The Cyclops Conspiracy (53 page)

“Good morning, handsome,” she said, batting her eyes at Jason as she ran a finger provocatively along his arm. “Think you could help me find it?”

Jason whispered his response, “Why, Ms. Pettigrew, I do believe you’re tempting me with the promise of sexual favors in return for my help.”

“You’re damned right I am,” she replied. “I told you, I only use my powers for good.” Christine planted a soft, wet kiss on Jason’s lips that lingered a moment longer than it should have.

“After a kiss like that, I’ll help you find the lost city of Atlantis,” said Jason. “How’s your headache?”

Christine shrugged. “It’s better. Imitrex is a wonder drug.” They walked back into Thomas’s old office.

A CT scan had revealed a tiny skull fracture caused by the attack in Jason’s living room. Cerebrospinal fluid had seeped from her ear canal. Though it was healing nicely, the doctors also diagnosed a severe concussion. In the office, Jason walked to a bookcase sagging under the weight of reams of papers, and pulled out the report.

“You’re my hero,” Christine said, taking the report. She clasped her hands behind his neck and gave him another deep, languid kiss. Jason closed his eyes, and his mind flashed to Christine’s petite hand wrapped around his weak fingers in the hospital.

“I wish I could’ve been your hero for the last thirteen years,” he whispered. “I need to make up for lost time.”

“You’ll have that chance, baby.”

“When are we meeting the lawyer?” he asked.

“Wednesday. This will be a bear,” she said. “I hope it works.”

Technically, the Colonial had no owner. Billy Parks had stepped up to the plate and kept the place running while both Christine and Jason recuperated. Since no heirs to Zanns could be located, Christine—at Jason’s urging—hired a lawyer and began proceedings to have the Colonial’s ownership revert back to her father’s estate and ultimately to her. The byzantine legal process was long and difficult. But a renewed sense of purpose and duty to her father motivated Christine. She owed him that much, she’d told Jason.

“It’ll work,” Jason replied. “Your father would be proud of you.”

“This place was his life, even after he sold it,” she said with resignation.

Jason removed the shiny object from his pocket. He took her hand in his and gently slipped the Heart Stone into her palm. Christine looked at the shiny, red, heart-shaped rock she had given Jason thirteen years ago.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Jason, you kept it. After all these years, you still have it.”

Jason lifted her chin with a finger. “Yes, I do. I’ve never stopped loving you, Chrissie. You gave this to me because you loved me.” Jason
closed her fingers around it. “I’m giving it back to you because…I love you. More than you’ll ever know. I’m not letting you go. Ever again.”

She flung her arms around Jason’s neck, squeezed him tight, and gave him another long kiss. Christine pulled away, ran a hand gently over Jason’s cheek, and locked eyes with his. She whispered, “I love you.”

Ten seconds later, Rachel, the purple-haired cashier, appeared in the office door. She coughed loudly and knocked twice on the frame. “You have a visitor,” she said.

The man looked smaller, more fragile. The skin hung over the cheekbones, its fullness gone. Despite the gaunt appearance, it was a face Jason would always recognize. Clay Broadhurst, his arm in a sling, smiled across the pharmacy counter at Jason and Christine. Broadhurst lying on his back in the stairwell, gurgling, “Save POTUS!” was a memory that would haunt Jason until the day he died.

“Can I have a word?”

They crammed into the small space of the office. Broadhurst was given the seat across from the dented metal desk. Christine sat in her father’s chair, while Jason leaned against a file cabinet.

Broadhurst held Jason’s gaze as the agent tried to get comfortable. Finally, he spoke. “Thank you,” the agent whispered. “Thank you for what you did.”

“I abandoned you,” Jason replied. He’d been certain his decision at the time was a death sentence for Broadhurst. The agent who had kicked the door in as Jason lay on the floor had, in fact, died. Along with at least six others.

“I was thanking you for saving the presidents.”

Jason simply nodded, while Christine smiled proudly.

Broadhurst continued. “I apologize, but the need for secrecy precluded my visit before today. People have been working very hard behind the scenes to—”

“To cover up the attempted assassination,” Jason interrupted.

