Jack Be Nimble: Gargoyle (32 page)

He stiffened. They were barely more than a foot apart, but the silence that descended was more palpable than it should have been; more like a pane of glass miles thick, distorting and destroying his view of her, waiting to be shattered.

Jack bent and picked up a rock.

“My very first memory is seeing the stars through the front windshield of my parents’ car as we slid backwards down the hill or cliff or whatever towards the river. My dad was driving, and I heard him yell something to my mother, probably “get out,” as he twisted the wheel and tried to brake, but the gravel under the car was too loose, and sounded like scrabbling hands.

“The car stopped sliding once, and Mom pulled me out of my carseat in the back. When she pulled me around into her lap, I saw headlights up at the top and the silhouettes of people looking down, then they just went away. The car moved again, and it felt like we were floating up out of our seats, then we hit and I landed on my mom. She made me look at her, and I did, even though she’d gotten a little scratched when the glass from her window exploded. She was really calm and she said, “Jack, we love you. Remember us. Remember, remember.” She said it a couple of times, and then the water was all around her, and it was really cold. They couldn’t get out because the roof was really low, but my dad grabbed me and held me up above the water. He had a big jaw, like mine is now. I can still see him, sticking his arm straight up with me on the end, this sort of grim, determined look on his face. He wasn’t scared, I’m sure. The water was past his elbow by the time the paramedics ripped the windshield off the car and dragged me out.”

Jack looked over at Mercedes, whose lips were parted as if in a long, silent cry. “My parents were killed when we were run off the road by three drunk guys out hunting. They sent me around for a few years, and I ended up here with my uncle Bill.”

Her hand was warm where it touched his face. Mercedes brushed at his cheek, then seemed surprised to find she was the one weeping. She quickly wiped her eyes and rearranged herself next to him, smiling shyly again. Jack noticed a single vagabond tear, a spot of silver-gold against the city lights, track down her smooth face. It dropped, and he caught it against his fingers as Mercedes turned away on the log, as if to leave. Then she settled back slowly against his arm and side, laying her head against his shoulder. She shook softly.

At length she cleared her throat. “How much longer ‘til the sun comes up, Jack?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“Can you just, ah—hold onto me for another hour?”

He brushed aside a bit of her hair. “I should think so. Unless my arm falls asleep and I have to have it surgically removed.”

Mercedes laughed, a sad-happy sound heavy with unshed tears, and pointed. Jack looked up in time to see another shooting star silently race by.

*

The northwestern edge of France

8PM

Alonzo slapped his knee. “Whoa! I can’t believe you told her about your parents.” He tipped his water bottle back. He thought about getting a beer, but that was just reflex; he’d stay sharp and frosty until the mission was over.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. We’d known each other for, what, a day?” Jack shrugged. “I just—felt different around her. Mercedes had a way of bringing out the weird in me.” Alonzo laughed, and his friend continued. “I mean it, Al; it was
good
to be around her;
I
was good. Smarter or something, I don’t know. I actually told jokes that made sense when she was around.”

Alonzo shook his head. Jack had always been funny, he just never realized it until Mercedes. “You were seventeen. A girl like that fills up your world.”

“She made me want to howl at the moon is what she did.”

Alonzo cut Jack short with a guffaw. Recovering, he said, “Yeah, I bet. Hah! So then what happened?”

“The next few weeks—before you got home—were amazing. I was getting ready for the State meet; you know, swimming about 10,000 yards a day, trying to get more sleep. The teachers kept on me pretty hard about that chemistry assignment; the liquid-to-solid polymer thing--”

“–your Jell-o experiment for Mrs. Riley.”

“Right. We still saw each other every day. Mercedes . . . was still really angry inside after her mother passed away. We talked about that a lot.

“She was so fun to be around. She helped me with my dives and we tried to learn tennis together.” Jack smiled.

Alonzo chuffed out a long breath. He was getting the Cliff Notes version. “Come on, Jack! Details, buddy, details. What about the first time you kissed her? Taste?”

His friend stretched his neck, grin widening. “Orange-pineapple frozen yogurt.”

Alonzo whistled. “Your memory always amazes me, amigo.” He finished the water. “And that was the summer it all came together. Funny to think, if it hadn’t been for her we might not be sitting here. You and me, on a train in France. Riding with this crew, into—who knows what.” He picked up the bottle of water and shook it. Empty.

“The thing of it is, she changed me. She changed who I was.”

Alonzo shook his head firmly. “No, Jack; Mercedes just uncovered what was already there. You’ve romanticized her all these years because she was drop-dead gorgeous, maybe a little mysterious, a little eccentric, and, well, ‘cause all the dead spooky stuff that happened later that summer. Mercedes opened the door, sure; but everything that came through from the other side was you, man.” Alonzo pushed his hair out of his eyes. There had to be a more elegant way to express this.

