Next morning, Jax found himself wide awake before 5.00 a.m. Curled up beside him, Brenda was fast asleep. Slowly, he edged away from her and, as she reached for him in her sleep, he took his pillow and eased it into her arms. She took hold of it, briefly buried her sleeping face in his aroma, smiled and hugged the pillow to her.
As Jax watched her, a wave of tenderness swept over him, but he resisted the urge to kiss her. There was something he had to do. "Sleep, Bren," he said. "I'll be back in a little while."
Wearing a warm robe and sheepskin slippers, he headed for the war-room where he checked the monitors. One screen was scrolling regularly, showing a steady stream of text. He made a note to ask Robert about that and a few other worrisome things.
Probably what woke me up so early, he thought. I need to be sure we don't have a communication breakdown while we're alone. He went to the stand-alone computer he'd used for his own private business since he came to the Catacombs and worked quickly and silently, until Robert joined him about an hour later.
"Good morning to you!" Robert said. "I didn't expect you to raise your head for another couple of hours."
"Back at you, chum! What's your excuse? I woke up suddenly about an hour ago with things on my mind. I decided to come in here and try to do something about what is bothering all of us!"
"What things?"
"Well, there's that #4 monitor. It scrolls continuously, too fast to read, but obviously there's a purpose to it. Is it recording somewhere?"
"Yes it is. I realized last night that I hadn't mentioned it to you. Glad you caught it yourself. Makes me feel you're on the ball, you understand?" Robert grinned at him.
"Yeah, I'll bet! So what is it?"
Monitor #4 proved to be the receiving station for all incoming news items, reports from field operatives, little items picked up around the world, anything that might indicate something somewhere that could be the beginning of trouble. Spotters all over the world picked up these items, gathered something like a press clipping service.
"You never know what might come through there to alert us to something serious going on. It includes things like personal ads, obituary notices that may be something else entirely, little bits and pieces gleaned from Internet Message Boards and Newsgroups. The netherworld runs the entire gamut of creative communication. It's up to us to catch what they put out there!"
"So you want me to monitor this, do you?"
"Yes. We'll look at what came in overnight. Every morning delivers a good cross-section of what goes on in the small corners of the world. You should have no trouble with it. Just open your mind, let your intuition guide you, suspect everything to have a hidden meaning and I am confident you will pick up what's there to see. You have good instincts, as I've had reason to learn at other times!
"O.K. What else woke you up and pulled you away from your bride?"
"I've been wondering about our power source, if there is any concern about failure, breakdown in this equipment, that sort of thing? What do we do in case there's a complete shut-down and we are unable to contact anybody?"
"Not to worry. We're using powerful generators and, while I have no reason to expect to need them, each generator has its own backup, so no problem. And remember, your hand-held monitor link is also a two-way radio, so you're never out of contact.
"As far as the equipment is concerned, it's state-of-the art with full battery backup and you can rest assured it will not break down; AND, as of later this morning, it will be vastly improved!"
"How so?"
"As we speak young Martin from the PICs, who brought his boat up the backwater to the Catacombs docks before dawn morning, is probably very busy in the park up above. Right over this area, there is what appears to be a little concrete hydro-electric service station, complete with high wire fence, High- Voltage signs, Danger, Keep Out and all that sort of stuff.
"While Martin's friends play a game of early morning touch football around the area, he will be inside where he will install one of the neatest little gadgets you've ever encountered. It's
a small, flat, compact design box, measuring only 15 x 8 x 1 inches. That will make it very easy and inconspicuous for Martin to install.
"Its German manufacturer calls it the Galaxis Future 1 Planar Satellite Antenna. It came onto the US market in October, but the WSB has been using it for some time. They confirm that it simplifies and enhances satellite and microwave reception and provides extremely fast wireless and mobile communication.
"The totally weatherproof design ensures continual maximum reception performance, ideal for mobile or remote installations, and perfect for the job here in the Catacombs. It has a range of over 100 TV and radio stations, and can receive both analog and digital satellite stations.
