Halon-Seven (7 page)

“Yes,” the older man said. He rubbed his chin with a distracted, faraway look in his eyes. “He always suspected you might feel that way.” His eyes snapped back to the moment and he smiled at Cyrus. “Anyway, to the business at hand!

“I’m seeing to Walter’s last will and testament. He has left you his modest estate in the mountains of Colorado.”

Cyrus was taken aback. He leaned on the arm of his chair and considered Underwood’s statement. “That must be a mistake. Surely he had family or friends who—” He didn’t know how to continue. “He once mentioned a vacation property he had out in Colorado. He said it was his sanctuary. I got the impressing he really loved it there.”

“That he did, my boy! He always said that he did his best thinking out there. But it wasn’t a vacation retreat. He lived there. It was his home. And certainly he had friends, but no surviving family. And he was very precise. He wanted you to have the property.”

“His home? He lived there? The way he would pop up now and again, I assumed he lived here in the city. Colorado is quite a trek…and he wasn’t a young man…” Cyrus’s mind spun with the contradiction. Meade had a tendency to show up at his door randomly and unannounced. Cyrus could just as easily have been home as not. Would the man have traveled all the way from Colorado to make unannounced visits? Maybe he’d simply been in town on other business. But that often? And traveling so frequently at his advanced age? In truth, they had met more often than Cyrus has admitted to Underwood.

Underwood watched Cyrus carefully. He could see the wheels moving as he considered the dichotomy of the scenario. “Yes,” he said simply, “Walter did love to travel.

“In any case, Walter has left you the property in Colorado as well as a trust that will see to the payment of the taxes, insurance, and utilities for the next 100 years.”

“Wait—Excuse me?”

“Yes, Walter believed that his inheritance should not be a burden on those who accepted it. So, in your case he ensured that taking possession of the estate would place no financial burden upon you.”

Wow
… That did sound like the Walter Meade that Cyrus knew. Always thinking half a dozen steps ahead. Apparently, even in death.

Cyrus could find no reason to refuse the property. As much as accepting this gift troubled him, it seemed that Meade had gone to great lengths to make it a done deal. “Well, I guess Walter has made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“Excellent! Walter hoped you would see it that way.” Underwood pushed himself up from the chair with some effort. “I shall email you the details within the hour. Walter left me your contact information.”

Cyrus was still taking it all in as he walked the old lawyer to the door. Just before reaching it Underwood stopped and turned to Cyrus with a questioning glance. “If it’s not inappropriate of me,” he asked, “I’ve always wondered…how was it you had so many conversations with Walter without ever asking where it was all coming from?”

“To be honest, I always suspected he was writing some sort of science-fiction. Some of the ideas would’ve made for great novels. I half expected a book to show up on my doorstep one day. He had that kind of flair. You know, a way with words—interesting mannerisms.” Cyrus cocked his head as he drifted in contemplative through, “eccentric tendencies.”

“Ahh, you saw a kindred spirit!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your novels! Walter loved your novels! He even sent me a copy every time one came out. I must admit, I’m more of a fan of mysteries but your science fiction is great fun. And my grandchildren are huge fans!”

Cyrus was thunderstruck at the comment. “My novels? Walter knew about my books? What—How—I publish those under a pen name. No one knows I write those books. I’ve gone to considerable trouble to make sure no one knows I write those books!”

“Ahh, yes,” Underwood laughed deep from his belly. “Well, again, that was Walter. He knew everything there was to know about the people he worked with. He needed to, in his line of work. I’m sure you can appreciate that. Truth be told, he was even a fan of your other series, the ones written under your
other
nom de plume. Though I think that had more to do with fatherly pride than actual appreciation for the genre.” With that, Underwood had yet another, much deeper laugh.

“Oh no,” Cyrus muttered hanging his head.
Crap. Crap! Crap! Crap!
This was mortifying. No one was ever to trace that line of books back to him. That series was a persistent best seller and it accounted for the lion’s share of his income. He could retire off of that money today if he chose to. But it wasn’t the kind of writing that he would ever be proud of. Certainly nothing he would share with friends.

