The Ragnarok Conspiracy (22 page)

The ride through Midtown was eerily devoid of the usual traffic. Two terrorist attacks in four months in Manhattan had had a profound effect on the city. Within ten minutes, Savas had parked his car in one of an unusual number of open spots along the side of the street, a block away from the fifty-five floors of steel and blue glass that was Gunn Tower.

He was curious to find himself putting money in the meter. He had the quarters piled high in the small storage area underneath the CD player and radio. The human mind was a mess of contradictions. He was about to enter without a warrant and confront one of the world's most powerful CEOs. Rationally, he knew that he might walk out under arrest and would no longer need his car, perhaps for a long time. But he found himself unable to let go of the old habit of tending to the vehicle. He looked over at Cohen, who gave him a quizzical look as he paused, staring at the meter.

“Well, we don't want to get a ticket or anything,” he said dryly as she put on her sunglasses.

They entered the enormous lobby of Gunn Tower, passing through a revolving door set in a solid wall of glass. Inside, the ceiling was at least fifty feet above their heads, with stairways and escalators leading to multiple overhanging layers that held general social functions, including restaurants and stores. The floor was of polished blue-green marble. Light poured into the lobby from outside, filtered into a bluish hue. Savas felt like he was in a giant aquarium. On the open second floor, a small museum dedicated to the Gunn family and their accomplishments was advertised by a sign. Modesty was not on display.

One hundred feet in front of the entrance was a security checkpoint that screened those headed back toward the main elevators. Armed security guards flanked the metal detectors. Pleasant-looking women stood on each side, checking ID cards for personnel. Cohen looked over at Savas, her glasses hiding the anxiety he could feel emanating from her.

“OK, now what?” she asked.

“We exploit the power of the federal government.”

Savas walked up to the long marble counter beside the security checkpoint and addressed a young woman who smiled and welcomed him to Gunn Tower. Savas opened the leather case for his badge and showed her its contents.

“Agent John Savas from the FBI,” he said curtly, pleased at the instant shift in demeanor from the woman behind the counter.

“Yes, sir, how can I help you?”

“I've been sent from the downtown division to follow up on a lead. It involves some international shipments by a company owned by Gunn International. This is a sensitive matter, and I am instructed to speak only with Mr. Gunn himself. Could you please tell me how I can go about seeing him immediately?”

The woman stared dumbly, clearly out of her element. Her mouth hung open for a moment; then she closed it, shifting weight to one foot and pushing her hair back behind her head. She glanced at the unmoving, expressionless figure of Cohen in her sunglasses, then back at Savas.

“Sir, I really don't know how to help you. I just work for general Lower Floor Management. I can't connect you with Mr. Gunn or anyone in his level. You'll have to make an appointment with him yourself, sir,” she finished, her long nails playing with her buttons, her expression anxious.

“Ma'am,” began Savas, “I hope I've made myself clear. I am from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, here to chase a lead on a very important international crime case. My superiors here and in Washington believe that Gunn International can shed light on a series of heinous
crimes, including those of murder and terrorism. I am expecting full cooperation from Mr. Gunn and his company. Why am I not receiving it, Ms….?” Savas nodded toward Cohen, who reached into her purse, pulled out a small voice recorder and clicked it on. “Of course, you have the option to call a lawyer before speaking with us,” Cohen added dramatically.

Whatever calm the woman had imperfectly maintained was shattered. Savas doubted she felt her job was worth this sort of trouble. “Please wait a minute, sir,” she said, staring at the voice recorder. “I'll get my superior.”

Three minutes later, a harried-looking man stepped over with the young blonde and stared skeptically at the FBI agents. He took off a pair of glasses that then hung from his neck. “Marcia tells me that you are FBI? Can I help you?”

Savas again held out his badge, which the man examined, and repeated his story. The man shook his head. “Agent…Savas? Yes, well, certainly there are more formal ways to establish a meeting with Mr. Gunn rather than traipsing into his building and demanding an audience. Why don't you have your bureau chief call over and do this properly?”

Savas leaned forward and put on his irritated face. “I'm sorry. I did not get your name.” Cohen leaned forward slightly, pointing the voice recorder toward the man.

“Richard Carter, but I don't see how—”

“Mr. Carter, I don't think your employee here has impressed upon you the seriousness of this case,” Savas interrupted forcefully. “We are pursuing
time-sensitive
leads in an international arms smuggling and terrorist case, linked, if you must know, to a series of attacks around the world in the last few months, including two here in New York City. One of those attacks happened today not forty blocks north of this grand tower. We have reason to believe that other attacks are planned, and that they may be prevented only by timely action. So don't tell me that we need to waste the precious time we hardly have to follow a train of niceties to speak with your lofty CEO!”

The man's faced turned ashen as Savas mentioned the links to the terrorist attacks. Savas saw this and acted quickly to exploit it. “Things are moving too fast and are too dangerous to play games, Mr. Carter. We need all citizens to work with us on this, or the next attacks will be worse.”

The man put his glasses back on and nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes, I apologize. Horrible, what has been happening. Please, this is unusual. Let me contact Mr. Gunn's department and convey your request.”

Savas nodded in a satisfied manner. “Mr. Carter, that is the right thing to do. What a true patriot would do.”

The man nodded awkwardly and hustled over to a set of phones. The woman apparently felt more comfortable with her supervisor and followed him closely, leaving Savas and Cohen alone.

“You get all that?” he asked quietly, motioning with his head toward her voice recorder. “That was sheer genius.”

