The Einstein Papers

CHAPTER 23

Fatigued and feeling dejected, Taft and Martinez checked into the Four Seasons Hotel around ten that night. Though they were covered in grease and slime from searching the Deep Search, the front desk clerk handled their reservation request professionally.

"Would you like me to call a bellman for you?" the clerk asked with only a trace of indifference after handing them their keys.

Taft stared at the battered green carry-on bag at his feet that contained mainly dirty clothes. "I think we can handle our luggage," he said with a straight face. The men were both silent on the elevator ride up to their rooms. The elevator's arrival at their floor broke Taft's thoughts. "Looks like you're right here," he said to Martinez, pointing at a door. "I'm up the hall."

Martinez slid his key into the lock.

"I'll call you after a shower," Taft said as he made his way down the hall. Martinez nodded and opened the door to his room.

Taft walked wearily down the hall. Dropping his bag outside the door, he unlocked his room. A blast of cool air drifted over him as he entered. He tossed the bag on the bed and stripped off his filthy clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor. In the tile bathroom he quickly adjusted the shower to hot and climbed inside. The heat from the water, combined with the steam, began to relax him as he scrubbed himself clean. The shower was certainly helping, but he felt lonely, tired, and depressed. They had been so close to recovering whatever it was the Chinese were after he could feel it inside. Now he was unsure which way to proceed.

He tuned out his negative thoughts and concentrated. Taft was shampooing his hair when it hit him. He rinsed the remaining shampoo from his hair, shut off the shower, and climbed out. Drying himself with the towel, he walked out of the bathroom and picked up the phone. Surprisingly Martinez answered on the first ring. "They transferred whatever they found before the crash," Taft said before Martinez had a chance to speak.

"Great minds think alike," Martinez said. "I was just thinking the same thing."

"That means that whatever they recovered is still in Boston," Taft said.

"Let's get some sleep," Martinez said. "We'll hit it early tomorrow. I'll inform Benson."

"Find out if we know anything more about the Axial Groups involvement."

"Talk to you in the morning," Martinez said. Taft placed the receiver back in its cradle, lay back on the bed, and tried to watch a comedy show on television. After only a few minutes his eyelids grew heavy. Drifting into a fitful sleep brought about by exhaustion, he passed the night tossing and turning on top of the covers. Taft awoke naturally at five A.M., the television still playing. Standing naked in his room, he looked out the window at the city below. Bathed in the crisp autumn light of the new morning, it looked fresh and clean. No one but he and Martinez knew there was a cancer festering somewhere nearby.

Taft ordered breakfast from room service, then showered again. Dressed in his last set of clean clothes, a pair of khaki pants and a white polo shirt, he sat barefoot at the table, idly watching the morning news on the television.

A soft knock on the door signaled room service. He removed his handgun from the bag and placed it nearby, just to be safe, then let the waiter in. After signing the bill, he asked the waiter to notify the front desk to prepare their bill for checkout.

"Very good, sir," the waiter said as he palmed the ten-dollar bill Taft had handed him. Sitting at the hotel room table, he removed the stainless-steel covers from the plates, allowing the steam from the hot food to escape. Taft searched for the hot salsa he had ordered. Finding the ceramic cup, he poured the spicy mixture on the eggs. He dipped his toast points into the egg yolks and chewed quickly. He was ravenous and wasted no time downing the sausage, eggs, and home fries. He was spreading jam on the remaining piece of toast when the phone rang.

"It's show time," Martinez said. "Are you ready for the morning report?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Taft said as he worked his way over to the coffee pot and refilled his cup.

"The navy called. The commuter plane had an explosive device placed in the nose cone. It was a very sophisticated type, with an altitude-sensing detonator. That explosion was hardly an accident," Martinez noted. "I just got off the phone with the general. We are authorized to request assistance from any government agency we deem necessary. The president is in on this one. The powers-that-be want whatever was on that boat recovered, and they want it now." Martinez paused again. "We have to assume the bombing of the plane was their way of removing any witnesses."

"I agree. The Chinese have proved they're playing for high stakes," Taft said.

"Benson sent two guys to talk with one of the Axial Groups agents, some scumbag named Klamn. They shot him up with truth serum and he spilled what he knew, which wasn't much. Apparently he steered the Chinese to the location off Block Island by tracing a life ring. That appears to be the group s only involvement in this affair, at least as far as Klamn knew," Martinez noted.

