They Will Know My Name: Book 1

A cold Seattle night. The last remnants of winter had refused to leave the party, despite being asked very politely and several times over by the host. It hung its damp and bitter cloak on the hook of the northern states, east to west. You couldn’t see the top of the Space Needle, the fog was so bad. Where had it come from? It was as though the clouds themselves had descended from the sky and shrouded the city in their shadow, the particles of water that made them up floating tangibly in the air, so as to soak pedestrians through, even on a short walk to the shops.

But hey, you had to look on the bright side in these times, although you might turn the snow-globe of the city over in your hands many times in search of it. You had to see the positives in your situation. At least it wasn’t North Korea!

China helped her master from his wheelchair and took his frail hand for support. There were a few steps between the forecourt and lobby of the hotel. The building was plush and expensive and the forecourt marble, which could be the devil underfoot in these colder climes. If the man went over, he might break and shatter on the hard surface, that mirrored pools of light in deceptively-innocent orbs. She helped him as far as the doors, which were held open by a porter. She was almost twenty years his junior, and hadn’t appeared to have aged much since turning forty, some time ago now. Haynes had started calling her Dorian, like the immortal in The Picture of Dorian Gray. He had always loved to make fun, and old age had not much hampered his sharp and quick mind, as it had those hands, those cheeks, those eyes.

Being the Vietnamese wife of a high-ranking former intelligence officer was a good deal, so far as she was concerned. Her upbringing had ensured that she would never want for much, but much was precisely what she had been given by the Fates. On the other hand, she would probably have been equally happy to still be out in the East, breaking her back in a paddy field every day, as the sun blanched her still-taut skin into old fruit. Yet it was the world that orbited you that gave you your perspectives. Life with Haynes may well have been comfortable and free and luxurious, but then so was a nap in the soil after a hard day’s labour.

One of the undoubted perks was the jetting between the major sites of cultural interest in the US, the country that had waged war on her own forty years before. Perhaps she wanted to see what made them tick, as any good sleeper-agent would. When business took Haynes to New York, Washington DC and Seattle, his advanced age meant that he needed to be accompanied, though the old man was still able to deal with his business-related affairs on his own. He was sound of mind enough for the both of them. He often complained about the body that he was stuck in, comparing himself to a hermit crab that had picked the wrong shell and needed to be euthanized at the soonest convenience. A former Christian missionary, China feared like she did nothing else the day when he asked her the question, more in fact that she feared the grieving for her husband. Was it loyalty? She was more concerned about her own passage into heaven, if truth be told.

“Here y’are, youngster!” Haynes had prodded the porter and given him money. The man smiled and took his case. He then accompanied them dutifully to the signing-in desk.

“Again, I do apologise for dragging you out here in such horrible weather, Dory,” Haynes said to China, as he scratched his signature onto a piece of paper, “Unavoidable by the sounds of it. Pretty well serves me right I suppose for all these pies I’ve got my hand in, wouldn’t you say? I hope you don’t mind waiting for me and reading a magazine down here a while…”

China smiled and inclined her head. She never partook in nor knew about her husband’s business or who he actually met, besides that which she had seen on the television and overheard from whoever turned up at their dinner parties. Indeed, she only knew of his FBI connections from the plaque on the wall of their DC home. She was only there to help him walk and keep him company between offices.

“Elevator going up, sir! All the way to the top?” The porter was waiting eagerly for his walking talking ATM-machine as the lift doors opened. Haynes joined the young man with his case and made to engage him in avid conversation, as was his way with everyone. You could say that for her master. He would strike up a conversation with a businessman at a dinner party, the man cleaning his windows and tending his garden, and even the rag-and-bone man in the street if he got his own way. Robbie Haynes did not see the world as many did, as a pyramid hierarchy of worth. He just saw people and the potential in each and every one of them. You could perhaps have called it a gift. China watched the doors close and then looked around for something to read. These meetings could drag on for some hours.

