LP had been fostering since before the Nixon administration, would create an atmosphere ripe for political revolt. In electing the LP’s man, the public would feel like they’d accomplished something for once, when in reality all they would have done is exactly what they were manipulated into doing.
After the LP’s candidate took the oath of office, suddenly the nations that had taken a hard line against the U.S. but were really under the control of the LP would start falling in line. Then the economic roller coaster the Western world had been stuck in would level off thanks to the LP’s grip on the financial institutions it had had a hand in re-creating during the great banking consolidation in 2008.
And once all that had occurred, the country wouldn’t even blink an eye when presidential term limits were repealed. It was just a matter of time now. Time that could be measured in years, not decades. Soon the LP would achieve the goals its founders had set out at the beginning: not only controlling the United States of America, but also nearly twenty percent of the rest of the world.
The realization that they were so close calmed Hardwick. He pulled out his phone, but not to call the cops on Quinn.
“It’s me,” he said when his boss picked up the other end.
“How did it go?” Chairman Kidd said.
“I don’t think he was happy to learn who I worked for,” Hardwick said.
“Do you think it was a mistake?”
“No. He needed to know. It’ll help him believe later.”
“Maybe. But I’m not so sure.”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
“No, I guess not,” Chairman Kidd said. There was a pause. “Do you think he’ll follow through?”
“He’ll tell the Office. He has to. And they’ll tell their clients. Chercover won’t let it drop. He may not have cared about us before, but Deputy Director Jackson was his protege.”
“Killing him was an inspired idea,” the Chairman said.
“Thank you,” Hardwick said.
The finding of Jackson’s body had gone near perfect to how Hardwick had envisioned it. As had the killings in Ireland, and the staged shooting at the museum less than an hour earlier. All had been designed to increase Chercover’s and the Office’s belief in the information Hardwick had been passing to them. Now there was only one last thing he had to do, and that would depend on what happened with Yellowhammer.
“Do you think it’s almost time to blackball the Office?” Chairman Kidd asked.
“Let’s wait and see what Quinn does,” Hardwick said. Forcing the Office out of business was just another step in Hardwick’s plan. They’d proved to be a problem for the LP, so using this opportunity to stop them was a no- brainer. “Once it looks like they’ve taken our bait, and send him to Yellowhammer, we move. Chercover first, though. Then we blackball the Office.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“After that I think it’s time for us to go into quiet mode,” Hardwick said.
There was a pause, then Chairman Kidd said, “Agreed. I’ll make sure everyone knows.”
“One other thing,” Hardwick said. “I’ve retired as of this moment. Do you think you can arrange things for me?”
“Of course. It’s time you became a member of the council anyway.”
Hardwick smiled. Plans within plans, all coming together. “I would be honored.”
“I’m glad,” the Chairman said. “I’ll be waiting for your final call.”
“The morning after tomorrow. If everything sticks to schedule it should be around 12:30 p.m. your time.”
“Remember, there can be no loose ends.”
“There won’t be.”
“Great, a vacation when you’re done, then,” Mr. Kidd said. “Some place warm.”
“It’s like you read my mind.”
“Be careful, James. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Hardwick slipped the phone back into his pocket. A vacation did sound like a good idea. But he had to see this through first. And even before that, he needed to find a ride back to his hotel.
Marion awoke to darkness.
At first she thought there might be something covering her eyes. But as her fingers touched her face, she realized nothing was there.
“Iris.” The name slipped from her mouth.
She reached around her bed in the dark trying to find the girl. Not a bed, really. Not even a mattress, more a thick piece of foam. There was no sheet. No blanket.
No Iris.
Marion began working her way across the floor, feeling every inch of the cold concrete surface.
“Iris!” She clung to the hope the child had just wandered off and fallen asleep, but the desperation in her harsh whisper betrayed what she really believed.
Her fingers touched the far wall a half-second before her head did. A spike of white-hot pain lanced her skull, forcing her into a near blackout before she was able to regain control.
She reached out and touched it again, but this time using it as a crutch to help her stand. Her head was still pounding from the blow, but she fought through it, willing herself to push the pain as far away as she could.
“Iris?” she said again.
She finished her search of the floor by shuffling her feet forward. The room wasn’t that big. She figured no more than eight feet by ten. She found a door along the wall near the foot of the mattress. It was made of metal, solid, cold, and flush to the floor. There was absolutely no light seeping around the edges.
But other than the door and the mattress and the cold walls, there was nothing else.
Her memories of the last hours — days, maybe? — were sketchy at best. The parking garage she remembered. The man with the accent. But after that nothing was clear. Lights, darkness, a constant hum, someone helping her to walk, then another hum, louder this time, more powerful. Then …
Then nothing until now.
She felt around the walls, looking for a window. Maybe there was one that was covered. Or if she
And a door.
And a mattress.
She wanted to lie back down, curl up, and let the tears that were screaming to pour out stream down her face. But she couldn’t let herself, she just couldn’t.
Iris needed her. God knows what they had done to the child. If anything happened to Iris, it would be Marion’s fault. There was no other way for her to spin it. Iris’s life was Marion’s to care for, Marion’s responsibility. That was what Frau Roslyn expected.
Marion worked her way back to the door and felt for the knob, her palms moving frantically over the surface where it should have been. But there was no knob. She moved her hand along the edges of the door. No hinges, either. It must open outward, she realized.
So she did the only thing she could. She began pounding on the door.
“Help!” she yelled. “Help!”
Maybe she had been abandoned somewhere. Perhaps no one knew she was there.
“Help!” she screamed again.
Light. Faint, and seeping around the edges of the door. One second it hadn’t been there, then the next it was, like someone had flipped a switch.
“Let me out! Please, anyone. Let me out!”
Something banged against the door from the other side, loud and sharp, shocking her into silence.
