Gabriel's Stand (33 page)

“Ah, President Chandler, it is such an honor to speak with the leader of one of the world's great nations again.” Commissioner Longworthy's tone was unctuous, delivered with faux sincerity. His face, appearing on a screen in the National Security Briefing room in the White House, betrayed his cynicism. Chandler glowered at the screen, while just out of camera range, Brice Lyle, his National Security Director and Celia Wallace Horn, the Attorney General, watched in angry silence.

“And the honor of being here in person was just too much for you, I suppose,” President Chandler said.

“Regrettably,” Rex said, spreading his hands like a pair of fans, “the press of business, you know.”

“The DOJ has reviewed your proposal.”

“Of course. And you will proceed?”

“We cannot extradite John Owen and, frankly, I don't see any reason to bother with him. What does the Commission want with one man? An expatriate, for Christ's sake. Why is this so damned important?”

“My dear Mr. President. Your advisors are such fools. I appreciate your patience. Of course you had to go through the motions of presenting the matter to your legal and policy people and we do appreciate that, but this matter is beyond discussion.”

Chandler glanced at the Attorney General; then he returned his attention to the screen. “There is no room for compromise?”

Longworthy smiled. “None. Will that be all, Mr. President?”

Chandler paused, his face flushed. “That will be all,” he said, and broke the connection. “God damn that little prick!” he shouted, slapping the table. He leaned back in the chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose with both hands. “Get me the Senate Majority Leader,” he snarled. Then after a long pause, he turned to his Attorney General. “Just how quickly can your staff draw up some kind of damned indictment against Dr. Owen?”

“Tomorrow, I suppose.”

“Well go ahead and do it. But don't file it yet. I've got to figure out what they're up to.”

——

The next morning, Elisabeth gave Gabriel a tour of the little island. John Owen put in a half day at the new Vector Pharmaceutical plant, coming home and heading directly to his lanai. He settled into his favorite lounge chair with a stack of files. The sound of surf in the distance mingled with tropical birdcalls. For a moment, he closed his eyes.

Then Josh Junior, his grandson, leaned out over the windowsill. “Hi!”

From inside the house, Elisabeth's voice called, “Bill says that Tan is calling.”

Owen kept his expression even.
Berker.

He put down his work and looked up at the kitchen window.

“Elisabeth! Where are you?”

“Here in the living room!”

John got up and walked over to the window to meet his daughter.

Elisabeth laid the house wire phone on the sill. Josh immediately picked it up and gave it to Grandpa. “Here,” Josh said solemnly.

“Good man,” he said to Josh, patting the boy on the shoulder. Dr. Owen took the phone as if it were a loaded weapon. “Bill?” he asked.

“It's her, all right.”

“Berker?”

“Verified.”

“What number did they use?”

“The one we gave Snowfeather. It was routed through a number of exchanges, untraceable.”

“I want to see Berker's face.”

“That will take a while to set up. A little more risk of a trace. Are you sure?”

“My territory, not hers. Hi-tech or nothing.”

“I'll take care of it. Where do you want to talk?”

“In the old conference room. Get the team together, but keep them out of camera range.”

——

Dr. John Owen sat at the end of a conference table against a plain mahogany backdrop. The room was well soundproofed. From Berker's point of view, he could be anywhere on the planet. Colonel Dornan and John's three other top staff members, including Owen's lead attorney, sat on the other side of the table with notepads. Gabriel hovered behind Owen's staff, his face solemn, impassive. An old fashioned blackboard was arranged so that John could see it while looking directly at the camera. “Go ahead,” he said. “Make the connection.”

Moments later, Louise Berker's face appeared on the sixty inch screen; then the camera zoomed back slightly to show several other Directorate members, all shaved heads, all in their robes. “To what do I owe this honor, Ms. Berker—excuse me, Tan? You and what looks like the entire Directorate?”

“How is the weather, Dr. Owen?”

“In Iowa? I can't complain. What's on your mind?”

“Tomorrow morning the U.S. Attorney for Seattle will charge you with several felony counts, all connected with your unlawful drug running.”

“Thank you for the heads-up. I guess that shopping trip I had planned to Pike Place Market will have to be canceled.”

“You can clear this up, Dr. Owen. You will find that the government is prepared to be very reasonable.”

“It's not the government I am worried about. And reasonable is not in your functioning vocabulary.”

“We are prepared to offer you a real incentive to surrender and to face these charges.”

