Crowns and Cabals Page 17

  I hung up after Jaxie confirmed she did not know Justine or Gloria. My head spun in confusion. How much did she know? “You want to explain all of this before I turn you in?”

  “You turn me in? I realize that you’re mad. But you won’t turn me in. You and I have the same agenda. It involves a whole lot more that stealing and shaking things up among the elites.”

  “Then tell me about my agenda. You have my undivided attention, Justine.” I said her name with contempt. “Sorry, I mean Gloria. Ms. Prestwyck.”

  “I think I know how to overthrow the United Nations. I just need…well, an army. A team of high tech thieves. And a whole lot of luck. You and Jaxie are the right track, but you need to up your game.”

  “By bringing you in? You’ve lied to me, flipped out in my class, spied on me, shut down the security system of the school…”

  “Exactly! Think of it as an audition. I used to work as a computer engineer, a coder, a security administrator, and systems analyst, all of it. I designed dark websites ten years ago before I was twenty. C’mon, I jammed up your backwards ass college in an hour. Child’s play. I can get you into the inner circle. I just need to know who the inner circle is.”

  “Thanks, Gloria, but no thanks. Like I said, you can’t con a con. Now please leave.”

  She left and I locked the door. Not that it mattered. She could probably get in through any door.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jaxie

  The night turned into morning as Sai, Camden, Brick, Wendy, and I drove around Boston looking for an abandoned building with an equally abandoned dumpster. We quickly found the perfect part of town that looked deserted. As Wendy and Sai kept an eye out for drones, Camden, Brick, and I threw the Peacekeeper and Yolanda into an open dumpster. I made a mental note of memorizing the intersection for next time we needed to fly dump some bodies.

  We stopped back at the house by Wendy’s bakery and took a mental inventory on our new arsenal. “I am sad about the way things turned out tonight, but I am still very proud of you. This house is a great idea, Wendy. These weapons are amazing. So many gadgets to go through. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. I wish we had a security system or something. Anyone could break a window to get inside.”

  “My dad and I already talked about that. Tomorrow we will find the time to booby trap the place and stick some cameras around the perimeter of the property,” Brick said. “I’m sad too. Yolanda deserved so much better. But she didn’t care about dying. None of us do.”

  “Your son is not just a thinker, he’s a survivor. I knew that the moment he broke into my house. Tonight we had a major setback. We can’t let tonight be for nothing. That soldier gave us such valuable information. I want you to know we are not alone anymore. I set up a few more Patriot cells. Three of them are not active. I just recruited them while doing business with Fogle’s southern branches.” My Patriots high-fived me in their approval. “Camden and Sai, you probably know them. But there is one more in Dallas. He’s a friend, actually he’s family. His name is Raphael. Brick knows him. They were once partners in crime. Wendy also met him a few times when he stayed at my home.”

  “Raphael? He’s okay? Why didn’t you say something?” Brick cried.

  “Yes, it’s Raphael. He has a team of active vigilantes. In time we will join forces. We’ve got enough weaponry for a small army. Do any of you even know how to use this?” I pointed to an open box. Everyone shook their heads. “Me neither. That Peacekeeper taught me something very valuable tonight. We are rock stars in technology, security, even martial arts, thanks to Fogle’s new training program. However, none of us know a damn thing on how to work this thing-a-ma-jig.” I held up a rocket launcher. Wendy held her chest as if she was about to have a heart attack. “I’ll set this down now. Good thing Wendy handed me a loaded machine gun because I don’t know how to load it. By the skin of all of our teeth, I pointed, held on as tightly as I could, and got him. We would have all been dead if luck hadn’t intervened. I don’t want to rely on luck anymore. Raphael knows a lot about guns. Maybe his Patriots know more.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Raphael

  I remained hopeful about Harper’s offer. The rest of the week was business as usual. I didn’t have to deal with Justine until the next week. I was way off about her being a behavioral problem. Psychotic stalker was a much better diagnosis. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Would there be more? Most of the students seemed too hazy and drugged out for me to worry about. I thought of warning my gang about her, but then held off.

