wand.
Once finished with Reginald, the last two members of the group entered the cottage.

Chapter 25

2011-10-31T10:26:00.000-04:00

Chapter 25—The second meeting

6:07 p.m., Tuesday, December 20

Allison announced, “We’re all here, and on time,” again immediately taking charge of the meeting. “I hope all of you gave this matter some serious thought.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Jerry, first of all, thank you letting us use your cottage. And for the refreshments. That was very kind of you.”
Jerry did not say a word. He smiled broadly and nodded. He knew Allison had an agenda, and was not looking for him to verbalize.
“Okay, Jerry, let’s start with you. In as few words a possible, and to the point, what are the three biggest problems that you see?”
Jerry was prepared. Even so, for effect, he sat silently for a few moments, as though organizing his thoughts. “First, the President’s unpopularity. He is at a near historic low, and we are only a year out. We lost the House, and the Senate is weakened. That cannot bode well for the immediate future. It is unsettling, to say the least. The resentment of this President is running high, very high.”
Jerry looked over at Allison, then continued. “Second, the economy is free-falling. Real unemployment is in double digits—over twenty percent, if you factor in those who are no longer looking for jobs. Inflation is at fifteen percent, and climbing. We are not going to see serious relief before the election.
“The Republicans are suggesting that if he’s not the Manchurian Candidate, he will fit the bill until the real one gets here.”
Jerry stopped, and looked around at each of his friends as though he were finished.
Finally Allison jumped in. “That’s two. What’s your third thought?”
“Well, I don’t quite know how to put this,” Jerry continued. “But haven’t we all wondered about just how he intends to pay for all he is spending? I mean, without a miracle or three, there will be no new jobs. No new money. I’m seriously wondering where he is going with this. He isn’t a stupid man. And his advisors are not stupid either. But I don’t see how he intends to pull this off. I would like to think he has something fairly traditional up his sleeve, but for the life of me I can’t imagine what it could be.”
Allison recognized that Jerry had just dropped a bomb on the group. She looked down, as though waiting for Jerry to pick up and continue. Finally, realizing Jerry did not want to add anything, she looked up and said, “James, what’s your take?”
James was ready, but not rehearsed. “We’ve got problems. And not just a few. All of what Jerry said is right on. I could not agree more. But it doesn’t stop there. We’ve wrestled with gridlock for the past year. And it’s only going to get worse. In November, we lose the Senate too. And not only that, I think he could very well lose.
“With the Republicans winning the trifecta, that means we will be able to shovel all these problems back onto them, and that might be good for the next midterm. But that’s too far down the road. What if we have another war. We could easily get stuck out of power for eight years, maybe longer.
“Losing all those governors doesn’t help. That will severely affect party leadership in those states for the general, and for years to come. How many did we lose last November? Fourteen? I don’t know, but it was a bunch. It’s unprecedented. All of us could be old and senile by the time we see a friendly face in the White House.
“Now, consider that we could see two or more new Supremes retire. We have a serious problem. … Is that three? I could keep going.”
“That’ll do, James,” Allison said. “Okay, Reg, what have you got for us?”
“I think Jerry and James have pretty accurately stated the obvious.” Reginald had a unique way of relating what was on his mind. Everyone at the meeting knew him to be very blunt, often to the point of insult. He did not intend to demean. He simply said what he thought in as few words as was possible. “And I don’t mean that to trivialize their comments. All of what they said, had to be said. And they stated their points well. We have serious problems in all those areas. But one of the areas that they did not cover has to do with the way this guy has rendered impotent most, if not all, of the traditional solutions. Now I know we are not into solutions yet. And I am not going to go there—not yet. But the way the battlefield is being set here, the severity of the problems, and the overall ineffectiveness of this administration, all considered in front of a backdrop of the possibly rabid inflation, we will have a real problem implementing any of the standard attack mechanisms. What I mean to say is this, it isn’t going to matter to voters if we accuse the opposition candidates of raping children, beating wives, or pissing in public—none of that is going to matter. If these guys have a capital “R” after their name, the levers are coming down for them. Traditional dirty tricks are not going to work. This guy has created a political, economic and social milieu that makes life very difficult for guys like me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Reg,” Allison said in jest, but not smiling. “Steve, what do you think?”
Steve did not hesitate. “Reg might see a problem setting up the opposition. Well, I see an even bigger problem making our guys look good, much less electable. And I don’t see any sunshine on the horizon.”
Allison looked down and stayed silent, giving Steve a little time to jump back in. She knew him to weigh his words carefully.
After a moment, he continued. “We used to control the traditional mainstream media. I guess you could say we still do. But we don’t control the social media, the bloggers, or the radio talk show hosts. The reality is that social media is the new ‘mainstream media.’ And we don’t have a good way to counter it. People really don’t trust the traditional outlets. And that’s where we live, with the old mainstream. We have to find a new dynamic, something very new.”
“We’ve all seen Wag the Dog. Is that what you’re getting at?” Jerry asked.
“Not exactly, but you’re not far off ...”
“That brings us to solutions,” Allison interrupted. “Let’s take them in reverse order, Steve going first. And each of you suggest and explain one possible solution at a time. During this round, any one of you should feel free to jump in and comment. Interrupt if you wish. Steve, you’re up.”
Steve stopped to think for another moment, and then he said, “When I was younger I used to take my nephews to this pizza place for their birthdays. The pizza was okay, but the games were the attraction. There was this one. You still see it around. There was this rubber mallet. And when you played the game, you had to hit this ground hog when poked his head up out of a hole. There were about a dozen holes, and you didn’t know which one he would use next. He would stick up his head, and you would try to hit it. But he was up and down so fast, it was hard to react quickly enough.
“The kids would wear themselves out trying to thump the ground hog on the head. Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang. He just kept coming up. Then the game would be over. their scores reflected points for every time they hit the ground hog.
“Well, that’s what we’re up against now. First the economy rears its ugly head, then this war, or that war, then jobs, or the lack of them, then the deficit, then inflation. Maybe double-dipping recession. Or deflation. We’ve just got too many problems, too many big problems.
“We need a single major issue to focus in on. Something the public can wrap its head around, and something we can handle. Unless we are able to focus in, we are in big trouble. At least that’s how I see it from a public relations perspective. I need one issue, not a ten-headed leviathan. That’s what I think.”
“Reg,” Allison said, looking over at him.
“If we had a single enemy, a single target, I could create the weapon to destroy it, figuratively speaking, of course. Steve is right on with this one. He would like to be able to sell one major issue, I would like to limit the scope of my attack. Death by a thousand scratches is a good tactic, but it only works if those wounds are administrated to the same victim. Give me a single enemy, and I can be effective. Hell, I can be a lot more than effective, I can deliver a strategic blow, and they won’t know what hit them.
“But there is just too much going on with this administration. It almost makes me wish I was on the other side. I could have a field day over there.”
“Do you have anything else to add?” Allison asked.
Reginald scrunched up the corner of his mouth in a manner that bespoke virtual hopelessness. “Nope, not right now.”
“James.”
“I think Reg might have hit on something. Let’s view this from the other guy’s perspective. All of these things we see as problems, the other side sees as gifts. Day after day we keep giving the Republicans gifts. Weapons. Ammunition to attack and destroy us. It’s like we’re playing dodge ball with them, except we chuck marshmallows at them, while they’re lobbing an endless supply of grenades at us—and most of them are hitting something important. When they run out, our guy loads up another dump truck, backs it up to their tent, smiles, bows politely, and asks them where they would like him to dump it.
“I don’t think this guy knows how or when to stop. I don’t think he ever will stop. I don’t think he has a clue. It’s as though he views this country like a college campus, and he’s head of the debate team. He doesn’t understand or appreciate consequences.
“I don’t think he understands that the problems we have in this country are real ones. Not just here, but in Europe, the Middle East, Eastern Europe. You close your eyes, and pick a spot on the map. And the next thing you know, it’s a problem area.
“I hate to say it, but I see only one solution.”
With that James suddenly stopped talking, and just stared down at his hands, which were folded on the table in front of him. He then looked up at Allison, unfolded his hands, and slowly turned his palms upward.
“What are you suggesting, James?”
Jerry did not give his friend time to respond. “Did you feel that breeze?” Jerry asked.
“What breeze?” Allison asked. “I don’t think James is finished.”
“Oh, yes, James is finished. At least for now,” Jerry continued. “The breeze we felt was that door opening. And you know who walked in? I’ll tell you who came in. That damn proverbial 800 pound gorilla came in. And he sat his ass down right over there,” he said pointing to an empty leather recliner just a few feet from the table where the group was sitting.
“And we all well know what that gorilla is doing here. None of us wants to talk about it. We are all terrified to talk about it. But we all know. We are all headed in the same direction with this.”
“Jerry,” Allison said, “you need to be more specific.”
“The hell I do ...”
With that, James jumped back into the conversation, interrupting his friend. “What Jerry is stating is the obvious. He’s right. We’re all right. The only solution is to eliminate the source of our problem. That would open up a whole plethora of potential defenses and modes of attack. But with our guy where he is, we are faced with an impossible situation.”
James took a deliberate moment to make eye contact with all the other members at the table, and then continued. “Has this angle played into the strategies that any of the rest of you contemplated since the last meeting? That is, have any of you considered this approach?”
“And what do you mean by ‘this approach’?” Reginald asked.
“I guess I mean, have any of you pictured a scenario where the President was no longer the President?”
No one offered a comment. Finally Jerry stood to his feet, and said, “Al, we have to be very careful here. We have to exercise a lot of caution as to just where we go with this. Please consider this possibility. What if you adjourn this meeting, right now. It’s not important what we’ve thought about, only what we are willing to state on record, at this table. Obviously, we are all a little reticent to verbalize what this might entail—as well we should be.”
Allison immediately stood to her feet, and said, “I think you’re right, Jerry. I think we end this meeting right now. I want all of you to consider carefully all that we have discussed today, and all that we haven’t discussed.” She paused for a moment, and then joined Jerry standing. That, to all the others, signaled the end of the meeting. But Allison was not yet finished. “We could be venturing into some very tenuous territory here, please be careful.”
Everyone knew the meeting was over, and that they should no longer be talking about anything related to the topics just discussed at the table.
“We’ll meet again next Tuesday. I’ll provide the details later. Have a safe drive home.”
Allison stopped and stood motionless for a few seconds. “This can’t wait that long. We’ll meet on Thursday, the day after tomorrow.”
Three of the men looked at Allison as she gave that last instruction, but said nothing. Reginald, who had also stood to leave, simply stared at the table, not acknowledging what she had just said. He then turned toward the door. Allison did not say another word to any of them, as she slipped silently out of the door behind Reginald.
Jerry spoke to his two remaining friends. “See you guys Thursday. I’ll close up, after I let the gorilla out. Those stinky fellows can make a terrible mess. … By the way, James, thanks for cleaning this barn up.”
James looked in Jerry’s direction, and smiled. But still did not responded verbally.

Solution to Puzzle 5

2011-10-31T10:25:00.000-04:00

Solution to Puzzle Five:
Clue: JERRY’S WARNING
Ciphertext: GHWL CGVL TMOL VLQY RGQL AUHC LQLZ
Keyword: GORILLA
Plaintext: “Al, we have to be very careful here” (“Z” is also used as a null. Chapter 25)

Puzzle 6

2011-10-31T10:24:00.000-04:00

Puzzle Six:
Clue: Whom did Allison Blame?
Ciphertext: JRRG TDHK RJBA MTDC LGAZ
(Note: To make this more challenging, I have included a “mistake” in the ciphertext. See if
you can find it. Solution published next Monday)

Chapter 26

2011-10-31T10:23:00.000-04:00

Chapter 26—The drive home

7:11 p.m., Tuesday, December 20

As soon as Allison got in her car, she slipped on and adjusted Bernadette’s wig, and then put on her customary glasses. When she looked in the mirror, she surprised even herself with her sullen expression.
Allison was in a bad mood—and she remained in a bad mood for the whole trip home. Without a doubt, she had considered on many occasions just how much better the situation would be if she did not have to deal with President Butler. She truly hated the man. And, she disrespected his leadership over the past two plus years—to the point that she felt totally vindicated with her earlier assertions that she would have made a far better President.
Had he performed in even a mediocre way, she might have been jealous. Instead, she was locked into her anger and hate. Not only did she feel he was destroying his own chances at re-election, he was, in her opinion, helping the Republicans capture both houses of Congress—if not outright, they were likely at least to dramatically weaken her party’s position.
Initially her intention was to push for the second spot in his second term. From there she felt she had a pretty strong chance of winning at the end of it. And, should anything befall the President, she would step in and finish it out; then run for her own term—like Lyndon Johnson did when President Kennedy was assassinated.
Now, however, her prospects were beginning to look dim. She was becoming convinced that he would lose his second term election, and thereby take her down with him.
“That bi**h Sophie. It is all her damn fault. If she had kept her nose out of the process, I would have won the nomination, and I would be President right now.”
Not only did Allison believe that was true, when alone she would frequently verbalize it out loud. And that’s what she was doing as she was driving back to the city. “What the hell did she mean by that anyway? She called him ‘The Anointed One.’ Jesus Christ, that sucks. All the time we felt that she was empowering women. Then she turns around and kiss this jerk’s ass. God, I hate that woman.”
Allison had no difficulty expressing her feelings about Sophie, but only to herself, when she was by herself. She knew that if she ever verbalized her hatred of Sophie, even to her closest friends, eventually it would hit the media. And that could hurt her reputation with women. So, she saved that venom for when she was alone—totally alone.
Then, as was becoming her practice, she took a couple deep breaths, and prepared herself to record her take on the meeting. She opened the center console, felt around until she found her miniature recording device. She then reached into her purse, and retrieved a sealed envelope containing an empty thumb drive. Carefully she slid it into the recorder, and hit the “Record” button.
“Tuesday, December 20. We met at Jerry’s cottage. Present were James, Jerry, Reg, Steve and myself. The meeting lasted…” She paused to look at her watch. “The meeting lasted approximately fifty-five minutes. …Jerry was kind enough to bring sandwiches.”
She then hit the “Pause” button, as she gathered her thoughts. Her intentions were never to redact the recordings. She never wanted any written account of the meetings. So it was important to her to be as concise and accurate as possible, as there was to be no editing done later.
She continued, “There were a few pleasantries extended to Jerry for allowing us to use his cottage, and for kind hospitality. Steve suggested he might have brought a hamburger for Reg. After those comments, I asked Jerry to open the discussion.
“I had asked that each member of the group provide two or three matters that he considered major problems facing us. Jerry brought up the three issues he considered to be the most pressing. First, he suggested the President’s staggering unpopularity. He pointed out how badly we lost the House, and that he had real concerns about keeping the Senate the next time around. Then he suggested that the economy was in free fall, and that nothing Butler was doing would or could help. Finally, he made a reference to the “Manchurian Candidate.” He did not elaborate on that, but we all had a pretty good notion about what he was suggesting.”
Allison paused the recording. After she had thought for a moment, she began again.
“James followed. He agreed with Jerry, and added his own ideas. He said that there was not really a question about it—we would lose the presidency and the Senate in the general election. Not only that, the fact that we took such a huge hit on the state level during the mid-term could greatly affect our ability to recover in the near future. We were in trouble. Our state organizations were severely weakened, and it would be hard to fix them. Not only would Butler almost certainly lose in the general election; if he happened not to be the candidate, the party would still likely lose.”
Again Allison paused, but this time for only a couple of seconds.
“Reg suggested that even he could not be effective at smearing Republican candidates. He felt that nothing he could do would make anyone look worse than the guy in the White House.
“Steve pointed out that this time around the bloggers were going to exercise more power than the mainstream media. And that there was nothing he could do to paint an electable face on our party’s candidates. He said we needed something fresh, a new dynamic. But he did not elaborate.”
This time she did not pause the recording.
“After Steve, we discussed potential solutions. I started with Steve. Steve virtually continued with what he had been saying about the problems as he viewed them. He said that we needed to find a single issue, instead of the ten-headed leviathan of issues we seem to be dealing with. We needed one easy to understand point of attack, a huge, all-encompassing headline, one that voters could get their heads wrapped around. We needed to define that one issue, and own it.
“James then created an interesting metaphor. It had to do with our playing dodge ball with the Republicans. And that every day Butler drove a truck full of horse manure into their camp, and dumped it. Then the Republicans simply threw hands full of horse manure at us, and a lot of it stuck. Then the next day, the President did the same thing. With that, James stopped talking. We all got the picture. James was suggesting that the President was not able to control himself … that he was the problem.
“Jerry then jumped in, almost interrupting, and made the comment that an 800 pound gorilla had just walked in the room. No one wanted to state what was being suggested, but we all knew. We all knew that the situation would remain untenable as long as this President was in the White House. We stopped with that, and agreed to meet again the following Thursday, which would be the 22nd. At that time we would discuss options.”
With that, Allison flipped the recorder off, and removed the thumb drive. She put it in an envelope in her purse, and then dropped the recorder in her purse as well. She then took her cell out of her purse, and re-installed the battery, and called James.

