The Theory of Games (22 page)

Katelynn immediately sprung from her seat. “You do not tell me what to do!” Katelynn growled at Gilfoyle, “Zoë, Pete, Shelby, you stay where you are. You’re not going anywhere with him.”

Gilfoyle reached into the left inside breast pocket of his tweed jacket and removed a small, ugly Beretta automatic and aimed it at Katelynn’s head. Reardon unholstered his police special and covered Zoë, Shelby and Peter. “Miss O’Brian, you will do exactly as I say or you can watch your friends die. Things have moved beyond your ability to influence your destiny.” Gilfoyle reached for his crystal goblet, drained the last of the claret. “The truth of the matter is, Miss O’Brian,” he sighed and mopped his brow with a linen kerchief that he drew from his right inside jacket pocket, “the truth of the matter is that things have progressed beyond the point where any of us can influence our destinies. From here on out we are all just along for the ride.”

Gilfoyle brushed back his graying hair with his right hand and then he transferred the gun from his left to his right hand and, disarmingly, touched Katelynn’s wrist. “Do not fret Katelynn,” he said, “I am going to take you to Jake, tonight. Do not fret.” And he patted her wrist in a disingenuous way.

“Okay kids,” Lieutenant Reardon motioned with his gun towards Peter, Zoë and Shelby, “Let’s move it out; single file. We’re headed back to Jake’s house.”

Zoë began to sob quietly; her tears mixed with the kohl black mascara and formed dark muddy rivulets that flowed down her cheeks. Shelby began to tremble and looked as if she might vomit. Pete clenched his fists.

“No time for heroes, boy-o,” Reardon pointed the revolver at Pete. “It never fails, professor,” Reardon turned to address Gilfoyle, “nothing like the ladies to make a young buck doing something stupid.” Reardon laughed.

Peter Felix.
Felix felicis
: Latin
lucky, fortunate.
The great Roman general Lucius Cornelius Sulla gave himself the cognomen of Felix, “Sulla the Lucky.” He successfully marched on Rome in 82 BCE and made himself dictator.

Napoleon considering the promotion of a general to marshal asked, “But, is he lucky?”

Peter Felix was feeling lucky.

Alea jacta est.
“The die is cast,” said Caesar thirty-three years after Sulla when he rolled them bones and made his play and marched on Rome.

Peter Felix crossed his Rubicon.

At the very moment that Reardon turned his head to speak those words of condescension to Gilfoyle it seemed to Peter Felix that time itself has assumed a thick liquid quality. He watched as his small right hand tightened into a fist; slowly, slowly as time was no longer measured in minutes or seconds or ticks but now was progressing by heartbeats and fractions of heartbeats. He observed, detached and amazed, as his fist arced gracefully and powerfully towards Reardon’s square jaw. Peter Felix was dumbfounded when Reardon did not crumple in a heap like a rag doll upon the table scattering cutlery and crystal as he fully expected to see. There are no words to describe what Peter Felix felt when simultaneously the pain from his hand made the maddeningly long journey back up his arm and past his elbow, past the biceps and to his brain to deliver the message that three knuckles and two fingers of his right hand were broken and that this little, futile, insurrection had run its course because as swift as silk Lieutenant Reardon turned effortlessly and – as if by illusion – produced a pair of chrome plated MEDCO 710 handcuffs that he slammed upon Peter’s wrists and snapped shut with a final click.

“Now, my wee lad, what would make you haul off and strike an officer of the law like that?” Reardon rebuked Peter as time resumed its normal pulse.

Katelynn a split-second out of phase, but an eternity behind the events lunged across the corner of the table towards Gilfoyle; but being a nanosecond late is as good as being a day late when attempting to disarm a college professor with a semiautomatic weapon pointed at your head. Katelynn skidded to a stop on the linen table cloth scattering crystal and silverware in her wake; the muzzle of the Berretta an inch from her nose. “Miss O’Brien,” Gilfoyle steely intoned, “fun and games with the professor is now officially over.” He pulled the hammer of the Berretta back with his thumb and pressed the muzzle up against her forehead. “Officer Reardon,” he asked over his shoulder, “everything under control back there?”

“Everything is just fine, professor,” the cop replied.

“Now where were we?” Gilfoyle wondered out loud, “Oh, yes, you were about to escort those three undergraduates back to Mr. Grant’s house, tie them up and turn on the gas and I was about to take Miss O’Brien for a ride.”

