The Victor Project (22 page)

     “Good thing no one is around tonight,” said
Sherman.

     “It’s a good thing I don’t have that fucking weasel in my grip right now, cause I’d kill him right here in your office,” said Ben.  Why aren’t these fucks dead?”

     “William’s fate is tonight.  Frank’s tomorrow morning,” replied Sherman.

     “You better damn well guarantee that,” said Ben.

     “All right, I do,” replied Sherman.

     “I should have had those fucks killed yesterday,” said Ben.

     “They can’t do us any harm over the next few hours,” said Sherman.

     “The hell they can’t.  They could plant a few bomb’s here and there!” Ben exclaimed.

     “That’s not their goal and you know it.  You heard the damn tape.  They’re not even sure what the fuck is going on.  Even after they get the files off that disk, it’ll take them a while to figure out what to do.  I’ll tell you what I’m perplexed about though,” said Sherman.

     “What’s that?” asked Ben.

     “That little gadget William had.  How did he get that out of the department?” asked Sherman.

     “One of his cronies probably stole the thing from us.  Better yet, the fucker is working for us and selling the shit like hotdogs off the back of his truck,” replied Ben.

     “I guess it doesn’t matter anyhow.  It’s obsolete,” said Sherman.

     “Obsolete like us,” said Ben.

     “What do you mean?” asked Sherman.

     “Up there, on that ship, there’s not much use for covert operations.  And down here, after we come back, there won’t be politics, PERFs and European zones, just a handful of us.  The government won’t be worrying about all this shit.  It’ll be all we can do just to survive,” said Ben with a serious tone.

     “I guess that’s enough,” said Sherman.

     “I want those guys dead within twelve hours,” Ben commanded.

<< >>

     William focused on the front porch window as he pulled his car into the driveway.  The spot that was usually filled by his loyal pet was still and black.  Not many occasions had passed that the sound of his vehicle didn’t pull her to the window.  William hoped she was feeling all right.

     His senses heightened immediately when the light switch failed to illuminate the room.  Instinct told him to retreat back onto the porch, but curiosity forced him to further research the area.  Blanch was nowhere in sight.  Calling for her would only alert an intruder of his presence, if there was an intruder.  The sound of the front door slamming spun him around only see the dark image of someone swinging an object in a downward motion. 

     Before he could maneuver, the object glazed the left side of his head and made direct contact on the clavicle.  William could hear the snap of his bone as the force of the object pushed him to the ground.  Sharp pains surged down his arm and up his neck forcing his knees to buckle.  Grabbing his left arm at the elbow, he rolled to his right and searched the darkness for the intruder.  The light coming through the windows offered only a partial shadow, which was now above him drawing the object back for another blow. 

     William continued his roll, pushing himself upward with his one good arm.  The thud of the object striking the floor seemed to rumble throughout the entire house.  As William regained his footing, he made every attempt to suppress the fear building inside, to allow himself clearer thought.  He knew that the only hope in fending off the killer was to find a formidable weapon.  Only with a clear head could he scan his memory for something near.

     The only figure his eyes could distinguish in the darkness was the outline of the kitchen doorway.  In his mind he pictured the drawer to the right of the sink, where he kept the larger utility knives.  Lunging his body forward only caused more sharp spikes of pain to rush up his neck.  His head now felt faint and a coldness began to overcome him.  A warm trickle of blood rippled down his left cheek from where the object had
grazed his head.

     Placing his right hand on a dining room chair, he flung the object behind him as he passed.  A second later came the sound of a collision along with an exclamation of pain from his attacker.  Focusing only on the dim light ahead, William ignored the now crippling pain and managed to grasp the knob to open the drawer.  He could hear the heavy breathing of the intruder only steps behind him.  Using only the sense of touch, he located one of the knives from the drawer.  As his hand grasped one of the wooden handles, he felt a surge of adrenaline rush though his body, but as he pivoted with the weapon he caught only a glimpse of light reflected from an object that struck him with full force.

