The God Complex: A Thriller Page 7

“Twenty missed calls,” said Rigs, appearing silently by his side in the hotel lobby, checking his own cell.

  Cash led the way out to the car. “Let’s go before there are any more.” Rigs eyed the patrol car Sanders had loaned them. “Something a bit less conspicuous perhaps?” he suggested.

  “I think it’s perfect.” Cash jumped in and hit the police lights.

  Rigs’ look of disapproval flickered and disappeared as the strobe lights cried out to his inner child. “Cool!” he said jumping in. While Cash drove, Rigs prepared the weapons. The Surenos were about to wish that real cops were coming to call on them.

  Cash’s phone buzzed again, followed by Rigs’.

  “We need to call in at some point,” said Rigs.

  “You already did,” Cash reminded him.

  Rigs looked at him. “You know I’m not very good with those calls,” he said without a hint of irony.

  Cash nodded. “What did you tell them?”

  “‘Cancel the President’s trip, something’s happened’.”

  “What did you tell them had happened?”

  “Just that, ‘something’.”

  “You called in and said six words?” asked Cash, shaking his head. Sometimes he wished Riggs could be a little more talkative.

  “I know,” said Rigs proudly. “That’s good for me.”

  “Yes it is,” agreed Cash, biting his tongue. “After the Surenos, we’ll call in.”

  ***

  Office of the National Security Advisor

  White House

  Washington

  “Son of a bitch!” shouted Travis Davies, Director of the CIA, slamming down the NSA’s handset for what seemed the hundredth time.

  “Not answering?” asked Vince Walters, the National Security Adviser. Travis shook his head. He had been trying to call ‘his boys’ since the call came in about Hubble 2’s demise. Initially, their phones had been uncontactable but they had started ringing out an hour earlier. He knew they were alive. The report in front of him was a transcript of Rigs’ call an hour earlier, precise to the point of uselessness. The man barely uttered a word other than to Cash, with whom he seemed to converse normally. Travis had grown tired of the speculation from the psychologists as to what was wrong with Rigs. He didn’t care; as long as Cash kept him in line and the two did what they did best, he was happy.

  “You gave your boys the red line number?!” screamed the Secret Service Director bursting into the office.

  Travis looked around at his Secret Service colleague, Paula Suarez. She was very sexy when she was angry.

  “Jesus, you’ll make me come in my good suit,” he smiled wickedly.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Paula screeched.

  “Please, don’t,” he winced, much to Vince’s amusement.

  “Did you or didn’t you?” she shouted, her face reddening.

  “I don’t recall.”

  “So it’s a coincidence that a local cop in Santa Cruz prank-called the President at the UN?!”

  “Is that what that was?” he asked, laughing. They had both seen the feed of the President answering the call during the introduction at the UN.

  “It’s not funny,” she chastised. “Idiots!” She left, slamming the door behind her.

  “Did you?” asked Vince.

  “Did I what?” asked Travis, pointing towards where Paula had stood.

  “The number? Did you give them the number?”

  “Maybe, in case of an emergency.”

  “Shit,” said Vince. “She’ll have you for that.”

  “Do you think?” Travis asked with a grin.

  Vince looked at where Paula had stood. “Have you?” he asked again. Travis smiled, but before he could answer, his phone rang. “Travis Davies,” he answered.

  “Mr. Director, it’s Cash.”

  “About fucking time!”

  “Rigs updated you?”

  “You’re kidding, right? I’ve got a six word transcript in front of me!”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Cash looking forlornly at Rigs. Sometimes he wished Rigs was normal; it would save Cash having to do all the explaining. “It’s been a tough night.”

  “Sorry, of course, your father. My condolences.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m fine, which is more than can be said for the assassins who attacked us last night. One dead here and another three dead in a car we passed two blocks from here.”

  “I expect nothing less.”

  “It wasn’t us.”

  “So who?”

