The Foundation: Jack Emery 1 (5 page)

The man who’d stopped their car seemed fresh-faced. He was probably newly minted from the recruit factory. She felt her heart beat faster as the young soldier approached the car on the driver’s side. Behind him, the older soldier unbuckled the holster on the belt under his paunch. She regretted not having a weapon of her own, but it was too much of a risk to carry a firearm in the circumstances. Her cover wouldn’t hold up under too much scrutiny.

The younger soldier tapped on the window and Liu wound it down. Michelle sat, powerless as they exchanged pleasantries in Mandarin. She knew it would take a few moments of skirting the issue before the two Chinese men reached the point. She followed along with parts of the conversation. The soldier eventually said something about the regional airport being closed, and having to search the car. Liu scoffed and threatened to involve the Party if the soldier didn’t move immediately.

Without warning, the man pushed his head inside the car and started shouting. Michelle had been the beneficiary of enough combat and survival training to know the signs of danger. She unbuckled her belt as carefully as she could as the soldier started pointing at her, to which Liu shouted back and slapped his hand away. Michelle lost the thread of the exchange as the two men shouted too quickly for her to follow.

With no gun and no other weapon, flight was looking like her only option. She reached for the door handle as the soldier shouted at Liu to freeze. As the first gunshot cannoned in her ear, she pulled on the handle and leaped from the car. She ran as fast as she could toward the darkness. She had no idea where she was, or where she was going, but she had to get away from the car and the soldiers.

Liu was probably dead and she had no way to protect herself. She had to keep moving. She ran into the scrub on the side of the road, but there was nowhere obvious to hide. Distance and darkness were her only friends, but after another few steps she stumbled and fell, hitting her head on the ground. Before she could rise, a fierce blow to her midsection drove the air out of her.

“Don’t move.” A voice said in broken English. It was different to the young soldier’s. It had to be the older one. “This does not need to be painful.”

Michelle closed her eyes as a pistol barrel was pressed against the back of her head. This was it. After all that she had achieved, it was going to end on the roadside in the dark in the middle of the Chinese countryside. Nobody would know about her death, or mourn her. She didn’t know what to do, but she wouldn’t beg. There was no point. This was an orchestrated hit—Liu was already dead, and she was about to be.

She did not look at him. “Get it over with, you fuck!”

He laughed, then the world exploded with a bang as loud as two asteroids colliding.

She lifted her hands to her ringing ears and felt something wet on her left cheek. Blood. And something that felt like marshmallow—a small piece of the soldier’s brain.

She opened her eyes and turned around, confused. Liu was standing over her and the body of the old Chinese soldier, a flashlight in one hand and a pistol in the other. He crouched down and wrapped one arm awkwardly around her.

“How?” Her voice wavered only slightly. “How did you survive?”

Liu shrugged, barely visible in the torchlight. He lifted his shirt and she saw Kevlar.

“Well, thanks. Are you okay?”

“A few ribs will be broken, but nothing too bad.”

Michelle shivered and huddled into him. “Why would they attack us?”

“Money. The young one said he’d let us live if we gave him more than he had been given to kill us. I gave him a bullet.”

Michelle’s eyes widened. “It was a hit? Ordered by who?”

Liu said nothing. His silence was damning. He knew as well as she did that there was only one other person in China who knew who she was and the significance of the Foundation. Only one who’d known where she would be. Liu had foiled that plan, because of his paranoia and a Kevlar vest. She stumbled to her feet and they walked back to the car in silence.

She didn’t say anything as he started the car and resumed their drive to the airport. Only then did Michelle dare to breathe evenly, despite both of them being covered in blood and the car smelling like gun smoke. She’d survived. It made her more determined to get back to the States. Anton had betrayed Chen and now he’d betrayed her. He was tying up all loose ends.

There was only one thing that could be done.

She had to kill Anton.

