Overfall

Thirty-one

Benoit called Jacques at the Kuching laboratory.

“So what’s happening?”

“I’m in the lab cleaning up spilled crap. Somebody got agarose and ethidium bromide all over the workbench and on the floor and didn’t clean it up.”

“You have people to do that.”

“Not in the wee hours. I still like to play in the lab. I’m cutting some plasmid.”

“So?”

“So if you really want to know, we are getting a better handle on the interaction between the amygdala and the thalamus. When a visual danger signal is processed, it goes to your thalamus. At that point the signal diverges and goes both through the cerebral cortex and directly to the amygdala. We have some information about the cascades and the feedback between the cortex and the amygdala that… well, let’s just say I think the fight on the roof would have gone better. We are getting some promoters for soldier profile that will knock your socks off. We already have the receptor coding sequence down pat.”

“Good, good. I need to know more. Gaudet wants to understand the science.”

“You don’t understand the science. Just tell him that.”

“Yeah, well, in the strict sense that’s right, but I know what you’ve told me. I know what I’ve seen. And he knows I’m not stupid. So I am going to have to give the basics.”

“We did that. He’s the one who first suggested putting the vector in Chellis.”

“He wants a little detail. He knows I know some of it.”

“Something about telling Gaudet even the general outline of the program bothers me.”

“I will be vague.”

“You won’t breathe a word about the soldier profile.”

“He knows we did something to those guys on the roof. He didn’t understand it but he heard enough to know.”

“Could have been a drug.”

“Look. I’m mostly going to explain all the legit stuff. Curing anxiety disorder, curing psychopaths. I told him how that research led to Jason and Samir.”

“You didn’t tell him the difference between Kuching and the other labs.”

“Just the most rudimentary basics of Nervous Flyer. No Soldier profiles. None of the new stuff. I said you do monkeys in Kuching and we do rats in France.”

“You didn’t even hint-”

“Will you relax? I didn’t. I won’t. I made it sound very preliminary.”

“Okay. I miss you. I want to see you.”

“Patience, my love.”

“And I want a crack at our beloved CEO. When I walk into the room I want him shaking in the corner like a poisoned rat, tongue out, eyes dried like little raisins, squinting, trying to remember a world that is no more and trying to escape a mind overrun with goblins.”

“Jacques, what did he ever do to you?” She laughed. “Don’t answer that. You will get your chance to fill his head with goblins. Soon. But don’t you think turning Chellis into Mother Teresa would be more of an accomplishment?”

“Too bad we can’t kill him.”

“Well, we can’t. The trust provides that Marie and I have control only as long as he lives. After that the lawyers and banks take over and we’ll be out on the street.”

“When do I get to see you again? You always screw and run.”

“Don’t be shallow. You know I love you. We just have to be patient.”

“It would be a lot easier to be patient if I could hold you in my arms, share wine, sit on the veranda every night.”

“Let’s not get into this on the phone.”

“No one is listening, for God’s sake. That scrambler thing…”

“Okay, Jacques… You know, I heard that the gal in your records department has taken up with your new neurologist.” She got him off onto office gossip, which he liked, particularly if it related to women and their lovers. It took about fifteen minutes to establish the connection with the man that she sought.

When she saw the phone light with another incoming call, she got off the line, wishing that Marie could help her with Jacques the way she helped with Chellis. It was Michelle, and she had a disagreeable tone in her voice.

“You know our talking like this is dangerous,” Michelle began.

“Did you get a chance to use the oil?” Benoit asked.

“Why?”

“It’s part of the deal, you don’t have to know why.”

“But if I knew why or what-”

“Did you do it?”

“Yes, and now he’s climbing the walls, he shakes, he won’t talk to me. It’s like he thinks he’s going to die or something.”

“Okay, you can give him the regular stuff later today. I will leave you a message when it’s time for the second rubdown. If you want to see your son, do it my way. Only eight more months and we’ll buy him. That’s the deal.”

