Chapter 27
** At the same time **
Sitting in the rear of his stretch limo, Arthur Pendley pinched his thumb and forefinger to the bridge between his eyes, trying desperately to suppress a sudden migraine. "That sonovabitch," he muttered under his breath. "If I'm not careful, he's going to ruin everything." His visit in the coffee shop – albeit brief – had ended as he expected. Unfortunately, terrorists had grown even more unpredictable over the last few years, and Pendley refused to risk the valuable assets he had personally spent the last three years amassing on someone as reckless, as impudent, and as impulsive as the brash but effective Richard DeMarco. When he returned to the car, he entertained the idea of sending Kaminsky – his driver – back into the coffee shop with explicit instructions to put a bullet into both of DeMarco's dark eyes ... but his allegiance to maintaining the secrets of the Faction kept him from issuing such an unprecedented directive. Clearly, such an assassination in such a public place would draw the attention of investigators from multiple states, multiple government agencies, and the line of red tape – though very long and very thin – could still possibly wind back to him. That was a risk he couldn't take, not with the approaching transaction.
After he calmed himself, he retrieved his laptop from the opposite seat and opened the pad, instantly accessing his protected wireless messaging program. His laptop pinged, and he realized he had established a secure connection. He brought his slim, white, wrinkled fingers to the keyboard and began typing:
PEND: DeMarco is in America.
He breathed easily, waiting for the reply. Glancing out the window, he studied the passing traffic until his computer pinged a second time. The instant messaging screen had come to life, and he read:
AMIR: When did he arrive?
PEND: Yesterday.
AMIR: Is he alone?
PEND: So far as I know.
AMIR: How did this happen?
PEND: He is independent, leaderless. He has been since the death of his mother. He goes where he likes. There is no stopping him.
AMIR: There is always a way to stop one man acting alone.
PEND: The environment wasn't conducive.
AMIR: This is unacceptable.
PEND: You are overreacting.
AMIR: You assured me of our privacy.
PEND: I have told no one.
AMIR: You gave us your word that Project Kupher would not catch his interest.
PEND: I do not know that it did.
AMIR: He is your terrorist. How could it not?
PEND: DeMarco serves the Faction. He is not my personal employee.
AMIR: Then why is he here?
PEND: I don't know. He spoke nothing of Kupher.
AMIR: It could be his deception.
Pendley sighed. He knew that dissention was taking a toll on the Faction. Amir was perfectly correct. The buildup of rogue agents had gone on for far too long, and, as a result of flawed leadership, most of these assassins were no longer serving the collective good of the Illuminati. In fact, most of them – Demarco included, he assumed – were operating from personal agendas or vendettas that put the entire organization in jeopardy of exposure. Once the Faction was discovered, the NSA would be placed on high alert. Agents would be combing the country in search of key operatives with specific knowledge of Project Kupher. That, Arthur Pendley couldn't allow.
PEND: Amir, I will be perfectly clear. I am not responsible for every rogue talent the Faction employs. You knew the risks. I have protected you against those risks. DeMarco has nothing to do with Project Kupher.
AMIR: You were responsible for his selection.
PEND: I haven't spoken with him in years.
AMIR: You were responsible for his training.
PEND: I selected those who would train him.
AMIR: Then you know him best.
PEND: I do.
AMIR: But you do not know his mission?
PEND: He did not say. I did not ask.
AMIR: Do you have an idea?
Pendley grimaced. Amir maintained connections with the elite, powerful, ranking men and woman of the Illuminati, and the old man didn't want to find himself explaining DeMarco's sudden appearance in the United States to the High Council.
That he knew, no one questioned by the Order of the High Council ever left such a meeting alive.
PEND: I have several ideas.
AMIR: And what of Kupher?
PEND: I do not believe that Kupher is at risk. I do not believe DeMarco knows anything.
AMIR: Need any of these "ideas" concern me?
PEND: At present, they do not.
AMIR: You will alert me if this changes.
He understood all too well the man's concern. However, the grim reality was that there was very little he could do – short of offering his assurances – to belay such discomfort. DeMarco was a hazard. He had always been a risk. Pendley knew that when he selected the young man for training. He knew it as he watched DeMarco progress rapidly through the Faction's conditioning programs. And he especially knew it with the man's impressive 'kill record.' Within the ranks of Illuminati agents, DeMarco's skills were legendary and without rival.
Eventually, he typed:
PEND: Regardless of his mission, DeMarco is of no concern.