As the Narita Express pulled into Tokyo Central Station, Jack’s head hurt so badly from the hangover that he could barely remember the code to the luggage lock. He entered the combination and was relieved when it opened with a small click. He wrestled with his case—a small Samsonite that contained his hastily packed clothes and personal items—and got ready to disembark.

Since Celeste’s phone call informing him of Erin’s death, he’d given up on his attempts to get a flight to China. He’d made some calls, and the Chinese weren’t going to release her body until the investigations concerning the attack were completed. He’d also spent some time getting to the bottom of a few bottles of liquor, which he was now paying the price for.

He’d faced a choice: return to the States right away, or home to Australia, but he liked the idea of a few days’ rest in Tokyo. The train came to a stop and the doors opened, and he stepped off the train, inhaling deeply. Given the hour, he was surprised at the large number of people milling about, getting on and off. If this was Tokyo before dawn, he didn’t look forward to the peak-hour rush.

He stood on the platform. He knew the name of his hotel and where it was on a map, but that was no help. The walls were covered in arrows and Japanese characters. Helpfully, these were accompanied by English translations underneath, though they may as well have been written in Latin—none of the locations sounded right. With no help in sight, Jack picked a direction and walked. Eventually he found a booth with a big blue I and went inside. Behind the desk sat a friendly looking Japan Rail staff member.

Jack tried his patchy Japanese on for size. “
Konichi wa
.”

The Japan Rail employee smiled. “
Konichi wa
, sir, good morning.”

“Ah. You speak English?” Jack wrestled his case alongside him and placed his satchel on the counter.

“A little, sir. Can I help?”

Jack smoothed the crumpled map out onto the counter. “I’m looking for the Mercure Hotel in Ginza, but I can’t find the right exit.”

“First time in Japan, sir?” The man looked down at Jack’s map.

“Sure is.”

After a few seconds he looked up and pointed in the direction Jack had just come. “That way. Head outside and find
Chuo-dori
. Then it’s straight ahead.”

Jack was dubious, but felt too embarrassed to ask for more assistance. He expressed his thanks, gathered his things and left the little booth. Once he’d emerged from the station, he looked up and saw the street sign he needed. Smiling with relief, he started walking. He’d traveled less than a block when his cell phone rang. Jack stopped and fumbled around his pockets to find it. He looked down at the display and saw it was Josefa Tokaloka calling. He hurried to answer before Jo hung up.

“Hi, Jo.”

“Hi, Jack.” Jo paused. “I’m sorry again about Erin.”

Jack sighed. “Thanks.”

“No luck getting to Shanghai?”

“No. And there’s no point now anyway, if they’re not releasing her body until the investigations are complete. I’ve decided to rest a few days in Tokyo then head home.”

“I’m here for you, Jack. Whatever you need.”

Jack knew that Jo was genuine. He was one of the few people who’d stuck by him, more or less, in the last few months, when most had obviously considered it too hard. Erin’s death just made it all the worse. For some reason, he found himself thinking of Afghanistan. Things had been simpler then. Embedded with a unit in the Green Zone for two years, he’d met some great people and seen plenty. Hell, the worst thing he’d seen had won him a Pulitzer, though he’d agonized for weeks about filing that story.

“I want to get back to work, Jo.” Jack was surprised that he’d blurted it out before he’d had a chance to think about it. “Is there anything I can do? It’s either that or drink.”

“No, Jack.” Jo’s voice was firm. “You only found out about Erin yesterday, work is the last thing you need. You need time to heal.”

“That’s not what I want. I’ve had too much time to myself in the last few months. It’s part of the reason things are so shitty at the moment. I want to work. Give me anything.”

Jo paused again and then sighed. “Well, you being in Japan is opportune.”

“Name it.”

“It’s against my better judgment, but if you’re determined to get back to work, the Navy is deploying the USS
George Washington
battle group out of Yokosuka late tomorrow. They want a few embeds and you’re my most experienced option. It’s yours if you want it, but I’d prefer you didn’t.”

