Jezebel's Ladder (31 page)

“Damn drug dealers,” the nurse
swore as Talos drove away. Jez was beyond commenting.

When Talos reached the bunker, he
left his keys over the visor in the car he’d checked out from the motor pool.
He was relieved to see a face he recognized. It was a pudgy man with almost no
hair, but an amiable grin. “Spacely, you old dog.” The Jetson code names for
the NASA adjunct security team were an old joke.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,”
said the intelligence officer, nervously. “I’ve been hearing some ugly rumors.”

Talos came over to shake his hand.
“Yeah, people are dropping like flies around me today. I lost the laptop.”

Spacely looked surprised.
“Elevator’s over here. What happened to it?”

Talos walked ahead and pushed the
button. “Shot to pieces. It saved my life, though. I’m the only one left who
can testify to Congress.”

“Wow,” said the lead spook, drawing
his silenced pistol. “You’ve made my job easy.”

Puzzled, Talos turned around as the
other agent fired two rounds into his chest. Spacely located one of the guards.
“The terrorists sent another infiltration team. Help me dispose of the body.”

After Benny finished the phone call with his new wife, he
called his mother with the political request. As expected, there were strings.
“I want you to get married in our cathedral, full press coverage. I want you to
look like royalty,” his mother said.

“Uh…we kind of already eloped.
Someone already leaked it though Twitter.”

“I see.” There was a long pause.
“That accelerates matters. There’s a fundraiser dinner for the Republic party
at that big, new hotel tonight. You need to go there.”

“You want me to put in a word for
your husband? Get people to donate?”

“No,” she said. “I want you to get
off your ass and run for office. At least announce an exploratory committee.
The Democrats are weak in that district. I think you could win that seat in
your sleep.”

“Mom!”

“One call from me will net millions
for your coffers.”

“But I’m not interested in State
Congress.”

“I was talking about Washington,
Benjamin. I want to be one of the new Kennedys. My grandbabies are going to
meet world leaders.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I don’t know what you think I do
for a living, but I’m good at it. People in the party are already calling me a
kingmaker. In ten years, with some hard work and the right coaching, you could
have a chance at the presidency. You’re a natural.”

His gut twisted. “I can’t use my
talent like that, it wouldn’t be right.”

“Do you want your favor?”

“Yes.”

“Take the first step, that’s all I
ask. You can stop any time you like,” his mother assured him. He felt like
Faust being seduced by the devil.

He railed at the walls and cursed,
amusing the FBI agent who was channel-surfing. Eventually, because he had
promised Jez, he put his tuxedo back on. As he was dressing, Fortune called.
“Nobody is answering their phones!”

The billionaire told him about the
DNA cache needed to find Claudette. Benny soothed his feathers. “I’ll get the
packet myself and call the swami. He’s not as strong, but if she’s close to
where we last saw her, it won’t take long to triangulate.”

He fumbled with the tie as he
wandered into Jez’s office. Tan greeted him from the hall. “I thought you and
your bride would be sleeping on your side of the house.”

“I had to get something from her
safe,” Benny said, pulling Starlet’s DNA pouch out. “Could you do me a big
favor?”

Tan crossed his arms. “Why does
everybody start their conversations with that today?”

“Yeah, well if you hadn’t taken
Daniel to his love shack, I wouldn’t need to ask. Jez found a way to locate
Claudette. Give this to Swami Rama and drive him to the flophouse that burned
down. I have a feeling she needs a rescue. I’d go myself, but my wife and the
devil have other plans for me.”

“So I have the easy task,” Tan
noted.

“With a Fed chained to my ankle, I
have to ask a room full of pork bellies to help me bend the rules in Washington without lying, breaking national security, or signing away my soul.”

“Makes me nostalgic for grass
huts,” commented his friend.

“You and me both.”