Broadhurst smiled wryly. “I can’t argue that point. But it’s in everyone’s best interest that this episode not be made public. Your government is very grateful.”

“Why are you here, Agent Broadhurst?”

“I need both of you to come with me.”

* * *

The SUV pulled alongside its twin on the tarmac at Newport News—Williamsburg International airport. A Gulfstream jet waited in the morning chill, its cabin door open. Christine and Jason climbed aboard, followed by Broadhurst. Another agent emerged from the sister vehicle escorting Peter. Five minutes later, the jet engines roared as the aircraft sped along the runway and the plane lifted off.

“Where are we going?” asked Jason.

Broadhurst offered only a vague response. “We’re heading north.”

Jason popped a Coke and blurted the question he’d been longing to ask for two months—and which he’d thought might always go unanswered. “What happened to Fairing and Cooper?”

Broadhurst stared coolly. “That’s as good a place to start as any,” he said. “What I’m about to tell you is highly confidential, top secret in fact. I shouldn’t tell you this. It could cost me my job.” He scratched his cheek and looked at his patent leather shoes. “If you speak about this to anyone, the United States will prosecute to the fullest extent—and discredit all of you with extreme severity.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Fairing and Cooper have been detained in a location to which even I am not privy. They will never stand trial—”

“So they’ll never be brought to justice?” asked Peter.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Why were they trying to kill the presidents?”

“Under ‘extreme’ interrogation, Fairing revealed that he, Zanns, Oliver, and Jasmine Kader were part of an ultrasecret group known as—”

“The Simoon,” Jason said.

“That’s right. The word means ‘poison wind.’ In the Middle East, a simoon is a deadly sandstorm that rises up with little warning. They wanted revenge for the Gulf wars.”

Jason removed the photograph from his wallet. It was the one of Lily Zanns and a much-younger Saddam Hussein he’d taken from the mansion. It had not left his person since he’d emerged from surgery. He showed it to Christine and Peter, then handed it to Broadhurst. “Does this help explain things?” asked Jason.

“Lily knows Saddam Hussein?” asked Christine.

“By the pose and looks on their faces,” Broadhurst said, “it seems she knows him very well.” He shook his head. “Why haven’t I seen this photo before?”

“I was in surgery shortly after the assassination attempt. Things happened fast.”

Jason removed a chain from around his neck and handed it over as well. On it hung the tiny camera he’d found in his house. “My house was bugged. Maybe this can help you find the other group.”

“The other group?” Broadhurst asked. His shifty glance told Jason the agent knew more than he was letting on.

“Why were the Simoon trying to kill the presidents?” Christine persisted.

“According to Fairing,” Broadhurst replied, “the Simoon were bent on revenge for the Gulf Wars. By the way, Fairing’s not his real name. It’s Sharif al-Faisal Hussein. Dr. Jasmine Kader was Jazan Hussein. They’re Lily Zanns’s children. Her real name was Delilah Hussein. She and Saddam were apparently never married, but she took his name. Sam, or Sharif, was destined to use the assassinations as a springboard to notoriety. It was planned that he would someday take Iraq back from what they consider to be their Western colonizers.”

Peter said, “You told me in the middle of all this that Zanns’s team had help. They had money, but not the technological ability to carry this out. ‘They needed help,’ you said.”

Broadhurst gave them his best poker face. “I can’t say anything about that.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Peter persisted.

“We all risked our lives. We deserve to know,” Jason demanded.

Broadhurst leaned forward. “I don’t give an airborne copulation what you deserve. This is a matter of national security. I’ve already told you too much.”

Jason leaned forward, inches from Broadhurst’s face. “Steven Cooper is an American, isn’t he? He works for someone inside our government. Is he CIA?”

Broadhurst remained stone-faced.

Jason persisted. “Where did this secret American group come from? Who are they part of?”

Broadhurst put his palms up. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Who is Hammon?”

“I’m not going there, Jason! Give it up!”

Jason smirked in disbelief.

Perhaps Broadhurst felt he owed Jason. He relented somewhat. “Okay, okay. Let’s assume, for the sake of argument, there’s another group. If there were, it would explain a lot.”

“How did they come to use the Colonial as a cover?” asked Peter.