Jack leaned forward and ran his hands through his own hair. “And what is that? What do you mean? After all these years–the people we’ve helped, so much of my time playing the actor,” His expression soured. “Playing at being a D’artagnan, a knight errant--whatever, after all this life and these damn crystal-clear memories, who am I supposed to be now?”

Alonzo considered a moment, then picked up the copy of Entertainment Weekly he’d been flipping through earlier. “You are ‘the great Jack Flynn, hyperbole in the vocabulary of Hollywood,’” he quoted grandiosely.

“That’s not what I mean.”

Alonzo paused, dropped the magazine. Against the quiet in their end of the cabin, he spoke. “You’re Jack Flynn, my
friend
, the smartest, strongest man or boy I ever knew. In the end—for me, at least—it comes to that.”

Major Griffin, who’d listened to the entire exchange, was suddenly startled by the appearance of Steve Fisbeck, seemingly at her elbow. She hadn’t realized Jack’s story had captivated her so fully, and she smoothed her clothes as the chubby man handed over a tablet computer. “This just came for you on the secure email address. Forwarded by your service in Paris.”

Flynn set the computer down next to his equipment. The major watched his eyes flit back and forth over the message as he filled the pockets of his new jacket. “Something the matter, Mr. Flynn?”

“Please, call me Jack,” he said absently. In a moment, the mercurial man had grown distant, quiet. He paused, staring blankly at the blur of lights as the Calais station flew past in the night.

“This is from my sister-in-law. She wants me to come for dinner Sunday, in Geneva.” The man across from her was actually surprised, thought Griffin. “I never expected to hear from her again,” he went on, half to himself. The banks of earth outside began to rise.

“You’re married then?” the major asked.

Jack’s eyes snapped up to meet hers. They were soft but direct. “My wife died on a trip very much like this one, nearly a year ago,” he said. “And it looks like,” he held up the computer, “her family’s beginning to forgive me.” He shook his head. “They’ll forgive, but never forget, that’s for sure.”

“And yourself?”

He laughed quietly, mirthlessly, and began to arrange his equipment. “I suppose I’m the opposite, Major Griffin. At least, sometimes I can almost forget.” He worked the action on his pistol, then released it with a metallic snap.

“Almost.”

Jack looked sharply around at the other members of his team. “Listen up, boys, here’s how we go in. You’re going to love this.”

The train sped on, leaping headlong into the gaping vault of the tunnel, and the fields of liquid green rolled back over in the wind like breakers on an empty sea.

Up the Beanstalk

9PM

London

His feet were almost soundless as he brushed across the roof of the Illuminatus Tower. The instant Jack found firmness under his feet he released his parachute’s harness and jerked it, billowing, out of the sky. Above and behind him, Major Allison Griffin snarled, pulling hard on her parachute rudders as she spiraled about the steel tower. Steve landed in much the same way, grunting as he hit the roof.

“I love the BBC,” he growled at the transmitter. Its red airplane warning signal glowered down at him from another hundred feet above the craggy tower.

The three moved across the roof, staying well away from the slowly pulsing aircraft warning lights. “You never said anything about a low altitude jump, Flynn,” hissed the major for the third time in fifteen minutes.

Jack was almost smiling as he looked around the roof. “Unless you want to make another
right now
we’d better get out of this wind.”

They looked down on an unfinished section of the new building, a maze of pipe and aluminum two-by-four skeletoning at least three partially-constructed floors. Jack was the first one to the ladder. The adrenaline rush he’d used to talk himself into the drop was fading, and the wind bit into him with teeth and claws of ice. Darkness awaited them below, but at least it was solid. “‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends,’” he said.

*

“Is this your first time shopping at Harrods?” asked the uniformed woman several hundred feet below.

The kindly--if garishly dressed–African man before her glanced up from the display of ties. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” He held up a green silk Gino Resillio. “You wouldn’t happen to carry shoes that match this?”

The saleswoman turned, gesturing past a service entrance and an exit to the stairs. “At Harrods, sir, we carry everything.” she said confidently. “If you’d like, we can have those fitted for you while you wait.” But he was already gone.

*

The Asian with an accent out of the American South pushed the wide brim of his hat back and eyed the antique silver coins shimmering in the velvet case. “Pirate’s treasure, huh? From Sir Francis Drake? You say they’re how much?” He drawled heavily–almost exaggeratedly--over each syllable.

The floor manager straightened his monocle. “One hundred and twelve thousand pounds, if you must know.” He was becoming entirely fed up with this inane Asian-American and his endless questions. It was nearly time to re-wax his mustache, at any rate. “Now see here, my good fellow, it’s a quarter to closing and I really must insist on locking up this section of the store.”

