Capture (Butch Karp Thrillers) (17 page)

D
EAN
N
EWBURY LEANED OVER AND LOOKED THROUGH THE
telescope across the East River at the island of Manhattan. He found it fascinating that he could see the faces of the pedestrians on the Brooklyn Bridge so clearly.
Unaware that they’re being spied upon like protozoa under a microscope
, he thought, turning the telescope to take in the skyline.
It all really is quite a magnificent sight, too bad it may be necessary to destroy it.

With the aid of the silver-knobbed cane he carried, the old man straightened up, wincing at the currents of pain that shot through his back. He glanced around the expensively furnished Brooklyn Heights mansion’s library.
It’s hell getting old.

The door behind him clicked open and he turned in time to see Congressman Dent Crawford cross the room with his hand extended and a wide smile on his chubby, youthful face. “Dean Newbury, so good of you to drop by.”

Newbury didn’t bother to raise his own hand to shake. “Cut the bullshit, Crawford. Why did you feel it necessary to meet now?” He’d known Denton J. Crawford IV since his birth forty-three years earlier. The younger man was the son of a congressman from Vermont who’d followed in his father’s footsteps, assuming his seat
on the Hill and on the council of the Sons of Man after his father’s death three years earlier.

Surprisingly, considering the Sons of Man’s far-right leanings, the Crawfords were notable champions of the far left; but that was part of the plan. Infiltrate the opposition, make them appear radical and disconnected from the concerns of ordinary, middle-of-the-road Americans, and destroy any chance of a large, cohesive liberal alliance with the moderate majority when it came time for the Sons of Man to seize power.

Both of their families had occupied a seat on the council since the late 1700s, when the founders of SOM, a group of smugglers from the Isle of Man trying to escape the British Navy, came to the young United States of America to pursue their criminal enterprises, which laid the foundation for the current empire. The Newburys had always been among the top leadership of the council, but the Crawfords had never distinguished themselves. They were given their orders by the council on how to vote in Congress, and what radical left-wing ideas and groups to support.

The father was an idiot,
Newbury thought,
and the son isn’t much of an improvement. And yet
…Somehow young Dent Crawford had come up with a plan that might just accomplish what Newbury had been unable to do.

The younger man had first proposed his idea as an alternative to Newbury’s strategy to cause a panic at the New York Stock Exchange—jeopardizing the nation’s economy and setting the stage for a coup. Some members of the council, especially the younger members, worried that Newbury’s idea was too complicated.

Only Newbury’s preeminence on the council had swung the vote in favor of his plan. Still, enough of the others forced the council to accept Crawford’s plan as a backup. Unfortunately, the stock exchange had not failed, and he was being forced by the decision of the council and his allegiance to the greater goals of SOM to swallow his pride and assist Crawford.

Now is the time to strike,
Newbury thought,
or I’ll find another way
. The country was ripe for change—an unpopular war, the major political parties mired in partisan sniping and gamesmanship,
terrorism, and a flagging economy created the conditions, and the Sons of Man had never had so many well-placed men in positions of power and influence. He wanted only to live long enough to see it all come to fruition.

Always a pragmatic man, Newbury recognized that SOM was undergoing a changing of the guard. The Young Bastards, as Newbury and his generation of council members called Crawford and his cohorts, had been agitating over the past few years for a greater role in determining council policy. At first, they’d been ignored by older members of the council, but they’d gained support among the major and minor families that made up the core of SOM. The Young Bastards were rash and impatient; they had little sense of history or the careful planning that had for generations gone into preparing for SOM’s final triumph.

Andrew Kane had been one of them and a perfect example of the pitfalls of allowing the young too much leeway. Outwardly a charming, successful lawyer and onetime candidate for New York City mayor, Kane was in fact a murderous, narcissistic sociopath, brilliant but doomed because of his ego and the interference of District Attorney Karp, as well as Karp’s family, and the odd collection of friends who seemed to constantly show up in the proverbial nick of time.