Chapter 27

2011-10-31T10:22:00.000-04:00

Chapter 27—Allison contemplates

8:14 p.m., Tuesday, December 20

For a brief moment, Allison thought she sensed a car following her on the trip back to the city. She kept an eye in the rear view mirror as she dialed James.
“James. Where are you right now? … Just leaving? … Same place. I suppose I should have cleared that with Jerry. I’m sure he won’t mind. Let the others know. … I’ll give Jerry a call to confirm. Unless you hear otherwise, assume the same place.” And she disconnected.
Allison stared intently into the New York night the rest of the way home. She had forgotten about the car in her mirror.
When she arrived at the parking garage she gave her keys to the parking attendant, along with her customary $20. But this time she could not even fake a smile. As far as she was concerned, the decision to eliminate the President had been taken. All that remained were logistics. She had known, even before the first meeting, that there was only one viable solution to the problem; but she wanted her friends to verbalize it. It would be, after all, they who planned it out, made it happen, and engineered the proper outcomes.
As soon as Allison had successfully closed and locked the door to Bernadette’s apartment behind her, she walked over to the bar and poured herself a double shot of Scotch. Then she slipped in an ice cube. She was going to nurse this drink, so she did not mind if it was a bit watered down.
She took one sip from her glass, and set it down beside her favorite chair. She then proceeded to stash the thumb drive from the last meeting in her safe.
Sitting down in the recliner, she immediately took her cell phone out of her purse, and called James again.
“James, we need to talk. … No, not the whole group, just you and me. I need to see you yet tonight. … Where are you right now?”
James explained to her that he was on the Parkway, headed toward the city. He said that he could stop by the apartment and pick her up in half an hour. He would call her when he was ten minutes out. “That’s perfect,” she said. Allison then carefully put Bernadette’s clothes in their proper places, and officially became totally herself again. She then returned to Allison’s apartment, and put on a different outfit, and removed Bernadette’s make-up.
As promised, James called her about twenty minutes later. Allison told him to give her another call when he was outside the building. She really did not want to spend any unnecessary time making small talk with aides or agents. She did, however, notify her security detail that she would be leaving with James.
Just a short time later, James called again. And Allison went down to meet him. This time, as Allison, she greeted the doorman, and gave him a twenty as he opened James’ door. Everyone knew that James held a special place in the lives of Bob and Allison, so nothing suspicious was ever thought when James picked her up.
“I am sorry to inconvenience you like this. But these are very heavy times—very grave times,” Allison said.
“I understand.”
“Just drive until we find a good place to talk. I don’t want to say anything right now. We need to do another security check.”
“Sounds right.”
Under normal conditions, James and Allison always had something to say to one another. But not this time—not until they had a chance to wand themselves and the vehicle one more time. They both knew that anything was possible. Someone could have slipped a magnetic transmitter under the car at a red light, or in front of her apartment. Even the different clothes she had put on could contain a bug of some sort.
They drove around for several minutes, until Allison spotted an appropriate place to park. “Pull in here,” she commanded.
James pulled his SUV into the parking lot, and quickly wanded the car, himself and Allison. She had forgotten to take the battery out of her cell, so he had to check her out a second time.
“Okay, Al, we’re good.”
“Here’s the deal. I know I told the group that there would be no meetings aside from meetings of the whole group. I’m changing that rule for tonight. I have to know from you, directly from your mouth, if what Jerry was suggesting is exactly what you were suggesting. Clarify it for me, please.”
James sat in his seat for a moment, saying nothing. Finally Allison asked him again, “James, I need you to clarify for me, right now, what you were suggesting at the meeting tonight. I need you to be honest, and I need you to verbalize it right now. I need to know where we are going with this. I need to know if what I think you are saying is actually what you are saying.”
“Al, I see no way out of this as long as Butler remains President. He has to go.”
“And what exactly does that mean? What are you suggesting be done?”
“Well, I don’t think he will leave of his own free will. Do you?”
“So what do you propose?”
“I need some time to think about this…”
“The hell you do. Don’t you sit there and mess with me. You can’t convince me that you have not already spent time contemplating scenarios, various plans of action. Now you tell me where are you going with this.”
“You want me come out and say it. And I am not comfortable verbalizing this. And neither should you be.”
“Jesus Christ, James, of course I’m not comfortable. I might not be able to sleep for a week. I am deeply troubled. I have to tell you that you are not alone in this. I have agonized for over a month. And that was the only answer I could come up with. I see no other way to get to where we need to be.”
“I know what you mean. What we are discussing is the most indelicate of political solutions. But we must devise a very delicate plan to carry it out.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“Of course I do. You know me—my mind is working all the time.”
“Where are you at with this right now?”
“Okay, this is how I see it. Impeachment won’t work. Not even worth a minute’s thought. He must be forcibly eliminated. Of course, there can be nothing delicate about that. An accident is possible. There are any number of ways that it could be carried out. But an accident would solve only half the problem.”
“Explain.”
“Well, accidental death would put John in the Oval Office. But it would not solve any of the problems. What we need to see happen is for the President to go away at the hands of the opposition. That would work.”
“That might happen anyway. This guy has a lot of enemies who would love to see him dead.”
“A lot of stupid and incompetent enemies. It could happen, but we cannot wait around for this. If we’re going to orchestrate it, we have to control all of the details. Nothing can be left to chance. In fact, the worst thing that could happen would be for some idiot opportunist to get successful without our being prepared to take the lead.”
“Okay, I can see that I did not misinterpret what you were suggesting at the meeting. Quite obviously, Jerry got the same impression. In your eyes, how do we proceed?”
“Details, logistics. It will all come down to details and logistics, and timing. It always does. The wildcard here is Reg. He has all the right contacts, and the expertise. Plus, he is cold and calculating. He did not have much to say at the meeting. But he did not object. And he seemed as though he was headed in the same direction as Jerry and me. We will need to feel him out at the next meeting.”
“I don’t think we can wait. The three of us, you, Reg and I, must meet soon. We have to know where Reg is at. I agree that he would be instrumental. He’s the only member of our group who could make it happen. But I don’t know if he’s ready to make that jump.”
“He’s loyal, Al. I think he would be in.”
“Tomorrow. The three of us have to talk. Tomorrow. I’ll set it up.”
It had taken only seven minutes for the two friends to set in motion one of the most nefarious plans ever conceived in the history of the United States.
Allison immediately tried to dial Reginald’s number, but discovered the battery was not in her phone. Replacing it, she continued on her mission. “Reg. You, James and I need to talk tomorrow.” Encountering mild protest, Allison blurted out, “I don’t give a rip about your plans. James will stop by tomorrow morning. Cancel whatever you think you have to do, and be ready for him at 9 a.m. The regular place.” Allison gave Reginald no time to protest—she pulled her cell away from her ear and disconnected.
No other words were spoken on the entire trip back to Allison’s apartment. All that needed to be said, had just been said. As she got out of the car, Allison said, “Pick me up before you stop for Reg. I’ll look for you at 8:30.”
Allison jumped out of the car before the doorman could open it for her. She shoved a twenty in his face as he scurried toward the car. She did not say a word to him, nor did she even make eye contact.
She spent a few minutes with her aides, and with the Secret Service, and then she retired to her bedroom. Once there, she immediately entered the secret passageway up to Bernadette’s apartment, sat down in Bernadette’s favorite chair, and proceeded to summarize into the recorder her meeting with James. She then retired to her apartment, not expecting to get much sleep, but seeking at least some rest.
Surprisingly, she quickly fell asleep, not awaking until 5 a.m.

Chapter 28

2011-10-31T10:21:00.000-04:00

Chapter 28—Meeting with Reginald
8:30 a.m., Wednesday, December 21

As always, James called Allison to give her a heads up ten minutes before he arrived. He was a little surprised that she had him pick her up before he gathered up Reginald. But he knew better than to question her about it.
James drove up at exactly 8:30 a.m., just as Allison was walking out the door. Allison thanked the doorman graciously for opening the car door for her, and handed him the customary tip.
“It’s a ten minute drive this morning to pick up Reg, do you want to go someplace first?”
“No, he’s always early. He’ll be waiting.”
Neither of them said a word as James sped through New York traffic. Finally James asked, “Where do you want to go? … After we pick up Reg?”
“Oh, I think we should just drive around. Reg is a man of few words. He’s either in or out. If he’s out, that could be a problem.” She paused for a moment, and then continued. “You seemed pretty confident he’ll be with us, right?”
“Right.”
James did not want to discuss anything of substance until he had again swept the car. So he just sat there silently the rest of the way, as did Allison.
The drive to pick up Reginald took a little over ten minutes, but they still arrived before the designated pickup time. And, just as Allison predicted, Reginald was waiting for them. He spotted them coming, and bolted out of the coffee shop. He tossed his newspaper and half-empty cup in a trashcan, as James slid his SUV to the curb.
“Morning Al, James.”
“Good morning,” Allison answered. “Say nothing for now.”
Reginald immediately realized that this was going to be another private meeting, requiring the now all too familiar wanding. He then proceeded to remove the battery from his cell, as did Allison. James had already popped his battery out right after he had called to let Allison know he would be by her apartment soon.
James and Reginald were both keenly aware that the very existence of this meeting ran counter to Allison’s rule against having meetings apart from the whole group, but both knew better than to question Allison about it.
“I know the regimen,” she said as she removed the wand. She wanded James, then herself. Afterward, she turned and wanded Reginald, who was sitting in the back seat. Once finished with Reginald, she then returned the wand to its case.
After just a few contemplative moments, Allison turned around to face Reginald. “Okay, Reg. This is why we are meeting this morning. Our next meeting of the whole group is going to be a very significant one. And I’ll tell you why. Just as Jerry and James suggested, there seems to be only one way to deal with this problem. I’m going to just lay it out for you. The three of us are convinced that the President must be eliminated. What do you say to that?”
Immediately Reginald’s countenance changed. It was as though he had just been informed by his doctor that he had pancreatic cancer—stage four. All the blood drained from his face. He looked ten years older. Reginald stared into Allison’s steel-cold eyes. Still, neither of them said a word after Allison had asked her question.
Reginald knew that his whole life was about to be changed—irreversibly. Were he to say the wrong thing, or even assume an unacceptable posture, he knew he would not be allowed to get out of James’ car alive. He knew after the previous meeting of the whole that it was coming to this, sooner or later. He also knew that Allison did not mess around. He had no doubt that he was either in all the way, or he, and perhaps his family, would suffer dramatically.
“I knew that this was coming,” he finally answered. “We all knew yesterday. Except maybe Steve. No one knows what he’s thinking half the time. But I knew.”
“Well, are you in?” Allison repeated.
Reginald again hesitated, as he gathered his thoughts. This was not a good time to say the wrong thing.
“Yes, I’m in. But this has to be done the right way. If this gets messed up, you not only can forget about your legacy—we’ll all be dead. … It must be executed perfectly.”
“Hell, if we continue in the direction we’re going, I’ll have no legacy anyway.”
“That’s exactly why the three of us are meeting right now, Reg.” James said. He wanted Reginald to know that he was totally behind the plan. And just as James had intended, those words seemed to relieve Reginald a bit.
“And what do you mean by execute perfectly?” Allison asked.
“I will admit that I spent half the night thinking about this. Actually, I don’t think I slept more than an hour, if that. When you called last night I knew exactly where this was going. I can’t say that I was prepared for your bluntness, but I knew what to expect just the same.
“This is what I came up with as a preliminary workable plan. The only way to do this is soon. You have no idea just how much angst is out there, particularly in the other camp. And with the new radical right, anything could happen, and more sooner than later. If we are going to manage this thing for the greatest advantage, it all has to be on our terms, which means it must take place in our time frame. We cannot be caught playing catch-up.”
“What are you suggesting as far as timing?” Allison asked.
“Weeks not months.”
“Is that possible?”
“I’ve done projects in less. Certainly none this significant. But the magnitude of the job isn’t really that different. Even a small job done wrong ruins lives. Look at Liddy and Watergate.”
“You think a few weeks is enough?” James asked.
“Has to be. We really do not have any luxury here—it gets done soon, very soon, or it doesn’t get done.”
“Okay, Reg. I’m going to tell you something. Take it seriously. Not that I don’t think that you will. But know I could not be more serious. Once we get out of this car today, we will have taken a decision to assassinate the President of the United States. Are you up to that? Are you really up to it? You had better think about that before you say a word. Once you answer me, there can be no turning back.”
Reginald knew that this bridge had already been crossed, and blown up behind him. He was well aware that Allison probably had a .38 pointed through the seat, at his gut, as they spoke.
“We all agreed, didn’t we, that the alternative was just unacceptable? Is that not right? So, as far as I am concerned now, the outcome is inevitable, and in my eyes, this decision has already been taken. … This has become just another job to me. I am prepared to do what needs to be done.”
“How about you, James?”
“You can count me in, … for the same reason.”
That morning both men verbalized their commitment to this most dreadful of plots. And even though they both had been warned by Allison that once they agreed to participate, they would not be able to turn back later. Both James and Reginald were nervous about the plot, but they both knew they already had too much information.
Allison trusted the resolve of her two friends, so she never revisited this issue with them. As far as she was concerned, they were committed. Glancing back at Reginald, she asked, “You said that you had worked up a tentative plan. Is that right? If so, we would like to hear about it.”