The other man didn’t move. “I wouldn’t know about all that, Jimmy-boy. I made my money in oil and natural gas. You know anything about gas?” His attention never left the doubloons. “Must have a humdinger of a security system in this dump to protect all this shiny stuff.”

“Harrods is protected by a Fortress security arrangement, yes. Now I really must insist we—”

“I’m-a goin’, I’m-a goin. Which way to them Beluga fish eggs I heard about?”

*

The young concierge manning the desk near the private elevators gaped openly at the man who stepped in out of the fog. “What are you looking at, sonny?” said the clown, chomping vigorously on a huge plastic cigar. One flaring, rainbow eyebrow arched dangerously. “I’m here for the bachelorette party on the 29th floor, so buzz me in, chop chop.” He honked his bicycle horn twice for emphasis.

The concierge remembered himself and pressed the button, opening the elevator. The clown paused as he flopped his enormous shoes past the desk. “Here you go, kid,” he said, handing the young man a balloon poodle. The clown pulled absently at the red and blue cloth “buttons” fronting his outfit. “Ever want to kill your boss?” he asked.

*

Steve had to labor to keep up with Jack and the major, forcing himself to breathe as quietly as possible as they rushed through a labyrinth of half-formed walls and dusty two-by-four frames. The night jump had been enough of an ordeal; he’d be lucky to make it through the next few hours without a major cardiac infarction. Worse, he knew his stentorian breathing would give them away in an instant, should any sentries or daytime laborers be lingering about. At least the air conditioning’s already been activated, he thought. “Wait up,” he wheezed.
They
didn’t have to carry all of his equipment.

*

“Just here to examine your building for any possible threat to the water table, fellows,” said the blond, bespectacled geologist. “Whitaker’s the name. Mr. Raines’ office called me down just this morning from Edinburgh.” He eyed the building’s foundations, oblivious to the scrutiny of the three janitors whose pinocle game he’d disturbed. “Don’t mind me, I can find my own way about. Dreadfully high water table you chaps have here in London, what with the Thames and all.” He peered closely at the concrete wall, apparently following a minute crack with his finger as well as his eyes, and shuffled off down the tunnel.

*

The three figures in black skidded to a stop before a doorway to a huge, vaulted room full of workmen’s equipment. According to the construction timetable (available to anyone over the net) and the registered blueprints (available to anyone capable of decrypting seven layers of net security at the architectural firm), this space was destined to serve as an auxiliary circuitry room. “Chokepoint.” said Jack. Half-laid walls and exposed ductwork obscured all but a portion of the cavernous area. “Power’s on, Steve.”

He gestured at an electrician’s box between a stack of drywall slabs and a support beam. The finished part of the room looked like a giant walk-in closet, with a switchboard full of switches, plugs, fuses, lights, wires, and shunts. Translucent plastic sheets hung from beams crisscrossing the ceiling, dividing the room up into mismatched sections. Fine dust and bits of wood covered the floor. Jack began stripping out of his black Nomex flight suit.

The major rested her pack on an overturned pail. “This isn’t the most defensible position, but I agree.” Underneath her insulated coveralls she wore a form-fitting black bodysuit similar to those worn by the two men. Hers was also short sleeved, and Jack caught himself watching the play of muscles along the back of her arm as she hunted in her pack for one of the armored jackets. He sped up his own preparation, tightly packing certain items into a smaller knapsack. The required attention to detail, he found gratefully, forced him back to the task at hand.

The three of them stashed their extra equipment and spare parachutes under a pink snowdrift of insulation and began arranging a small level area on which to set the computer. As she hefted a 10 pound bag of drywall powder, Major Griffin said, “I must certainly admit, I for one never thought your people would get nearly this far.”

“Like I said before, Major, we’re here to help,” said Jack as he laid a wooden board atop the stack of drywall bags.

“Afraid that should be my line, Mr. Fl–Jack.” She found her armored jacket and slipped into it. “I never anticipated my assignment from His Majesty would involve more than my acting as tour guide.”

Jack looked pointedly at her handgun. “You just show me you can use that .45, Major, and this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

The other man finished connecting the cables from his laptop to the various boxes on the walls marked
Danger! High voltage
, and booted up his hard drive. “We’re in luck, folks. I can get us direct video free feed from the surveillance cameras. As soon as Brad finds out which brand security system this place uses, I can access our database and override theirs. No one will ever know we’re here.”

“That takes care of that,” said Griffin. “What about Raines’ offices?”Steve shook his head. “No good. Looks like he may have his own setup in there. It’s a complete stand-alone; I can’t get in.” He fished a minuscule headset out from a pocket and plugged it into his computer.

