The Toymaker Read online

  “You seem to know a lot about Wiley’s business.”

  “If you’ll pardon the pun…I wear many hats around here. I know most of Mr. Wiley’s business.” Cowboy reached in, pressed a button and the elevator door closed.

  Wiley was waiting for Jake when he arrived at the showcase. “Sit down, Jake. Let’s talk.”

  “Mr. Wiley, if you don’t mind me asking. Why am I here?” Jake said.

  “The simple version is Scott needed you out of his hair. You’re a problem he doesn’t have time to deal with.”

  “Problem?” Jake snapped.

  Wiley looked at Jake. His eyes seemed to penetrate. He didn’t speak at first, leaving a long void of awkward silence, then smiled and did the hair swipe thing again. “Jake, you have an anger issue.”

  Jake started to speak when Wiley raised his hand. “Hear me out.”

  Wiley paused. “I know about your fiancée. She was critically injured in the shootout in Savannah. You thought, as did everyone, she was recovering and it gave you a false hope. Unfortunately, she had a relapse and died. You’re angry because she was taken from you. You never got to see her again. Never got to hold her. Bentley told me how reluctant you were to help him, but you did help him. And while you were tracking down her killer, she died. Somehow you feel guilty, like it’s your fault. Well, you’re wrong.”

  Wiley shifted in his seat, pushed his glasses up with his thumb and index finger and massaged the bridge of his nose. “It didn’t matter where you were, Beth was going to die. Accept it or not. The anger you embrace clouds your judgment. I imagine every time you pull the trigger, you picture Laurence O’Rourke’s face.”

  Wiley stopped talking as if allowing the words to sink in. Jake knew the old man was right, but how could he possibly know? How could this old man possibly know what Jake was thinking? What Jake was feeling? But he was right.

  They sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Wiley stood. “Jake, have you figured this out yet?” He waved his arm out toward his workshop.

  “I think so. You’re a toymaker. You make toys for spies.”

  Wiley laughed. “I guess you could put it that way, yes. Another one of my emissaries calls me ‘The Toymaker.’ But there’s a lot more to it than that, as you will soon learn.”

  “Emissaries?”

  “Yes, Jake, emissaries. People who work for me that I send on missions of a secret nature. You, too, will be my emissary. In a manner of speaking, that’s what you are with Bentley. Operative, agent, emissary. Call it whatever you wish, they are more or less the same. I prefer emissary—it’s not so widely understood.”

  “People you send on missions?” Jake stood and walked over to the TEMPEST tent. “I thought you just made electronic spy toys.”

  “More than that. I also work in conjunction with an organization that is…let’s say, free from bureaucratic red tape. I provide the manpower and resources to accomplish certain tasks other agencies can’t because their hands are tied. Remember the Korean woman your friend knocked out in Australia?”

  Jake nodded.

  “Su Lee works for me. She’s an emissary. She’d been gathering intel for months. That’s what Scott and I were discussing while you waited out here.”

  Wiley looked at his watch. “That talk can wait for later. We have things to do now.”

  Jake started feeling like he was the only one left out of the loop. A secret Bentley and Wiley shared. He pointed to the copper tent. “We used one of these in Australia.”

  “I know. I sold the Australian Secret Intelligence Service four of them. Let me give you a little background about myself. I promise not to bore you for long.”

  “Somehow I doubt I’ll be bored.”

  “I have degrees in chemistry and biological science. My original partner died a few years ago, he had degrees in electronics, chemistry, and physics. I first learned about electronics in the Army—Korea. I've been told on numerous occasions that some of the things I build are impossible. But I have one advantage over them, I'm not encumbered by academics. Impossible only means you haven’t found a way to make it work yet. The word itself creates a mental roadblock. Don’t tell me something won’t work, can’t work. Just sit down and make it work. I start from the desired end product and work backwards to make it work.

  “I’ve been in the electronics industry for over fifty years. I’ve worked in production, engineering, administration, management, and sales. I worked for a group with Bell Systems, part of the old Western Electric, doing things similar to Jack Northrop or Lockheed Martin’s Skunk Works. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

  Jake nodded. “They built the SR-71 Blackbird.”