Jack smiled. It sounded perfect. Onboard the carrier, he’d travel where he was told, sleep where he was told, eat when and what he was told, and focus on work. Better, given the ship was sailing into a potential conflict zone, there was half a chance it could be a dry environment. He’d have a much easier time staying off the booze.

“They’re sending a carrier to China? That’s a real bright idea.”

Josefa laughed. “Just flying the flag, I guess. Warn China off being stupid.”

“That sounds pretty stupid to me, but I’m on it.”

“Okay. I should let you know, though, Celeste is in Japan and she’ll be joining you.”

Jack paused for a second, unsure what to say. His recent history with Celeste hadn’t exactly been great. “I’d rather do it alone. I’m surprised she’s even up to it.”

“You can talk.” Jo paused. “She’s okay. The doctors have cleared her and she’s refusing to come back to the States. She wants to keep busy. There are worse places she could be than next to you. Honestly, I think she feels a bit guilty about Erin, so tread carefully.”

“You’re not going to let me work if I don’t agree?”

“Nope.”

Jack sighed. “I’ll call you from the train.”

He ended the call. While he was glad he didn’t have to navigate his way to the hotel, he now had to find his way back in to the station, find the ticket counter and get to Yokosuka. Still, the job gave him something to keep him occupied, which was the main thing.

And if it got him a little bit closer to Shanghai, so much the better.

***

As usual, Ernest had arrived for the meeting of the EMCorp board earlier than necessary; he liked to have time to get into his groove, sip his coffee and wait. As others entered the room, he’d size them up from a position of strength, considering any advantages or disadvantages. He would plot.

Not today.

Today the room closed in around him, suffocating. He felt exhausted and vulnerable, tired and beaten. This was usually his arena, where he fought his greatest foes. More often than not he’d subjugate them and emerge victorious. Today though, he felt like a Roman slave, given a sword and told to go fight a lion.

He turned to face Peter, who was sitting in the usual position to his left, ready to take the minutes. “They’re going to get me this time, Peter.”

Peter looked up from his paperwork. “Don’t count on it. They’re all bluff and bluster. They’ve had you on the ropes before and never managed to bring you down.”

“This might be the day. Too much baggage. Too much politics. Too many ex-wives diluting my stock holding, waiting for their turn to help stick the knife in one last time.”

Peter sighed. “You might be okay. Hit them hard from the outset, draw your line in the sand and force them to cross it. It’s the only chance.”

Ernest nodded and turned back to the table. He arranged his papers as the boardroom door opened and the rest of the board filed in, escorted by Ernest’s secretary. He kept his face blank and didn’t say anything. His few allies on the board would know how dire things were and he saw no need to give his enemies an advantage.

“Thanks, everyone.” Peter paused as the others settled. “I confirm that we have a quorum and that the board meeting is open.”

Ernest looked around the room absentmindedly as Peter recalled the minutes from the previous meeting. He knew that a challenge would come today. He could feel it. But he didn’t know who’d have the balls to do it. This situation was as fluid as it was professionally deadly. He had a list of suspects, but only time would tell.

The two most senior and most obvious candidates were Steve Wilson, who’d sat on the board for a decade, and Dan Grattan, the Chief Operating Officer. Neither liked him much, but they didn’t feel right. Ernest was certain that the challenge would come from one of the lesser lights, preordained by the others. He readied himself.

“So, if there are no objections to the minutes, we’ll endorse them and move on.”

“Okay, thanks, Peter. I just want to note that we’ve got some people missing or deceased.” Ernest cleared his throat. “Now, the first order of business is—”

“Sorry for interrupting, Ernest.” Al Preston leaned forward. “I’ve got an extraordinary motion burning a hole in my pocket.”

Ernest waved a hand. “Let’s hear it then.”

Preston seemed slightly taken aback. “Well, thing is, a few of us believe the time might have come for you to stand aside, Ernest. Voluntarily, if possible.”

Ernest laughed boisterously for several long seconds. “A half-assed appeal to my better judgment, Al? Fuck your beliefs, you’ll need to do better than that.”