  We all agreed to touch base a couple of weeks after the Ross job. Chad was the only one upset over the dead maid. Everyone else, including me, stepped on into the dark side without batting an eyelash. No one wanted to stop the momentum. Once again, the attic above Jun’s family restaurant was chosen as the meeting spot. We wanted an update on the fence.

  The Chinese restaurant kept an old time Oriental theme on both the inside and outside. A small koi pond with a bridge sat in front of the entrance. The red brocaded wallpaper, matching drapes, and hanging gold Chinese lanterns added to the ambience. A sweet aroma of sugary fruit and meat wafted through the air. I was hungry. Mister Wong cleaned from behind the lunch counter. The old-fashioned chalk board menu leaned on an easel by the register.

  I loved everything about Wong’s Taste of China. The restaurant was one of the few in Dallas that remained privately owned. The Wong family somehow kept up with the increasing taxes. I suspected that Jun had something to do with it. Most family businesses went under due to the huge tax spike. The media explained that the U.N. wanted small businesses to conglomerate into a few corporations so that everything would remain simple and competition would be relieved. In the near future, all small businesses would be confiscated no matter what. Wong’s Taste of China had one foot in the grave, but I loved that Jun still tried.

  I wasn’t the only one who loved the place. Business boomed all day long. At only three o’clock in the afternoon, the slowest part of the day, half of the tables were full.

  After reading the chalkboard three times, I finally ordered a large tempura shrimp basket with a side of fried rice. I handed Mister Wong my payment card which he initially refused and then accepted. This was our usual ritual.

  I took my food and ascended to the attic. Jun set up folding chairs in a circle. I sat down and dug into my meal. Everyone else did the same. As we ate, we made small talk. Our work was not discussed until all parties were present. Dylan was the last to arrive. He, too, grabbed some food.

  Jun stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Now that we are all here, I have some fantastic news. The artwork turned out to be even more of a goldmine than the gold. I got some untraceable cards preloaded with units. Each card has two hundred and fifty thousand units. I have ten so we each get one card and then the fund gets a total of five cards. But there’s more. I fenced off half of Alberta’s jewelry. Here’s another five cards each loaded with twenty thousand units. Five more cards to go the fund.” Everyone happily nodded as Jun passed out the cards. None of us ever paid with our personal microchips, all preferring the anonymous card system.

  Jun continued announcing our spoils. “The other half of Alberta’s jewelry will sell soon. She had good taste-Cartier, Harry Winston, Tiffany, Chopard.”

  Jun paused again as everyone smiled at their new-found fortunes. “You got to have risk if you want reward, right? Bet the risk was way more than we anticipated. One day we will all have to send Alberta Ross a thank-you card! Be thankful my guy didn’t rip us off. Or who knows, maybe he did. We still came up ahead of the game. We already split up the gold. Raphael will take what’s left to our fund. Sound good? All in favor, say ‘aye’.”

  In unison, we shouted, “Aye.”

  “Next course of business belongs to Raphael. We want to hear about your crown. And then we need a name for our next job.” June sat down.

  My merry little band got a whiff of real success and wanted mo
re. I was like a proud father watching his kid hit a homerun in the majors. Chad was the only one with a concerned look on his face. Everyone else, including me, had forgotten about the maid. Chad was always the mirror for our souls and right now I didn’t want to look at my reflection.

  I slowly stood up and the cat calls began to erupt. Although embarrassed at their admiration, I had to admit I liked the celebrity treatment. “Okay, okay. Our next job is still a mystery. Chad, would you like to lead us in a particular direction?”

  Chad and I stared at each other from across the circle and waited for the other to blink. It was me who blinked first. “Okay then. I’ll start with the crown found in Alberta’s safe room. I still don’t know too much about it, but I do have an expert working on it…”

  Chad interrupted me. “Expert? Who would that be?”

