The Foundation: Jack Emery 1 (16 page)

Michelle sat back in her seat and watched as Chen’s wife refilled the three delicate bone china tea cups with practiced grace. Not a single drop was spilled, and the whole process seemed effortless. When she was done, she placed the teapot back on the heat mat, stood and picked up her own cup.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss your business.” She smiled at Michelle. “But I want to thank you again for saving my family.”

Michelle smiled as she leaned forward to pick up the tea. “No thanks are necessary.”

The other woman nodded, then left the room. Michelle didn’t speak until the door had closed and she was certain nobody would overhear the conversation, using the time to plan her approach.

She looked to Chen, who seemed relaxed. “Your wife moves like a ninja, or a ballet dancer, I can’t decide which.”

Chen gave a small laugh. “It’s hell on the children. They don’t ever hear her coming.”

Michelle lifted the cup of tea to her mouth and took a small sip. It was a stupid move, and her tongue screamed in pain at the intrusion of the boiling liquid, far too hot for her taste. She did her best to mask any discomfort, but when she looked up at Chen, he had the slightest smile on his face. Scalded, she placed the cup carefully back on the table.

“Ernest McDowell is alive.” Her voice was matter of fact. “That is unacceptable.”

“So I saw on the news.” He lifted his own tea and took a small sip, apparently with no discomfort. “Good for his family, but not for your organization.”

“Indeed. I needed him dead.”

Chen looked her straight in the eye. “It’s through no fault of mine that he lives. The operation was a success. I inserted, took the shot, and got out.”

Michelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “He’s alive, Chen.”

“Because he shifted as I pulled the trigger. It was bad luck, and when he fell to the ground he was out of my gun sights. He’s alive by the grace of his God.”

Michelle sighed. She hadn’t expected this to be easy. Chen had told her explicitly when she’d asked him to kill McDowell that this was the last job he’d do for her. But nor had she expected that he’d fight her so hard. She needed to convince him to finish the job, to march into McDowell’s hospital room and yank a cord or two. Sarah McDowell’s positive reaction to her Georgetown speech the day before had convinced Michelle that she’d have the support of McDowell’s daughter once the old man was dead. Sarah would inherit his shares the moment his heart stopped beating, which for Michelle was good enough. Sarah McDowell was malleable.

She leaned forward. “I need the job finished. His continued ability to breathe will have unacceptable consequences, to say the least.”

Her ideal situation had been to control EMCorp through manipulation of McDowell, but failing that, the best option was his death. In recent days she’d instructed the Foundation to prepare to buy up a great deal of EMCorp stock. She’d also put in motion efforts to blackmail, bribe or outright bully other board members onto her side. But with McDowell still conceivably in the picture, every contingency had gone to shit. Michelle had little to show for her efforts a week after she’d told the Foundation cell leaders that she was in the driver’s seat.

“Ernest McDowell needs to die. I want you to finish the job. Say what you want about deities and bad luck, but you owe a debt to me, and I expect it to be made good.”

She looked into Chen’s eyes, and his black irises suddenly seemed like unforgiving vortexes that sucked her in and nearly extinguished the flame of her confidence. He leaned forward slightly and placed his tea cup on the table. He lifted his hand to his chin to scratch it. For the first time with this man, she felt like she was not in control.

His face was completely expressionless. “I don’t see it that way. I told you I owed you two jobs: one for extracting me and one for extracting my family. You asked me to take care of Anton Clark’s computer and I did. Then you asked me to shoot Ernest McDowell, and I did. I’ve repaid the debts.”

Michelle gave a small laugh. “If I gave everyone I owed favors to the same spiel, I’d be dead in a week. I wanted you to kill him. There’s a pretty big fucking difference.”

Chen shrugged. “You told me to shoot him. I shot him. Death was not guaranteed. Your instructions should have been clearer. I will not be moved on this.”

Michelle struggled to contain her anger. “You know as well as I do, Chen, that when you play in the big leagues, sometimes you need to work a bit harder.”

“I understand, and that’s why I took care of your deceased boss.” His tone was calm.

“I killed him, in case you forget.”

“But I removed the knife from your throat.”

She hated to admit that he had a point. She’d been hoping to convince him to take one last action on her behalf, but his efforts to plant the evidence on Anton’s computer and help her take over the Foundation had been invaluable. Deep down, she’d prefer to leave him and his family alone, but she didn’t have that luxury.