  “They were into a lot more than that. And they’re credited as being the first in the business, but they weren’t. Lockheed Martin and Northrop were just the biggest and the most commercial. Most of us, and there are many companies like mine, have been in the business for a really long time. Like I mentioned, I got my start in the Army on a team that restored communications in war damaged Korea back in the fifties. Later I worked for a defense contractor in the DC area that specialized in QRC. Stands for ‘Quick Reaction Contracts.’ Which is exactly what it sounds like. We provided this for several agencies where we were scripted to break the rules, not abuse them, but to get the job done.”

  Wiley walked over to a shelf and removed an item. “My companies were founded to do nothing but these kinds of projects. The first thing I ask a customer is—can you buy what you believe you want from someone else? If so, please do. And, if not, tell me what you think you need and I’ll take a look at it.”

  Jake followed Wiley. “Yeah? Who are your customers?”

  “My customers are who you think they are. CIA, FBI, NSA, all the Special Forces, DOD, Homeland Security. The list goes on. And don’t limit your thinking to domestic. Two of my biggest customers are the British SIS and Mossad.”

  “How? This place is too small to do as much as you say.” Jake walked over to the couch and sat down.

  “Jake,” Wiley followed him to the couch and sat down. “I read your dossier. You served on the USS Mount Whitney as an intelligence officer.”

  “Yes sir, that’s correct. Is that relevant in some manner?”

  “Only in that you should know my companies outfitted the Navy’s electronics. All the surveillance equipment you used…my design. Most of the items we produce are not needed in large quantity, so we don’t need an assembly line. My products are highly specialized and are mission specific. When things are designed for the commercial market, they rarely get down to the kind of detail required by my customers. They say the devil is in the details and that is the basic truth of designing and building this stuff. The reason I spend so much time on what appears to be such a simple part is if it were made in mass production, it wouldn’t meet my customers’ standards. Those coils you saw my employees hand winding will have to be tuned to reach their intended values. The parts you’ve seen are mostly inductive elements required in precision filters. Most of them are used for Improvised Explosive Device disabling technology.”

  “I had no idea.” Jake said. “IEDs have killed and maimed many soldiers. I wasn’t even that familiar with them until I went to work for Bentley.”

  “Knowing people’s lives are at stake and taking that responsibility seriously is what it’s about.” Wiley said.

  “You said something earlier.” Jake shifted on the couch just in time to watch Wiley make another hair swipe. “You said you had a degree in biological science?”

  Wiley nodded.

  “Are there any biological weapons here?”

  “First of all, I don’t make biological weapons, precisely. Nothing is produced at this facility that has any biological use at all. This factory is strictly radio frequency and microwave emission oriented. My Belgium lab has the only biological laboratory I own. You’ll get to see it tomorrow.”

  “Precisely?”

  “Biological weapons carry with them the stigma of WMD
, weapons of mass destruction. My biological lab is more genetics oriented.” Wiley made another hair swipe.

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll find out tomorrow.” Wiley said.

  Something Wiley said earlier stuck with Jake. And it bothered him. You, too, will be my emissary. That line carried with it a lot of implications. Implications Jake wasn’t sure he liked. None of which he liked. And why would he be going to Belgium?

  “My guess is your Belgium factory is located near Imec. That would tie into everything you do, RF and microwave emission technology and biological research.”

  Wiley smiled. “Bentley was right.” Hair swipe. “Your analytical skills are impressive. But if you don’t learn some self-control, you will have a short career and quite possibly a short life-span.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “IS THERE A reason I have to go to Belgium with you?” Jake’s perplexity at the situation Bentley had thrust him into, was eating away at him.

  “Of course there is.” Wiley was calm, showing no irritation at Jake’s attitude. “I’m getting you out of the country so Scott won’t have to lie to Senator Boden. The senator sees no need for the CIA, he’s an advocate of the NSA and is pushing Scott to turn you over so he can arrest and prosecute you.”