So she was surprised when after just half an hour a young man emerged from the elevator and made towards her across the deserted lobby. He was wearing a smart suit and a blank expression, though she noticed something familiar about his face when he got closer.

“You’re China?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. He must have had business with Haynes. What could her husband want with someone so young? She nodded a response.

“My father sends his regards.” And that was that. The boy bowed his head and made off towards the exit. There was no attendant, and he pushed the door open and to again himself, before disappearing, in that fancy businessman’s suit, into the fog and shadows.

China sat there for all of a minute before she got it. She had never been one to panic. ‘Regards?’ Haynes had children that she knew about from previous marriages, but she knew what they looked like. Could this have been another offspring from an affair? An illegitimate child? There was no-one else in the building, or so it seemed, and it must surely have been he that had met with her husband in the past half hour. But Haynes would have told her, were it something personal. Business was business and family was family. So why hadn’t he come back down? There was no porter on that door…

Then she got up and approached the desk, asking the receptionist to dial for the police.

“The Middle East, you say? Heck, boy, not many people wanna go there, oh no! Not with those lunatics running around chopping people to bits. But I suppose if you're careful and you know where it is you’re going, then hey! Like you said, no taxes!”

“I know, right! It’s the place for me, sir. Those bad guys won’t be interested in a hotel porter, right? I go in and work hard and save up. Dream ticket for me, you know it!”

“Ah, the optimism of youth! When I was your age, young man…”

The lift doors opened on the top floor, interrupting Haynes as he ascended in the elevator half an hour earlier. He shrugged and led the way off down a lit corridor, towards the office number he had been instructed to find. The porter accompanied him, a seeming master at work in sniffing out further tips. This was tolerated by the old man, who never liked to remain alone.

“40-b! That’s the one!” The porter politely knocked, opened the door and showed Haynes inside. The room was dark and contained a steel table and chairs for six. A blind had been pulled down over the window to shut out the non-view. Haynes felt the coolness of the table surface with a knuckle, a heavy frown now twisting his wizened jaw.

“This is not…” He turned to find the porter still there and a huge grin exploded onto his face, as though the sun had peeped out from behind cloud. The porter’s look.

“But it is my appointment, isn’t it? My word, I’ve been waiting some time for this!” Haynes exclaimed, still beaming. He tried to approach the young man, who had been all smiles the moment before, but had now set his jaw. He had gone from happy-go-lucky to hit-man in a matter of seconds. He stepped away from the old man’s arm and closed the door.

“Sit down. We’re going to talk.” Jack Dreyfus Junior pointed and was obeyed. Haynes rested his crabby hands on the table as the boy sat across from him. The porter’s hat had been tossed aside and the tunic unbuttoned. There were those eyes and that jawline, both with their overriding impression of grim defiance. The boy could not have been older than twenty-three, and yet Haynes had been completely taken in by the disguise.

“Linberg?” Haynes asked, his smile shortening in length but retaining its outpouring of joy.

“My dad worked it out. Your call to Linberg was a clue, but he just knew somehow.”

“Somebody talked? There has been attempts to pry into my private affairs, though these were made far more recently…”

“Those are unrelated. It was my dad who worked it out. That's what everyone will soon know. You’re finished, Mr. Haynes.” Jack produced a sheet of paper that he had taken from the signing-in desk. Upon it was an imprint of Haynes’s signature.

“My word, it would certainly seem so. I must say you're very impressive, Jack. Even more so than I was led to believe. Recruiters just aren’t the same anymore, on both sides of the divide. Some of them wouldn’t know potential if it walked up and slapped them in the face!” The old man’s eyes flickered. “But you said that you wanted to talk? If you’ve got me bang to rights, what is there to talk about?”

“I just want to clarify a few points. You don’t need to worry, I’ve prepared for you your confession ahead of time…” Jack produced more paperwork from within his fake uniform. Haynes whooped, coughed and clapped his hands together, trying to peer at the paper in the young man’s hands.