AMIR: I will inform the Elders.
PEND: That would be premature.
AMIR: It is protocol.
PEND: Protocol can be foolish.
AMIR: The Elders would not agree.
PEND: It is unlikely that the Elders would support Kupher.
The message screen froze for several moments. Pendley trusted that he had bluntly spelled out the reality for his partner. He imagined that Amir was slowly weighing the consequences of inactivity.
AMIR: Do I have your word?
PEND: I have already given it.
Again, for several moments, Pendley sat staring at a blinking cursor. He knew that Amir was processing the entirety of their conversation. Undoubtedly, the man configured scenarios, calculated whether or not their long-established trust outweighted the possible dangers, Pendley would expect no less.
AMIR: I will trust you.
PEND: That is wise.
AMIR: You will terminate DeMarco if he proves a risk.
PEND: I have the personnel to make that happen if it becomes prudent.
AMIR: We will meet tonight.
PEND: I will show you the progress we have made. I think you will be very pleased.
AMIR: I have been so far.
PEND: You are most gracious.
AMIR: Will you meet our deadline?
PEND: I am ahead of schedule.
AMIR: That is ironic, no?
PEND: I agree.
Satisfied, Pendley closed his laptop and laid the unit on the seat beside him.
"We're arriving, sir," Kaminsky said, turning his head from the driver's seat. His pale face hung like a white cloud in the dark interior of the limo. "Will you be entering through the front?"
"No, Matthew," the older man said. "Drive around the back, if you please. I'd prefer to use the staff entrance."
"Very good, sir."
Kaminsky weaved the vehicle through the light traffic, taking a slight curve past the golden-laced ornate marquee that read 'Heston Tower.'
*****
From his position – three cars back in traffic – DeMarco watched as Pendley's limousine slipped into the alley and disappeared around the tall, impressive, red brick building. Stretching his neck, he barely made out the name on the marquee. Quickly, he fumbled for an ink pen and grabbed it from the seat beside him. In haste, he jotted down the name and address on his bare wrist. Pulling over, he eased his car into the parking lane and sat behind the wheel, studying the tall building, the engine purring all the while.
"So ... this is where you've been hiding your new toy, eh, Arthur?"
End of Chapter 27
** At the same time **
Sitting in the rear of his stretch limo, Arthur Pendley pinched his thumb and forefinger to the bridge between his eyes, trying desperately to suppress a sudden migraine. "That sonovabitch," he muttered under his breath. "If I'm not careful, he's going to ruin everything." His visit in the coffee shop – albeit brief – had ended as he expected. Unfortunately, terrorists had grown even more unpredictable over the last few years, and Pendley refused to risk the valuable assets he had personally spent the last three years amassing on someone as reckless, as impudent, and as impulsive as the brash but effective Richard DeMarco. When he returned to the car, he entertained the idea of sending Kaminsky – his driver – back into the coffee shop with explicit instructions to put a bullet into both of DeMarco's dark eyes ... but his allegiance to maintaining the secrets of the Faction kept him from issuing such an unprecedented directive. Clearly, such an assassination in such a public place would draw the attention of investigators from multiple states, multiple government agencies, and the line of red tape – though very long and very thin – could still possibly wind back to him. That was a risk he couldn't take, not with the approaching transaction.
After he calmed himself, he retrieved his laptop from the opposite seat and opened the pad, instantly accessing his protected wireless messaging program. His laptop pinged, and he realized he had established a secure connection. He brought his slim, white, wrinkled fingers to the keyboard and began typing:
PEND: DeMarco is in America.
He breathed easily, waiting for the reply. Glancing out the window, he studied the passing traffic until his computer pinged a second time. The instant messaging screen had come to life, and he read:
AMIR: When did he arrive?
PEND: Yesterday.
AMIR: Is he alone?
PEND: So far as I know.
AMIR: How did this happen?
PEND: He is independent, leaderless. He has been since the death of his mother. He goes where he likes. There is no stopping him.
AMIR: There is always a way to stop one man acting alone.
PEND: The environment wasn't conducive.
AMIR: This is unacceptable.
PEND: You are overreacting.
AMIR: You assured me of our privacy.
PEND: I have told no one.
AMIR: You gave us your word that Project Kupher would not catch his interest.
PEND: I do not know that it did.
AMIR: He is your terrorist. How could it not?
PEND: DeMarco serves the Faction. He is not my personal employee.
AMIR: Then why is he here?