Chapter 29

2011-10-31T10:20:00.000-04:00

Chapter 29—Reginald lays out plan

9:40 a.m., Wednesday, December 21

The SUV grew very quite, and remained so for an uncomfortable length of time.
“Kennedy will serve as our model,” Reginald finally stated. “Even though that plan was severely flawed, both in design and implementation, it was exquisitely effective.”
“How can you characterize it as exquisite?” James asked. “We do not even know who was ultimately responsible for it.”
“Exactly. The public still does not know.”
“And you do?” James asked.
“Of course; but that does not matter. The mere fact that initially Oswald appeared to be a lone gunman, and then he was taken out by Ruby, who just happened to be terminally ill and in need of money. The whole thing was a work of art. I got to know some of the operatives involved, and I have read every book written about it. I can assure you that the ultimate goal of those involved was realized. That’s what makes it exquisite. We will use that assassination as our model, but with major modifications and, hopefully, improvements.”
“How? How will you do it?” Allison asked.
“The only way to be sure anymore is with a bomb. Everything is bulletproof. And bullets get deflected—shooters miss their targets. There are just too many uncertainties with a rifle. Things can go wrong. This has to work perfectly, the first time. We will get only one shot at this.”
“Where would you stage it?” James then asked.
“We would want it to be in the Midwest someplace. Somewhere conservatives, red-neck conservatives, are thought to be in abundance.”
“I assume the bomb would be placed outside, where he was speaking, perhaps?”
“No, we will blow up his car.”
“How would you deal with the armor? Presidential motorcades are very well armored. I know that from personal experience.” Allison said.
“Here’s how we do this—at least as my plan stands right now. We will target the motorcade with rocket-propelled grenades. We will not know for certain which car he is riding in, so we take them all out. Every car in the motorcade, even if there are a dozen. It would not be a problem. We will hit the first and last cars with at least two grenades each.”
Reginald paused for just a few seconds, and looked first into James’ eyes, then into Allison’s. He was clearly enjoying himself. It was obvious that he had already given this matter a lot of thought, and he liked the way his audience reacted to him.
He then continued, “Now, we all know that it is a virtual certainty that POTUS will survive the initial attack. Those vehicles are battle ships on wheels. But we are not actually seeking to destroy the target with this attack. All we are trying to do is to derail the motorcade, and get POTUS to break from it. It is a cinch that he will be immediately whisked off to a hospital. That’s where the real hit actually occurs.
“Depending on how many hospitals there are in the city that we choose, we will have bombs buried at the Emergency Room entrances of each of them. Enough explosives to take out a whole wing of the building. The Secret Service will have checked everything along the route that the President will take, and all alternative routes. They will have welded all the manhole covers along those routes. But they will not have checked the hospital Emergency Room entrances—and there are always manholes outside the hospitals. All we have to do is select a trip that we know he won’t back out of, and then set traps at the emergency room entrances.”
“Now, we all know he’s going to become more and more active, politically, supporting troubled candidates in key states. We should be able to nail one of them down.” James said.
“We won’t take a chance on just one. We will be prepared for several targets. We can relocate the RPGs, on a moment’s notice, but the bombs will present a slightly different challenge. I will have to figure this part out. I’ll need to contract the best people.
“But the beauty of it is, if for some reason he skips all the cities we have prepared for, no one will ever be the wiser. We will simply have to regroup a bit. I always have contingency plans.”
Allison and James exchanged eye contact, but said nothing. Then Reginald continued. “Now, back to the hospital emergency room entrances. We will also have placed smaller explosives inside the actual entrances of the hospitals, in the event that the President is delivered to the hospital in such a way that the original bomb placement might be ineffective. That could happen.”
“How would you get the explosives into a hospital? Don’t they have security?” James asked, a little like an advocate for the Devil.
“All Emergency Room doors have electronic door openers. And they all are subject to inspections and scheduled maintenance. There is plenty of room inside the openers for a small C-4 device. The metal of the enclosure would serve as shrapnel, making the explosion more lethal.”
“Damn, Reg, you’ve certainly got all the details worked out,” Allison said, obviously impressed.
“Not the case. Not at all the case,” Reginald quickly countered. “I have a lot of details to work out. But I do have the overall structure planned. The tricky part is to make sure that the right people get blamed. Otherwise the whole plot will implode, our efforts will be wasted. If that happens, we are as good as dead.”
“I might be of some help with that,” James offered.
“How?” Reginald asked.
“I’ve got a friend, a spook, whose organization has a highly placed operative in one of the most radical conservative group. I really think that we could do enough work with them to make them look responsible.”
“That’s not how it happens,” Reginald said. “Too much can go wrong with that approach. You need to leave that part to me, and to Steve. Once the event has occurred, we do not want to point the blame to any one person or organization. We will let the press and the pundits work at that. All we have to do is make it look like a right wing conspiracy. We’ll deal with generalities only—no specifics. And the rest will happen automatically. There will be a feeding frenzy. Steve and I will work out a series of press releases, plant the right rumors, and the rest will happen automatically.
“The critical thing here is timing. Because the conclusions drawn during the first twenty-four hours will rule the day.”
“Day, month and year,” Allison immediately followed. “Steve will be instrumental here. If we have the stories ready, he can plant them.”
“How much help are you going to need, Reg?” James asked.
“I’ll let you know. But the less you guys know, the better, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got some guys in the Service that I can use in a limited way. And I have plenty of help available for work in the field. All I need is money, a lot of it.”
“What do you need to get started?” Allison asked.
“All of it.”
“Okay. And how much is that?”
“A hundred million.”
“You can’t be serious!” Allison exclaimed in shock, her chin dropping, exposing her lower teeth.
“What did you think? It isn’t about lining my pockets. For this to work it has to be done right. I will need to bring some very specialized talent onboard—expensive people. I want to learn more about James’ insiders. He and I will deal with that. We might find them helpful—at some point. But I am not going to do this on the cheap. I can promise you that I will not ever come back asking for more. And I will guarantee you that I will get the job done. But that is what it’s going to cost. Can you come up with it?”
“I suppose I will have to.”
Reginald countered, “Al, no one knows better than you that once you’re President, you will have unlimited access to resources. Surely there are some foreign sources you can tap.”
Allison did not have to consider the matter. As they all understood, the alternative was not acceptable. “When do you need it?”
“I need it in gold, by the end of next week.”
“In gold?”
“I am not interested in dollars, or any other currency. And neither are the people I am working with. You can do this, right?”
“You’ll have it by next Friday—one week from tomorrow. But you need to get started now.”
“I already have,” Reginald replied. “Now, regarding payment. Let’s say we base the amount on the close of the US markets today. I will expect payment by noon on Friday the 30th. Is that acceptable?”
Allison did not even acknowledge Reginald’s last request. Her response was assumed.

Chapter 30

2011-10-31T10:19:00.000-04:00

Chapter 30—Allison arranges for

Reginald’s payment

10:18 a.m., Wednesday, December 21

Allison asked James to drop her off first. She had a lot of thinking and planning to do, not the least of which was putting together the hundred million dollars in gold, within one week.
As she got out of James’ car, she did not say a word to either of the two men. She merely thanked the doorman, and handed him a twenty, and went up to her apartment. As was becoming customary, she informed her aides that she would be retiring for the remainder of the day. Then, once inside, she quickly made her way up to Bernadette’s apartment. It was almost as though she could think more clearly up there, where she was certainly to be left alone.
Once seated in her favorite chair, she began recording all the events of the meeting with James and Reginald. And, as she always did, once finished recording, secured the thumb drive in her secret safe. She then poured herself a drink, and returned to the chair.
Strange, she thought, that Reg would come up with that figure without even having to take a moment to think about it. And, the fact that he wanted it in gold—that, too, was curious.
She anticipated the cost would be high. And she did not even think that a hundred million dollars was exorbitant. But the gold aspect. “Sure, that’s good business. Given the way the dollar is falling. That’s just prudent. Whoever Reg is going to be working with, they’re not going to be interested in getting paid with anything but gold, especially if the economy really tanks in the aftermath.” These and many more thoughts raced through Allison’s mind as she sat there. “Well, there is one good thing. At least I don’t have to get my hands dirty,” she concluded. “With Reg in charge, he will see to everything. This will be much neater and cleaner. The less I know the better.”
With that, she put the battery back in her cell phone, and made a call. The party she was calling did not pick up, instead she was transferred to voice mail. A very pedestrian recording of a female voice asked that she leave a message.
“Sid, I need to see you in the morning. 7 a.m., at the regular place.” Allison then disconnected the call.
Sid was her banker, so to speak. During her years in the White House, she and Bob were able to amass a large fortune—nearly half a billion dollars. Two hundred million of it was in gold, the rest in various currencies, including dollars and Euros. The gold was to serve as a hedge against inflation, the currencies in the event of a worldwide depression.
She liked gold because it was practically untraceable. The sort of gold she and Bob held was a little more traceable, however, because much of it was in the form of antiquities. At the time they acquired it, gold was hovering around $400 an ounce. Now, it had more than trebled. That meant that the original two hundred million was now worth closer to seven or eight hundred million. So, a hundred million in gold, while putting a serious dent in her net worth, would not threaten her fortune.
Interestingly, when she and Bob parted ways, she kept two-thirds of the gold, and one-third of the cash. That was the deal she worked out with her husband during his impeachment hearings. He was convinced that if she were to leave him at that time, he would be convicted, and so be forced to resign. It seemed like a fair arrangement to him. But with gold increasing in value so precipitously, and the dollar falling in the same fashion, the deal turned out much to Allison’s advantage.
Besides, that was not her only reserve. She and Bob had numerous Swiss bank accounts—mostly consisting of safe deposit boxes containing US dollars. Even though the value of those dollars had fallen off dramatically, their value was still significant.
At the time she and Bob came into the possession of the gold artifacts, they agreed that it should be preserved intact, rather than melted down. They thought this because as artifacts, there was additional intrinsic value attached to it. But now, with the price of gold at historic highs, the gold’s additional value as artifacts was significantly diminished. Still, she could not yet bring herself to turning it into bullion.
She calculated that, not considering any additional value due to the gold’s historical significance, her gold was now worth over six hundred million—perhaps more. She felt she could pay out a hundred million for a shot at the White House. Not only a shot, but if she played it smart, and if she lined up the right people to assist her, she believed she would win it.
Most important among the conditions she recognized were Reginald doing his thing perfectly; and Steve spinning as only he was capable of spinning. “If those two do their jobs, this will work,” she surmised.
First things first. Right now she was going to need Sid to fly to Switzerland, and bring back enough gold to pay Reginald. And she needed him to get on it right away. She would meet with him in the morning, tell him what she needed him to do, and by next Wednesday, he would make delivery to Reginald. She had no intention of seeing or touching any of the gold. Sid knew Reginald, and he would take care of it. In fact, Sid would make sure that the hundred million would be covered, and then some—and he would have the gold in Reginald’s hands earlier than required.
She knew Reginald would have the treasure weighed, and he would be pleased to find that he had received two to three percent more than he had bargained for. Allison had learned from her years with Bob that you never shortchanged a hit man. And, that’s exactly what Reginald was, a very high-priced hit man.
Allison finished her drink, and poured another. This second drink was celebratory. It’s hell when you have to celebrate something this huge by yourself, she thought. But this is only temporary. John will move up, and he will appoint me VP. The public will blame the serpent headed conservatives, and I will unite the country. Then, in a little over a year, John will step aside, and I will run and win in the general. Everybody gets what he wants.
With that she chuckled out loud, “And some bastards will get what they deserve.”
She slowly sipped her drink. But still, stuck in the back of her mind, was the business about Reginald, and just how quickly he came up with the price, and his insistence that it be paid in gold. It made sense to her, but the way it all went down seemed more than a little curious.
She recognized the fact that she had too much to accomplish before the next meeting of the whole, and particularly with regard to Reginald’s payment. So she begrudgingly moved on from her uneasiness—too much to get done, with no time to second guess.

Solution to Puzzle 6

2011-10-31T10:16:00.003-04:00

Clue: Whom did Allison Blame?
Ciphertext: JRRG TDHK RJBA MTDC LGAZ
(LGAZ should be OGAZ (“L” is the intentional
error I promised.) Also, as another twist, I worked from right to left on cryptogram grid. That
is, E becomes A in cyphertext, as opposed to A becoming E, as one might assume. If you
solved this puzzle you are a genius. For the most part, I will not be so mean. But I just think
that it is good to be kept on your toes. Besides, most of the clue was actually contained in the
plaintext. While it was very difficult, that fact should have made it at least possible to solve.)

Keyword: EMPOWERING WOMEN
Plaintext: ALLISON BLAMED SOPHIE

Puzzle 7

2011-10-31T10:16:00.002-04:00

Clue: What was Reginald's better idea?
Ciphertext: RBAR BDQB MTHX NCEG TFNA EGQH TSSA SDZZ

Chapter 31

2011-10-31T10:16:00.000-04:00

Chapter 31—Her “friend” Sid

5:14 a.m., Thursday, December 2

Allison was up and active by five a.m. That really was not unusually early for her.

