“You lied to them? About your own father?”
“I lied about my entire life to them, Dad. I’m not even using my real name.” Zoe didn’t expect her father to understand.
“What name are you using?”
“Drummond. I’d been using it for a while when I met Shelby.”
“Why were you using a phony name? What’s wrong with Alexander?”
“I told you. I was trying to get out of the life. I was going to school to be a CPA. The few thefts I did were just to pay my tuition.”
“You hate being a thief that much?” Her father looked genuinely hurt. Zoe knew he’d always thought being a thief was an honorable profession. He had his own code of honor that he lived and stole by. Her Aunt Phoebe had made sure that Zoe understood that stealing was wrong. And eventually, she’d realized that Zeke had really wanted a son to follow in his footsteps. She could steal better than almost anyone, but she couldn’t be his son.
“It just isn’t for me, Dad. Hey, what happened to that kid you were working with?”
Zeke wave a hand in dismissal. “He didn’t work out. No finesse.” He stood and walked to the sideboard that held a silver tea service. “What’s so bad about me? About your life?”
“Well, we could start with the fact that you’re a thief. Then we could add that you raised me to be a thief. Shelby used to be with the FSA and Paige used to be a cop. I don’t think they’d really want to work with someone whose father taught her that stealing other people’s stuff is an acceptable way to earn a living.” Zoe watched her father’s hand and saw the telltale tremble. The housekeeper, Agnes, had told her about the Parkinson’s her father had developed. So far, it was mild and didn’t affect his life very much. And he’d quit doing jobs, so at least she didn’t have to worry about him ending up in prison for the rest of his life.
“But you said you were a thief when you met this Parker woman. So, she knows you were stealing.” Zeke filled his tea cup. “You want some more tea?”
Zoe nodded and held her cup out while he filled it. “I made up a whole life for her. Told her I was an orphan, in and out of foster homes, learning to steal from some other thieves I met. And I really was going to school to become a CPA, so it looked like I was doing it to survive, like I didn’t have any other skills.”
“Not like your father used to be the best thief in the world?” Zeke asked.
“Exactly, Dad.”
“So, what do you do for these people?”
Zoe set her tea cup down and leaned back on the sofa. “Right now, I’m just doing paperwork. Keeping their books, taking phone calls. Stuff like that. But, Shelby’s training me to be an investigator.” She grinned at her father. “I’m pretty good at it too.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ll bet some of your thief skills come in handy, too.”
Zoe frowned at him. She wasn’t about to tell him that she’d used those very skills several times already. Besides, Shelby hadn’t been exactly thrilled about it.
“I have to get back to work, Dad. I’ve been here over a week already.” Zoe Drummond.
“And you’re not going to tell them your real story? Just going to keep using a phony name? Somehow that seems like you don’t have any respect for me.”
“It’s better this way Dad. There’s absolutely no reason they need to know that I’m the daughter of a master thief. Or that I used to be one myself.”
* * *
Shelby punched the conference button on her desk phone and picked up her coffee cup. “Hi, Ethan. Is this a social call?” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of coffee.
“Not exactly. I wanted to let you know that I’ve been reassigned to Langley for a while.”
“You’re working with the CIA?” Shelby asked. “Must be something pretty important.”
“It’s important, all right. And it’s bad news. The Dominion Order is up to something again.”
Zoe’s ears perked up at Ethan’s announcement. She kept her head bent over the pile of receipts she was logging, hoping Shelby would forget she was there.
“Crap. I thought you took care of them after that last nightmare we went through with them.”
“I thought I had. But they worked too fast for us. By the time we traced the money transfers, all the accounts had been closed. They managed to get to several of the Eastland executives and Order operative that we captured. When that happened, the others clammed up.”
“So, what are they up to now and why are you telling me?”
“First of all, I thought you and Paige and Zoe should know since you thwarted one of their operations. Not that I think they’ll bother trying to find you. They don’t seem interested in revenge,” Ethan said.
“What are they interested in now?” Shelby asked.
“I’m still trying to find out. We’re hearing rumors that they’re looking for a thief. And not just an ordinary burglar. It seems they want the best of the best.” Ethan’s sign was audible over the conference phone. “I just wish I knew why.”