Michelle knew there was no point pushing the issue further. He didn’t seem like the sort who would change his mind once it was made up. She smiled and lifted her tea. She took another cautious sip and was glad that she wasn’t scalded for her efforts. She swallowed, placed the cup carefully back on the table and stood.

“Patronage can be revoked, Chen. I hope you’ll reconsider your decision. Please thank your wife for the tea.”

***

Jack had one clue to unlock the mystery of Ernest’s shooting—an unidentified female voice. He’d tried to call the number back, but it was disconnected. A burner phone. It seemed hopeless, but he’d made stories and a career out of less. Like a police detective, he knew he needed an overlooked fact, a new angle or a chance encounter. If he pulled the right thread, the whole mess would untangle before his eyes.

Since finding the voicemail on Ernest’s phone, he’d spent most of the last few days in his office at the
New York Standard
trying to find that thread. He could do pretty much whatever the hell he liked without reproach at the moment, because his experiences in the last few months had made others treat him with a light touch. They seemed surprised that he was at work at all.

He’d decided he could do nothing with the mystery woman’s voice for now, and the hours spent trawling through Ernest’s phone had otherwise proven fruitless, so he’d focused on finding some other blemish in Ernest’s life that might explain the attack. He typed the date of the shooting into Wikipedia, but found nothing.

With a frustrated sigh, he swung back on his chair. He needed a break. He looked away from the computer and up at the television in the corner of his office. It was a good enough distraction as any and better than the scotch he’d sworn off. He lifted the remote from his desk and turned on the TV.

The screen flashed to life and showed a news replay of a speech given at Georgetown a few nights prior. He knew no easier way to get his mind back on the job than a few minutes of watching this sort of thing, though he had to admit the attractive speaker would keep his attention for longer than usual.

“
Firstly, I’ve ordered that much of the financial assets of the Foundation for a New America be spent purchasing a significant shareholding in EMCorp in the coming weeks.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, then widened. He continued to listen as he leaned forward in his chair and dug through his pocket until he found Ernest’s phone. As quickly as he could, and while the speech was still going, he pulled up the mystery woman’s voicemail and played it on loudspeaker.

“
Ernest, we had a deal. Stop being a fool. You don’t have a lot of time left to make the right decision.”

He played it again, to be sure. After the second playback, he was convinced that it was the woman on the screen, announcing that her organization was buying shares in EMCorp and that she was ready to shake Congress up. A broad smile crossed his face, and he had to stop himself from cheering aloud when a box appeared on the screen.

Michelle Dominique

Director, Foundation for a New America

He typed her name into Google as he continued to look at the woman on the screen. She was beautiful, black haired, well dressed. The page delivered instantly: a profile, a website for her foundation—a treasure chest that would take him no time to unlock. He wasn’t sure if she was the one who’d ordered Ernest shot, and even if she had, he had no idea why, but deep down he knew this was the thread he’d been looking for.

A coffee cup slammed—a little too loudly—on his desk. He hadn’t heard anyone enter his office, but the shock was soon replaced with a smile when he spun around in his chair to see Celeste with her own coffee in hand.

“How long have you been sitting here for?” Her voice was terse as she put a hand on one hip. “You’ve got to sleep at some point.”

“A while.” He laughed. “Think I just figured it out.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, these guys.” He pointed to the laptop, then up at the television. “Her. She left a nasty message on Ernest’s voicemail, and she’s buying a chunk of the company.”

Celeste leaned over his shoulder and read what was on the screen. “Foundation for a New America. Looks like your average, run-of-the-mill conservative think tank.”

“I’ve heard of them, vaguely. Extreme right-wingers. They hang out with the Republicans but aren’t really welcome.”

“All sounds promising.” Celeste patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, time for lunch. Let’s game plan this.”

Jack held up his phone and took a few more photos of the woman. It hadn’t been hard to find her, given how much of a public figure she was, and since then he’d watched her from a distance for almost a week. Michelle Dominique, Director of the Foundation for a New America and Congressional nominee. He pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning on and walked in an easy stride to intercept her.

After hearing her voice on the news, and matching it to the voicemail, he’d hopped a short flight from New York to Washington. He’d spent his days trailing her, and his nights digging deeper into her character. She was his sole focus. He was intent on learning more about this woman, who was somehow entwined in Ernest’s shooting. Unfortunately, she was surprisingly private and he'd struggled to find much dirt.

Now he walked twenty yards behind her, careful not to get too close. Not that it mattered all that much, since she didn’t seem overly aware of her surroundings. Whatever her part in all of this, he doubted she was some kind of super spy. After another block, she slowed near a bar and entered.

