Sons (25 page)

Frustrated with the circular logic that twirled between the two men, Jan said, “What are we talking about here, Nick? We don’t even know if this field is an airport.”

Nick sat back in Louis’s desk chair and gnawed on a fingernail. Then he sat bolt upright and said, “Jan. Hold on a minute. I have an idea.”

“I don’t have time for ideas, Nick!”

“Make time—don’t go away.”

Nick set his cell phone aside and pulled the desk phone in front of him. Again, he began his one-way conversation.

A guy like Louie likes convenience, right? Speed dialing is convenient, right? Single digits, right? Okay, let’s see what numero uno gets us.

Nick lifted the receiver and pressed one. A man’s voice answered, “This is Victor Carew. Leave a message.”

His old man, well that one’s no good. Let’s see what number two does for us.

“Blue Mountain Airport. This is Pamela, how may I help you?”

Nick had to think fast
. You’d better make this good, ol’ buddy,
he told himself.

“Hello?” the woman said. “Are you there?”

“Uhh, yeah. This is Victor Carew calling. I need to get an urgent message to my son, Louis.”

Nick chose his words carefully. “Has he arrived?”

“Why yes. He arrived a while ago. In fact, he’s already airborne. Why do you ask?”

The PI scratched his brain for an excuse.

“Oh, I see,” Nick said. “Well, I have a business contract he forgot to sign before he left the office, and if it doesn’t have his John Hancock by tomorrow he stands to lose a great deal of money.”

“I don’t know what to say, sir. I’d radio him, but I’m sure he’s beyond our range by now.”

Nick tried one more gamble.

“Oh, yes. I see. Well, I could try to meet him. Umm, I’m sure he filed a flight plan. I don’t know any other way to save this deal, but to try and catch up with him. Can you help me with that?”

There was a long pause.

“Miss, I’d really appreciate your help.”

“Well… I suppose it would be all right. Let me check the log.” A minute later, the airport clerk was back on the line.

“He had three other passengers with him. His destination is Reykjavik, Iceland.”

“Iceland? Oh that’s right, he did mention he was taking a trip there. You say he had passengers. Fine son he is, not inviting the old man along,” Nick joked.

Pamela giggled. “I don’t think his children were too thrilled to go.”

“His children?” Nick said.

“I think they were his son and daughter.”

Click.

“Hello? Hello? Sir, are you there? Hello!”

Nick redialed Jan’s phone.

“This is Jan.”

“I thought I told you to hang on!” Nick said.

Jan stood and walked the room in circles.

“I did, the line went dead on your end.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Jan said, “Nick, Joachim Nussbaum just got here. Between the three of us, we should be able to turn Louis Carew’s world upside down. So did you find what you’re looking for?”

“Yeah, I did, but it ain’t good.”

Jan’s hand gripped the phone. He took a deep breath and prayed
, Oh God, please let him be alive.

“You were right about the rendezvous being an airfield. It’s Blue Mountain Airport. Louis keeps a plane there. I found out where he’s taking your son and the girl.”

Jan stopped his pacing and stood stiff as a barge pole.

“Tell me,” he said.

The detective replied with one word, “Iceland.”

Jan swayed on his heels.

“Say again?”

Nick repeated the name.
Iceland
.

Jan stared at Joachim Nussbaum. The ex-Mossad spy had been listening to one side of the conversation.

As if in a trance, Jan dropped the phone to the floor, where it spun around on its back.

Joachim retrieved the phone and said, “Nick, this is Nussbaum. What’s going on?”

The big man listened to Nick’s summary of events, then said, “Thanks. We’ll be in touch.”

Jan looked at Joachim and then to Amal, who had just joined them. Then he whispered the name, “Al-Qâdi.”

Amal and Joachim exchanged puzzled glances.

“What does Iceland have to do with al-Qâdi?” Joachim asked.

Jan leaned on Amal’s arm. Frantic, he gasped the name—“Al-Qâdi!”