     Matt turned on the kitchen light and ran toward the front windows to see if anyone nearby had heard the commotion inside.  The neighborhood seemed quiet.  Fortunately the house sat on a corner lot, with the only close neighbor now being himself.  Returning to kitchen where William’s body lay, he pressed two fingers against his neck to feel for a pulse.  The blood gushing from the headwound had already created a pool close to three feet in diameter.  The combination of William’s eyes having rolled upward and his jaw hanging downward created a ghastly expression.  It wasn’t the first time he had stared at a face like that.  Matt took precautions not to step in the blood as he moved away from the body.  

     He had previously wrecked two of the rooms in the house while searching for the disk, a process he was somewhat enjoying when William returned home earlier than expected.  The mess would help confirm that the struggle was the unfortunate consequence of a surprised burglar, who had instinctively grabbed the heavy candle holder that now lay by the head of the victim.  The newspaper would also report the unpleasant fact that the burglar had callously killed the victim’s pet, which was found in one of the bedroom’s of the house.

CHAPTER 13

     Frank made a mental note to replace the light bulb in the garage as he slipped into his vehicle for his morning drive to work.  He had been in the house almost fifteen years and this was the first time it had blown.  Not bad for a light bulb, he told himself.  After turning onto the main highway, he once again checked his rearview mirror only to see a man with a baseball cap and sunglasses casually sitting in the back seat.  The sight of the image startled him, causing the vehicle to swerve a bit.

     “Easy, we don’t want to get into an accident,” said the man.

     “What the hell you doing in my car?” Frank exclaimed.

     “Before you do anything rash, I want you to notice what I am holding in my right hand,” said the man.

     Near the man’s thigh, well below the view through the window was a pistol pointing directly at him.  Frank said nothing, but focused on the man’s face.  Even through the cheap disguise he could recognize that it was the one and only Mr. Seaking from Sherman’s meeting.

     “So I guess you’re my escort to work,” said Frank.

     “I’m not the joking type, Mr. Belker.  Take a right at this light,” said Seaking.

     “And if I don’t?” asked Frank.

     “I shoot you here and then go back and kill your family,” said Seaking.

     “Fair enough,” said Frank as he slowed to make the turn.

     “Why may I ask is Sherman putting you up to this?” asked Frank.

     “Who is
Sherman?” replied Seaking.

     “OK, why are you doing this?” said Frank.

     “It’s a hobby,” said Seaking.

     “Some hobby,” replied Frank.

     “Make another right at this light,” said Seaking.

     Frank hoped Seaking would remain quiet for a few miles and allow time for him to plan his escape.  Any plan was worth the risk, since Seaking was no doubt going to kill him and arrange it so no one would care.  Thinking of a way to draw attention to his predicament would only bring harm to his family as Seaking pointed out.  Frank knew that any hopes of judicial retribution against the man for his death were fruitless.  The NSA could murder someone on the fifty-yard line in front of seventy-thousand people and easily avoid persecution.

     It was now obvious that somehow Ben and Sherman had discovered his meeting with William.  The first thing that came to mind was that they must have been onto William for some time.  Until now, William hadn’t known enough about the Victor Project or maybe didn’t tip his hat otherwise, so Sherman was most likely content to keep the PERF leader under surveillance.  His own emergence with the crucial disk was probably more than the department could risk.  If Val wasn’t already dead, she would be within the next twenty-four hours.  Now that William had been given the disk, he would no doubt be killed also.  Frank thought of the little jamming device William had held up the night before.  Evidently, it hadn’t worked for some time.

     The face of the woman in the car that passed his vehicle reminded Frank of his wife.  If nothing else he would ensure that somehow his family would not be harmed, but it was risky to even assume that Seaking was a compassionate human being.  There was nothing about the man’s persona to indicate so.  Frank wiped the heavy sweat from his palms onto his shirt as he struggled for an idea.  Seaking became more alert with the hand movements and leaned closer to him.  The last turn that he had been instructed to execute had headed them east and out of town.  It was now only a matter of minutes before Seaking would instruct him to pull the vehicle onto some dusty side-road. 

