Deadly Powers (Tapped In Book 2) (17 page)

Baltimore didn’t answer right away. “We have a unique opportunity: With Heidi’s capture, we’re in a position to infiltrate the Order as never before.”

Pippa noticed they were approaching JFK International Airport. “We’re taking them back to Washington … to the agency?” she asked.

Baltimore directed Taffy where to turn. Ahead was an airport guard station with VIP access to private jets; Pippa wondered if Baltimore’s creds would still allow them access. How informed was the Order about their most recent actions?

Baltimore passed his government creds over, reaching past Taffy to the guard. He, surprisingly, with only scant scrutiny, passed them back and waved them through. Within two minutes, they pulled to a stop near a grouping of large private jets. Pippa recognized the SIFTR G6—the turbines on both its rear-mounted jet engines were spinning.

“Everyone out,” Baltimore said.

Pippa, the last one to enter the finely appointed G6 cabin, saw Guntner sitting on a leather couch, being treated by a medical professional. Baltimore had probably called ahead to enlist his aid. Moody sat to Guntner’s left, his gun leveled on him. As Pippa passed by, the med-tech noticed her arm, under the bloodstained sweatshirt. He said, “Please, sit here … once I’m finished with him—”

Pippa cut him off: “No, just come find me when you’re done with him.”

Ackerman, his pistol drawn, selected a cluster of seats apart from the others. Heidi and Taffy, looking bored, sat across from him.

Pippa joined Baltimore, sitting to his left. She was surprised to see Calloway, seated across from them, next to the window. His briefcase was open, a stack of manila folders lying on the vacant seat next to him.

“Good morning, sir. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I’ve pretty much made this jet my home the past few days,” he said. “Me and my security team, sitting back there.”

She glanced beyond him and saw three men, dressed in suits, sitting together in the rear of the cabin. None looked familiar to her.

“You okay?” he asked, gesturing to her arm.

“I’m fine. Any word yet on Chandler? Is he …”

“According to his ever-changing GPS coordinates, he’s alive. We’re assuming he’s still playing cowboys and Indians, in the mountains of Colorado.”

“And Palmolive?”

“All indications are he’s there too. Remember, there are no phones there, nor other means to make direct contact. We have to assume Chandler’s making friends there and will be permitted entry into Palmolive’s inner circle soon, where he can acquire crucial information.”

“I’m sure he won’t let you down, sir,” Pippa said. The truth was, with Rob’s mental abilities he didn’t need to become Palmolive’s BFF—he just needed to read the man’s mind. “Can I ask you a question?”

Calloway nodded. “Of course.”

“What’s the end game here? I mean, from what I understand, the Order’s organization has been around for nearly a hundred years, or more. Why now? Why decide now to seize control of the country—the world? Come out from behind their curtain?”

“First, you need to understand that the Order doesn’t need to change its behind-the-scenes influence on governments and corporate interests. Think of them like the Mafia, at the height of their power, in New York, New Jersey, Chicago … and, of course, Las Vegas. Everyone played by their rules and, if you didn’t get too greedy, you could lead a fairly normal life. From time to time you’d be asked to do them certain favors … sometimes, really big favors. You didn’t say no to the mob. Well, the Order is much the same. Only those controlling, who are mostly white men, are amongst the most respected and wealthiest. It has never been in the Order’s best interest to come out from behind the curtain, as you put it.”

“So what’s changed? Why construct a subterranean transit system? Is it for an imminent military coup?”

“Those hydro-passages, or underground Interstate highways, have been in the works for years, as a safeguard against a country attacking either the U.S. or Europe. Any country not completely under the Order’s present day control, like North Korea, Iran, and even Russia, to some extent, haven’t been playing by the rules. And when you have trillions of dollars at your disposal, why not create a safe haven for your interests; a way to ensure the long-term survival of the Order … even if some parts of America or Europe were to find themselves on the wrong end of a nuclear warhead.”

“So the elite are covering their bets?”

“Yes.”

“So again … why the coup? It doesn’t make sense.”

Pippa saw Calloway smile. “The WZZ, that’s why.”