Stunned into disbelief, Jan’s mind stabbed at the reality
. They
had
his son
! What could he do? Where could he turn? He was one of the most powerful men in the world, and yet in this crisis, he felt as impotent as a eunuch. The vision of Soo Kwon weeping, begging for his life, swirled in his brain. The room was quiet, yet something, a soundless message, boomed in his ears. The curse of the al-Qâdi leader dragged itself from the corners of Jan’s fearful memory.

We know who you are. Your house will be pulled down, and you will weep for your lost sons.

The threat Sebastian Faust so cavalierly dismissed was now a reality. At the time, it appeared to be hollow bravado, but that was before Colin. Now nothing else mattered, only Colin.

“Jan, I don’t understand,” Joachim said.

Jan whirled around and grabbed the Israeli by his jacket lapels, and shouted, “Al-Qâdi has taken Colin! Those savages have my son!”

Forty

“
C
OME
with me!” Jan said as he raced up the spiral stairs to the top floor of the building. There, at the end of the long hallway, a door of polished stainless steel stood closed against a secret room. Amal had often wondered about this cold metal panel. There were many doors in his master’s house. Some were wooden, some were made of paper, and others of cloth in the Japanese style, but they all had one thing in common, he could open them. This door alone, with its seamless face, was locked.

Jan turned and saw that the Egyptian had followed. Could he let this man, who up until now he had trusted with his life, enter? Time was too precious to debate the matter now.

“Joachim, Amal, what you see in this room is never to be spoken of outside this door. Do you understand?”

Both men nodded gravely.

“Say it. Say you understand and agree.”

“I agree,” Amal said with tear-rimmed eyes.

“I also agree,” Joachim said.

Jan nodded and inserted a small key into an equally small slot in the door. A panel opened, and Jan placed his palm on a black screen. The black screen faded into a light green color. Jan removed his hand, and the door slid silently open.

Joachim and Amal followed Jan into a large rectangular room that was swathed in dim black light. Three of the room’s four walls were paneled with computers the color of crude oil. Dozens of tiny parti-colored lights blinked randomly as the giant mainframes captured and processed data and then regurgitated it in human friendly terms. All was absorbed, analyzed, and posted to sister stations around the world. Only six others like it existed.

Joachim looked around the windowless room.

Impressed, he said, “Well, well, who would have thought all this was up here?”

“Effendi,” Amal said nervously, “what… what is this place?”

“Amal, this room is where I access the Mundus command center for North America,” Jan said.

Jan turned to the two men.

“I need you both to understand what I’m going to do. For that, you’ll have to see how I’m going to do it. I don’t have time to explain everything in detail, so pay attention.”

Amal looked on wide-eyed. Joachim Nussbaum merely watched.

Jan pulled a chair back from a workstation and typed in a password. Seconds later a flat-screen monitor sprang to life. More keystrokes and the coordinates for Reykjavik, Iceland, appeared.

I’d better be right, or my son is lost.

Jan picked up a slim-phone headset. His fingers pecked at the keypad like a hungry crow. He turned on the external speakers and waited for a wide-screen monitor to come to life.

Phoebe Threefoot’s face suddenly appeared. Daughter of a Lakota medicine woman, Phoebe was lecturing on terrorism and its impact on minorities when Jan met her at the University of Toronto. Jan was taken with her insights and passion on the subject, so he offered her the opportunity to become part of Mundus. Although Phoebe gave Jan a weekly digest of Mundus operations worldwide, they rarely met face to face.

“Phoebe, this is Jan Phillips. The snow leopards are awake.”

“But they will sleep tonight,” she replied.

“There’s always tomorrow,” he answered.

After a short pause, Jan’s Mundus station chief said, “How may I help you, sir?”

“Phoebe, get me data on all noncommercial aircraft leaving Philadelphia area airspace after nine o’clock this evening. Concentrate on any plane making for 64° 8’ N 21° 56’ W. Please.”

Jan could hear Phoebe typing at her keyboard.