When the council hesitated several years earlier to go forward with Kane’s plan to kill the Pope while destroying St. Patrick’s Cathedral, all of which would be blamed of course on Islamic terrorists, he’d gone ahead on his own. Now Kane apparently had been killed by David Grale, his plan foiled and his body carried away by the Hudson River.

Newbury had disliked Kane and didn’t mourn his death. But the bigger concern had been that Kane’s unilateral action had drawn attention to the Sons of Man before they were ready. It could have been a disaster, and the council had to act swiftly and decisively to put out the fires created by Kane that could have led authorities to SOM.

However, Newbury had at least respected Kane for his ruthlessness and cruel brilliance. He’d always thought of Crawford as a lightweight like his father. But then last spring, the younger man
had suddenly emerged as a major player with a plan that, Newbury had to admit, might just work where his had failed.

Newbury was torn by that possibility. On one hand, the ascension of the Sons of Man to a position of global dominance depended on a strategy of creating social, political, and economic turmoil in the United States such that the population would forgo their precious freedoms in exchange for a protective, all-powerful fascist state. As a true believer, Newbury thought the Sons of Man were performing a “greater good” by saving the United States from being overrun by immigrants, its social values undermined by faggots, socialists, and liberals, and its rightful place in the world usurped by Third World and third-rate countries. He lamented that the United States was becoming a nation of “mud people”—the color of mud with a mud culture.

No longer a decent nation for the white race
, Newbury thought. However much he hated to admit it, Crawford’s plan might change that. If all went well, a devastating terrorist attack would be blamed on the Iranians—in part by “proof” that would be brought before the House Committee on Homeland Security, which Crawford chaired. The United States would retaliate, possibly with nuclear weapons, the entire Middle East would be engulfed in the flames of war, and chaos would rule at home, to which SOM’s carefully placed men would bring order and security in exchange for ultimate power. Their associates in other parts of the world—Russia and Europe, in particular—would also seize power during this tumultuous time so that a new world order could be established with the Sons of Man on top, their allies underneath, and a watchful eye kept on China until the “Asia Question” could be addressed.

On the other hand, the congressman’s success meant that the power on the council would most likely pass to a new generation who didn’t respect those who’d patiently planned for so many years. “So your courier delivered the message that your people are prepared to go forward with the plan,” Newbury said.

Crawford smiled and shrugged his round shoulders. “There will be a small delay in the date because of the incident in Dagestan—and by the way, we still have no good information on how our enemies nearly succeeded in killing our friend Ajmaani. Now that would have thrown a real wrench in the plan.”

Newbury scowled. “Then I suggest you tighten security, or perhaps I can recommend someone with experience who may know something about it.”

The younger man’s eyes blazed for a moment at the insult, but he quickly smiled again. “It’s not a problem. I was just noting that there will be a delay in Operation Flashfire, one of several days—unfortunately—and that might limit the collateral damage. Still, the numbers should be significant, in the thousands.”

“I still don’t like that part of your plan,” Newbury said. “Too much carnage.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve developed a conscience in your old age?” Crawford smirked. “The Dean Newbury of even a decade ago wouldn’t have minded throwing away a few thousand lives if it was for the greater good.”

Look how the jackal gloats now that he thinks the lion has grown old,
Newbury thought,
but he better keep a distance between us. I still have claws and teeth
.

“Conscience has nothing to do with it,” he growled. “I think it’s a tactical mistake. We want the American people afraid more than we want them angry. Think about how they responded to the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941 and the attack on the World Trade Center in 2001. Ask the Japanese, the Taliban, and al-Qaeda about the wisdom of angering the American public. Too many deaths and that’s how they’ll respond. However, striking at their daily lives, making them worried about leaving their homes, or how they’ll survive if ‘Islamic fanatics’ threaten to take over the world, and they’ll be happy to let us take care of the problem for them. My plan would have accomplished that.”

“But your plan failed,” Crawford sniffed. “And many on the council, as well as the families, are not very happy with you. Your failure lost a lot of money. Billions.”