"What did they do with Klamn when they were finished?" Taft asked. They did him at home while he was sleeping," Martinez said. "It all goes well he'll think it was all just a bad dream."

"That entire group is a bad dream," said Taft.

"True, now back to the business at hand. I had Phillips down at the office pull the records for the crew of the Deep Search from the airline computers. Next, I asked him to cross-check them with Boston hotel registrations. He found that the captain and first officer of the Deep Search stayed at the Royal Regent two nights ago. Let's check that out."

"Have you eaten?" Taft asked.

"We can pick up something on the way to the Royal Regent."

"Meet me at the elevator in five," Taft said.

"You got it," Martinez said.

Forty-one minutes later, Taft and Martinez arrived at the Royal Regent Hotel.

"We need to know if anyone visited the crew while they were staying here," Taft said to Martinez as they walked through the lobby. Walking to the front desk, he summoned the manager and flashed his Special Security Service badge.

"You had a guest by the name of…" Taft said, looking at the computer printout Martinez had given him,"… Holtz. He was registered through yesterday." The manager consulted his records and found the registration card. He reviewed the card. "Yes, I remember him now, a ship's captain," the manager stated. Taft nodded. "Did anyone visit Holtz while he was here?"

"I was gone for a few hours yesterday afternoon, but not while I was behind the desk," the manager replied.

"Could you check with whoever was on duty while you were gone?" Martinez asked.

"Certainly, one moment," the manager answered, walking into the back office. As they waited, Taft glanced around the hotel. Not part of a giant chain, the lobby was nicely decorated and discreetly furnished. It was the type of hotel someone would have to recommend.

Perfect for an afternoon tryst. Or as a place to hide out.

The manager returned with a desk clerk who smiled at Taft. "I was working the afternoon shift yesterday. A man asked for Holtz. I knew he didn't know the captain because he asked for Mr. Holtz. I'm sure you know how captains like to be called Captain," the desk clerk said eagerly. "Anyway, I directed him to the house phone and rang him through. Holtz must have given him the room number because he took the elevator up to the correct floor."

The desk clerk paused. Taft could see he was straining not to ask what this was all about. "A few minutes later he came down, and the doorman hailed him a cab. I remember it was around three because I went on my break right after that," he finished.

"Was the man carrying anything in his hands as he left?" Martinez asked.

"I don't remember, I was just finishing with a check-in." Then the clerks resolve finally broke: "What is this all about?" he blurted.

Taft smiled. He had known that the man was going to break. He had seen it coming.

"Sorry, I can't disclose that," Taft said seriously.

"What did the man look like?" Martinez asked.

"Around six foot tall. Black hair. He looked Asian," the clerk replied. "Not very friendly-looking — if that helps any."

"Thanks for the information," Taft said. "If you think of anything else, call this number." Taft handed the clerk a card, then he and Martinez walked to the cab stand to question the doorman.

"I wasn't on duty," the doorman said, "but we have a log book. Let me take a look." The doorman flipped through a cardboard-bound journal. "Just after three we had one pickup. The service was provided by Diamond Cab Company," the doorman said, scanning the prior days log. "Nothing else until ten of four." Taft and Martinez walked back inside the lobby to find a quiet place to call the cab company. Martinez dialed the number, identified himself, and questioned the dispatcher.

"We can't give out that information without a court order," the dispatcher said.

"That's your choice," Martinez said, "but in thirty minutes I can have fifty agents of the Immigration and Naturalization Service examining your records with a microscope," Martinez said firmly.

There was a short pause.

"Hang on," the dispatcher said, "let me find what you're looking for." Waiting on the open line, Martinez could clearly hear the cabbies talking sports in the background. He waited for several minutes.

"Okay, just after three there was a pickup at the Royal Regent. The driver dropped the person off at the Four Seasons. I gotta go now — we're real busy," the dispatcher managed to blurt out as he hung up on Martinez.

"Said he took the man to the Four Seasons," Martinez said to Taft. Taft laughed. "If we'd known that we could've slept in. Let's go." They drove back to the Four Seasons hotel.