     “Take a left here,” said Seaking.

     Frank slowed the speed of the vehicle to gain a little more time for his thoughts.  Up to this point, the only idea that had emerged was the possibility of getting Seaking to talk about how he was going to execute him, it might offer a clue on how to escape.

     “How are you going to cover up this murder,” said Frank.

     “Who said it would look like a murder?” said Seaking.

     “It’s hard to commit suicide with a gun I don’t own,” said Frank.

     “Oh, you could own this gun I assure you of that,” said Seaking.

     “I guess there’s nothing our government can’t do, right Seaking?” poked Frank.

     Seaking responded to the last comment with silence.  For now he could assume that Seaking was going to make it appear as a suicide.  He also was certain that the weapon to be used was the one now being pointed at him.  With that in mind, the only plan that Frank could come up with was to either somehow separate the gun from Seaking’s right hand or make a run for it and hope that Seaking would refrain from shooting him in the back.

     “This road here.  Take a right,” said Seaking.

     “I don’t want my family harmed,” said Frank.

     “That is not part of the plan,” said Seaking.

     The last road Frank had turned onto was rock covered and had narrowed over the last mile or so.  Frank began to feel a cold pain in his stomach.  To fight the fear that was building inside him, he concentrated on the face of his wife.  From that he drew the courage to struggle and not surrender his life.  When the vehicle came upon a small road that led into the woods, there was no surprise to what Seaking was going to say next.

     “Turn right here.  Now stop,” said Seaking.

     Frank remained silent as Seaking surveyed the area for witnesses.

     “Get out,” said Seaking.

     Frank opened his door and turned his head to watch for the rear door to open.  When Seaking’s left leg slid outside the vehicle, Frank thrust his left shoulder into the door, crushing his leg against the frame of the car.  Seaking let out a scream as Frank made a direct run for a line of trees that stood only six feet from where the car was parked.  As he placed his hand on the first tree to brace himself, Frank heard a gunshot that brought with it a sharp pain to his back.  Falling forward he realized he was incorrect about Seaking’s need to shoot him face to face.  Sherman and Ben could fix this, he thought as he closed his eyes.

<< >>

     As the XK3 drew closer to its programmed parking spot, Rick noticed that the man waiting for him was not his usual host Frank Belker.  He tried to remember the last time that Frank didn’t come down to greet him and deliver the task list.  It seemed like he had always been there.

     “Mr. Mallory, I’m Don Hawthorne.  How was your trip?,” asked the man.

     “It was fine.  Where is Frank?” asked Rick.

     “Frank couldn’t make it this morning.  I’m filling in.  Here is your task list.  I’ve looked it over and it seems to be somewhat similar to past lists.  Anyhow, if you have any problems, call into the department.  I will be here all day,” said the man.

      Rick glanced over the list that Don had handed to him while simultaneously trying to figure out the reason for the man’s vague responses.

     “There is a taxi waiting out front for you.  It was nice to meet you,” said Don as he drew away.

     “Nice to meet you,” responded Rick.

     Don was obviously in a hurry and had made it clear that he didn’t want any more questions directed his way about the missing Frank.  Rick obliged the man and made his way to the front of the building.  As Don the charmer had stated, the taxi was waiting at the exit of the lower part of the garage.  No one, not even Frank had ever set up a taxi to begin his day.  Rick thought about walking back into the building for a quick buzz around the office and hopes of discovering more clues about his missing boss, but he guessed that Don wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about the idea. 

     It was possible that Frank could have been fired.  That would explain Don’s don’t-ask don’t-tell attitude.  The government always kept things of that nature hush-hush.  It was nearly six months before he heard the news that a Traveler from the same zone as he had been dumped by the department.  To this day, he had never discovered the true reason. 

     The tasks for the morning were light, a visit to a coffee shop and a stop at a newsstand.  It was all the same old crap.  He felt like skipping it all, but he had to assume that Val was at this very moment reviewing a copy of his task list, selecting one of the spots for a rendezvous.  If the day passed without the two of them linking up, he would drop by her apartment to catch her coming home from work.

