Luthecker (20 page)

The telephone in the center of the table beeped an electronic tone, and Stephens hit the speaker.

“Good morning, gentlemen. Are we all here?” Brown’s voice echoed from the box.

“Good morning Mr. Brown.” Stephens answered for the group. “Indeed we all are.”

“Good morning Mr. Brown. Vincent Wolfe here.”

“This is Marcus Stern. Nice to officially meet you sir.”

“Great. Lets get started then. First, I want to congratulate you for finding a target that has eluded us for three years.”

“Pardon me for interrupting sir, but we failed to secure the target. We let him slip us sir, and I want to apologize for that personally. That was on me. I am more than willing to forfeit my bonus.” Stern interjected.

Wolfe looked at Stern, as he silently mouthed the words, “What are you doing?”

“I appreciate the assumption of responsibility, Mr. Stern, and I am aware of the failure. There were considerable strategic errors on both yours and Mr. Wolfe’s part that evening. Normally that would cost you both your jobs, but Luthecker is a unique target, and I want to limit the exposure to as few assets as possible. I trust you will no longer question the threat he poses and that these errors will not happen again?

“They will not, sir.” Wolfe replied.

“Good. Now, I want to make a few things clear. First, now that we know Luthecker’s general proximity, it won’t be long before we locate him. I brought Mr. Stephens and his intelligence team on board to assure this. Next, it is imperative that when Luthecker is found, he is to be brought in unharmed, and I want you two to do it. You will liaise through Director Stephens for reconnaissance but you will report directly to me on your progress. Director Stephens facility is equipped to detain the target, so when you have confirmed his capture, your mission is complete and only complete when he has been delivered where you are now, at Coalition West Properties. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir.” Both agents spoke in unison.

“Good. As you know, he is traveling with three companions, and what happens to them is irrelevant; however, I believe that the best strategy is that we leverage them in order to gain Mr. Luthecker’s cooperation. Eliminating them would not move us closer to our goal.”

“Understood, sir.” Wolfe responded.

“I have a question sir. What exactly did the target do that makes him so dangerous? What exactly are we being “exposed to” sir?” Stern asked.

“The details of Luthecker’s file are classified. The only thing you need to do, Mr. Stern, is to bring him in unharmed after we locate him. Any bonus monies, not to mention any continued employment by Coalition Assurance or anyone else for that matter, are dependent upon you making no mistakes this time. Is that in any way unclear?”

“No sir. We will not fail you, sir.” Stern replied.

“I expect you gentlemen to stay at your post on Coalition Property until the target is located, and for you to be ready to move on him immediately when he is found. Are there any further questions?” Brown asked, the tone of the question clearly indicating he wanted no more questions.

“No more questions, sir. We’ll be ready.” Wolfe replied.

“Excellent. I look forward to wrapping this up shortly. And then perhaps you gentlemen can take a well deserved vacation.” Brown concluded, and the line went dead.

TRUST

Y
aw looked over at Camila, her legs curled up onto the passenger seat of the van, arms bent under her head and resting against the window. She snored softly, fast asleep, and he smiled, charmed at the sight of her. She was exhausted, and was out cold before they had even reached the Los Angeles County line. They all were exhausted from lack of rest, and Yaw himself currently fought to stay awake. He used the discipline from his training to keep from dozing off, focusing on the drive, his eyes locked on Chris and Alex’ Prelude that sped along several car lengths in front of him.

The first rest stop was planned in the town of Blythe, in Riverside County, on the California / Arizona border. It was just under four hours and two hundred and thirty miles from their origin, and now lay less than half an hour away. It was there that they would switch positions with Camila taking the wheel, where she would drive the remaining one hundred and seventy miles to Snaketown, giving Yaw a chance to nap.