She was thankful that Sid agreed to meet with her. Even though the two had not conversed,
the mere fact that he did not call to cancel was a de facto acceptance.
Actually, Sid had never failed to meet with her or Bob when requested to do so. Initially Sid
was more strongly disposed to serve the fiduciary wants and needs of her husband. But when they
went their separate ways, Bob found contacts other than Sid to handle his banking, while Allison
leaned totally on Sid.
Aside from his financial wisdom, the thing about Sid that Bob missed most dearly was Sid’s
diplomatic clearance. Sid was part of the Israeli delegation, and as such had full diplomatic
immunity. Therefore, thanks to article 27 of the 1961 Vienna Convention on Diplomatic
Relations, as long as he tagged his luggage as “Diplomatic Pouches,” he could fly in and out of
the Middle East, Europe, and the United States, without ever having a problem. His luggage,
regardless of size, could never be subjected to inspections.
It was sort of funny, the way the whole thing turned out for Bob and Allison. When the First
Couple learned just how much wealth could be acquired in the White House, Allison had her own
people handling the couple’s finances. Bob’s principal role was coercing the wealth, while her job
was to convert it to gold and currencies, and stash it away abroad. That arrangement worked for a
couple years. Then they found out that they were being ripped off in a major way.
Of course, they would not allow that to happen. People died, and they found Sid. Bob never
really let her forget that it was her friends that were responsible for the problem. While the losses
seemed substantial to them at the time (they lost over fifty million dollars), once Sid came on
the scene, everything improved. Not only did they find more ingenious ways to extort, they also
discovered that they had been selling themselves short. Instead of selling their influence for a
million or two, now they would frequently close eight and sometimes nine-digit deals.
The biggest challenge for them was to find better ways to hide their loot. That’s where
Sid came in. He was brilliant. It was his idea to acquire a percentage of their payments in gold
artifacts, as opposed to currencies. It was also his plan to avoid investments of any type. Those
were, in his estimation, much too traceable. He explained to them that there would be plenty of
opportunity down the road to invest, just not while in office.
He told them that if they put away enough gold and currencies, they would leave the White
House very wealthy people, and virtually untouchable. Now, Bob no longer had Sid to help him.
But, Bob was outstandingly clever on his own even without Sid. Throughout his tenure as
Governor of Louisiana, Bob had built alliances—many of them international. It was while serving
as the chief executive of that state (before he became the President of the United States) that he
developed his very lucrative smuggling enterprises. Most of the monies that he made on drugs
remained in South and Central America, invested in real estate. He indirectly held the controlling
interests in numerous resort properties, and a major cruise line. Allison, while she knew that he
had some investments south of the border, had no idea just how extensive they were. And, she did
not want to know. She knew Bob very well. She knew that people who pried too deeply into his
personal affairs often met with a sudden death. She knew about his ruthless side, and she avoided
crossing over into it.
On the other hand, she knew Bob could be a very good friend. For the most part, that was the
relationship she opted for—that of friend and confidante.
As a husband, she trusted him. She knew that he would screw around on her whenever he
wanted to. Faithfulness in that arena was never expected. When close friends would question her
about it, she would frequently say, “Never expect people to deliver what they are incapable of
delivering. If you do, you will be disappointed.”
But, she could trust him to deal honestly with her with regard to money. While they both
loved money more than they loved each other, they were incredibly honest and loyal with regard
to it. They never cheated there. If they owed money, they paid it. If they owed one another
money, that debt too, was honored.
So, Allison was preparing to meet with Sid, a very loyal friend of the Fulbright’s.
Unlike her meetings with James or Jerry, Allison did not have the same liberty when it came
to dealing personally with Sid. She felt that it would be best if she donned her Bernadette persona
when meeting with Sid. She reasoned that would be wise, because Sid was not a public figure,
nor was he an acknowledged personal friend of the Fulbright’s. His role, with regard to Allison,
was strictly that of a financial confidant. She assumed that Sid probably had other clients for
whom he provided similar services. While Allison should not be seen in public with such a figure,
Bernadette certainly could.
Allison made a brief appearance outside her bedroom, contacted her aides, then feigned a
headache, and returned to her bedroom.
From there she quickly went up to Bernadette’s apartment, emerging outside the building
a half an hour later. “Need me to hail a cab, Ma’am?” the doorman inquired. She handed him a
twenty, and flashed a small smile beneath her sunglasses. Within a minute, she had boarded a
taxi, and was on her way to meet Sid.
“Fiftieth and Broadway. And no need to hurry.” Allison knew that she was running a little
early. The driver shot over to Park Avenue, then headed south. The morning traffic was beginning
to slow, but Park Avenue was clear down to 53rd. The driver started to turn west at 53rd, then
opted to go further south. Even though Allison had told him that she was not in a rush, he was.
51st was pretty clear, so the driver laid on his horn and nosed his cab through the crosswalk,
then accelerated for about one hundred feet. From that point, all he could do is inch along past the
other taxis and morning delivery trucks.
When they approached Madison Avenue, Allison’s patience had exhausted. “This will do just
fine,” she told the driver. I’ll walk from here. Just pull over. Thank you.”
She paid and tipped the driver, then did a little window-shopping. Allison enjoyed doing
that, when she had a little extra time. That was a delicious little luxury indulged in only by her
Bernadette persona. She knew that Sid would be waiting for her already; but that did not make
her feel the need to hurry.
Bob had told her often that when dealing with people who work for you, you’ve got to make
them wait for you. It should never work the other way. Friends are a different case. Never keep
them waiting—never.
Sid worked for Allison. He was not a friend. So he should wait—at least for a few minutes.
Allison checked her watch. It was 7:10. “Perfect,” she said aloud, as she entered the restaurant
where they would meet whenever she wanted to talk to him. Sid had probably arrived forty-fiveminutes earlier, and got a booth.
“How are you?” Sid asked her.
“Fine, and you?”
“Well, thank you.”
“I need you to make a trip,” she said as the waiter walked up. “Just coffee and water, please.”
“What do you need?”
“One hundred large. And it has to be hard.”
Sid looked her in the eye, and repeated what she had just said, “One hundred large and hard?
Okay. When?”
“It has to be delivered by Wednesday, next week.”
“Where?”
“I’ll let you know. I do not want to see or touch it. Just pick it up, and bring it back to the
city. Someone else will receive it from you. I will let you know where and when.”
Were this not Allison that Sid was dealing with, he might not have been willing to make
the transfer of so large a sum to a stranger. But he knew that Allison would not put him in a
vulnerable position. And, he knew better than to question her orders.
“Anything special about it. Do you want me to pick out the pieces? How do you want it?”
“You know, I hadn’t considered that aspect.” Allison sat there for a brief moment, and then
continued, “If there are pieces that seem to you to have greater historic value, leave them. And if
there are others that you think are unusually traceable, leave them as well. I am not certain about
the final outcome of the individual items, but I am pretty sure that most of them will be turned
into cash, and quite quickly.”
“I understand,” Sid responded. “I do hope there will be discretion.”
“Once the transfer is made, there will be no guarantees about that,” Allison said.
Allison knew that Sid had a fine taste for artifacts. And she was not anxious to run counter to
his highly-developed sensitivities. She wanted him to pick and choose. Even though there were a
number of pieces that she loved dearly, she felt she needed to grant him this power. “Of course,
you should take five percent for yourself, in the currency of your choice.”
Typically his payment would be 3.5 percent.
“That’s generous,” Sid said. “Thank you.”
“It’s not generous. You are an invaluable personal friend. You mean a lot to me. And I know
you will be professional about this.”
Of course, Allison was lying to Sid with regard to his being a personal friend. And he knew
it. But he still liked hearing the words come out of her mouth. It indicated to Sid that she viewed
him as an indispensable employee. He had always known that his position in her eyes was not
that of a personal friend. In fact, he was confident that she did not even consider him a closeassociate. He knew his place—that of a trusted employee. And that was fine with him.
With regard to his handling the transaction professionally—that was not hyperbole. They
both knew Sid would conduct the deal discretely, for not to do so would surely result in his death.
“What sort of arrangements do you think you can make at this short notice?”
“I can manage.”
“I am sure you will. You have never let me down. I am giving you the liberty of one day. I
would like to have you make the exchange on Wednesday, but we actually have until Thursday.
Just keep that in mind in case things get tight.”
“Thank you. I’m confident with Wednesday. … perhaps a little sooner.”
With that, Allison stood to leave. She had not received her coffee and water. “Call me when
you get back.”
“Will do.”
Allison then left the restaurant. She thought for a few moments as to whether or not she
should record a summary of her meeting with Sid, but decided against it.

Chapter 32

2011-10-31T10:15:00.000-04:00

Chapter 32—Sid in Switzerland

11:05 a.m., Saturday, December 24

Sid was faithful, and he was smart. When he first received Allison’s message, he correctly surmised what she had in mind for him. And he suspected that she would be in a hurry. So, immediately after he received the message requesting a meeting, he booked two seats on a flight to and from Zurich. Whenever he made trips such as this, he always took a diplomatic courier with him to render physical help. Sometimes he took two. Not knowing what would be the specifics of this trip, he opted for one helper. Had he to do it over, after learning about the magnitude of the operation, he would have taken two.
He and his courier left New York Wednesday afternoon from Kennedy, and arrived in Zurich Thursday morning just as the banks opened. They spent a total of six hours there, and then caught a return flight Thursday afternoon (Zurich time). Sid slept on the plane, arriving back in New York later Thursday afternoon, New York time.
His plan was then to call Allison, and receive her instructions for delivery. And that is exactly how it turned out, except he called Allison as he was boarding his plane in Switzerland, and requested that she meet him at his New York apartment Monday afternoon. Sid was fully aware that Allison had specifically told him that she did not want see or touch the gold. But the more he thought about this, the more apprehensive he became. There were a number of items that he knew Allison particularly liked, and some of those pieces were among those he was bringing back to the States.
“I said I did not want to be personally involved.” She said. “Has something changed?”
They never used names when they were conversing—whether in person, or on the phone. Sid had always insisted on having it that way.
“We’ve got time. And I would really feel more comfortable if you helped me pick out the drapery. It would please me greatly if you would be willing to help me with that”
“Of course, if you consider my input important enough to warrant it. What time should I be there?”
“How does one p.m. work for you?”
“That will be just fine. See you then.”
It was actually not going to be a problem for her. In fact, she was looking forward to spending a little face time with Sid. He always had good advice to give her. And if he wanted to see her, if he thought that she needed to go through the pieces he had picked up, then she would be happy to accommodate.
Between the time she talked to Sid by phone on Wednesday, and the next morning, Allison enjoyed a considerable level of satisfaction. She knew that Reginald was about to receive payment in full, and that of all the people she knew, Reginald was by the far the most single-minded and resourceful person she had ever worked with. Now that the payment was on its way back to New York, she was confident that she would not disappoint him. In Allison’s eyes, all was going very well.
Before noon on the following Monday, Allison made a brief appearance outside her bedroom, and met with her aides. Then explained to them that she still was not feeling well, and that she was going to go back to bed. She then went up to Bernadette’s apartment, and exited the building.
Again, the doorman received his twenty, and she took a taxi down to Sid’s West Village apartment.
Even though she arrived twenty minutes early, she proceeded directly to his building, and rang the bell. Neither Allison nor Bernadette liked to shop in the West Village.
“Hello, my friend. How was your trip?”
“Exhausting, as usual.” Neither of them had much to say, until they were in his apartment.
“I really appreciate your coming down to meet with me. I know I will feel much better once you have had a chance to see what I brought back.”
Sid then opened up several large trunk-sized crates that were setting in the middle of his living room. He had already broken the packing seals, and loosened the covers. Inside the crates were dozens of the most exquisite pieces of antique gold a person could imagine.
“I brought these in for you to take a look at,” he told her. “The more pedestrian pieces remain in storage. But some of these I have a question about. This is what I would suggest. If there are any of these pieces that you do not want to part with, then assign them to me as part of my payment. I will return them to the vault, and exchange them on my next trip.”
Allison knelt to knees over the treasure, and began to examine them, refraining, of course, from actually touching any of the pieces. “Here,” Sid said to her, handing her a pair of latex gloves, “you must not touch any of them.”
“Thanks,” Allison said, slipping on the gloves. One by one, she picked up the pieces, and examined them. She had seen them all before, but it had been years. “My God!” she exclaimed, as she picked up a gold mask. “I totally forgot about this one. It was one of my favorites, for sure.”
She stared at the mask for several moments. Finally she picked it up, stood to her feet, and then walked over to a wall mirror. Holding the gold mask in front of her face, she looked at her image in the mirror. She was, however, careful not to allow the mask to touch her skin. She then turned to Sid, and said, “You know, there was a time that I imagined myself being buried in a mask like this. But that was a thousand years ago.”
“Shall I put it aside and return it?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m sure that I could find a hundred pieces that I like just as much as this one. But isn’t it beautiful?”
“Exquisite, I like it as well.”
“Then you should keep it.”
“No, I would prefer to stick to the plan. … But thank you.”
Allison then stood, removed the gloves and put them in her purse. Sid had taught her to do that as well, because inside the gloves would be not only her fingerprints, but possibly DNA as well. They exchanged a few more words, and Allison prepared to leave. “I’ll call with the final word on where and when, okay?”
“I will be waiting to hear from you.”
With those parting words, Allison headed back to Bernadette’s apartment. And, as in the case of her last meeting with Sid, and for the same reasons, Allison did not record her recollections of this meeting.

