Chapter 23
Time and again, Tom had tried to arrange a meeting with the President, but it looked like today would have the same outcome as before. He was sidelined, and sent to the State Department again.
The redirection was political. Tom was sure of that much at least. Being seen meeting with a known representative of coded people was probably just too controversial for the President right now. Still, that didn't mean the deal was off the table. It would just have to be done quietly, that was all.
Catherine Hegel welcomed him into her office as always, and offered him a seat. Her position within the State Department was something of a mystery, but as far as Tom could tell, she was some kind of fixer. Her authority and duties shifted to fit the situation, and she was by all accounts, very good at it.
She had unusual news, as well. "The President has authorized me to begin an induction process for your theoretical coded nation, Tom," she said out of the blue. "It'll require an inspection of Darien Cay, in person."
As surprised as he was now that it was actually happening, Tom nodded as calmly as he could. She would be the inspector, of course. "Every induction is different, though. What do you have in mind for your visit?"
Catherine smiled tightly. "Nothing unusual. I'll be visiting Elysia and Scheria to check for human rights violations. I'll have a few others with me, for security, documentation, and analysis. You're welcome to come along, if you want."
"Human rights violations?" Tom echoed with disbelief. "They're all coded! They can't hurt anyone except in self defense- and most of them can't even do that! You don't seriously think they have child labor or human trafficking or ethnic cleansing going on there, do you?"
"Of course not," she assured him. "This is just procedure. The first step in a hopefully short chain of events towards recognizing your new nation."
"Sure it is," he didn't bother to hide the cynicism in his voice. They had satellites which could keep watch on both islands 24/7. They had spotters both on American shores and Bahamian islands who could count, easily, the number of coded people coming to and from the islands. The only reason this so-called 'procedure' had been invented was so that she could get a look inside those buildings.
He hesitated for a second. He'd known Catherine for years. He'd had dinner at her house and met her husband, Air Force General Andrew Hegel. They were both pretty straight shooters, if he was any judge of character. That meant this trip was actually her superiors' idea. And since they weren't interested in showing their faces, he'd just have to deal with it.
It did give him leverage, though. If they were curious, maybe they could be enticed into a few concessions. "All right, but the people who go with you will be limited," Tom began again. "Security won't be an issue. Everyone on the island- save for me, one kid, and a few people still being evaluated- is coded by now, so you won't need any kind of escort, armed or otherwise. Analysis won't be an issue either. Each section of both cities is filled with experts, and I'll make sure they're cooperative. If you don't understand something, all you'll have to do is ask and they'll explain. As for documentation.. I'll allow a film crew, but only two people. One camera operator and one sound specialist . And we'll inspect all their equipment before we even leave American soil."
That last bit was a bluff. There were a few former US military people who were now coded, and even some who'd served in the intelligence community, but Max was their best counter-intelligence guy, and he was a former cop. But Catherine didn't know that.
They haggled a bit before she agreed to those restrictions, but then she brought up another point. "I've been asked to bring one other person along, too." She tapped her intercom once. "Hal, could you come in here, please?"
After a few seconds her door opened again, admitting a somewhat overweight, middle-aged man. He was balding, and sweating a bit, despite the building's air conditioning. "This is Hal Drekker with the IRS," Catherine introduced him, and Tom shook his hand. "He'll be coming with us to the coded islands."
"And what possible business could the IRS have in coded territory?" Tom asked mildly.
Drekker's posture slouched even further, if possible. "I have no idea. I just got this assignment from my boss back at Constitution Avenue. I haven't even had a chance to read the full instructions yet."
"The IRS just wants to monitor the use of American equipment and material on the islands," Catherine clarified.
As if that was clear in any way. "What are you talking about?" Tom objected incredulously. "All the equipment and raw materials are private property. It was all purchased by coded people, after they were coded, and put to use only on those islands or in other Bahamian territory. What could he possibly be inspecting?"
Drekker looked even more uncomfortable. In a way, Tom actually felt sorry for the man. He was just a pawn here, moved into place by unseen forces and then attacked just for being here.
"That's not entirely accurate," Catherine went on, opening one of the files on her desk and turning it to face him. "According to our records, the original facility on Darien Cay was built by an American construction company, Builders Clio. American workers did the work, and they used American materials. There was also a full busload of equipment you brought over from your previous location, Archcrest Penitentiary. That equipment was registered to Coleman-Saito Industries."
