The Foundation: Jack Emery 1 (13 page)

He put the binoculars down and pulled himself up to his knees. He brushed his gloved hands over the front of him, removing the leaves and other natural detritus from his clothes. Within a few seconds he’d placed the binoculars in one of the many pockets on his combat vest and zipped it closed. Taking mental stock of his equipment, Chen made sure nothing was loose and he hadn’t dropped anything on the ground. His Heckler and Koch USP Tactical pistol was loaded in its holster on his right hip. On his other hip, he had a small combat knife. Most importantly, among all sorts of utility equipment that he might need in the vest pockets, he had a pair of USB drives.

Chen took a deep breath and started off. He drew his pistol and walked as quickly as he could through the scrub. It took ten minutes to reach the first difficult part—the road. He took another breath, looked both ways, crouched as low as he could and walked rapidly across. When he was just near the base of the wall, he heard a small scrape to his left. He turned with alarm at the sound, raised his handgun toward the noise and pressed his finger slightly on the trigger.

He released the trigger immediately when he saw a boy, probably about thirteen, in the very dim light, staring at him with wide eyes. Chen cursed that he hadn’t seen the boy during his reconnaissance, but it didn’t matter now. He lowered his pistol slightly and quickly approached the boy. He was frozen, so Chen reached out and put a gloved hand over his mouth. The boy tensed and no doubt feared the worst as Chen crouched down towards him.

He put his mouth close to the boy’s ear. “You look old enough to realize what’s at stake.”

The boy nodded vigorously and gave a barely audible moan.

“I need you to keep calm. You’ll be fine and home with your mother tonight if you do. But I need you to be quiet. Understand?”

The boy nodded again.

Chen slowly removed his hand from the boy’s mouth, and to his relief the boy said nothing and didn’t move an inch. He could use him. Chen dug in his pocket, pulled out a few hundred dollars and held the money up in front of the boy. Eyes wide with recognition, the boy’s eyes flicked back and forth between the cash and Chen’s face.

“You can have all of this if you listen very carefully. In a few minutes I want you to throw some coins I’ll give you over the fence, right there.” He pointed to the compound.

“Okay.” The boy’s voice was barely a whisper. He seemed to relax a little now that his life was not in immediate danger and there was the promise of a large amount of cash. Americans—always about the profit. He handed the boy the wad of cash and a few coins. He squeezed the boy’s hand shut around the coins, lest he drop them.

“Count to one hundred and eighty, then throw the coins.”

“Okay.” The boy smiled. “Easy.”

Chen hadn’t planned on this, but he could use it to his advantage. Anton’s guards had a timed routine that took them around the property every thirteen minutes. Chen needed them to be as far from the house as possible and the coins would help delay them when they were.

“Once it’s done you need to run straight home. Don’t stay near here and don’t tell anyone about me. You found the money.”

The boy nodded and started to move to where Chen had pointed. Chen wasted no time, leaving the boy and creeping along the wall. He stopped just short of one of the gates. He hugged the wall and waited. He hoped that Dominique’s hacker had taken out the cameras. He was alert to any sound, hopeful that the coins would land on the ground inside and distract the guards for an extra few seconds. The coast would be clear.

He looked at the watch on his wrist, which he’d synced with the watch given to the boy. Once the clock hit three minutes, he sprang into action. Chen hoped the boy had done his job and was long gone, but he didn’t spare him another thought. He tried the gate latch with one hand. It was locked, but it took only a second for him to pick. He pushed the gate open.

He followed a preplanned route across the garden and to the house that should get him to the target of the entire expedition: the computer in Anton’s study. He thought he might make it without incident until he rounded a corner and found two very surprised security guards.

As Chen’s gun came up, the guards froze in place and started to draw their pistols. He knew it was the automatic response of most American law enforcement and security personnel, when they should have sought cover. It was their deadly mistake. His own pistol was on them before either hand reached a holster.

He fired two shots at the first guard; a sound akin to compressed air being released and the pattering of two spent bullet cases dancing across the hardwood were the only evidence. The guard didn’t get the chance to make much more than a muffled gurgle as a bullet penetrated his throat, severing the carotid. The second bullet hit him in the chest.

The other guard continued to draw his weapon as Chen brought his own pistol onto target. The man’s fate was sealed by his instinctive look to his left, where his colleague had just been. The man looked back to Chen, his eyes wide, before Chen put a bullet between them. The guard dropped limp, and his gun fell from his hands.

