A Murder of Crows (18 page)

Hicks took the Dean’s handheld. “It’s heavier than my handheld.”

“Because it has more power and connectivity than any other device in service. Typing is still a challenge, but you will adapt. The connectivity is faster, too. Not as fast as our desktops, but on par with our laptops. You can run scans, compile profiles, access Faculty emails and locations, and almost anything else you need to run the organization. You will also have override authority on any operation in the OMNI system anywhere in the world.”

But Hicks barely heard anything the Dean had said. His head was still spinning from learning of the Dean’s betrayal. It was still spinning from the realization he was now the man in charge of The University.

“There is something else you will need in addition to that device.” The Dean took a yellowed envelope from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to Hicks. “It may very well be the most important document the University possesses. You should keep it secure in your safe until the time comes for you to select your replacement.”

Hicks could see the envelope had been sealed at one time, but now the flap was simply tucked inside it. “What is it?”

“Open it and see for yourself.”

Hicks removed the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. If the letterhead at the top of the stationary wasn’t enough to give him pause, the signature at the bottom of the paper was. He had to read it twice to make sense of it, then looked up at the Dean. “Is this real?”

“Real, binding and legal, as several Attorneys General can attest to,” the Dean said. “You are holding an executive order from President Dwight D. Eisenhower himself, establishing the organization known as the ‘University of International Intelligence’ as falling under the influence of the National Security Council. The order was deemed classified as soon as it was signed.”

Since joining the University years before, Hicks had periodically asked his various superiors about the origins of the organization. He had asked about who started it and why. No one had ever given him a straight answer and he’d never cared enough to push the issue. He knew the organization must have had some kind of formal standing, since he had seen the University extricate its agents from numerous legal situations throughout the world. He had also seen it use its influence to get other intelligence organizations to either cooperate or leave them alone, depending on the need at the time.

The document he now held in his hand explained why. “I never knew.”

“You were never been Dean before, so there was no need for you to know until now. President Eisenhower had a healthy distrust of what he referred to as the Military Industrial Complex. He also had reservations about how powerful a centralized intelligence organization may become one day. That is why a few of the founding members of the original Office of Strategic Services convinced him to establish us via executive order. As it was an unfunded mandate, we have never been listed in any budgets and this classified document has mostly been forgotten by history.”

Dozens of questions flooded Hicks’ mind at once, but he boiled them down to the most important one. “Who else in the Community knows about this?”

“Not many,” the Dean admitted. “As secrecy has always been among our greatest assets, we have used it sparingly. There have been times when some Deans have had to produce it to keep other agencies at bay. Some directors have respected it, while others have sought to have it deemed irrelevant. Some directors have decided to ignore it all together. The current director of the Barnyard long ago decided the document had no merit.”

“But what about congressional oversight? The intelligence committees…”

The Dean answered him before he could finish the question. “As a self-funding organization, we have been able to avoid wrangling in the muck with the other agencies for funding. And no funding means less interest in oversight, especially when it comes to a document that has been largely forgotten by history.”

“Why haven’t any of the other agencies tried to use this against us?”

“Because they have benefitted from the intelligence we have gathered for them,” the Dean explained. “And shining light on our existence would make their lives much more difficult. I am only sorry I was unable to use that order to force the other agencies to leave us alone in our quest for Jabbar, but like I said, the current director of the Barnyard views that document as a relic.”

Hicks folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. He noticed his hand shook a little bit. “Jesus, sir. This is a hell of a lot to digest in one day.”

“As Dean, I am afraid you will find there is a hell of a lot to digest every day. That is why you will need to appoint a Dutchman to help you run the operation smoothly, or as smoothly as an operation such as this can hope to run. I know you despise Jason. Believe me, he has no great admiration for you, either.”

“Jason’s an asshole.”

“Perhaps, but a most capable one. What he lacks in personality and field experience, he more than makes up for in his abilities as an administrator. Given all the challenges our organization is facing, it may be wise to have a seamless transition.” The man smiled. “But my opinion no longer matters. You are in charge now. You are the Dean. You decide the course the University takes.”

The new handheld had a sense of permanence to it, of authority. Like the Ruger under his left arm. Only this weapon was far more powerful than any pistol.

“Do I have to do anything to make this work?”

“I already reassigned my security protocols to you before I came here. Please remember your selection was not simply my idea. You were approved unanimously by the University Trustees. One of them will be making contact with you in a few hours to discuss a few formalities. But you answer to no one but your own good conscience.”

“And if I decide to open a dialogue with Stephens anyway?”