PEND: I don't know. He spoke nothing of Kupher.
AMIR: It could be his deception.
Pendley sighed. He knew that dissention was taking a toll on the Faction. Amir was perfectly correct. The buildup of rogue agents had gone on for far too long, and, as a result of flawed leadership, most of these assassins were no longer serving the collective good of the Illuminati. In fact, most of them – Demarco included, he assumed – were operating from personal agendas or vendettas that put the entire organization in jeopardy of exposure. Once the Faction was discovered, the NSA would be placed on high alert. Agents would be combing the country in search of key operatives with specific knowledge of Project Kupher. That, Arthur Pendley couldn't allow.
PEND: Amir, I will be perfectly clear. I am not responsible for every rogue talent the Faction employs. You knew the risks. I have protected you against those risks. DeMarco has nothing to do with Project Kupher.
AMIR: You were responsible for his selection.
PEND: I haven't spoken with him in years.
AMIR: You were responsible for his training.
PEND: I selected those who would train him.
AMIR: Then you know him best.
PEND: I do.
AMIR: But you do not know his mission?
PEND: He did not say. I did not ask.
AMIR: Do you have an idea?
Pendley grimaced. Amir maintained connections with the elite, powerful, ranking men and woman of the Illuminati, and the old man didn't want to find himself explaining DeMarco's sudden appearance in the United States to the High Council.
That he knew, no one questioned by the Order of the High Council ever left such a meeting alive.
PEND: I have several ideas.
AMIR: And what of Kupher?
PEND: I do not believe that Kupher is at risk. I do not believe DeMarco knows anything.
AMIR: Need any of these "ideas" concern me?
PEND: At present, they do not.
AMIR: You will alert me if this changes.
He understood all too well the man's concern. However, the grim reality was that there was very little he could do – short of offering his assurances – to belay such discomfort. DeMarco was a hazard. He had always been a risk. Pendley knew that when he selected the young man for training. He knew it as he watched DeMarco progress rapidly through the Faction's conditioning programs. And he especially knew it with the man's impressive 'kill record.' Within the ranks of Illuminati agents, DeMarco's skills were legendary and without rival.
Eventually, he typed:
PEND: Regardless of his mission, DeMarco is of no concern.
AMIR: I will inform the Elders.
PEND: That would be premature.
AMIR: It is protocol.
PEND: Protocol can be foolish.
AMIR: The Elders would not agree.
PEND: It is unlikely that the Elders would support Kupher.
The message screen froze for several moments. Pendley trusted that he had bluntly spelled out the reality for his partner. He imagined that Amir was slowly weighing the consequences of inactivity.
AMIR: Do I have your word?
PEND: I have already given it.
Again, for several moments, Pendley sat staring at a blinking cursor. He knew that Amir was processing the entirety of their conversation. Undoubtedly, the man configured scenarios, calculated whether or not their long-established trust outweighted the possible dangers, Pendley would expect no less.
AMIR: I will trust you.
PEND: That is wise.
AMIR: You will terminate DeMarco if he proves a risk.
PEND: I have the personnel to make that happen if it becomes prudent.
AMIR: We will meet tonight.
PEND: I will show you the progress we have made. I think you will be very pleased.
AMIR: I have been so far.
PEND: You are most gracious.
AMIR: Will you meet our deadline?
PEND: I am ahead of schedule.
AMIR: That is ironic, no?
PEND: I agree.
Satisfied, Pendley closed his laptop and laid the unit on the seat beside him.
"We're arriving, sir," Kaminsky said, turning his head from the driver's seat. His pale face hung like a white cloud in the dark interior of the limo. "Will you be entering through the front?"
"No, Matthew," the older man said. "Drive around the back, if you please. I'd prefer to use the staff entrance."
"Very good, sir."
Kaminsky weaved the vehicle through the light traffic, taking a slight curve past the golden-laced ornate marquee that read 'Heston Tower.'
*****
From his position – three cars back in traffic – DeMarco watched as Pendley's limousine slipped into the alley and disappeared around the tall, impressive, red brick building. Stretching his neck, he barely made out the name on the marquee. Quickly, he fumbled for an ink pen and grabbed it from the seat beside him. In haste, he jotted down the name and address on his bare wrist. Pulling over, he eased his car into the parking lane and sat behind the wheel, studying the tall building, the engine purring all the while.
"So ... this is where you've been hiding your new toy, eh, Arthur?"
End of Chapter 27