"This gizmo provides the highest possible access speed, perfect for what I am hoping you will do here while you are on your own, with time on your hands," Robert grinned broadly.
"And that is...?"
"Well, I too woke up early this morning, thinking up a storm! I remembered that, a while ago, your family was up against some sort of heavy-weight scam and you had good results with an exclusive sort of investigative agency. Can you talk about it?"
"Yes. We've had more than one occasion to do some really sophisticated undercover research. We were up against tough, high-class, executive type hoodlums who were out to make millions, even billions, through various kinds of manipulations, embezzlement, fraud, you name it, at our expense and our insurers. Why?"
"Two things. First, how would you compare Mr. Sonny Corinthos with these types you've had to deal with?"
"Tough as he may be, and I'm not underestimating him you understand, he is basically an upstart hoodlum. He is not in their league. The difference is, he operates outside the law, with token legitimate cover that fools nobody, so we know who he is. The folks we had to deal with were essentially high- class white collar crooks, masquerading as your average good guy next door. They became too clever for their own good, or we'd never have caught them. It's not the same ball-park, though they both will use violence with equal ease. What's the connection?"
"That's my second point. Do you think that your sources, the people you used, could investigate Corinthos's activities, right down to the bare bones?
"Could they find his bank accounts, all of them, locate his off-shore banks, what the sources are, where his income from Puerto Rico originates and how is it secreted, has he smuggled cash into the U.S.? What is the entire gamut of his activities? His so-called legitimate cover, his illegal businesses, where he's vulnerable - all the stuff that allows him to walk around freely while so proudly claiming that he runs a discreet business? Could your people do it?"
"Funny you should ask," Jax said. "I've been up a good hour longer than you have, and I've been busy. That ball is already rolling.
"Who do you use, if I may ask?"
"You may. For anything to do with marine investigation, there is a legal firm in Montreal, Canada, that has a partner who is an excellent marine fraud investigator. She saved us over sixty million dollars in two different situations. They only do marine work however, so they wouldn't apply here."
"She?" Robert enquired.
"Yeah! Amazing as it may seem, their primary investigator is a woman. Name is Deirdre O'Hara. She's young, beautiful, talented, one hell of an investigator with incredible connections, and an outstanding trial lawyer to boot. She's tops in her field.* (See note)
"If need be, I could ask her to refer us to the right person. However, first, I think we should contact another firm, also in Canada, in Toronto. They have done extraordinary investigative work for us. They are a combination of brilliant legal, accounting and private investigators. You've probably never heard of them, but we believe they're the best in the world.
"This company does not advertise - they have no need to. They specialize in extremely high-end criminal activity, involving multi-billions, on an international basis. Don't ask me how they do it, but there is hardly anything they cannot uncover, anywhere in the world. Their results speak for themselves."
"Sounds just about what we need right now. Tell me, why do you go to Canada for this type of work?"
"Simple. The Montreal firm happens to be the legal counsel for our marine insurers. The Toronto firm, on the other hand, is there because it suits them. Toronto is a large city, the hub of Canadian business, with all sorts of international activity. For a company like this, operating internationally as it does, it is useful not to be bound by restrictions that might hamper activities if it were, say, in downtown New York. They are low key, high-tech, silent, efficient. Toronto is a good town for that type of firm. Canadians tend to mind their own business.
"They have a base here, and in several other centers around the world, but they like contact to be made in Toronto from where they handle the details. Very reliable, very confidential.
"What would you like them to do, beyond what I've already requested?"
"Already? Depends on what you requested! I'd like them to strip Mr. Corinthos's business activities, all of them, down to the bare bones, find and analyze every single thing he does or ever has done, and lay it out where I can see it in great detail.
"Now that my little gizmo has boosted your mechanical working speed by several hundred percent, I expect you to be very quick about it! On top of that, I've no doubt you have plenty of experience in checking out backgrounds. I'm sure you will try to provide them with as much basic information as possible."
"I already have," Jax told him. "But I will keep at it."