“I’d think you need to find the thieves they’re looking for and keep an eye on them. Then if the Order contacts any of them, you could find out what they want to steal.”
“That was basically my thought, too. I’ve got Jeremy Barstow set up. He’ll pull a few high-end jobs under our supervision, then when the Order comes calling on him, we should be able to get the information.”
“Jeremy’s one of the best,” Shelby agreed.
“Barstow’s a hack, and if the Order knows anything, they won’t be interested in him,” Zoe said.
Shelby turned to Zoe. “Just because you used to be a two-bit thief doesn’t mean you know everything about the thief world. Jeremy worked with me on a mission once.”
“Then you were just lucky. Jeremy always worked with partners. He had the brains for setting up a job but he always blew it when it came to actually getting the goods. His partners were always the talent. But they didn’t get any of the credit and knowing Jeremy, probably not much of the profit either. And I wasn’t a two-bit thief.” Zoe clamped her lips together. She’d come close to revealing her real identity. And it was too bad that she couldn’t. She’d be perfect for what they wanted.
“Is Jeremy the only one you’ve got, Ethan?” Shelby asked.
“No, actually, I’m talking with Zeke Alexander. Now there’s a thief that would get their attention.”
“He can’t do it,” Zoe blurted.
“He says he can. And the man was the best thief in the world for years. Still is, as far as I can tell.”
“Why would he want to help you anyway?” Zoe asked.
“I don’t know. He said something about it being time for him to earn some respect. I’m just glad he’s considering it.”
Zoe felt like crying. Her father had suggested that she didn’t respect him and she hadn’t really done anything to tell him otherwise. She couldn’t let him do it. Not with the Parkinson’s.
“Zeke Alexander has Parkinson’s.”
“What?” Ethan asked.
“How could you possibly know that?” Shelby asked.
“Because I just saw him a few weeks ago. Zeke Alexander is my father.”
“Forrester.” Logan tucked the receiver between his ear and shoulder and continued typing a report that was already late.
“I have a message from your uncle.”
Every cell in Logan’s body went on alert. His uncle, Giovanni Castiglia, had disappeared three months earlier during a visit to his nephew. Logan still didn’t know what had happened. He’d left for work that morning after Giovanni had told him he was going to visit several museums. That afternoon, Giovanni had called Logan’s cell phone to tell him that he was returning to Italy. When Logan had questioned the abrupt end to his uncle’s visit, he’d been told to leave it alone. That he’d be in touch soon. Logan hadn’t heard from him since. It was as if the man had evaporated.
Since the death of Logan’s parents several years earlier, Giovanni was his only family. They visited each other every year or so, taking turns flying across the Atlantic. In between visits they called and emailed frequently. Logan had exhausted his resources in trying to find his uncle. Most of his resources. He hadn’t called the authorities. Partially because he knew they would just explain that there was no reason for alarm. Giovanni had told Logan he was leaving, and the eccentric physicist was known to go into hibernation when he was working. And because Logan knew that if he raised an alarm he’d probably lose his position at the National Security Agency. The NSA couldn’t allow a cryptanalyst to have access to national secrets if his only relative might have been abducted. Even when Giovanni had disappeared into his work, he’d always stayed in contact with Logan. Not this time.
“Take your cell phone outside. I’ll call you in ten minutes.” The caller disconnected.
Logan locked his computer, slipped his cell phone into his pants pocket and walked down the aisle. Minutes later, he walked past the security guards in the lobby of the National Security Agency building and out onto the sidewalk. He paced around the corner and waited, checking his watch. How had the man gotten his cell phone number? Two more minutes. Logan pulled his cell phone out and stared at the dark display. The phone chirped and he flipped it open. The caller ID showed only Private Number.
“Yes?”
“He wants you to know that he’s all right.”
“Where is he? I want to speak to him.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now. Trust that he is well cared for and will continue to be so. He has a request for you.”
“A request?”
“He wants you to join us.”
“Who are you?”
“You don’t need that information at this time. You will resign from the NSA immediately. We have need of your services for an indeterminate amount of time.”
The voice was smooth and unemotional. A bark of nervous laughter escaped Logan and he cleared his throat. “I can’t just leave my job.”