“Really. And I suppose you have cleared this with the Administration.”

“Chandler will do what we tell him.”

“For once, I am inclined to agree. But I am not interested. Any other business before we conclude this conversation?”

“Snowfeather is back in custody. No bail. We understand you have followed the unfortunate death of her Bishop.”

“Murder, I think you meant to say. So what are you trying to imply?”

“We have access to that jail, Dr. Owen.”

John looked past the camera to the blackboard. “DON'T BITE!” was written in bold. “This is a concern for me?”

“Of course it is. Let me make it easy for you. You will not be arrested. You will stand trial without ever going into custody. Snowfeather will be released with a presidential pardon. She will not be harmed.”

“The last promise is unenforceable.”

“If she is harmed at any time during the trial, all your charges will be dismissed and you will be free to go about your business. After the trial or at any time prior, your people can pick her up and protect her.”

The blackboard said, “HANG UP!”

Without missing a beat, Owen said, “I will consider your offer on the following additional conditions.”

The blackboard said, “NO!!”

“My trial will be televised from start to finish and broadcast on all media outlets without censorship. Any violation of this agreement will result in an immediate dismissal of all charges against me. Snowfeather will be released and pardoned immediately as an act of good faith…before I surrender. Her father, former Senator Gabriel Standing Bear Lindstrom will have full immunity from arrest or prosecution, and former Senator Thurston Smith, will be released before I surrender and he also will have full immunity from arrest and will not be charged with any offenses from now until thirty days after my trial is concluded.”

“We don't have Standing Bear.”

“Then any arrest of him would be a breach of our agreement. And Thurston Smith Senior is to be released from custody immediately. After my surrender I will be allowed to have my own private security people with me at all times, and without restrictions, including in the courtroom. All elements of this agreement will be signed by you, Commissioner Longworthy, President Chandler, Attorney General Horn, and the judge assigned to hear my trial.”

“That would probably be Judge Wandright. I'm sure you will need time to consider this.”

“Those are my terms, Ms. Berker. Take them now or forget it.”

There was a long pause. Berker's face was impassive. “Done,” she said.

“Agreed,” John said, without skipping a beat. “My Washington DC lawyers will contact you within the next four hours. Goodbye.”

When the screen went blank. “How'd I do, guys?”

John's lawyer was sitting with his head in his hands. Colonel Dornan's head was also down, his hands rubbing his eyes. Gabriel, standing in back, made eye contact with John, and nodded.

The follow-on conversation took place in Owen's living room an hour later. Elisabeth, Bill Dornan, Ken Wang, and little Josh sat together across from John. The lawyers and other staff had been banished from the house. A gentle ocean breeze came through from the open door to the lanai, stirring the orchids that hung languidly from planters on either side. John sipped his coffee deliberately.

“Dad, you just can't go,” Elisabeth said. “They'll never let you come back.”

“I know the risks, Elisabeth, but I can't not go,” John said. He sat forward in his wicker chair, placed the coffee cup on a tiny glass table, and pressed his hands together in front of him. “Everything depends on getting Thurston Smith Senior and Snowfeather out of jail long enough to work with Gabriel Standing Bear and Thurston Junior to lobby the Senate leadership and change the political situation.

“The Directorate thinks they can stop Edge Medical just by stopping me. But I am not indispensable. We'll be sending all of our proprietary technical information to every industry scientist in the field by secret courier. My trial will be the perfect diversion while our allies work the political angle.”

“The hell you're not indispensable,” Elisabeth said. “I only have one father.”

Josh sat next to his mother on the couch, his eyes wide. Dr. Owen's face was stricken for a second; then he smiled. He stood, walked across and picked up Josh, raising him over his head. Josh giggled. John walked the boy to the large window with a view of the lava beach below. The two stood together looking out, each with hands clasped behind, the tall man in linen slacks and flowered shirt, and the small solemn boy in denim shorts and tee shirt. After a while, John glanced down approvingly. “I need you here, Josh, to help your mom and dad out, until I come back. Okay?”

Josh looked up at his grandfather. “Okay,” he said with resolve, then resumed surveying the ocean outside. He was very proud of his grandfather. After a few more minutes of whispered conversation, the two walked back together. Josh returned to the couch, a sturdy little man in a tiny boy's body. Daddy Josh was gone forever but he could help Daddy Ken and Mom. He
would
help. John made no effort to hide the tears that had formed in his eyes.

