Chimera (41 page)

Private security. Civilian contractors.
Mercenaries, to give them their proper name. Chapel had met plenty of those in
Afghanistan and had never had a high opinion of them—they weren't military but
liked pretending they were. Well, at least they'd be likely to know how to shoot
straight.

Not, apparently, that it would matter. Hollingshead
had been clear on that—the judge's security team wouldn't be enough. “Are they
ready for me to take over when I arrive?”

“Not quite. A man named Reinhard is the head of
security there, one of the private bodyguards. He sent me an itinerary. Once you
reach Denver and meet with the judge, they're going to move him to a safehouse
somewhere outside of the city. He'll turn over all authority to you once Hayes
is installed there.”

“Huh,” Chapel said. “That's a weird move. He'll be
vulnerable during the transfer. The chimera could attack his car.”

“I worried about that, too. Especially since we
know somebody is telling the chimeras where their targets are. I haven't
forgotten what happened at Stone Mountain. That probably explains why they won't
tell me the location of this safehouse.”

Chapel's eyes went wide. “So I can't know in
advance where I'll be protecting the judge.” He shook his head. “This has
catastrophe written all over it.”

And he was going to be the man who took the blame
if it went wrong.

IN TRANSIT: APRIL
14, T+52:10

Chapel sighed and sank back into his chair.
“I need to know about Franklin Hayes. He's a federal judge, I know that much.
He's supposed to become the next Supreme Court justice as well. Beyond that,
what's his story?”

“He worked for the CIA, you already know that,”
Angel replied. “He became a judge in 1994 in Denver—he was appointed by the
mayor of Denver to oversee a county court. In that position he would mostly have
heard cases relating to traffic citations and misdemeanors. It's not a very
glamorous position, but it was a stepping-stone for him, a way into the
judiciary. He worked his way up to the Colorado Supreme Court by 2003, and then
switched over to his current position as a federal judge. As for becoming a
Supreme Court justice, I'm not sure he'll make it.”

“No?” Chapel asked. “Every time they talk about him
on CNN or Fox News it sounds like he's a shoo-in.”

“The president's appointment went through just
fine, and the judge's record is squeaky clean. But he still has to get past the
Senate, and given the political situation right now, he's facing a pretty tough
confirmation hearing.”

“He's some kind of activist judge?” Chapel asked.
“Or is it the other side that doesn't like him—is he rabidly antiabortion or
something?”

Angel worked her keyboard for a while. “Nothing
like that, nothing that simple. He's a pretty solid moderate when it comes to
politics—which is a tough thing to be in these partisan times. It takes a really
slick judge to avoid ruffling everybody's feathers, but Hayes has managed to
avoid the usual pitfalls. Except once. His Achilles' heel is a single motion he
ruled on in 2002. It was a domestic terrorism case. The guy in question set fire
to a federal building, and three people inside burned to death. The federal
government wanted him remanded to the custody of the Justice Department—they
wanted to interrogate him and find out who he had worked with. Hayes threw out
the request on a minor technicality. The terrorist stayed in a state prison,
served out his term, and was released seven years later.”

“He did that in 2002?” Chapel frowned. “Back then
everyone in the country was still pretty gung ho about anything that even
resembled terrorism. It must have been an unpopular decision.”

“Worse still, Hayes refused to explain why he did
it.”

Chapel sat up straight. There was something in her
tone that had got his attention. “You think you know, though, don't you?”

“It could just be a coincidence. There's nothing
like real evidence here. But during the hearing, the terrorist claimed he should
be set free because he'd been given his orders by the CIA. Obviously, at the
time people thought he was crazy.”

“That is an interesting coincidence,” Chapel
agreed.

“It was just a minor scandal at the time, but now
it's coming back to bite him. There are senators on both sides of the aisle who
are muttering that Hayes is soft on terrorism.”

“So you think the Senate will refuse to confirm him
to the Supreme Court?” Chapel asked.

