The Great Deception Read online

  "Here's my business card," he said casually flipping it to Seth.

  It read Tyrone Banks, Legacy Imports Co.

  "What kind of business are you in, Mr.

  Banks?"

  "I'll tell you only if we meet."

  "Fine." He had so many questions that would have to be answered later. He watched Tyrone disappear into the darkness. He had thought about following him but that would be unwise. That could lead straight into a trap.

  ...

  Somehow Moldova seemed like a trail that led to nowhere. Why was he in Russia's backyard when the real targets, the mullahs and princes, slept in the safety of their palaces? Jessica wouldn't die in vain. Her death would be avenged in blood.

  Seth rocked his chair one last time before he got up to find Baruch, the man he’d stay up with for the first watch.

  --

  Scorpion War Room: Vandenberg, CA

  Into the steel tube the group went as directed. A short trip later the subway pulled up to a station, presumably its only stop--to the War Room.

  A gas hissing noise filled the chamber when the train applied the air brakes. The shutter doors on the lead car opened up.

  A short while later everyone stood in the presence of the Lord of the Ages. He didn't demand his subjects take this moment to pay homage to him. Far from it. That would come later after the revelation. Then one by one each foreign leader would want a turn with the great mind so capable of such a terrifyingly brilliant plan.

  The room mimicked the bridge on the island of an aircraft carrier in function, but not in aesthetic. Eight walls in an octagonal shape enclosed the area. There were no windows in the room, yet plenty of screens.

  The doorway held much significance to the

  Masons. The three-in-one, triptych entrance

  (as seen on the famous Rockefeller Center in

  New York or on many cathedrals all over Europe) stood erect, guarding the secrets inside.

  As the leaders of Germany, Russia, and Britain passed under the rounded arches and support pillars to gain entrance to the strategic space they were treated to this view: old mixing in with the new. Stone columns buttressed an impressive ceiling. In the center of the room a control center anchored everything else. Consoles or work stations circled a pentagram which projected an image of the earth with the seven continents and all the seas. The earth slowly rotated for the guests, enabling them to see the cities, nations--the pride of man on full display.

  "Look at it," Howard's voice echoed throughout the chamber.

  No one could see him, but they certainly heard his message.

  "I could give you all you see if you do this one thing."

  And then poof, like a smoke and mirrors trick, Howard appeared at the far end of the room.

  "Is there a trap door in the stage that I'm missing sir?" Grigory whispered to the Russian president. "Because what he just did is impossible."

  The Russian leader shook his head in amazement. "I told you this man isn't all he appears to be," he shot back.

  No one had taken a stab at the stipulations to the agreement just yet. The mere mortals in the room still shook in their boots, like they had seen a ghost. And perhaps that was true in more ways than one.

  Howard knew they were afraid of him. Only a natural human reaction under the circumstances his mind reckoned. "Gentlemen, this hour I will show you some earth-shattering plans that have already been

  set into motion."

  The men remained close-mouthed.

  The Old Man took that as a sign of silent assent to move forward. And he did. Howard cloaked himself in an unflappable demeanor.

  Whether or not its effect on the others proved unnerving remained to be seen. Regardless, he would continue and show mankind his aims for world reunification.

  --

  The Basement: Honolulu, Hawaii

  President Toporvsky's forehead whicked sweat which wound up on his hands. Then his pants would be the final recipient of the perspiration whenever the Ukrainian man anxiously rubbed his clammy palms against the already damp fabric. This cycle only increased when he asked for the initial estimates on the losses.

  The casualties buckled towards the point of no return. Forty percent of the force had been crippled in the dogfight.

  With some luck though the Central Cyber Corps came through with the shield frequency on the enemy combatants' planes: the weak link. With that key information the fighters in the coalition force were able to retune their own lasers to expose the loophole. Once the momentum had shifted the other way Operation Switchblade could then hold a chance at succeeding.

  "There's very small margin for error," Vice President Edmond Drezzler stated the obvious to the president.

  Alexander absorbed all the images on his screen of the FRN planes turning grey, which meant they had been annihilated by the enemy.

  There had still been no word from the agent on site, Jennings.

  If he doesn't come forth with what we wanna hear in the next few minutes, the president thought, I'm gonna have to scrub the op.

  Sentinel Director Alfred Demsky read the president's mind. "I don't like this, Mr.

  President. We need our men outta there. The longer we stay, the greater the risk

  becomes."

  Alexander took a long drag on his red mug.

  "We're not leaving without what we came for." "But based on our landsat images," Alfred quickly rebuttled, "unless we expunge the

  enemy in the sky, there will be no retreat. Our exit...cut off."