Dr. Owen picked up his coffee and sipped while he recovered his composure. Elisabeth frowned. “If this is about revenge—” she said.

“Oh, I'd give anything to have revenge on those people,” John said. His voice was like a steel hammer, each word a separate blow. He paused, breathing deeply. “But I will not allow myself to act out of anger. Too much is at stake.”

“Bill, he listens to you,” she said. “Can't you talk him out of it?”

John looked at Dornan, and held up his right hand. Everyone knew the look. The boss was now beyond the reach of argument.

“Elisabeth, I've already drawn up all the paperwork. This will be your operation until I return. Edge. Vector. Everything. You have the full authority of the CEO and Chair of the Board.” John reached out his hand. “And if, God forbid, I don't return, you'll do just fine.”

Elisabeth frowned a moment, tears welling, then took her father's hand.

While Gabriel was on his way to DC via Hawaii, traveling under an alias, the helicopter carrying John Owen noisily rose into the cloudless sky. John waved through the glass at his dwindling view of his daughter and grandson. Josh solemnly waved back; then the little man clutched his mother as the helicopter vanished behind clouds. Ken Wang stood near the hangar, a stolid presence, hands clasped behind his back, watching.

First John would land at the Tongan airport in Nuki'alofa, then leave by private jet on the journey that would take him to a private airport near Brisbane, Australia, and then on to Seattle. The boss was nothing, if not stubborn. Once Dr. John Owen had determined to act, nothing could deter him. Within forty-eight hours, he would be in Seattle and events would be set in motion that no one could call back.

Two days later, the whine of jet engines and the spray from wet pavement under rubber tires was captured by television cameras, followed by the metal-on-metal sound of a door sliding open. Dr. Owen's jet, standing on the wet runway in a private Seattle airfield, gleamed red and gold in the sun. As soon as the stairway was deployed, John left the plane. He strode confidently ahead of his friend, Colonel Bill Dornan.

Four government sedans were waiting on the tarmac, windshields steaming. Next to the cars stood a group of six men, all armed, all dressed in dark suits. One—speaking into a Com unit—looked up as Dr. Owen walked briskly toward him, breath smoking. John Owen's blue eyes flicked from one man to the next, betraying nothing; the television cameras were tight on his face.

“I am John Owen,” he said. “I take it you were expecting me.”

Dr. John L. Owen was no longer a free man.

BILLIONAIRE SURRENDERS TO FEDERAL AUTHORITIES IN SEATTLE: Arraignment Tomorrow

Seattle, Washington. Former biotech billionaire, Dr. John Owen, reputedly still in active defiance of the Commission's latest round of Retirement orders, surrendered to federal agents in Seattle at 1:45 P.M. Pacific Time. Facing charges that he and his employees were responsible for illegal shipments of proscribed antibiotics, Dr. Owen turned to waiting television cameras with a defiant ‘thumbs up'. A conviction on any single count could result in fifty years imprisonment and the confiscation of his entire fortune. Rumors of a plea bargain were hotly denied by Owen's spokesman, Ken Wang.

——

Snowfeather was still in her small Manhattan cell. Daily exercise was right after breakfast, her only outing. Her ten days in custody had begun to blur together. She remembered the hard face of the magistrate and the surprised look on the faces of Owen's lawyers. “There is no bail on this matter, Counsel. This is now a Commission case.” Since that day, all visits from Roberto Kahn had been denied. She had no phone privileges.

An hour or so had passed in complete silence following a cold breakfast. She had missed the exercise period. Then she heard footsteps. The cell door slid open. The jailer stood outlined in the open doorway. This was somebody new.

“Time to go,” he said.

“
What
?”

“Your uncle has sent us a certified document from the White House.”

“My uncle?”

“A ‘John O. Hand.' The papers were just delivered by his lawyers.”

Snowfeather was met outside the precinct station by Roberto Kahn; her post-arraignment appearance, and all other court appearances, had been canceled. She was free once again, and Roberto was smiling broadly.

After hugging him, she asked, “Can you confirm my suspicions about this benefactor? Who was he and what did he do?”

“Well, I got this call from your family friend, Dr. John. We had a long conversation. Very smart guy. And he is very fond of you and your parents. He would be the very same benefactor…” Kahn said, smiling still more broadly, “…who somehow got you a presidential pardon, and has hired this car to take you to Central Park.”