Jack and the major activated their tiny wireless earbuds and married them electronically to the phones they carried clipped to their belts. He grabbed up his knapsack. “Give me about fifteen minutes to get into place, then we’ll run a check on everybody.”

The major checked the numbers she’d programmed into her phone. “And as soon as you have ascertained that Her Highness is actually here, I’ll make the call to D-11.”

Jack nodded. “It’s good to know that at least some of the police in London are allowed to carry firearms.”

The major returned his gaze dubiously. Before she could speak, he closed his mouth into a grin and walked off into the darkness, swinging the small duffel bag.

Steve set a Snickers bar next to the laptop, and opened a long, narrow case strapped to his thigh. Stealing into Raines’ sound would be a trick.

*

The Vienna Boys Choir and the Stuttgart Philharmonic Orchestra were praising light and truth from several recessed speakers in the main office as Raines scanned the security report, then handed it back to the tall Chinese called Michael. “Very good. Call Raphael and Gabriel in here, would you please? Now, my friend,” he said to the man who stood pulling himself into a gray trenchcoat. “The van and other cars are in the basement garage.”

“Yes, yes, we’ve been over this,” snapped Miklos. “You and I rendezvous in two hours. My men and I drive around London until the broadcast, then deposit the child at the gates of Buckingham Palace.”

“–the press will be there,” Raines gestured as if urging Miklos to speed up.

“The press will be there. As soon as she’s picked up or on camera, we—”

Raines finished for him. “You make our
real
political statement.”

Miklos smiled. It never reached his eyes. “And the
whole world
will shake.”

Raines waited until Miklos had left, then walked to his desk, switching his computer on before settling into his brass-studded, leather club chair. Pity. The chair was just beginning to feel right. He should have had it removed before tonight’s activities made such an activity impossible.

Raines had prepared and tested the Hradek program months before, and now only needed a simple systems diagnostic to make sure everything was proceeding properly. As the diagnostic began, he activated another program, a custom-built teleconferencing suite that made use of the cluster of special instruments on the roof of the Illuminatus Tower.

Within moments his system was shaking hands with a similar communications setup at a villa outside Cartagena. Lopez’s secretary answered, her English unmarred by any trace of accent. “Good evening, Mr. Raines. How can I serve you?”

Mmm. The three million he’d spent perfecting the video feed was money well spent. Raines had always enjoyed blond Latina women. Further proof that European blood, even a few generations old, carried well through the tangled ancestries of South America. “Please tell Armand the project is well underway, and to proceed with matters at his discretion. I shall join him tomorrow or very likely early the next day. Also, my dear, this will be the final transmission from London.”

“Very good, sir.”

Raines terminated the call and then activated a final program from his workstation. He then transferred certain data and control protocols from his desk-mounted system into a smaller, hand-held computer, just finishing as two of his suited and impeccably-coiffed men paused outside the door.

“Gentlemen,” he said, pocketing the miniature system. “After you complete your assignment this evening, you’ll have twenty minutes to join us above.” They nodded, the smaller one with the beard grinning viciously. Raines rounded his desk, tapping the lacquered finish. Gabriel and Raphael, as he enjoyed calling the two brothers, were two of his most bloodthirsty recruits. “Tempus fugit, my sons.”

*

Elbow-deep in wires and cabling, Steve swam through the electronic physicality of the Illuminatus Tower. Everything forgotten beyond the tangle of colored lines. Smiling faintly—music?—he spliced into another cable, tying the new line off and pulling another from his vest pocket. Got to talk to Jack about going totally wireless. His favorite wireless gadget still had a patent pending: the spider.

Steve hooked the tiny mechanism—it was black, antennaeless, and about half the,size of a match head—into a conduit and checked a receiver clipped to his arm. Grunted to himself in satisfaction when he saw the strength of spider’s signal. Where was that Snickers?

Solomon lay nearly prone on the roof between the two windows, screwing the special attachment onto the barrel of his rifle. He didn’t exactly harbor a love of heights, but the bright light streaming upward from the theater lobby gave the illusion of definition to the wide, yawning space above and behind him. He definitely didn’t want to turn around to enjoy the scenery. The entire roof was canted slightly in that direction, anyway. He shuddered, and adjusted his headset. At least this wing of the building kept him out of the wind.

Leaning a foot to either side gave him a perfect view of the theater lobby and the wide, mall-like hall the moviegoers would walk down to reach the public elevators. That was fine. He could shoot equally well from either shoulder. All the shops were closed now, of course, but a few restaurants remained open, and some young, wild-haired punks still hung around the lobby and surrounding area.