CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Monday morning
MARCUS WAITED PATIENTLY, while sitting on the front steps of his apartment building in New York’s Upper East Side. Although intensive physiotherapy was slowly restoring the full use of his leg, he found himself, once again, involuntarily caressing the spot where the bullet had entered his left thigh. With crutches at his side, he glanced up and down his street lamenting the perception that, like this morning’s commuters, his progress could be characterized as proceeding at an idle more than anything else.
He readily admitted that the pain was more mental than anything now. However, when his therapist suggested its phantom existence still bounced within his brain, form neuron to neuron, through passages reinforced by emotions associated with the original memory, he balked at the complexity of the notion, and thought otherwise.
Guilt was the primary culprit, Marcus knew. It still caused him to second-guess everything he did on that fateful day. Although protection specialist was not part of his official job description, never inferred, for that matter, it wasn’t long before the lines between employer and friend were blurred by the best that humanity has to offer itself. Residing on the extremities of comradery, loyalty, and, without uttering it, love, was never part of Marcus’s raison d’etre.
His wife, Tanya, was more than pleased when the moniker Uncle reduced the genetic overlap between her husband and Jennifer from some distant, prehistoric ancestor to something more familial in nature. Marcus’s bond with Simon’s family, after all, could now been captured in ways few relationships are sealed, with his blood. And although the loyal driver teased his employer that he was thankful Canadians valued the effort as much as they did the result, Simon likewise assured his friend that theirs was a covenant a father would never forget.
Simon smiled when his hybrid Escalade pulled over to the curb in front of the building where Marcus sat. With its temporary driver at the wheel, Marcus leaned his crutches against a nearby newspaper receptacle and climbed in the back with Simon. Conversations were usually intermittent during their drives together, however, with the essence of that horrible day still permeating every space the pair occupied, both men seemed eager to dispense with formalities. “Marcus,” Simon enthusiastically stated. “You’re looking good. How’s the leg?”
“Almost there, Boss. Thanks for stopping by. I think Tanya is sick of me moping around the house.” Marcus paused long enough for his replacement driver to step out of the vehicle. Simon had obviously arranged for some time alone. “How’s the new guy working out?”
“Very temporary, I can assure you.”
“Have you heard from Lionel, lately?” Marcus asked
“No, I haven’t. Have you?”
“We exchanged a few texts a week or so ago.”
Their back and forth banter was so refreshing to Marcus that he paid little attention to the audible prompt requesting Simon to refocus his attention on his tablet. “How ‘bout your father, how’s he doin’ lately?”
Simon looked downward, at his mobile device. “I messaged him earlier this morning. Sorry, Marcus, but I’ve got to take this.”
“Gary,” Simon announced. “What can I do for you?”
Gary’s face nearly filled the screen of Simon’s tablet. The furnishings behind him indicated he was calling from home. “Hey, Mr. Taylor. I’ve got two things you might be interested in. You’re probably already aware of the first one … that your friend Ms. Gill just made a sizable donation to the U.N.’s Africa Diversification Fund.”
Surprised by the news, Simon quickly swiped his tablet, transferring the video call to his cell. He held it up to his right ear. “How sizable?”
“Five million dollars,” Gary replied. “It got buried in a U.N. press release this morning. Most of it was about today’s IBC Conference.”
“That’s generous, isn’t it?” Simon replied. He presumed that the five million dollars came from one of the banks accounts that Allan Forbes had mentioned. The news cast an interesting light on the woman he thought he knew. “Is there anything more about it in the press release?”
Gary scrolled on. “It says the money’s to be used in conjunction with the newly formed Africa Genome Project. The AGP will attempt to eradicate systemic illnesses through genetic research associated with the larger, soon to be established, World Genome Endeavour.”
“Indeed,” Simon answered. “And the other? You mentioned there were two things.”
“Yeah, remember the conversation we had last Friday?”
“Of course.”
“I’m still pursuing a few of your suggestions, but I’ve managed to come up with something else. I’m not sure if I mentioned this before, but I know a guy who does out-sourced video surveillance for a few of the Fifth Avenue casinos.”
“OK,” Simon replied.
“They’re running some pretty sophisticated facial recognition software these days, so just out of curiosity, I asked him to filter through several PurIntel employees just to see what he came up with.”
“And,” Simon asked.
“Bingo. He came up with a few hits, but there’s one in particular that you might be very interested in.”
“Sounds interesting, Gary. I guess the salient question is, can we get our hands on that video?”
“We sure can. In fact, I’ve got it.”
Just then, another audible prompt drew Simon’s attention from his phone conversation back to his tablet. A real-time video of Simon’s father popped up on the screen. “Listen, Gary. Can you send me that video right away? I’ve got an important call coming in.”
“Of course.”
“Why don’t we get together once I’ve had a look at it?”
“Sounds good,” Gary said, before their conversation ended.
Simon instantly focused his attention on his other call. “Dad,” he stated, putting down his phone. He tilted his tablet upward in order that both he and Marcus could see it. “How are you doing? Are you at home?”