****

Around 10:30 p.m., Tan strode into
a high-school chemistry classroom to join a growing crowd of spectators. There
was a giant periodic table displayed above the chalkboard. The swami led him to
the heart of the crowd of custodians and people setting up for a science fair.
Using materials like modeling clay, yardsticks, and Popsicle sticks, Claudette
was constructing an image from memory. The shape was an intricate, convoluted
nest of sixteen loops. The only complete whorl hurt his eyes to look at.
Someone in the group was videotaping the starlet’s efforts, and several others
took photos.

When he could tear his gaze away
from the bizarre sculpting efforts, Tan phoned Benny. “How is the devil?”

“Throwing a party. It’s like
fat-cat Christmas. Sharks, all of them. The House Committee on Science is the
agency responsible for investigating NASA problems. The chairman of that
committee is a Republican. He’ll do me a personal favor and back the story we
cooked up. In return, I have to put pressure on the weak Democratic seat. On
the news tomorrow, I have to announce my intent to launch an exploratory
committee to run for office.”

“Is that like sorority girls
getting pinned?” Tan asked.

The actor laughed. “They’d like to
do more than pin me. I keep telling these politicians the truth, and they
laugh. It’s surreal.”

Tan watched the actress build
another twisted arch. “Not as surreal as here. Tell Dirt Bag we found his wife.
She’s very active.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I think we’re going to need a lot
more Popsicle sticks.”

Benny left the political event
early and raced to the high school. As he arrived, he managed to reach Fortune
on the phone. Benny opened with, “Tan found your wife at an old school near
Virus’s place. We’re heading into the building now. Tell Jez I got
Congressional oversight on our side. That just means when she succeeds, they’ll
share the credit.” When he saw the sculpture, the actor blurted, “Holy shit.”

The FBI agent behind him echoed,
“What he said.”

Benny remembered he was on the
phone. “No, no, Elias, Claudette is unharmed, but infected by a page. Look,
everyone here is spooked because of the explosion downtown. I have no idea
what’s going on; we can’t reach Crusader, so I’ve ordered all our people into
lockdown, by the book.”

Fortune explained, “That’s because
the explosion
was
Crusader. Continue with the lockdown. This may be the
beginning of another offensive.”

“Yes, sir. We have guards on your
boy’s love shack, and I have to get back home. I promise I’ll take Claudette
along.”

Closing his phone, Benny turned to
Tan. “Is this model math of some sort? God, I wish Jez were here. She’d just
read for an hour and tell me what it is. I feel like my arms are in casts again
without her.”

The science teacher next to Benny
said, “I think it’s a Calabi Yau superstring. Remember the PBS special called
The Elegant Universe?”

“How do you spell that?” asked the
FBI agent.

“Don’t ask me,” said Tan.

Then, Benny tried to talk the
obsessed starlet into abandoning her project for the night. She didn’t budge
until he said, “This is much easier with the CAD programs that the planet
search fellows have. I’m sure Kyle Anderson could have his team show you how to
do this in their IMAX room with computer gloves much quicker.”

She put down the clay and walked
toward his car, not even wiping her brown-stained hands. To the crowd, he
announced, “This is what my science documentary team will be working on
tomorrow. Stay tuned to PBS for the next installment.”

He talked the cameraman into doing
a 360-degree walk around the shape from several angles, in case the shape was
damaged in transit. Without being told, Normandy confiscated the video and
called a clean-up crew.

Claudette wanted to go to the lab
that night. Benny said, “Why don’t we get you a clean set of clothes and some
food?”

After eating three meals worth of
Chinese at one sitting, Claudette collapsed in the car.

“How do you know how to handle
these nutcases so well?” asked Normandy.

“My wife does stuff like this all
the time. You just have to remind them they’re still human and the problem will
still be there tomorrow,” Benny said. In the back of his mind, he felt he had
lied to all the people at the fundraiser by not telling them about being a
killer. They put Claudette in Jez’s old bed, and put the usual cheat alarm on
the door in case she wandered out to do more work while normal people were
sleeping.

Despite the successes, Benny tossed
and turned all night.

The first person in the bunker to crack under the constant
pressure turned out to be the younger guard in sunglasses, who they lovingly
referred to as Mad Dog. At about three in the morning, when no one had come to
rescue them, he decided he wanted to escape. Mad Dog had a ball-peen hammer and
a weird look in his eyes, so they humored him. Joe just sat back and read the
newspaper.

