THE POLITICS OF PLEASURE (14 page)

Ten metres and closing.

Reid was in no mood for anything other than a brief and formal exchange. God help him it was late Friday afternoon and –

– something on the staircase caught his attention. A blurred movement of scuffed runners and denim jeans. His mind reeled at the implication of what his senses reported.

Goldman.

It couldn't be. The rusty-haired chemist was hurtling toward the ground floor with the runaway motion of a derailed train. That Goldman looked upset was an understatement. An unthinkable confrontation was about to happen. And right in front of General Turner and the inspectors.

Great. Just great.

Reid could see Goldman was distraught, about what he could only imagine. What concerned Reid, however, was how he would conduct himself in front of his superiors. His encounter with Goldman was going to be anything but formal, of that he was certain. Nevertheless he had a job to do and he wasn't about to shirk the responsibility of his new guarding role, especially in front of his father-in-law.

Goldman came off the stairs and made a beeline for the front doors. Reid unclipped the carbon-fibre holster of his Beretta handgun.

So close now.

He could see the unhinged glint in the chemist's eye. He'd always known Goldman was something of a bad apple, but never thought it would have come to anything like this. The man looked positively rattled. Jesus, why now? Reid knew he had little choice but to confront Goldman before he stormed from the building. Conscious of the approaching generals, he swallowed hard and pulled his semiautomatic handgun from out of its holster. He moved forward to block the chemist's path. 'Excuse me, Mr Goldman, but I insist you– '

Reid was cut off in mid-sentence from an upright palm driven into his chest. The corporal reeled back and banged his head on the edge of the Formica-top table, before falling backward and hitting his head on the floor.

He was down for the count.

'Goldman!' General Kaplan's booming voice drifted through the woolly clouds of Reid's concussed mind ... 

Goldman spun round at the sound of his name; not knowing until then that the men were behind him. The group moved toward him with General Kaplan in the lead. Goldman didn't recognize two men, then a fourth older man sidestepped his colleagues to get a better view of the action. An aura of importance radiated from this silver-haired man, and Goldman sensed he occupied a summital position in the military hierarchy.

In any case, Goldman was still unbalanced from the raw emotion that had erupted in him upstairs. His temples throbbed, his eyes verged with tears and his fingers clenched like the talons of a predatory bird. He turned back to Reid who lay sprawled on the floor, seemingly unconscious. His handgun rested near the curled fingers of his right hand. Goldman blinked in disbelief as if coming to his senses. What had he done? His mind swirled and he couldn't get his bearings. He was stranded in a tidal moment he could easily drown in. He hadn't come to terms with what he'd learned on the Milnet system upstairs. It didn't seem right that a man's life could be snuffed out like an unwanted pawn on a board. Having discovered the political reason behind his father's murder, Goldman wanted to lay blame, direct and scathing, at someone's feet.

And he'd found that someone: General Alexander Turner.

The cassette-tape hidden on Goldman spelled out everything plainly enough. He would listen to the tape over and again, he knew. His life had been torn into a thousand pieces since his father's death, and his wife's death shortly thereafter. All he'd wanted was to raise a family, to be a husband and father. Why had his promising new life in America been reduced to this hellish moment? His former life seemed so long ago as he stood with bunched fists in the cold light of the corridor. A time when his father had squinted from the morning sun, a time when Rachel was enlivened with the promise of a child ...

He ground his teeth as the uniformed men advanced toward him. Pinwheels of light danced before his eyes and his stomach tightened.

'It was a hit, a professional hit!' The cathartic outcry shot out of him and reverberated in the quiet passageway, surprising himself as much as the others. 'A coldblooded execution,' he finished off in a wavering voice.

A group of base personnel appeared at the far end of the corridor. Some of them streamed into locker rooms while others made their way to the front doors, boisterously keen for the coming weekend.

'Goldman!' General Kaplan moved with bunched fists towards his downed son-in-law, his face flush with anger. Goldman tensed as the brigadier general approached, his own fists primed for combat. But he realized Kaplan and these men were hardly to blame for his father's murder. That special honour was reserved for General Turner alone.

