Текст книги "The Warrior"
Автор книги: Ty Patterson
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 11 страниц)
Chapter 6
Rory is at Cassandra’s apartment doing his homework when Zeb arrives. Rory bumps fists with him in passing and tells him, ‘You’re coming to dinner at our house. Aunt Cassie is, and so is Anne.’
‘Can I say no?’
‘Nope.’ Rory grins.
Dinner is the usual cozy affair with Lauren and Anne bustling about serving great food. Anne is accompanied by her stockbroker boyfriend this time, a likeable guy exudes good humor.
Rory tells them about how Zeb’s pitching practice has helped him get into his class’s baseball team.
‘All right, squirt,’ says Connor when Rory has finished, ‘it’s time for the adults to talk now.’
Rory makes a face but goes to his room to play on his Xbox.
‘I got back from the Congo a few days ago,’ says Connor without preamble, ‘and I think it’s fair to say that over there feels like a different planet.
‘I visited ten mines in the east and southeast, many of them gold and diamond mines. The treatment of women and children is shocking. Child labor is the norm; women are raped regularly by the mining authorities and militia – and this is just in the Western-owned mines. Alchemy, Hardinger’s family company, owns three mines in the DRC, and I managed to visit all three of them and spoke extensively to the miners, the security guards, officers…all levels in the hierarchy.
‘I expected the workers to be treated differently there; I am not naïve and have been around the world, to the sweatshops of Asia, South America, and the factories in China. But in the Congo, the workers are as good as slaves. I saw miners being whipped, children being beaten, and women being stripped of their clothes. These incidents happened every day at all the mines I visited.’
‘How come you were able to wander freely in the mines and witness this?’ Anne’s boyfriend asks.
‘I had a very expensive cover story prepared for me by the paper. I went in as a buyer of ore and had the word put out that I wasn’t interested in how the mines were run. I had good backup, proof of funds, references, even my own security. So moving around the mines and seeing the operations openly wasn’t an issue.’
He laughs. ‘I had state-of-the-art stuff for recording – pen cameras that took stills and video in high resolution, button-hole recorders, all those gizmos – so I could record everything. In the evenings I used to mingle with the workers and talk to them as if I was looking to improve their conditions, and they spoke openly about their treatment. I used that same ploy with the employees of the mines, security, everybody.
‘Hardinger’s mines were run no differently from the other mines I visited. Child labor in all the mines, exploitation of women, and rampant brutality on display. In fact, some of the miners said that the mine near Kivu was hijacked by Alchemy’s security company and thereafter claimed as Alchemy’s own mine.’
He leans forward, his eyes glittering. ‘I picked up rumors that there’s an email trail between Hardinger and his mining officers about the mine hijacking and that he is aware of child labor. Imagine that. A high-profile senator, a fund-raiser for the President’s party, who is complicit in the use of child labor, piracy of mines, and might have even sanctioned them. If I can get a paper trail linking him to those activities, it will be the end of the good Senator.’
Zeb is curious. ‘Why is Hardinger attracting all your attention? Surely all mines in the Congo, in fact, all mines in Africa, must be indulging in these activities. Why aren’t you going after all of them?’
‘A lot of companies are Canadian-owned. I’ll write about all Western-owned mines, but exposing Alchemy will have more impact, and that will, in turn, lead to more scrutiny of all the mines.
‘And I know you’re probably thinking that I’m going after Hardinger for the glory. There is that, I won’t deny it. However, if the threats I’ve received from Hardinger’s camp are any proof, then there is a smoking gun out there, and I aim to find it.
‘My initial series of articles will be on the state of mining in Africa, and I will send the exposé with the focus on Alchemy and Hardinger. That should give me enough time to get the paper trail.’
‘How serious are these threats?’ asks Anne.
Connor shrugs. ‘You get this in my profession, especially if you’re going after someone high profile. There haven’t been any direct threats. There never are. Just veiled references from people in his camp – saying my life will be easier if I focus on other issues…that these stories impact family too.
‘There were a few anonymous calls asking me to drop my current story.’
Lauren is shocked. ‘You never told me about those calls.’
‘What’s there to tell? They were anonymous calls. I used to get those when we were in Kentucky, remember?’