Mad Dog’s master plan was to tear
apart the conference room for something heavy enough to pry open the elevator.
When the flurry of pounding stopped, he came out carrying a splintered
bookshelf and a small listening device.

Joe folded his paper neatly.
“Hellfire. Now we need to give our listeners something to take their mind off
of Brazil.” He took the shelf from Mad Dog and pried open the elevator. Both
guards stared up at the long climb. “When you and PJ get to the top, Wilkes and
I will create a diversion. You two take out the guard.” Joe handed the
programmer a Taser.

PJ kissed Amy for good luck. Again,
shivers.

“Wrap your hands with cloth strips
so you don’t burn them on the cables,” Joe suggested. Mad Dog nodded and
started slicing strips from his shirt using PJ’s confiscated Swiss Army knife.

Amy asked, “How would they burn
their hands? I see a ladder right there.”

Mad Dog seemed positively
enthusiastic about the prospect. “Climbing the ladder is the easy part. If they
start the elevator, we’ll only have a few seconds to slide down the cable. If
we’re not fast enough, the car will crush us. If we go too fast, our shinbones
will shoot through our asses when we hit. The trick is to brake a little with
your hands and shoes.”

PJ smiled and nodded, but when Mad
Dog turned away, he mouthed the word “lunatic” to everyone else.

Fortunately, the elevator was on
the floor above the parking level, so they’d be able to exit the shaft with
ease. As they braced for the climb, PJ confessed, “I keep picturing a disaster
where Mad Dog runs screaming into a barrage of Uzi fire while I fire the Taser
into my own foot.”

Joe shook his head. “Never happen.
The guy up there just has a Glock.”

After a long ascent and a brief
rest, the raid at the top was almost an anticlimax. All PJ had to do was figure
out how to open the elevator door from the inside. While Wilkes complained into
the intercom about projectile vomiting from eating the old K-rations, Mad Dog
crept up and knocked the lone guard out.

PJ found a black, multi-buttoned,
secure cell-phone unit and claimed it. As Mad Dog trussed up the guard with
coaxial cable and electrical tape, PJ used the intercom to let the others know
that the operation had been successful. He also reclaimed his Swiss Army knife.
Within minutes, they were all in the parking garage discussing strategy.

Amy said, “We’re going to find a
certain ex-president who was a nuclear engineer and see what he can do to help
Project Phoenix. Did Paulson leave any shred of evidence behind?”

Joe pondered that. “Nope, he even
took the tapes he made of the interrogations, but I pocketed the last one after
I played it for Mad Dog.” He held up a microcassette tape.

Wilkes handed PJ a stack of paper.
“These computer printouts aren’t going to convince anyone of anything except
that a satellite is crashing, but you’re welcome to them. I know where to get
more proof at the control center.”

Amy said, “PJ and I will get these
papers to the former president in Georgia. I think I know a way to get to him,
either through his favorite charity, the university, or his foundation. Joe,
you guys are our insurance. If someone gets us, you’ll need to hand that tape
over to a major news agency.”

Joe nodded and handed his suit
jacket to the programmer. “A man has to show respect to the
commander-in-chief.” He gave each of them his cell number. “Phone me every half
hour to let me know how you’re doing. I’ll try to call some law-enforcement
types in Washington and heat things up for the opposition.”

Joe took the fake ambulance. To be
inconspicuous, PJ chose an ancient, brown four-door with government plates. Wilkes
borrowed a small electric cart from its recharge cradle. PJ was fishing out the
wire-stripping attachment of his Swiss Army knife to hot-wire the sedan when
Amy found the keys behind the visor. He muttered, “Blast, that means you get to
drive again.”

****

By six Sunday morning, Amy and PJ
were waiting to board a commuter jet to Georgia. He dumped the stun gun in a
trashcan before passing through airport security. During the forty-minute wait,
he phoned Joe for a status report.