“Whatever you say, son. Just hypothetically, what say I were to press a button on my phone, leading to you being assassinated on the way back to your mother’s?”

“I moved out.” Jack was now producing a recording device, which he fiddled with until he had found the right piece of tape. Haynes was still as the voice of one of his many protege’s filled the room and didn’t react when the recording ended.

“Besides which,” Jack continued, “Your man would not be able to find me. That’s assuming he was even allowed to. I am aware of my immunity to your organisation, and that it extends to my immediate family. I have planned and prepared everything. There's nothing you can do.”

“Extraordinary,” Haynes muttered, his expression darkening, the smile and the twinkle vanishing back behind thunderclouds. Jack felt a greater sense of respect from this Haynes than he had received from the jovial and friendly old man. He waited for him to continue.

“I take back what I said about recruiters. Because the truth of the matter is, no-one can effectively measure potential. I knew that your father was a born war-hero and that he would do great things, but I did not anticipate this extent. To inspire his own… And so strongly, with so much passion from that bond of father and son, that the force of it will destroy everything that isn’t in equilibrium with the world. I don’t expect you care too much about what my motives were for turning, son, but they involved restoring parity and taking control. I’m perhaps not so different from your old man, in that respect. But as I’m sure you already know, it's our actions that define us, so much so that two men who should be like-minded in fact end up fighting on opposite sides. I hope to God that your way is better, Jack. I hope you understand what it is you're taking on…”

“Enough,” Jack snapped, unwilling to listen to this, “You’re a terrorist and a traitor. You'll admit to your mistakes and to how you treated my father and I will not need to forge your signature. You will sign this yourself. You will do it because you'll realise that you were misguided, and I will give you the solace of knowing that this too will be in the confession.”

“The truth is, Jack,” Haynes answered, the shadows moving between the creases of his face, “I would do it all again. Really. I have met more extraordinary people living this life than I could living any other. You may think me misguided, but it is my opinion that I am no traitor. I voted against Watertight. I've worked as a recruiter and senior executive, using my own time and skills to train the very best operatives for IBORIS. Men and women able to counter the equally-skilled operators I churned out for the FBI and CIA. I am no terrorist or murderer. I knew that I was right, even after we went ahead with Watertight. Even if all those precious fruits of my labour would be bombed into oblivion. I knew because I got to see equilibrium in action, Jack. When your father went up against Alexander Cleric.

“It was like reuniting two lost sons of mine. They were so dear to me. I kept Jack Senior close, and to keep him sweet I had to trap one other, lower-league individual in Miss. Huckerby. Man, did that backfire! I thought it would prove to Jack once and for all that I was on the straight and narrow. As for Alex, he hasn’t needed any help from the likes of me in a long, long time. In fact, it may be that I now have to turn to him…”

The man’s hand had gone to his breast pocket in a flash. Jack then had his gun levelled at the raised hand, but Haynes had already pressed down on something. A lapel pin of some description, affixed to the fabric of the man’s blazer. He half-smiled.

“The immunity will not extend to Alex. I have made this so. He will come for you, and we'll see which son is the greater, if indeed you're not the same. My ‘terrorist’ versus your boy. What’s that line they always spout, kid? All things strive. You rigged up this building and that confession, your disguise and your change of clothes hanging over there, and you haven’t even broken sweat yet. This is too easy for you. You aren’t striving, and if you don’t strive then you won’t survive. Something I used to tell your father from time to time…”

“Let him come. It doesn't concern me.” Jack lowered the gun and referred back to his papers on the table. “There are a number of details that I would like to clear up for my own personal records. Seeing as you'll be outed as a traitor after today, this may be my last chance to speak with you. From what we’ve discovered, IBORIS operations appear to have originated at some point in the late fifties to early sixties. You were a young intelligence officer at the time. Were you actively recruited or did you seek them out?”

