The Triangle Conspiracy

as if we were all carbon copies of each other. While oil companies and brokerage houses reap record profits and their CEOs earn tens of millions of dollars for doing essentially nothing, real people struggle for their lives every day. Women like Kat and Britt have no protection, no health care. People like Jeannie, a social worker, someone who helps others on a daily basis, can barely make ends meet. It’s wrong, and we know it’s wrong.”

Sanborn’s gaze traveled the room. He made eye contact with everyone, lingering for a moment on Daryn.

What’s with the two of them? Sean wondered. Just the connection between the two leaders of the group, or something deeper? He felt a pang of what he recognized as jealousy.

What the hell is happening to me? This is a job, an undercover operation to get Daryn McDermott to come back home willingly. Gain her trust. Bring her back. Period.

But it’s not that simple anymore.

“But then, I’m preaching to the choir, right?” Sanborn said, to another round of chuckles. “What defines the ruling classes?”

“Money,” one of the men said.

“Exactly,” Sanborn said, clapping his hands together. “So we strike at the monetary system. Many groups with radical ideas have tried many things to get the world’s attention. Just a few miles from here, in downtown Oklahoma City, is the evidence of one of them. Did the Murrah Building bombing really accomplish anything? Of course not. Timothy McVeigh was an idiot. Was one single governmental policy changed because of his strike?” Sanborn shook his head.

“It’s because he didn’t strike at the rulers,” Daryn said, leaning forward. “In fact, the people he hurt, the people he murdered, were real people, low and midlevel employees who were all at the mercy of the policy makers, just like the rest of us. That should be a lesson to all of us. To bring about change, real societal change, means you strike at those who have the most to lose.” She smiled. “And you hit them where it hurts.”

Sanborn nodded. “The rulers derive their power from their money. We don’t live in a democracy or a republic anymore. Elections are bought and sold. It’s all about the money. No attempt at reforming the system from within will work, because of the enormous sums of money involved. No ruler wants to give up his kingdom, after all.” He spread his hands apart. “So we strike at the money.”

The man who’d been making notes earlier at the coffee table raised a hand. He had introduced himself as Alan Davenport. “We’ll make surgical strikes at banks. Not to rob them, of course. That’s a silly cliche. To damage them. To destroy them, in some cases.”

Sean’s pulse quickened. They were talking about terrorist acts, pure and simple. Blowing up banks. Good God, they’re a bunch of terrorists! They have a wholesome-sounding name and they’re not blithering idiots, but they’re planning acts of terrorism!

He must have unconsciously made a noise, because Sanborn and Davenport were both looking at him. “Yes, Michael?” Sanborn said. “Do you have something to offer to the discussion?”

Sean’s mouth twitched. Jesus God Almighty, I’ve never needed a drink like I need one right now.

“Michael?” Daryn said.

Daryn McDermott. The reason he was here. How far would he have to go with this? How deeply into her extremist politics did he have to go to get her to trust him, to convince her to go with him? He was still technically a federal law enforcement officer, after all. How much longer could he do this? How much further could he go?

He looked at Daryn, at those deep dark eyes, that perfect face, at a silent plea that she sent to him. For a moment he thought he would do anything for her. She’d seduced him with her body and her mind, had reached into his essence like no one ever had. He understood how Britt-poor tragic Britt, naive and worldly at the same time-could view Daryn with such utter and absolute devotion. She was intoxicating, more so than any drink he’d ever had.

But how far can I go?

“Fine,” he said, and it came out a rasp. He cleared his throat. “Fine. I’m fine. Just taking it all in.”

He caught a glimpse of Daryn looking at him with relief painted on her face. Britt was appraising him coolly. Sanborn nodded. “There’s a lot to take in,” Sanborn finally said. He sat back in his chair, then a slightly bemused look came over his face. “Perhaps you’ve misunderstood, Michael.”

“How so?”

“We’re not talking about violence here. When we use words like damage or destroy in talking about the banking industry, we don’t mean a literal, physical destruction.”

Sean breathed out slowly.

Sanborn exchanged a long glance with Daryn. “Kat would never allow us to devolve into terrorism. No, we mean demonstrations designed to point up the weaknesses of the ruling classes and their wealth.”

Sean closed his eyes for a second, then nodded. “Thanks for clarifying that.”

Sanborn chuckled. “You were looking rather pale over there.” Another look toward Daryn.

What is it with those two? Sean wondered. And how long will this go on?

“Go ahead, Alan,” Sanborn said.

Davenport nodded. “I’ve come up with a first target. Based on many factors, I believe we should start with the Bank of America in downtown Oklahoma City.”

There were several murmurs. Sean saw Daryn nodding approvingly.