He had a choice to make. He could go in now and try to engineer some sort of contact, or he could wait and see what happened. He deferred to his professional judgment. There was no point in waiting any longer. An idea formed in his head, which he spent the next few minutes turning into a plan.

He crossed the road and entered the bar. It was more upmarket than he was used to. A bar ran the length of the small room and soft lighting accentuated curves and forgave blemishes. There were leather booths, which afforded privacy to those who wanted it. He had no doubt that the step up in class would be reflected in the drink prices.

Jack felt at home, or close enough. As he closed the door behind him and approached the bar, heads turned—he knew he was being sized up. In this sort of place, that analysis consisted of two things: how much he earned and how attractive he was. Lucky he was wearing the most expensive suit he owned.

He stepped closer to the bar with all the confidence he could muster and looked around. He recognized his target standing at the bar. Dominique was one of the few who hadn’t turned to look at him when he’d entered. Her jet black hair flowed down the back of her dress and confidence seemed to radiate off her.

As he stood next to her, he was terrified that she’d recognize him, but he had to take the chance. He left just the right distance between them to ensure he didn’t arouse her suspicions, but not enough for someone else to slip in between them. Jack rested his elbows on the bar and when the barman looked his way, he slid a fifty onto the counter.

The barman looked at the note, then up at him with a smile. “What can I get you?”

“Whisky on the rocks.” Jack had no intention of drinking, but the act was necessary.

The barman frowned. “Any in particular, sir? We’ve got quite a few.”

“Surprise me.” Jack turned to Dominique. “And I’ll get the lady’s drink too.”

Jack turned his head back to the barman and kept calm. He sensed slight movement to his left as the ice hit the bottom of the glass with a clink. He felt her gaze upon him as the top-shelf Irish whisky was poured over ice with the measured practice of a professional. He heard Dominique clear her throat as the barman put the scotch and a small bowl of nuts on the bar with a smile, then placed another whisky in front of her.

Dominique took the drink but left the nuts. “Thanks.”

As she walked away, Jack exhaled heavily, glad that she hadn’t recognized him. Though he wasn’t exactly a household name, a lot of Washington insiders knew who he was. Newsprint clearly still gave him a fair bit of anonymity. His name was known by most, but his face wasn’t. He remained perched on the bar as the barman returned with his change, but Jack waved at him to keep it.

The barman smiled and gestured his head in Dominique’s direction. “Hey, thanks, buddy. Looks like you’re in with a good shot.”

Jack grinned. “I’ve got no idea what you mean.”

Jack rapped his knuckles on the bar and walked to the only vacant booth, right at the back of the bar. Dominique was nowhere in sight, and his heart was threatening to leap out of his chest with its rhythmic thumping. He sat and took a few deep breaths to calm himself as he waited. Though tempted to take a sip of whisky to calm his nerves, his recent addiction was still too raw, and he left it alone.

A minute or so after he’d sat down, Dominique passed. He caught her scent: it was something floral but not overpowering, made all the more intoxicating by knowing he was close to getting her answers. Before he knew it, she’d placed her own drink on the table and was sliding up closer to him in the booth.

“Thanks for the drink.” Her voice was soft but thick with suggestion.

Jack kept his voice even, despite his nerves and excitement. “No problem.”

She smiled slightly. “What’s your name?”

Jack knew he had her attention, but it was potentially fleeting. There were a dozen other guys in the bar who’d give her exactly what he could, probably better. He pressed his leg into hers and she responded in kind. He dug into his pocket and placed a fake business card on the table.

She picked up the card and considered it. “So, James Ewing. Farzo? What’s that?”

“Social media, video conferencing, that sort of thing. It’s a start-up I’m working on.”

“Sounds dull.” She placed the card back on the table. “I’m Michelle.”

He grinned. “It is, until it outgrows Facebook. What do you do for a living, Michelle?”

“Lobbyist.” She clearly didn’t want to say any more. She lifted her drink to her mouth, drained it then placed the glass back on the table so firmly that the ice clinked.

“Get you another drink?” While Jack knew things might be easier with Dominique if she had booze in her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was acting predatorily.

“Yours will do.” She grabbed his drink and downed it in one go. She obviously knew how to have a good time. “Let’s get out of here?”

Jack tried his best not to look stunned. He hadn’t expected her to be so forward. “Um, my hotel is miles away.”

This was his gambit. Getting Dominique interested, getting her into bed and escaping the next day with his story intact would be the easy part. But the entire effort hinged on whether he could get to her place, search through her things, and get a feel for who she was. Finding something useful would be a bonus. She started to stand and he hoped.