Underwood tamped his laugh down to a chuckle and slapped Cyrus on the shoulder. He saw the ashen look on the young man’s face. The lad was devastated. “Cheer up, my boy. My wife is your biggest fan! The best romance novels she’s ever read, she swears to it!”

The old man turned and steeped out the door, before stopping to look back at Cyrus. He handed him a business card. “Not to worry. Your secret is safe with me,” he said with a wink.

Oh god
, Cyrus thought. He glanced at the business card. The phone number caught his attention due to the unusual format. He looked closer. The card showed Allan Underwood’s office address as London, England.

Cyrus looked up to see Underwood already heading down the hall, halfway to the elevator. “Excuse me, Mister Underwood?”

The old man turned.

“This card has the address of your London office. Surely you have an address here in Chicago?”

“I’m sorry, my boy. Just the one office. It’s just me. One tired old lawyer,” he said with a smile. “Not to worry, I shall email you the details as soon as I return to my hotel. Thank you for your time.”

Cyrus’s mind was swimming as he stepped back into his apartment and closed the door. Again things were not making sense. First Meade was living in Colorado full time but dropping in on Cyrus in Chicago at random intervals. Now Meade’s good friend, Underwood, was saying that he had dinner with the man several times a month but Underwood’s office, and presumably his home, was in London, England? Meade was certainly eccentric but surely he was too old to be traveling so pervasively.

Bern, Switzerland

Monday, 11:05 am

Switzerland. It was too far out of the way as far as Dargo was concerned. An unusual place to meet especially since his employer, Nil Bayer, was a Russian like himself. This detour to Switzerland seemed pointless. The elegant chateau where they now stood also seemed an unnecessary distraction. Dargo knew that Bayer had rented the house for the week but didn’t know why. Looking at the man, he was starting to draw his own conclusions.

An aged academic, Bayer’s distinguishing feature was his somewhat egg shaped head. While well proportioned for his lanky body, it was quite wide at the top and very narrow at the jaw. Penetrating dark eyes that hinted at the malignant personality within. A short sprig of dark hair capped the very top of his head. He wore an expensive Italian suit and a
 
delicately framed set of glasses. Bayer was the boss but Dargo had done his homework. Nil Bayer was an extremely wealthy man. Dargo had one of his tech geeks conducting a financial examination of the man. As of the last update, the operative still wasn’t confident he had uncovered all of Bayer’s holdings. After leaving the Russian Science Academy more than two decades earlier, it seemed that Bayer had developed some sort of filament, a component used in every light bulb manufactured within the last twenty years. Though seemingly inconsequential, apparently there was something unique about his design. The rights to the simple technology had made Bayer hundreds of millions of dollars over the last ten years alone. Unfortunately, all the money in the world couldn’t buy the man a winning personality.

Bayer walked slowly back and forth before the large hearth which was located in the center of the back wall of the richly appointed study. He swirled the remains of his brandy in a snifter as he paced. Dargo stood station to one side of the fireplace and watched Bayer without comment. Bayer had been in the process of berating him, though Dargo refused to be drawn into an argument. Arguing with ones employer was unprofessional.

Dargo’s full name was Ian Dargoslav. He was a large Russian with short gray hair, gray eyebrows, and a trim gray beard. He had a hard, weathered look about him, but he was in remarkable shape for his age. Though 58 years old, few would have guessed it to look at him. He was still tall and broad shouldered. Dargo had served several tours in the military, first in the Russian armed forces, and later taking his expertise to the private sector, after retiring with distinction. After serving many years as head of security for a wealthy European family, he had once again returned to ‘consulting,’ which was how he came into the employ of Nil Bayer.

“And you say the attorney, Underwood, has met with the heirs to the estate?” Bayer asked.

“Correct. He met with Comrade Meade’s lab assistant, Miss Reese Knoland, in Santa Barbara, before flying to Chicago to meet another beneficiary. I handled the surveillance in California and sent a team to follow Underwood to Chicago. After, he flew back to the UK.” Dargo made his report in crisp concise details. His Russian accent was mild but his English
 
marked only with a clipped brevity. He was fluent in English but it was by no means his native tongue.