"We should clear up this drug thing in only a few more days, the way it looks now, so you can expect us back before you know it. You're committed here for another ten days, Jax. I want us to get to the bottom of Corinthos and make a plan of action before the end of that time. Can you do it?"
"I can't promise specifically, but I can tell you that I will spare no effort or expense, leave no stone unturned. I have a very personal interest in the success of this mission.
"Thank you for including me in the action with this, Robert. Being your eyes and ears around the world is fine, but this is personal for me, you understand?"
"I do. What we all need to understand is that this man has many faces. In Port Charles, he's a sort of local myth. He's the poor little boy from the wrong side of the tracks who has made good. Lila Quartermaine likes him, smiles and makes him welcome, and now thinks he is accepted in the highest circles of Port Charles! He doesn't realize it's one of the few chances she gets to aggravate Edward.
"He's kidding himself, of course. Part of him has no illusions whatsoever about the Qs, but the other part wants to believe. The reality is, he's swimming in a shoal of smiling barracudas whose goal is to devour him! What better company could he have!
"Nobody really knows Corinthos, not even Luke Spencer who's as close to him as anybody is ever likely to get. As I've said, he perches on his stool at Luke's, watchful eyes constantly sweeping the environment, spreading largesse to those he favors, while scowling and snarling at the rest of the world. He moves like a mole in the underworld, but, as we are discovering daily, he's more like an octopus. His tentacles seem to be everywhere.
"Corinthos will not be brought down by open confrontation, by threats or by force. He is too powerful for that. We, on the other hand, are handicapped by not knowing the actual extent or quality of his power, or his power base. He has an invisible thug army and he operates and thinks on their level. That, and his cunning, are part of the secret to his success.
"His history is complex - the abused child. His father, who's back in his life by the way, abandoned him and his mother when he was a toddler. He had an abusive step-father who was a cop, ended up on the street and, as a pre-teen, apprenticed himself to the notorious mobster, Joe Scully in Brooklyn. Scully was a real old-style crime lord who shot first and didn't bother to ask questions later. Sonny seems to have little taste for real violence, but never underestimate him. The potential is there.
"What we need is a strategy. But, first, we need information - all the information there is if possible, and if not that, then all we can possibly gather. Then we'll decide how to proceed. I'm really hoping that the information we've sent to the local police forces will get them started on grass roots enquiries that we couldn't hope to make. It could make all the difference.
"We also need to keep a close eye on what ELQ is doing. His seat on that board is his sole claim to legitimacy, which doesn't wash as far as I'm concerned. We may have to put pressure on that end as well. I could always trust Edward Quartermaine to walk very close to the edge. I'm not sure about Ashton, the current CEO. We'll just watch that for the time being."
So it was settled. They briefly checked the print-out of the overnight information and put it aside for Jax to examine later.
At about 8.00 a.m. Robert went back to Anna and Jax to Brenda. As he climbed under the covers, she opened her eyes and, puzzled, looked at the pillow she was hugging.
"Why do I have your pillow?" she asked. "You've been up already?"
"I woke up early, before five. I felt restless, so I went to the war-room for a bit, just to check on things. I gave you the pillow - didn't want you to be cold and lonely :)!"
"Oh, really? Well, your pillow is no substitute, so get in here and let me hug the real thing :)!"
"Happy to oblige, my lady :)!"
Loving arms about one another, secretly, and separately, they both wondered at their driving need for one another. The way they both really WANTED the intimacy, the closeness, the union of their spirits, minds and bodies had a sacred, almost unearthly feeling to it.
And once again, time stood still as they consummated their love with a mixture of tenderness, passion and great joy.
Later, dressed in black cords and white turtleneck Armani sweaters, still deeply absorbed in one another, they strolled into the dining area.
"Good God!" Jax exclaimed, while Brenda gave a little squeal and grabbed for his arm.
Sitting calmly at the table, eating pancakes and maple syrup, were two "strangers."