CHAPTER 5.9

There was the sound of the beating of a legion of metallic wings chopping the night air and a white light grew unsteadily in the middle of the quad as a black Sea King helicopter without markings settled down into the clearing. Leaves were torn from Pudgy’s oak tree and scattered about the campus.

The door to Briarcliff opened spilling a wedge of yellow light into the evening. Two shadows emerged from the mansion: Katelynn in front, Gilfoyle behind. Duncan, the security guard, ran towards them.

“Professor Gilfoyle! Professor Gilfoyle” Duncan waved his arms towards the helicopter that had now landed, “Do you think I better call the police? What’s going on here?”

Gilfoyle pushed Katelynn down the steps and towards the copter. The gun that he held pointed at the small of her back was briefly visible in the light. “No need to call the police, Duncan,” Gilfoyle cheerily answered, “they’re already here.” And, as if on cue, Reardon appeared, alone, on the path that ran from Jakes’ house.

“Everything is under control, Duncan,” Reardon confirmed as he marched briskly towards the confused security guard.

“Well, what’s with this helicopter, then?” Duncan stammered, “Shouldn’t they turn off their engine? They’re going to chop somebody’s head off with those blades. Shouldn’t I have got a call or something about this?”

Gilfoyle, pushing Katelynn before him, approached Duncan, “You’re right, Duncan, my oversight, but there’s a medical emergency.”

“Is Miss O’Brien all right?” Duncan asked as he turned from Reardon back towards Gilfoyle. “Maybe it would be faster if we just drove her to the hospital. It’s only a few blocks up the street. My car is just over behind Morton Hall. I’ll go get it.”

“Don’t bother,” Reardon said and just as Duncan turned his back towards the cop Reardon smashed the butt end of his police revolver down upon Duncan’s third cervical vertebrae and the security guard pitched head first into the swirling leaves.

“That was unnecessary, Reardon,” Gilfoyle said.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” the cop responded and shrugged.

“You’re probably right,” Gilfoyle agreed after a moment’s reflection and then he resumed pushing the struggling Katelynn towards the helicopter. “Everything set up at Jake’s house?”

“All set, professor.” Reardon grabbed the nearest of Katelynn’s arms, Gilfoyle the other, and the two men frog marched the terrified girl towards the chopper.

Katelynn began to scream terrible epithets and cries for help that were unheard above the whine of the engines and the steady thump of the blades. With a final coordinated heave Gilfoyle and Reardon tossed Katelynn onto the floor of the Sea King and then jumped in after her.

“All right, take her up!” Gilfoyle yelled to the pilot. The co-pilot turned, nodded and gave the thumbs-up sign. The two General Electric T-58-GE-402 turboshaft engines spun up and the helicopter leaned forward and levitated. On the floor of the Sea King Katelynn lay uncomfortably against a large, lumpy object covered in a coarse military blanket. The object let out a hoarse grunt when Katelynn pushed against it to sit up. She pulled the blanket back to see Bill, heavily sedated, his tongue thick and panting, his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Bill! Bill! It’s Kate, Bill! Wake up!” she furiously rubbed the dog’s muzzle, his ears, his shoulders.

The dog’s eyelids fluttered half open and then closed again. His breathing was heavy and labored.

Gilfoyle and Reardon settled into their seats and snapped the safety harnesses to the restraint clips. The Sea King flew up into the night.

Katelynn looked out the still open cabin door and then back at Bill and then back, again, at the void beyond the open door and then made her decision. “Bill, you take care of Jake,” she whispered to the unconscious dog, “I’ll find you, I swear to God I’ll find you.” And then she raced past Gilfoyle and Reardon and threw herself from the Sea King that was rapidly ascending above the campus trees and into the night.

Reardon turned to Gilfoyle, his face a mask of shock, and pointed to where Katelynn had been moments before.

“Forget about her,” Gilfoyle reassured him as the helicopter leveled off and sped towards the east, “we’ve got the dog. Jake will do anything for that fucking mutt. That’s all that matters.”

CHAPTER 5.10

INTERVIEW WITH MS. KATELYNN MARGARET O’BRIAN CONTINUED

Q
: You jumped from the helicopter?

KMO’B: Yes.

Q
: Did you have any idea as to the altitude at the time of your abrupt departure from the aircraft?

KMO’B: No. No I didn’t.

Q
: And you suffered no serious effects from this?