Taft parked under the front awning. Quickly flashing his badge at the valet, he and Martinez strolled into the ornate lobby of the Four Seasons and headed directly for the front desk. The clerk was the same one who had checked them in the night before.

"Hello, Mr. Taft, Mr. Martinez. How may I help you?' the man asked politely. Martinez flashed his badge and said. "We're looking for a guest you have. Chinese man, six feet or so, black hair. Asian. Doesn't like to smile."

"Let me ask around," the clerk said.

Martinez glanced at the newspaper sitting on the counter as he waited. Taft wandered away from the desk. He watched as a bellman wheeled a cart past and then loaded its contents into a waiting cab. Taft looked around the lobby, slightly annoyed by the wait. The front desk clerk returned.

"We have a guest fitting that description in room 202, just above the pool deck," the clerk noted.

"Has he come to the desk to check out yet?" Taft asked.

"Check-out can also be done from the room using the television," the clerk noted as he punched commands into the computer. The clerk waited for the information to appear on the screen. "You're not going to believe this, but he's logged on right now."

"Send him a message he needs to come to the front desk," Martinez yelled.

"Give me a pass-card for the door," Taft said. Grabbing the card from the clerks hand, he raced away. "Larry, watch the elevator, I'm taking the stairs," Taft shouted over his shoulder.

As soon as the message to come to the front desk popped up on the television screen, Tsing felt uneasy. Paranoia was common to the Asian and giving in to it had so far kept him alive. Sliding open the glass door leading to the balcony, he climbed over the railing, then hanging from the lower rung, dropped to the pool deck. Three minutes later, when Taft burst into the room, the drapes bordering the sliding glass door were blowing in a slight breeze.

Tsing made his way through the service kitchen and out through a side door leading to the front of the hotel just as Taft came out of the stairway.

"You see anything, Larry?" he asked Martinez, who stood at the bank of elevators.

"Nothing, man," said Martinez. Taft's eyes swept through the lobby and beyond. Just outside the lobby, a man came around the building unwrapping a pack of Camel cigarettes. Taft watched as he quickly walked to the lead cab. Black hair, around six feet tall, he paused at the door of the cab and lit a cigarette, pinching the filter between his fingers. He was scowling and seemed to bark his instructions to the cabbie. And he was obviously Asian.

Taft walked through the lobby toward the front doors, still scanning the crowd. He moved slowly at first, then gained speed until he was trotting. He burst through the front doors just as the cab carrying Tsing was pulling away. Martinez stayed at the bank of elevators and lost sight of Taft in the mass of people.

Taft turned to the doorman. "Quick, I need a cab," he shouted. The doorman signaled one from the line farther down the asphalt drive.

"Tell the Hispanic man at the elevators that I'm following the target. He'll know what you mean," Taft shouted as he opened the door of the cab.

"Sir, I can't leave my station," the doorman said. Taft jumped into the cab and yelled back, "Well, find someone else to do it, then. Just get it done." Inside the cab the turban-clad cab driver swiveled in his seat and looked back.

"Hello, sir, where can I take you today?" he asked. "You're not going to believe this, but — follow that cab," Taft said.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting to hear those words," the cabbie shouted as he slid the car swiftly into gear and sped out of the hotel s driveway. Taft's cab followed several blocks behind the cab containing Tsing. They raced through traffic around the side of the harbor. The cab in the lead stayed ahead, but still in sight. As Taft's cab closed to within a block they were caught behind a stopped school bus. For the first time he lost sight of the other cab. Taft sat fuming in the back. "We're going to lose them," he said angrily. "Sorry, sir," the Indian said worriedly. But after a second's pause he shouted, "Wait, I have idea," and, grabbing the radio microphone, he said, "All cabs of Patek Cab Company, please follow the Diamond Cab going south on Hancock Road."

The radio erupted with cab drivers' voices.

"Okay, I'll follow," said a voice on the radio.

"Yeah, okay," a second voice shouted.

"I see him, he turned on the road to the train station. I'll follow him," said a third voice.

"Yep, I see him," said a fourth voice.

Nearly half a dozen cabs began trailing the Diamond Cab — so much for the idea of any secrecy. The subject of the chase sat in his cab smoking and looking out the window at the scenery, oblivious to the commotion. Arriving at the station just in time for his departure, he checked his bags with the porter at the rail siding and immediately boarded the waiting train.

