The Brotherhood of the Rose (20 page)

She touched his shoulder. "I'm so scared. I don't know how it happened." She embraced him. As he felt her breasts against his chest, he heard a car stop. Two men suddenly flanked him, a muscular Jew and, Jesus, the other guy looked like an Irishman. "Anybody hurt?" the Irishman said.

The Jew leaned close. Parker flinched, feeling something sting his arm.

His vision blurred.

They did it quickly. Saul leaned Parker's limp body back in his car, then slid beside him and drove toward the break in traffic before any curious motorists had a chance to stop. Erika followed in the Toyota, Chris in the Pinto. They soon split up, each taking a different exit. Making sure no one followed them, they headed south and rendezvoused at the cottage.

Parker was alert by then. He struggled as Saul tied him to a chair in the living room.

"I've seen your faces," Parker said foolishly. "I saw some of the roads you used to get here. Kidnapping's a federal offense. You'll go to jail for this."

Saul squinted at him. "Oh," Parker said, his eyes bleak with understanding. "Please, don't kill me. I promise I won't say a word."

Chris approached him. "My wife's expecting me home at four," Parker warned. "When I'm late, she'll call Security."

"She already has. It's after four. But how can they find you?"

"Oh," Parker moaned again. He strained at the ropes around him. "What do you want?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? Information."

"Promise you won't hurt me. I'll tell you anything."

"You'll tell us lies."

"No, I'll cooperate."

"We know you will." Chris rolled up Parker's sleeve. Parker gaped as Chris rubbed his arm with alcohol, then filled a hypodermic from a vial. "It feels like Valium," Chris said. "Since you've got no choice, you might as well stop fighting and enjoy it." He slid the needle in Parker's arm.

The interrogation lasted thirty minutes. The Israeli embassy had supplied all the information it could. Chris needed another source. Because the men he was interested in had all been in the U.S. military, he knew he'd find the background he wanted in the National Defense Agency's computers. The trick was to gain access to the computers, and the first step was to learn the codes that would make the computers responsive to questions. The wrong codes would trigger an alarm, alerting the NDA's security force that someone without clearance was trying to infiltrate the databank.

Torture was an obsolete method of interrogation. It took too long, and even when a subject seemed to have been broken, he sometimes lied convincingly or told only part of the truth. But Sodium Amytal-the same drug Eliot had used on Chris in the dentist's office in Panama-was quick and reliable.

Voice slurred, Parker told Chris everything he wanted to know. The codes were changed weekly. There were three of them: a numerical sequence, an alphabetical sequence, and a password. The numerical sequence was a joke of sorts, a variation on Parker's social security number. Satisfied they could communicate with the computers, Chris drove Parker back to Washington.

En route, Parker wakened, complaining that his mouth felt dry. "Here, sip this Coke," Chris told him.

Parker said it helped. He sounded groggy. "You're letting me go?"

"Why not? You did your part. We've got what we wanted."

The Coke had been mixed with scopolamine. By the time they arrived in Washington, Parker had become hysterical, flailing at hallucinations of spiders that tried to smother him. Chris let him out in a porno district where prostitutes backed away from Parker's walls and insane gesticulations.

The scopolamine would wear off by the next day. Parker would find himself in a psychiatric ward. Though his hallucinations would have disappeared, another effect of the drug would persist. His memory of the last two days would have been erased. He wouldn't recall being kidnapped. He wouldn't recall his interrogation or the cottage or Chris, Saul, and Erika. The authorities, having been warned by Parker's wife about his disappearance, would feel relieved to have found him. They'd conclude he wasn't the saint he pretended to be. A porno district. Sure, the hypocrite had gotten more fun than he bargained for. By the time the authorities investigated further, Saul and Erika would have finished the job.

The Haven Motel was half hidden behind a steak house, a movie theater, and a bar on the outskirts of Washington. "All the comforts," Saul said as he parked near the office. He and Erika had chosen the place because it looked sleazy enough so a clerk wouldn't question why they'd rent a room for just a few hours. But it wasn't sleazy enough that the police would make a habit of rousting it.