KMO’B: I got scraped up pretty bad when I landed in Pudgy’s tree. And I twisted an ankle when the branch broke and I fell to the ground. But, no, nothing too serious.

Q
: Pudgy’s tree?

KMO’B: It’s the tree where Pudgy, the squirrel, lives. You know, Pudgy, the campus squirrel. It’s an oak tree, okay? It’s not important.

Q
: All right. Then what happened; after you jumped from the helicopter, landed in a tree, a branch broke and you fell to the ground?

KMO’B: Duncan the security guard and Mrs. Halperin, Gilfoyle’s housekeeper, were there. Maybe I was out of it for a little while, because when I looked up they were standing over me. I told them we had to beat feet over to Jake’s house; we had to get there and save Zoë, Peter and Shelby. So we hauled ass to the house. That’s when I discovered that my ankle was twisted. I took one step and fell flat on my face. Duncan half carried me there.

Q
: And what did you discover when you arrived at Mr. Grant’s house?

KMO’B: Pete, Zoë and Shelby were handcuffed together in the kitchen and chained together to the kitchen table. They had towels, dishrags, whatever stuffed in their mouths. The door to the stove was open, the pilot light was out, and it was hissing gas. You could smell it as soon as we opened the door.

Q
: Okay. This is also corroborated by the statements of Mr. Hougan and Mrs. Halperin. [Note: see Annexes 05-04-31A Annexes 05-04-31B attached to this transcription].

KMO’B: Who is Mr. Hougan?

Q
: Mr. Duncan Hougan; the security guard. I thought you knew him?

KMO’B: Duncan’s last name is Hougan? I never knew that.

Q
: Yes, Duncan James Hougan the third. What happened next?

KMO’B: We turned off the gas, opened the windows and called the police. What do you think we did? Bake a cake? Light some candles to see how big an explosion we could make? I mean, seriously, what did you think we did? We couldn’t do anything about the handcuffs. When the cops showed up they unlocked them.

Q
: I have the police report here. [Note: see Annex 05-04-31C attached to this transcription]. Again, your statement is corroborated by the officers on the scene. I also see your statement to the police. [Note: see Annex 05-04-31D attached to this transcription]. It all seems to check out. The police unlocked Ms. Eingraben, Ms. Taylor and Mr. Felix from their restraints, took statements and dusted for prints. I also have the statements of Ms. Eingraben, Ms. Taylor and Mr. Felix here. [Note: see Annexes 05-04-31E, 05-04-31F and 05-04-31G, respectively attached to this transcription]. Apparently Mrs. Halperin slipped some pills into the dog’s prime rib. She doesn’t know what they were exactly except that they were blue and they were given to her by Professor Gilfoyle. I guess Mrs. Halperin wasn’t one of Bill’s fans on campus. Yes, here’s the quote from her statement, ‘The big dog would poop on our lawn, but I had no idea that this was what they were going to do to him.’ [Note: see Annex 05-04-31H, lines 155-6 attached to this transcription].

KMO’B: What a bitch.

Q
: I’m sorry Ms. O’Brian. What did you say?

KMO’B: I called her a witch.

Q
: To continue: apparently the EMT technicians insisted that you, Ms. Eingraben, Ms. Taylor and Mr. Felix spend the next 24 hours at the Watertown hospital under observation and you were released the following day. [Note: see Annexes 05-04-31I, 05-04-31J, 05-04-31K, and 05-04-31L attached to this transcription]. And then what occurred?

KMO’B: What do you mean, what occurred? I went home.

Q
: You returned to Mr. Grant’s house?

KMO’B: Yes. That’s my home.

Q
: Ms. O’Brian, I have no desire to play ‘twenty questions’ with you.

KMO’B: You’ve already used them all up if you were.

[Tape recording muted at this point.]

[Tape recording resumed.]

Q
: I apologize for that. Are you ready to continue?

KMO’B: Yes.

Q
: What was the next significant event?

KMO’B: It was about four days after I got back home from the hospital and logged on to the network…

Q
: Mr. Grant’s network?

KMO’B: Yes, Mr. Grant’s network, as you would say. Anyway, there was a message waiting for me.

Q
: From Mr. Grant?

KMO’B: From Jake? [Laughter] I guess you could say that. It was an automated message. Jake’s got a bit of an ego. Whenever somebody with a new IP logs on to his web site it generates a message.

Q
: What is an IP?