Snowfeather looked up into an unusually blue New York autumn sky, flashing a tiny, silent prayer, then she replied, “You know, Roberto, I really don't have a minute to waste on recreation, even on this fine day. I've lost more than a week from this arrest. The bail keeps getting higher and higher; my time away, longer and longer.”

“It was a
pardon
, Snowfeather. And a free pass to keep up what you're doing. And who said anything about recreation? You have a scheduled appearance.”

“Without a permit? In broad daylight?”

“The permit was taken care of by Dr. Owen's lawyers. You have an appearance in broad daylight.”

“By the grace of the Lord.”

“And your old family friend. Now, get in.” Roberto pointed to a large, silver limousine waiting at the curb.

“Is that thing for us?”

“It is…”

“Am I dreaming?”

“Not yet…”

As they pulled into a clearing in the park where hundreds of people gathered, Snowfeather emerged from the car and was greeted by cheers and chants of, “Defy Commission Orders!”

——

Several days later, Alice Canyon Hawke and Thurston Smith Senior, accompanied by Gabriel's lanky relative, Walter High Tree, met Gabriel in the baggage claim area at Dulles airport. Moving with the flow of other passengers, Gabriel grinned broadly when he saw them. He dropped his carry-on and embraced his wife.

“When did you get here?” he asked.

“Only yesterday. Our favorite criminal, Snowfeather, has already made quite a stir. We've already opened our new home in Georgetown.”

“Hey, Professor, or should I say jailbird,” Gabriel said, looking over Alice's shoulder.

Smith grinned back. “Not a jailbird any more. Good to see you safe, Gabriel. And I've also been in good hands.” Alice was crying and smiling at the same time. Thurston was also close to tears.

“You'd think we have a guardian angel,” Thurston said.

“An anonymous one,” High Tree said, smiling.

Gabriel slapped Smith gently on the arm. “Our angel is paying a big price, my friend. We'd better make good use of it.”

“Okay, guys,” Alice said, wiping her eyes. “Let's get out of here before Gabriel starts crying.”

Half an hour later, after dropping off High Tree to join Dornan, they were in a cab headed to a park near the safe house John's people had arranged, when Alice handed Gabriel a press printout. “Our little girl is getting some great press.” Alice had that look. “This is three days old.”

“What's this?” Gabriel took the sheet in his hands. A few seconds passed. He whistled. “Son of a gun,” he said, gripping Alice's hand.

——

Max Cahoon. Manhattan. Reporting…

“The urban legend of ‘Hawke,' the underground preacher who repudiated her earlier life as a Gaia activist, took a quantum leap in notoriety today. Hawke, whose real name, Helen Snowfeather Lindstrom, now trumps her earlier prominence in the Earth Sisterhood, with a full presidential pardon. She is also the daughter of former Senator Gabriel Standing Bear Lindstrom.

“Snowfeather was taken from the dark Manhattan street corners and secret meetings that were the hallmark of her underground ministry to a jail cell last month. While Snowfeather was being held in a Manhattan jail this morning a triumphant noon rally began to gather on her behalf in Central Park. Crowd estimates are 200,000 to 300,000.

Once a major spokesperson for the Gaia restoration Movement, Snowfeather is a popular and charismatic opponent. Fame has come swiftly for this former environmental radical who fell into obscurity shortly after…”

——

This recording was automatically captured and filed with ten thousand other recordings, but would not be reviewed by any living person for months.

“Owen is in our hands.”

“We do get the news here, Louise. But I am constrained to remind you that, strictly speaking, Dr. Owen is in the hands of the authorities, not yours.”

“True. But he was forced to leave his sanctuary. If necessary, we can kill him at any time.”

“We don't like this turn of events. Owen must not escape justice.”

“The trial will result in the outcome we want and—”

“And if you aren't careful, you will make another martyr. Moreover, you have released Gabriel, his daughter, and the former Senator Smith. A trouble making combination. My God, what were you thinking?”

“By controlling Owen, we control the Senate. Those cowards won't dare challenge us. As long as only we can supply them with their precious medicines they will lick our feet.”

“Yet you have two formerly powerful US Senators on the loose? Men you could not intimidate.”

“Emphasis on former and loose. We can intimidate Snowfeather and still control Gabriel. If needed, we'll use Gaia's Kiss on all three.”

“So we just have to trust your judgment then?”

“In a word? Yes. You have trained me well, Baron. Did you forget who now controls Fowler's fortune?”