  “No idea,” said Cash quickly. He was flicking through the files as he spoke. Rigs looked at him with some concern but

  Cash shook his head and motioned for Rigs not to interrupt him.

  “Anything else?” asked Travis.

  “No, sir.”

  “Keep in touch,” said Travis.

  “Why didn’t you tell him about all this?” asked Rigs, thumbing through the papers.

  “Because,” Cash flicked back the few pages he had just thumbed through and turned them to face Rigs.

  “What?” he asked, glancing at the pages. He let out a low whistle. “Shit!”

  “Yep, we’d have implicated ourselves as part of the hit team.”

  “So the President was the target?”

  Cash shook his head. “Publicly maybe but no, I think the target was the telescope. Come on, let’s get this stuff out of here before the cops arrive.”

  “Travis?” asked Rigs.

  “He’d have killed us first.”

  “Good point,” said Rigs.

  “But he did send us here…” Cash considered. “You drive,” he said, throwing Rigs the keys.

  “We were an obvious choice, given your father.”

  “True. Twelve blocks west and then hang a left to get us back to the hotel.” He returned his attention to the files.

  “Oh my God,” he said after a couple of minutes.

  “What?”

  “The Vice President, it’s all linked to the disarmament!”

  “He’s pro-gun,” said Rigs.

  Cash shook his head in despair. “It’s all bullshit, unless you received a $5 million dollar payment as disclosed here?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Well I certainly didn’t get the $6 million they’re saying I got!”

  “They paid you more than me?!”

  “No,” replied Cash. “Nobody paid us anything, Rigs.”

  “Yes, but they didn’t pay you more than me!”

  “Six is more than five, so yes they did pay me more than you.”

  “Yes, that’s what I said. They didn’t pay you…more than me.”

  “What?”

  “They paid you virtually more than me.”

  “Virtually, six is quite a lot more than five.” Cash grinned.

  “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”

  Cash nodded.

  “Did they even pay you six?”

  “No,” laughed Cash. “They didn’t pay me five, exactly the same as you.”

  “I’m pleased to see you can see the funny side of this,” Rigs said. “We’re being set up as fall guys.”

  “We’ve got their evidence, plus we didn’t get the money, we can prove that.”

  Rigs pulled to a stop at the hotel lobby. “Let me see the transfers.”

  Cash handed them over and waited while Rigs used his smart phone to access his bank account. The money wasn’t there.

  “See,” said Cash, we’re fine.

  Rigs kept scrolling through his account. Several seconds later, he turned the phone around so Cash could see the screen.

  “At 5:01 this morning $5,000,000.00 was deposited into my account before being redirected to another account at the same time, which I guess from the code is a numbered private account.”

  “So if anyone checks, you received $5 million dollars?”

  “Try yours,” advised Rigs.

  “I’ll have to call them, I don’t have online banki
ng.”

  “So call them.”

  “I don’t know the number or my account details!”

  “Seriously?”

  Cash shrugged.

  ***

  “They’re back,” said Steve, the DIS Team Leader into his cell, nodding to his colleague across the lobby.

  “Have they got the evidence?” asked his boss, Mike Yates.

  “Yes, I recognize the files they’re carrying.”

  A young woman with a pram walked across the lobby of the hotel and pressed the ‘Up’ button on the elevator as Cash and Rigs approached.

  “We can take them out. What do you want us to do?” asked Steve.

  “Take them, but only if you can do it quietly,” Mike instructed.

  ***

  Cash watched the numbers descend while Rigs cooed at the pram next to them. He’d always been the same around babies, they seemed to be immune to his awkwardness.

  “What’s your baby’s name?” asked Cash.

  “Err… Lacey,” replied the young mother.

  Cash smiled. “You sure?”

  “Yes,” she said confidently, looking down at the bundle of blankets that covered her baby.

  Rigs took out a $50 bill. “A little something for her,” he said more to the baby than the mother, his hand moving down towards the bundle.

  “No, please don’t touch her!” the mother said sharply, surprising both Rigs and Cash. Rigs always did the same thing. He didn’t want kids himself but always spoiled them.