Chellis came in and out, wanting news of Jason, and when there was no news he went to the gym to work out She was grateful he didn’t want sex. She was busy. Finally Gaudet called her back.

“I found him.”

“Good,” she said. “Here’s the plan…”

Anna told herself that it would be irrational for Sam to back out of the party. But here it was, 6:57 P.M., and she could imagine him at the office grinning.

She called him on his cell. “Where are you?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not tricking you from a tavern. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

At exactly 7:00 P.M. her doorbell rang and he appeared in her foyer. This was not Sam in the straw hat.

“Breathtaking.” She realized she was smiling too broadly. “Absolutely breathtaking.”

“You aren’t bad yourself,” Sam said. “But to the extent that I’m noteworthy, that is bad.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re my escort. You’re expected to be spectacular.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Don’t worry, the press coverage will be minimal. A couple of publicity shots. Nothing more.

“Let’s go. Before your worry puts a chill on the evening.” She gave him her arm and they walked past the Blue Hades to the waiting limo. She kept talking all the way there, partly out of guilt and partly to avoid more questions about the press.

When they arrived at the studio, it appeared that her press agent had said just a little too much. The journalists were stacked up like the shoe boxes in her closet.

As she slid over to the limo door, Sam asked, “Anna, did you set me up?”

Outside, she took Sam’s arm. To his credit he stood tall and took her through the crowd like John Wayne on a spring morning.

A wall of cameras sparked the night and blackened the sky, and they stepped through them like seraphs passing through diamonds. It was exactly the way she wanted it-upon reflection. Sam could just cope.

“Ho, ho, you nailed me,” he said.

“You like making me happy?” After they passed inside the studio, she turned to him. “Nobody knows who you are. And I intend to keep them in suspense.”

Sam nodded to her. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Slightly disconcerted at his departure, she moved forward, shaking hands and greeting people.

Anna had sprung a not-so-subtle trap. It amused Sam and troubled him at the same time, and that seemed to be the way with this woman, both on-screen and off. As he walked away from the throng of reporters, a short, aggressive fellow with a determined grip on his green steno pad stopped him.

“Anna is just stunning this evening,” the man said.

“Yes. Well, it’s not my job to notice. I’m just security. But her date is arriving by separate limo. Should be here any second.”

“No kidding. This is straight?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sam took an earpiece out of his inside coat pocket and popped it in his ear, leaving a tiny cord coiled back around his lapel. “Hey, I’ve got to run and check out the crowd.”

But the reporter was already busy telling the guy next to him that Anna’s beau would be arriving any second. Sam heard them guessing celebrity names. After nodding at a few cute girls, he grabbed a glass of sparkling water, gulped it down, and retired to the men’s room, where he took a couple of big drags on a Winston, then, not trusting himself, threw the pack in the garbage.

After a pass through some spectacular food, where he had some exceptional lox but skipped the bagel, he removed the earpiece and found Anna.

“Stick around,” she whispered, nearly gritting her teeth.

He nodded. “Do you have a confession you’d like to make?”

She hesitated, no doubt wondering if he was still bugging her calls. “I just mentioned it to the publicist. That’s all. I told her not to make a big deal.”

“Yes, I can see the press is oblivious.”

“You look so good in that.” She put a hand on his lapel. There was no question that she was letting everyone know what she and her hand thought about the tall guy in the tux. There were no press nearby.

“Be right back,” Sam said as a well-known producer approached.

Sam wandered deliberately through the crowd with his earpiece until Mr. Green Steno approached.

“So where is the boyfriend?”

Sam moved close, giving his best confidential cock of the head. “I can trust you not to reveal the source-right?”

“Absolutely.”

Sam put a doleful look in his eye. “The beau didn’t show.”

He’d planted a medium-sized, second-page headline in the morning news, the way he had it figured.