Chapter 33

2011-10-31T10:14:00.000-04:00

Chapter 33—Reginald has a better idea

1:23 a.m., Monday, December 26

Reginald had followed closely behind Jack as he left Penn Station. Just as Jack reached the street, his friend walked up beside him. “Where do we go from here?” He asked Jack.
“Not sure yet,” Jack said. “That arrogant bastard said to go back to the hotel and wait for another call. He has one more thing for me to do before he will release Kate.”
“Then that wasn’t Kate in the coffee shop?” Reginald asked. All he had seen was Jack rushing past him on his way out of Penn Station.
“No,” Jack answered. “It was a look-alike. And the bastard used her to send me a message. He shot her right there as she sat across the table from him. Dead.”
“Thank God it wasn’t Kate,” Reginald said, visibly relieved. … “But do you believe him? … That he has something else for you to do?”
“Oh, I believe he has more hoops for me to jump through,” Jack said. “But I don’t trust him. The problem is that I don’t have a lot of options, I have to play along, at least for now.” Jack waited just a moment, then continued. “Reg, we have to keep moving. There’s a dead girl back there. We’ve got to get outta here.”
“Right, but are you sure you want to go back to the hotel?” Reginald asked, glancing west in the direction of Jack’s hotel. “That’s got to be a crime scene by now.”
Jack did not respond right away, as he led the way east up 34th Street.
“We do need to get your stuff out of there—and soon,” Reginald said. “I am pretty sure that fellow bled out inside, and that it will take a while to determine why, but by morning they will be poking around there in a major way. Good chance it’s already been determined a murder. They might suspect a mugging, but that will change.”
“Hang around here for twenty or thirty minutes,” Jack said. “I’ll gather up my stuff. Then we’ll catch a cab and get out of here.”
“I have a better idea,” Reginald said. “Give me your card and the remote for the lock, and I will grab your stuff.”
“… Yeah, that works,” Jack said. After he thought for a moment, he continued. “What can you tell me about these guys? Do you think Kate is still alive? Or are they just jerking me around?”
“I think she is alive, Jack,” Reginald said. “And we’ve got to act on that basis. But I think you need to get a proof of life before we proceed.”
“That’s what I think, too,” Jack replied, a little relieved to hear those words come out of his friend’s mouth.
“I really wonder what they’re up to now,” Reginald said. “I should think that they would be content. They got what they wanted. I can’t see how Kate’s value to them would exceed that. She had what they wanted, and we got it to them. I thought that they would be quite happy never to see either you or her again.”
“Exactly how I saw it,” Jack said. “Unfortunately, I now have some unfinished business with them—no matter how this turns out.”
“Are you sure you don’t just want to see this go away?” Reginald asked. “After all, once we get Kate back, what’s to be gained by going after them?”
“Have to, Reg. It’s the principle of the thing, now.”
“Principle has nothing to do with this. Jack, these are agents of a foreign government. They’re acting on orders. They don’t know you, and they don’t know your daughter. They were simply told to get their hands on the message, and to get it deciphered. That’s it.”
“Yeah, well, that’s apparently not all they’re after,” Jack responded. “Now they want something more. And I’m going to give them something more. But probably not what they’d hoped for.”
The two men walked north up Seventh Avenue a couple blocks, until Jack spotted an available taxi. “I’m gonna catch this cab. Nothing’s open around here. I’ll have him pull up in front of Penn Station in forty minutes.” Jack reached into his jacket pocket, took out the remote for the lock, and his room card. Handing them to Reginald, he asked, “Will that give you enough time? The northwest corner, by the drug store? What do you think?”
“That works,” Reginald said. He then headed west on 36th Street, heading toward the hotel, as Jack disappeared in the taxi.
When Reginald reached Eighth Avenue, he crossed over to the west side, in order to avoid the area where he had killed the agent earlier. And, just as he had suspected, the area was cordoned off by the police.
Reginald then continued on down Eighth. However, when he was still over a block north of the hotel, a man suddenly walked up behind him. “Reg,” the man said, catching Reginald by surprise.

Chapter 34

2011-10-31T10:13:00.000-04:00

Chapter 34—Roger intercepts Reginald

2:13 a.m., Monday, December 26

The man grabbed Reginald’s right arm above the elbow with his left hand.
“Roger!” Reginald exclaimed. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“Just keep walking,” Roger said. “Don’t look back. Just keep going.” Roger continued to squeeze Reginald above the elbow, and directed him toward a waiting van with deeply tinted windows. As the two men approached, a side door on the van opened, and Roger virtually pushed Reginald in. He then followed Reginald, and the van sped off.
“I need to pick up some things from the hotel,” Reginald said, looking around for familiar faces, but finding only one—that was Roger’s.
“You can’t go back there,” Roger told him. “You wouldn’t make it through the front door. … You were planning to clean out Handler’s room, right?”
“That’s right,” Reginald said. “How did you know that?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Roger replied. “We’ve got a man in the hotel, same floor. He’ll take care of it for you.”
“He’ll need this,” Reginald said, showing the remote to Roger.”
“And what’s this?” Roger asked.
“Jack has a special electronic lock he uses,” Reginald explained. “This remote unlocks it.”
Roger then immediately dialed his associate inside the hotel. “Alex. Handler has an auxiliary lock on his hotel door. He uses a little remote to deactivate it. RF or IR? Reg, is this RF or IR?”
“It’s like a car remote. I would assume that it operates on radio frequency. Check it. Are there any LEDs?”
Roger checked it out. “I don’t see an LED,” he said.
“Then it has to be RF,” Reginald replied, still not comfortable with his virtual abduction.
“There’s an electronic lock on the door. It’s apparently an RF unit,” Roger told his friend on the phone. “If you’re ready, I’ll activate it. … Great. Give me forty … fifty seconds.”
Roger switched on a linear amplifier, and slid the remote into it. He then activated the remote for a few seconds. “That worked? … Great,” Roger said to the man in the hotel, as he disconnected.
“That did it,” he said. “We probably blew off every radio station in the city, but we unlocked Handler’s door.”
“Okay,” Reginald said. “So what’s the deal? Jack is not going to be happy about this.”
“Would he prefer you to be dead?” Roger asked. “Because that’s what would have happened to you had you walked into the hotel.”
“What’s going on?” Reginald persisted.
“We know all about the meetings,” Roger said. “We know about Mossad. too.”
Roger’s revelation regarding his knowledge of the meetings caught Reginald by surprise. For a moment he was unable to say anything. He knew better than to press Roger for more information, at least at this time.
“Is that who’s waiting for Jack in the hotel?” Reginald asked. “Mossad?”
“No,” Roger said. “At least not exactly.”
“What does that mean?” Reginald asked.
“The agent you stuck earlier tonight has friends in the CIA,” Roger said.
“He was working both sides?” Reginald asked.
“It gets very complicated,” Roger said. “Suffice it to say, these guys know it was you and Jack, and they’re not very happy right now.”
“I had no choice,” Reginald said. “If I wouldn’t have taken him out, he would have killed Jack.”
Roger did not respond to Reginald’s comment.
“What’s your role in this?” Reginald then asked.
“My role?” Roger repeated. “Well, tonight, this morning, it’s to save your life—and Jack’s. Beyond that, it doesn’t really matter. … We’re going to drop you back off to meet Jack.”
“How about his stuff?” Reginald asked. “He’s not going to be very happy if I turn up empty handed.”
“I was going to have it delivered later,” Roger said. Taking his cell, he called Alex back. “Hey, you got it packed up yet? Okay, this is what you do. Get it together. Don’t have to be fancy. Just get everything. Head over to Penn Station. We’ll stop in front of the drug store, in … let’s say fifteen minutes. Can you make it by then? … Great.”
Roger then hung up and addressed the driver. “Head west toward the Hudson. Time it so that you can swing back to Penn Station in fourteen minutes.”
No one spoke for a few moments. Finally, Reginald broke the silence. “Roger, I do not think you are working for Al. Is that a safe assumption?”
“I’m not going to discuss this with you, Reg.”
“I would know if you were working for her,” Reginald replied. “That means you’re working with Bob. Just what is his involvement in this?”
“Drop it,” Roger said, obviously angry with Reginald prying into his business. “I saved your life tonight. You would be dead right now, if it weren’t for me. So just drop it.”
“This is important,” Reginald persisted. “If Bob is involved, and I now suspect he is, then that changes the whole dynamic.”
“Reg. I respect you,” Roger said. “I respect what you have done in the past for Bob, and Al. I know very well what you are capable of. I know what Jack is capable of as well. If we wanted you out of the picture, you and I would not be here discussing this right now. So just be grateful you’re still alive, and let it go. There is nothing else you need to know. We are not at odds. Our goals might be different, but they are not mutually exclusive. Just be happy to know that the people I work for wanted you and Jack to live. Hell, Reg, someday we will probably work together again.”
Just then the van they were riding in approached the place they were planning to meet Alex, to retrieve Handler’s belongings.
“There he is,” Roger said, pointing to a man standing on the corner with two suitcases. “Pull up right here,” he told the driver. Roger opened the door to let his associate in. Alex tossed the two suitcases into the open door, then fell face first on the van floor, and rolled back onto the sidewalk. Blood was oozing from his mouth, and his open eyes evidenced dilated pupils. Alex was nearly dead—apparently stabbed just before the van drove up.

Chapter 35

2011-10-31T10:12:00.000-04:00

Chapter 35—Reginald receives and delivers Jack’s luggage

2:31 a.m., Monday, December 26

Roger reached over and grabbed the two bags, and Alex. He pulled the dying man into the van. “Reg, shut the damn door!”
He then yelled at the driver, “Get us the hell outta here. … Damn it, Reg, I don’t know what the hell is going on around here. My guy has had nothing to do with this. We’re dealing with rank amateurs. That’s exactly what they are. Before this thing is done, we’re gonna have bodies all over the whole damn city. This makes no sense at all.”
Reginald put his fingers on the dying man’s neck, to see if there was a pulse.
“No need for that, Roger stated. “It’s always the same, lately. A double poke from behind—lungs and heart. With a damn ice pick, no doubt. What is this business coming to. Who ever used ice picks before? It’s insane.”
“Why did they hit your man?” Reginald asked.
“Good question,” Roger said. “He must have been spotted coming out of Jack’s room. Or maybe they placed a transmitter in one of Jack’s bags. Your guess is as good as mine. It’s a damn shame. Alex’s wife just had a baby—last week. … Maybe the week before. I can’t wake her up tonight—not with this news. Not tonight.”
“Roger, I’m sorry. Truly. The guy I took out today was one step away from sticking Jack—it was his second attempt. If I had not taken him out, at the very least Jack would have lost his daughter, if not his own life. If I had it to do over again, I would have done the same thing. It might have made it worse for you, but I did what I had to.”
Just at that moment Reginald spotted Jack’s taxi. “There’s Jack,” he said. “I’ve got to get him to meet us somewhere else . How about 34th and Broadway?”
Grabbing his cell he quickly called his friend.
“Jack,” Reginald said. “I’ve got your bags. I’m with a friend—a mutual friend. …We can talk about it later. Just have your taxi shoot over to 34th and Broadway. I’m in a dark van. … Great.”
Roger gave the revised instructions to his driver, and then responded to Reginald’s apology. “I’m not blaming you for this,” he said. “I know you try to avoid problems. All of us old-school guys are discriminating, if given a chance. It’s these younger guys. And the Russians in particular. They’ve lowered the bar. It’s nothing for them to destroy a train to kill the cook. It’s like they just don’t worry about collateral. As long as they hit their target, they just don’t care who else dies.”
“I thought you said we were dealing with Mossad, not the Russians?” Reginald said.
“Mossad is who your group is dealing with,” Roger said. “And they’re not nearly done yet.
But the Russians have an interest here as well. They apparently have a lot to gain, or so I’ve heard. And a lot to lose. We’re pretty sure it’s the Russians who are holding Jack’s daughter.”
“We all have a lot to lose, don’t we?” Reginald asked, trying to squeeze some information out of his old friend.
“I suppose you could say that,” Roger answered, careful not to be drawn too deeply into this conversation.
“Could you have the driver pull up there?” Reginald requested. “I see Jack’s taxi right behind us.” He then checked out Jack’s suitcases to be sure there was no blood on them. Finding a small blood smear on the handle of the larger bag, he grabbed a paper napkin that was in a fast food bag on the floor, and cleaned it off. Reginald looked up, as Roger had the driver pull as close to the curb as possible, three car lengths in front of Jack’s taxi.
“Rog, thanks for the help tonight,” Reginald said. “I truly appreciate it. I realize I owe my life to you. Feel free to call one in anytime. I owe you.”
Roger did not respond to Reginald’s offer. Instead, he handed Reginald a set of car keys. “Here, take these,” He said. “It’s the black Expedition parked in a loading zone just east of here on 34th—south side. Should have the four-ways flashing. … Alex isn’t going to need it any more. I think you and Jack can make good use of it.”
Reginald received the keys, and thanked Roger.
“See ya around, old friend,” Roger said. “Take care of yourself. And say ‘hi’ to my old buddy.”
“Will do,” Reginald said, jumping out of the stopped van, then reaching back to snatch Jack’s bags. As Reginald unloaded the luggage, one of the men in the van was already closing the door. Simultaneously, the driver raced the engine, and shot out into traffic.
By the time Reginald had made it back to Jack’s taxi, Jack had circled to the rear and was ordering the driver open the trunk for his luggage.
“Did you get it all?” Jack asked. “Did you get my lock?”
“Can’t say for sure,” Reginald said. “We’ve gotta get outta here, and quickly. I’ll explain after we get going,” Reginald said. “And we’re not going to need the cab. We’ve got a car—thanks to Roger Minsk.”
“Roger gave us a car? What’s going on here?” Jack asked, as he handed the driver three twenties, and told him he wouldn’t be needing him any more.
Reginald gave a cursory look around to see if he was being followed. He did not set the suitcases down, but he did wait for Jack to pay his driver. “Down 34th a bit,” he said. “Look for a black Expedition, on the south side of the street. … I’ll explain it all in a bit. Let’s find that car.”
“You don’t know whether or not you packed my mag lock?” Jack asked.
“I didn’t pack it,” Reginald said. “One of Roger’s men, a man named Alex, packed your belongings.”
“I don’t understand,” Jack said. “You didn’t go up to my room?”
“Nope,” Reginald answered, now with Jack close behind him. “Alex took care of it.”
“He got past my lock?” Jack asked.
“He did,” Reginald said, “but not without help. Roger used a linear amplifier from down on the street.”
“From the street?” Jack responded. “… It was that easy? He must have had my remote, right?”
“Right. His equipment learned the frequency, and amplified it.”
“I’m working on one that uses both RF and IR—redundant. Jack said, snatching one of the cases from Reginald’s hand.
“Well, I’m glad that Roger was able to get his man in,” Reginald said. “The tragic thing is it cost him his life—Alex, his operative, was killed just as he was delivering your bags to us. Right on the street, with an ice pick.”
“Lunacy,” Jack said, as both men picked up their pace. “This is pure lunacy. I’ve seen more agents killed in one day than I’ve seen in the past ten years. It’s unnatural. That’s what happens when there are so many different interests represented. Everyone has his own agenda, and no one trusts the other guy. The only option that makes sense is to whack the other guy before he gets you. It’s insane.”
“There it is,” Jack said, pointing in the direction of a dark SUV fifty feet away.
Reginald hit the unlock button on the remote that was attached to the key Roger had given him. They deposited Jack’s bags in the rear seat.
“Here,” Reginald said, tossing the keys to Jack. “You drive.”
The two men got in, and Jack switched off the four-ways.
They had not gone more than a couple blocks when Reginald spoke up. “Jack, I think we’ve got a tail.”
Jack glanced back through his mirror. “Which one?” he asked.
“Two back, same lane,” Reginald said.
“How sure are you?” Jack asked.
“Good chance,” Reginald answered. “It was pulled over behind the Expedition when we got in. Two occupants. I got a pretty good look—would bet Eastern European.”
“Russian? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Could be. But at least Old Soviet,” Reginald replied. “Shall we see if I’m right?”
Jack suddenly jerked the steering wheel to the right, turning east off 6th Avenue, and onto 38th Street. He sped a few hundred feet down the street, then hit the brakes and pulled over to a tight double park.
The car directly behind them did not follow, but the second car back did. As soon as it rounded the corner, it too pulled into a double park, and stopped. The driver obviously had spotted them.
“Stay put for a minute,” Reginald told him, as he opened his door and began rapidly walking back to the car that had been tailing them.
Immediately that car screeched its tires, pulling up to where Jack had stopped. The mystery car lowered the passenger side window, and opened fire on Jack with what appeared to be a Glock 10mm. Instinctively, Jack dove face-first onto the passenger seat. Expecting to be showered with broken glass, he threw his left hand over the back of his head. Hearing the car speed away, he quickly sat back up, seeking to get a look at the license plate. “RFT 176,” he said, reaching in and pulling out a pen and paper.
Reginald then got in and asked, “We gonna go after them?”
Jack took a long look in his rearview mirror, then turned his smiling face toward his friend. “Haven’t we had enough fun for one day?”
“Suppose you could say we did,” Reginald replied, chuckling just a bit.
Jack shoved the car in reverse, and sped back to the intersection. Even though it was a one way street, he thought it wiser to go back to Sixth Avenue, than to continue east, and perhaps run into the car that had fired on them.
“What the hell these windows made of?” Jack asked.
“Pretty cool, don’t you think?” Reginald replied. “I suppose it’s standard issue in Roger’s world.”
“That Glock didn’t even nick the glass,” Jack observed, pushing against the window.
“I’ve heard that a nine or ten won’t phase it,” Reginald said. “But an AK will. And so will a .357 or bigger, … or so I’ve heard.”
“I think that was a ten,” Jack said. “At least that’s what the muzzle looked like to me. But, hell, even a BB gun looks pretty imposing from the business end. Still, I’m pretty sure it was a Glock 10mm.”
“Still could be Russians,” Reginald said. “They like that Glock, too.”
“Can’t tell by what they’re using,” Jack said. “All that I can say for sure is that the shooter didn’t look much like a Boy Scout.”
“What do you mean?” Reginald asked.
“Short cropped hair,” Jack answered. “Steel blue eyes. Pale blue. Dead eyes. I think Russian too.”
Jack reached Sixth Avenue, carefully backed into it, and continued northward.
“Where, exactly, are we headed?” He asked Reginald.
“I’ve got an apartment on the Island,” Reginald said. “Let’s crash there. We can figure stuff out in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jack replied. “You still haven’t told me the whole story. What’s going on here? There’s got to be more to this?”
“Jack, your daughter is alive and well,” Reginald said. “I think the danger for Kate is past, at least for right now. And we are both still alive. As of this minute, life isn’t good, but it’s okay. We’ll get some sleep, and I will go over everything with you in the morning.”
Jack was not happy with Reginald’s evasive answer, but he accepted it.
When they arrived at the apartment, Reginald had Jack drive past it, and circle around the block.
“Checking for a tail?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Reginald answered. “Pull into that parking lot for a minute. Let’s turn the engine off, and just wait to see what shakes.”
Jack followed Reginald’s instructions. After a good five minutes, they decided that there was no one following them, so Jack started the car, and drove back toward the apartment.
“That’s it,” Reginald said, pointing over at a very average looking row house. “But don’t park right in front, drive down a couple numbers, and park in front of that van. I want to check it out.”
Jack pulled past the van, and backed into the parking place in front of it. Then both men got out. As Jack retrieved his luggage, Reginald circled the van. He was relieved to see that the license plate was local, and that there was a window sticker on the back promoting a local high school. Both men were comfortable thinking that they had not been followed, and that the van was not a threat, so they continued on into Reginald’s apartment. They were both totally exhausted.
What they failed to observe, as they disappeared behind the apartment door, was a rusty, blue sedan parked directly in front of Reginald’s apartment, but on the opposite side of the street. In that car were two very tough-looking men. They had crouched down while Reginald and Jack scrutinized the van.