The chemist did an about-turn. He glanced at an immobile Reid mumbling on the floor, and regretted knocking him down. Again everything seemed so wrong, so terribly awry, like a dream he would wake from once his alarm clock announced the start of another working day. He shoved open the plate glass door and headed for his car outside.

Reid stirred and regained his senses. He snatched up his 92FS Beretta handgun and scrambled to his feet. General Kaplan knew Reid wasn't one to back down from an aggressor. He wouldn't allow the likes of Goldman to get the better of him. The corporal had had a wild man reputation during his Advanced Individual Training days at Fort Jackson. Stories of bar brawling, no less. Kaplan could see his son-in-law was up for a fight; indeed the general would have been disappointed if Reid hadn't been.

Kaplan knew there were legal and disciplinary issues at stake. Civilians couldn't attack military personnel with impunity, especially on a military base. Goldman wasn't going to walk away scot free from the likes of this. No way.

A headstrong Kaplan shouldered open one of the plate-glass doors.

'Wait, general,' Turner ordered.

Kaplan stopped against the half-open door. 'Excuse me, sir. But this is my business and I intend to – '

'No, wait!'

'But general,' Kaplan implored. He heard Goldman's car come to life on the lot outside. Reid brushed past his father-in-law and glared in the direction of Goldman's revving car, his handgun's safety disengaged. He was fired up, ready to give chase to his attacker, even as he cringed from a bolt of lower back pain.

'Stay where you are,' Turner ordered both men. Reid spun around with a defiant glint in his eye.

'Trust me, gentlemen,' Turner said through pursed lips. 'I know what I'm doing.' Of course his underlying message wasn't lost on Kaplan:
You better do it my way or else.

Kaplan stared mutinously at the three-star general. But Turner's steely look locked Kaplan in place, as surely as the sound of Goldman's car filled Kaplan's ears. Kaplan looked through the glass door: the absconding chemist's brake lights flashed red as his car neared the front gate. Kaplan winced at the chance slipping through his fingers. God, he wanted to kick butt. Anyone's. Hell, he didn't even like Turner. A part of him wanted to set upon the visiting general there and then. Push the uppity bastard about. Who did the old coot think he was? Throwing his weight around like he owned the damned place.

Kaplan thought back to the meeting in his office. Turner had talked about the worsening situation in the Middle East and the need for increased security at Silverwood Chemical Centre. Apparently Iraq wanted to get its hands on more chemical weapons for its war with Iran. Turner had learned that certain Iraq-friendly hawks in the government were planning to use Silverwood Centre's stores surreptitiously for the venture. Turner didn't want this to happen.

Turner also mentioned Goldman. Apparently the chemist had been put under surveillance on suspicion of smuggling classified drugs from his workplace (which didn't surprise Kaplan; though he suspected a lack of concrete evidence had stymied any early move on the chemist).

The upshot of the meeting had been that Silverwood's Centre's security was to be upgraded, especially in stock accountability terms, and the reason behind this upgrade wasn't to be shared with other personnel. Turner then dropped the bomb Kaplan would be transferred to Nevada sometime in the forseeable future; though he stressed the transfer wasn't related to any of the aforementioned issues, or to any lack on Kaplan's part. Basically Turner had been tight-lipped about everything, preferring to keep the meeting on a formal footing. However his physical presence in Kaplan's office only underscored how seriously he wanted security upgraded at Silverwood Centre.

Now, Kaplan uncurled his fists as Reid reluctantly re-holstered his handgun. A chatty group of personnel stopped at the doors and plopped their bags on the Formica-top table. One of them asked what the commotion had been about. Reid didn't answer but waved the group on after saying there was no bag inspection today. Kaplan nodded approvingly, as did many of the leaving men and women.

'Listen up, men,' Turner said, 'there's another way to find out what's got into our ill-mannered friend.' He scratched the underside of his chin and pointed at the stairs Goldman had stormed down. 'Those stairs lead up to the computer room, don't they, general?'

Kaplan nodded, his barrel chest tight with tension. A peppering of heartburn only added to his churlish mood. “It was a professional hit!” played uncomfortably in Kaplan's mind. What on earth had Goldman meant by it? No doubt the outburst hadn't escaped General Turner's attention, either. Whatever the hell was going on Kaplan couldn't make any sense of it.

