Game Over (18 page)

“How come you guys are so quiet?” Jack asked as he fixed his gaze on Ted, Harry, and Espinosa.

“How about fear of the unknown, opposed to the tried, true, and familiar?” Ted said.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I always say,” Jack said.

“Yeah, I say that, too.” Bert guffawed.

The door to the conference room opened, and Hank Jellicoe, followed by a dumpy older lady in a bright red suit, entered the room. “Time is money, boys, so let's get right to it. Olive, meet my new boys, Bert Navarro, Jack Emery, Harry Wong, Ted Robinson, and Joe Espinosa. Boys, this is Olive Kramer. She comes highly recommended by Lizzie Fox. Lizzie, however, will be overseeing the final details of our little venture. I think it's safe to say, you're all in good hands. Olive is going to give you your contracts. Jack, Bert, you're both lawyers. Read over the contracts. Make sure you're happy with them. Any questions, ring the buzzer there on the wall. Olive and I have some other business to take care of. Your signing bonuses are in the envelopes attached to the last page of the contracts. When you're finished, give two short buzzes, and we'll do the cleanup.”

“Sixty fucking pages!” Jack said. “What the hell kind of contracts are these?”

“The kind where you sign your life away,” Bert said. “I'll take the first thirty pages. You take the last thirty. You know what to look for, and so do I.”

Ted, Harry, and Espinosa flipped through the thick contract, their eyes glazing over at the legalese in front of them. No one opened the envelope stapled to the last page. With nothing else to do, they all reached for the food in the middle of the conference table. Espinosa poured coffee for everyone, even Harry, who actually drank it.

An hour later, Bert looked at Jack and Jack looked at Bert. Both nodded.

“It's fair. No surprises. Flex your fingers, gentlemen, and sign your name to the last page,” Bert directed. “I think once you sign your name, it will be okay to open the envelope. However, do not sign the check until you are at the bank, with a bank officer.”

The only sound to be heard in the room was the faint scratching sound of pens as they flew across the pages. The sound of the envelopes ripping was thunderclap loud. The sound of five indrawn breaths was even louder.

“I never, ever saw a check made out for this amount of money,” Harry said. “Particularly one with my name on it.”

Bert reached out and pressed the buzzer on the wall twice. Olive what's-her-name and Jellicoe entered within seconds.

Olive scanned the back pages of all five contracts, nodded, and left the room, the five torn envelopes in her hand.

The men shook hands all around. There was no conversation, but Jellicoe pointed to a young woman carrying five very large manila envelopes. “Your insurance packets, car insurance info, life insurance, etc. I'll be e-mailing all of you thirty days from now. See ya,” he said, striding out of the room.

“I guess it's official, guys. We're now employees of Global Securities,” Jack said.

“Should we celebrate?” Espinosa asked.

“Yeah, we should, but not till
after
we hit the bank,” Ted said.

“How about this?” Jack asked. “We each go to our respective banks, then meet up at my house. I'll pick up some Chinese. How's that sound?”

The others agreed that it worked for them.

Outside, the boys separated, sappy grins on their faces.

J
ack Emery, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, parked his car outside Harry Wong's dojo. He walked around to the back of the building and let himself in. He felt tense, uncertain as to why Harry had called him. Then again, Harry never did anything without a reason. It was way too quiet for midmorning. Maybe Harry was meditating. Jack tried to make as little noise as possible, just in case. He didn't call out but entered the workout room as though he belonged or, at the very least, was coming for instruction.

Jack gaped, then he gawked, and then he swallowed hard as he tried to focus on what he was seeing, which was ten men of indeterminate age, all dressed in white martial arts garb, each with a wide black belt at the waist. Harry was dressed the same way.

He remembered what his mother used to say.
Jack, does the cat have your tongue?
In this case, the cat definitely did have his tongue. Instead of offering up a greeting, Jack bowed low. The men in front of him bowed, too, even Harry. Jack felt light-headed.

“What's up,
Kemo Sabe?
”

Jack finally found his tongue. “Not much, Harry. Just trying to acclimate myself to my new position in life. You going to introduce me or what?”

Harry grinned. “Jack, I want you to meet the ten deadliest men in the world.”

Jack nodded, his heart kicking up an extra beat as Harry rattled off names with too many
x'
s, which Jack would never remember or be able to pronounce. When he was finished, everyone bowed low.