“Of course you can. And you will if you want to see your uncle again.”
Was this man really relaying a message from his uncle? Or was he delivering a veiled threat? Logan fought down the panic and pushed the confusion aside. There was no choice to be made, but could he buy some time?
“I’ll need to give two weeks notice.”
The man’s laughter rumbled in Logan’s ear.
“Oh, please. You’re a cryptanalyst. One of their best, we understand. The moment you give notice, the NSA will send a guard to watch you pack your belongings and then he’ll escort you to the door.”
Logan couldn’t argue with the voice. That was exactly what would happen.
“Meet me in the lobby of the Trump Tower in New York at eight tonight. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to come alone and to not alert the authorities.”
“Will my uncle be there?”
“You’ll recognize me by a red and black tie. It’s identical to the one you’re wearing.” The caller disconnected.
Logan looked down at his red and black striped tie. How the hell had the man known what tie he was wearing? It had been in his briefcase until he’d put it on for a meeting that morning. He looked at the street and parking lot but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He shook off the creepy feeling and closed his phone. His mind raced over a plan. He opened the phone again and punched in the number of an old college chum.
“Zach Hansen.”
“Hey, Zach. That offer of a job still stand?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. I’m all yours. If you still want me.”
“Hell, yes, I still want you.”
“I’ll need a few months to get everything in order here, but I’m leaving the NSA today.”
“Hot damn! I didn’t think I’d ever be able to lure you away from your spy job.” Zach laughed. “Hey, you aren’t in trouble there, are you? Selling national secrets or anything?”
“No, asshole. I’m just burned out on it. And your offer is pretty lucrative.” Logan laughed and hoped it didn’t sound forced. “Look, the NSA will probably call you. They investigate everyone who leaves. It’s no big deal, they’ll just ask if you’ve hired me.”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Great. I’ll call you in a couple of weeks. I’m going to take a vacation, then we’ll talk about what you’re paying me so much for.”
“See you soon, buddy.”
At his desk, Logan logged back onto his computer and started a message to his home email address. The few personal documents he had on his computer were sent, then deleted from his hard drive. He typed up his resignation and printed it out on the inkjet printer on his desk. Another email delivered all his notes about his current project to one of his co-workers. A phone call assured him that his supervisor would be available for the next hour.
He looked around his cubicle. His only personal belongings were a slightly wilted plant, a picture of his Uncle Giovanni and himself when he was about ten, and his coffee cup. He slipped the picture into his briefcase and tossed the cup and plant into his trash can.
The irony of the situation didn’t escape Logan. He lived in a world of spies. His job was to find ways to figure out what spies were saying on cell phones and in emails. There were others who found ways to keep what U.S. spies were saying on cell phones and in email a secret. The thought that someone had spied on him seemed ridiculous.
He closed his briefcase, slid the resignation into the outer pocket, and walked down the hall, stopping at the desk of his supervisor’s secretary.
“Hi Maxine.”
“I told Greg you were coming. He’s expecting you. You want some coffee? I’m getting a cup for him anyway.”
“Thanks, but I won’t be that long.” Logan pulled the single sheet of paper from the outer pocket of his briefcase, and opened the office door. He walked directly to Greg Sullivan’s desk and held out his resignation.
“Logan, what did you want to talk about?” Greg took the paper from him and scanned it. His face lost all expression for a moment, then he frowned and looked up at Logan. “No way. I don’t accept it.” He held the paper out to Logan.
“I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”
“Why? If you need some time off, we can arrange that. If you’re burned out on the job, we’ll move you to another position. We’ll work out the problem.”
“That’s not it.”
“I’ve accepted a position with Micro Technologies. As a software developer.”
“A software developer?” Greg turned away from the window.
“I majored in computer science. And I’ve kept my skill-set up to date since I’ve been with the NSA.” Logan resisted the impulse to shift his feet.
“You’ve been with the NSA for almost ten years, with the CIA for two years before that. You’re one of our best cryptologists. Are you sure you want to end your career with us?”
“I’ve enjoyed my work here. But I miss the software development.” He grinned at Greg. “And I won’t mind making that kind of money, either.”
“There’s more to job satisfaction than just money.”