  Wiley got up and walked over to a rack, pulled an item off a shelf, tossed it up in the air and then caught it with his other hand. “But Scott won’t do that because of loyalty to you…or rather your father.”

  The last comment stung. Once again he’d received preferential treatment because of his father’s influence. Living in his father’s shadow had become the bane of his existence. He was certain he’d lost that stigma when he took down Laurence O’Rourke and discovered the secret hidden in Ireland.

  “Jake?” Wiley asked.

  “Yes.”

  Wiley held up the small item he’d removed from the shelf then tossed it toward Jake. Jake caught it one-handed.

  “You know what that is?” Wiley asked.

  “It looks like something you plug into the back of a computer. It has a serial connection.”

  “That’s correct.” Hair swipe. “It’s one of the first things my partner and I created for the CIA. It started as a filter for a radio. It distorted and altered the signature emission. Later we adapted another version for a computer, which made it virtually undetectable. With the filter attached, no transfer of data could be captured. It allowed our computer total secrecy when hacking into another computer. Made it untraceable. A huge advantage gained in virtual espionage.”

  Wiley held his hand up and Jake tossed the filter back. Wiley meticulously placed it on the shelf where it came from and motioned for Jake to follow him.

  Jake spent the next two hours following Wiley around his facility, listening to him explain the function and the reason many items came into existence. The man was remarkable and Bentley was right, he did have a number of eccentricities.

  Jake was following Wiley back to his office when the old man stopped mid-stride and glanced at his watch. He could see the old man making a mental calculation.

  “Jake, we need to leave now. It’s just under a nine-hour flight with a quick refuel in Goose Bay, Canada. We should be in Brussels by ten at the latest. We’ll eat and sleep on the plane.”

  Wiley took off toward the elevator and motioned Jake to follow.

  Cowboy met them as the elevator opened into Wiley’s office. “Sir, I have your overnight already loaded and Mr. Pendleton’s bag is still in the cart.”

  “Great.” Wiley said. He turned to Jake. “We’ll take my Citation. That way we can get there fast.”

  They followed Cowboy to the stretch golf cart.

  Jake laughed. “Citation and fast should never be used in the same sentence unless you have a 750.”

  Wiley looked him in the eye. “I have two Citation 750’s and a Lear 23. The Lear is in Brussels. My other Citation is on assignment at the present time.”

  Wiley was smart, like Bentley said…and obviously very rich.

  The golf cart pulled into the hangar. The Citation’s air stair door was open and Jake saw one pilot standing by the door while the other pilot was sitting in the cockpit. The Citation 750 was boasted as the fastest business jet in history with a top speed of over six hundred miles per hour.

  “This is my personal Citation.” Wiley climbed out of the cart and walked toward the aircraft door. “Wherever it goes, I go. This aircraft stays with me at all times. I never know when I might have to jump and run. Airline schedules are too unpredictable.”

  The whirl of the right engine spooling up filled the air. Cowboy handed Jake his bag. “Say hello to Kyli for me, would you?”

  “Sure. Whoever that is.”

  The Rolls-Royce turbofan engine fired flooding the tarmac with the smell of burning kerosene. Jake stepped up the air stairs as he heard the whirl of the left engine spooling. The co-pilot followed him into the aircraft, closing the door behind them.

  Wiley had already buckled his seatbelt. “Sit down, Jake. These two jet-jockeys won’t waste any time getting us in the air.”

  He slipped his bag into the compartment by the door and took the first seat next to Wiley. He twisted his neck around and observed the cabin. Four leather seats up front in club-style configuration. Behind the seats were two bunks in sleeper-car configuration. Located in the rear of the aircraft was a galley and restroom.

  In his years as an NTSB investigator, Jake had never encountered a cabin configuration like this one, certainly none with bunks.

  Jake looked at Wiley. “Looks like the toy making business is very lucrative, how old is your Citation?”

