Chapter 7 Charles & Deborah Kluge Charles & Deborah Kluge 2 1 2001-11-05T01:51:00Z 2001-11-05T01:51:00Z 5 1777 10133 84 20 12444 9.2720

Chapter 7

Billy Melrose entered the bullpen with a determined stride.  The place seemed jammed with people, but the overall impression was that of orderly chaos.  While the Agency was never quiet, no matter what the hour or day of the week, the amount of activity going on now was unusual for 10:00 p.m. on a Sunday night.  That, even more than the late phone call, warned Billy that something somewhere was starting to come loose.

"Nighthawk!" he bellowed fiercely.  "Where the hell are you!?"

"Right here, my illustrious leader," Nighthawk called, appearing from around the corner with a big grin on his face.

"This had better be good," Billy said sternly.

"Oh, I think you'll like it.  The pieces are finally beginning to come together.  Patterson's people finally got a line on the money and they've been chasing electronic transfers back and forth across the globe since about 6:00 this evening.  We finally managed to narrow the trail down to a single account in the Cayman Islands and began back-tracing it.  Compliments of some very fancy maneuvering by Patterson's resident computer genius, we managed to backtrack several of the transfers to a bank here in D.C.  We put a watcher on it, and lo and behold, I believe we've identified our men."

"Well, it's about time!  Have you moved on them?"

"Unfortunately, no.  Our methods of tracing the money weren't exactly legal and it would never hold up in court.  But, I think we're in luck.  Rumor is in the wind that our group is moving on a target tonight."

"How do we know that?  And who's the pigeon?"

"The European Section came through with the 'how' about an hour ago," Magician offered, joining the group.  "Profiles of the people that were spotted in Britain were circulated to other involved intelligence services and they have been canvassing all of the people in and around the previous targets.  What ended up being pieced together was a picture of four men.  They seem to move from place to place, rotating who serves as the contact person for the target.  Turns out, the same four men were the ones we matched up to the money."

Billy had been following Magician as the man led the way toward the conference room.  As they entered, he saw that they were obviously prepared for his arrival.  Pictures were spread out across the table and a flurry of faxes, telexes, and computer printouts covered every flat surface, including a good portion of the floor. Going over to the wall-mounted display board, Magician pointed to the four pictures prominently displayed there.

"Here are our major players," he said in satisfaction.  "We think there may be three or four others, but these four are the driving force behind our black market information group."  He tapped two pictures.  "These are the leaders . . . a pair of brothers by the name of Kyle and Nate Perkins.  Chicago natives with records for petty theft, joyriding, criminal damage to property, all small time stuff . . . dating back to before they even turned ten.  Eventually, they graduated to more adult stuff and gained some finesse at the same time.  They started pulling jewelry heists in Chicago.  I guess they were pretty good.  The Chicago cops had them pegged for a string of about 12 burglaries to stores and jewelry exchanges, but could never get enough evidence to nail them.  Then they made a mistake and tried to branch out into residential burglary.  They were hitting the house of a wealthy downtown attorney when the man and his wife came home early.  The two of them managed to get out of the house, but the lawyer had a gun and followed them.  Kyle tried to take the gun, they struggled, it went off and Kyle ended up in the Joliet State Pen, convicted of manslaughter.  Baby brother Nate got away scott free.  The attorney was the only one that actually saw them and when he died, the cops couldn't even prove that either one of them had been in the house."  By this time, everyone was listening intently.

"While Kyle was in Joliet," Magician continued, stepping sideways to reveal another picture, "he met this man . . . Aaron Davis Abernathy."

"Abernathy?" Billy said sharply.  "You can't mean the Abernathy?  The one they call 'The Thinker'?"

"No, that was the old man.  He's dead.  This is his grandson, and from all reports, the grandson inherited the old man's gifts with a vengeance.  An unforeseen accident while he was coordinating the theft of $50 million in negotiable securities caused one of his henchmen to be caught, and the man cut a deal with the prosecutors.  They sent Abernathy away for a long time.  By all reports, he was a model prisoner . . . quiet and cooperative, with no obvious inclination toward violence.  He also has the analytical mind of a human computer and he's diabolically clever . . . without a doubt, the brains of this quartet."

"What about the last man?" Beaman queried when Magician paused.

With a grim expression, Magician thumped the last picture sharply.  "George Stockton.  This guy is really bad news.  He's violent, has a hair-trigger temper, and by all accounts, enjoys killing.  He was also in Joliet, sentenced to life for beating his neighbor to death with a lead pipe.  Prison officials believe he had a hand in the deaths of at least six men on the inside, including two prison guards.  And two weeks before our rash of thefts, leaks, and pressure tactics started, these three men disappeared from a maximum security state prison like smoke in the wind."

"You mean they have no idea how they escaped?" Billy said in disbelief.

"Absolutely none.  It seems like one minute they were there and the next they were gone."

"Abernathy's doing," Nighthawk observed grimly.

"No doubt," Magician agreed.  "Things began coming loose early this evening when a series of sketches and pictures of people who turned up missing following the various incidents began putting Stockton, Abernathy, and/or the Perkins brothers in the right places at the right times.  We're pretty sure that there may be two or three others involved at any given time, but they appear to be hired as muscle for a single job."  His expression darkened.  "At least two of these people have since been found dead under mysterious circumstances.  Stockton's doing, in all likelihood."