<< >>

     From her cubicle, Val could hear the rise of voices around the office.  The mumbling seemed to flow around the room as if a wave of water was splashing from wall to wall.  The post-lunch hour always filled the floor with extra noise, but never this much.  The last time she remembered hearing this type of a commotion, someone had called in a bomb threat for one of the buildings on the adjacent block.  If there was another bomb threat, she wanted to be the first down the elevator.  Rita entered her cube just as she was about to investigate.

     “Did you hear about Frank?” asked Rita in a solemn voice.

     “No, what’s wrong?” replied Val.

     “They found him dead this morning, just outside of town,” she said.

     At that moment, flashbacks of their conversation in the warehouse filled her thoughts.  With that she began to envision a FBI agent standing outside the doorway that night taking notes to every word coming from Frank’s lips.  If Frank was dead, then so was she.  The Grim Reaper might as well have been touching her on the shoulder at this very moment.

     “Val, you all right?” asked Rita.

     “Dead, what happened?” asked Val snapping back to reality.

     “All I know is that he was murdered.  The police are saying the it’s gambling related,” Rita replied.

     “Gambling?  Frank didn’t gamble.  He wouldn’t even take part in the baseball pools.  You knew the man for Christ’s sake.  He has a family,” said Val.

     “I know, but they have other evidence,” said Rita.

     “Like what?” said Val.

     “There were witnesses on the news that talked about his debts.  They even have photographs of him with some bookies,” said Rita.

     “Something’s wrong,” said Val.

     “What are you talking about?” asked Rita.

     Val realized that Rita represented another segment of the public that could easily be duped with a few words from the media, the part of society that wanted to believe propaganda like this.

     “Nothing.  I just can’t imagine him doing that,” said Val.

     “Everybody’s not who you think they are.  I can tell you that.  I’ve been around..”

     “Rita, sorry but I have to do something.  Will you excuse me?” said Val as she grabbed her purse.

     During Rita’s babbling the thought had struck Val that William was most likely dead also.  The CIA couldn’t risk having two people perish coincidentally from the same office on the same day.  Most likely her accidental death was scheduled for a few days from now, but there was no way in hell she was going to wait around for that event.  She needed a place to hide out for a few days.

<< >>

     Sherman shut the door as he entered Ben’s office.  Ben was sitting behind his desk nervously tapping his pencil and mumbling something to himself.  As soon as the door was closed, his mumbling grew volumes.

     “I don’t like what I heard this morning,” said Ben.

     “Well for God’s sake keep it down.  What the hell didn’t you like?  Both thorns have been pulled,” said Sherman.

     “Cut that CIA language crap.  I thought I made it plain that they were both supposed to look like accidents,” said Ben.

     “One did.  Something went wrong with Frank’s.  He was getting away and our man had to shoot quickly,” replied Sherman.

     “In the back?” Ben exclaimed.

     “Would you rather he had escaped and be sitting in front of a news camera right now?” asked Sherman.

     “He never had the balls to do that,” said Ben.

     “You grow big balls when you find out your alternative is death,” said Sherman.

     “Who was our man?” asked Ben.

     “Seaking,” answered Sherman.

     “How in the hell did a fucking office boy like Frank Belker outwit Seaking?  He’s one of our best,” said Ben.

     “He probably thought as you did that Frank was a chicken-shit desk pusher and underestimated him.  Either way, mission accomplished.,” answered Sherman.

     “I just don’t like drawing attention to this office.  Especially the attention of this evacuation committee,” said Ben.

     “They ought to be kissing our asses for catching these fucks and allowing the evacuation to continue.  Otherwise they would have ten million pissed off people out there seeking revenge on their government that was planning on heading for high ground while their flesh was falling off.  The committee would be hanging upside down out in the square like Mussolini if it wasn’t for us,” said Sherman.

     “Just make sure all the tracks are covered,” said Ben.

     “Our reports say that the media is printing it as they see it, with a little help from us of course,” said Sherman.