He had spent the mental time of the journey thinking about the strange paradox that was his friend Alex. More specifically, he couldn’t stop thinking about what Alex had revealed to him about his older brother. More disturbing than the fact that he had mysteriously laid out Yaw’s past for all to see, was the fact that he was dead to rights about one particular element that he had never admitted to anyone: Yaw always knew his older brother was going to end up either dead or in jail. James Chinomso was never going to change; it wouldn’t have mattered what anyone had said to him. Yaw knew this, because he had tried and failed on countless occasions to get his brother to alter his path, as did their father. In the end it never mattered. At times it was almost as if James, or “Jimmy” as his friends called him, knew that this would be his end as well. Was his fate truly set? Yaw had wondered. Alex’s words had torn all of those emotional wounds open once again. Was this how his friend and training mate saw the whole world? As a series of human inevitabilities, one after another? Yaw knew that a person’s destiny was set in motion by their choices, but was their fate truly visible by the patterns of their lives? Yaw had actually witnessed it to a small degree with his older brother. But was it really true for everyone, if you just had the capacity to see all the details, as Alex alleged he could? If so, where was choice? And could you change your fate? Yaw had always believed that you could, but now he was beginning to doubt. And how did the patterns of the Universe fit into it? What had Alex called it? The “momentum?” There were so many questions he wanted to ask.

“I gotta pee.” Camila mumbled as she shifted to a more comfortable ball-shaped position on the passenger seat. “When we gonna stop.” She continued, her voice almost a dream-blurb, her eyes remaining closed the whole time.

“We’re about ten minutes out. Can you hold?”

Camila grunted affirmative as she remained huddled in her sleep ball.

She sighed deeply before suddenly springing out of her curled up position, stretching her limbs out like a cat and opening her eyes, decidedly wide-awake. She took a minute to orient her self, looked out the window, then to Yaw.

“I’m hungry, too.” She added, in a half-Yawn.

• • •

“You didn’t sleep a wink.” Chris pointed out to Alex. He glanced over at the passenger seat, and watched as Alex looked out the window at the passing scenery. “I’m cool, I can drive the next leg too if you want.” He added.

“No. I’ll drive.” Alex replied.

He turned to Chris. “Don’t worry. This is normal for me. Not sleeping. I’ve never done it very well.” He added, a small attempt at reassurance.

He looked back towards the window. His lack of ability to sleep made him think for the first time since they left Los Angeles about his old Magnavox record player, and how much he missed listening to the peaceful rhythms on those scratched vinyl discs.

They had reached the desert, and now crossed into the Palo Verde Valley of the lower Colorado River Valley region. Mainly an agricultural area, the view from the freeway was that of alternating crop matrices from the local farms that seemed evenly spaced between much larger expanses of open desert. The view hypnotized Alex somewhat, the repeating patterns of the farmland and the repetitive nature of the desert a relaxing meditation for him.

He had been concerned about what he had shared with his friends and how it would inevitably change their view of him. A thought came to mind and he broke from his trance and turned away from the window and back towards Chris.

“I got your back too. Just like Yaw. No matter what happens. You do know that, right?”

“Yeah, man, sure. Likewise.” Chris answered, a bit thrown off, unsure of the reason for Alex’ sudden need for declaration.

“We’re the next exit.” He continued, changing the subject. “We’ll fuel up, eat, hit the restrooms, stretch the legs for a minute, and get our asses right back on the road.”

“Okay.” Alex replied softly, before looking back out the window.

• • •

Yaw screwed open the fuel cap to the van and stuck in the nozzle, watching Camila exit the passenger side and make for the filling station restroom. He pulled his cap low by the brim, and pushed his sunglasses higher on the bridge of his nose, as Chris approached.

“You good on cash?” Chris asked.

“Yeah.” Yaw replied. “How’s Alex?”

“He’s fine. Really quiet.”

“He’s always been really quiet.”

“True.” Chris replied. He looked like he wanted to say something more and Yaw picked up on it.

“What?”

It’s just…” Chris trailed off.

“Just what?”

“It’s just, all that craziness he said. It’s spooky. How he claims he can just, you know, “see” everything.”

“He can’t “see” everything.”
“He can about people. He can about us.”

Aldrich’s tone gave Yaw pause.