While she waited in the car, Saul went in the office. The soft drink machine had an Out of Order sign. The Naugahyde sofa was cracked. The plastic plants were dusty. Behind the counter, a woman barely turned from a Clint Eastwood movie on television. Saul registered as Mr. and Mrs. Harold Cain. The only time the woman looked interested was when she took his money. , Back in the car, Saul drove to the unit assigned to him. He turned the Pinto around, noting a driveway that led to a side exit. Checking the room, they found a black and white television, a bureau with glass stains, a bed with wrinkled sheets. The faucet dripped in the bathtub.

They carried several boxes in. Using one of the credit cards Misha Pletz had supplied, they'd gone to a Radio Shack and bought a computer, printer, and telephone modem. Working quickly, they unpacked the components, integrated, and tested them. Saul went outside, chose a concealed vantage behind a garbage bin, and studied the entrances to the motel's parking area. If he saw trouble approaching, he could warn Erika, using a small walkie-talkie he'd also bought from Radio Shack.

In the room, Erika picked up the phone and touched a sequence of numbers Parker had mentioned. The sequence put her in contact with the NDA. She heard a beep from the phone. The computer had answered its number, awaiting instructions. She touched an alphabetical sequence-SUNSHINE, the name of Parker's cocker spaniel-and heard another beep; the computer was primed to gather information. This method of dealing with the computer had been designed to allow the efficient exchange of data over long distance. Parker's equivalent in San Diego, for example, didn't have to come to Washington to use the NDA's computer, nor did he have to contact Parker and explain what he needed. All he had to do was phone the computer directly. The method was simple and secure, but to make it work, you had to know the codes.

Erika set the phone in the modem, a small receptacle for the ear-and mouth-piece, linked to the computer. She sat at the keyboard, typing instructions. The message passed through the modem and the phone to the NDA's databank. Parker had explained that his computer wouldn't release information unless it received the code word FETCH. She typed this now. The printer next to her began to clatter, translating the electronic signal-, received through the phone. She waited, hoping the NDA's security force wouldn't trace the phone call., I The printer stopped. Nodding, she typed GOOD DOG, the sign-off code Parker had given her, turned the computer off, put the phone on its cradle, and grabbed the printouts.

Chris slumped discouraged on the sofa. The night's rain added to his gloom, drumming on the cottage's roof, Drops trickled down the chimney, landing on the burnt wood in the fireplace, raising the bitter smell of ashes. He felt damp. "if there's another pattern, I don't see it."

Saul and Erika frowned at the printouts on the table. She'd asked only for essential data: place and date of birth, religious affiliation, education, special skills, commanding officers, battle commendations. "None of them was born at the same time or place," she said. "They're a mixture of religions. They're each specialists in different things. They had different commanding officers and served indifferent areas of Southeast Asia. What's the connection? Unless we're wrong, there has to be something that links them together."

Chris stood wearily, crossing the room toward the table. He paused beside Erika, reading the printouts again. "There." He pointed down the left side of the page. "Each pair was educated in the same city, but the cities are different from each other. Omaha, Philadelphia, Johnstown, Akron. It doesn't make sense. And over here." He pointed to the right. "They each had cryptonyms, but I don't see any other pattern. Butes and Erectheus. What the hell does that mean?"

He interpreted the data he'd already eliminated, focusing on the information that puzzled him.

Omaha,Neb. Kevin McElroy. Castor. Omaha, Neb. Thomas Conlin. Pollux.

Philadelphia, Pa. Saul Grisman. Romulus. Philadelphia, Pa. Christopher Kilmoonie. Remus.

Johnstown, Pa. Neil Pratt. Cadmus. Johnstown, Pa. Bernard Halliday. Cilix. Akron, Ohio. Timothy Drew. Amphion. Akron, Ohio. Andrew Wilks. Zethus.

Shade Gap, Pa. James Thomas. Butes. Shade Gap, Pa. William Fletcher. Erectheus. Gary, and. Arnold Hackett. Atlas. Gary, and. David Pews. Prometheus.

The list continued-nine pairs, eighteen names. "Pennsylvania's mentioned often," Saul said. "But what's it got to do with Nebraska, Ohio, and Indiana?"

