Chapter 54

  Mr. Smith wasn’t easily impressed, but he was very impressed by the escape device that Choi had deployed. The flash-bang had given the man just enough of a distraction for him to escape. With Choi gone, they had no choice but to search his office for clues as to who hired him. After a long and extensive search, they had found nothing until one of Mr. Smith’s men, who was searching Choi’s bookshelf, found a stack of photos stuffed inside a cigar box.

  "I think I might have something," the men said.

  "Yea, what is it?" Mr. Smith asked while continuing his search in a stack of paper piled on the floor.

  "I found some photos, and a couple caught my interest."

  "Hand them all to me," Smith said as he walked over to the man and held out his hand.

  The first two photos proved interesting, but the rest he threw on the floor after a quick scan. He studied the people in the pictures very closely. One was Tim Choi, sitting at a table with an older white man drinking beer in what looked like a local watering hole from the bar in the back of the photo. The second photo was of the same two men with an Asian woman standing between them with a brilliant smile. The woman was quite a bit younger than the two men and very attractive for her age, Smith thought. The photos appeared to have been taken recently as Choi looked approximately the same, although Smith knew that could be deceptive. He looked at the back of the photos for any writing or time stamps. He found none. The Caucasian man looked big, chiseled, and tough, and Smith looked at his face intently. This man seems to be the right age. The man could have been a tourist from anywhere in the world, but Smith doubted it. He believed the man to be local and probably the man they were looking for. At last, he had something to go on.

  Late the next afternoon, Mr. Smith found the identity of the man and woman in the photo after showing it to a waitress in the second bar he entered. The man was the owner of the Mongoose Club, and the woman was the manager of one of the most popular nightspots in Phuket. He asked her if she knew where the owner lived. That’s when the girl became suspicious and drew the line even though she knew the answer to his question.

  Smith walked into The Mongoose Club at four in the afternoon and immediately recognized the bar in the photo. He walked to the exact spot where the photo was taken, sat down at the same table, and picked up the menu. The night action had yet to start, and the club only had a handful of customers. A pretty girl approached his table and asked if he wanted something from the bar.

  Smith ordered a coke, and when the waitress returned, he asked, "Is the owner or manager in right now?"

  "Why is something wrong?" the waitress asked.

  "No, I'm doing a story on Phuket nightlife for a magazine I work for, and I just wanted to ask either one of them a few questions."

  "Wow, you're a writer…what magazine do you work for?"

  Mr. Smith wasn't expecting that question and quickly said, "The New York Times." He realized his mistake as soon as it escaped his lips.

  The girl looked puzzled for a moment and said, "Isn't that…a newspaper?"

  "You are absolutely correct, my dear. I write for a travel magazine that isn't well known but is owned by the New York Times.

  "Oh…Okay…the manager is working in her office right now. I could ask her to join you if she isn't busy."

  "Is the owner in?"

  "No, he doesn't come in until the show starts around eight. The manager runs the place, though. So I guess she's the one you want to talk to."

  "Does the owner come in every day?"

  The girl laughed, "No, not every day… actually, I haven't seen him for a couple of days."

  "Can you see if the manager has a few minutes to spare?"

  "Sure, I'll ask her right now."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  It was only a short time before she returned.

  "I'm sorry; she doesn't have time for an interview right now. She asked for your business card and instructed me to tell you to make an appointment and she would try to accommodate you."

  *****

  Christopher Bell sat with two White House staff members at his favorite table at the Old Ebbitt Grill and waited for their orders to arrive. The waiter had discreetly passed him a note with a new password to an e-mail account where he could access a draft waiting for him. After lunch, he accessed the account on an untraceable computer, which was not linked to him or the White House in any way. He read the draft, printed the photo, and deleted the file.

  Sydney's former aide and now the White House chief of staff knew that the President was alone, and he entered the Oval Office having called her moments before. Sydney had replaced the former President's furnishings and was sitting, with her legs crossed, on a plush cloth sofa, reading her daily briefings when he walked in. She glanced up momentarily, and then continued reading without saying a word. Chris quietly sat opposite her on a matching sofa and waited patiently for her to address him.

