The Leaves in Winter (34 page)

That was before the knock at the door and the shouts of authority.

That was before Janis and Faye were taken into custody by federal agents.

As they were being led outside to waiting SUVs, Faye saw it in Janis’ face.

“What have you done?” Faye’s question seemed almost rhetorical.

Janis knew it was anything but.

They drove off too quickly for proper goodbyes. Sara was left standing on the porch in shock. Janis said nothing and Faye was too worried to ask her any questions within earshot of an agent.

They were rushed to an open field just down the road where the helicopter had landed and waited with rotors spinning. Hustled aboard, they sat flanked by agents. As soon as they were buckled in, the chopper took to the air at top speed headed south. Faye couldn’t stand it any more. She turned to Janis.

“Do you know what this is about?”

Janis saw no reason to be coy; Faye would find out soon enough. “After you went to bed, I posted something to the internet.”

“You had something at the house?”

“Yes. I mailed myself something – from Marseille.”

For Faye, the consequences were obvious. “You didn’t!”

Janis was stoic. “Did you really think I was going to let them hide the truth?”

Faye was furious. “You used me!”

Janis stared her down. “You don’t have access to Alyssa, do you? You were only told that to get me on The Project. You think I’m that naive?”

“Damn it! Everything you said at the park – it was all just to get loose so you could get up here and do this.”

Janis was enthused. “It’s out everywhere now…the memo, all the stuff about 3rd Protocol. There’s no way they can pull it back.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done!”

“Neither do you. You think they tell you anything?”

“There are good reasons not to upset things.”

“Bad people with good reasons. Doesn’t sound right to me.”

“You don’t think there’s ever a valid reason to keep a secret?”

“Oh sure, just like there are good reasons for dual-use projects.”

“It’s not just about panicking the public – it’s about panicking the
powerful
.”

“Amazing how you know so much when you’ve been told so little.”

“I’ve been told enough! What do you think is going to happen now?”

“If we’re lucky, the end of 3rd Protocol. If the government isn’t involved, then I guess they have nothing to worry about.”

Just then, an agent from the front seat turned around and handed Faye a phone. She took it with hesitation then listened with interest and sudden concern.

“My God...” She began to tear up. “Are we going there now?”

Faye’s emotion riveted Janis to her half of the conversation.

“…should I wait? I don’t know. Are you sure? All right.” She handed the phone back to the agent then turned to Janis. “That was my boss. There’s another reason why they came for us so quickly.”

“It’s not about what I posted?”

Faye shook her head, tears running down her face. “Something’s happened at The Nest…”

Janis was on edge. “Isn’t that the place you said they had Alyssa?”

“They’re taking us there now.”

“What’s wrong?”

Faye couldn’t bring herself to repeat what she had heard.

She managed to say one thing. “…it’s Alyssa.”

Chapter 32

Frioul Archipelago

A mile off the coast of
Marseille

Private boats dotted the harbor between the islands of Pomègues of Ratonneau. André Bolard moored the 26-foot cruiser and took a walk along the strand. His pace was casual and yet he aimed with steady determination for the blue umbrellas of a particular café. A man waiting there bought André a drink without a word spoken between them. Sitting among tourists, they relaxed and joined in, discussing nothing of importance.

Afterwards, the two of them strolled in the direction of the boat. Along the way, André stopped for a newlywed couple wanting their picture taken. Hugging and smiling, the pair asked if Château d'If could be included in the background.

André obliged then waved goodbye. He turned as the other man caught his eye. With nothing to say, André grinned. Patronizing clueless tourists cost nothing; if anything, it only demonstrated publically what a good guy he was.

Back on the boat, André and the man retreated to the shade and privacy of the inner cabin. André opened beers as the man tuned a radio to a music station and turned up the volume. They sat close.

“Did you see anyone?”

The man settled back, suddenly alert. “I never do.”

André got comfortable. “It’s just as well. Let them believe they’re clever.”

“I don’t like it. After Rue Saint-Ferréol, I can do nothing.”

“Don’t worry; having you do nothing is working out just fine.”

“Meanwhile, I’m on some fucking watch list.”

“They let you go; that’s all that matters.” André shrugged; his humor was deadpan. “How were you supposed to know that crazy bitch didn’t want a boat?”

“Meeting with her wasn’t worth the risk.”

Opening a laptop, André scanned a blog posting. “We can say that now.”

The man gazed at the posting without reading. “You trust what she posted?”

“It’s worth considering.”

“As what? More smoke to hide the fire? Everyone is looking at it and seeing different things. There’s no end to it.”

“That’s why there must be something to it. That much I’m certain of. Someone is going to an awful lot of trouble to confuse the issue, don’t you think?”

“They can’t confuse the facts.”

“Facts? Let’s not confuse the truth with the facts. No, this is something else. It’s so…clumsy and mysterious all at once. Here we have twenty-year-old studies from think tanks offered alongside classified spreadsheets from
Puerto Rico
.”