“I did train you well. But you may yet need me. You will keep in touch?”

“As always.”

“Very well, then.”

——

The Directorate met in the same disemboweled Manhattan church where the meeting with Snowfeather had taken place. “Tan, we think you have given away far too much for one man's surrender.” Gloris's tone was brazen.

Berker glared at Gloris.
Do I have an insubordination problem here?
“Do you really think so?” Berker spoke conversationally, but her eyes were cold. “Who agrees with Gloris?” There was an awkward silence. “Have we forgotten? G-A-N has John Owen's hand.”

“I don't understand.”

Berker shook her head at Gloris and looked at the others. “And he has a new one.” K showed a flicker of amusement. “Didn't you notice that during the coverage of his surrender? Dr. Owen has apparently grown a new hand.”

“An abomination,” Gloris finally said.

“Much more than that, Gloris. I have assigned a G-A-N liaison to the Department of Justice. This ‘abomination' is a serious crime. We will end Dr. Owen's influence for good.”

“Can we trust the judge to do the right thing?” K asked.

“An astute question. We do need insurance. We wouldn't want a miscarriage of justice would we?”

“Insurance?” Gloris asked.

“I think that one of us will be attending the trial.” K quickly understood—an assassin was needed—and she nodded. Berker looked approvingly at the Sisterhood's most seasoned killer. “Can you arrange an appearance?”

“Of course,” K said. “After the killing of Bishop Gardiner I'll need some help with my cover.”

“You will be news photographer Karen Kanst. Your credentials will be real. Your appearance will be different. You will pretend to be sympathetic to Owen. I want you to meet and befriend a reporter.”

“Who?”

“Max Cahoon.”

“We have already contacted his editor. Start growing out your hair, dear.”

——

As Owen's pretrial legal proceedings unfolded in Seattle, K moved to Virginia for her final preparations. It had been a necessity—and truthfully a relief—to drop out of all those boring meetings with the sisters. K was thirty eight years old. Her physical appearance had improved with each passing week. The Sisters were bald, under-exercised, and cultivated a drab, pasty look.
Like mushrooms,
she privately thought. K's hair was coming in beautifully; and her body was lithe and back in shape. And K had begun to toy with the idea of herself as a professional assassin—her allegiance to Gaia would be a mere occupational bonus.

It was an epiphany. Until her move, she still had deluded herself that she could simply live out her days in Gaia's service, dying with the rest. She no longer deluded herself. She wasn't doing this just for the love of Gaia. No, it was far simpler than that.

K just loved her work.

Having relocated to Seattle to assume the Karen Kanst alias, K was also beginning to admit to herself that her addiction to the exercise of terrorism was overtaking the cause itself. Somewhere along this path she had become a professional in the service of Gaia. And with the eyes of a professional, she had immediately noticed Berker's carelessness in covering her tracks.

Ideological overconfidence. Murder can always get you in trouble. Especially when you incapacitate a billionaire like Fowler. Clumsy of Berker. But that is not my problem.

In private, K demanded cash up front from Berker for the Owen assassination.
A full contract, even if the hit is not ultimately authorized
.
After all, expenses must be covered
. She had joked that Fowler's money should be put to good use. In fact, it was that very moment—the moment of payment—when K had arrived at her epiphany.

It suddenly no longer mattered to her whether the Gaia Directorate ultimately succeeded or failed in its overall mission. It was in this new professional detachment K found strength. She had been a bit too clumsy when she killed Bishop Gardiner.
Not nearly enough detachment
.

In her new Seattle apartment, K opened her newly acquired weapon case, humming a simple tune from her childhood. She pulled out the specially manufactured contents, recalling a distant joy of opening presents at Christmas.

As a credentialed reporter, K would carry a standard MiniKam to court, a semi-autonomous, voice controlled, broadcast-grade video device, still licensed by the Commission to trusted media outlets. But this Mini-Kam was far from standard issue. Her newly delivered video camera hid a specially engineered compartment that exactly fit her weapon of choice, a 10 mm automatic. The firearm occupied the space that the camera's zoom mechanism had needed. The gun was coupled with an auto-aim program that tracked the center of her video image, remembered it and would later seek and find any designated target. It was a
point now, shoot later
piece of illegal tech. Mere possession of this assassin's tool was a major felony. But no compromise for Gaia's cause is too great, when the end is justified. K would arrange to play with her new toy at a private range the next week.