From his position against the railing of the ferry, Joshua Jordan had a good view of the Statue of Liberty as it loomed large on the water beyond the bow of the tour boat. The sky was grey and overcast, and the iron-colored water of the bay was choppy as the ferry left Battery Park Harbor in Manhattan. He felt uneasy about leaving the privacy of his hotel room. Wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses was a start. But he knew he was exposing himself to risk. But the wife of the Patriot, whoever she was, had said that they had inside information about threats against Joshua, and he needed help. Time for another calculated risk. But he couldn’t afford too many more. He just hoped he wasn’t walking himself out onto a gangplank by agreeing to the meeting.
He turned his focus toward the passengers on the deck and tried to pick out his contact. Joshua didn’t know what he looked like, but the voice on the phone had told Joshua that the man known as “The Patriot” would recognize him.
Taking one last look at the business card bearing only “The Patriot” on it along with a telephone number, Joshua wondered if anyone would show up. Joshua had called him immediately after the conference call with the Roundtable. The Patriot had insisted on the ferry for their rendezvous. Not exactly Joshua’s first choice.
There was a crowd on the ferry that day. Joshua looked over the sea of faces milling around on the deck.
Then he heard the voice of a man next to him. “You remind me of a man who likes to play chess.”
That was the prearranged opening line. The scripted intro concocted by the Patriot seemed melodramatic. But Joshua was required to give him the agreed response.
“I do. I prefer to lead with the knight.”
The other man reached out his hand and gave Joshua a crushing, hydraulic handshake. He had a good-natured face, in his early sixties, was medium height, and in very good shape. By all appearances he could have been a banker or a clerk in a men’s clothing store.
“Sorry about the secret-agent stuff,” the man said. “Mr. Jordan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Call me Josh.”
“And you can quit calling me the Patriot. My name is Packard McHenry. I’m simply Pack to my friends. So you wanted to talk to me?”
“Your wife gave me your card. It seems that you’re a man who stands ready to help. Exactly how, I’m not sure.”
“Information, Josh. Among other things. I’ve got a little group of friends that work with me on matters important to our country. Similar to your Roundtable.”
“How’d you know about that?”
“If you knew my friends you’d understand. Retired folks from the National Security Agency. Former members of the Defense Intelligence Agency. Past agents from the Secret Service. Me, I’m retired from…the Company.”
“CIA?”
Pack McHenry smiled, didn’t reply directly, but asked, “What can we do to help?”
“We’ve got an emergency. We need to know something about World Teleco. They’re shutting down a project of ours. We had a contract with them, but they’re refusing to honor it. Our media plan depended on it. And that, in turn, was going to be the linchpin for everything.”
“You mean, the linchpin to get Senator Straworth to drop the subpoena, so Judge Jenkins will then not order you incarcerated for contempt of court and of Congress…so you can keep the RTS weapon design protected and solely in the hands of the Defense Department of the United States, so it doesn’t get leaked to some less-than-friendly nations? You mean that kind of linchpin?”
Joshua chuckled and said, “So, you really are on top of the game.”
“Look, my group likes what you’re doing. For the country. So I’ve had some of my people track you. For your own safety. And also to track some not-nice people who might pose a threat to you. I have intelligence about a meeting arranged by one particular not-nice lawyer by the name of Allen Fulsin, a man you know about because Judge Fortis Rice from your Roundtable talked to him about joining your group. I’m sure Judge Rice thought he was being discreet when he talked to him. But it turns out that Fulsin is one of those well-connected guys who knows all the dirty tricks and can get deep information from only a few leads. So Fulsin did some digging about your Roundtable based solely on the tidbits Judge Rice had given him, got what he needed, and then met with a high ranking VP of World Teleco at a bar. In a corner booth. We’ve got the whole story. Fulsin warned the telecom company that your message would be criticizing the White House. Exposing corruption. Showing how deliberate misinformation has been fed to the American people. How a media monopoly is aiding and abetting this. And most important to us, explaining how control of our country is being sold off, piece by piece, to a global network.”
“But how did you get all this information?”
Pack McHenry pointed to the approaching Statue of Liberty. “I wonder when they started naming a football play after that monument?” he said.
Joshua just shook his head.
McHenry said, “Well, sometime before the turn of the century, at least, a college team ran the first Statue of Liberty. That same play, or some variation of it, is still used occasionally in college ball. I’ve even seen it used in the NFL. Guess that proves one thing.”
“Which is?”
“It’s good to stick with the old stuff that works. We followed an old playbook with Fulsin. Did an old-fashioned close surveillance. It paid off. When they set up the meeting, we made sure they were shown to a booth. It was in the evening, and both of those guys are the drinking type. Not likely to take coffee. So we had a listening device placed in one of the sugar packets in the cream-and-sugar basket. I’m telling you all this because it’s our first meeting and we’re building trust. But don’t expect me to tell you any more of our tricks of the trade in the future.”
“Understood.”
“I’ll tell one of my people right now to email you an affidavit substantiating the meeting between Fulsin and the World Teleco executive.”
“Here, I’ll give you my private email address—”
“No need,” McHenry said, “we already have it. By the way, you may want to upgrade your email encryption security program.” Then he smiled as he continued. “Just be warned, I’m hoping this doesn’t get into court and go public. If it does, our operative who signed the affidavit will have to distance himself entirely from us. That’ll be the end of his usefulness to our group. And he’s a good man.”
“Don’t worry. My wife has a plan, but it’s not litigation.”
“Good.”
“But there is something else I need to know,” Joshua said.
“Right,” McHenry said preempting him. “What my wife, Samantha, told you in the hotel restaurant. About being in danger from foreign actors? All we’ve got are bits and pieces that don’t add up. What we do know is that federal agencies, including the Department of Justice, are all clamping down on this hard. Closing ranks. We can’t get any intel on this at the moment. But we’re working on it. I do have one recommendation, though.”
“What’s that?”
McHenry handed Joshua a slip of paper, then said, “Have General Rocky Bridger from your group call this man at this number. They need to talk.”
On the slip of paper he had written the name of Special Agent John Gallagher along with his private telephone number.
After that, Pack McHenry pronounced what sounded like a kind of benediction. “We wish you God’s speed.”
Then he crossed the deck and disappeared into the crowd of passengers.