‘But you never wrote about anyone so powerful.’
Connor snorts. ‘This is my profession. I can’t and won’t turn tail at the first threat.’
‘So, Major, what have you been up to since our last meeting?’ Anne asks, changing the subject.
‘Stopped three muggings, advised the Mayor on his security, and helped Matt Damon on some stunts for his movie,’ replies Zeb.
A minute of stunned silence and then Connor laughs, then Anne, Lauren and the stockbroker follow. Cassandra smiles politely. She catches Zeb’s eye. He shrugs.
‘Well, well, Major. I didn’t know humor was in your dictionary,’ Anne comes back at him.
No reply from Zeb as he goes to the kitchen to fill up his glass. The stockbroker has noticed the byplay between Cassandra and Zeb.
‘He wasn’t joking, was he?’
Cassandra laughs out loudly and genuinely. ‘Zeb hasn’t joked in a century!’
‘Advising the Mayor and Matt Damon, Zeb? I’m impressed!’ the stockbroker exclaims on Zeb’s return.
‘Who are you? Batman?’ Anne asks, finding it hard to believe.
‘Just earning a living, ma’am.’
‘The muggings? That’s a living? You get paid per mugging prevention?’
‘Things just happen when I’m about, ma’am.’
‘That we can all believe!’ Connor smiles widely, thinking, I shouldn’t be surprised. This is what he’s good at and has a reputation for. I knew he worked with celebrities and public figures. Connor comes back to his story. ‘Zeb, do you think I should be doing anything about these threats? The last phone call was about a month ago.’
‘You should find a way to record those calls, and if you can’t, then make a note of them and report them to the police. About the veiled threats, the same, ideally record them, or make a note of them. Take normal precautions, such as not being alone at night on the streets. Make sure Lauren or Rory are not alone at any time or with strangers. They will be your weak points.
‘It’s easy to become paranoid about these things. It comes down to how seriously you want to take these threats,’ he continued.
‘I have reported those calls to the police. Nothing much that they could do about them. They had no caller id, and a reverse call check revealed nothing. What would you do if you were in my position?’ asks Connor.
‘I would do what I told you,’ answers Zeb. ‘I would also look into arranging protection for Lauren and Rory till the threat disappeared.’
Lauren shivers. ‘Why don’t you drop this and write about something else?’
Connor shakes his head. ‘I can’t. This is what I do. This is my life.’
‘When do your articles start appearing in the paper?’ asks the stockbroker.
‘A week from today and then every week, culminating in the article on Hardinger. Depending on what evidence I have by then, I’ll submit it to the police and call for an investigation.’
‘So in a few weeks, things will be jumping like a dog on hot chili.’ The stockbroker smiles.
‘You betcha, and Lauren will be going all frazzled. In Kentucky, when I broke the story on corruption and we became the center of attention, both welcome and unwelcome, Lauren ran for it. She took Rory with her and went to her folks. That’s standing by your man for you.’ Connor chortles.
‘I did stand by you then…at a distance!’
‘Oh yes, I nearly forgot,’ Connor says. ‘I got an invite for a fancy fund-raising dinner that Senator Hardinger is throwing for some charity. The dinner is free for any guests I bring along, and the newspaper is stumping up my attendance. How about going? All of us?’
‘Moneybags’ – Anne punches her boyfriend in the arm – ‘and I are going to one of the Senator’s dos, and I think that’s the one. So we’re already there. Maybe Cassandra and Zeb can join us? I presume you’ll be taking Lauren along.’
‘Cassandra’s going with her friend with the juice, the Director,’ Connor replies. ‘Hey, maybe I can wangle an interview with her. What do you think, Cass?’
‘Keep trying. Patience is a virtue.’ Cassandra laughs.
‘You know, we moved in next to you just because of your proximity to her so that I could get juicy scoops,’ Conner declares. ‘So far, that idea hasn’t paid off.’
Lauren rolls her eyes. ‘Zeb, will you join us?’
‘I’m not into these things.’
‘Oh, come on, Major, live it up. Surely the Mayor will already have invited you as a security consultant?’ Anne mocks. ‘And who knows, there might be ample opportunities there for you to play your heroic self.’