Preston looked shocked, and momentarily lost his composure. “Ernest, please, it doesn’t need to be like—”

“Sure, it does. I gave your father his place on this board, rest his soul, and I did the same for you. I’ll drop dead before I step down for you. Now shut up.”

Ernest sat back and grinned as murmurs and sideways glances were shared by the other eighteen board members. They obviously hadn’t expected him to be so belligerent, and he thought for a second that Preston’s plea might be it. Peter’s advice to hit them hard and early might have worked.

He noticed movement to his left. He looked and felt his confidence and bluster vanish in a second as Duncan McColl, the EMCorp Chief Financial Officer—and one of Ernest’s closest friends—stood. He had a somber expression on his face and wouldn’t look at Ernest.

“Of all people, Duncan, I thought you’d be solid.”

“I'm sorry, Ernest.” McColl started to pace. “I’ve been here nearly as long as you. And I’ve always been silent on the issues you’ve walked us into, but it’s time.”

Ernest said nothing as McColl walked behind each board member. It was a tactic Ernest liked to employ himself from time to time, because it put people off guard, and now McColl was copying it. He’d have laughed at the absurdity of it all if the situation wasn’t so dire.

“We can’t have it, Ernest. The newspaper arm of the company is dying, the United Kingdom is a mess, there are new scandals by the day and our share price is bleeding. We could handle all that, we really could, but now there’s to be a US Senate inquiry as well? You’ve put the United States operations at risk. It’s over. We ask again—”

“Judas!” Ernest shouted.

“I’m sorry?”

“I was ready for an attack by any of these other plebeians, Duncan, and just about ready to turn my back and let them sink the knife in. But you?”

“I don't do this lightly, Ernest. But given the troubles we’re sailing into, it’s with the greatest respect and sincerity that—”

“Oh, fuck your sincerity!” Ernest slammed the table with both fists, causing his coffee to spill over his papers. He turned to Peter. “What’s my total shareholding?”

Peter was matter of fact. “Between your personal holdings and the trust for your daughter, about thirty-seven percent. Add in your wife and it jumps to forty.”

“Well, there you have it. In short, gentlemen, I’ve got you all by the short and curly hairs.” He looked to the only female board member. “Sorry, Janice.”

McColl was unrepentant, but seemed slightly crestfallen. “Ernest, be reasonable. Think of what’s best for the company.”

“I've been doing that for the past thirty-five years, Duncan, and I've survived longer than many of the doomsayers who’ve sat in these very chairs, telling me how wrong I was. If you’re so fucking confident, then call a spill, and let’s see who the shareholders back. Here’s the rub, though: I’ve got a fair head start.”

McColl shook his head. “Are you so confident that you're right again? That you’re not going to annihilate this company with your little tantrum?”

Ernest laughed. “Not in the slightest, but I've earned the right to find out. We’re going to stay the course, stare down these inquiries, and emerge on the other side.”

McColl looked up and down the table, clearly seeking the support of his co-conspirators to carry the argument further. When none materialized, he sat down. Ernest could tell his CFO was crushed. Despite his anger, he felt regret at what was to come.

“I thank you all for the faith placed in me.” His voice was cold. “I’d like to adjourn for five minutes, given the drama. But before we do, Duncan, your services as CFO will no longer be required, and I’d ask that you step down from the board as well.”

McColl’s head shot up and he looked around the table. When nobody defended him, his nostrils flared. “This is an outrage! I only prosecuted the case you wanted me to. Now you're too gutless to speak in my favor.”

“That’ll be all, Duncan.”

McColl spat into the middle of the table. “I resign.”

As McColl stormed from the room, Ernest turned to Peter and spoke softly. “Thank you, Peter. I can’t believe I nearly let myself be done in by these puffed-up cowards.”

“It's fine. Besides, don't thank me until you've seen the cost of that suit you promised to replace. It's beautiful.”

Ernest laughed. “Better sell the Bentley.”