Reid stepped aside and said goodnight to a trio of chirpy servicewomen. The two DIA inspectors who'd witnessed everything scoffed discreetly over a shared remark.

'Excuse me, gentlemen,' Turner said with a seasoned delivery born from decades of command. Kaplan and the others turned towards him, though more from dutiful obligation than anything else.

'By now Goldman probably thinks the worse that'll come of this incident is he'll be charged with assault and sacked ... as well as blacklisted from any future military employment.' General Turner shook his head and chuckled. 'I'm sure our wild and woolly friend would be only too happy not to work for us again. And he knows any half-baked lawyer will get him off doing time over a minor-assault charge. In any case, I'm sure our man ...'

Turner nodded toward Reid.

'Corporal Reid,' Kaplan said.

'I'm sure our man Reid here wouldn't want to press charges over a minor incident like this.'

Reid nodded and stared with bottled emotion at the floor. Kaplan could see his displeasure at being slotted as “our man Reid”. Undoubtedly his head still hurt from when he'd banged it. Undoubtedly he wanted to hit Goldman and exact a fitting revenge. But of course General Turner had stopped him from equaling the score. Reid could barely mask his dislike of the visiting general; and the moment proved one of those rare times when Kaplan experienced a bonding affinity with his son-in-law.

'Goldman,' Turner said, 'will realize he's legally obligated to turn up here Monday morning. He'll also realize that due to his violent outburst tonight we'll probably take him to court for breach of his employment contract should he decide not to grace our doorstep again. No, he won't run on us, general. I'll wager he's decided to go home, reasonably confident there won't be an official knock on his door tonight. Very likely he's pegged Reid as a man who wouldn't press charges over being roughed up a little. No, I'm sure Goldman will take one day at a time until Monday morning rolls around, uncomfortable as it will be for him.'

General Kaplan let the glass door slip shut, uncertain of his superior's estimation, particularly about a hothead like Goldman. The civilian chemist seemed to have lost his mind altogether. Over what Kaplan intended to find out. Thank God Goldman's employment contract had nearly expired. Kaplan would make sure the chemist never set foot in a military establishment again.

General Turner locked eyes with Kaplan. 'As you should know, general, the DIA has monitored Goldman's apartment and telephone.'

A dark smirk spread across Corporal Reid's face. Kaplan could see him visualizing all kinds of messy endings for Goldman. 

General Turner glanced outside, then turned his eagle eye on Kaplan. 'It won't take long until Goldman tells someone why he's upset. And when he does you can be sure everything he says will be recorded on evidence-admissible tape. So lighten up, general, there's no cause for alarm. Goldman's well and truly in our web. He's boxed himself into a tight corner.' Turner fixed his commanding gaze on the men. 'Of course, it goes without saying, gentlemen, that what I've told you now is highly confidential.'

'Yes, of course, sir.' Kaplan's stony face and folded arms spoke of his dislike for the meddlesome general.

As if sensing his underlying mood, Turner asked forthrightly, 'You have access to the computer room upstairs, general?'

Kaplan nodded.

'Good. Could you take me up there?'

Kaplan nodded again and the two generals headed for the stairs. General Kaplan glanced back at Reid, who was dusting himself down, and thought,
You didn't even get a chance to point that pistol, did you, son?

FIFTEEN

Belize Cheraz keyed the ignition and pumped the gas pedal of her sun-faded Impala. Its tired motor sputtered to life. She switched on the headlights and reversed back until tapping the front bumper of the car behind. After checking her side mirror she pulled on to a quiet side street in Highlandtown, East Baltimore. She and her sister had recently moved into one of the street's brick row-houses after a lengthy stay with their uncle in Parkville.

'God, I hate it here,' Manuela said, as they drove past the dim display window of a Mediterranean bakery. 'It's so ethnic, so cramped.' Though plump and matronly, her sparkling brown eyes and unblemished skin belied her advancing years. Belize and her sister were part of the 100,000-plus Cubans ferried on countless boats from Mariel Harbour to Miami earlier that year. With the intention of letting certain Cubans join their relatives in the United States, Fidel Castro's government had crowded the boats with many political and criminal undesirables.