The Eye of Moloch

Chapter 31

Anger was only one of several toxic emotions that his doctors had long since forbidden him to feel. When Aaron Doyle read and absorbed his latest morning dispatch, however, he had become so enraged that it took a private EMS team with a crash cart to rush to his aid and bring his fragile physical systems back under control.

Down a rarely traveled hallway a communications room was maintained for those unusual times when he was unable to take an urgent meeting face-to-face. With the doctors still hovering he ordered himself wheeled there. He needed answers, and he needed them immediately.

An assistant adjusted harsh white lights and brought the banks of televideo equipment out of standby. A test pattern lit up to fill the white wall, and soon the lines and bars flickered away and the face of Warren Landers appeared in their place. The man looked startled and disoriented, as though he’d been awakened from a sound sleep only moments before.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Doyle?” Landers said. The image pixelated and stuttered as the technicians sought to stabilize the secure connection, and the sound of the remote voice was slightly out of sync with the picture.

“Let me ask you,” Doyle said. “Do you understand my goals?” With a sharp motion of his hand he banished everyone from the room on his side of the conference call. As he continued, despite the oxygen flowing under his nose, his overtaxed lungs labored to deliver his words with the gravity he intended. “Do you understand what I’ve asked you to do for me, and why?”

“I believe so—”

“If you understand,” Doyle hissed, enunciating each word with as much acid as he could muster, “then tell me why the last torchbearer of the sad ideals of the American spirit, this Molly Ross, is now being contacted by a former co-conspirator who nearly spoiled all of my plans only last year, and who also happens to be the son of my right-hand man?”

Landers appeared to be confused by the question. “Mr. Gardner said that was what you wanted, to let them make contact so we could—”

“Did Mr. Gardner also say that I wanted an investigator on the case, a woman who’s apparently accountable to no one, who was trained as a peerless hunter-killer by the Central Intelligence Agency, whose zeal for seeking the truth is exceeded only by her nearly flawless record of actually finding it? Did he say I wanted that?”

“He did say that,” Landers said, “but it’s obvious now we’ve both been deceived. I take full responsibility. I’ll fix this.”

“No. I’ll fix it myself.” In all his years in this great endeavor, only twice before had Aaron Doyle come down from the mountain to take matters into his own able hands. This would be the third time, and hopefully the last. “I’m coming to New York immediately. I’ll be there by nightfall tomorrow.”

“What should I do before then?” Landers asked.

“Let your man George Pierce know we may need him for something major soon, but not yet. Let things proceed. And if my old friend Arthur wants to lay his own son’s head upon the altar as well, then all the better.” He leaned forward and spoke his final words clearly so his intent could not be missed. “And to that end, it’s time now to bid a permanent good-bye to Arthur Gardner.”

“Yes, sir,” Landers said, and he broke the connection.

With the call thus ended, Aaron Doyle rose from his chair and stood. His pains notwithstanding, he felt a new energy burning within him at the prospect of the days just ahead.

He walked to his study and sat down in his tall leather chair near the waiting chessboard, and then he addressed the identical but empty seat—William Merchant’s seat—on the other side.

“I see what you’ve tried to do, William,” Doyle said. “You’re trying to use my own pieces against me. But patience was never your strength, and I’m afraid you’ve acted rashly now and shown your hand a bit too soon. Truth, and love, and virtue, those were always your favorite weapons in this old war of ours.”

He leaned forward, and could almost see his old opponent seated in the opposite chair.

“But as you’ll remember, William, revenge is mine.”