Chen moved quickly to the two men. One was clearly dead, while the other writhed on the expensive hardwood floor as his lifeblood escaped from his throat, forming a crimson pool next to him. Chen put a bullet in his head. He took both their weapons and threw them into the pot of a houseplant.

After a few more corners he reached the home office and pushed the door open. The room was empty. Chen closed the door behind him, moved to the computer and sat at the horribly modern glass desk. The laptop blinked on when he opened the lid. He clicked on Anton’s username and entered the password. An hourglass appeared for a second and then a chime sounded. He was glad Dominique had been right about the password. He grabbed the two USB sticks from his pocket.

He inserted his own USB first and copied the documents folder from Anton’s computer onto it. Chen turned and trained his pistol on the door, but nobody interrupted him for the minute or so it took the job to complete. Once the dump was complete, he pulled out the first USB and inserted the second. Automatically, an algorithm was activated and started the attack, just as Dominique had promised. When it had finished its work, he pulled it out of its slot and the computer went to sleep. Nobody would ever know he’d touched it.

He smiled at the wizardry of it all as he put the sticks in his pocket, then moved to the study door. Anton’s computer had been savaged. Dominique would now have all the files she’d need to run the Foundation, along with any of Anton’s secrets. A few pesky files that she’d wanted destroyed were gone, too, while others had been planted.

Chen had paid her back for extracting his family from Taiwan and now had all of Anton’s documents as insurance.

Within five minutes he’d be back in the trees. He’d be home in Wisconsin in a day.

Jack couldn’t hear the explosion, but he could feel the heat of it. He was unable to escape, surrounded by fire. He looked around. Celeste was next to him, mouth open in mute terror, no words able to escape. Others were flailing their arms. One man, Jack didn’t know him, had a shard of steel through his stomach that he gripped and tried to pull out, just as they plunged into the icy water of the South China Sea.

Jack’s eyes shot open and he sat up on the air mattress. He winced in pain and rubbed his eyes, confused. A second ago he’d been on the Seahawk as it plunged into the ocean, but now he was in his hotel room. He exhaled deeply and lay down. Never before had the cobweb on the plain white ceiling that housekeeping never got around to cleaning been such a welcome sight. He was home.

“You awake?” Celeste stirred on the bed. “You okay?”

“Sorry.”

She smiled. “It’s alright. Anyone ever tell you you snore really loudly?”

“Every friend, roommate and girlfriend since puberty.” He laughed. “Erin, too.”

He felt a small measure of regret as her smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. “Which one this time? The Chinese cell?”

“Nope, the chopper just as the destroyer blew up. We hit the ocean and I wake up.” Jack snorted. “I guess I don’t like the cold even in my dreams.”

Celeste laughed softly. “At least your mind gives you a bit of variety in the nightmares.”

Jack was more glad than ever that Celeste had offered to stay at his hotel room once they’d arrived back in the States. Ostensibly it had been to look after him, but he did not doubt that she welcomed the company and support as well. Neither of them had family in America, and Celeste had sold him on the idea of sticking together. He’d agreed, on the condition that she took the better bed.

He turned his head to look up at her. “What were you treated with last night?”

“The rape.” She didn’t open her eyes. “Again.”

“I’m sorry, Celeste.”

“Wasn’t you doing it.”

That much was true. While Jack’s nightmares ranged from the helicopter going down, the variety of torture he’d received and others that didn’t make much sense, Celeste had only one. The rape. He struggled up, his body screaming in pain the whole time, and sat on the edge of her bed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she finally looked at him.

“I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

She smiled weakly. “I don’t want to add to your smorgasbord of head-fuckery.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Try me.”

She stared at him for a long moment, seeming to size him up, then nodded slightly. “On the first night, three men entered and stripped me naked.”

Jack immediately felt uncomfortable. “You don’t have to talk about this if it’s too hard.”

She stared at the wall, not even acknowledging that she’d heard him. “They laughed at me and took my clothes. The next day, they returned and did it.”

“Did what?”

“They held me down. They watched one another.” Her bottom lipped quivered slightly, and Jack placed his arm around her. “The third day was the worst. Objects…”

Jack closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Celeste.”

“Like I said, not your fault.” Her voice trailed off. “They returned my clothes just before they threw you in with me. I knew then that something must have happened.”

“Yeah. Ernest gave them whatever they were after.”

She nodded, and closed her eyes again.