Joe was waiting for offices to
open, hiding in a parking garage. “I haven’t called anyone yet; I’m afraid I’ll
piss them off by calling this early. At last word, Wilkes was about to sneak
into the Cape tracking center and get us some fresh intelligence. Mad Dog has
the car and is searching Paulson’s local residence for clues. This Hardy Boys
shit is not in my job description.”

“Joe. Fifty-three hours. Try a
little harder.”

PJ disconnected and waited in
silence, terrified that some Fed was going to drag his butt back to a cell that
could too easily become a grave. He held Amy’s hand so tightly he was afraid
he’d left permanent marks.

When pre-boarding began, he checked
in with Joe again. “What now?” Joe snapped.

“PJ.”

“That time already?” Joe outlined
his plan for Wilkes to sabotage the data feed at the Cape to take out Paulson’s
eyes during the Brazilian launch. He also went on the offensive using Interpol
and the FBI. “There’s a Hong Kong bank account in Paulson’s name.”

“That’s not illegal, unless he’s
dodging taxes.”

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
If we can get any more dirt on him, Paulson could be stripped of authority by
the end of the day. Mad Dog had a run-in with a butler who caught him rummaging
through the study.”

“Is the Dog okay?”

“Just a scratch,” Joe replied. “But
the gloves are off now. Watch your ass. We don’t know who Paulson’s working
for, or if anyone else has the Icarus field.”

“Yeah, if we get out of this thing
in one piece, the last thing we need is a repeat performance in another six
months.”

****

At a quarter to eight, Amy was
filling out forms for a rental car and PJ was trying to get through to the
former president by phone. They couldn’t even get anyone to admit the former
President was at the plantation. PJ said, “Call CNN and ask about the press conference
on Project Phoenix. We’re driving to your location now. If the president’s
still not interested by the time we arrive, we’ll leave immediately.”

“Think we have a chance?” Amy
asked.

“If I hadn’t been on the scrambled
phone, they would’ve dismissed me as a crank.”

“Get Joe on the line. We need more
ammunition. I’ll drive,” she said, scooping the keys from the counter top.

Now that the sun was up, she got
her second wind and drove like her old self again. PJ talked to Joe between
honks. Joe said, “I have two pieces of news about your friend Nick. Wilkes read
the security report, and Cassavettis couldn’t have rigged the satellite. He
didn’t get onto the base until after it was already in the nose cone.
Cassavettis is now under the protection of Amnesty International. Your pal
filed a claim against the US government for use of torture. They have pictures
of the bruises and they’re doing a blood analysis on him right now. Someone
worked him over pretty thoroughly.”

PJ was stunned.

“Hello?” Joe said, searching for
some sign of a connection.

“It had to have happened after we
left him. Good God, did they punish Nick for talking to us, or did someone
follow us right to him?” Just when he thought it was impossible, his paranoia
jumped to a new level.

“Don’t blame yourself. Just keep
doing what you have been, Bunkie. Survive,” said Joe.

“Where’s the tape?”

“It was actually a computer-memory
thingy. I had the guy at a photocopy place send the files to your e-mail. The
good news is that the Brazilian military is now guarding their launch pad.
They’re behind this attempt 100 percent.”

“Joe, you’re an honest-to-God
hero,” PJ said. He felt they now had a fighting chance.

****

Still on the road half an hour
later, PJ checked in with Joe. “How are Crupkin and the gang doing on the drive
shaft Wilkes wanted?”

“They have the framework and the
telescopes on the shuttle. The Ice Nine rods will come from the International
Space Station. Evidently, they were doing experiments with compressed ice as a
construction material,” he explained.

“What about Wilkes?”

Joe finished with, “The less you
know, the less you can testify about.”

When they arrived at the
plantation, they were met by security men, searched, and escorted through a
side entrance. The mansion exterior was huge, stately, old, southern, and
exceedingly white. There were runner carpets going from room to room to avoid
wear and tear on the woodwork. The halls smelled of freshly-cut flowers and a
tantalizingly edible odor.