It turned out to be a big headline, but like a worthy adversary Anna played the good sport and refused to let him see her consternation. Sam wondered if he had made the right move.

He sat in the seat next to her; the eight men accompanying them had spread around the coach-class cabin of the 747.

“Coach is just fine,” Anna said.

“How long since you’ve even been on a commercial flight?” Sam asked.

“I would do it.”

Sam laughed.

“You know I’m fine with it You’re just trying to needle me, and it’s working. Now will you finally tell me who we’re meeting in Fiji?”

“Aussie. Real name is John Hammer. A retired CIA agent. He emigrated to the U.S. from Australia as a young man, became a citizen, and joined the government service. Pacific Rim specialist. When he retired, he integrated into Fijian society pretty successfully, for a white man.”

“I gather he’s good.”

“The best.”

“I want to check on Grady.”

“I already did. She’ll be safe with Spring. They’re staying with my cousin Kier. Nobody but nobody will find her, and if they do they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

“Well, I hope she’s okay. You know, mentally. How awful to be paralyzed and fully conscious.” She shuddered.

“I think that was the point. This guy gets his kicks watching people die by inches.”

“Will he go after Jason directly?”

“It’s you and me they want dead. I’m guessing that’s job one. And that’s not going to happen.”

“I appreciate everything you’re doing.”

“You’re welcome.”

They fell into silence. Sam was mildly surprised that Anna hadn’t asked him about the details of the plan. It seemed proof that the trust between them was near complete, despite their game-playing.

Aussie was managing the details, starting with the equipment, which had come to Fiji from Australia and New Zealand via Federal Express. They’d have plenty of weapons but only rubber bullets. Sam hoped it would be enough. This was to be a ploy, not a mass killing.

Each of the eight men had worked for Sam on more than one occasion. On the ground T.J. would give most of the orders, leaving Sam free to think and to modify the strategy for the mission as needed. Two men had come from Japan. Both did security work for the emperor’s family on special occasions, as well as providing protection for Western celebrities traveling in Japan. Both had been friends of Shohei and wanted to make things even. One of the men, Yodo, had been a student of Shohei’s. Three were English, outright mercenaries who had been in live combat on several occasions. The two Aussies had served in their government’s secret service. Sanford, an ex-linebacker from Florida State University who couldn’t stand the tedium of private detective work, had jumped at the chance to join one of Sam’s more exotic assignments. Also he had a promise of dinner with Sam and Anna. Already Anna had autographed her picture, and been corrected when she started writing it to Sandy, a name his friends used. Turned out that Sanford always wanted to be called by his full name.

“I think that’s good,” Anna had reassured him. “If you don’t feel like a Sandy, then insist on Sanford.” That advice and her grin obviously had made him feel like a new man.

Yodo sat behind Sam in the next row back. When Anna would rise he would always nod his head, and when she went to the rest room he was an ever-present shadow.

“He seems like all he does is watch. Does he ever read?”

“Yodo is fierce and loyal. He never relents and that’s why he’s protecting you.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Aren’t you fierce and loyal?”

“Do you want me standing outside the rest room when you pee?”

“Good point.”

If these men had anything in common, it was an unflappable disposition that allowed them to be rational and calculating when other more ordinary men would be distracted or shaken by serious fear. Each of these men had climbed Denali with Sam, and thus had contemplated their own death seriously on at least one occasion.

Sam had asked them not to talk about the details of the assault in front of Anna. Until she learned or demanded otherwise, the plan was for her to wait out of harm’s way while they snatched Jason Wade.

It took half an hour for Sam, Anna, and Yodo to get to the Fiji Air departure gate in Nadi that would take them to Taveuni. T.J. and the others would take later flights. Anna wore a hat, sunglasses, and a blond wig, at Sam’s suggestion.

The Fiji Air ticket counter attendant greeted them. “Bula.”

“Bula,” Sam replied. It was the universal greeting; everybody said bula to everybody all the time.