‘I sense something here. Should I be jealous?’ The stockbroker laughs.
‘Relax, moneybags. Zeb isn’t as rich as you. I just love pulling his leg,’ replies Anne.
‘Zeb, you are coming. You don’t have a choice,’ says Connor. ‘Now about the camping.’ He draws out a map. ‘We go camping every year – the three of us, Anne, and moneybags, as she calls him, and this time Cass is going to join us,’ he explains on seeing Zeb’s raised eyebrows.
‘This year we’re going to the Catskills for a couple of weeks. Just us, nature and quiet.’
‘And some bears,’ shouts Rory from his room.
‘They won’t eat you, Rory. You’re too sour for them,’ Connor shouts back. ‘He’s been going on about the bears for ages. But the boy needs to toughen up. We’re definitely going.’
‘You joining us, Zeb?’ Anne asks. ‘You might be all that keeps us from being bear meat.’
‘I’m feeling like bear meat now,’ he replies.
Moneybags bursts into laughter. ‘You were asking for that. But seriously, it would be great if you could join us, Zeb. The more the merrier.’
‘Please, Zeb. These guys don’t know how to keep me safe,’ shouts Rory.
‘That runt,’ Connor mutters and quirks an eyebrow at Zeb. ‘Well?’
‘I’ll let you know. I still have a few things to do.’
They break up once Connor has finalized the plans for their camping trip.
As Zeb and Cassandra make their way to her apartment, she asks, ‘You think you’re being sucked into their plans?’
‘As long as they leave me alone, I’m fine.’
‘Are you getting pissed off at Anne?’
‘She feels insecure around me. Picking on me is her defense mechanism. It’s no big deal.’
Cassandra looks at him, jolted. I didn’t think he would figure her out so quickly and so deeply! Clare always said he was the most perceptive and aware person she had ever met. Now I know what she meant.
The subway to Jackson Heights is almost empty when Zeb leaves Cassandra’s apartment and boards it.
Holt is here, in the city, he thinks, as the subway carries him into darkness.
I can feel him.
Chapter 7
He meets Broker the next day. They haven’t made any headway into tracing Holt’s mother. The last few of the voice mails he left had called back, and none of them are her or anyone connected with Holt.
This time they meet at a café in Greenwich Village. Broker is wearing his countersurveillance glasses, sitting at a table on the sidewalk, his back to the wall. Many women and a few men give him a lingering glance as they walk past.
‘I have word that someone wants to know who you are and has tried to get access to your file at the agency.’ Broker continues, ‘Now this could be anyone wanting to know who you are, or it could be Holt who got the word that I spread. I don’t believe in coincidences, so let’s assume it’s Holt. Thing is, what if he comes after you?’
Zeb looks at him. ‘That was sort of the point of letting Holt know that I’m hunting him.’
‘What if he goes after Cassandra? He’s not a person who adheres to any rules of engagement.’
‘There is no record that Cassandra is related to me. The Director removed any connection in all my records. This was the condition under which I had undertaken some assignments.’
‘Well, I know all about records. Don’t forget, that’s my specialty! And the Director, Andrews, and I know about her. That’s too many people knowing, by my book,’ Broker says dubiously.
‘You know Bear and his lady, Chloe, don’t you?’ asks Zeb.
‘Yep, I’ve sent some work his way. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much from him recently,’ replies Broker.
‘That’s because he’s looking after Cassandra. Him and his lady. They’re good at body protection. So far they’ve just been looking out for her from afar, but I’m thinking of getting them to stay with her till this is over.’
Broker approves. ‘You son of a gun. Always two steps ahead.’
‘I called all the Holts in New Jersey, and none of them is Carsten Holt’s mother. What if she changed her name or married again or retained her maiden name?’ asks Zeb.
‘Well then, we’re up shit creek, aren’t we? There would be no way of tracking her down. Don’t forget that we’re chasing a pretty slim lead based on the assumption that Holt is close to his mother and would want to stay nearby.’
‘What if his mother has Holt as next of kin?’ Zeb suggests. ‘I know Cassandra has me down as her next of kin. Had. I got the records changed.’
