The Traveler (7 page)

“Go, and watch yourself, niece, there are men out there that are not as family-oriented as myself. Colonel, remove her from this office. Your flight to the States leaves in an hour. My men will escort you through customs and security.”

“Uncle,” Anya started to say, but the man just placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

“For the record, I liked your naval captain. Through the prime minister's office I am now aware of certain details as to his … disappearance. I am giving you over to your new and adoptive country for that simple fact. The world owes the man you married, this is Israel's penance, the price we will pay for what was owed by the world to this man and his sacrifice.” General Shamni softened. “That and the fact that I love you so very much.”

Anya started to cry for the first time since she learned that Carl was not returning from space. She took a tentative step forward but her uncle turned his back on her and returned to his desk.

“Good luck in what it is you are searching for. Now I have to disavow you as blood, and as an Israeli citizen.” Shamni continued to stare at a small picture of him and a beautiful woman from the past. Anya knew this picture was of the general and his sister, her grandmother, the queen of the Gypsies. The picture was taken long before the general was shipped away as a boy to Israel to gain his education on the people his Gypsies used to be a tribe of. Now Anya realized that the general had no one left. She was the last of his blood and now he felt that blood being spilled.

The former French army colonel, Henri Farbeaux, saw that Anya wasn't moving so he took her elbow and steered her toward the door. Once out of the office she allowed the Frenchman to place an arm around her as they walked toward the elevator. She stopped and looked at the antiquities thief.

“How and why are you here, Colonel?”

The elevator doors opened and Henri stepped inside and smiled at her. “As your uncle said, to bring you home. It seems you have very high-placed friends, and a Mrs. Alice Hamilton is among them. She is the one who sent me … lucky for you. She oversees most of that strange little man Compton's activities. She thought you may run into trouble.”

Anya remembered Alice from Romania at the same time she had met Carl. She never thought the frail-looking old woman was so in touch with the people Carl worked for.

Anya was still hesitant to step inside the elevator even with a death sentence held over her head if she didn't.

“And where is home now?” she asked as Farbeaux's smile grew as he held the doors open. “I met with Dr. Compton in Washington when he debriefed me, that is why I'm here. So, where is home now?” she persisted.

“Well, that's a loaded question, especially for one such as myself who is not adequately informed.”

“That doesn't answer my question, Colonel Farbeaux.”

The doors slid closed after she stepped into the elevator.

“All I can say is I hope you are comfortable in the high desert of America.”

“You mean—”

“That's right, you, like myself, have been shanghaied so to speak by a real Boy Scout. A man that is now being briefed on this outrageous investigation of yours.”

Anya Korvesky smiled when she saw the concerned look on the face of the Frenchman. The name that caused the man considerable consternation and the only moniker to ever make Henri Farbeaux frown in such a way as he was now.

“Colonel Jack Collins,” she mumbled with a smile starting to cross her red lips.

The elevator started down with a confused Anya Korvesky and a French antiquities thief who had yet to become resigned to his rather disturbing fate.

“Yes, we are going into the barren desert to see Mr. Wonderful himself.”

ST. JUDE'S CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

After the director had explained to Jack Anya's quest for information inside the Israeli archives system, the task he had been performing for the past months of finding the new specialized manpower for the replacement personnel at Group became crystal clear. As the president finished his sandwich with a pleasurable sigh, he rubbed his hands together and looked at Niles.

“Now that Jack knows we can also fall outside of the accepted rules of engagement, I received a partial list of personnel you wish to offer positions to. All have checked out security-wise with the exception of two.”

Niles opened his briefcase and brought out two file folders. The first he opened and handed to the president.

“This Xavier Morales.” The president raised his eyes and looked at Jack.

“Not my choice,” Jack said.

Niles had to smile as he knew what was coming, and he knew his old friend was going to be skeptical at the least and furious at the most.

“The man listed here is picked to head the most advanced computer center in the world, picked over the thousands of qualified men and women in this country, including thirty-two staff members already on Group roles. And this”—he looked at the photo of the young Mexican American youth paperclipped to the file—“is the man, or boy, that you chose?”

“As I said, Mr. President, I didn't choose him to run the comp center and Europa.”

The president just raised both brows while he waited.

“Europa herself chose the kid, not me.”

“Okay, you mind letting me in on the damn joke?”

Niles shook his head and then looked at Jack and decided he would bail him out on this one.

“Two years ago, Pete Golding”—Collins and the president saw the hurt come into Niles's good eye as he spoke the name of the former computer genius who had been murdered the previous month—“suspected that Europa, the most sophisticated computing system ever created, had been hacked. Not hacked for evil purposes, but hacked just to see if it could be done. This kid was the one responsible and Europa herself was the one that tracked him down. She insists this kid is the only qualified candidate out there. It's like she refuses to accept anyone else. This name always leads her list of qualified candidates. Every time.”

“So you're saying that Europa is developing programs that the other four Cray operating systems in use do not exhibit?”

“Pete Golding and his constant refinements of Europa. She is learning on her own.”

“Okay, your warped system wants this kid. Tell me about him.”

“Xavier Morales, age twenty-five. Born with osteoporosis and has been confined to a wheelchair since the age of five. He has a mother whom he supports and a brother, deceased. He is a prodigy. Graduated high school at thirteen and MIT with a doctorate at twenty-one. Hell, even I heard of him coming up through MIT's system. Pete was also aware of him … he was and is a legend. After college he dabbled in software design but it bored him. Then the murder of his older brother by a drug dealer sent our boy into another area of interest—finding and ruining everyone and anyone who had anything to do with his brother's murder. He tracked down everyone from the man who fired the ill-timed shot that killed his brother, to the dealer's connections, and then finally all the way to the source—the now-reorganized Nuevo Laredo Cartel in Mexico and its boss of bosses, Richie Gutiérrez.”