Angel clucked her tongue. “I'm not an expert,
Chapel. That's just my opinion. But a lot of pundits are starting to suggest it.
He looked great when he was first nominated, but now the buzz is against him.
And the current problem, the chimera problem, isn't helping him any.”

“What on earth does that have to do with his
confirmation?”

“Supreme Court nominees don't just sit back and
wait to hear if they've been accepted or not. They lobby hard to get the votes
they need like any other kind of politician. Hayes has a PAC working for him in
Washington. He's supposed to be there right now meeting with members of the
Senate Judiciary Committee, but instead he's locked up in his offices in his
courthouse.”

“No wonder he got so angry with me,” Chapel
said.

“He's not a good guy to mess with,” Angel told him.
“He's connected, at every level. I mean, the president likes him. They know each
other personally. And clearly he's still connected to the CIA through Director
Banks. Even just as a federal judge he has a lot of power to ruin your life if
he wants to. Chapel, when you meet this guy, if I were you I would lick his
boots. No, wait, he might not like that. You should ask him if you're
allowed
to lick his boots.”

“Maybe I'll just try saving his life,” Chapel
suggested. “See how he likes that.”

IN TRANSIT: APRIL
14, T+54:13

Chapel did finally manage to get some sleep,
after that. He put his head back on the seat and pulled a blanket over himself
and he was out like a light.

But he must have dreamed.

He would never remember the dream. But he would
remember waking up with one fact firmly in his mind, one thing that had nearly
escaped his conscious mind, but which his subconscious mind had carefully filed
away.

“Ellie,” he said, as his eyes opened.

Admiral Hollingshead had chastised Chapel for going
to talk to Eleanor Pechowski. Except he hadn't called her that. He'd called her
Ellie Pechowski.

She'd told Chapel to call her Ellie when he met
her. Probably she said that to everyone who met her. Which meant Rupert
Hollingshead knew Ellie, had at least made her acquaintance.

Maybe they were even friends. Chapel had wondered
why she was allowed to remain at large, knowing what she knew. Having as much
exposure to the virus as she must have had. Hollingshead must have been
protecting her this whole time.

She had told Chapel something else, as well. She'd
told him she'd been originally hired to work at Camp Putnam by a man in a
uniform. A captain in a navy uniform.

“Did you say something, Chapel?”

It was Angel's voice in his ear.

“Angel,” he said, “can you tell me something about
Admiral Hollingshead? Nothing secret. Just—when was he promoted to admiral?”

“I doubt he'd want me answering that,” she said,
“but . . . you could just Google it yourself, so, okay.” She worked
her keyboard for a moment. “It was after Operation Desert Storm, in 1991.”

Ellie had been recruited in 1990. Back then
Hollingshead would have been a captain. In the navy.

“Okay,” Chapel said. “Thanks.”

He settled back into the seat and closed his eyes
again.

In his head the pieces fit together, revealing more
of the picture.

IN TRANSIT: APRIL
14, T+55:21

The plane set down at Denver International
Airport and before it had even finished taxiing to the terminal, cars were
already moving on the tarmac, headed to meet them. There were three cars, all
black late-model sedans with tinted windows. Anybody who saw them would know
instantly they were full of security for some VIP.

When the cars reached the plane, a trio of men in
black suits and sunglasses poured out and took up defensive positions
surrounding the cars. Each of them carried a shotgun in plain sight. They made a
good show of tapping their ears and calling out status updates to each
other.

“They're not bothering with a low profile,” Chapel
said, as he and Julia watched the convoy approach. “That's probably a mistake. A
chimera on his own might not know what all this signifies. But the Voice
will.”

“You think that Quinn will attack during the
transfer,” Julia said, because he'd filled her in on what he'd learned of
Hayes's itinerary.

“I would, if I were trying to kill him. It's when
he's most at risk. But there are ways of avoiding that—or even using this kind
of display to our advantage. We could put the judge in a nondescript car, let
Quinn attack the security detail and then have the judge's car speed away in the
middle of things.” Chapel threw up his hands. “But it's not up to me. I don't
take charge of security until we reach this undisclosed location. I can't give
any orders until then, so I'll just have to play this straight.”