Broker gives that thought and smiles slowly. ‘That might just work. I’ll write a program that searches land records, driving license databases, passports…all those that would need a next of kin. It might work, and at this point we haven’t anything else to pursue.’
Broker has a very loose definition of what searching means. It often involves hacking – ethical hacking is how Broker describes it.
‘You and I have been asked to back off from Holt. We could disappear, under the Patriot Act,’ Zeb tells him and narrates his standoff with Isakson.
‘That shit,’ snorts Broker, ‘does he think he can scare us? That we’ll tuck our tails and stay quiet? That we’ll forget?’
‘Don’t take Isakson and the Patriot Act lightly. I think you should stay away from this,’ Zeb tells him.
Broker slams his palm on the table, the sound like a pistol shot echoing around the café, stilling it. He glares back at the other patrons looking their way.
‘Bubba,’ he looks back at Zeb and growls, ‘this is the first and last time you say that.’
He looks away and composes himself. ‘Now on Senator Hardinger and Alchemy. I think you know the history of the company, so I’ll skip that stuff. Today the Senator and his family own 47% of the company through a complicated legal structure, but the Senator stepped down from the active running of the company once he was elected to the Senate. The company owns three mines in Africa and a few others in Australia, Latin America and Asia. Now the bad news. Holt and his associates are not on the payroll of Alchemy, not even as contractors.
‘They aren’t listed here in the US as Alchemy’s employees nor at any of Alchemy’s companies in other countries. Just to be sure, I also checked the Senator’s other business interests, and none of them list these guys.
‘In Africa, the company employs several mercenaries or private military contractors, either directly or through security companies. These guys provide security for the mines and the officers. There is a rumor that the mine near Lake Kivu was actually hijacked by Alchemy’s mercenaries, and then later legalized by Alchemy. The mine was previously run by the mom-and-pop-shop equivalent in the Congo, and the original owners were selling the ore to middlemen in the Congo. Alchemy, in one night, just replaced the entire operation with its own staff, paid the owners, and as far as the middlemen were concerned, nothing had changed. Not that they’re too particular.’
‘If the owners were paid off, why do you say the mine was hijacked?’ asks Zeb.
‘Don’t forget, these are all rumors. Alchemy is not going to admit that they hijacked the mine, but there was a lot of media coverage in the DRC newspapers about a hijack. A lot of my contacts in that area confirmed it. The payment to the previous owners was to maintain a façade.
‘They also bought off the media and the politicians there. What Alchemy did wasn’t uncommon, and the hijack was soon forgotten.
‘I have a list of all the military contractors employed by them directly as well as through their security companies. The list makes for interesting reading,’ continues Broker.
He hands over a list with close to fifty names on it. He’s organized the list based on name, demographics, and background. Zeb lingers over the background and notices that several of those are ex-Rangers or ex-Seals, and some of them could have served at the same time as the Rogue Six. He looks up at Broker, tapping the sheet.
‘Yes, I know,’ Broker says, ‘but I’m not sure how that information helps us. It’s too much to assume that all those Seals and Rangers know Holt, or were put there by Holt. All we can do now is just keep this at the back of our minds.’
‘Have you told Cassandra about our hunt? And about Bear and Chloe?’ Broker asks Zeb.
‘Not yet. I will do so in the next few days.’
‘Did Isakson tell you why he wanted you to back off Holt?’
‘Nope. Andrews told me something about Holt giving them Al Qaeda intel in the Congo.’
Broker nods. ‘Yes, that’s what I’ve heard too, so you’re at least getting the truth there, or what passes for the truth in those quarters.’
They part on that, Broker promising to call him once he’s made any progress on the hunt for Holt’s mother.
The next day, Zeb digs up an ex-Seal who trained and served with Holt.
Buster ‘Bunk’ Talbot is now an arms dealer based in one of the toughest cities in New York. Newburgh. He’s not particular who he sells to, and a lot of gangs from as far as Mexico and the West Coast give him their business. The gangs in Newburgh now protect him. He also is the first port of call for most mercenaries. He specializes in small arms and assault rifles.