"Let's try the cryptonyms," Erika said. the names are foreign. Greek and Roman, right? From myth.7 "The category's too general. That's like saying Omaha and Philadelphia are in the United States," Chris said. "We've got to find a more specific connection. Cadmus and Cilix? Amphion and Zethus? I don't know who they were or what they did, let alone what they've got to do with each other."

"Then start with the pair you do know," Erika said. "Yourselves. Romulus and Remus."

"Common knowledge. They're the brothers who founded Rome," Saul said. "But we never founded anything, and we're not brothers," Chris said. "We might as well be." Saul turned to Erika. "Castor and Pollux. They sound familiar. Something to do with the sky. A constellation," Erika nodded. "When I learned night navigation, my instructor said to let the ancient warriors guide me. Castor and Pollux. They're called the Gemini-the morning and evening stars."

"Gemini," Chris said. "Twins."

"What other names look familiar?" Saul asked. "Here-at the bottom. Atlas."

"The strong man who holds the sky above the earth."

"Prometheus."

"He stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans."

"But there's no connection between them."

"maybe," Erika said. Chris and Saul looked at her. -What we need is an index to myth," she told them. "I think I know the pattern now, but I have to find out who Cadmus and Cilix and the others were."

"There's a dictionary over here," Chris said, checking several shelves of books beside the fireplace. "A lot of old paperbacks. Here. A desk encyclopedia." Two volumes. He picked up the first, turning its dogeared pages. "Atlas," he said and started reading. He glanced up abruptly. "Shit."

-What is it?" Saul looked startled. "What's the other cryptonym that begins with A?" Saul quickly scanned the printout. "Amphion. He's paired with Zethus."

Chris urgently flipped pages, reading. "Jesus, I don't believe it. Tell me the other names."

"Alphabetically? Butes is paired with Erectheus, and Cadmus is paired with Cilix."

Chris kept flipping pages, reading anxiously. "I know the pattern. I know how they're related."

The room was still. "They're related in the most basic way there is," Erika said. "You figured it out."

"I wasn't really sure till I saw the look on your face."

"Atlas and Prometheus were brothers. Amphion and Zethus were twins."

"Like Castor and Pollux," Saul said. "Butes and Erectheus? Brothers. Cadmus and Cilix? Brothers. Rorhulus and Remus..."

"But where's the parallel?" Saul spun to the printouts. "Castor and Pollux were twins, but the men assigned those cryptonyms are McElroy and Conlin. They sure as hell don't sound like twins."

"That's true," Erika said. "And here, farther down, Pratt and Halliday don't sound related, but they've been given cryptonyms that refer to brothers. It's the same with all the other names. Drew and Wilks, Thomas and Fletcher, Hackett and Pews-if they're not related, why give them cryptonyms that refer to brothers?"

"Maybe- they came from broken homes," Chris said. "If their parents got divorced and married someone else, McElroy and Conlin could have different names but still be related."

"Maybe in one case," Erika said. "But all of them from broken homes with parents remarried?"

"I know. It's stretching," Chris agreed. "Besides, you and Saul don't come from a broken home. As you said, you're not related." Suddenly her eyes became wary. She turned to Saul. "Then you said something else. "You said, "We might as well be.' Why did you say that?"

Saul shrugged. "We've known each other almost as long as if we'd been brothers. Since we were five. Right, Chris?"

Chris smiled. "You're the best friend I've got."

"But why?" Erika said, her voice strained with confusion. "I don't mean why you're friends. I mean why you've known each other so long. Did you grow up in the same neighborhood?"

"In a way. We met at the school," Saul said. "What school?" Erika frowned. "The Franklin School for Boys in Philadelphia. Where we were raised. We didn't come from a broken home. Hell, we didn't come from any home at all. We're orphans."

Chris stared toward the rain beyond the window. "That's the other puzzling detail in the pattern," Erika said. "Each pair of men was educated in the same city. McElroy and Conlin in Omaha. You and Chris in Philadelphia. The others in Akron and Shade Gap and so on. Since all their cryptonyms; form a pattern, you'd think those cities would form a pattern as well."