  Once again, all eyes were on me. We established specific rules about allowing strangers into the group only months ago, and I was the first to break them. “Her name is Harper Bensen. She is a colleague and friend.” There were doubtful groans in the room, suggesting otherwise. “No, I am not sleeping with her. There is no romance. Professional only, although when you meet her, you probably won’t believe me. She’s very attractive. Anyway, she and I have a platonic relationship. I asked her about artifacts because she teaches ancient history and was once an archeologist. Between her classroom and home, she has more books on ancient history and artifacts than the Dallas Library. Before you all bitch me out, I trust her.”

  Dylan put his plate of half-eaten food on the floor, grabbed his long dark hair and tied it back, saying, “We did tell you to get an expert opinion. So bring her here. She can interview, perhaps. Then we vote.”

  Murmurs of dissent echoed within the attic. My gang began a full blown conversation about me as if I wasn’t in the room.

  Finally, Jun stood up and said, “All in favor of Harper Bensen from Raphael’s college coming to one of our meetings, say ‘Aye’.”

  “Aye,” was said in unison. They sounded void of enthusiasm.

  “Thank all of you, and sorry for not following our rules. You can vote Harper in or out. It’s a joint decision.” Now was the time to come clean. I needed to tell them that we were not originals. There was another merry little band of thieves outside of Boston that had accumulated an arsenal. There were even more little bands that had yet to activate.

  I needed to break this gently. “I would like to continue whatever you want to call this… I was thinking that we should give ourselves a name, like a gang or a music group or even a cabal, something…”

  My transition was too clumsy. The name suggestion sparked camaraderie within our group. All kinds of names were thrown out-Orwellians, ‘V’, Retributionists, Rebels, Outsiders, Mavericks, Renegades, Guy Fawkes, Nationalists, Musketeers, Cosanostra, Bonnies and Clydes, Robin Hood… And on and on it went. Famous heroes and famous thieves were thrown in as possible name choices, but nothing seemed to stick.

  Finally, I said, “No one mentioned Patriots. We are in America. Remember, that’s how this once great country started out, when they broke away from England? ‘Give me liberty or give me death,’ by Patrick Henry. Is this ringing any bells?”

  Patriotic American history sparked quite a chatter, bringing them back to the ultra-light history lessons of their secondary education. History pertaining to the American Revolution dwindled over the decades. I was surprised that they even recognized the name.

  Marta yelled, “Oh Raphael, I like the Musketeers so much better! I also like ‘V’! Let’s vote on our name.”

  My beating around the bush needed to be spelled out letter by letter. I took a deep breath and said, “Listen, all of you, what I should have told you is that we already have a name. It’s the Patriots. We were named after the original vigilante group and their leader. You see, we are not alone. We are an extension of a movement started right after the war by a friend of mine.”

  Confusion, anger, intrigue, and curiosity filled the room. The only common denominator on their faces was the look of distrust. When tensions cooled, I began with my childhood, my career, worked my way up to marriage, and then got to two dead Peacekeepers and my hiatus on George’s Oklahoma farm. I even promised to take them to my farm during the winter break. The last part of my confession involved Jaxie, her Patriots, and the arsenal she had taken over. Once I was finished, silence filled the room. No one looked sympathetic, but then no one looked angry.

  Finally, Dylan broke the silence and said, “All in favor of keeping Raphael in the group as our fearless leader, say ‘Aye.’”

  “Aye.” The chant was definitive.

  Dylan continued with announcements. “All in favor of keeping the name of our brother and sister Patriots, say ‘Aye.’”

  “Aye.”

  Dylan then said, “Raphael, you have the floor. Please call any further order of business for the day.”

  “Okay then. Glad I got all of that off my chest. I am humbled to be your leader. No more secrets between us. We have just gotten started and so there is so much more to accomplish. For now on, our gang will be known as the Patriots. Our hefty budget allows for targets to be out of state. We have money for travel expenses and much more. Don’t hold back, Chad. The sky is the limit. Who do we hit next?”

  “The man I have in mind would be a long distance hit. He’s powerful, much more powerful than Ross and her husband. I am not sure if he is a feasible victim,” Chad answered.