Zeb drives a cab to Newburgh, after paying off the cab driver, and reaches the city in a couple of hours. A cab is less likely to be stolen or its wheels jacked than any other car. Newburgh sits pretty in the sun on the Hudson. He enters the city and drives along Broadway. With narrow streets running off Broadway, many of them dead ends, the city is made for crime. The run-down houses, ghettos, and abandoned parking lots – this is a city hope fled a long time back.
Zeb parks his cab on Broadway and walks down a narrow street. Bunk’s outfit is at the far end of that street, at a dead end with a good firing line over the alley if he has to withstand a siege. Zeb can feel people looking at him from behind the boarded doors of the abandoned houses – most likely the gang members protecting Talbot.
Talbot’s gun shop would make an armory proud. Gleaming glass cases house pistols of all kinds, ammunition neatly laid out, combat rifles arranged in racks, new metal and gun oil hanging heavy in the air, and even a small firing range at the back of the shop.
Talbot knows why Zeb is here. Zeb had let him know he was coming, and in the circles he moves in, there are few secrets. Talbot has built a nice business here; the gangs and mercenaries pay cash and keep trouble in check. He sells to rival gangs, and they have no qualms about it. They know he sells the best weapons and is always able to get them in the quantities they want. He has spoken to some Special Forces friends of his about Zeb, and they’ve all said Zeb isn’t someone anyone wants on their case.
He makes Zeb wait a long time before seeing him. Zeb is used to such power games, and it makes no difference to him.
‘Dude, I know what you want, and I have no idea where he is. I sell guns. I don’t sell information, even if I had it. Now if you’re looking for a gun, we can talk.’
‘Did you outfit Holt?’ Zeb asks, looking around the gun shop.
‘No comment. Dude, if you want to buy something, let’s talk, or else get out. Don’t waste my time. You’re bad for business. This town’s infested with gangs – my customers, by the way – who’ll think you’re the FBI or the cops. The only reason I’ve wasted the last few minutes of my life talking to you is because we both served.’
‘You have a good setup here. How have you managed to stay under the cops’ radar? I bet they’d be interested in your clientele,’ says Zeb, ignoring what Talbot has been saying.
Talbot slaps a hand on the counter, the guns on the wall rattling with the report and drawing looks from the group at the firing range. He glares at them, and they get back to business. Turning to Zeb, he says, ‘Carter, look into my eyes. Read my lips. I am not interested in talking to you unless you’re buying. And even then, I’m not sure I want your business.’
Zeb looks at him for a long time. ‘Tell Holt I am coming. Tell him I was the one in the hut. He’ll know what I’m referring to.’
Talbot laughs. ‘There’s such a thing as a phone, you know. You could’ve told me all this on the phone. Not that it makes any difference to me and not that I’m going to do what you say, anyway. Holt and I served together a long time back. I have no contact with him now. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be your go-between over whatever bug you have up your ass about him. Now why don’t you vamoose before I take a more active role in ejecting you from my shop?’
‘Tell him,’ says Zeb. He leaves, knowing that Holt will be getting his message from Talbot shortly. The Seals bond is unbreakable, and it has an active network.
Out in the street, word of his altercation with Talbot seems to have spread. Several gang members are hanging around the street, giving him the stink eye.
Zeb is amused by their posturing and wonders how many of them will live to see another year. He glides like oiled steel through the heat of their gazes, not one daring to stop him.
On reaching New York, Zeb has the urge to visit his old tabla school in Jamaica. He can hear dimly the sounds of the tabla through the outer doors, and once he enters, he is awash in the sounds and smell of the drums. A bunch of young kids are seated around a frail old Indian man, with a full head of hair, keen eyes and strong fingers. His teacher, who on spotting Zeb, flashes a warm smile. Zeb sits against a far wall, with folded knees, and listens.
‘The tabla is empty, hollow, for a reason.’ His teacher beckons Zeb to sit next to him, takes the dagga, and places it in front of him and the kids.
‘Playing the tabla is easy. Once you learn the techniques, you can play it. But if you feel the tabla, if you allow it to speak, then it will allow you to fill it up. That’s why it is hollow, so that you can create and fill it up.’ He strikes the syahi of the dagga and produces a deep tone. He motions Zeb to sit beside him and offers him a pair of tablas. He draws another pair for himself and leads off on a taal.
Zeb follows, and teacher and student fill themselves with rhythm.