One of the men, who looked to be about sixty years of age but was probably a hundred and ten, jabbered something as he jerked his head in Jack's direction. Harry jabbered back, then said in English, “He's my brother.” The men looked comically skeptical but nodded. Some of the men even smiled. They laughed outright when Harry told them that “his brother,” Jack, had a black belt, and that he himself had trained him, and that they were evenly matched. Show-off that he was, Jack bowed once more.

More jabbering at the speed of light.

“It's not polite to speak a foreign language in front of someone, especially when the person under discussion doesn't understand what's being said,” Jack huffed.

The old guy, whose skinny arms were like ropes, eyed Jack and said quietly, “Harry-san did not want to embarrass you, Jack-san. He told us you are his brother, that he would trust his life to you, that if he had to, he would die for you, even though you are not of his blood. He told us you are a learned man, versed in the law of your land, and that you do not take shit from anyone.” This was all said in impeccable English.

“You happy now, Jack?” Harry asked, a strange look on his face.

“Funny you should say that, Harry. I feel the same way about you.” To the others' delight, Jack bent down and kissed Harry on the cheek. He was airborne a second later, then landed with a thump on the mat.

The others crowded around, murmuring strange words. The old man held out a hand to pull Jack to his feet.

“You know I let him do that, right?” Jack said.

Solemn nods.

Jack turned to Harry. “I'm meeting up with the guys and heading to the mountain. Dress rehearsal for the big party. You coming, staying, what? I've been trying to call you, but you turned your cell off. That's why I'm really here. Plus, you called when I was in the shower, and when I tried to call you back, you weren't answering.”

Harry shrugged. “What do you want from me, Jack? I have ten of the most important people in the world right here. At least to me, they are. The last I heard, the rehearsal was two days away. I wanted to brief these guys on my own.”

“That makes sense, but how are
you
going to do that if
you
aren't briefed? Maybe you can set up a webcam or something if you're planning on staying here.”

“Surely you jest,” Harry said, favoring Jack with one of his ominous expressions.

“Yeah, I'm jesting. I don't know what to tell you, then. Jellicoe is going to be on the mountain, and he's got pictures of everything, maps, and he's in on the security that's going to be in place. I don't know how your guests are going to figure in on it.”

“We're all very adaptable. They're smart enough to figure out the good guys from the bad guys. I'll be there to point the way,” Harry said.

“What about Yoko?” Harry never missed a chance to be with his beloved.

“Yoko will understand.”

“So, where's everyone staying? You cooking, or do they live off weeds and that other crap you eat?”

Harry pointed to a neat pile of bedrolls in the far corner of the room. “Takeout,” he said. “And before you can ask, these guys came on their own dime, under their own power. You know that old Michael Jackson song ‘I'll Be There'? That's all it took, me calling their name, and here they are. By the same token, if they ever need me, I drop things on a dime, and I'm there. I'm just telling you this for future reference.”

A Brazilian by the name of Jaoa stepped forward and let loose with a string of something it was impossible to follow, but Harry seemed to be getting it all. “He wants to know if we want
el presidente
kidnapped. He would be honored, as would his colleagues, to do that for us.”

“Uh…maybe another time. Tell him I appreciate the offer, though.”

Another one of the ten stepped forward. He, too, rattled off a long question.

“Bomani stands for ‘mighty warrior',” said Harry. “He's from Malawi, and he wants to know what they're supposed to do with all the dead bodies.”

“Jesus Christ, Harry, what the hell did you tell those guys?” asked Jack.

The ten men standing in front of Jack burst out laughing.

“I told them you were a dumb shit and to yank your chain,” Harry replied. “They know exactly what's going on. They know what to do and how to do it. No one will be left standing, but that doesn't mean they won't rise to walk again. They will, but with difficulty. Anything else?”

Jack decided to quit while he was ahead. He bowed low and started toward the door.

Harry caught up with him and handed him a little enamel box. “Will you give this to Yoko?”

“Sure. No problem. Listen, Harry, about those guys back there. Which one can catch a bullet?” Jack asked fretfully.

His face more serious than Jack had ever seen it, Harry replied, “All of them.”

“You're full of shit, Harry.”

Harry's face grew even more serious. “No, Jack, I'm not.”

Jack believed him. “Listen, Harry, how about if I send over a guy I know who can set up a computer and webcam? I really want you to sit in on the meeting. This is just way too important to leave anything to chance. What do you say?”

“Okay, Jack. Make it for late this afternoon, though. Do not look inside the box. If you do, I'll have to kill you.”

“If you tell me what's in it, I won't have to peek.”