  “Feasible?” I said with a laugh. “Let us decide what is feasible.”

  Chad looked nervous. This must have been really personal for him. “He once lived in Chicago, but as you all know, Chicago is no more. He has since relocated.”

  I thought of my grandfather’s home in Oak Park, his friends, his job, my old school-all of it was a radioactive mountain of rubble.

  Jun asked, “What are you implying? He knew what the war would happen? That’s why he moved? Still waiting on a name, friend.”

  “Yes, I believe he moved because he knew all along which cities would be safe and which ones would be incinerated,” Chad answered. “His name is Doctor Stephen Laurie.”

  I gasped. Did not see that coming. The good doctor had the resume of an arch angel-Nobel Peace Prize, canonization from the Pope, and lead doctor in the World Health Organization. “C’mon, Chad. Didn’t he eliminate birth disorders and cure some kind of cancer? He’s a genetic genius! What do you have against him?”

  Chad’s stoic expression quieted the room. He paused and then said, “He killed my family.”

  Questions about how, when, where, what, and why erupted within the small crowd. Chad wouldn’t lend us any details.

  “If that’s who you want us to hit, then the die has been cast. All in favor of supporting the name our Patriot brother Chad, say ‘Aye’,” Marta shouted. Her loyalty impressed me. I should have been the one to offer Chad unconditional support.

  “Aye.” Voices were weak and unmotivated. The doctor would not be easy.

  “Okay, Chad, can you at least tell us where did the good doctor relocated?” Jun asked.

  “Boston.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Raphael

  Chad wanted Doctor Laurie destroyed in every way-his belongings taken, his reputation tarnished, and his work repudiated. Chad would not admit it, but I suspected he wanted the doctor dead. Even his deep faith could not hold back his hatred. I told him we needed a plan, actually we needed several plans-Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, and so on in case things went awry. Maybe it was time to call Jaxie. Her Fogle access could get us started. It was time to unite forces.

  That night I dropped by Preston Lakes Community College. The building was open for the night classes. I headed upstairs to the faculty office with intention of using the computers. Of course, I wouldn’t be using my computer or my username. If anyone wondered why I was there, then I could claim that a failing student needed help.

  Feeling fairly certain I had my bases covered, I looked u
p Doctor Stephen Laurie on the Internet. White male, French and English descent, six foot two inches, two hundred and one pounds, sixty-four years old, resident of Boston, Massachusetts after the war. His medical clinic was located in the heart of the city. My thoughts went back to Chad. This biography must have been altered. Chad mentioned he moved before the war, not after.

  I was only on the first article spit out by the search engine when my mind churned with questions. Sixty-four years old? He looked to be forty years old. How old were Chad’s family members when they died? My Patriots were already uneasy with the target. Chad had to open up. We needed more to go on.

  As my head filled with questions, I quit my search entirely. Apparently, I was the only one with concerns. Chad who was always the silent type would have to provide us a little more information than just some random accusations before we risked it all. Hitting Doctor Stephen Laurie’s house and/or lab was not a routine robbery, it was a statement. The man currently walked on water among the world.

  As I walked home from the college, irritated, Chad’s loyalty and allegiance came to mind. The man never lied to me. Guilt ate away by the time I stood in front of my townhouse. His word should have been enough.

  I needed help on this one. The doctor was a main player in the U.N.’s ad-hoc General Assembly. He ran the medical industry of the remaining planet. He was filthy rich. This would be nothing like Alberta Ross’s job. There would be more than a guarded entrance and a half-assed security system.

  I put my microchip away in the kitchen drawer. Grabbing the keys to my grandfather’s farm and a freshly charged disposable phone, I walked across the street. As I strolled onto a walking path that ran along side of retention pond, I called one of the numbers that Jaxie gave me. To my surprise, she answered on the first ring.

  “I think it’s time for that beer that we promised each other.”

  “Screw the beer, Raph. We need to get a hold of a few bottles of good stuff, sit down, and catch up.”