Simon then noticed a certain amount of erratic behaviour by his father. The webcam on his laptop seemed as though it was perched on the kitchen island, but Richard was going in and out of the camera’s field of vision. “Is everything alright?” Simon inquired.
“Yes, Yes,” Richard responded, still disappearing periodically.
Despite his father’s reassurance, Simon muted the mic on his tablet. “Sophia,” he stated.
A small bust of Sophia appeared in the top right corner of Simon’s tablet. “Yes?” she answered.
“Can you give me the video from every security camera in my father’s house?”
“One moment … they should be coming to you live now.”
Simon unmuted his audio and saw several framed perspectives of his father’s residence. He tapped on the one that offered the best visual.
“I’ve just got back from walking this bloody dog of your brother’s,” Richard stated. “He dropped it off here three days ago and I haven’t seen him since.”
Simon smiled as his father admonished the obviously excitable canine. “Down boy, down!” he heard. Marcus almost laughed out loud. He remembered seeing pictures of the otherwise handsome, medium-sized Golden Retriever mix during the July 1st long weekend.
After getting the leash off the over-grown puppy, Richard stated: “Alright … alright, if you’ll let me through I’ll get you a treat.”
“So he hasn’t been back since?”
“No,” Richard said. He straightened up from grabbing a couple of treats from a box under the sink. After tossing them in the dog’s bowl, he looked directly at his laptop camera. Simon still had a better view of the kitchen, though, from a well-placed ceiling-height perspective. Lionel’s dog, Dakota, Dak for short, was now devouring a couple of bone type treats. Richard took a deep breath and caressed his forehead. “I know I shouldn’t worry, but he’s never left the dog with me for this long. I’m afraid he’s … he’s at one of his old haunts.”
Marcus whispered: ?
??I’ll see if I can track him down.”
Simon muted the mic again. “Sophia, locate Lionel.” Another visual appeared on Simon’s tablet. Successive satellite shots of Toronto zoomed in and soon pinpointed Lionel’s active cell phone.
“I guess we all thought he was keeping his demons at bay,” Richard added.
Simon unmuted the mic again. “I’m in the middle of something right now, Dad, but if Marcus can’t get a hold of Lionel in the next couple of hours, we’ll try to get in contact with someone at his support group. Worse come to worst, Marcus says he’ll make the trip to T.O. himself.”
Marcus nodded his head.
“I’d go myself,” Richard stated, “but he doesn’t like seeing me when he’s … you know.” He glanced from his laptop to Dakota. The thought that his son might be experiencing another setback in his fight against PTSD caused Richard to offer cues as much visual as verbal. “I’ve been doing a little bit of reading. They say it’s all about the triggers; that it’s like living with one foot in the present and one in the past.”
Marcus got Simon’s attention by clearing his throat. “He mentioned something in an email about an ex getting engaged.”
Simon’s ambiguous facial expression suggested the woman to whom Marcus was referring might be his decade-long girlfriend, Shelley Demers. Both she and Lionel had aspirations of a longer-term relationship, however, after Lionel’s discharge from the Canadian Forces, Shelley was forced to acknowledge that she was being consumed by the process of trying to salvage what was left of her fiancé. Lionel, she discovered, wasn’t the only one needing to be saved. Their on-again-off-again relationship finally came to an end late last year. Shelley moved on. Lionel never did.
Simon looked at Marcus, and stated: “I’ll explain later.” He then returned his attention to his tablet. “Is everything else ok, Dad?”
Richard looked somewhat flustered, more by his son’s dog than anything else. “Everything will be fine when I’m rid of this new bunk mate of mine. You know he snores like a first class seaman.”
The nautical reference caused Simon smile. He could see that Dak was sitting at attention, right in front of his father. Their eyes seemed locked in a non-verbal embrace. “What?” Richard asked Dakota. “You’ve been walked. You’ve been fed. What more do you want?”
“You don’t mind if I leave you two alone?” Simon said to his father. “I’ll contact you as soon as we have word on Lionel?”
“Please do, will you?”
“We’ll talk soon, Dad.”
After letting his father go, Simon reluctantly suggested to Marcus that they too would have to pick up their conversation at another time. Simon’s temporary driver resumed his position behind the wheel and nodded at him in the rear-view mirror. The gesture was offered as a prompt to be on their way, that the time required to make this morning’s meeting might soon become an issue.
After agreeing that a return trip to Simon’s summer home was in order, Simon helped Marcus out of the SUV and made sure he was secure on his crutches. The short drive to their next destination was interspersed with a briefing by Sophia; names of those attending the meeting, likely agendas they might pursue, but having been forearmed with a framework of expectations, the concerns of only one person rose above all others.
Simon’s driver came to a stop at a security checkpoint and lowered his window. “Simon Taylor,” he announced, providing his cellphone’s screen for authentication.
After the softcopy document was scanned and confirmed, the guard simply stated: “You may proceed.”
When the gates swung open, The United Nations’ New York Headquarters loomed directly ahead.