Stones song over, he climbed out of the car and headed into the building. The lobby of Gadanz & Company was ultimately plain. In it were six wooden chairs, an old coffee table littered with dated magazines from home, and some cheap wall art. The corporate offices beyond were just as utilitarian.
However, the company trucks and computer systems were the best Gadanz could buy. He spent willingly on infrastructure and paid his people well — again, so they were unfailingly loyal to him. But the aesthetics of the offices were of no concern or consequence. After all, they didn’t generate revenues.
He eased into the chair behind his desk, turned on the computer, and picked up his favorite picture of Elaina and Sophie as the CPU came to life. They were smiling their most beautiful smiles and hugging each other adoringly.
“Hello, Jacob.”
Gadanz put the picture calmly back down beside the computer screen, and then swiveled in the chair until he was facing the young man who’d just stepped out of the small anteroom next to his office.
“Hello, Kaashif.”
CHAPTER 19
“Decus Septum,” Travers muttered across the laminate tabletop as he picked up his mug and took a careful sip of steaming coffee.
Troy took a careful sip from his mug, too. “Honor to the Seven.” God, this coffee tasted good. Maybe it would have tasted good even if it was mud after what had just happened on the Kohler farm.
Troy always made certain to appreciate being alive after a close call. He’d actually take a few breaths and consciously consider the wonder of life when death ran close to the line — as it just had. He’d taken those deliberate breaths in this booth a few minutes ago, as soon as they’d sat down.
“Protect the peak,” Travers said.
Troy glanced across the table. Travers was still studying the menu even though they’d already ordered breakfast.
He’d asked his father about those words the other night on the plane ride back up to New York. He’d asked Bill specifically what “protect the peak” meant. The old man had shrugged and claimed it was already a custom to say it when he’d signed on to run the RCS associate pool thirty years ago. And that he’d never asked Roger Carlson what, if anything, it actually meant.
Troy doubted that answer but hadn’t pushed. Bill Jensen would always be a secretive man, even to his family. Even to a son who was inside Red Cell Seven.
“Yeah,” Troy murmured as he looked around the Denny’s. It wasn’t crowded in here for this time of day, and he found that odd, given it was morning and the place was best known for breakfast. “Protect the peak.”
After spraying the basement with bullets, he and Travers had sprinted up the steps through the smoke and burst through the door to the outside. Then they’d raced back across the pasture beneath the moonlight, jumped the tall four-slat fence twice within a few seconds — Travers with Troy’s help each time — and hustled into the protection of the forest. When they were certain they weren’t being followed, they’d stopped only long enough to catch their breaths — and bust the handcuffs still snaring Travers’s wrists. Then they’d taken off again.
They couldn’t return to the car Troy and the other two agents had driven to the farm from the Raleigh airport. They’d parked the car on the side of the road that passed the driveway leading to the farm, a few hundred yards south of the entrance, and then hiked into the spot on the ridge they’d used to watch the place. He’d tried to hide the car as best he could — he’d pulled it a little ways into the woods through a slight opening among the trees — but he was worried Maddux would still locate and watch it, figuring Troy would return at some point. He wasn’t at all confident he’d killed or even wounded Maddux with that burst of fire he’d sprayed the basement with.
Troy didn’t want another knife blade to his throat. He’d never experienced that before, and it was much more terrifying than having a gun leveled at him, which he’d already experienced several times. A bullet was fast acting; a knife, not so much.
An hour ago they’d finally come out of the trees onto a twisting country road. Fortunately they’d quickly hitched a ride from a passing farmer who was headed into a Raleigh suburb for supplies — Troy hadn’t wanted to stay out on the road long, vulnerable to being seen by Maddux out there. The guy hadn’t asked any questions, not even “Where’re you headed?” and they’d ridden into town in the bed of his pickup. Starving, they’d come into this Denny’s for a big breakfast as soon as they’d jumped out of the vehicle and waved their thanks to the farmer.
“Thanks for getting me out of there, man,” Travers said. “I figured I was done.”
“It wasn’t very graceful. And we lost two of our own.” He’d have to tell his father about Agents Wyoming and Idaho. He wasn’t looking forward to that. “They were good men.”
Travers nodded solemnly. “There’s been a lot of that going around lately. I lost my—”
“I know. You lost Harry Boyd in Wilmington. You two were close.”
Travers gestured at Troy with his mug. “How the hell did you find me anyway?”
“My father had it figured.”
“Your father’s Bill Jensen?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s how you know about Harry Boyd being my partner.”
According to Bill, Travers was intensely loyal to RCS. And it was very possible that he held the key to everything — which was the reason Troy had led the rescue mission to get him out. They were going to be partners through all of this, and they needed to forge strong trust quickly. Being completely transparent about everything would help that process along.
“Yup. And he told me that as close as you and Boyd were, you and Kohler were the same distance apart.”
“He was right.”
“Why. What happened?”
“Nathan and I got into it bad during his first training sessions last summer, one time in particular. I was hard on him, but I’m hard on all new recruits I train.” Travers shook his head. “He never got over it. More to the point, he wasn’t very fond of us black people.”
“I heard, but that makes no sense. His father, Douglas, was—”
“A senator. I know.”
“And a huge civil rights advocate,” Troy added. “It was one of his passions on the Hill. How does that work?”
Travers shrugged. “I know Nathan and his father didn’t get along. Maybe it’s as simple as that. Everything Douglas loved, Nathan hated. It wouldn’t be the first time a father-son story exactly like that’s been written.”
Absolutely true, Troy thought. In a way, that was how Jack had been with Bill — until recently, until he’d finally felt like a true member of the Jensen family.
“My father mentioned that,” Troy said. “He also heard about Nathan and Maddux getting close.”
Douglas Kohler was one of the few associates who had a direct relationship with Shane Maddux. However, Bill had made clear to Troy that he had no knowledge of Maddux doing any personal favors for Douglas. No taking out abusive fiancés or influencing fraud-committing CFOs. As far as Bill knew, the senator had kept his relationship with Maddux strictly professional. Of course, the nothing ever being a hundred percent certain rule always applied.