“I know. I’ve thought this through and it’s what I want.”
Greg laid Logan’s resignation letter down, lining it up with the edge of his desk. “I guess there’s no talking you out of this?”
“No. But thanks for asking.” Logan allowed himself a smile. He and Greg had always been on friendly terms. He admired the man and respected his position. “My desk is clear. I’ve emailed Ron all my notes on my current project. He won’t have any problem seeing it through.”
Greg held his hands up. “I know when I’ve lost an argument.” He picked up the resignation letter. “I’ll put this through. But if you ever want to come back, just let me know. If you’re ready, I’ll walk you out.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Greg didn’t have to walk him out. He could have called the security guards to escort him to the front door and take his badge.
“Micro Technologies? I’ve read about them. Pretty impressive company. When will you start?”
“Not for a couple of months. I have to sell my condo here and get moved to Oregon. And I thought I’d take some vacation time.”
“Good plan.”
At the front door, Logan shook Greg’s hand, gave him the clip-on badge that allowed him entrance to the building, and turned his back on a satisfying and stellar career with the NSA. Within hours his network account at the NSA would be deactivated and an investigation would be started. At first the investigation would be intense, but as nothing was revealed, it would become routine. Eventually, a report would be sent to his supervisor and on to the Director of the NSA. It would state that there was no suspicious activity on his part. Nothing to worry about. He wasn’t concerned. He’d made sure there was nothing to cause them to look any further.
Logan pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on what he had to do before his meeting in less than eight hours with a man he didn’t know.
October 19, Iran
Rashid Fadhil Ali stood before the small mirror over the wash basin and lathered his cheeks and neck with aerosol foam. He scraped the razor over his skin carefully as this was a relatively new experience. Until recently, he’d never shaved his face, only trimming his beard and moustache to keep them neat.
At first he had cut himself often. Especially after the cosmetic surgery that had given his thirty-five year old face the loose skin and jowls of a much older man.
Of course, nowadays, more and more Muslim men were shaving. And there was an on-going controversy as to whether shaving was forbidden or only makruh, undesirable. If shaving was wrong, he believed Allah would forgive him. Because he did it only to become a better warrior against the infidels. It was a small price to pay for an afterlife in Paradise.
He finished shaving and splashed water on his face, then patted it dry with a towel. The next step would be laser treatments to create a receding hairline. He ran long slender fingers though his bushy hair. Smooth, supple hands that belied the aged look of his face. They were unadorned by jewelry, but he knew the ring had already been made. It was identical to the wedding band Chief Justice Isaac Jacobs still wore although his wife had died over a year ago. He pulled on a shirt and walked down the hall.
“Rashid.” Ziyad Al-Din greeted him when he entered the front room. “You are well?”
“Yes, Ziyad, very well indeed. And you?”
“The same.” Ziyad took a moment to examine Rashid’s face and head. “It is coming along nicely, although I believe we will have to use cosmetics to make you look as old as the infidel Jacobs.”
“We still have several months. Perhaps it will not be necessary, but if it is, I will learn how to apply them so that no one will even suspect I am not the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court.”
“Very good. You have been chosen for very special work for the glory of Allah.”
Rashid shook his head. “I am merely fortunate enough to look somewhat like this man.”
“Precisely. It is Allah’s will. Why else would the Chief Justice Jacobs look so much like you?”
“I am truly blessed by Allah.” Rashid smiled. “Are the plans coming together?”
“Oh, yes. Although we have other matters to attend to as well.” Ziyad frowned.
“You appear worried.” Rashid shook his head. “I do not know how you manage so many things at one time.”
“It is sometimes difficult, but we must all do what we are called to do.”
“There is a complication?”
“Not with your mission. That is going according to plan. But Mussad has brought another matter to our attention. A group that is bent on world domination much as the Americans are.”
“What? How is this possible?”
Ziyad waved his hand in dismissal. “We will handle it. They are just some upstart group that believes they can create a world order where they are the rulers. They call themselves The Order. Mussad’s father is one of them.”
“That is a terrible burden for Mussad to bear. To know that his own father is an infidel.”
“True.” Ziyad nodded. “Fortunately for him, his mother returned to the true belief and raised him as a good Muslim.”