“No,” she said flatly. “I don't think I've changed the battery on this thing for two years.” Savas made a quick face indicating how disappointed he was. Cohen stared at him through her dark-brown sunglasses. “What a true patriot would do?” Savas waved her off as Carter hurried back over.

“Agent Savas. I have spoken with the floor administrative assistant in charge of general issues for several offices, including Mr. Gunn's, sir. She was most upset with this request, I must say,” he continued, sweat now beading on his forehead. “However, I managed to impress upon her the seriousness of this matter. She has agreed to speak with you upstairs, although, regrettably, she cannot offer you a meeting with Mr. Gunn today.”

Savas smiled at the man. “Mr. Carter, you have done a service to your country, a country that is under attack. Thank you for getting us this far. I will remember your help in this matter.” The man smiled both anxiously and modestly, then turned toward Cohen, his smile fading under the relentless gaze of her sunglasses and expressionless face.

“Please, right this way, follow me.” Carter gestured, stepping toward the security line. It was the express route through the line, up
the elevators, and to the fiftieth floor of the building. The doors opened revealing a lower, standard-height ceiling, fluorescent lighting, and a large desk not more than ten feet in front of the elevator doors. Behind the desk sat an older woman with a stern face, talking into a Bluetooth headset and typing on a computer. She motioned for them to wait.

Carter led them up to the large wraparound desk and waited quietly. Savas was in no mood to wait. He checked his watch and spoke to the woman.

“Ma'am, which way to Mr. Gunn's office?”

She continued talking and typing but held up one finger, indicating for him to wait. Savas began to walk around the desk toward the hallway on the right. “It's alright, ma'am,” he said, as her eyes widened and she began to spin around in her chair to follow him. “I'll find it myself.”

Richard Carter looked stunned, and Cohen made a motion to follow Savas. The woman at the desk stood up and called after him. “Sir! You cannot go back there! Sir! Stop! Mr. Gunn is busy! He cannot see you now!”

Savas turned to Cohen. “Stall her.” The hound at the desk would not be so easy to cow as Carter had been. Savas knew she would have security on him within a short span; Cohen might buy him a few minutes. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cohen moving to intervene as Carter was speaking excitedly to the woman, waving his arms.

Savas strode purposefully down the hallway, passing offices and conference rooms.
Always appear confident.
A lesson he learned bluffing his way to buy booze as a teenager and as a cop in an armed standoff on the streets. The big man's office would be easy to find, likely at the end of the hallway, most likely protected by another guard dog.
There.
The hall opened to a larger space filled with another large desk. Behind it sat a young woman. Behind her and to the left was a magnificent door, cherry wood by the look of it, built thick and carved with adornments. The woman was on the phone, a concerned expression on her face.
Word has come from the front lines
, thought Savas.

She stood up, the phone still to her ear. “Sir, I'm afraid I will have to—”

Savas flashed his badge. “FBI, ma'am,” he said pushing past her and her objections and opening the door.

It was a magnificent office. Larger by far than anything he had seen or even imagined at the FBI, decorated with very expensive furniture and paintings. The wall opposite the entrance was not a wall but a room-length window opening out to the heart of the city. Behind an enormous and beautiful wooden desk sat a man Savas had only seen in FBI photos and on the Internet. Tall, thin, silver hair framing a hard and handsome face. Set in the middle were two burning gray eyes.

“Mr. William Gunn?” asked Savas, bursting into the room.

Gunn glanced up from his computer screen with an angry look. He hit a key sharply and stood up to face Savas.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

Savas heard a fluttering behind him, and the young woman from outside rushed in front of him and faced Gunn.

“Mr. Gunn, sir, I'm sorry!” she began breathlessly. “I tried to keep him out. He's come through Jennifer and from below and won't listen and…”

“Calm down, Marianne,” he said, turning toward Savas. “Who are you, and what is going on here?”

Savas smiled. “My name is John Savas, Agent John Savas from the FBI.” He went through the age-old movie scene and flipped out his ID. Gunn registered no distress and appeared, if anything, intrigued.

His assistant chirped behind Savas. “Mr. Gunn, sir, security is on its way. They already have the other one.”

“Marianne, please, a servant of the people is here. Call off security. Another agent?” The woman nodded. “Please go and bring him here as well. Something important must be on the minds of these agents to have gone through such trouble to speak to me.” He turned toward Savas. “I wish you had contacted me first and avoided all this bother. I am a rather insulated man. It helps me maintain my focus.”

He motioned toward the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, won't you have a seat?”

This is one cool customer.
Savas nodded and sat down as Gunn moved back around his desk, entered a few keystrokes into his computer, and sat down.

“Please tell me how I can help you today.”

Savas stared directly at him. “Today, in four locations around the world, terrorists struck mosques, blowing them to bits along with all the people in and around them. One of those attacks happened just uptown from here at the Manhattan Mosque.”

Gunn nodded slowly, eyeing Savas coldly. “Yes, I have seen the footage. Terrible. The second attack in our city in just a few months.”

“Yes, one of many since the first attack in June that have been linked to a terrorist organization called Mjolnir.”

Gunn stared silently. “I'm not familiar with the name.”

“Few are.”

“How have you traced this
Mjolnir
to the bombings, Agent Savas?”

“Not only bombings but a series of assassinations of prominent Islamic radicals, as well. They are a very busy organization. One thing that we have linked them to through our forensics team is the plastic explosive S-47.”

Gunn shook his head and raised his eyebrows. “S-47? I'm sorry, Agent Savas, I don't know much about explosives.”

“It's a very new form of Semtex, more powerful, more versatile. The details are not important. Traces of this material have been found at every bombing site associated with Mjolnir.”