“But we still don’t have the location of the schematics, or the transport access codes?” Bayer asked accusingly. Dargo knew the man’s temper was growing short. The operation was taking longer than expected. What Bayer didn’t understand was that these things could not be forced; there was no way to rush progress.

“I do not believe the lawyer possessed any intelligence. No overt or covert exchange was made,” Dargo confirmed.

“So we’ve waited for nothing!” Bayer snapped. “I want you to pickup the attorney and Reese Knoland. Use any means necessary to extract the information I require!”

“With respect,
sir
,” Dargo said. It was more of a growl than a statement. “That would be a mistake.”

That brought a thick vein to the surface of Bayer’s forehead. It was obvious he didn’t care to be contradicted by a subordinate. How had the man survived working for the science directorate? Bayer was financing the operation, so by extension, he was ultimately in charge. It seemed something of a power trip for the aging ex-scientist.

“Walter Meade is dead,” Dargo explained. “He was known to be secretive and circumspect with project details. It is probable that he did not share details of Meridian with his subordinate or his attorney. Bring any of them into custody and we will only draw the attention of the authorities.” Dargo looked Bayer square in the eye. “At that point any hope of finding what you seek will be lost.”

All of this was true, but there was more to it. Dargo sensed that Bayer had little concern for collateral damage. And though Dargo’s job technically made him a mercenary, he had seen enough senseless death to last a lifetime. He didn’t care to see any meaningless loss of life, no matter how entitled his employer believed himself to be. Dargo had lost a daughter to senseless tragedy and he had strong personal beliefs on the matter. But he knew his employer would view his opinions as weakness so he kept them to himself. He worked for Bayer but he didn’t need to respect the man. Besides, what happened in the field was his purview. Bayer be damned.

“Very well,” Bayer finally acquiesced. “What course of action do you suggest?”

Dargo replied without hesitation. “Continue surveillance on all project members. They are only now preparing to get back to work following the death of Comrade Meade. If anything is to be learned, now will be the time. Underwood is likely a dead end. I will leave wiretaps and bugs at his home and office. I do not expect him to be of further use. If he conducts any business pertaining to Comrade Meade, we will know. Keeping a team on him is waste of manpower.

“Also, my man in London located a burn safe in Underwood’s office. We will not be able to open the safe without triggering the destruction of its contents. I have an alternate plan in mind. I will report back any tangible results.”

“I thought you considered the man a dead end?” Bayer accused. Frustration burned in his eyes. “Plus, your plan fails to guarantee results…and we have no idea how long it might take for someone to lead us to the schematics or the hardware.”

“With respect, there are no guarantees. We investigate what leads we have. We cannot force results.” Dargo thought for a moment. He weighed his next words before he spoke. “All of this would be unnecessary if Comrade Meade had been handled with greater care.”

The pulsing vein returned to Bayer’s forehead just as Dargo knew it would. Bayer had not fully explained what had happened prior to bringing Dargo and his team on board, but Dargo had put things together on his own. At some point Bayer had tried to pick Professor Meade up and force the information from him. It hadn’t gone well and Meade had died while in custody. All of this had happened under the command of Arnold Peck, Dargo’s predecessor. Bayer never explained what happened, but Dargo was part of a small and exclusive community of operators. Word was that a newcomer, someone previously unknown to the community, had hired Peck. A short time later Peck had simply disappeared. Soon after taking the job, Dargo realized Peck had been working for Bayer. And the more he grew to understand Bayer, the more he suspected Bayer had had Peck killed after Meade died on his watch. All of this meant a great deal to Dargo. It indicated that Bayer was prone to rash judgment and thereby prone to mistakes. He could not be trusted and was deadly when crossed. Bayer was too comfortable employing mercenaries and he didn’t have an issue leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.

Dargo did know a little about Professor Meade’s death. Apparently the old man had been drugged in an abduction attempt several years prior. The team trying to snatch the old man had botched the dosage of a sedative that resulted permanent damage to Meade’s heart. Had it not been for his bad heart, Meade would likely be locked in a hole somewhere with Bayer’s interrogators working on him right now. Dargo found such an approach barbaric. The results of interrogation by torture were unreliable and dangerous. This had been proven when Professor Meade had expired.