“It's a perfect pearl. It's what I want to have set into a ring for Yoko's engagement ring. I want her approval before I do it. My friend back there, Chin-Haex, whose name means ‘truth in the ocean depth', is from Korea. He goes all over the world to dive for pearls when he isn't practicing his art. He brought me the pearl. There is not another one like it in the whole world. Don't lose it, Jack.”

“I'll guard it with my life, Harry. And I won't open it. Who knew you were such a romantic, you dumb shit?”

Harry laughed and gave Jack a formal bow, which Jack returned.

“See ya,” said Jack.

“Yeah, see ya.”

 

Less than a mile away, Martine Connor was sitting down to a luncheon with five East Coast governors. After the luncheon, they would discuss highway issues for forty minutes, until she had to scurry to the West Wing to meet with the chairman of the Federal Reserve. She chatted, holding up her end of the conversation, but her mind was elsewhere. She thought about how quickly she'd reinstated Henry Jellicoe's clearance, which she'd ordered canceled. Her mind was also on Lizzie and what was going to go down on the premises three days from now.

The president was not unmindful of the morning headlines. She was also going to personally track all the reports pouring into the
Post
on possible pardons for the vigilantes. The
Post
predicted that if it were to happen, her approval rating would skyrocket to 85 percent. The thought made her giddy, especially since Henry Jellicoe had predicted the same thing, but his estimate had been that her approval rating would reach 90 percent.

So much for all those advisors she'd knuckled under to. Well, they were gone now, and there had been barely a mention of the mass exodus in the
Post
. In fact, the only thing she could find was on page seventeen. Her new advisors' names and résumés had been on page four, and as yet, she'd seen barely a ripple in the media. It was business as usual. At least for now.

Somehow she managed to smile and make appropriate comments to the governor of New York, who was sitting on her left. Later, she couldn't remember a thing that was said by anyone at the table. She shrugged. She could always go online to find out what she herself had said and, of course, to read through her guests' comments. Assuming that she cared enough to do so, of course. Since she didn't, this particular luncheon conversation would forever be a mystery.

In three days she would see Henry Jellicoe. Seventy-two hours. She turned to the right, to listen to the governor of New Jersey. She nodded to show she agreed that snowplows did indeed dig up the roads during the winter months.

The president looked down at the pink mess on her plate.
Why do they always serve poached salmon at these luncheons?
she wondered. She was relieved when her plate was taken away and a dessert of chocolate mousse in the shape of the Capitol was set in front of her. Coffee appeared. Once coffee was poured, she would have another fifteen minutes before the luncheon was over. She risked a quick glance at her watch. Knowing how she hated these luncheons, Martine knew that her press secretary would give her a signal, which meant she would stand up and say something like, “I hope you enjoyed this luncheon as much as I did.” Blah, blah, blah.

Two hours later the forty-fourth president of the United States made her way to her personal quarters, where she mixed herself a stiff drink. She debated a full minute before firing up a cigarette. As she puffed away, she made a promise to herself.
As soon as the vigilantes are safely on the road to getting on with their lives, I am going to quit smoking.
Henry Jellicoe had told her he would help her quit, because he had gone cold turkey and knew how hard it was to kick the nicotine habit. That was then; this was now. Still, she
was
going to quit whether Jellicoe was in her life or not.

Martine Connor's stomach clenched into a tight knot when she thought about what was going to go down in less than seventy-two hours. Perspiration beaded on her brow. How was it she could deal with a worldwide crisis and not break a sweat, but a simple matter of honoring a promise she'd made could throw her into such a state of panic? How?

She finished her drink in one long gulp. Her eyes started to water, and her throat burned, proof that she'd never be a serious drinker. She crushed out the cigarette, which she'd barely smoked, because of the guilt she felt. Finally, she couldn't stand it a moment longer. A second later she pulled her personal cell phone out of the pocket of her suit jacket. No calls. Her shoulders slumped. “Well, what did you expect?” she asked herself. “You refused to take Henry's calls, a dozen or more.”

She tried pep-talking herself out of acting like a sophomoric teenager instead of the president of the United States. Why didn't you just ask me to help you? I would have. But would I really have? And even if I would have, how could Hank have known that I would? I was prepared to betray Lizzie's trust, even if in the end she would gain from it, to avoid having to do what I had promised. The thought popped up from that wellspring of conscience, where she could not hide from herself, from the place that had finally enabled her to break with her advisors and do the right and honorable thing. And it softened the blow when she could not help thinking, instead,
You used me, made a fool out of me.

“Even presidents fall in love,” she whispered to herself.