“Allah trusts you to see that the world follows the word of the Prophet Mohammad.”
“There are many of us to do his calling. You are also one of them.”
“I give thanks that I have been chosen for such an honor. I pray to Allah that we are successful,” Rashid said. “Our biggest challenge will be to make the switch.”
“We are making the plans even now. It is only a matter of learning his ways, then we will find the perfect opportunity to take him and put you in his place.”
“How far in advance will we do this?”
“Not far.” Ziyad laughed and slapped Rashid’s shoulder. “We can’t put you in the position of actually sitting on the Supreme Court. Although there is a certain humor in that.”
Rashid smiled. He wouldn’t mind sitting in Isaac Jacob’s place. He could hand down some judgments that would sever the infidel Americans well. But that was not his destiny.
His destiny was much greater than that.
Drake Leatherman let his stubbled chin rest on his chest. His mouth hung open and a rivulet of saliva and blood trickled down his chin, but he didn’t move. As long as they thought he was still unconscious they’d leave him alone. At least for a few minutes. His shoulders ached from having his hands tied behind the back of the chair, and the six-inch gash they’d sliced into his arm burned. One eye was already swollen closed and he thought a couple of teeth were loose.
“How’s he doing?” Drake recognized the voice of Lt. Col. Robertson again. That stung more than the physical damage they’d inflicted. Hank Robertson had led the Marine Force Recon team that Drake had served on for seven years. What the hell was he doing with The Order?
“He’s not exactly cooperating.”
“I’m not surprised. He’s not your average agent,” Robertson said. “Might want to step it up a bit. I’ll be back soon.”
Drake could hear Robertson’s footsteps, then the faint swoosh of the door opening and closing. He brought up a mental picture of the room, trying to determine the best escape route if he got the chance. But the room boasted only one door and a single window too small to squeeze through. He hadn’t heard the click of a lock when Robertson left so at least that was a possibility.
“Yeah, I got something that’ll loosen his tongue. Rico, bring me that pipe.”
Drake heard the pipe clatter on the concrete floor and barely kept from reacting. How much more time could he buy before they started in on him again? Not that it mattered. In the end they’d just kill him. They’d killed the other agents. The best Drake could do was die without giving up any information. Unless they screwed up and gave him an opening.
One of the men kicked the leg of the chair he sat in. Drake cursed himself silently when his body jerked and his head lifted. He opened the eye that wasn’t completely swollen shut and looked at the man.
“Good. You’re awake.”
“I must have dozed off earlier,” Drake said. “How rude of me.”
The man laughed. “You got a smart mouth, you know?” He picked up the pipe from the floor.
Drake smiled, even though it made his swollen lip crack and bleed again. “Wish I could say the same for you.”
The man grunted and scowled at him. Good. Drake wanted to piss him off. An angry man made mistakes. And a mistake could be his ticket out.
“I don’t think you’re going to be laughing much longer.” The man took a knife from the table and hauled Drake to his feet.
Drake didn’t flinch when the man slipped the knife under his belt and cut through it. But when he sliced through his jeans and shorts, Drake’s heart beat faster, his breath came in short, shallow gasps, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths.
The man grabbed a handful of denim and cotton and ripped Drake’s pants away from his body. He pushed Drake back into the chair and looked at Rico. “Go get it.”
“Now?” Rico asked.
“I said to, didn’t I? And give me the pipe.”
“Sure, Mort.” Rico handed him the two-foot long pipe and moved to the back of the room.
Drake concentrated on his training and tried to ignore that Mort had exposed his crotch and he was defenseless with his hands tied behind him. Mort walked around the chair, slapping the pipe against his palm. He stopped in front of Drake and grimaced.
“Damn, I hate this part.”
Drake gritted his teeth when Mort reached down and lifted his penis. He could hardly swallow his mouth was so dry. Elevated blood pressure caused his staccato heartbeat to thrum in his ears and he forced himself to think. What were they doing? Cutting his dick off wouldn’t get them what they wanted. He’d pass out from the pain, then die from the blood loss. He felt a flash of relief. They weren’t going to castrate him. Probably.
Mort fitted one end of the pipe over Drake’s penis, then shoved it so the three inch wide pipe was pressed painfully against his pubic bone.