Miles away, in a secure bunker buried beneath a peak known for its ski slopes and exclusive resorts, Phoebe read the encrypted line, and then she looked up and scanned a huge monitor devoted to tracking global events. Land and sea masses glowed and then dimmed as passing satellites crisscrossed high above them. Banks of computers recorded every occurrence, from an undersea earthquake to the thundering ordnance of human conflict. Even the birth of an heir to some forgotten throne was noted.

Phoebe said, “Well, sir, you’ve got one hit, a Beechcraft Hawker 800XP. She’s cruising at 35,000 ft. Satellite tracking has her making five hundred miles per hour. That’s her top speed. Hmm, she must be in a hurry to burn fuel like that.”

Phoebe finished reading the coded text. “Assuming she doesn’t change course, she’s headed for…
Iceland!
”

The station chief arched her eyebrows. Iceland was highlighted as a red-code watch.

“Anything else?” Jan probed.

“Yes, her location and speed indicate she’s been aloft for just over four hours. I give her ETA at about another hour and a half, give or take.” Phoebe hastily added, “That’s assuming no headwinds. She’s also ignoring the northern arc. The pilot is either very experienced, or he’s a cowboy.”

Deep in harried thoughts, Jan ignored Phoebe’s last remark. He checked his watch and frowned.

Amal wondered what would be expected of him? Would he be able to meet whatever task Effendi assigned? He had always been aware of his master’s secret Mundus world, yet until now, it had not touched him. At this moment, Egypt, with all its present day dangers, seemed safe as a baby’s crib.

For his part, Joachim Nussbaum became concerned that Jan intended to use Mundus resources for a personal project, a violation of the spirit, if not the charter of the organization.

“Sir,” Phoebe prompted, “is there anything else I can do for you?”

“I have to meet that plane in Reykjavik. What aircraft do we have flight ready?” Jan said.

Phoebe typed another line, thinking,
Something’s got the boss upset!

“Umm, well, we have a Beechcraft Hawker 800XP, same as the one in the air now. We have a LearJet-60 that can make Reykjavik in just under six hours, again assuming no headwinds. Let me check the wind current forecast for the next forty-eight hours.”

Phoebe moved to another computer and brought up a weather icon.

“Sir, the latest from CNN is—”

“CNN! Can’t we do better than that?” Jan complained.

Phoebe breathed an indulgent sigh, keeping her focus on the weather monitor.

“Actually, sir, they’re pretty accurate,” she said. “Hmm, that airborne
Hawker is in luck. She’s got strong tailwinds. If her pilot is any good, he can make Reykjavik in less than six hours, or five—maybe less, if he’s lucky.”

Jan’s station chief felt entitled to know what was happening. Finally, she asked, “Excuse me, sir, what’s this all about? This isn’t a drill, is it?”

“No.”

“Sir, I’ll need an authorization code to complete the request for the flight.”

Once again, Jan ignored her. Once again, he checked his watch.

Joachim’s eyes shifted from the monitor to Jan.
Why the hell isn’t he answering her?

“What else?” Jan said anxiously.

“Sir?”

“My God, woman, what have we been talking about!”

Joachim reached out and took Jan’s upper arm in a firm grip.

“Steady, Jan—steady.”

Jan acknowledged the big man’s caution with a stiff nod. Softening his tone he said, “Aircraft, Phoebe, aircraft—what else do we have on hand?”

Phoebe brushed aside her hurt feelings. With just a few keystrokes, she brought up a screen listing the station’s current assets and their status.

“The MSST-3 Delta wing is in the Philly hanger. It’s just finished air trials. It’s the one that can fly vertically like the British Harrier. Theirs isn’t supersonic,” she added smugly. “But, sir, that plane isn’t fully vetted yet. I….”

Jan nodded. “Okay, have it ready in an hour. I’m on my way now.”

“An hour!” Phoebe protested, “But… but, sir!”

Jan was already on his feet and headed for the door with Amal and Joachim following. He wheeled around and yelled
to the still open line, “Tell whoever’s on duty tonight he has
one
hour to be flight ready!”

“Yes, sir. Good Luck.”

Phoebe broke the connection and thought,
Well, this is what I trained for. I wonder what it’s all about?