“One bad hombre,” the president remarked as his memory recalled the ruthlessness of the man who ended the infighting in northern Mexico simply by killing anything that walked or crawled in the region.

“Yes, a bad man who once had far more money than he has now, because of young Morales.”

“Explain.”

“Our boy deciphered his banking codes, back-doored the security systems of no less than twelve Swiss banks, drained his assets into untraceable accounts in the greater Los Angeles area. Youth organizations, boys and girls clubs in East L.A., and finally the coup was when he transferred one hundred million, five hundred thousand dollars, roughly eleven thousand dollars each into the bank accounts of everyone in his mother's old neighborhood, which was the straw that broke the camel's back and got him caught by the cartel.”

The president just looked at Niles, who had answered for Jack. “I don't give the kid very good odds of a long life if he picks and chooses his enemies in such a manner.”

“Well, sir,” Jack said, “you're right on that point. Gutiérrez and his goons got to him through his mother.”

“Jesus.”

“He's being held in the cartel's own private prison in northern Mexico affectionately called the House Where Hope Goes to Die. Gutiérrez has something special planned for the kid's demise as soon as he returns from South America after arranging new banking partners. We estimate our boy Morales has about six days left before the bastard has him torn to pieces in one of his prison gladiator shows he likes to put on.”

“For a kid in a wheelchair?” the president asked, angered at the brutality of the cartel and Gutiérrez in particular.

“Yes,” Niles said as he pulled the folder from the president's hand and closed it. “And we want permission to go get him out, or rather, Europa wants him out.”

“Europa wants you to literally invade a neighboring country and kidnap someone?”

“Yes, an American someone.” Jack sat looking at his boss without flinching. Now knowing what this search for new personnel was for, his enthusiasm had grown by leaps and bounds.

“Who else?” he asked instead of answering Collins's challenge about Morales being an American.

Niles replaced the first folder with a second. The president scanned the pages inside with his eyes going wide for a split second. He closed the folder.

“Approved, good luck with your recruiting on this one. Getting Morales out may be far easier than dealing with this guy.”

“Oh, we have the perfect persuasion heading to San Diego to speak with our great man. I think she'll persuade him to come around to joining us.”

“I believe you are referring to your assistant director?”

“The one and only. Virginia Pollock is the only human being in the world that Master Chief Jenks is terrified of. Yes, he will come along just out of fear for his life.” Niles took the second folder and then reluctantly handed the president the third and final recruitment request. The president opened it and again scanned the pages with the corners of his mouth turning downward as he progressed.

“Denied,” he said simply and as matter-of-fact as he could. The president closed the thickest folder of the three and handed it back to Compton. “I appreciate her assistance, but this is asking too damn much, Niles.”

“Look, Anya is risking everything to assist us in getting Carl back. We need her inside the facility,” Niles said as he looked at Jack. “I'll take full responsibility for her immediate placement on the Group's active roster. She's not the type to spill Department 5656 files and histories to the world. If the critical information she kept in Romania is any indication, the woman knows how to keep secrets where they belong.”

“No, damn it.” The president returned to the refrigerator, ignoring the crutch leaning against the table. He removed a jug of milk from it and then thought a second and returned it and again faced the two men watching him. “She's not only a foreign national, gentlemen, but a goddamned intelligence officer at that. No, request denied. As grateful as I am for her involvement thus far, we cannot be giving her departmental access to the foremost secret government reservation in this country.” The president placed his hands on the steel table and leaned in, looking from face to face. “Not to an Israeli Mossad agent.” He saw the angry line that formed the lips of his best friend. He held up a hand in a “wait” gesture when he knew Niles was going to explode. “Again, I appreciate her directing us to this possible new information concerning this Traveler file, but I have to think of the men before me in this office that kept that facility their own personal secret. No, gentlemen.”

“You know she performed magnificently during the war, you read the reports,” Niles countered.

“I know all about Miss Anya Korvesky and what she did for the war effort.” The president felt a pinch of guilt as he recalled that Carl Everett had been in love with her and she him. Everett had even resigned his navy commission over his relationship with the Israeli intelligence specialist. Miss Korvesky had indeed paid a heavy price for their victory in space.

At that moment the Group's private satellite phone chimed and Niles answered it with a stern look at his friend. The president looked away.

“Compton,” he said into the small untraceable device. “I see. What have you done?” Jack and the president watched Niles purse his lips as he listened. “I should have known you would have been on top of it. No, Alice, that is exactly the course you should have taken. Are they safely out of there? Okay, I'll meet everyone in Arizona. Good job and thank you.” Niles closed the phone and placed it in his coat pocket. He looked at the president. “Anya recovered the file in question.”

“Then her part in this rescue attempt is at an end, correct?” the president inquired.

“She was caught by the Mossad.”

“Damn!”

Jack said nothing, but waited.

“Our dear Mrs. Hamilton foresaw this and made a few calls. Her and Garrison Lee's influence has evidently been felt in some very obscure circles; the Mossad seems to be one of them.”

“What does Mrs. Hamilton have to do with this very bad situation?” the president asked incredulously.

“She made a deal with Anya's uncle. She's now our problem. Colonel Henri Farbeaux is already bringing Anya in. It seems, Mr. President, she's now a part of our team whether you like it or not. We owe her at least that.”

The president was almost as white as a sheet. “What in the hell does Henri Farbeaux have to do with all of this?”

“Oh, I guess I forgot to mention, I recruited Henri as a specialist for the duration of this Event. After all, he's seen our complex, thus he's not a security risk. He already knows everything.”