  “Are you alright?’ Cash asked. The mother was becoming increasingly agitated, looking around wildly.

  “Perhaps we’ll catch another elevator,” offered Rigs, his head dipping.

  “No, it’s fine,” said the young mother. “Please, I just don’t like anyone touching him.”

  “Him?” asked Cash.

  “My baby,” replied the woman, sweat pouring from her brow.

  Rigs hadn’t missed it either. “Lacey is a him?”

  The young mother glanced across the lobby at Steve. He winced at her performance and shook his head imperceptibly. The woman took off at a run, leaving behind her baby. Cash and Rigs had a decision to make. Was she a kidnapper or a bomber? What was really in the pram? Cash went for bomb and pushed the pram into the opening elevator. The steel elevator encased by three concrete walls would contain a significant portion of any blast.

  Rigs followed it in, snatching back the blankets to reveal a silenced pistol.

  “I think maybe we should find another hotel,” said Cash.

  “I’d vote another town, state, or country, personally.”

  Chapter 15

  Travis stared at the phone long after Cash had hung up.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Vince.

  “I’m not sure, something they’re not saying.”

  “Your go-to guys are holding out on you?”

  “Maybe,” said Travis, recalling the conversation. Cash’s tone had notably changed from the beginning to the end of the call. “And they’re not my go-to guys.”

  “Yeah. It just so happens that anything you get involved in, your boys turn up?”

  Travis ignored him. The breaking news story on the NSA’s TV screen had caught his attention.

  ‘Presidential assassination attempt failed’ scrolled across the TV screen on the back wall of the office. He hit the volume control.

  “…interrupt for breaking news from California. The attacks in Santa Cruz earlier this morning are being confirmed as a failed attempt to assassinate President Mitchell. President Mitchell, who today has signed the historic disarmament treaty, was due to visit the location of the attack later today…”

  “Why are we just hearing this bullshit now?” asked Travis.

  Vince was already grabbing for his phone, asking himself exactly the same question. He demanded that the press secretary get his ass in gear and into his office in the next five seconds.

  “Blindsided us, sir,” explained the press secretary. “They haven’t even asked us for a comment.”

  “I take it you’ve spoken to them now?”

  He nodded. “They say they’ve got enough hard evidence to implicate half the Hill. They’ve passed on the details to the authorities.”

  Vince blanched. “Okay, go.” The press secretary fled. “What exactly were your boys doing in Santa Cruz?”

  “Don’t even go there,” Travis said. “They were there to protect the President!”

  “Because you were worried about a threat to him?”

  “There were faint whispers coming through from our sources about a major hit in California and I thought better be safe than sorry.”

  “So the CIA just happened to have two of its most accomplished assassins on site?”

  Travis nodded.

  “CIA assassins who have no place working in the continental United States?”

  “Whatever went down today, it had nothing to do with the President and everything to do with Hubble 2,” Travis said. “Let’s not forget what we lost today.”

  “I won’t, but it’s not me that’s going to be running the investigation, nor me having to explain the presence of two illegal hitmen and a pile of dead bodies.”

  “You’re making it sound way worse than it is.”

  “Yet nowhere near as bad as it’s going to look out there.” Vince pointed towards the corridors of the White House.

  “I need to speak to the President, this is bullshit.”

  “I agree,” said Vince. “Something smells very bad...”

  A knock on the door interrupted him.

  Paula Suarez was back, although this time not alone.

  “Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind standing up and stepping away from the desk please.”

  Both looked at her with some surprise. Travis spoke first. “Sorry?”

  “Agents,” said Paula, looking at the six burly men who had accompanied her. They moved forward quickly and had both men detained in handcuffs with little effort.

  “What?” Travis roared. “What’s this for? Sexual harassment?”

  “No. Treason!” she said with disgust.

  “T-Treason?” choked Vince. “I am the National Security Adviser. Are you fucking joking?!”