Solution to Puzzle 7

2011-10-31T10:11:00.003-04:00

Clue: What was Reginald’s better idea?
Ciphertext: RBAR BDQB MTHX NCEG TNFA EGQH TSSA SDZZ (Last two characters
(ZZ) were nulls.)
Keyword: Alex dies
Plaintext: That he should pick up Jack’s luggage.

Puzzle 8

2011-10-31T10:11:00.002-04:00

Clue: What made “no sense” to Jack?
Ciphertext: NUQC NTKF RSNO QAVA MSSD TSST QCAS BQNL HAFM CJFK KAIZ
Keyword: The Hit
Plaintext: Our goal is to prevent that target from being killed

Chapter 36

2011-10-31T10:11:00.000-04:00

Chapter 36—Jack and Reginald prepare to get some rest

3:27 a.m., Monday, December 26

Reginald knew just how concerned his friend was about Kate. Still, he thought it best to get some rest, and begin dealing with the problem in the morning.
“Are you okay with this for now?” Reginald asked. “Shall we drop this subject for the night? Then attack it fresh in the morning?” Reginald asked, realizing that the two of them were totally spent.
“I know I’d like to get some rest,” Jack said. “Tomorrow will get here too soon, regardless.”
“When are you expecting to hear about Kate?” Reginald asked.
“I don’t really have a specific time,” Jack answered. “He just said to go back to the hotel and wait to hear from him.”
“In case you didn’t notice, we’re not at your hotel. Do you have a plan?”
“I do,” Jack said, “but it’s going to take a little time to implement. I need to hear from Kate—to hear her voice—proof of life. And to find out what exactly it is that they’re looking for. Then I’ll go after her. They’re not going to give her up without a fight. I’m convinced of that now. But, I agree with you, as long as they think they still need me, they will keep her alive.”
“And unharmed. As long as they still need you, they will not hurt her,” Reginald added. “Do you want to tell me what you have in mind, as far as a plan?” Reginald asked.
“Not really—at least not right now,” Jack said. “But I am gonna need your help, that’s for sure—and Roger’s. It’s just that I would like to wind up this day without getting my juices going more than they already are. You know what I mean. I’ll explain it all later, … and tell you what I’m going to need from you.”
“You got it, Jack,” Reginald said. “Just name it.”
“I knew I could count on you.”
“You take the bed, I’ll grab the couch,” Reginald offered.
Jack carried his two suitcases into the bedroom, found his toothbrush, and disappeared into the bathroom.
As is typical of New York row houses, single-bedroom second floor apartments have only one view, and that can be from the front or the rear. In the case of Reginald’s apartment, his view was the street. Casually Reginald walked over to the window to give the street one last look before going to bed. Just as he parted the curtains with an index finger, he spotted a dim light come on from inside the car parked below. He quickly closed the curtains, and pulled back.
“Jack, we got company,” he said.
Immediately the light in the bathroom went out, and Jack emerged. “Are you sure?” He asked.
“Most definitely,” Reginald replied. “Two men got out of a car. Parked right in front, but across the street. I’m surprised we missed ‘em.”
“How will they attack?” Jack asked. … “Damn it. I’m just too tired to deal with this tonight. ... We’re gonna have to move on. Can’t waste them here—not by your apartment. Right?”
“I say we kill ‘em in the apartment, and in the morning stuff them in the trunk of their car.” Reginald said. “That way we can still get some rest.”
“That’s good with me,” Jack agreed. “What the hell is wrong with these bastards. What’s the point? They got what they were after. Now they’re after more.”
“I think it’s a bit more than that, now.” Reginald said. “Now it’s a bit of a vendetta. And who’s to say it’s the same organization. Roger suggested that we’re dealing with the Russians and Mossad. He even suggested some free-lancing—working both sides.”
“Damn it, this sucks!” Jack muttered. He was angry.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Reginald said. “… What do you say?”
“Yeah, let’s get on with it.” Jack said. “From the rear? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“That would be my approach,” Reginald said. “They can get to the back of the building about three doors down. There’s an alley. They’ve undoubtedly scoped it out.”
“Is the apartment in the rear occupied?” Jack asked.
“Nope.”
“Great, let’s go occupy it,” Jack said.
“Let’s go.”
Reginald looked over the keys on his chain, and selected one. “Pays to have a master.”
“I’ve got one of those at the end of my right leg,” Jack replied.
“Mine’s quieter,” Reginald said, reaching the rear apartment before his friend. He unlocked the door, and the two very tired men entered a dark hall.
“They will come in together,” Jack said. “Right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Which do you like, living room window, or kitchen?” Jack asked.
“Fire escape is off the kitchen.”
“You duck in the bathroom, I’ll slide into the living room,” Jack said, taking charge as usual. “Damn it, I hope these sonsofbit**es are in a hurry. I know I am.”
Within a few seconds, Jack heard the window being forced. “Thank God,” he silently mouthed. The apartment was furnished. So he was able to take a position behind a couch. His intention was to allow both men to enter the empty apartment. Then, as they made their way down the hall toward the bathroom where Reginald was waiting, Jack would take an offensive position. Reginald would shoot the first one, and possibly the second. As the two attackers retreated, Jack would make sure they did not make it back to the fire escape.
For a few moments, it looked as though all was going to go as planned. Jack made out the form of the first man. But the second did not immediately appear. Reginald waited until the last moment. Just as the first man reached the bathroom where he was hiding, Reginald fired off a round that caught the attacker in the neck, severing his spinal column. As the man slumped to the floor, he squeezed off a second round that caught his attacker right in the middle of his forehead.
Reginald had expected Jack to cut down the second man. But that did not happen. Instead, Jack ran to the fire escape, just in time to spot the second man reaching the ground.
“Damn it!” Jack muttered. “Nothing is going to be easy tonight.”
Jumping over the body of Reginald’s kill, he ran past his friend and out the door toward the street. “Back in a minute,” Jack said as he ran down the steps.
He knew the second man would be heading back to the car. Jack did not know exactly which car, but he did recall what Reginald had told him about its being across the street.
Taking a position behind a tree across the street from the apartment, Jack waited for the man to emerge from the alley.
“This idiot is not gonna wait for anything,” Jack thought. “He’s gonna run right out of the alley, and jump in one of these cars. I should have a couple seconds.”
Just then Jack saw a man running toward him. “That’s better than I hoped for,” he heard his mind saying. “The bastard’s running right up to me.” Realizing that his target would be wearing body armor, Jack had to make a good first shot—head or neck.
“Must be he’s headed toward this car,” Jack thought. “That poor stupid bastard.”
Just as Jack suspected, the attacker ran right up in front of him. The car was parked so that the driver’s door was traffic side. Just as the fellow reached down to open the door, Jack lunged forward, sliding his gun across the top of the car, he put a round right into his attacker’s face. The man screamed once, as he slumped to his knees on the pavement.
Jack ran around the front of the car, a 2001 dark blue Chevy, and fired again. The second round stuck the man in the temple, destroying both lobes of the brain. Even though he was pretty sure his first shot was fatal, Jack never took chances.
The man had dropped to kneeling position, with the right side of his face resting against the car door. It was as though he had turned to watch Jack’s approach, but his eyes looked dead, and he never moved when Jack shot him in the head.
Jack then opened the driver’s door, and shoved the man in. He noticed that the blood flow had slowed, indicating the heart had stopped. The man was definitely dead.
“To hell with this stuff,” Jack muttered. “This is much too messy. We’re gonna have to get outta here—right now.”

Chapter 37

2011-10-31T10:10:00.000-04:00

Chapter 37—Time to go

3:39 a.m., Monday, December 26

Jack squeezed the car door shut, after he had deposited the body. He quickly glanced around to see if there was any movement or lights from any of the surrounding windows. Seeing none, he was hopeful that his killing had gone undetected. He always used a muzzle suppressor, so he felt reasonably confident that his action might not have aroused attention.
But it didn’t matter at this point. There was blood on the street, and on the car.
“This has just got way too messy. It’s time to go. Time to go,” Jack kept muttering as he briskly headed back to gather up his belongings, and to check with Reginald where they might spend the night.
Before he had even reached the front door, he spotted his two suitcases ready for him. Reginald had set them outside, and then returned to the apartment.
Jack grabbed his bags, and headed toward the Expedition. Before he reached the car, he heard Reginald racing up behind him.
“Thirty seconds,” Reginald said.
Jack glanced back at his friend. He knew exactly what Reginald had been up to.
Just as the two suitcases hit the floor behind the driver’s seat, an orange flash from the apartment they had just vacated illuminated the night.
“Seems to me you could have given us just a bit longer,” Jack quipped. “You damn near singed my ass.”
“You’re just getting old, … and slow. Ten years ago you would have been half way to New Jersey.”
By the time the two men reached the end of the block, the row home was totally engulfed.
“I think it will take a couple hours before they figure out that wasn’t you up there on the floor,” Jack said.
“What did you do with number two?”
“He’s sleeping it off in his car,” Jack answered. ‘They’ll find him quickly enough. Too much blood. Probably about the same time his buddies show up—but they won’t get close enough to figure anything out. Fire department will have it roped off. Our problems should be finished for the night. What do you think?”
“We should be good for now,” Reginald agreed. “But I was pretty optimistic before all this went down.”
“Reg, I’m getting a little sick of hearing how good you think we are,” Jack said. “We’re lucky just to be alive. That was damn near a disaster back there. ... Look, Reg. We’ve got to start pulling this together, if we’re gonna get Kate back.”
“We need some rest—we’re not thinking straight. ... I’ve got a buddy we can crash with,” Reginald said. “He’s an old friend from my college days. Doesn’t live far from here, either.”
“Hell, Reg, I didn’t know you went to college,” Jack said. His mood had changed dramatically. He seemed genuinely more relaxed. Up until they killed their two attackers, he had sensed that a problem still lurked.
“Thanks, Buddy.”
“Hey,” Jack said, “if your friend will let me sleep in a corner, out of the cold, I don’t care how you got to know him. I do not recall ever being this tired. I nearly took a nap waiting for that last bastard to make it back to his car.”
“Aren’t you about ready for a nice vacation? Once we get Kate, and complete this contract?” Reginald said, himself beginning to relax just a bit. “After all this is over, let’s see if we can’t find something in Hawaii. Actually, I think any place south of Newark would do for me right now.”
“I agree with that,” Jack replied, briefly allowing his mind to wander. “How far away is this friend of yours? Do you have to warn him?”
“Twenty minutes at the outside,” Reginald said. “No need to call, I have a key.”
“When are you gonna give me the details about this contract?” Jack asked. “And how does this relate to the fix Kate is in? Just give me the short version. Before someone else tries to kill us.”
“Okay, Jack,” Reginald said, after he had paused a moment, “Here goes. The fact is that I need your help in a very special way.”
“Special? All of the people who hire me consider my services to be special,” Jack replied. “So what makes this time different? And how do these guys holding Kate figure in?”