“My place is close.” She shrugged. “Come on.”

Jack stood and followed her to the exit. He was aware of every pair of eyes in the bar tracking him, scoring him much higher than when he’d walked in. Even though he had a purpose to all this, he had to admit he enjoyed the attention. He reconsidered his feelings from a moment ago.

Predatory or not, he had no qualms about his actions. He knew that he was about to start down the very slippery slope that had made his colleagues in Britain think that hacking phones was logical. But he didn’t care. He was in control again. He felt like a lion stalking a gazelle.

He was going to enjoy this.

***

Jack stopped and winced as Dominique stirred next to him. He’d been about to get up and start searching, but wanted to be sure that she was sound asleep. The minutes passed and he waited, eyes wide open. He looked at the clock on the bedside table. Midnight. Plenty of time.

Besides, she’d warned him the night before that she was intending to sleep in, so he could leave if he wanted to be up and off early. He wondered if she was as blunt with all the men she bedded, and decided it was a safe bet. She hadn’t been what he’d expected. She’d been harsh, demanding, physical. He’d had to work harder to satiate her than any woman he’d been with, and they’d tried things Jack never had before. Not even with Erin.

It gave him all the more motivation to do the next part right. He needed information, and this was the last place he could think of to get it. He listened and waited. She stirred again slightly, one more time, before she started to snore softly. When he was sure she was asleep, he pulled back the covers and moved quietly into the ensuite. Once inside, he took his time and sat on the toilet far longer than needed to conduct his business. He wanted to be sure she stayed asleep.

When he left the bathroom she hadn’t stirred. He dug around in the pocket of his jeans, which were on the floor next to the bed. He grabbed his keys as quietly as he could and moved toward the door. Once through it he closed it softly. He turned on the flashlight on his key ring and moved the small, bright beam of light around the apartment.

He didn’t really know where to start, so he went straight to the iPad on the coffee table. He sat on the couch with it and put the flashlight between his teeth as he rolled back the lime green cover. The screen lit up, nearly as bright as the flashlight. A box asking for a code popped up. He cursed. It would have been all too easy for her to have no security on the iPad, but she wasn’t that stupid. He probably had three tries to get the password right before he was locked out. He tried one random, four-digit code. The iPad buzzed, and “Wrong Passcode—Try Again” flashed in red at the top of the password box. He tried another. It buzzed again. He knew he could have one more try, but there’d be no surer way to inform her that he’d been rifling through her stuff than a locked iPad.

He sighed. While the iPad was the obvious place to find incriminating documents and information, it was closed to him. He shut the cover and put the iPad back down on the table where he’d found it. He took the flashlight out of his mouth and waved the beam around the room again.

He spent the next twenty minutes fruitlessly searching the apartment. He searched the kitchen, living area and main bathroom, but found nothing of worth. He knew there was one room most likely to contain some information, and he’d deliberately left it to last. He opened the door to the study, which seemed to pull double duty as a study, second bedroom, clothes storage room and general junk depot. There was no computer, but there was a desk littered with documents and a safe.

He left the safe alone, having no illusions that he was MacGyver, able to open it with a paperclip. Instead, he went straight for the notepad. He grabbed a lead pencil from the stationary caddy and tried the oldest trick in the book. He scribbled the lead pencil all over the yellow paper, and writing appeared.

Chen–608-558-2015.

A phone number. An Asian name. It might be nothing, or it could be a lead. He tore off the sheet of paper, crushed it into a ball and placed the pencil back in the caddy. He’d be able to look up the number easily enough later. He searched through the pile of documents on the desk but found nothing of use, though there was a boarding pass stub for Shanghai.

He left the study and made his way back to the bedroom. On his way through he looked longingly at the iPad, sorely tempted to try again, but he left it. He returned to the bedroom and put the keys and the screwed-up piece of paper into his jeans. He climbed back into the bed. Leaving now would just make her suspicious. Next to him, Dominique stirred, rolled over and placed an arm over his midsection.

“Thanks for last night.” Her voice was heavy with sleep. “I really enjoyed it.”

“No problem.”

His mind buzzed with the possibilities of what he’d found. He knew it could end up being nothing, or it could be the key to unlocking the whole puzzle. He had a number, and knew she’d been in Shanghai. He’d have to call in a favor to get the number traced to an address, but that wouldn’t be hugely difficult. He’d leave first thing in the morning and start down the path that had just opened for him. He hoped it led somewhere.

He felt energized. It was enough for now.