  ***

  Cash paced outside Sophie’s room. He didn’t know how he was going to tell her he was leaving. Their five rooms lay at one end of the eighth floor. Rigs was holding the service elevator at the far end, urging him to hurry.

  Cash knocked on the door and waited. The door swung open. Sophie wordlessly turned and walked back into the main body of the room and stared at the TV screen.

  “I came to say…err…well… to say that, err…” he tried explaining but then stopped dead in his tracks when he glanced at the television.

  A photo of his boss, CIA Director Travis Davies, appeared on the screen and underneath the caption read ‘Charged With Treason’. Another photo scrolled onto the screen, that of the Vice President of the United States and the caption remained unchanged. Photo after photo scrolled across the screen and the caption stayed in place. The Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of State, the National Security Adviser, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the photos continued to scroll.

  “Rigs!” Cash shouted.

  Rigs rushed in, sweeping the room with his P90. Cash pointed at the TV set. Rigs remained speechless until the last two photos scrolled onto the screen.

  The caption did change, however only one of the words changed. ‘Charged’ became ‘Wanted’ as Cash and Rigs’ photos appeared on the screen.

  Chapter 16

  President Mitchell stared sullenly across the White House lawn. Darkness was setting on a day that should have changed the world for the better. For 99.99% of the population of the world that was true. For Dave Mitchell, the current President of the United States, it couldn’t have been darker. Yes, he had signed the historic agreement that would rid the world of its greatest threat, but on the same day he discovered that many men and women he wou
ld have entrusted with his life had plotted to kill him.

  “It’s been a shocking day,” said Lynne Bertram, his Attorney General, the chief law enforcement officer in the United States. , taking her seat on the sofa next to Paula Suarez.

  President Mitchell turned and faced the room. He was back in the Oval Office after spending the better part of the day locked in his Emergency Operations Center for his own security. The evidence linking the attacks in Santa Cruz to a presidential assassination plot had been delivered during his flight back from New York. His return to Washington had not been with the fanfare he had anticipated. Instead, he was rushed to the bunker under a shroud of bodies and held captive for his own protection.

  The White House was still in lockdown. Treble the number of Secret Service Agents were on duty with a small army in reserve at a moment’s notice. Nobody was taking any chances.

  “Have any of them explained why?” he asked, still perplexed. Many of those implicated with irrefutable evidence were lifelong friends.

  “Because of you signing the disarmament treaty,” replied Paula who, along with the Attorney General, was leading the investigation. They were in fact two of the very few people allowed to meet with the President. Even those not implicated were being security checked before they were given access to the President.

  “I know what the evidence says, but nobody knew it was going to happen,” protested the President.

  “You knew,” said Lynne candidly.

  “Yes but—”

  “And other world leaders knew,” added Paula.

  “In fact, was it not just a very well organized and superbly executed plan to force Russia and China to sign an agreement that nobody thought possible?” asked Lynne accusingly.

  President Mitchell nodded; it had been an ingenious plan to rid the world of the weapons everyone knew could and probably would, one day, destroy the planet. Whether at the hands of a legitimate government or, more likely, at the hands of terrorists who had managed to steal them, the weapons had no place in the modern world. Antoine Noble was one of the world’s most coveted philanthropists and when he had floated the idea, President Mitchell had jumped at it. It was to be his crowning glory. Deep into his second term, President Mitchell had led an unremarkable presidency. The economy was slowly rebuilding after the economic crash, wars were winding down, and the number of unemployed was gradually falling. His epitaph in history was going to be unremarkable until that day, whereupon his signature had changed the face of the world for the better. Now, however, the same day that he would go down in history was the day his own people tried to assassinate him. The British had had Guy Fawkes who, over four hundred years earlier, had plotted against his government and who, over four hundred years later, was still commemorated for having done so. The US now had its own treasonous plot to commemorate. His unremarkable presidency was now about to live on into immortality. What he’d give to have remained unremarkable.