“There’s the symbolic value of the location. It’s literally right around the corner from the national memorial, the site of the Murrah Building. Plus, B of A is a large nationwide banking company, and very powerful in the financial world. Their downtown building faces Robinson Avenue, and there’s a large open courtyard that faces the street. That will be good for media coverage.”

Sanborn nodded. “A good choice, Alan. Everyone needs to spend the next few days staying on message, doing what you need to do to prepare yourself for the start of the campaign. Alan, do you have a list of the next targets and where we’ll go from here?”

Davenport shuffled some papers. “I made copies for everyone.”

“Good. Pass them around.” Sanborn nodded toward Daryn. “Kat, anything to add?”

“The Coalition is about to go public,” she said, almost breathlessly. “Be ready. They won’t be able to ignore us, or our goals.”

“Got an attention getter in mind?” Don Wheaton said.

Daryn grinned. She patted Britt’s leg beside her, then reached up and squeezed the other woman’s breast. “Maybe,” she said. “Britt and I may put on an exhibition for them. That would get it going, wouldn’t it?”

Sean watched the group’s reactions. Some stared openly, others were noncommittal. The social worker, Jeannie Davis, looked quickly away.

“I think that means the meeting is dismissed,” Sanborn laughed.

The group broke up slowly, people talking in small groups. Sean lingered on the couch for a moment, reading the list Davenport had passed around. It was a list of banks that started in Oklahoma City, then spread out across the country. There were twenty-seven in all, ending with Citibank in New York.

“Wow,” Sean said. “So we’re going to travel to all these places? The whole group?”

Daryn touched his arm. “That’s the idea. And we’ll gather more people along the way, once the word starts spreading. We already have small cells near all these places. And it starts right here.” She gestured around the living room. “Appropriate, don’t you think?”

What do you mean by that? Sean thought, but just nodded.

“Come on,” Daryn said. “Let’s see if there’s anything in the kitchen to drink.”

They made their way to the kitchen, Daryn saying a few words here and there to members of the group as she passed them. Like the rest of the house, it was large and open. The linoleum floor was peeling a bit, but otherwise it seemed clean and relatively well kept.

Daryn reached into the refrigerator. “There’s Coke, juice, beer.”

Thank you, God. “I’d love a beer,” Sean said.

“Looks like you can have Michelob or Michelob.”

“I’ll take the Michelob.”

“Good choice,” Daryn said, and handed him a can. “Britt?”

“What are you having?” Britt said.

“Oh, honey, I’m just having some juice, I think. But you can have a beer if you want.”

“Sure, okay,” Britt said.

Sean opened his beer and drank half of it in one swallow. “What’s out there?” He gestured toward the back door.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Daryn said.

The kitchen door opened onto a huge wooden deck that spanned the entire length of the house. Just like the rest of the place, it showed wear and tear in places but was still in reasonable condition. “Nice,” Sean said, drinking a little more beer.

They walked to the edge of the deck. The ground behind the house sloped gently down, with an excellent view of the rolling countryside. The grass, high from spring rains, was very, very green, Sean noticed, and there were areas of brick-red clay that dotted the land. After seven years in the deserts of southern Arizona, he found the colors almost blinding.

The three of them were alone on the deck, and Daryn said softly, “What did you think, Michael?”

Sean waited a long time before answering. He finished the can of Michelob and set it carefully on the railing of the deck. He saw Britt watching him, standing in Daryn’s shadow.

“I think the ideas are solid,” Sean said. “I don’t know about the rest. The banks, I mean. Change is a hard thing to bring about.”

Daryn smiled at him. “You’re right. But it can be done. If people can reinvent themselves, why can’t societies, countries?”

Sean looked at her long and hard. If people can reinvent themselves. What was she saying to him?

“We all want to change who we are sometimes,” Daryn went on. “We want to throw off the things that shackled us to our past and just become something new.”

“But not many people actually get to do that,” Sean said. “They stay shackled, to use your word. Whether it’s to a job they hate, or a spouse they don’t love anymore, or a city they don’t like living in. Most people don’t have the luxury of going out and just becoming someone new.”

Daryn cocked her head. “Luxury? That’s an interesting way to put it. But you’re right again. If we reshape the way American society looks at people-those very people you’re talking about, people who feel they don’t have any choices-then there will be more freedom. Freedom to choose how they can live their lives, without fear of some moral or financial controls put in place by some out-of- touch rulers.”

Sean managed a smile of his own. “I love your passion. It…it sort of defines you, makes you who you are.”

“Oh, is that what makes me who I am?”

They let that hang in the air for a few seconds, then Sean said, “Do you trust me, Kat?”

“Yes. You saved my life.”

Sean nodded. “But you still haven’t trusted me with much about yourself.”