Jack still hadn’t managed to speak with Ernest McDowell, despite his best efforts. From the prison, they’d been taken along with Christian Malley to a private airfield, placed aboard an EMCorp jet and flown home. They’d eaten, been looked over by a whole team of medical personnel and slept for hours on end. Once they’d landed, the two of them had been chauffeured to the hotel. But his calls to McDowell had been for naught.

He laid down on the bed beside Celeste, who was already asleep. He reached over to the side table and found his phone and earphones. He listened to the news, and felt a sense of hurt that the radio announcer who prattled away in his ear didn’t interrupt the broadcast to curse the world on his behalf. Jack had learned that no matter how long you spent in bed, it took a great deal of time to heal when you had been abused.

At least this morning there was some fresh news—as depressing as it was—about the attacks on Taiwan. For the past week the US and Chinese airforces had danced with each other, but been unable to deliver a killing blow. That had apparently changed this morning—half of Taipei had been hit.

At some point he must have dozed off, because he woke up with a new program in his ears and a mouth as dry as the Sahara. He sighed, removed the earphones and did his best to sit upright. He reached for a glass of water, took a mouthful and placed it back. He let his head collapse onto the pillow and cursed under his breath at the spike of pain.

In the week spent at the hotel, he’d been able to gather his thoughts. It felt like he’d taken only a few breaths in the last month, given the incredible speed at which events had spiraled out of control. The divorce. The bombings. Erin’s death. The sinking of the USS
George Washington.
His torture. The war between China and Taiwan. He felt like he was at the center of it all.

His phone rang. He picked it up off the side table. “Hello?”

“Hi, Jack? Peter Weston calling.”

Jack frowned, unsure why Ernest McDowell’s assistant was calling him. He switched the call to speaker. “Hi, Peter.”

“How’re you feeling?”

Jack laughed. “It’s a regular party town over here. Come over if you like, but don’t forget the scotch.”

Peter laughed. “Maybe another time? Ernest wanted me to invite you and a guest to the company box at the Yankees playoff game. If you’re feeling up to it by then.”

Jack didn’t even consider it for a moment. “Baseball tickets? Not for me. Stupid sport. But thanks anyway.”

“You sure? They’re expensive tickets.” There was a note of incredulity in Peter’s voice. “Ernest would appreciate it if you could make it.”

Jack was about to decline for the second time when Celeste shoved him lightly. He looked at her and she gave him a thumbs up. He’d have hell to pay if he didn’t accept. He reasoned that it would probably be worth it if it took her mind off her experiences, even for an afternoon.

“Alright, I’ll be there. I’ll be bringing along Celeste Adams.” Jack looked at Celeste. Her eyes had grown wide and she nodded vigorously. He smiled at her.

“Great. Someone will email you the details. I’ll give Celeste a call and invite her if you like.”

Jack paused. “She accepts.”

“I’m sure she will.” Peter sounded confused. “But I’ll still have to call.”

“Celeste is here, she accepts.”

Celeste leaned into the phone. “Hi, Peter.”

Weston was silent for just a second too long. “Oh, well, you two have fun.”

“Plan to. Speak later, Peter, thanks.” Jack hung up.

“Plan to what?”

“Nothing. But he thinks we’re fucking.”

Celeste went beet red, then punched him in the arm again, lightly, before lying down with a sigh. “Thanks a lot. You’ve really done wonders for my career there, Jack.”

“You’ll just have to impress him at the game.”

Jack rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He was content to be warm and safe for the time being. He’d recuperate, mourn for Erin and then work out what came next. Hopefully it would include getting his life back on track. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was enough for now.

“I love baseball.” Celeste rolled over. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

“It’s going to be horrible.”

***

Ernest closed the lid of his laptop with too much force. It slammed shut, causing the ice in the glass next to the computer to jingle a little. He let out a long sigh as he swung back in the leather chair, closed his eyes and massaged his temples. He’d been at his desk for fourteen hours, trying to catch up on work that had piled up in the past few weeks. The days spent dealing with the Senate committee and the EMCorp board, the negotiations with Michelle Dominique and China—and freeing his people—had put him behind with everything else.

But what had finally broken him for the day was a pair of emails he’d only reached a minute ago. One, from Dominique, suggested a particular line on the next day’s coverage, while another, from the Chinese, suggested a different approach. While the emails were couched in polite terms and carefully manicured to appear appropriate if they fell into the wrong hands, he knew they weren’t suggestions at all. For Ernest, there could be no clearer illustration of the prison he’d engineered for himself.