This was ridiculous! "Builders Clio only put together prefabricated structures! They've all been torn down by now anyway, and replaced with more efficient coded designs. As for the CS equipment, it was all ceded to us as part of our negotiations over three years ago. When we cut ties with Coleman-Saito, that equipment became our property. They signed waivers saying so!"
Catherine opened another file. "As you may know, Coleman-Saito Industries is under investigation by the SEC for possible securities fraud. In this case, that includes tax evasion. As part of that investigation, we're required to examine that equipment to make sure it wasn't misreported."
Tom gave an exasperated sigh. It was all maneuvering and misdirection of course, but he had to give them credit. Going through an old business partner- and an untrustworthy one at that- was efficient and effective. Cold as ice, but effective.
"Fine," he said as calmly as he could manage. He turned to Drekker. "You come along, you observe, and you take notes. But most of that equipment was decommissioned years ago, and is gathering dust in some storeroom in Scheria. You're just there to confirm that none of it is missing. Hell, when we're done, you can take it all back with you if you want!"
Drekker flinched at his tone, and again Tom felt sorry for him.
He looked back at Catherine. "I have one further stipulation myself, actually." Reaching down into his briefcase, he pulled out a stapled document and dropped it on top of her cursed files. "That's a Nondisclosure Agreement drafted by a coded lawyer. Or actually a former lawyer because they don't actually need attorneys there. Everyone who goes to those islands, including me, signs one. It authorizes you to share what you see only with your superiors, and then only if it pertains directly to your job. Any public disclosure of anything you see there will open you up to the mother of all lawsuits. And you know me, Catherine. You know I'll do it."
Catherine hesitated, tapping one of her lacquered nails on the desk for a bit. "I'll have to look over this NDA, and I'm sure you'll want to pin down the details for the visit, and where exactly we're going. Assuming there aren't any problems with either of those.. you've got yourself a deal." She extended a hand. Despite his apparently timid nature, even Drekker looked interested.
Tom shook her hand reluctantly, wondering if one of those nails would end up stabbing him in the hand. Or in the back.
-.-
They ended up scheduling their 'inspection tour' a few days after the first kids arrived in Scheria. From what Vicky told him, Tom imagined joyful reunions of over a hundred little ones with one of their coded parents.
Imagined being the operative word. He had been stuck in Miami, waiting for the State Department to actually get moving. Now they were finally approaching Scheria by boat.
As for the tour, their first and most important stop was uptown, of course. It was where all the old material from Archcrest had been stored. Also, if there was any child labor to be found, Tom was sure it would be here, in Scheria's nerve center.
Now that he'd had some time to reflect on his earlier conversation with Catherine, Tom had gotten over most of his anger. She was State Department, after all. She'd had an entire career to master rules-lawyering and dirty political tricks. He just had to keep his eye on the ball here. If this went off smoothly, national recognition could be just days away!
Max had inspected their equipment before departure, as agreed. He'd put on a good show, despite being unqualified. If Tom hadn't known it was fake, he might have believed it. Now one of Max's trainees was standing beside them like some kind of overprotective pit bull, as they toured the Allocators' building.
Holly was there too, explaining the day-to-day operations as professionally as she could, giving an admirable impression of being the one in charge. At least Catherine seemed to be buying it, but Drekker looked apprehensive as always. Did that man ever relax?
Someone tapped Tom on the shoulder. "Mr. Penderton?" It was one of Holly's aides. "You have a call, sir. From the mainland." He pointed down the hall. Around the corner was one of their few land lines, which was dedicated to American calls specifically. Tom excused himself briefly, and headed down the corridor at a fast pace. Whatever this was, hopefully it wouldn't take long.
Max was just around the corner, on his own cell phone. There was another coded man there, who Tom didn't recognize. Max looked up as Tom arrived, and then said, "he's here now. Thanks," and hung up.
Tom looked at the phone on the wall in confusion.
"I asked a coded friend in Miami to make an official call for you," Max explained, peeking around the corner again. "That way I could get you away from them without lying or having it look suspicious. We have a problem," he went on, before Tom could even catch up with that.
He gestured to his companion. "This is Stan Harriman. He used to work with the NSA before coming here. When I was looking through their things back in Miami, something seemed off. So, once we got back to Scheria, I called Stan in to help me vet them. Most of them are on the level, but one isn't exactly legit."
Tom sighed. "What is Catherine up to now?"
"It's not her," Max said quickly. "The camera crew's fine too. It's the other one- Drekker."