Chapter 38

2011-10-31T10:09:00.000-04:00

Chapter 38—Reginald finally discloses

the entire story

3:47 a.m., Monday, December 26

Reginald weighed his words, and then replied. “In every other job we’ve worked together, there has always been a specific target,” Reginald said. “Once we had eliminated that target, then the job was over. We collected our money, and went our own ways. This time we have a target, but this time our goal is to prevent that target from being killed.”
“Who the hell is going to pay us for that?” Jack asked.
“No one is going to knowingly pay us for not consummating the hit. We will be paid for the hit, the same as always—except substantially more.
“… But, instead of killing the target, we must see to it he lives. And the people who originally contracted us, they must be convinced that their best choice will be to make the whole thing go away. Once we pull that off, there will be no one motivated to come after us. They will accept the fact that they paid us not to fulfill the contract.”
“Well, that makes no sense to me,” Jack said.
“It’s very tricky,” Reginald explained. “But this is the gist of it. First I have to convince the conspirators that you are the best man to pull this job off—to make the actual hit. I’ve already explained to them that I was bringing in some very specialized help. So, they’re ready for someone exactly like you.
“Second, because this is a hugely high-profile job, with a lot of exposure, I insisted on cash up front. So, once I have the cash in hand, I start making the actual hit untenable.”
“How do you make that happen?” Jack asked. “… Once you’ve already been paid for it?”
“That’s where you come in, ”Reginald said. “I need to take you to meet the group. You are a very imposing, and very believable figure. We will take advantage of that reputation, and use it as leverage.”
“I think I follow you on that, but I don’t see how we get to walk away with the money, without doing the job,” Jack said.
“That’s where it gets convoluted,” Reginald said. “Perhaps ‘complicated’ is a better word.”
“You know I always like to keep it simple,” Jack said. “I don’t like complicated, and I’m not sure I even know the meaning of convoluted.”
“Your role in this is simple,” Reginald said. “All you have to do is just be yourself.”
“Well, ‘myself’ is beginning to think this whole mess is outta control,” Jack complained. “How many people have we already killed just to get to where we are? What is it now? Three. Have we killed three men? And what’s the point? I’m sure they needed killing, but I don’t think we are any closer to resolution. And I still don’t have Kate back. Then there was that beautiful girl—the one they killed in the coffee shop. She’s someone’s daughter, too.
“Reg, you are an old friend—an old trusted friend. But I’m not liking what you got me into this time. Right now I’m not feeling very good about all this.”
“In a sense,” Reginald replied, “it does all seem futile. Three dead guys on their end. Alex, and the girl on ours. Not planned. Not organized. The guys we killed had it coming—they were trying to kill us. And there might be more. We can’t know how many more will come after us. It is unlikely that those last two were working alone. Someone must have sent them. And that same someone knew where we were going. … Hopefully we have got ahead of this, at least for a while.
“We need to get some rest,” Reginald continued. “We are tired. Right now nothing seems like it makes sense. I understand that. But we have worked together many times through the years.
And I know you trust me just as much as I trust you. To this point, I have counted on that trust to be your incentive. But I am pretty sure that by now I have burned up all that capital.”
“I would agree with you on that,” Jack said. “It’s time for you to make some sense out of all this.”
“Try this on,” Reginald said. “The person we are going to save is the President of the United States.”
“I figured that,” Jack said. “But how difficult is it to just say no?”
“Not difficult at all,” Reginald agreed. “But if I would have refused this job, someone else would have taken it. I would have been eliminated. And this country would have an even bigger problem on its hands. We both know that we cannot afford the power vacuum an assassination would create. It could easily result in a revolution.
“The plan we developed was a logical one. Just as the group figured, the only way to move Al into the Oval Office is to assassinate the seated President. That would put the VP in, and he would appoint Al to replace him. If the whole thing could be blamed on the right, then Al would win in a landslide in the next presidential. And she would likely carry both houses with her.”
“That’s the whole plan?” Jack asked.
“That’s it,” Reginald said. “And, in theory it could work. You and I both would like to see Al and Bob back in the White House. But the big problem with it is that at best it could easily result in a revolution. … even worse—total anarchy.”
“Assassinations are never manageable,” Jack said. “This one would be no exception. But I would agree with you on one thing, I don’t think there is any way that Al can get in using any traditional methods.”
“That’s exactly right. I think if Al could run in a fair primary, or if Bob could run for a third term, either one of them could challenge the President, and quite probably beat him,” Reginald said. “But I just don’t think that’s gonna happen. Before Butler would allow a serious challenge, he would incite a mob, declare a national emergency, and postpone the election. I think that’s what Al fears should she mount a political challenge.
“If there were to be a vote next year, the conservatives would not only capture the Oval Office, they would take the Senate, then most likely control both houses.
That’s why a lot of us are convinced that there will be no election this time around. We look for chaos—anarchy. We think that’s what Butler and his backers want—to turn this country into a Venezuelan clone.”
“That’s why she concluded that Butler needed to disappear,” Jack said. “Unless there is an assassination, it does not bode well for Al.”
“Frankly,” Reginald said, “I am quite certain that she would be happy to eliminate anyone who might get between herself and the Oval Office. Just as long as she becomes President, that’s all that matters to her. And that’s all that matters to the other members of our group. At least that’s how it looks to me.”
“It would be revolution, wouldn’t it?” Jack said, after thinking about it for a moment. “If the President were to be assassinated, and the public thought it was some right-wing kook, half the country could be torched. Talk about nuclear holocaust, it could be just as devastating. It would rock the nation to its core. It might never recover.”
“Now you’ve got the picture,” Reginald said. “The ensuing chaos would be enormous. It could be a bloodbath. The military would have to be called in, regardless of posse comitatus. We could easily devolve into a military state. That’s what we are trying to avert.”
“What did your group determine the outcome would be if the President is neither challenged nor assassinated?” Jack asked.
“It would be hard to predict all the ramifications,” Reginald said. “But a few things are likely. For one thing, it would officially end Al’s hopes of being President. And that is totally unacceptable to her.
“Also, as I said before, if Butler is convinced that he would lose in a primary, or to the candidate of the other party in the general, then he would suspend the election. We think that this is where it’s headed.
“But the real bottom line here is this—Al believes she was robbed during the last presidential. So, whatever she has to do to get in, she feels justified in doing it. … To hell with the country—it’s all about her.”
“So,” Jack asked, “if we are able to put the kibosh on this assassination, the worst thing that is likely to happen is for a resurgence of conservatism? Is that what you are suggesting? Because, even if Butler does postpone elections, eventually the right will win the hearts of the people, and toss him out. Isn’t that the most likely scenario?”
“That’s how I see it,” Reginald said. “If all works out like I hope, I guess we will find out.”
“You are beginning to sound like a Republican, my friend,” Jack quipped.
“Far from it, Jack,” Reginald said. “I just fear what this country might look like after the assassination of this President.”
“I know that you are not alone in this. Besides Roger, who else are you working with?” Jack asked.
“Actually, until just a short time ago,” Reginald said, “the only one I knew about for sure was you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said. “I’ve never known you to be the Lone Ranger.”
“I’m in this over my head,” Reginald said. “The mere fact that Roger showed up tonight suggests there are some powerful people involved, with similar goals to ours. He would not talk to me much, but it is highly likely that there are some rogue CIA, or maybe not so rogue, working with him. I don’t know. I just know that he has support from somewhere.”
“Damn, this is complicated,” Jack said. “Or what was that big word you used, convoluted?”
“You’ve got no idea,” Reginald said. “Sometimes I get the feeling I’m in the middle of a stupid Mel Brooks movie.
“… The thing is, Jack, this whole plot is so big, it has attracted all sorts of international attention. For one thing, somehow the Israelis have found out about it. And they are doing their best to stop it. They don’t want a power vacuum either. They would rather have this guy as President, than to take a chance on seeing America implode. And that’s what they fear. So, they have got their little thing going too.
“Then we’ve got the Russians. They don’t mind seeing the US devolve, but they figure that right now they have more to gain by playing along with the current President. That’s who we were dealing with tonight, at least I think so. Remember that message you deciphered. The Russians stand to gain Alaska. All they have to do is back up our currency, and we give the Russians Alaska … after fifty years.
“I have seen no specific evidence, but I would not be surprised if the Chinese were somehow involved as well. At least behind the scene. They stand to gain Hawaii under similar terms. It is one big confused mess.”
“And we are all actually working toward the same end?” Jack asked. “The Russians, the Chinese and the Israelis? Roger and his buddies? Is that about right?”
“Right,” Reginald agreed. “In some weird sense, that’s just about right. But the Russians and the Israelis do not know what our goal is. As far as they are concerned, they think we are intent on killing the President.”
“Really!” Jack exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see what happens next. Do we have a game plan?”
“We do,” Reginald said. “If we don’t get killed first.”
“And what might that be?” Jack inquired. “And how do we still get paid? … We do get paid, right? You’re more altruistic than anyone I know, but you don’t work for free.”

Chapter 39

2011-10-31T10:08:00.000-04:00

Chapter 39—Reginald wins Jack’s support

4:31 a.m., Monday, December 26

Jack was not yet ready to put this situation to bed, even though that’s where he would like to have put his weary head.
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right,” Jack said. “We’ve got a plan. The Israelis have a plan—and theirs is different from ours.
“The Russians have a plan, too—or at least an agenda. They want to see this guy remain in office for another few years because they want to see their deal for Alaska go through. If this guy gets killed, that deal is off. And then there are the Chinese. They have a vested interest in how this turns out because they own the whole country. But they’re not satisfied—now they want the deed to it.
“And they all view us, you and me, as their enemy? Because they think we’re spearheading the assassination? Is that about how you see it?”
“That’s it,” Reginald said. “And the only one we really have to fear is Al. She is the most ruthless of all. If she had any notion of our intentions, we would be dead in a second, and someone else would be in here running with it. She will let nothing stand in her way.”
“So, that means that we’re getting paid for not killing the principal target,” Jack said. “We just have to kill off all those other guys who don’t know what we’re up to? And at the same time make Allison think we’re doing her bidding?”
“That’s just about right,” Reginald said. “Our main objective is to give every appearance of intent and preparation. But in the end turn, we the plot back on the plotters.”
“What are the chances of getting caught?” Jack asked. “I’m not liking the idea of having so many players. Who’s to say they keep quiet once this is over?”
“You do,” Reginald said.
“And how does that work?”
“You are the one person that I know who can pull this off. No one has the guts to buck you. They all know what you’re capable of.”
“And they’re right,” Jack agreed. “They had better be scared of me. I will certainly give them reason to be scared. Hell, I’m not liking this much at all. I really do not know if I trust any of them, except for you.”
“That’s why I want you to come to the next meeting,” Reginald said. “I want you to put the fear of God in them. You know, make a statement. Also, you will be able to scrutinize the situation, and see just who cannot be trusted to keep silent afterward.”
“When is this meeting?” Jack asked.
“Coming right up, Jack. Tuesday evening. I’ll pick you up for it.”
Jack did not have time to think much about the upcoming meeting, because his phone rang.

Chapter 40

2011-10-31T10:07:00.000-04:00

Chapter 40—Jack finally gets his marching orders

from the kidnapper

4:40 a.m., Monday, December 26

Jack looked at his phone, then back at Reginald.
“Handler here,” Jack said. His voice was strong and direct. He could assume a posture of confidence because, just as he explained to Reginald, he did have a plan to get Kate back. And that plan had nothing to do with his performing any of the deeds his protagonist was about to outline.
“You didn’t return to your hotel like we told you,” the man said.
“Put my daughter on,” Jack said. “I need to talk to her before we go any farther.”
“I’m giving the orders here …,” the man started to say.
“Put her on, or we’re done,” Jack interrupted.
“You will do as I say …”
That was all Jack heard, as he disconnected the call.
“What was that all about?” Reginald asked.
“I just hung up on him,” Jack said. “I’m going to talk to Kate before anything else happens.”
Twenty long seconds passed. Then the kidnapper called back.
“Kate,” Jack said.
“She’s coming, hang on,” the man said.
After about a minute, a weak voice came on the phone. “Dad?”
“Hi Babe,” Jack said. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m doing okay,” Kate answered.
Jack could tell by his daughter’s voice that she was actually doing pretty well. She sounded weak, and exhausted. But she did not strike him as being distraught. There followed immediately a rustling noise, as the kidnapper snatched the cell out of Kate’s hand.
“Put her back in the basement, and make sure she is secured,” the kidnapper told his partner. “And use some rope, those wire ties are cutting off circulation.”
That was great information for Jack to have. For one thing, he now knew exactly where in the building they were holding his daughter. And, because the kidnapper made a reference to a basement, that meant there was a pretty good chance that they had her in a house.
Another thing Jack learned was that they were concerned about her welfare. That did not mean that they would not kill her in a second, if doing so would serve their purpose, or if she no longer had value to them. But it did suggest to Jack that she would most likely be strong enough to participate in the escape.
“This is what we need you to do,” the kidnapper told Jack. “We need you to put an end to this assassination nonsense. We know that you and your friend have been contracted to assassinate the President of the United States. We know that. But you must see that this plot is stopped. And if you ever want to see your daughter again, you need to convince us that you have successfully put it to rest.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Jack said.
“Of course you don’t,” the kidnapper said. “But I am going to call you back on Tuesday night, at 10 p.m. You need to give me some assurance, at that time, that you have been successful. Do you understand me?”
“Tuesday’s no good,” Jack said. “I can’t get anything done by then. Hold on.” Jack placed his hand over the mouthpiece, and addressed Reginald. “Reg, I know I’m meeting the group with you on Tuesday, but when will the next meeting be? The one after that?”
“Thursday,” Reginald said. “I can make sure we meet again on the following Thursday.”
Jack then turned his attention back to the kidnapper. “Thursday at 10 p.m.,” he said. “Call me at ten on Thursday. I’ll have something for you then.”
“Why Thursday?” The kidnapper asked.
Jack did not respond to the question. Instead he simply said, “But you need to know ahead of time, we are not going to talk about anything unless you put Kate on first. I will expect to hear from her before anything.”
With that, Jack disconnected the kidnapper, and again looked over at Reginald. He stared at his friend for what seemed an uncomfortable length of time.
Finally he said, “We’re on.”