Amy haggled with an aide as he led
them to a sitting room. The aide insisted, “I’m not sure what you want from
him, madam. He has no real power in Washington any more.”

“There are fifty other people I
could turn to for influence. We came here because we needed a man of integrity
and science whom people would believe.”

A very old version of the man they
had watched on television as children walked into the room. “Thank you for your
high opinion, Ms. Reese. How can I help you?” His voice had grown gentler.

Amy introduced herself with a white
lie, claiming to still be Braithwaite’s assistant. After shaking hands, they
all took a seat. She told him about Senate worries around the Icarus project,
Nick turning whistle-blower, and his subsequent incarceration and torture. All
of this was a matter of record. Next, she introduced PJ as an ‘emergency
consultant’ recently brought in on the matter.

PJ handed the former president the
folded sheet of paper with the e-mail that had started this all. When the elder
statesman finished, he asked, “This has to do with Dr. Reuter’s work?”

PJ nodded. “You know him?”

“He was instrumental in developing
neutron technology. His goal was to create power plants that didn’t produce
harmful by-products. After Three Mile Island, I wish we had taken that route, but
Reuter left the team when the labs used his research in creating the neutron
bomb. I admired his skills as well as his conscience. He had a sweet wife, a
college employee as I recall.”

“Yes, Doris used to be a librarian.
She told me that she had given ten books to his prize pupil, Nick Cassavettis.
These books had Dr. Reuter’s unified field equations in them.” PJ suddenly
remembered the Einstein paperback in his pocket.

First he showed the equation notes
in the book’s margins and explained what he knew about it. Then PJ launched
into a detailed technical account of everything he had learned, guessed, or
proposed in the last three days. The former president interrupted several times
to ask detailed questions or to order phone calls made. The grand finale was
listening to the recording of Paulson’s evaluation. PJ winced at every curse
word on the poor-quality replay.

Over an hour later, Amy was asleep
on his arm and the former president was looking over the printouts again.

“Can you prove this to a Senate
oversight committee?” he asked.

PJ paused while trying to find a
diplomatic way to phrase this. “I think some of them already know. That’s why
they’re hiding in bomb shelters. Besides, who’s going to convene a committee
meeting on a Sunday? The organization we really need help with is NASA. We can
stall them a little, but eventually, they’re going to be in a position to stop
us. If they do that, none of us will get another chance.”

Although PJ felt a great relief at
unloading his burden, the man in front of him looked years older. The programmer
apologized, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring good news. If it helps, I think you did
the right thing in Panama.”

The elder statesman shook his head
in amusement. “You are an unusual man, Mr. Smith. What do you do for a living?”

Again, PJ struggled for diplomatic
words. “My last job was debugging secure computer networks and guessing what’s
wrong. It’s a black art, really. Normal systems are hard enough to unravel, but
secure systems try to hide all the information flow they can.”

Aides interrupted, demanding the
former president’s presence elsewhere. He shook PJ’s hand and rose to go. The
interview was at an end; the programmer’s fifteen minutes of fame had expired.
The president turned to say one last thing, “We’ll do all we can to help. Your
idea is a sound one. Whether it works or fails, life will never be the same for
anyone on this planet after today—all based on your choice. How does that make
you feel?”

PJ glanced down at Amy’s sleeping
form. “It’s not about me. It’s about her, her children, and the billions of
other people who deserve a chance at a day after tomorrow. But now that you
ask—scared. What if I didn’t guess right?”

The man from Georgia nodded sagely and left him alone to think. He tied himself in knots; first fretting, then
praying, hoping for a sign that everything would be all right. His sign came in
the form of a plump, African-American cook carrying a plate of warm corn bread
and a pitcher of cold milk.

When Amy awoke, he was still
snacking. “This stuff is great. Try it.”

She stretched and smiled. “You’re
male. Is that all you ever think of?”

He grinned like a fool. “Well I
thought about other things, but they don’t have any army blankets around here.”

“Pervert,” she whispered, pushing
his shoulder. She spotted a mantel clock and blinked slowly as if doing so
hurt. “3:00 p.m. What about Joe?”