"I asked some friends of mine to do some checking back in DC," Stan put in quietly. "There is no Hal Drekker on the IRS payroll, or in their employee records. There is a Harold Drekker working for the NSA right now, though," he held up his own phone.
The man depicted on the phone's screen was standing straight and proud, unlike the Drekker Tom had met a few weeks ago. The face and hair were the same, though. It was him.
Tom let out an angry breath. "Whatever he's up to, at least he's unarmed. Can you restrain him without your code going off? Either of you?"
Max hesitated. "That's just the thing. I'm not sure he is unarmed. When I was looking over his laptop, I think I saw a hairline seam. It might be a hidden compartment. That's why I got Stan up here."
"I saw the laptop when they came into the building," Stan added. "It's old and clunky, but even with all the defunding the IRS has had the past few years, they still send their people out with better equipment than that. If he's got a weapon, it's in there."
Tom cursed, and then winced. He was a good distance away, so it was unlikely he'd been heard. "You both worked at the NSA, Stan. Would Drekker recognize you?"
Stan shook his head. "I don't know for sure. I didn't exactly hide the fact that I was getting coded. He probably saw a picture of me at least. I don't want to risk it."
"All right. I want you to go to my quarters. It's room 46B in the Inner Ring. On the floor next to the door is a small black box. Get it back here to Max as soon as you can." Stan nodded and ran for the back door. He was remarkably fast, considering his age.
"Max, when he gets back, I want you to deliver the box to me, nonchalantly. I'll try and delay the tour until then."
-.-
There wasn't much delaying to do, actually. Catherine seemed fascinated with everything Holly described about their operations, and wasn't in any hurry to continue. Drekker kept up his pretense, apparently oblivious to anything out of the ordinary, but Tom thought he'd seen a slight stiffening of Drekker's shoulders just as Tom got back to the group.
Was Catherine in on it too? Tom hoped she was just a patsy in all this- he'd come to respect her work and her dedication, despite her unfortunate choice in colleagues. He tried to be his usual polite self as they took a detour to examine the storeroom in the basement.
Drekker pulled out his laptop and Tom had to fight the instinct to tense up at that. Fortunately, the taxman/spy just went about his cover, carefully comparing the contents of the storeroom with the list they'd confiscated from Coleman-Saito. Tom actually felt a little happy about that one- if it were true. No company deserved to be digitally dissected more than theirs.
Finally, Max appeared in the doorway. He looked around briefly, and then went over to Tom. "You asked for this as soon as it arrived?" He said calmly, offering the box.
"Right, thanks," Tom tried to respond dismissively. When Catherine and one of the camera crew looked at him curiously, he just said, "it's a gift for one of the kids. Excuse me a moment, I just want to make sure they sent the right model."
There was a bathroom just down the hall. Once inside, Tom blocked the door with his back, and yanked out his wallet. Inside was a small key, which fit the lock on the front of the box. Frantically, but still as quietly as he could manage, Tom unlocked and opened it.
Fit snugly into the foam casing around it, was his old handgun.
Tom loaded it as quickly as he could, old memories of early shooting practice flooding into his mind. Vicky would probably give him hell for this, but there was no way he was letting Drekker hurt anyone or steal anything. Tom tucked the gun into his rear waistband, checked to see if his coat fully covered it, and rejoined the tour.
They were just leaving the storeroom and heading back upstairs to the lobby. Tom walked fast to catch up. Once in the lobby, Tom tried to figure out the best way to do this.
There were a lot of coded people in nearby rooms, and Tom didn't know how many of the tour were in on it. He trusted Max though, and Max had said only Drekker might be armed.
Something in Tom's stance must have been off though, because Drekker paused for a moment, glancing at him. They locked eyes for the briefest of instants, and then Drekker was off, running for the door.
Tom didn't give himself any time to hesitate. He pulled his gun, aimed it over Drekker's head, and fired. "Stop!"
A window near the door shattered, and startled noises quickly became screams. Drekker's headlong flight faltered, and he came to a stop. His hand darted for his laptop, and Tom let off another round, this one out the ruined window.
Tom shouted over them. "Don't move, Drekker! I'm not coded. You know I can kill you if I want!"
Mercifully, Drekker obeyed. In truth, Tom wasn't sure he could kill the man, and he didn't want to find out. "Max, get his equipment, quickly," Tom ordered, moving close enough so that he could shoot one and not both. Once Max had the gear he backed away, and Tom ordered Drekker down on the ground.
The screams had finally faded, but the window was still broken.