The man's brown baggy pants, down-at-heel boots, and plaid flannel shirt had seen better days. He wore a ragged looking jacket that might have been a respectable Harris Tweed in another lifetime. With his dirty, straggly red hair and drooping moustache, he looked extremely unfriendly.
The woman was much the same. Her hair looked as if it hadn't been washed or combed for months,. Her face was dirty, her eyes baggy, she showed two black teeth the moment she opened her mouth to croak "Good morning gentles!" and her clothing was nothing more than layer upon layer of rags. Red woolen stockings showed beneath the uneven hem of her many-layered, ragged skirt and her boots might have been worn by the first hobo ever born.
Robert and Anna were in disguise, ready to drift down river in Martin's launch.
"Sorry to scare you," Anna said. "We told you nobody would see us and, as you can see, we meant it! What do you think?"
"Nobody WILL see you!" they both agreed.
"Probably won't spare either of you a second glance," Jax laughed. "Anyone who comes close will expect your hand to be out for a donation toward your next bottle of booze and they won't be able to hurry away fast enough! Am I mistaken, or do you pong to high heaven?"
"We pong! Essence of garbage can! Exactly the effect we want.
"Come, hold your noses and have some breakfast. You two look like you need real sustenance, to build up your energy!" he grinned at them.
Early in the afternoon, Robert and Anna slipped out through the secret passage, to meet with Martin. He would take them down river on the next leg of their journey towards the capture of the drug smugglers who, by now, were well on their way to Miami and a rendezvous with their destiny.
Meantime, over in Port Charles...
Mac Scorpio locked his office door and sat down to study the file, copy of which he had given to Alex Garcia the night before. The more he looked, the more he realized that Sonny Corinthos was running an operation, the scope of which he couldn't have imagined even in his wildest dreams. And nothing he could do! So far, at least. He wondered how much more there was that hadn't been uncovered yet.
Mac hoped Garcia was making headway with the computer searches, and he wondered what the new guy, Conn O'Flaherty, late undercover cop from Manhattan, ex-marine, sometime soldier of fortune, would be like, how he would fit into the department.
He had liked O'Flaherty on sight. The bleak pain in his deep blue eyes and the stern set of his features rejected any hint of sympathy for the recent loss of his family in that terrible crash. A seasoned undercover operator, battle-scarred veteran of many an encounter with the seamy side of law and order, up until now, he was very successful at his job. "A regular Serpico!"
As Mac reflected on the man's tragedy and the courage it took to start afresh in a place like Port Charles, he wondered if the losses he suffered had soured him. Had they dulled his edge for undercover work or, most important, his fighting instinct, his ability to protect himself? His was about to take on a dangerous job, one that would demand all his wits and every skill, if they hoped to nail down Corinthos in the weeks, maybe months ahead.
He had just about finished perusal of the file when the phone rang. It was Garcia to tell
him that O'Flaherty would arrive in Port Charles, by bus, within the hour. He had been
instructed to go to Mac's home after dark. They would both meet him there.
It was dark outside. In Mac's living room, the fire was burning nicely in the fireplace. He and Garcia talked about departmental affairs, Sonny Corinthos's return as Luke Spencer's partner at Luke's Club and what, if anything it might mean; they spoke briefly about Robin and how happy she is at Yale, small talk about this and that...
Purposely, they avoided discussion of the file contents and the problems it presented for
them, the department and Port Charles. They had no plan. That would come later.
The dinner for three, the Blue Plate Special from the Outback, that Mac had ordered to honor their guest, just arrived and was in the warming oven. The table was set and the wine was ready, as they waited for him to arrive.
It was perhaps another ten minutes before there was a knock at the door and Conn O'Flaherty entered. At some time or other, his nose had been broken and oddly reset. It lent a touch of character to the strong face, with its high cheekbones, square cleft chin. Probably got it in the boxing ring, from the look of him, Garcia surmised. **
The penetrating, deep blue eyes beneath straight dark brows swept the room and rested on the two men there. He wore a black track suit and carried a very well-worn tan leather jacket. His most surprising feature was a mane of tangled black, curly hair which was almost shoulder length.