Solution to Puzzle 8:

2011-10-31T10:05:00.003-04:00

Solution to Puzzle Eight:
Clue: What made “no sense” to Jack?
Ciphertext: NUQC NTKF RSNO QAVA MSSD TSST QCAS BQNL HAFM CJFK KAIZ
Keyword: The Hit
Plaintext: Our goal is to prevent that target from being killed

Puzzle 9

2011-10-31T10:05:00.002-04:00

What did Sid’s truck look like?

Chapter 41

2011-10-31T10:05:00.000-04:00

Chapter 41—Reginald notified

2:00 p.m., Monday, December 26

Once back at Bernadette’s apartment, Allison sat down in her favorite chair to gather her thoughts. “I need to contact Reg today, and set up delivery of his payment,” she said aloud, and at the same time writing “Reg” on a sheet of paper she had brought over to the chair with her. She thought, “I wonder if I should set the time and place for delivery, or should I leave that up to Reg? Probably best if he determines that, because we are a little early, and he will have to establish the means to transport and store it. That will take time.”
“Can that be correct?” she said to herself, as she scribbled some numbers down on her piece of paper. “Could one hundred million actually weigh three ton? And that’s only if it is 24 karat—much of this gold is in the form of artifacts, and so weighs substantially more than pure gold. … There could easily be over four ton.”
Allison then took her cell phone and called Reginald. “Hi. … We are ready to deliver. We could arrange for it later today, or tomorrow morning. I would like this to be done before our next meeting. What do you suggest?”
“I really cannot do anything about it today. But tomorrow morning would be fine. Let me know when the truck is on the way, and I will direct it to the drop. Shall we say 7 a.m., west side of the city? South of 36th?”
“That works. Also, the meeting will be tomorrow evening—same place and time as the last one. I do not think it prudent to ever discuss this matter in front of the whole group. You should take your time checking it out. If you have questions or concerns, we will deal with them at a later time We should not talk about it until Wednesday. I’ll call you.”
“Right. See you tomorrow evening.”
As soon as she disconnected, she called Sid back. “The delivery is set for tomorrow morning at seven. You get the truck on the road, and I’ll let you know exactly where to drop it off. I do know that it will be in the city, on the west side—Midtown Manhattan.”
Sid wondered if he would need to get started earlier, but Allison assured him that a one-hour head start would be more than adequate. And she disconnected.
Allison realized that it would take Reginald’s people a fair amount of time to determine the actual value of the gold, given that much of it was not in the form of bullion. She was not concerned, however. For one thing, she knew the level of Sid’s commitment to get his job done perfectly. In fact, she was positive that Sid could accurately calculate the value of any given item in her vault. In cases where the gold content might be in doubt, Sid would intentionally undervalue that piece.
In the end, when Reginald’s people were finished evaluating the gold, she knew they would be pleased. The actual value would undoubtedly be closer to one hundred and five million dollars—five percent over expectations. Perhaps even more.
“You never try to cheat a hit man,” she said to herself again, smiling broadly.
“I had better get back and be Allison for a while,” she groaned, as she began changing back into Allison’s clothes. “My aides are going to be calling for a doctor before long. … Or the coroner.”

Chapter 42

2011-10-31T10:04:00.001-04:00

Chapter 42—The gold delivered

5:02 a.m., Tuesday, December 27

First thing on Tuesday morning, around 5 a.m., Reginald called Allison and told her he was ready to take delivery. “Shall I talk to you about it, or should I talk directly to the driver?” he asked.
“I’m going to have you talk directly to my guy,” she told him. “I’ll have him give you a call within ten minutes.”
“Sounds good.”
Allison then called Sid, getting the same female voice on his recording. “Please call my friend. He is ready to take delivery,” she said, giving him Reginald’s phone number. She then disconnected. She knew Sid would be waiting for her call, and that he would not delay in calling the number she had left him.
Just as planned, Sid immediately called Reginald. “I’m loaded and ready. Where and when would you like it?”
“I’m all set at my end. How long out are you from 29th and 10th?”
“I can be there by seven, maybe a little earlier, depending on morning traffic.”
“Let’s shoot for that. If it’s going to be later than seven, give me a call.”
“Okay. What am I looking for?” Sid asked. Sid would be making the delivery himself, by himself. Something this important could not be assigned to others, nor did he feel this job should even be shared by others. Sid knew that at this stage of an operation of this magnitude, too many things can go wrong. He knew he needed specific instructions for unloading the crates, and he was going to need help. He assumed that this would all be understood, but he wanted to make sure. “I will be coming by myself in a fourteen foot box. I’m going to need a dock and a forklift. … And some muscle.”
“I assumed that. What is it in?”
“Six wooden shipping crates, on three-foot pallets.”
“Will standard docking do?”
“Yes. I assume you will want to weigh and examine the merchandise. If I’m there at seven, I would like to be out before nine. Does that sound right to you?”
“Perfect. This is what you will look for.” Reginald gave Sid the address for a small warehouse on 29th Street, just west of Tenth Avenue.
“Remember that 29th runs west, so you will have to come in on 10th. Look for an Irish flag hanging over the door in the 500 block. That will be it.”
“That will work just fine. If I have any questions or problems, I’ll call you. I will give you a heads up ten minutes out.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Reginald responded. “And could you bring one extra pallet and empty crate?”
“I’ve got one of each on the truck,” Sid replied. He assumed that whoever was receiving the gold would want to weigh an empty pallet, and an empty crate, in order to get a general idea of the weight of the gold contained in the shipment. Sid knew better than to short ship. He knew beyond any doubt the weight and gold content of every item, and he made certain to provide greater than agreed upon value. He knew that the shipment would eventually be accurately scrutinized for value by a professional, there was no point in creating any sense of mistrust on delivery. Sid was wise in these matters.
Reginald was a pragmatist. He knew that even a fourteen-foot box truck could have a problem maneuvering 29th Street on a weekday morning. But, he also knew that the best time to make such a delivery would be right when all the businesses were receiving deliveries.
So, to make it all easier, he had his friends from the city ribbon off a section of the north side of 29th Street, and he had his own semi-truck drop off a short trailer at that location. This was an unusual trailer, in that it had a roll-up door at both ends, so that when detached from the tractor, it could be loaded or unloaded from either end.
Reginald’s plan was to have the delivery driver pull past his trailer, then back up to the front roll up. He would then drop a ramp between the delivery truck and his trailer.
This short trailer had one other special characteristic—an onboard overhead electric crane. This crane had an extendable track, which would allow Reginald to attach it to the roof of Sid’s truck. Using the crane he could then transport each pallet across the ramp, and onto a scale. He would then subtract the weight of the empty pallet and crate, thereby arriving at the approximate weight of each crate of gold.
While one of his people would roll the crane back to load another pallet, two of his men would transfer the gold into the empty crate, logging the individual pieces as they did.
Just as promised, Sid called Reginald to announce that he was on Tenth Avenue, and should be arriving within eight to ten minutes.
“Describe your truck,” Reginald said.
“It’s a white fourteen-foot Mack. Older. Very dirty. I will turn on my four-ways when I hit 29th.”
“That works,” Reginald said. He then attached a small Irish flag to the east end of the trailer, and with the help of one of his men, removed the yellow ribbon that had cordoned off the area to the west. He did leave the cones in place, to prevent someone else from challenging.
As Sid’s truck approached, Reginald’s men removed the cones and directed the docking maneuver. It was a tight fit, and it took several attempts, but Sid eventually backed his truck up to within inches of Reginald’s already-opened trailer. One of Reginald’s men then opened Sid’s roll up door, and directed Sid to back up tightly against the parked trailer.
Sid remained seated in his truck. None of the men ever used names. It was not a problem, they had all engaged in similar operations before.
Sid rolled down the window, and handed Reginald a list of each crate’s number and its contents. The men then positioned the ramp, engaged the crane, and the exchange began.
Sid recognized that Reginald and his men had no need of (and less desire for) his help. If they needed something from him, they would know where to find him.
When Sid had originally acquired the pieces for the Fulbrights, he attached labels to each listing weight and purity. So Reginald’s people simply logged those labels, knowing that everything would be more carefully examined later. All they were guarding against was a careless error. Had they known Sid, they would have realized that he was not capable of such.
After about an hour, Reginald came around to the passenger door of Sid’s truck, and let himself in. “Looks good on the surface,” he said to Sid. “But I am curious as to why so much of it is in pieces of art. I had anticipated more bullion.”
“The actual artistic value of that load could very well be double its gold value. It’s up to you how you choose to deal with it. None of the pieces appear on any lists. They can be bought and sold with impunity.”
“That’s interesting,” Reginald replied. “Understand, I am not complaining. I just had my assumptions. And if your numbers are correct, and my people suspect that they looked legitimate, you overpaid by nearly four percent.”
“At least,” Sid responded. “But that’s the way it should be, don’t you think?”
“That’s a lot of money,” Reginald said. “Are you looking for something?”
“Certainly not,” Sid replied, just slightly offended. “My client always requires that we make good on deals such as this. You will be very pleased when you get the final tally. You’re getting very good value.”
“Is this a good number to call you back on? If I need to reach you?” Reginald asked.
“No, there will be no reason to call me. If you have issues, you can deal with my client,” Sid told him. “I think we’re done here. Right?”
“We are. It was nice doing business with you,” Reginald said, as he let himself out of Sid’s truck.
“It was a pleasure,” Sid responded.
Neither man attempted to shake hands, as might have seemed customary—not when they first met, nor on parting. It never seems natural to offer a handshake while wearing latex gloves. As Reginald closed the passenger door behind him, he did offer a smile and a wave of his hand, and Sid responded in kind.
As he drove off, Sid called Allison and informed her that the delivery had successfully been accomplished in. He then removed the SIM card from his phone, and cut it into several pieces with a pair of wire cutters.
Before the end of the day, this fourteen-foot dirty Mack truck would be stripped and destroyed, and left in pieces at a greasy little chop shop in South Newark.

Chapter 43

2011-10-31T10:04:00.000-04:00

Chapter 43—The third meeting

5:49 p.m., Tuesday December 27

Just as at the second meeting, James arrived first, opened up the cottage, and aired it out. And, of course, he swept the entire area for bugs and transmitters.
Again, Allison was the second to arrive. Initially she started to remove the battery from her cell, then reconsidered, and just left it in her vehicle. Just as at previous meetings, James thoroughly wanded Allison. And, she in turn passed the wand over James entire torso, without a peep from the equipment in both cases.
“Jerry’s not going to be coming tonight,” he informed Allison.
“What!” she exclaimed, more angry than surprised. “What’s the deal with him?”
“He had a medical emergency,” James said. “His implant is acting up. Apparently he developed an infection, and had to be hospitalized.”
“When did he call you?” Allison asked, trying to determine whether or not she should be angry with James for not notifying her.
“Thirty minutes ago. He was at the hospital,” James replied. “It was weird. My phone rang, and it did not sound as though anyone was at the other end. Then, finally, Jerry answered. He said that he could not hear a thing, and that he was at the hospital having his equipment worked on. He apologized several times. He said something about an infection, and that he was running a high temperature. He asked me to go over business with him later, maybe tomorrow, if he gets out. Then he apologized one more time, and disconnected. He sounded very distressed, as though it might be serious.”
“Damn,” Allison said. “We have some very important business to conduct tonight. Jerry should be here.”
“Al,” James tried to console her, “Jerry’s on the same page with us. I know he is. And I promise I will stay on top of this. I will meet with him as soon as he is able, and feel him out. I will not provide him any information that I do not think he is ready for, just in case he balks. But I know Jerry, and I know he is good with it.”
“You and I will meet with him, when he is able. I just wish he could be here tonight. He is the only one that Steve really likes. Steve tolerates Reg, and he respects you and me. But he genuinely likes Jerry.” Allison paused for a moment, as she gathered her thoughts. “I agree with you that Jerry is into this thing with both feet. And that he is very loyal. But I’m going to miss him tonight, with Steve.”
“I know what you mean. I will make every effort be at the top of my game. Maybe I can take up the slack, when it comes to Steve.”
“We sure as hell cannot expect too much from Reg in that regard. I really think he hates Steve.”
“Not so much that, but Reg has a problem with gays. He’s always been that way.”
“Christ, Steve isn’t gay. He’s just not the sort of guy that Reg likes,” Allison said. “This is the deal with Steve and Reg. Steve is a media guy—the consummate talking head. Steve is masterful in his ability to spin. He can spin both sides of the same story, and be totally convincing. Reg, on the other hand, is Reg. When he locks is teeth into something, he is tenaciously myopic. He refuses to see the other side of anything. He just doesn’t trust Steve, and it makes his distrust and dislike more palatable if he blames it on Steve being gay. Steve sees through this, and he genuinely hates Reg. And I don’t think hate is too strong a word. We need Jerry to add a little levity to the whole thing. I don’t think you or I can do that. At least not like Jerry can.”
“I completely agree with you. I think I will surprise you tonight. I can be one hell of a funny guy.”
“Just pay some serious attention to whatever Steve contributes. And try to be a buffer between him and Reg.”
“I will do my best,” James responded. “I think you might be forgetting something here. Reg got paid earlier today. Right? He’s going to be on his best behavior tonight. That is one hell of a lot of money he’s going to have at his disposal. I’m sure a lot of it will work its way right into his pocket. He might surprise you a bit tonight.”
“Not exactly. He took delivery earlier today. But I think the net effect will not be just as you suggest. He’s got a lot on his mind—a lot of responsibility. Not to mention, a lot of my money. A hell of a lot. He is smart. He knows that he needs Steve to pull the whole plan off. He is well aware of Steve’s immense talent in that area. … But we might just see a different side of Reg tonight. I sure hope so.”
“It’ll work—I’ll make sure of it. … I’m pretty confident that we’re good—both with Jerry, and with Steve.”
“We’ll soon know, won’t we?”
Just then there was a knock on the door. “James, it’s Reg. And I’ve brought a friend.”
James looked over at the door, then back at Allison. “What is going on,” he said in Allison’s direction. She did not utter a word. Dumbfounded would have been an understatement.