He didn’t regret the choices he’d made at various points to save himself, his company and his staff. He consoled himself with the fact that, in a time of great stress, he’d done what he’d had to do. Not everyone in his position would have. But the deal with the Chinese, on the back of the one with Dominique, had placed him in an impossible bind. He felt the agreements strangling the life out of him.

He’d hoped the arrangement would last a little longer, but it wouldn’t. He felt old, and knew that if there was to be a reckoning for the decisions he’d made, it may as well be now. With another sigh, he opened his eyes and reached for the phone on the desk. He dialed in a number he’d committed to memory and switched the call to loudspeaker. The phone rang and Ernest used this time to steel himself for the coming conversation.

“Hello, Ernest.” Dominique’s tone was impatient. “I hope this is important.”

“It is. I need to renegotiate our deal.”

She gave a small laugh. “Why would you need to do that?”

He rubbed his head. “I’m in a hopeless situation, but I want to honor both our agreement and another I’ve made. I can only do that if you’re flexible.”

There was a pause. “Being flexible wouldn’t really be in my interests, Ernest, nor would it lead to you honoring our agreement in any way. My terms were clear. I delivered. The Senate inquiry has gone away and your company is off the hook in the United States. I expect you to continue to live up to your end of the bargain.”

Any hope he’d had for a reasonable negotiation was out the window. “I had all good intentions of honoring my agreement with you, but things have changed.”

She laughed again. “The Chinese? Yes, Ernest.”

He was genuinely shocked. “You know? How?”

“I know you made a deal with the Chinese, that’s clear. I don’t know why, nor do I care.”

He changed the topic. “I don’t like being backed into corners and forced into impossible decisions I don’t want to make.”

“I know.” She sounded chirpy again. “And it’s precisely why I used the Senate inquiry to bait you. And now you’re mine, to be blunt.”

“What I’m proposing will help you retain some day-to-day control over editorial direction. It’s the best I can offer.”

“Not interested.”

“I suggest you think again. You’ve got me, but I do have the means to slip your net. If I step down from the board entirely, then you’re left with nothing.”

She laughed. “Oh, I love the fishing analogies. Let’s keep those going. Think of me as a fisherman, which I’m not, by the way. I’ve just caught a whale—that’s you—and now it’s struggling on the hook, fighting to get free. At the same time, the whale—that’s you, remember—got your tail caught on
another
hook—the Chinese.”

Ernest was growing tired of her, but hid his annoyance. “I don’t quite understand the point.”

“The point is: I’ve caught the big daddy, the trophy. I don’t care what else happens, there’s no way I’m letting go, no matter how much it wriggles. The Chinese can rip your fucking tail off, but your head and your company are mine. I’ll rip your head off if I have to, but you’re not getting away.”

He swung back in his chair again while he thought. He ran through as many scenarios as possible, but he saw no other option than to break faith with one side. Having decided that, it became an exercise in risk assessment: while crossing Dominique would cause him pain, crossing the Chinese government in the current climate was unthinkable. 
He’d take the angry wolf pack over an angry dragon.

“Ernest?” She sounded annoyed. “Is that all?”

He gave a long sigh. “Yes. We’re done unless you’re willing to negotiate. Contact me.”

“You’ve got little time to change your mind, Ernest. Don’t throw everything away.”

He was about to reply when the call cut out.

***

Michelle swirled the amber liquid around in the tumbler then brought it up to her nose. She inhaled the scent of the whisky before lifting it to her lips and taking a small sip, then another. When her glass was empty, she leaned forward and placed it on the table. She smiled and leaned back, looking down the length of the table at the assembled men and women, each the leader of a Foundation cell. For all intents and purposes, this was the entire leadership of the Foundation now that Anton was gone.

“Anton is dead.”

She kept a passive face as the cell leaders digested the news. A few gasped, another swore under his breath and the others just stared at her or looked around the table. She waited as the news sank in and for the most animated of them to regain their composure.

The leader of the Foundation’s West Coast cell, Vanessa Dunstan, leaned forward. “How? Why weren’t we told right away?”

Michelle considered her response. She knew that if there was going to be civil war among the Foundation in the aftermath of her actions, it would be led from California. Dunstan and her cell were the furthest from the Foundation’s power centers of Washington and New York, both geographically and ideologically. She’d opposed some of the more extreme methods employed in recent years, and made no secret of it.