The agent took their tickets and produced boarding passes. “The departure gate is just down there.”

At the gate a man was saying their names loudly. “Sam Brown and Anna Brown, please.” He couldn’t pronounce Yodo’s last name, so Yodo nodded and the man nodded back.

It was an agent standing on the far side of the screening machines, motioning them through. Sam carried their luggage straight through the metal detector, while Anna paused. No one seemed to be performing any screening.

“Come, come, come,” the man called to Anna. She walked through the metal detector with her handbag, looking like a horse eying a suspicious bridge.

“Even after New York?” Anna said.

“About like it was last time I was here,” Sam said. “It’s only this way in the interisland flights. Going back to the States or practically anywhere outside Fiji, it’s the full pop.”

“I wonder what Fiji Air will be like,” she said.

“Like a horsedrawn airplane,” Sam said. “Manufactured near my birth and painted like a sixties flower-power Volkswagen bus.”

Sam’s description, based on prior experience, proved remarkably accurate. They climbed in and watched the pilot stow their luggage on the backseat. The plane accommodated about fifteen passengers. There were four including Yodo.

“Tourism has never recovered here. Aussies come. New Zealanders come. But since the war on terrorism any country that’s had a coup in the last five years gets little tourism from the U.S.”

As they sat, the pilot climbed into the plane. “Bula,” he said. “Fasten your seat belts and read the information card.”

“That was succinct,” Anna said.

“Are you ready for this, Mrs. Brown?”

“Remember, I’m one of those wives who didn’t take her husband’s last name.”

“Yeah, I got that. You were born Brown. It was just a coincidence that you married a Brown.”

“So I’m Anna Brown-Brown.”

“Well, if you wanna be. If you’re just Anna Brown I could have taken your last name, I guess.”

“So where are we meeting ‘Aussie’?”

“Upon arrival. You’ll like him. He’s good, too. He knows the chiefs.”

Anna’s look said she didn’t understand.

“Fiji is controlled by a group of chiefs. Each island has its own, and together they form what we would call a committee. Although the country has a president, he’d best not cross the chiefs or he’ll find himself deposed. Aussie has made it a point to know most of the chiefs, especially the more powerful ones.”

“I hope this works.”

“I won’t lie to you. It could be tough. We’ve rushed this a bit.”

“I know you’ve done the best you can.”

“These things take a lot of planning.” Neither said anything for a moment.

“You’ll be at the airport when this goes down.” Sam saw a new strain in her face as soon as he said it.

To his surprise, though, she didn’t argue, but watched the terrain as they flew away from Nadi. To their right was the high plateau country, to the south the Nandrau, and more northerly the Rairaimatuku. Falling away from the mountainous plateaus grew jungle; scattered villages and dirt roads led to the sea and the lush river valleys.

They passed over the Vatu-i-ra Channel barrier reefs and myriad coral heads showing almost white in the azure sea. When they arrived, the landing was steep and fast. Anna squeezed Sam’s arm until they stopped on the tiny runway. Beside it stood a terminal that looked like a 1950s-vintage American gas station. Behind the terminal a two4ane road ran parallel to the runway, and to the far side a loosely strung wire cable the diameter of a silver dollar ran through the palm trees.

“You see the line there in the trees?” Sam asked.

That’s the power line?” Anna asked.

“No. There is no power line. Everybody with electricity has a generator. That’s the phone line.”

“Just hanging from the palm trees?”

“Pretty quaint, isn’t it?”

“There’s a man,” Anna said.

“Crapola,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?”

“There are several men. You picked the right one out of the crowd. You noticed his good looks. His confidence.”

“That’s Aussie?”

“None other.”

Aussie smiled at them with teeth like a white-board fence. Yodo nodded and Aussie nodded back.

Sam shrugged at Aussie, feeling Anna’s shoulder against his, the warmth of it, the way she was familiar to him, like a woman on a date.

And he liked it.