“What are you afraid of? Are you hiding something?”
“No. No I’m not. It’s a trust thing, you know? That’s all I’m talking about. There’s no earning it with him. We just have to give it.”

“We’ve trained with him for two years. He has earned it. We’ve all earned it.”

“Really? ‘Cause I didn’t know any of that shit about you and your brother until yesterday.”

Yaw turned and faced Chris.

“What the hell are you trying to say?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s cool. I didn’t mean anything by that. I don’t care about those things, that’s not the point.”

“Well then what is?”

“The fact that he knew. That’s the point. You do realize if he can truly do what he says, that there are no secrets with him, right? And everyone has secrets. I mean just look at us. As a rule, we don’t exactly trust a whole lot of people. What’s to keep him from using what he can see, someone’s secrets, against them? Hypothetically speaking.”

“I don’t know about you but I got nothing to hide.” Yaw snapped back, not liking where the conversation was going.

“We can trust Alex.” He added, as he topped off the tank, replaced the nozzle in the pump.

“I guess the question now is can we trust you?”

“Yes. Of course you can. I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.”

Yaw stood just barely within Chris’ personal space to make his point clear.

“I have questions. That’s all.” Chris replied, carefully holding his ground.

“We all do. And when the package is delivered, we’ll buy the man a beer and ask him as many as we want. Until then we stay focused on the task at hand. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.” Chris replied. “Ten minutes we’re back on the road?”

“Ten minutes.” Yaw confirmed.

Chris nodded, and Yaw watched him as he walked back to the Prelude.

The door to the front passenger seat of the Prelude was wide open, Alex sitting on the edge of the seat, his feet stretched out onto the oil stained pavement, catching whatever sun his ball cap and sunglasses would allow. He ate a sandwich, and briefly studied the structure of the gas station garage.

It was originally a Mobil station, now Exxon–Mobil, and the convenience store and four fuel-pump combination had a large and perfectly rectangular shaped roof that stood on small cylindrical pillars as it extended over the pumps. The entire structure, save for the lettering, was bright white. To Alex, it was clearly of Eliot Noyes design. He recalled briefly viewing a coffee table book of the architect’s work at a foster home when he was seven years, three months, and eleven days old. He knew from that ten-minute perusal that Noyes had been hired by the Mobil Oil Corporation in the mid-sixties to create the soft lines and safe feel to what were now considered classic structures. Alex also took note of the particular letter-styling of the ghost images left by the original Mobil signage, long since replaced, along with the level of sun bleach the white on both the building and the pillars had, that, when combined with the amount of sand erosion visible at the base of the building, told him that this station was built in the early summer of nineteen-sixty-eight, to be exact.

He listened to the whir and click of the gas pumps as they filled the tanks of both vehicles.

The time it took Yaw to fill the eighteen-gallon tank of the van was maybe two seconds slower than optimum, which meant the pressure in the underground tank was running low, not enough to indicate a major ground leak, that would’ve also carried a distinct smell, but more an indication that the fuel stations’ tanks were down to just under one quarter full, which meant a tanker truck would arrive at the station in roughly three hours, which, unless there was an abnormal amount of fuel stops, it would therefore have to do every Wednesday, between three and four p.m.

Alex washed down the last bite of his sandwich with water and stopped looking at the building and listening to the pumps. He stood up as he saw Chris approaching him. Aldrich tossed him the keys.

“You may not be able to sleep, but believe me, I can.” Chris told him. “We’re just waiting on Camila.” He added, before moving past Alex and into the passenger side of the Prelude. Alex watched as Chris set the seat back and pulled his cap over his eyes in a near horizontal position. Alex finished his bottle of water, and made his way to the driver’s side.

Camila exited the bathroom, and began walking towards the van. She felt energized, wide-awake now, much better after getting some sleep. It was her turn to drive, she thought to herself, and she could see that everyone was waiting on her. On instinct, and without thinking about it, she briefly removed her hat, pulled her hair back in a ponytail to make it sit more comfortable before putting the hat back on. The move had taken less than three seconds.

Yaw looked up from the passenger seat as Camila got behind the wheel of the van.