"I hope I'm not late Commissioner. I took a walk about town and detoured farther from here than I intended."
"No problem, Conn. I'd like you to meet Detective Alex Garcia. We're just about to have dinner. We thought you might enjoy a quiet meal before we point you toward the front lines."
"A pleasure." O'Flaherty had not missed Garcia's reaction to his appearance. With that and the contradiction of his obvious Harvard accent, he wasn't surprised.
After a dinner that all three had obviously enjoyed, Mac told him about the bits of seemingly inconsequential information that had come over the wire during the past several weeks, and the conclusions he had reached only the day before when vital links arrived that began to pull it all together and to point in one inescapable direction. He passed over the file.
O'Flaherty knew of Corinthos. His reputation was well known and respected in the New York underworld. He was silent when they told him they had no idea where the information originated.
Then Mac explained why he had asked him to report in away from the office. He would like Conn to go under cover in Port Charles immediately, while preserving his identity and full anonymity for as long as possible, even from their own police force. They talked some about his covert experiences in New York and, as it happened, there was a stint in Chicago as well as a year spent in Washington doing the same sort of thing.
O'Flaherty grinned, a brief brilliant flash of perfect white teeth in his tanned, usually somber face, and looking directly at Garcia, in a surprisingly nasal Brooklyn accent, he said "That's why I never have a haircut Commissioner. Special dispensation. When one's slouching around the highways, byways and alleys of Brooklyn, it's best to look the part."
"Mac, call me Mac. That's impressive!"
"Personal camouflage is very important, Mac. Some people use language labs to learn Spanish or whatever. Where I was trained, you learn how to speak with any dialect of any American suburb you care to select within two weeks." **
"Police work has many faces, and it changes every minute." Mac moved away from the
table. "Right, gentlemen. Let's discuss what we have here and see if we can develop a
plan."
Back in the Catacombs...
Jax and Brenda had a quiet dinner on the small table by the fire. They talked about Robert and Anna, speculating on where they might be now, when they might be back.
As they sipped an after-dinner brandy, Jax reminded Brenda about the suggestion she made after their honeymoon that they might go into business together. Had she thought any more about it?
"No, but it seemed like a good idea then. Maybe I should think about it for real. I just don't know what kind of business would be good, something that would be interesting for both of us."
"It doesn't have to interest both of us. It just has to be a good business idea and if it's a special interest for only one of us, that's OK. We can make it work together."
"So what kind of business do you think would be good?"
Jax thought for a minute. "I think it should be something that really interests you and I will do whatever I can, make it possible for you to do it, help make it a success. You don't check out shopping possibilities on the Internet much, do you?"
"No, I haven't had the time. What's that got to do with it?"
"It's only a suggestion, but you could look, window-shop if you like, and see if you get inspired, maybe find some ideas about what kind of business we might want to try."
"What a neat idea. It's neat, even if I don't find any business ideas. When can we do it?"
"Why don't I go get a lap-top and set you up right here by the fire? You can check it out while I do a final check-up in the war-room for the night. Then I'll come and join you and we'll search together. How does that sound?"
"It sounds just great. Let's do it, right now!"
While Brenda was happily window-shopping on the Internet, Jax was in the war-room, looking thoughtfully at the web-page of a private search-engine that linked him to resources very few people could access.
What I need, he was thinking, is an ally, one with similar concerns, similar but non-conflicting interests, someone with whom I can forge a common bond for a purpose.
He sat silently for quite some time, his eyes gazing through the screen into inner space, thoughts flowing freely through his consciousness, seeking the best way to proceed. Finally, in the search box, he entered a name: STEFAN CASSADINE.
Notes:
* The character "Deirdre O'Hara" is a lawyer and maritime investigator in the series by Maurice Gagnon. The setting of the novels is Montreal, Canada.
** Conn O'Flaherty was modeled on "Captain Tony Villiers", a character in the book,
"Touch the Devil" by Jack Higgins.
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