The Krakow Klub (39 page)

“That’s weird, Erik, but what the hell, I
will get right on it.”

Stoellar hung up the phone and called Number
Eleven. She answered after two rings.

“Yes, Number One.”

“I am going to ask Carla to send the Navy to
take care of Scott Key.”

“And just how do you think they are going to
accomplish that?”

“Cut the crap. I don’t
know,
and I don’t care. I just want that damned island
neutralized,
and the people on it taken into
custody. I wouldn’t care if they were
killed,
but I’d like to get information out of them first. Then, they’re
dead. I want them DEAD, DEAD, DEAD!”

“Erik, you must relax. A man of your age can
damage his health with such outbursts. Save your energy for
something important, like taking me to dinner.”

As Erik continued to fume, Eleven realized
that Stoellar was close to completely losing it. He had been so
fanatical about taking over the government that he had lost touch
with reality. She had suspected that he was becoming
unstable,
and his current state of agitation surely
seemed to prove it.

Eleven knew that she was certainly the
cleverest member of the group and likely the richest. She could
hold her own in any
situation,
but she was
also very, very patient. She had always figured that at some time
in the future, just when it
was least
suspected
, she would eliminate the others in the Krakow Klub
leaving just herself and Stoellar. Now, it looked as if she would
have to eliminate Stoellar as well. Then, she would take over. She
would have the ultimate power. She would control the world. What a
lovely thought, indeed.

As she ended the call and hung up, she
thought,
Too bad about Stoellar; he was often rather amusing in
an odd sort of way.

****

Henry Wilkinson dressed himself in what
remained
of his clothes. His shirt was in
shreds and scorched in several places. His pants weren’t much
better. All in all, he looked a fright.

Looking into the mirror in his bathroom, he
thought,
So much for the dignity of the
office.

Nevertheless, he stood tall and tried to look
as presidential as possible under the circumstances. He ran his
fingers through his hair and tried to get it into some order.

Then, slowly, he reached inside his shirt and
pulled out the small device that he always wore on a chain around
his neck. He raised the little device ceremoniously and depressed a
button in the center.
The device
, he knew,
would transmit an emergency signal to the Secret Service agents who
must be just outside the door. They would burst in, guns drawn, and
escort him from his hospital room and back to the White House
immediately.

Nothing happened. Silence! No pounding of
feet running down the hall. Nothing!

Perhaps the transmitter had been damaged in
the explosion. Wilkinson decided to find his own way out. He had
never been particularly brave, but today, he would show the world
that he was up to this challenge.

He walked to the door of his perfectly
equipped hospital room and opened it cautiously. He was surprised
to see a small vehicle, resembling a golf cart, parked outside in
the hallway. There were no wheels; that was certainly strange.
Nevertheless, he took a seat and much to his
surprise;
the craft began to move very smoothly down the
corridor.

After only about a minute, the little craft
slowed to a stop before another door. Wilkinson stepped out and
walked hesitantly toward the door. As he neared it, it opened
slowly. He
entered,
and the door closed
immediately behind him. He jumped in surprise.

The situation was
indeed
peculiar. He began to feel a twinge of fear. He examined the door
closely,
but there appeared to be no means of
reopening it. It seemed to
be tightly sealed
.
He was in a small, empty room that appeared to be a foyer. The
walls were some
type of
shiny
material,
and he could see his reflection being morphed
gently from one shape to another. It was most unnerving.

Directly in front of him was a second, much
larger door, again sealed, with no apparent means of opening it. He
approached it slowly, his shoes making no sound on the polished,
reflective flooring.

This door went from the floor to the ceiling
of the room and was about eight feet across. What could require
such a massive door? Then, he noticed it. A small red button
positioned on the right side of the door. He stretched out his
index finger toward the button, hesitated, and then drew his hand
back.

Thinking to himself, “Why should I be afraid?
What could be behind that door that could harm me? After all, I am
the president of the United States, the most powerful person on the
planet.”

He straightened his shoulders, reached out,
and firmly pressed the button. The giant door slid open
soundlessly.

He stumbled
backward
in
shock. There, before him, was Earth, partially lit by the sun—a
spectacular sight! The deep blue of the oceans and the contrasting
land masses were stunning. It almost took his breath away.

As he struggled to catch his breath, he
thought that he would have another heart
attack.
But the view held him in its grip.
It was so beautiful to behold from such a distance.
Three-quarters
of the planet was lit by the
sun with the remaining quarter still visible in the soft umbra. He
had seen NASA
photographs,
but this was
incomparable. It
was
no photograph.
It was
Earth from a million miles out in
space.

Suddenly his bewilderment was shattered by a
voice seemingly coming from everywhere at once. “Mr. President,
would you like to reconsider my offer at this time?”

Henry Wilkinson dropped to his
knees;
his hands were trembling. The air of authority
now totally gone
from him. “Dear God, he
mumbled, where am I?”

The voice said, “Get back on the
transporter,
and it will bring you to me. Don’t worry,
sir. Everything will be okay. You are in no danger here. I am your
friend,
and I only want to help you.”

Wilkinson rose and started towards the door.
Suddenly, he stumbled
again
and fell to one
knee. Shaking, he wrested himself up and the door opened before
him. He got into the transporter. It immediately started moving. He
realized it was taking him to his new master. He resigned himself
to the fact that he was totally under the control of this man, John
Scott, whoever, or whatever the hell he was.

