F Wilson - Fatal Error

Good. Finding him there was hit or miss.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Just dropped one of your goons off by the curb-the guy who kidnapped Munir Habib's wife and kid. Do you know he cut off the kid's finger just for kicks-I mean after he broke into the computer and got the code. Nice buncha people you got in the Order."

"What are you talking about. Who-?"

"Yeah, he told me all about the game code and what you want it for. You jerks are sicker than I thought."

He broke the connection and turned off the phone.

There… that ought to rattle some cages.

This is a disaster, Ernst thought as he stared across his desk at Valez.

The man was a disheveled mess-bruised, battered, and missing his right thumb. All bad enough, but the phone call.

"Tell me again what happened."

"I already-"

"Tell. Me."

Valez sighed. "I was attacked. It was a case of mistaken identity. They thought I was someone else… thought I had information about something I knew nothing about. They tortured me until they realized they had the wrong man."

An absurd story, obviously concocted on the spot. Apparently he hadn't had time to make up something more credible.

"So… this had nothing to do with acquiring the code from Habib's computer?"

"No. Absolutely not. I'd already secured the code and released his wife and child."

"But not before amputating the child's finger."

Watching the blood drain from Valez's face, Ernst knew the caller had been telling the truth. It took all his will to restrain his fury.

"That's…" Valez's mouth worked in silence for a heartbeat or two.

Ernst forced a calm tone. "Don't bother denying it."

"How do-?"

"How do I know? That does not concern you. What I do not know is why you deviated from the plan. Your mission was to extract the code from Habib's computer without him knowing it. You were provided a scapegoat and a covering motive. I don't remember any mention in the plan of mutilating a child. Explain."

"I went a little crazy, I guess."

"You guess?"

"If he hadn't been an Arab, I would have been fine. But-"

"What does being an Arab have to do with anything? We have many Arab brothers in the Order."

Valez looked away. "But it's my sister I'm talking about. A flesh-and-blood sister who worked at Cantor Fitzgerald in the Trade Center. She'd been on the job just six weeks on nine/eleven when the jets hit. She was twenty-four years old. Since then I can't look at an Arab without wanting to kill him. So you can see why I went a little crazy."

Ernst repressed a scream of rage. "I see nothing of the sort. You were given a task-"

He looked up. "Which I successfully completed."

"Do not interrupt me!" Control… control. "Ever."

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me everything. I want a day-by-day account of every event as it transpired."

As Valez spoke, Ernst could not escape the crushing irony of the situation. James Valez, a member of the Ancient Fraternal Septimus Order, had quite possibly sabotaged the most important project in the Order's millennia-long history because of his hatred of Arabs as the culprits behind the fall of the Trade Towers. The irony? He was not a high-enough ranking brother to know that the Order itself had guided the Arabs who had guided those fatal jets.

Ernst might not have learned any of this if Habib had not hired some sort of detective to help him. As a result, Habib, his wife, the detective, the police, and who knew how many others were aware that Habib's game code had been the object.

But they could not know why… because Valez did not know.

Ernst gathered his thoughts. How to deal with this?

He could see only one path open to him.

"At the first inkling that you were becoming emotionally involved, you should have informed us and we would have replaced you."

"I know that now. I'm sorry. I swear to you, this will never happen again."

How right you are, Ernst thought.

"I believe you, and I accept your apology. You need medical attention, but we can't risk a hospital. Wait outside. Szeto will take you to a doctor who's a brother and will guarantee discretion."

Szeto came in right after Valez left.

"Is it as bad as you thought?"

Ernst nodded. "Yes and no. He could not have made a worse mess of it, unless he had failed to acquire the code. But he succeeded there, and Jihad has been set free and is spreading around the globe. So our plans remain unchanged."

"So, he suffers no repercussions?"

"Of course he does. He thinks you'll be taking him to a doctor. I do not wish him seen by a doctor, or anyone else, for that matter. See to it that he's never seen again. By anyone."

He smiled. "Consider it done."

"But before he disappears for good, remove the rest of his fingers. One by one."

The smile broadened… "Consider it done"… then faded… "We may have another problem."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"Could be."

Ernst closed his eyes. "What now?"

"Connell. He met with Fournier yesterday and mentioned 'Jihad.' "

Ernst felt a lead weight plummet into his stomach. This couldn't be happening. Not now. He could not allow Jihad to be connected in any way to the Order. If the virus was successful, it would not matter. But should it fail…

"How could he possibly…?"

"I don't know. But that may have been his real purpose all along-to spy on us."

"But for whom?"

"If you want my opinion-his sister."

Far-fetched but not impossible, though Szeto's opinions regarding that woman were automatically suspect.

"Round him up and find out what he knows, and who he's told."

A light glinted in Szeto's eyes. "His sister too?"

Ernst jabbed a finger at him. "What was the One's directive regarding that woman?"

The glint faded and he looked away. "No contact of any sort."

"Then why did you suggest picking her up?"

"I just thought-"

"Is there confusion on your part as to the meaning of 'no' being something less than an absolute?"

"None at all."

"Then banish that woman from your thoughts. We will not mention her ever again unless we are instructed otherwise."

If the One wanted her left alone, then left alone she would be. With the Great Change imminent, this was no time to jeopardize his store of goodwill with the One.

"As you wish. Since Connell has seen me, I will have to involve someone else in picking him up."

"Fournier will do. Did he take care of that hacker?"

"Last night."

"No links to us?"

"You know Fournier-very clean. But what of the remains of these two brothers?"

"The usual-q'qr them both. And I don't want them found."

Again, none of that would matter if Jihad succeeded and paved the way for the Change.

Jack idled the van next to a fire hydrant upstream from the Lodge as he waited for Valez to reappear. He figured they eventually had to find him some medical care.

Or maybe they wouldn't. The Order couldn't be happy with him after what Jack had told them.

Between periodic glances in the rearview to check for a passing patrol car-didn't want a ticket for parking here-he watched Kickers straggling in and out. One of those glances revealed Hank Thompson himself walking down the sidewalk. To further hide his face in case the hat and shades weren't enough, Jack scratched his cheek as Thompson passed. Thompson knew him as the guy who did a smash and grab on his Compendium of Srem almost a year ago. Things would get ugly if he recognized Jack. But he passed without glancing inside.

A little later, a vaguely familiar figure appeared-swarthy, dark-haired, with a unibrow and perpetual five-o'clock shadow, wearing a chrome-studded black leather jacket. Took Jack a few seconds to place him. He didn't know who he was, but he'd shown up in Weezy's hospital room last year, pretending to be a good Samaritan. What had he called himself? Bob Garvey. Yeah, right. Like a guy with a Czech or Polish accent would be named Bob Garvey. He'd tried to pump Jack and Eddie for information about Weezy.