“If any of this crap really came out of GeLixCo, it raises all kinds of questions. Some are calling it a smear campaign against NovoSenectus.”

“Strange, because the web post says the two of them worked together on a project for the
U.S.
government. Of course, the Americans are denying it. Their Senate says all of this is nothing but a vicious love triangle gone wrong.”

The man sneered and laughed. “How did they ever get that idea? They should make a TV show out of it.”

“If they did that, the Americans would believe it even more.”

“There’s too much to sort out. We’re scattering our energies.”

“No,” snapped André. “We stay with the memo. That’s where we have to focus. If the memo’s real, then Mass intends on triggering
something
.”

“How do we know this thing she calls 3rd Protocol isn’t another diversion?”

“Of course it’s a diversion! This is about
GenLET
. It’s always been about life extension. The circus we’re watching only proves whatever’s being planned is much bigger than
Mass.
They were researching how to scan people’s DNA with radiation – what the fuck is that about? This stuff about a UDIF/TZ Project is no joke.”

“But
New World Harmony
is his idea.”

“He can name it, but it’s only his name for what other nameless powers have in mind. I’ve done some research too. A leaked report out of
Washington
claims
GenLET
was a secret
U.S.
project all along. NovoSenectus was contracted as part of the development cycle – that’s all.”

“What about the Nobel Prize?”

“They don’t give a shit about trinkets.”

“If that’s right, we’re seeing only a fraction of what we’re up against.”

“Even more reason to get serious about putting a boot into the gears.”

“What should we do?”

André squinted in thought. “For now, we watch how Mass reacts.”

“This morning he named a replacement for Riya Basu.”

“To be expected. Janis is not his favorite person right now. Who is it?”

“Carlos somebody from
Madrid
; never heard of him.”

“Do we know where he is now?”

“Vacationing in the
Azores
.”

“Boating?”

The man nodded. “He just left Island Flora, headed for Pico.”

“Good.” André threw back a swig of brew. “Luckily, we know a thing or two about yachts. So what have we found out about the guy in the memo – Javier?”

“There’s only one person named Javier connected to Mass. Open your email.”

André switched over and opened the attachment. A front-page picture from a past issue of
Voici Magazine
opened up. In one corner was a grainy photo of two men on a sidewalk. The caption read, “
Gay Lover Follows Eugene Mass to Paris
.”

“Javier Francisco – most certainly not his real name.”

André groused, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“They have a hideaway in
Brussels
. From what all the stories say, they don’t need to be terribly discrete; apparently, Leah Mass doesn’t care.”

André stared at the grainy photo with suspicion. “I see product placement.”

“What do you mean?”

“Either we believe this or we believe the memo.”

“Most people already believe this.”

“Then that’s the way Mass must want it. Even more reason to stick with the memo.”

“But if Javier’s not the gay lover, who is he?”

“Couldn’t he be the lover
and
something else?”

“He’s been hiding in plain sight way too long.”

“Unless we hear something else, we assume he’s dirty. From the way Mass talked to him in the memo, he must be a fixer.”

“I don’t know…” The man finished his beer. “I don’t like it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“How do we know we’re not following crumbs they’re leaving for us?”

“We don’t.” André was steely-eyed in his stare. “That’s why we’re going to start making some of them disappear.”

“If we start that they’ll come after us.”

“They’re coming after us anyway. We don’t fit the new order of things.”

The man stood. “What do you need me to do?”

André stepped closer. “Go to
Stockholm
and
Brussels
, then someplace unexpected…let’s say
Miami
. Have a good time but go down a few side streets. Do your best
not
to act suspicious; that’ll get them going.”

The man stood in protest. “That’s it? I play the wild goose again and let them chase me? Nothing more?”

“If you want, we can let the fuckers grind you up as foie gras. You want to give them something solid so they can shut us down? Would that make you happy?”

The man said nothing.

André grabbed him by the shoulder. “We all have something to do that sucks. Only yours gets to be a vacation. Quit complaining.”

The man started to go.

André called out, “And keep up the research. Remember – unchartered waters dead ahead.”

The man mumbled, “Got it,” then left the boat.

André grabbed another beer, turned off the radio, and followed him up on deck. After downing half of the bottle, he pressed cell phone to ear. Staring at the
peak
of
Notre-Dame
de la Garde basilica in the distance, he waited for the ringing to stop. When it did, it went to voicemail.

“This is André. Call me when you get this. We have emergency maintenance to do. We’ll need a specialist, someone who knows their way around a stuffing box.”

André lowered the phone. The line went dead.

On a yacht, a stuffing box was used at the point were the propeller exited the boat’s hull underwater. It prevented water from entering the hull while still allowing the propeller shaft to turn.

But his call wasn’t about one of those.

André looked out to sea. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

But now that it had, he was going to go at it full throttle.