Chris Mooney - World Without End

"Not unless he uses Dixon. He's the only one who can gain access to the lab and the suit without tripping the alarm system. If he kidnapped Dixon and, say, arranged a bomb scare or a fire something to get everyone out of the company then Dix could walk inside the lab and take the suit."

"That's an interesting scenario."

"We need to be prepared for the possibility."

"We are prepared. Pasha's at the Austin airport right now with a surveillance team and two Hazard Teams. Two other teams will follow you and Dixon to the skydiving school, and we've got Randy Scott inside Praxis. And Dixon's wired. Everything the man says or does, no matter where he goes, the surveillance teams will have a lock on him and we'll be ready. For the scenario that you just described to happen, Angel Eyes would have to kill off every member of the IWAC group."

"Maybe that's the plan the caller was referring to."

Bouchard was about to say something when he saw the look on Conway's face.

"You're serious," Bouchard said.

"This guy… it's like he's made of vapor. He walks into an army base and somehow manages to disappear with a Blackhawk helicopter with the optical camouflage technology. We still don't know how the hell he pulled that off unless there's something I don't know."

"We came in on that in the end, after the chopper was stolen. That one was strange, I'll give you that much, but this time, we're involved right from the beginning. Angel Eyes doesn't even know we're here."

"That suit offers total invisibility. Wearing it, being invisible you would be a god. He could walk in and out of any company he wanted, steal whatever he wanted. Shit, the guy could walk straight into the White House and assassinate the President." Conway twirled his coffee cup on the desk, stopped, and then said, "A man would go to great lengths to have that kind of power."

Bouchard propped his elbows up on the chair's arm, spread his fingers wide and then stared at his fingertips as he bounced them together.

"You really believe the shit's going to hit the fan today."

"The truth is we've studied what little intel we've got on this guy, and we're not any closer to discovering what makes him tick. He has an uncanny ability to stay off the radar screen. He reminds me of a bolt of lightning just pops out of the sky, strikes its target and then disappears."

"Does Dixon's sudden need to go skydiving have anything to do with why you're spooked?"

Late yesterday evening, Dixon called Conway at home and with a voice bursting with enthusiasm said that they were going skydiving first thing tomorrow morning. Conway, an experienced skydiver, had tried to talk him out of it, but Dix said no, he was going to do it with or without Conway.

"You've got to admit, it's odd," Conway said.

"Dix said he had to do it. Today."

"So?"

"So you don't know Dixon. This isn't his style. The guy suffers from panic attacks and he suddenly has the need to go skydiving? Come on.

It doesn't fit."

"You're suggesting that someone might have put him up to this."

It was a possibility, sure, but highly unlikely. Dixon's life was monitored around the clock. Every phone call, e-mail, fax, therapy session everything that the man had said or did for the past two years had been recorded and analyzed. If someone had contacted Dixon, the IWAC team would have known and would have immediately reported it to Conway.

That hadn't happened, of course. So why was that sick feeling still twisting inside his gut, telling him something was wrong?

It's Psychology 101, my friend. You're afraid that what happened with Armand is going to be repeated today, so what are you trying to do?

Control the outcome by minimizing the risks.

"I'm saying it doesn't fit," Conway said.

"I'll admit it's odd," Bouchard said.

"But Dixon's an odd duck. I talked it over with Pasha. Everything checks out."

In a flash, Conway recalled the day of Paul Devincent's funeral. His wife had died three years before of cancer, and now that he was gone, his two small boys, ages eight and six, would go to live with an uncle in San Francisco. Conway would never forget the haunted look on the boys' faces as they watched their father's coffin being lowered into the ground.

Paul Devincent shouldn't have died. If I had done my goddamn job, then those kids wouldn't be orphans.

"What do you want me to do, Stephen? Cancel the meeting and blow our one clear shot at taking this guy off the board?" Bouchard opened his hands in an inviting motion, his tone so patient, so understanding, that it grated on Conway.

Conway looked out the window. It was mid-October, about two weeks away from Halloween, the blue sky cloudless. Back home in Boston, the air would be cool and filled with the pleasant aroma of leaves and wood-burning smoke blowing from chimneys. But here in Austin, it was going to be another scorcher full of humidity.

"Stephen?"

"I voiced my concerns," Conway said.

"Do you find your team members talented?"

"Of course."

"Intelligent? Dependable?"

"You know I do."

"Do you trust them?"

Conway looked back and shot Bouchard a hard look.

"With my life."

"Then have faith in me when I tell you all the bases are covered.

Go skydiving, go to a movie, get him laid go wherever Dixon wants to go today. I want him nice and relaxed when he walks inside the airport with the CD. Dixon's the key to this operation."

"Understood," Conway said.

Bouchard leaned forward in his chair.

"Hindsight's great after the shit's hit the fan," he said.

"Hindsight loves to tell you what you should have done. I'm here to tell you that there was nothing, Stephen, nothing you or I or anyone else could have done that morning that would have prevented the Armand gig from turning sour. You're lucky you didn't die."

But two team members two of my friends did die, and I've also lost the laser rifle. Conway drank some of his coffee. The whole operation had turned FUBAR Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.

"I have confidence that it will go smoothly," Bouchard said, and stood up.

"You should, too. Just focus on Dixon."

"I won't let you down."

"You didn't let me down the first time, Stephen." Bouchard opened the door and then shut it behind him, leaving Conway alone in the quiet air-conditioned room.

Conway went to take a swig of coffee and saw a tiny clump of cream that had settled on the top. He thought of the evasive rat that once again, despite all the intense planning, had managed to thwart the trap and escape with the prized cheese.

The architectural plans for the penthouse suite were so odd, so unusual, that the condo association, naturally, had balked. But when it was explained that the owner suffered from a compromised immune system, the condo association, fearing a discrimination lawsuit, decided to let it go through. It certainly helped matters that each of the board members had received a handsome cash gift for their assistance.

The contractor who oversaw the construction had made a copy of the plans and had them framed. The two pictures had hung on the wall inside his home office until a burglar, for reasons unknown, stole them. The contractor died shortly thereafter, in his sleep, the victim of a heart attack.

The penthouse consists of three floors. The first and second floors are made up of wide, airy rooms with high ceilings and magnificent windows that offer sweeping, breathtaking views of the city of Austin, Texas. The floor is a seam-sealed white laminate called Mepalam; the corners of the room are rounded and leave no crevices, allowing for easier cleaning. Most of the third floor is uninhabitable; it is packed with bulky HEPA air-purification equipment and temperature controls that keeps the air inside the suite cool, even during the winter months. The refrigerated air and the Vesphene/Spor-Klenz cleaning solution keeps any bacteria or germs from incubating. At least, that's what his mind believes to be true.