****

Number Eleven was most upset. Things were not
going according to
plan,
and she sensed
impending disaster. She realized that someone had been able to
penetrate their secure communication system. How could that be?

She went over all the possibilities. The
secure satellite phones could not possibly have
been
compromised; they used the world’s most secure communications
system
.

What about their computers? As with the
phones, they were impossible to hack. Her associates in China had
made sure of that.

What other possibility was there? Someone was
gathering information on the
organization,
and
it was imperative that she determine the source of that leak.

She knew of only one person that might help
her: Dr. Hiram Wu, a professor of electrical engineering at
Stanford University. Someone seemed to know every move that the
Krakow Klub was making, and they had to be getting that information
from someone within the organization. If anyone could figure it
out, it would be Wu.

There was little left for her to do in Key
West. At this point, finding the leak was far more important than
finding Dr. Jim Slater.

She called her pilot and ordered him to file
a flight plan to San Jose, California, immediately. They would take
off as soon as she got to the airport. During the flight, she
called Dr. Wu on her satellite phone. He was a member of her inner
circle and owed her many favors, not to mention his prestigious
position at the university.

“Hiram, I’m sorry to be calling you so early
in the
morning,
but I need your
help,
and it’s urgent.”

She proceeded to relate the circumstances,
but not the content, of how information was being gathered in some
clandestine manner by persons unknown. After several minutes of
exchange, Dr. Wu suggested that there might be a device planted on
her person. Didn’t she ever watch American TV?

She thought for a moment before replying that
it would be highly unlikely. She had changed clothes frequently and
never wore the same thing twice in a row. Same with her shoes,
coat, and jewelry. Also, she scanned her residences frequently for
electronic bugs.

Wu then suggested that, somehow, a
microscopic transmitter could have been implanted on or in her
body. Had she had a recent physical examination? What about
immunizations? Dental work? A tattoo?
Anything at all
that could have provided an opportunity for a device to be
planted?

Dr. Wu suggested that she meet him at the
nearby California Center for Imaging as soon as she arrived. He had
been part of a team evaluating a new German scanning device that
would put all the others on the market to shame. Forget MRIs.
Forget PET scans. This new device was the stuff that radiologists
dreamed about using
.

A few hours later, Number Eleven arrived at
the imaging center and was directed to the laboratory where Dr. Wu
and his associate, Dr. Shin Lin Cheong, awaited her. The two
proudly showed off a dazzling piece of new equipment and assured
her that, if anything had
been implanted
in
her body, the scanner would detect it. And best of all, there would
be no records made of the studies. Since it
was
strictly a research project
, no one would ever know that she
had set foot
in
the place.

After undressing and putting on a disposable
gown, she was instructed to lie on the flat metal table at the
front of the scanner. She must lie completely still during the
entire process. She had had an MRI before and hated it. But, she
had composed herself and taken it.
This thing
surely
couldn’t be any worse than an MRI.

Surprisingly,
there was
no sound at
all,
as she
moved
slowly
through the scanner. How nice!

As her entire body was scanned, the two
doctors huddled over the monitors looking for anything that might
suggest an implanted device. She could not hear their
conversation,
as they began to point
to
a particular section of the scan and speak animatedly
in Mandarin.

After the massive machine
had
completed
the scan, she was instructed to get dressed and
wait for Cheong and Wu in the office next door. They would have
confirmed their findings within a few minutes and would give her a
verbal report.

Eleven
dressed
and was
opening the door to Dr. Cheong’s office in less than three
minutes.

Dr. Cheong directed her to a seat in front of
the massive array of scans that had just
been
performed
. They began at the lower extremities and worked
toward her head slowly. Every few seconds, they
paused
the screening and looked carefully at some tiny
part of the image.

Nothing was detected throughout her entire
body until they reached the head. The
three-dimensional
view of her head showed every minute
detail. It was quite eerie. Then, a short beep
sounded,
and the screen
was automatically
centered on
the top center of her head. There, a tiny
artifact could be seen.

Cheong enhanced the image and enlarged the
view. Indeed, a tiny dark object was visible at the top of her
skull. Both doctors leaned forward and intensely studied the object
for several minutes.

To her, it looked like an insignificant dark
speck. To them, it was the prize they had been seeking.

As they chattered on, gesticulating
frantically, she became more and more annoyed.

“Okay, I want to know what that is! Tell me
right now!”

Dr. Wu bowed slightly in her direction and
apologized. “I think that we have detected something very unusual.
This dark speck that you see could be a microscopic transmitter. If
so, it is much more advanced than anything I have ever seen.
Nothing
even close to its microscopic size is
known to be currently available today.”

Dr. Cheong added, “It seems
that the device was inserted just
beneath your scalp in
front of the coronal suture. I think that we can extract it quite
readily with a large bore needle and syringe. I can direct the
needle to the precise site of the device using a radiological
image. There will be
little
if any pain
associated with the
extraction,
but I can give
you a local if it would make you feel better.”

“Forget the local. Let’s get this
over.
And, after you get that damn thing out of my head,
I need you to figure out exactly where it came from and who might
have put it there.”

Thirty minutes later, the device had been
successfully extracted. Eleven reached up and touched the top of
her head. There wasn’t even a bump to show she had had the
procedure. Perfect.