“I thought they were small and insignificant, isn’t that the word they used? Only recently were they allowed to merge—”

Calloway leaned forward. “And why do you think an all-powerful organization, such as the Order, even considered such a move? Allowing what they considered a fringe, neo-Nazi group of blood-sucking nut-balls anywhere near their operation?”

Pippa shook her head, her mind flashing back to when her own blood was being drained into a vat that Leon and Heidi Goertz, plus scores of others, hungrily drank from. Nut-balls was an understatement. “It doesn’t make sense … not to me, anyway.”

The smile vanished from Calloway’s face. “We assumed the WZZ merged into the far larger, more powerful ranks of the Order. What we hadn’t figured out, until recently, was that it actually was the other way around.”

“How is that even possible? That makes no sense.”

“Rudy Palmolive, along with his criminal contingent, has taken control of the Order.”

“I know that,” Pippa said.

“That, of itself, is not the problem. What
is
the problem is that thirteen months ago Rudy Palmolive fell head over heels in love with another woman. Someone other than his wife.” He pointed a finger toward the front of the plane.

“No!”

“Oh, yes,” Calloway said. “We’re talking an all-consuming, lose all sense of reality, kind of love. Rudy, apparently, has gone over the deep end. Has to have her at any price.”

“And the price was?” Pippa asked. Then answered her own question: “To head up the Order.”

“Even more than that.”

Pippa thought about that and smiled. “She wants to rule the world?”

Calloway nodded, not saying anything more.

“And that’s the reason for the mobilization of the Order’s military forces? That’s simply crazy.”

He nodded again.

“But we have her now. She’s sitting right over there … it’s all over,” Pippa said.

“The WZZ has already begun imbedding itself deeply into the organization. The only one who seems clueless about what’s going on is Leon Goertz—who, we suspect, is not long for this world. No, our having Heidi, or even taking out Palmolive, simply isn’t enough at this point. WZZ’s infiltration, its control, is already too extensive. The intended coup might take place with or without them. There’s too much at stake to take the chance.”

Pippa waited for Calloway to continue—provide the answer to her original question—What’s the end game here?

“We must help Palmolive see the error of his ways. Only he can avert a worldwide catastrophe at this point.”

“Well, I’m here. I’ll assist you any way I can,” she said.

“I was hoping you would say that. We’re now en route to Washington. Once back at SIFTR, you will be undergoing another transition, is that understood?”

“What transition? Did I miss something?”

“You, my dear, will be taking Heidi’s place. You need to change Palmolive’s mind back—away from initiating a coup. To do that, we need to physically alter your looks.”

Pippa suddenly felt sick. The last time she’d undergone a series of facial and body injections to alter her appearance, it had taken months for the effects to wear off. Plus, there were other considerations—it was very painful and the physiological effects had been long lasting and terrible. They may have been the underlying cause of her and Rob’s recent breakup. Added to those facts, she despised the woman. Pippa wasn’t at all sure she could pull the ruse off.

I didn’t have to probe into the man’s mind to know he was dead, but I tried anyway—nothing there.

Billy the Kid climbed down from his horse, loosely tying the reins to a nearby hitching post. “Put that gun away,” he told Jude. “Who was he?”

I already knew the answer from peering into Jude’s dark and menacing thoughts. He was Carl Holden, another wealthy businessman, who’d recently graced the covers of both Forbes and FastCompany.

Billy climbed up two planked steps, joining Jude outside the saloon’s entrance. They spoke in low tones. Billy eventually turned back toward Butch and me, and said, “As you well know, guests staying here have paid a ridiculous amount of money. The tension you feel now in the pit of your stomachs … that’s the real thing. Nowhere else can a more realistic, Old West experience be encountered, because there is the very real possibility here that you will be killed. Not so different from the way life actually was, back in 1881. Carl over there did not have to die. He drew down on someone who was a far superior gunslinger.”

Butch looked like he was going to throw up. “But … but … his wife and little girl, they’re both here, expecting to go home together at the end of the week.”

