ON BOARD THE HENDLEY ASSOCIATES G550
Beyond logistics and scheduling, Lisanne Robertson was responsible for Campus crew and aircraft security, a skill set she acquired on tours of duty with both the Marine Corps and the City of Alexandria Police Department.
But as good as she was to have in a fight, she also knew her way around a galley. While Jack showered in the Gulfstream’s small but adequate bathroom and changed into fresh clothes, Lisanne began preparing the waffles, bacon, and eggs he’d requested.
Remembering Clark’s visit to his apartment a few days ago—which his aching body told him was more like a few years ago—the first call Jack made was to his dad on his private number, assuring the old man that he was tired but fine and would be back in the States that very evening.
The second call he made was to Gavin Biery, The Campus’s IT genius. “You get those photos I sent you?” Jack asked. He’d used the Marine lieutenant’s phone to grab pics of the dead French merc, along with the Foreign Legion paratrooper tattoo on his hand, and forwarded them to Biery.
“Sure did. Helped me narrow down my search results from three hundred and twenty-seven to just two, both ending in the name Cluzet. And your hunch was right, they’re brothers, separated by eleven months.”
“I know one of them is in a metal drawer in a Lima morgue right now. Where’s the other enculé?”
“Still working on it. I’ve got a few databases I’m about to raid. I should have an answer by the time you get back to the office.”
Jack thanked Gavin for working his digital magic once again and rang off.
Lisanne arrived at his seat with plates of steaming-hot food and cold, fresh-squeezed orange juice, but Jack had already passed out and was snoring like a bandsaw. She set the tray down, covered him with a blanket, and sat in the seat across from him, keeping a careful watch over her exhausted passenger.
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
The CloudServe Bombardier Global 8000 lifted off at five p.m. PST. Capable of carrying up to seventeen passengers, today’s flight included just Elias Dahm and Amanda Watson, along with the flight crew. From San Francisco they could reach Sydney or Moscow without refueling, but a flight plan was filed for London Heathrow, arriving by noon local tomorrow, just in time for the TechWorld conference kickoff.
Watson was grateful for the Bombardier’s separate en suite arrangements. Elias had already retreated to his cabin, presumably to write his speech. He had arrived at the charter terminal in a strange and irritable mood, barely greeting her or the crew, as was his habit. She assumed he was still brooding over the French Guiana disaster, but his moods were as hard to read as Kierkegaard.
It could have been far worse for him. Watson barely convinced Foley to keep the Fung matter between themselves, arguing that the fewer people who knew about it, the better. She promised Foley she’d inform him immediately after the conference, a delay of just a few days.
“And frankly, Mary Pat, I need Elias focused on London. It’s our most important annual event. This news will send him over the edge.”
Foley understood her concerns and reluctantly agreed, but only because Watson had been responsible for first finding Fung. “I want you both in my office the day you get back from London.”
“We’ll be there. You have my word.”
Watson was relieved Dahm had sequestered himself away for the long plane ride. After dinner, she would finish up her final notes for Foley and turn in. Given the events of the past few days, she could use a good night’s sleep, and she needed to be fully rested for the world’s most important industry conference.
She had a feeling London was going to be eventful for them both.
ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
Jack sure as hell didn’t feel like one, but Clark and the rest of the Campus operators—Ding, Dom, Midas, Adara, and Gavin—greeted him at the Hendley Associates charter hangar like a returning hometown hero with smiles and hugs and claps on the back all around.
The Campus had been briefed about the events of the previous twenty-four hours, including the successful evacuation and hospitalization of all forty-two miners from La Hermana Alta.
Clark noticed a marked difference in young Ryan since their last conversation. Quiet, but in good spirits. Apparently, Jack had taken a good look in that mirror they had talked about back at his apartment, and he must have fixed whatever he had seen down in Peru.
“Any line on Cluzet?” Jack asked Gavin, who was munching on a jumbo-sized Snickers bar.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. That Iron Syndicate outfit that was hunting you last year? The one Clark told me to keep an eye on? Well, I found an Interpol internal memorandum linking the Cluzet brothers to it, thanks to those funky tattoos.”
“So I take it you contacted Interpol for a line on him?”
Clark answered, “We talked about it. But the Iron Syndicate is global. They’ve got agents and informants planted in every major security agency. It’s better if we go after Cluzet ourselves, and maybe build a case that helps unravel the organization while we’re at it.”
Jack had read the 2018 DNI Worldwide Threat Assessment. It listed organized crime, a $2 trillion global enterprise, as a serious American national security threat. He wanted Cluzet dead, but he was all for taking down the Iron Syndicate in the process if at all possible.
“If we’re not going to Interpol, our only shot at finding Cluzet is the Czech.”
“That’s exactly why we’re here,” Clark said.
“Where is he now?”
“At home, in Czechia.”
“He’s making it kinda easy, isn’t he?” Jack asked.
“‘A dog always returns to his vomit,’ the Bible says,” Gavin offered, wiping the chocolate from his lips.
“And you don’t trust the Czech government to round him up for us, either, I take it.”
“I think it’ll be better if we talk to him ourselves. I’d hate for the old fart to accidentally get a bullet in the face and his secrets die with him because we tipped off the wrong person.”
“Then let’s go talk to him.”
“We’re already planning on it. You want in?”
“Do you have to ask?”
“It involves another long plane ride.”
“I can use the miles.”
“Are you one hundred percent? This thing might get a little hairy.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t even think about cutting me out of this.”
Clark recognized the determination in his eyes. He also understood it. He had the same fire in his belly when he reaped bloody vengeance for Pamela Madden’s murder four decades ago.
Clark threw a thumb over his shoulder. A stack of mission gear stood in the corner of the hangar. Something serious was about to go down.
“Brought your kit along, just in case. We’re saddling up right now. Wheels up as soon as the plane is gassed and the preflight completed. I’ll brief you on the ride over.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“You earned it, kid. You did a heck of a job down there.”
Heads nodded all around.
“No,” Jack said. “The job just got started. Now it’s time to finish it.”