“The Colonial had been targeted years earlier. Thirteen years, in fact. This group needed a front for money laundering. The Colonial was supposed to have been that cover. At the last minute, the plan was discarded.”

Jason, Christine, and Peter exchanged glances.

Broadhurst continued, “Fairing and Cooper revealed some very interesting information about you, Jason. Information that goes back thirteen years.”

“Oh yeah?” Jason’s skin began to crawl.

“Yes,” he said. “Before I go there, let me tell you something you already know. You were framed for the murder of Sheila Boquist.”

“And?” Jason replied.

“Fairing and Kader killed her. They planted the wine glass, the knife, and the classified documents about the christening. The only reason we were able to connect Fairing to the murder was the bloody footprint he left in the house. Traces of blood found on his shoe soles matched Sheila’s. We passed that on to the police, and that’s why the charges were dropped. The locals in York County have closed the file on your girlfriend’s murder.”

“She was my ex-girlfriend,” he corrected, glancing at Christine. “And she didn’t deserve to die.”

Broadhurst continued, “Back to what happened thirteen years ago. During your first stint at the Colonial, your employment ended rather suddenly. Why was that, Jason?”

Christine frowned. Peter looked at his brother, confused. Jason had not confided in his brother about that part of his past. Peter had been stationed in Hawaii at the Kaneohe Naval Air Station at the time.

“I was told to resign or be fired. If I stayed on, I would’ve lost my license to practice.”

“Why?”

“Because, supposedly, I made a medication error that resulted in the death of an elderly patient. What the hell does this have to do with anything?”

Broadhurst smiled like the cat that swallowed a very fat canary. “You were set up then as well.”

“What?”

“You were set up by the secret group that doesn’t exist. Thomas Pettigrew had begun to experience financial problems as the big pharmacy chains took hold. He was targeted for ruin. Every employee at the Colonial was profiled, researched, and infiltrated. A series of unfortunate events were planned that would lead to the Colonial’s downfall. Then our secret group would swoop in, buy the pharmacy, and save it, only to use it for their purposes. You were targeted for removal because you were considered a liability, someone who would get in the way, ask too many questions. So they set you up long before
Lily Zanns ever came into the picture. The medication error wasn’t supposed to kill the woman, just be serious enough to get you fired.”

“You mean…”

“Cooper knows the name, the place, and the drug involved. He knew details to which he couldn’t possibly have been privy. The players posed as lawyers and put pressure on Pettigrew to fire you. The old man resisted at first. We don’t know why. It may have had something to do with your relationship with Ms. Pettigrew here. More pressure was applied. He left the decision up to you.”

The hum of the jet engines filled the silence.

“Daddy changed after that,” Christine offered. “That must have been the catalyst for his obsession with conspiracies. He went downhill after you were gone.”

Jason placed a hand on her arm, but directed his question to Broadhurst. “How did they convince the family to drop the suit?”

Broadhurst rubbed his chin. “According to Cooper—or whatever his name is—”

“You don’t know his real name?” asked Peter.

“We do, but I’m not going to reveal that. Cooper told us the family was given a large sum of money. They accepted it, and the matter was dropped. You left the Colonial and went on your merry way.”

“Merry way, my ass!” Jason spat.

Peter asked, “So why, after thirteen years, did they decide to use the Colonial again?”

“From what we can gather—Cooper’s a little fuzzy on this—a man named Hammon kept tabs on the Colonial. Since both presidents would be attending the christening in Newport News, the Colonial was the perfect cover. Thomas Pettigrew managed to get into financial trouble on his own. They hired Zanns and her conspirators to kill the presidents. She swooped in to purchase the pharmacy three years ago. It had been in the works for that long.”

“If they thought I was a liability the first time, why did she hire me the second time?” Jason asked.

“That was
her
mistake. She didn’t know about the previous operation. You happened along at the right time, she needed a scapegoat. It was supposed to have been Thomas Pettigrew. You became the new fall guy.”

Jason shook his head. “You know, it just occurred to me. Lily—or Delilah—hired me to be the vice-president so she could keep tabs on me while she set me up. She put me to work cleaning out the back room. If she hadn’t, I never would’ve found that missing prescription with Thomas’s note on the back. In a way, she brought herself down.”