Billy the Kid shrugged it off. “By the end of the week, there will be other bodies lying in the street, or slumped over a poker table, a bullet in their foreheads, or even hanging from a rope. We’ll provide an appropriate explanation to the wives. Perhaps a cave-in, at one of the many silver mines dotting the mountains around us—a convenient, completely inaccessible, mass grave-site. Let me be clear, Butch … you wanted this. You’ve also shown interest in joining a certain elite organization, correct? You survive to week’s end then that becomes a very real possibility.”

“No, I want to leave now,” Butch said, his ruddy pink cheeks turning purple.

“There are highly proficient men, carrying automatic weapons, who patrol the surrounding landscape. If you make it past them, safely back to the lodge, then you and your family are free to leave. But, just so you know, two others earlier attempted just such a feat.”

“Did they make it?” I asked.

Jude snickered. Billy the Kid shook his head, and said, “Unfortunately for them, no.”

“So what do we do now?” I asked.

This time it was Jude who answered, saying, “I suggest, before entering the saloon, you first head across the street.” I followed his stare and saw a small shop with a hand-painted sign above the door—
Guns and Ammo
.

“Shooting blanks is optional here, but not advised,” he said.

* * *

As it turned out, the Guns and Ammo store had a wide assortment of other items also for sale: hats and gloves, gun belts, leather satchels, and saddlebags of varying size, as well as weapon cleaning and lubricating products. Butch stared at the shelves trancelike, still not taking Jude’s menacing words well.

“Look, Butch, try to relax some. I’ll be watching your back … you watch mine, okay? We’re in this together.”

“Um … yeah … okay. I just never thought it would be
this
kind of vacation.”

I almost laughed out loud—but didn’t. The congressman was already far outside his comfort zone. He’d shown an interest in something he should not have. Dealing with the devil has repercussions and I had some serious doubts Butch would last out the week.

I stood at the counter, now strewn with my stack of items ready for purchase. I’d chosen a brown leather saddlebag, a new black Stetson, four boxes of .45 ACP 230 gr., American Eagle ammo, and a cleaning kit for my gun.

“That’s a lot of bullets, Mister, four hundred rounds. You realize each box holds one hundred rounds, don’t you?” the clerk behind the counter asked me.

“Figured I’d get in some target practice later today.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he said.

“How should I pay for all this,” I asked.

“Compliments of Billy.”

Before leaving the store, I reloaded my six-shooter with live bullets.

“I can take those blanks from you,” the proprietor said, holding out an open palm.

I thought twice about it, then pocketed the blanks instead. “Nah … I’ll hold on to them, thanks.” I placed my purchases into the new saddlebags and draped them over one shoulder. On my head, I replaced my old cowboy hat with my new black Stetson—leaving the older worn one on the counter.

Butch began piling on the counter his selected items, apparently coming to terms with the no-win situation he was in, as I stepped out on the street. Somewhere off in the distance came a single gunshot. It sounded like a rifle report.

I noticed my horse and Butch’s were both gone from the front of the saloon. I turned and looked up the street.

Horse back in barn.

It was the dog. I hadn’t noticed him there, curled up on the walkway outside the saloon. Coming closer, I saw his eyes following me. “Thanks,” I said aloud, as I pushed my way through the bar’s swinging doors.

The saloon looked far larger on the inside than it had from the street. An older man, wearing a vest and straw hat, was playing an old tune on an upright piano in the far back corner of the room. I estimated there were an excess of twenty round tables, each encircled with men mostly playing cards, mostly smoking cigars, and mostly drinking what looked to be whisky. Some women were milling about … most were scantily dressed in low-cut, brightly colored, burlesque-type costumes. Directly in front of me was the bar of all bars. Easily thirty feet long—made of some kind of hardwood—its top was stained and lacquered to a near-black finish. Behind the bar were three busy barkeeps, pouring drinks for a lined-up bunch of cowpokes. They turned in unison to see who’d entered the premises. The piano player stopped playing and the room went quiet.

“Looks like there’s a new sheriff in town.”

And I thought things couldn’t get any more clichéd. Billy the Kid, standing at the far end of the bar, made the comment, which produced a few laughs. Several men raised their shot glasses and said
Cheers
in my direction. Within seconds, the piano playing resumed and I was no longer of interest.