“I'll keep my eyes open,” Julia said.

“Ah.” Chapel turned away from the window and looked
at her face. “About that.”

Julia sighed. “You're not taking me with you, are
you?”

Chapel tried to pick his words very carefully, this
time. “No. I want you to stay here, on the plane. So you can be ready to get out
of here at a moment's notice. Chief Petty Officer Andrews is armed. I've already
spoken with her, before you woke up. She knows that the CIA may attempt to get
at you. Her orders are to try to get the plane out of here before they arrive—or
to defend the aircraft if anyone tries to board it.”

“Chapel—”

“You'll be safe here. This plane looks like a
normal corporate jet, but it's actually been uparmored. It's designed to resist
small-arms fire. I know that every time we separate something bad happens,
but—”

“Chapel, okay! I get it. You can't take me with you
this time.”

“It would be kind of hard to explain to the judge
what you're doing here. I can't really pass you off as my secretary.”

Julia rolled her eyes. “I said I get it. I'll stay
here.”

“You don't seem very happy about it,” he pointed
out. He'd expected that, of course. “I know you don't like being left in the
dark. The last time I left you behind . . . I can only say I'm sorry
about that. I promise this time is different.”

“It's not that,” Julia said.

“No?”

“No.” She reached over and put a hand on his cheek.
That he hadn't expected at all. “It's not that at all.”

“What happened to our professional arrangement?” he
asked, before he could stop himself.

“Chapel, for a guy whose job is to keep secrets,
sometimes you don't know when to shut up,” she said. He saw in her eyes then
that she was upset, definitely—but for once she was
not
upset with him.

“What's going on?” he asked, softly.

“It's what I see in your eyes. You're leaving me
here because you don't expect to come back, yourself.” She looked down at her
lap. “You think you're going to die here.”

“It's not like I want to,” he tried.

She pressed her face against his chest. “You could
just say no. You could quit. You could tell them all to fuck themselves and then
run away. We could run away.”

Chapel stroked her hair. For a while he just held
her.

Then he whispered, “No. No, I can't.”

That wasn't who he was.

She nodded against his chest. “Chapel. You go do
what you have to do. When you're done, I'll be here, waiting for you so we can
fly off on our next big adventure. Okay? I'll be right here.”

They waited together in silence while CPO Andrews
opened the hatch and readied the debarkation stairs.

DENVER
INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, COLORADO: APRIL 14, T+55:36

One of the black-suited men was waiting for
Chapel when he came down the jet's stairs. The security guard did not offer to
shake his hand. “Captain Chapel,” he said, in a flat voice, “welcome to Denver.
We're to take you directly to His Honor.”

“Sure,” Chapel said. “He's at the courthouse,
right?”

“My instructions are to take you to him,” the guard
said.

“Are you Reinhard?” Chapel asked.

“I'm just here to take you to him,” the guard
repeated.

“Fine.” Chapel walked over to the nearest car. The
guard at least held the door for him. “You've been given orders not to answer
any questions, right?”

“I've been given orders to escort you to His
Honor,” the guard told him.

After that Chapel kept his mouth shut.

The three cars headed out of the airport and up a
major highway toward the city. Outside the airport, broad fields cut by
irrigation ditches lay yellow and bedraggled in the sun. The sky was huge.
Chapel had been out west before, and should have known to expect it, but still
it was always a surprise. The flat land of the prairies meant you could see for
miles in every direction, and that made the sky just look bigger than it did
back east.

The effect wasn't diminished much even when the
cars rolled through a zone of strip malls and old box stores, auto parts
warehouses and colossal Laundromats, all of them looking dusty and worn. This
part of Denver had no trees, just broad roads laid out in a perfectly square
grid. The car rolled down Colfax Avenue, through a zone of strip clubs and bars,
and soon enough Chapel could see the city's handful of skyscrapers sticking up
from the flat ground ahead of them.