  Bell had graduated at the top of his class from Princeton University, where he received a master's degree in political science. After college, he applied for several aide positions with various senators and congressmen. No one was impressed enough to hire him until he met the Secretary of State at a dinner party. Bell knew the woman was beautiful but was stunned when he saw her close up. She was not only beautiful, she was gorgeous. He told her he was looking for a job, and she smiled and asked him to send her his resume.

  A few days later, he entered her office. She was reading his resume and mission statement. She looked up and watched him walk in. Bell felt her eyes surveying his entire body like she was inspecting a fine piece of art. When she arose from her desk, and they shook hands, he felt a surge of excitement like he had never felt before with a woman and was totally surprised when all she said after their hands parted was, "When can you start." From that day forward, he knew he would do anything for her.

  Sydney was dressed casually in a pair of Ralph Lauren white slacks and a blue and white striped nautical top. Her calendar was free that morning, and she was going to play a round of golf at the Andrews Air Force Base golf course when she finished reading about the troubles in the country and around the world. Sydney was an avid golfer and had a handicap in the low teens. She learned the game from her father at an early age and had played on some of the finest courses in the world. Chris ran his eyes over the President's body as he waited for her to finish. Women were attracted to powerful men, rock stars, and sports celebrities like bees to nectar, and Bell was drawn to Sydney for the same reason. When they were making love, he felt empowered by the simple fact that he controlled the most powerful person on the face of the planet, if only for a short while. He felt a rush, not by the sexual excitement, but by the power he wielded while he was in her arms. Despite the fact that she was now the President and their time together had to be more discrete, she always found time to be alone together working on essential matters of the United States Government. As he watched her, he noticed that her facial expression had changed rapidly. When she finished reading the brief, she tucked it under her arm and asked Chris to follow her into the President's Study.

  Sydney placed the leather-bound PDB on the small desk, sat down, and then pointed to the sofa, indicating to Bell that she wanted him to sit.

  "What did you want to see me about Chris?" she asked.

  Bell handed Sydney a grainy black and white scanned photo and said. "I just received this photo from Thailand. They want confirmation that the man in the photo is the person of interest that we're looking for."

  Sydney looked at the photo and said, "Do you know how they obtained this?"

  "I understand that it was taken from the office of the PI that was hired to find Bennett and Taylor," Bell answered.

  *****

  Sydney studied the three people in the photo until finally concentrating on the man on the far left. Many years had passed since she had seen him. He was much older and broader. His short hair was now long and wavy, and his face was much fuller and covered a week's worth of facial hair. Despite all that, it was him, the man she had always had a bad feeling about.

  After she had burned down the Jensen's home and barn, she thought about waiting for Harris to return to his hometown in Kentucky. She intended to kill him outright. Somehow, she knew that her seductive skills wouldn't work on him. The way he looked at her, a look that said, Besides, she simply didn't like him. But after the months passed, she felt she was in the clear and decided against it. Now, she wished that she had carried it out.

  Bell asked, "Is that him?"

  Sydney held up her hand, silenced him, and started to reason again. One thing became apparent: Harris suspected that she was involved in Jensen's death. She knew he had no way of proving it without deciphering the encrypted letter she now knew he had in his possession all this time. She had no idea how he got it, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had it. Now, she had to get it back and destroy it. She was sure she had cared for people who held the key to unlock the encryption. If Zedekiah Jensen had the key, it was now just a pile of ash. What worried her was that Jensen's old-school encryption could possibly be broken by today's supercomputers. She thought it was ironic that what Al Ali held over her could now be trumped by Harris. A little man with absolutely no power compared to the man who had visions of conquering the world. She started to laugh at this thought. Now, he had to recover the document and eliminate anyone involved. He had to protect his investment and his dream.