The first cab driver arrived at the station and spotted the man leaving the Diamond Cab and getting on the train. He parked his cab and waited on the siding as the train conductor gave the boarding call.

Taft sat in the back of his cab, waiting behind the school bus. "Now," he said to his driver as the school bus retracted its stop sign.

Over the radio in Taft's cab one of the other drivers said, "He is at train station." The Indian driver grinned at Taft. "Wait until I tell my friends about this. This is like out of a movie." He laughed as he steered the Chevrolet toward the train station. The Chinese agent, Chou Tsing, was oblivious he was being followed. He settled himself comfortably in his seat on the train and began reading the magazine he had brought with him.

Taft's cab pulled into a parking spot in front of the station, and he jumped from the cab to see the train receding down the tracks. Racing back to his cab, Taft passed out money to the group of cabbies who had trailed the Diamond Cab.

"Do you know where the train tracks lead?" Taft shouted to his driver as the last cabbie was paid.

"Yes," the man said excitedly.

"Then follow the train," Taft said, climbing back into the cab.

"Sounds good," the Indian cab driver said as he roared away from the station. They were cruising down the road at a high rate of speed when Taft said, "Pull up to a pay phone — I have to make a call."

"Okay," the cabbie said as he slammed on the brakes and pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store.

Taft dialed Martinez's portable phone. "Larry, it's me. I'm calling from a pay phone. My cell phone is in your car," Taft said. "Did you get my message?"

"I did," Martinez said, still in the lobby of the hotel.

"I think the guy we're looking for is on an Amtrak train heading south."

"I'll try to intercept you with the rental car," Martinez said.

"I'm staying on this guy, no matter what," Taft said quickly.

"Go for it," Martinez agreed. "Listen, I'll try to reach Amtrak and have the train stopped. Be extremely cautious how you approach the suspect — if it's him we want those papers intact if at all possible. What's your plan?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. Find an atlas that lists the train route as well as roads or highways," Taft said.

"Hold on," Martinez said as he spoke to the clerk. "Here we go, the front desk has an atlas. What do you need?" Martinez asked.

"Where does the train go under Highway 3?" Taft asked.

"You planning on jumping, John?" Martinez said, his voice sounding surprised.

"That'll be twice in one week."

"Just like 'Perils of Pauline,'" Taft noted.

"There's a spot just outside Milton where the train has to slow for some curves — at least according to this map."

Taft wrote down the directions, reached through the open window of the cab, and marked them on the cabbie's map. "Take me here."

"You got it," the cabbie shouted.

"I'll call you when I can," Taft said to Martinez as he hung up the pay phone.

"I'm headed toward you," Martinez said into a now-dead phone line. As the cab carrying Taft raced toward Milton, they caught sight of the train. Little by little, the cab began to pull ahead. Racing down Highway 3, the driver began to panic.

"It's going to be close," he worried aloud.

Just outside Milton, Taft looked again at the cab driver's map, then gave him the final directions to the bridge. In the distance, the train was fast approaching. From his wallet Taft removed a hundred-dollar bill and handed it across the seat to the cabbie. "Good job."

"Thank you, sir," the cabbie said.

The train was starting under the bridge.

Taft leapt from the cab as it slid to a stop. He was standing next to the open side window of the cab, staring at the approaching train. He estimated the train was going no more than twenty-five miles an hour as it came around the curve. Carefully Taft began timing his jump.

"Wait," the cabbie said, "I have a receipt for you."

"That's okay," Taft said, rocking back and forth as he prepared for his jump.

"Okay, but sir, if I may ask — who are you?" the cab driver asked politely.

"My name is Pitt. Dirk Pitt," Taft said quickly.

Timing the train s speed one last time, Taft flung himself off the railroad bridge. Arms and legs outstretched, he flew through the air like a flying squirrel. He landed on top of the moving train with a heavy thud that knocked out his wind and brought tears to his eyes. The wind whipped at his clothes. It took several minutes for him to collect his thoughts.

"Twice in a week," Taft thought to himself as he caught his breath. "I might want to consider buying a ticket in the future."

"Dirk Pitt?" the cab driver said to himself as the train passed from sight. "That's an odd name."