“Such is your prerogative. No one can stop you, though the Trustees will hold you accountable for any decision you make. Whatever you decide, I know it will be what you believe is best for the institution. I have made my case for the course of action I have prescribed. I have given you the best evidence I could. The final verdict rests with you now.”

Hicks slipped the bulky device into the inside pocket of his coat. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Please do.” The Dean grunted as he pushed himself out of the chair. He kicked up another cloud of dust and had to stifle a cough. “However, I do recommend you find someone to come in and dust this place at least once a decade.”

Hicks smiled. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

The Dean held out a hand to him. “I have foisted a lot of responsibility on you this afternoon, James, but I know things will become clearer to you in time. In our world, sometimes one can only see the true nature of a thing by watching how the shadows play across it.”

Hicks shook his mentor’s hand. “I promise to make you proud, sir.”

“You already have.” The Dean pulled on his gloves as he walked toward the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “And when all else fails, remember a simple axiom which has served me well over the years: do no harm, but take no shit.”

Hicks watched his mentor open the door and quietly pull it closed behind him. He’d left Hicks alone in the phony apartment with the responsibility for the institution they had both loved and killed for.

His instinct told him to run after the Dean, to at least offer to walk with him for a while or take him wherever he was going. But the Dean hadn’t asked and Hicks didn’t offer. The man Hicks had known for so long as the Dean had his own journey to take. He should be allowed to take it his own way. Hicks owed him that much.

Maybe it was the best kind of ending for him after all. In their line of work, any ending of your own choosing was a good one.

Hicks hoped he might be as lucky someday, though with things as they were, he tended to doubt it.

T
HE
J
OLLY
Roger Club was known to its wealthy clientele as the most exclusive underground pleasure venue in New York City, which put it in the running for being one of the best in the world. It had become a favored destination for the various types of vice still illegal in many parts of the world, but the Jolly Roger always guaranteed safety and discretion for its customers.

Calling it a nightclub would have been too vague. Calling it a sex club would have been limiting its purpose to the definable. And if there was one thing Roger Cobb had always sought to avoid, it was definition.

Roger’s establishment catered to almost any fetish, passion, and proclivity on the Kinsey Scale. Most illegal drugs were allowed, provided the customer didn’t get out of line while using them. Roger drew the line at bestiality and pedophilia, preferring to use the latter as test subjects for his more invasive interview techniques.

The men and women who serviced Roger’s customers looked like they could have been fashion models or actors. Some even had been. Any service and act they provided was done beneath the watchful eye of cameras strategically placed throughout the building. If and when the time came, the footage would be used as leverage to compel them to serve the needs of the University.

Because of its exclusive customer base, the club had made a lot of money for the University—and Roger and Hicks personally—in the five years since it had opened.

Part of the Jolly Roger Club’s popularity was that it never closed. It always had at least a few customers in various stages of intoxication, hedonism, and undress at any time of day. One customer said, ‘It’s always eight o’clock on a Thursday night at Roger’s.’ Hicks couldn’t remember a time when the door had ever been locked, not even on Christmas Day when Roger held his annual ‘Red Gala’ ball.

But when he got to the club later that afternoon, he found the front door locked.

Hicks fumbled in his pocket for the keys and let himself in. He took off his sunglasses, knowing Roger always kept the place dimly lit and the music loud. But as he opened the door, he saw all the lights were on and the place was silent. He expected to see one of Roger’s bouncers at the door. Roger always had plenty of staff on hand to keep escapades from getting violent.

He was surprised to find only one person in the place. Scott, from the Varsity Squad, sitting alone at the bar drinking a bottle of water. With his blonde crew cut and square jaw, he looked more menacing than normal in the stark light of the club.

He looked up from his handheld as Hicks walked in. “Speak of the devil and he appears. I was about to call you.” He looked closer at Hicks. “Glad to see you finally cleaned yourself up. You’ve been looking like a real piece of shit lately.”

The two men had never been enemies or friends. They didn’t have to be. They worked together and they worked well together. Hicks saw no reason why it should change now he had become the Dean.

He looked around the place and saw all the couches and booths and tables were empty. “Where the hell is everybody?”

“Don’t blame me,” Scott said. “Roger threw out all the freaks and told me to keep the place shut tight until he said otherwise. I’ve never seen him like that. The little bastard was like a dynamo, throwing junkies and perverts out into the parking lot. I’d bet a million bucks that some of those freaks have seen the sun in weeks.”

Hicks had seen Roger lose his temper before, but not when it came to business. “Why’d you hang around?”

“I don’t like taking orders from him, but after what he went through today, I figured he shouldn’t be alone. I was going to call you to let you know what happened when you walked in.”