  “I bought this one new three years ago. Then it went to the shop for the retrofit. That took two months. But it’s ideal for my style of travel. If I have work that needs to be done then I have everything at my fingertips. Internet, phone, fax, the works. All encrypted, mind you. And at my age I need to get my rest or I’m not worth a crap the next day, especially with all the time changes I make.” Wiley looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, we lose eight hours between here and Belgium so when we leave Goose Bay, I suggest you follow my lead and try to get some sack time. The bunks are comfortable. You’re in the top bunk.”

  Jake gazed out the aircraft window while the Citation taxied into position. The surge of takeoff thrust from the Rolls-Royce AE 3007C1 engines forced him back into his leather seat. In a quick few seconds the Citation lifted off and banked to the left.

  He returned his gaze out the window. “How large is your ranch?”

  “Right now, as far as your eyes can see.” Wiley said. “I own somewhere around thirty thousand acres, give or take a couple of hundred.”

  “Holy cow. That’s big.”

  “This is Texas.” Wiley paused. “That’s considered a hobby ranch.”

  Four hours later, about one hour after finishing the onboard meal prepared for them from the Wranglers’ Steakhouse, the Citation landed at CFB Goose Bay. A former United States Air Force base, now a Canadian Forces Base. A Canadian Forces fuel truck pulled up next to the Citation and started fueling the aircraft.

  “How’d you pull that off? Jake asked. “The Canadian military fuel?”

  Wiley smiled. “Connections.”

  Within fifteen minutes, the Citation was in the air bound for Brussels. Jake was amazed at the efficiency in which Wiley’s travel had been conducted. Not a minute wasted by anyone, not the crew, not even Wiley himself.

  The phone next to Wiley beeped. Wiley picked it up, listened for a moment and said, “Thanks.”

  Wiley unbuckled. “Jake we should arrive in Brussels around 9:30 a.m. which is…” He looked at his watch. “A little over four and half hours from now.”

  Wiley stood up and put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “You should get as much sleep as possible. In all likelihood if you survive the next few days, they’ll prove to be life altering.”

  With that statement hanging in the air, Wiley disappear
ed into his bunk.

  CHAPTER 13

  KAPLAN ROSE WITH the sun feeling refreshed. He’d slept for over six hours—now it was time to get down to business. The business of locating and rescuing Isabella Hunt.

  He found Chase and his team members at the table with a map weighted down on the corners by coffee mugs. In the light of dawn, they looked younger than they had the night before and they were all dressed alike. Jeans, t-shirts. Two in tennis shoes, three in hiking boots. And everyone had a backpack on the floor next to them. North Face, JanSport, Dakine—just what you’d expect from college students out exploring the world. Kaplan studied each one and noticed something odd, or maybe not so odd after all. They all had forgettable faces and features. No one stood out. No one had striking features. Perfect for covert ops.

  The team had been talking about someone when Kaplan walked in. He assumed the name he heard was the source.

  “Barakah? Is that our man?” Kaplan asked.

  Chase smiled. “The source is Baraka Binte Talibah. But yeah, she’s our source.”

  “A woman?” Kaplan showed his surprise. “How’d you manage that?”

  “Actually, she came to us—in a roundabout way,” Chase explained. “She approached one of us right after we arrived, something a local asset had arranged.”

  “When do I get to meet her?”

  “That could be a bit of a problem.” Chase said. “She doesn’t know about you, yet. We are to meet later this morning. But first we need to discuss ground rules.”

  “Ground rules?” Kaplan asked.

  “Yes. Her security is of upmost importance to us. She cannot be compromised. She will contact us when she can talk. She’ll tell us when and where.” Chase explained.

  “Do you trust her? Could she be setting us up?”

  “There is always that chance, but we are good at what we do. Besides, the circumstances that brought her to us pretty much assure us she’s on our side.” Chase explained how she came to them after her husband was blinded, had his tongue cut out, and her teenage daughters had been tortured and executed. Payback for her husband leaking information to a Yemeni police chief that led to the siege against al Qaeda militants in the small village of Hawta. Thousands of people fled as government forces moved into the village with tanks and armored vehicles. She was spared only because she wasn’t home at the time.