“A drop in the bucket compared to our net worth,” Newbury snarled.

“Perhaps, but they don’t want any more such drops,” Crawford retorted. “Maybe they think that you and your generation on the council are past your prime. We’ll see how they respond when my
plan succeeds and we are in control.
Myr shegin dy ve, bee eh,
right? What must be, will be.”

Newbury’s blood boiled but he held his temper. Now was not the time to tear the heart out of this jackal. “You have al-Sistani, then? The last we heard from you and your cohorts was that the plan could not go forward without him.”

Crawford smiled. “Not quite yet. But we are making arrangements that should take care of that problem. A bit late, perhaps, but better than never.”

“Might I ask what these arrangements are?” Newbury asked.

“I can do better than that,” Crawford replied. He pressed a button on the desk and a television blinked on in the corner. “This is a live feed from a secret location. Have a look.”

Scowling, Newbury turned and saw a young woman tied to a chair with a hood over her head. Crawford picked up a microphone from the desk and spoke into it. “Abu, we’d like to see our guest, please.”

A dark-haired, dark-complected man appeared briefly on the monitor and pulled the hood off the woman. She blinked once, then her face grew angry. “Let me go, assholes, or you’ll regret it.”

Shocked, Newbury looked at Crawford. “You kidnapped Lucy Karp? Do you know what kind of manhunt this will cause?”

“No one even knows she’s gone,” Crawford replied. “We have spies around the Karp family, as well as among this piece-of-shit Grale’s little band, and knew that she planned to travel back to her home in New Mexico, where apparently—can you imagine in this age of technology—there’s no cell service. Last night her parents received a text message from her cell phone saying she landed safely, and then she’ll be out of range. That will buy us days, even a week or two, without raising alarm, and then it will be too late. In fact, when her parents do learn she is missing, they’ll be too distracted with her safety to interfere again with our plans. And then we have a little surprise for Karp…icing on the cake, if you will.”

“So what has she got to do with al-Sistani?” Newbury asked.

“Apparently, our nemesis Grale has quite the thing for our little flower. We believe that he will hand the Sheik over to secure her for himself, or at least save her from us.”

“A prisoner exchange?”

“Well, that’s probably how Grale will view it,” Crawford said. “But we like to think of Miss Lucy more as bait we’re going to use to rid ourselves of this lunatic once and for all.”

“Grale is a dangerous man to set traps for,” Newbury warned. “He’s a religious fanatic, and we all know how dangerous they can be. We certainly use enough of them ourselves.”

“Let us worry about Grale,” Crawford said. “But speaking of dangerous men, how’s your nephew? Wouldn’t it just be easier to kill him and not have to worry if he’s truly a changed man?”

“To paraphrase you, I’ll handle my family’s business,” Newbury spat. “If I think anyone is too dangerous, I know what to do—this old lion has been killing jackals for years.”

For a moment, Crawford’s eyes looked unsure, but then he let the threat slide.
The boss will deal with the “old lion” soon enough,
he thought. “Well, I’d invite you to stay for a late supper, but I’m sure you have better things to do, including your part in helping our plan succeed.”

Newbury looked hard at the younger man, wondering again where he’d suddenly found a backbone. “Indeed,” he replied. “We’ll be ready, just make sure the council is kept apprised—through me—of your progress.”

A few minutes after the old man left, Crawford stood at the big picture window looking through the telescope when he heard the other man enter. He knew who it was without looking by the thump of the cane on the floor. “So how’d I do?” he asked without turning.

“Well enough,” came Erik’s lisping reply. “What do you want? A medal for performing a simple task?”

Crawford knew better than to react angrily to the slight as he turned to look at the man with the silver mask for a face. “I don’t think it was a good idea to kidnap Lucy Karp. What if her parents learn before we’re ready? Karp could get the entire NYPD looking for her.”

The masked man’s eyes glittered. “I’ve thought of that. Indeed, I may use that to my advantage.”

Crawford nodded and turned back to the skyline across the water. “Magnificent view,” he said.