  The chief of staff now eagerly gave his input on the matter. "Director Demsky is right. We have to cut our losses and get outta there before it's too late."

  "Thanks Leonard, I'll take that into consideration." Alexander looked to his right where the VP sat. "Edmond?"

  "The window is closing, quickly. I concur with everything that's been said up until this point."

  The president's lean face hardened. "Alright, what's the suggested course of action?"

  All eyes returned to the battle management system for answers.

  Meanwhile Minister of Defense Gene Barker waited for an order.

  Ahmed Negler who had silently analyzed the odds calculated there would be a need for an escort of at least thirty fighters. The Viper teams that had been sent in to retrieve data and hardware would have to take with them all they could carry and high-tail-it out of there. The president's national security advisor calmly shared his thoughts.

  Alexander responded to Negler’s opinion. "You mean we should take what we can get

  and ditch?" "Yes." "Alright."

  After the discussion had conclusively gone around the table the president punched the button on the teleconference system to connect with Agent Jennings.

  --

  Tel Aviv, Israel

  A hundred students packed into a room designed to meet a capacity of seventy-five. In some cases, peers had to share a desk. The economics class made do with what they had. And therein lied a built-in lesson for students on frugality.

  "Based on last night's reading," the less than enthusiastic teacher droned on in a monotone, "who can tell me what hedge funds are?"

  No eager hands shot up to answer him.

  "Bonus points to anyone who knows why our economy really tanked when the U.S.

  market became unstable."

  Why am I here? I could care less about economics.

  "Markov?" The screechy voice could have broken glass.

  On the bright side the girls aren't half bad here.

  The bespectacled little man with a head too big for the rest of his body raised his voice again. "Markov!"

  The girl with the pigtails can't stop looking at me.

  Azriel told the truth, more or less. The girl he fancied along with the rest of the class all stared at Mr. Clueless.

  It wasn't too out of the ordinary for the teacher to pick on transfer students. Everyone watched the economics teacher hustle over to Azriel's desk with a quickness and deli
berateness they were unaccustomed to. It produced an awe in the captive audience that unhinged jaws and made eyes pop.

  The boy still paid no attention to his surroundings. His dull number two drew figures and shapes on a sheet of college ruled notebook paper. It was his first day in class for crying out loud. No way would the teacher expect him to know anything, much less expect an answer to a subject like hedge funds. But that's exactly what was transpiring.

  "When I call your name young man, I expect you to acknowledge me. You didn't even give me the courtesy of raising that lovely head of yours from your work of art." Azriel realized a little too late just how tuned out he had been. Yikes. This could be bad. "Would you care to share with the class what you've been working on this whole time, da Vinci?"

  Azriel's seat mate slipped him a piece of paper that read, "Tell him what hedge funds are."

  Amazingly enough this little correspondence went unnoticed by the teacher: an uncharacteristic oversight.

  "A hedge fund is a collective investment scheme of pooled assets from several investors in the interest of benefiting from asset diversification and economics of scale," Azriel said with authority. He sounded more like a walking-talking encyclopedia than the kid who appeared like he didn't belong in the class a moment before.

  The contrast stunned everybody.

  The teacher backed away from the boy's desk in alarm. "Good God! Where could you have learned that!"

  Azriel could actually look down on the man who stood only five feet four inches. But he sensed that sort of intimidation didn't work on a guy like this.

  He had already stepped on toes, no way did he want to be added to the list.

  "Is it a sin to know a thing or two?" Azriel contended.

  By now the teacher had already returned to the front of the class. He had had enough humiliation to last him for the rest of the class period. "Tell me Mr. Markov, would you like to enlighten your classmates then and tell them why the bubble burst on the economy in the mid-20s?"

  "The 2020s, sir?"

  "Yes, yes, yes," the teacher impatiently confirmed with a frown.

  "Due to the fact that our economy became too dependent on hedge funds which so happened to be with the financial institutions of Wall Street...when the U.S. markets entered a permanent freefall, it was too late. We were already sunk."

  "I should take a day off and let you substitute."

  Azriel blushed. Using his cell phone's screen as a mirror, he had it pointed to his right, hoping to catch the girl who stared at him. On occasion her head would begin to turn around, but then abruptly stop. She's on to me.

  Ten minutes later a shrill bell brought the period to a close. The class emptied out into the hall in a confusingly loud jangle. Azriel got bumped around a few times. This would take some getting used to. School life, that is. He had been out of the schools for so long that the quick immersion threw him off kilter.

  ...

  "He's smart."

  "What did I tell you? Eh?"

  "He's headed to pre-cal next. Let's see how he does."