"This is all very well and fine," Billy said, folding his arms across his chest.  "But does it get us closer to putting a stop to them?"

Magician grinned.  "I said things have begun to come loose.  About two hours ago, we hit the jackpot.  One of Beaman's "children" got a positive I.D. on little brother Nate.  For once, we can be grateful the kid has been taking Scarecrow lessons.  Rather than trying to call in and risk losing Perkins, he took a chance and followed him.  Nate led him straight to where they were staying.  Once he had the address, the kid found a phone and called in.  We took Nate and he's on ice downstairs.  I left a team sitting on the apartment."

"Good job!" Billy said approvingly.  "Now it's just a question of mopping up."  Something about Magician's expression caused Billy to pause.  "Isn't it?"

"Well, we may have a slight problem."

"I don't want to hear this.  What kind of a slight problem?"

"It appears the plan was already in motion.  The score is set for tonight and the reason the others are gone is because they were already moving when we dropped on little brother."  Suddenly the man sighed and began to pace.  "We've gotten that much out of the man, but that's about all.  I have this feeling . . . " He trailed off uneasily, drifting to a stop.

"What?" Billy snapped.

After long moment, Magician's eyes focused and he looked at Billy with a troubled expression.  "There's something not quite . . . right . . . about this guy."

"In what way?" Billy encouraged, a sudden cold chill running up his spine.  Magician was a senior level agent, and had been around a long time.  Things rarely rattled him.  But this one was obviously doing so.

"He's too cold . . . too . . . smug.  I feel like he's . . ."

". . . a sociopath," a new voice cut in.  All of them turned to see Martin Pfaff standing in the doorway.  "There's very little doubt about it.  All the classic symptoms are there."

"But he's never been openly violent -" Magician protested, but Pfaff cut him off again.

"Up until now.  All sociopaths have to start somewhere and they tend to work up to their full potential.  They don't spring to life as full-blown Ted Bundys.  If we were to look at his background closely, I suspect we'd find that people have always found him a bit strange . . . a bit too cold and a bit too callous for comfort, morbidly fascinated by pain and death.  In all likelihood, he tortured animals as a child, had a fascination with blood, that sort of thing.  But in most cases it takes some event to really trigger the latent compulsion for violence."

"You think it's been triggered, Martin?" Billy asked him.

Pfaff nodded definitely.  "Without a doubt, probably by his exposure to Stockton."

"So what does that mean in this case?" Beaman asked uneasily.

"It means that somewhere out there is a time bomb just waiting to go off," Pfaff replied.  "I've talked to Nate Perkins.  He definitely knows something and whatever it is, he's far too pleased with it."

Billy looked at Magician sharply.  "You said that the score was already in motion."  The agent nodded.  "Does the pattern you've put together tell us whether all four men participate in the actual execution?"

"We don't have a complete picture, but from those incidents we've been able to piece together, I'd say yes."

Billy looked from one man to another as that cold thrill of fear crawled up his spine again.  "And what happens when something disrupts one of their plans?"

The others looked at him blankly.  Finally, the Magician replied, "I don't know.  If one of them has been disrupted before, we don't know about it."

"But something will happen," Nighthawk replied flatly.  "If Abernathy is involved, you know he'll have planned for every contingency."

"Who's the target?" Billy demanded harshly.

Magician began to pace again.  "We don't know.  He won't tell us."

"Yes, he will," Billy replied coldly, decision written plainly on his face.  "This has all the signs of being a potential bloodbath . . . something we cannot afford.  Magician, you're with me.  Pfaff, you too.  Nighthawk, you're to put out a priority recall.  I want every field agent we can find on the streets looking for these men.  Beaman, find McJohn.  Tell him I want him to meet me downstairs in holding on the double with whatever he needs to make this man talk.  We're running out of time, people . . . I can feel it."

"What about Francine, Leatherneck, Windsor, and Mrs. King?" Nighthawk asked as they were leaving the conference room.

Billy thought about it for a moment.  "What does your research say about the likelihood that the Van Houssins are the new target?"

"Slim," Beaman replied.  "They're not quite wealthy enough to come up to this group's usual standards.  The only reason they were on the list was because of Dr. Van Houssin's association with the head of the classified documents section of the Pentagon."

"Pretty tenuous," Billy said thoughtfully.  Making a decision, he nodded to Nighthawk.  "Leave Windsor and Mrs. King in place, but let's pull Leatherneck and Francine.  With her civilian status, Amanda doesn't qualify to be part of a priority recall and Windsor doesn't know our procedures.  He'll be adequate backup under the circumstances and we can put our two trained people to better use elsewhere."

"I'm on it."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

In the stepvan, about a quarter of a mile from the Van Houssin estate, Francine stared at Leatherneck in shock.

"Pulling us off?  Why?" she demanded.

Leatherneck shrugged.  "Nighthawk just said things are breaking.  They called a priority recall and we're to head directly back to the Agency for assignment."

"But what about Amanda and Windsor?"

"Nighthawk says we're to cut 'em loose.  They're on their own."

"But – but we can't get that word to them."  Francine sputtered.  "Those mikes aren't two-way.  They won't know we're gone."

Leatherneck contemplated that idea for a moment and then turned back to the console, his expression turning grim.  "There is a way . . ."