Sweat beaded on Drake’s scalp. He’d been trained to withstand torture. He knew what to do. How to think. How to get through it. But a silent scream of horror reverberated through him as he fought for equilibrium.
“Go ahead,” Mort said to Rico.
Rico stepped around from behind the chair. His heavily gloved hand held a large squirming rat by its tail. Drake inhaled sharply, then forced his mind to detach. He looked at the situation logically, refusing to allow any emotional reaction. Rico would drop the rat into the pipe. The rat would find his penis and start chewing on it. At some point, he would lose consciousness from the pain. Drake wasn’t a particularly religious man but he closed his eyes and prayed that he’d be dead before he woke up again. He felt the pipe move and his eyes flew open. The rat was halfway inside the pipe.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Drake jerked his head around at the sound of Robertson’s voice.
“You said to step it up a bit.” Mort shrugged. “This is how I step it up.”
“Put that thing away,” Robertson told Rico, then looked at Mort. “And get that pipe off him. When I said step it up, I didn’t mean for you to maim him.”
Drake watched as Rico moved to the back of the room where he’d left the rat’s cage and Mort and Robertson walked to the wall opposite the door. The door Robertson had left open. It wasn’t much of a chance. How far could he get with his hands tied behind his back? He didn’t even know how many guards he might run into or if he’d be able to get out without encountering doors that required security codes or keycards. But his will to survive clamored for him to take the chance.
Drake took a deep breath and blew it out. Robertson and Mort were still talking. Rico was trying to get the rat back into the cage. He wasn’t close enough to the door to try anything subtle. His only option was to make a run for it. It was a stupid idea. He’d never get away. There was no way he could run fast enough with his hands behind his back that they wouldn’t catch him.
Still, he was going to try. He might get lucky. Maybe he’d find a place to hide until he could get his hands free.
Drake pushed himself to his feet and ran toward the open door. He made it across the threshold and half a dozen strides down the hallway before the pipe slammed into his shoulder. He turned against the pain just in time to see Mort swing the pipe again. His last thought was that Mort moved really fast for such a big guy.
When Drake woke his feet were bound to the metal foot railing of a hospital bed; his wrists secured to the side rails. His jaw ached and he moved it cautiously and ran his tongue around his mouth, surprised that he wasn’t missing any teeth.
He tried to pull against the restraints, but his shoulder burned and his legs felt weak. Why were they keeping him alive? He opened his eyes to a narrow white room that contained only a chair and the bed he occupied. Lt. Col. Hank Robertson sat in the chair.
“They tell me that most men scream like an eight year old girl as soon as they see the rat.” Robertson shook his head. “You didn’t make a peep. Even when they put the rat in the pipe.”
“Yeah, well, I was trained by the best.” Drake tried to clear his mind. He didn’t know why he was even still alive, and wondered what Robertson had to do with it. Who the hell knew? He’d been sent in to spy on The Order. But his cover had been blown and then Robertson had shown up. He hadn’t seen the man since he’d left the Marines and nothing he knew about his former C.O. could explain his association with these people.
“You still think I’m the best after what you’ve been through here?” Robertson asked.
“Well, hell, you made Rico pull the rat out of the pipe before it got to me. I don’t know how much more a man could ask from his C.O.”
Robertson shook his head. “I had no idea they were doing that to you. I’d never have let them start if I had.”
“I appreciate that.” Drake watched Robertson stand and pace across the room. What the hell was his former C.O. doing with The Order?
Robertson turned at the sound of Drake’s voice. “You can trust me on that.” Robertson returned to the chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’ll tell you everything I can and then you can decide what you want to do.”
“Yes, sir.” Drake deliberately let his voice take on the cadence and tone of a Marine speaking to his C.O.
“I’m a member of a group. We’re working to make the world a better place.”
“Sounds like something you’d get involved with. I remember in the Corps, you were always talking about each of us having an obligation to make the world better.”
“This is different. I’ve been a member all my life, just like my father. And my grandfather. It’s something that’s been passed down in my family for generations, centuries.”