  "You don't understand. He's the son of Seth Markov. The man who graduated summa cum laude from MIT--who's now running Mossad operations in the field." Assistant principle Rafael's eyebrows hiked. "I had no idea sir."

  "By the end of the day I think you'll get the picture. This kid is the stuff."

  "The prospect is exciting."

  Rafael ended the call feeling good about the situation. He kept his expectations low on the new student though despite the reports he had read about him.

  A single bulb hanging from a thread threw its glow down to a simple desk the eavesdropper sat at. Every minute or so he checked the monitors like he was a night watch protecting a vault loaded with stacks of bills.

  A paperback opened up towards the middle laid on the surface waiting for him to resume his adventures in the action-packed tale of a double agent trapped in the Amazon.

  Azriel had found his locker and fumbled around with the combination lock for longer than was necessary. He had no books in the narrow storage unit yet. No four by six of a sweetheart taped to the mirror. No bag of contraband to munch on.

  Nothing to see here, Rafael decided. His hand swooped up the fiction novel rather eagerly. And to think he would get paid for this. It was a good life.

  --

  Chapter 5

  The Ozarks

  Heather stretched her cramped muscles. Although no one came into her cell to bring the pain, neither did they come to bring the food either. Malnutrition became a dangerous new reality.

  Her dry cracking skin, mangy hair, and dirty jumpsuit plagued her night and day. Sleep didn't come easy. She exhaled heavily and sat, reflecting on that morning's visit. Christophe and Damion.

  Heather smiled thinking about the French scientist. He had made a good impression on her. Damion she was more uncertain of. His resume and long list of achievements were impressive. And so was his appearance. Probably a charmer no doubt. Good with the ladies....

  She looked forward to another meeting with the inmates from the adjoining cell. She had a lot she wanted to tell them. Suddenly the thought hit her. They were in far more danger than she was. She didn't hold any secrets that needed to come out, but they did.

  Scorpion would pump them for facts. Anything that would make their abduction especially worth it.

  Heather never laid a hand on anyone or assisted in any way in an interrogation before but she knew some of the tactics. Most likely they would send a guy in first thing in the morning when the prisoners were most vulnerable...and pliable. With him he'd carry a little leather satchel. He'd spread it on a nearby table and reveal the tools of the trade. Even before they were literally ripping and tearing into flesh, just the mere presence of the kit would jolt anybody and bring on the fear.

  Heather shuddered and replaced the thought with a happier one. Dinner. Little cutlets of meat, watery instant potatoes and green beans most likely were on their way. Her diet may not have been succulent, but she was grateful.

  Her first couple of days in the cage were a wash.

  So this is what it's like to be out of touch with civilization.

  She wasn't a pop culture junkie, but she had her shows and books and websites she frequented. The creature comforts of a modern world. But they would do her no good in her new residence.

  Heather sat cross-legged on the dirty mattress and contemplated about Howard. He had been so nice to her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had been a means to an end. A set up. She had no evidence against him however. What could she do? He was untouchable...and extremely dangerous. Others had to be warned.

  Hours passed. Her surroundings looked no different. Same silence, dinginess...loneliness.

  A tray clattered on top of the pass-through section of the grate. That meal she had salivated about for the better part of the afternoon.

  "Thanks officer," she thanked her waiter dressed in uniform with a gun.

  "So suddenly I'm your favorite person around here?" he joked.

  "Something like that," she returned the humor.

  While he pulled away from the cell to drop off chow at the next one, Heather called out to him with a favor to ask. "Officer?"

  "What is it?"

  "When can I have visitors again?"

  He looked thoughtful, looping his thumbs beneath his gun belt. "I suppose it could be arranged. Don't count on too many favors though missy. I like you, but there's only so much I can do without looking suspicious." A frozen grin remained on his face. Heather walked over to the bars to get closer in order to use her powers to get her way: they only worked near the objective.

  Manipulation had a range on it. "How about tonight? Do you think I could talk to the two guys from this morning again?" Her sweet syrupy voice worked wonders on the captivated man's mind. He looked ready to say yes but suddenly something grabbed his attention. There one moment, the next-gone.

  What bad luck. Heather held on to the hope that he was a
t least thinking about it.

  --

  Westover Ventures Complex, LA

  The impending news on departure orders from the president loomed large over Agent Jennings. He was prepared to give the order to the men below to pack it up and head out. They would get what they came for, most likely. Even if that meant grabbing the hard drives and other hardware that contained a treasure trove of precious schematics. His headset chirped. On the second ring he answered, "This is Jennings." "This is the president. I want you and your men to get what you need and get out. The situation outside is getting messy and can't be contained for much longer. Do you understand?"