Drake kept his features passive. But Robertson wasn’t making any sense and his words confirmed Drake’s belief that the man had undergone some fundamental change over the past few years. And Drake was putting the emphasis on mental.
“I can’t tell you all of it. Besides, you wouldn’t understand anyway. But, these are good men. I know that’s probably a little hard for you to believe right now, considering your recent experience.”
“There is that,” Drake agreed.
“We’re called The Order. The leaders are men of vision. Of knowledge. And the time has come for us to help the world. To make a change. To make life better for every single person on the face of the earth.”
Drake watched Robertson in fascination. His former commander sounded like he’d found Jesus or something. Robertson’s eyes were lit with an inner fire as he talked, changing subjects frequently, rarely completing his thoughts.
Drake didn’t understand most of what Robertson said. But he knew brainwashing when he saw it. He was stunned that his former C.O. would succumb to brainwashing. The man had been his leader and his mentor when Drake was in the Marines Force Recon. Robertson had trained him to endure pain and discomfort far beyond what he’d ever thought possible. Drake had learned perseverance, loyalty, and dedication from this man.
“So, do you understand how important this is?” Robertson asked him. “How this new energy will help everyone? And there’s more than just the energy. A lot more. The Order will soon put an end to poverty and war. For the first time in history we’ll live in peace. Permanent peace.” Robertson smiled at him. “We could use your help, Leatherman.”
“Me? How could I help? It sounds like The Order has everything under control.” Drake knew he had to tread lightly. He focused on Robertson, trying to find a shred of the man he had known.
“The Order is very close to some discoveries that will change the world. But we aren’t quite there yet. And there are people, governments that would stop us.” He shook his head. “Sadly, our own government would stop us if they could.”
“Why would they want to stop you? I mean it sounds like The Order knows what it’s doing. Why would anyone not want an end to poverty and war?” Drake hoped Robertson believed he was buying this.
“The government is fucked up. You’ve known that since you were in Force Recon. I imagine you’ve seen even more evidence of it in the CIA.”
“You got that right. Bureaucracy, red tape, every decision made by a committee. I’m amazed they ever get anything done.”
“Exactly,” Robertson said. “And governments are always afraid someone else will take over because they know what a lousy job they’re doing.”
“And you really believe The Order can change everything? They can come up with this energy source? Stop poverty and war? That would really be something.”
“Absolutely. We’re close, Leatherman. Real close.”
“Then it’d be a shame if anyone stopped them.” Drake watched Robertson closely for any sign that he didn’t believe him. But Robertson nodded in agreement. Drake realized that his former C.O. believed him because he wanted to so much. Just another sign that Robertson had been thoroughly brainwashed.
“That’s where you come in.”
“Me? I don’t know what I could do.”
“The CIA is investigating us.” Robertson laughed. “Well, hell, you know that. They sent you here.”
“Yeah. The world works in strange ways doesn’t it? I mean who would have thought I’d run into you like this?”
“Yeah, it’s weird all right. But, we worked together real good back in the Marines.”
“Semper Fi.” Always Faithful.
“Semper Fi,” Robertson answered. “The Order wants to know what the CIA learns about us. We need someone inside who can get that information to us.”
“I see. And that’s where I come in?”
“That’s what I’d like to happen.”
“I don’t know. I’m not real comfortable with spying on my own country. I mean, I know the U.S. has some faults, but…” He almost held his breath waiting for Robertson to answer. He couldn’t appear too eager, but he needed to make Robertson think he was convinced. He knew for sure that his life depended on it.
“I understand and I wouldn’t expect any less of you. Hell, I’d be pissed if you caved.” Robertson stood and paced across the room again. “I’d never ask you to spy on our country. It’s not like that. The only thing I want you to do is let me know what the CIA discovers about us. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t believe it was in the best interest of America. In the best interest of the world. I believe in The Order. We’re doing the right thing for the world.”
“You make a strong argument, sir.”
“I’d like to fix this so you get back home.” Robertson opened the door and turned back to Drake. “Think about it tonight. We’ll talk again.”
Drake heard the dead bolt slide into place, then muffled voices from the other side of the door.
“You sure you can trust him?”
“I’m sure,” Robertson said. “But we don’t have to rely on that. We have someone in place who’ll let us know if he turns.”