“You got me,” Haynes burbled, happily. “I sought them inasmuch as they were something I wanted to find in the world. I made sure that the same such prayers of others would be answered, by helping found the organisation.” Jack’s eyebrows must have gone up, as Haynes clapped his hands together again.

“You were on the board? All this time. And yet you simply recruited personnel?”

“Headhunting has always been my speciality, kid! Stick to what you know. I was never a crack shot with a rifle or a great businessman or saboteur. But I did know a fighter when I saw one. I could see everything, every great thing a man or woman could ever do. It was like being God. You must think me insane, no? I wish; it might give me some excuse!” The man laughed at this until he coughed again. Jack nodded slowly and made an adjustment on his tablet to the information that he had, before continuing:

“It's beyond question of doubt that you've passed US government and military secrets on to IBORIS. You cultivated individuals, and they became terrorists or civil service personnel. Cops or robbers. My father speaks of a God complex, and I begin to see what he means. What knowledge have you, please, of Operation Acid Rain?”

“Long-term project. Probably already in its penultimate stages. I must say, I'm curious to see how the States will react to this one. The dictator is already a target and the destruction of his regime has its benefits, but at the same time the devastation caused will destroy innocent lives. Guess I’ll be keeping up to date on it from my cell, huh?”

“And what part have you played, if any?”

“I trained a young lady in South America. She has been briefed on how to operate the weapon since. She's going to take the front seat. I'm hearing that she wants to be known as ‘The Milkmaid.’” Jack made a face at this and Haynes laughed once more, leaning forwards as he lowered his voice.

“What will you be known as, Jack? War-hero Mark 2? I sense something different in you, something that resents having your life dictated to you in such a way. You are your own man. This is all your work, and your father’s guidance and your respect for him is all relative. He is, after all, your old man. But I doubt somehow that you'll take his name. What will it be?”

Jack got up at this point, leaving the man at the table and proceeded to wind up the window blind. The weather outside was oppressive as ever and he watched it, as one would the bowels of Hell's inner circles. It was a short while before he answered.

“I have been briefed. Frankly, Mr. Haynes, I am not afraid of these people, and no, not even your little pet project. They can call me by my own name, because I certainly won’t be hiding behind one.” He rejoined Haynes and held out a fountain pen. Another smile, before Haynes took the pen and signed the hard copy of the confession, the scrawl matching that of the imprint Jack had taken in the lobby.

“I guess I’ll see you in court. The Civil Court, on these charges. Is there really any point, Jack? I’m asking seriously. Though I may look sprightly still, I’m eighty-three now. I got great grandkids, would you believe? IBORIS will have a replacement already lined up. Oh, who am I kidding, it’s Alex. There’s no harm in you knowing, on the basis that you'll soon meet anyway. I never hurt no-one, Jack. I wonder if you still feel it is justified…”

“Robert T. Haynes!” It was Jack’s turn to smile, to the old man’s increasing unease, “If I were going to see you in court, why would I have staged this elaborate ploy and got you up in an empty high-rise on possibly the worst and most opaque day we’ve had this year? Although, who’s counting? We don’t sign confessions and hand ourselves in anymore, do we? I thought you'd have had a little more respect. I thought you were a samurai master.”

“Like I said,” Haynes, who didn't seem surprised at this, answered, “I never was much of a shooter. And, uh, my wife...”

“You don’t need to worry about that, pal. I’ve been getting my eye in and watching late-night Law and Order. It’s tricky to stage, you know, with the angle of the shot and the patterns of the residue, but I made some notes and I should have enough nous to fool Seattle’s finest.” Haynes nodded at this and got up. He straightened his tie and pushed the signed confession back across the table. Jack checked the clip on his gun.

“You are not your father, son,” the old man murmured, by now as though his voice were running out at a more rapid rate than the rest of him, “The battles you fight should be your own. Because our perspectives are based entirely on our environment and surroundings, and so when we fight our own enemies, it's with feeling and passion and a knowledge that the world will be better; we just know it in our minds, once they're removed. You’re now killing someone based solely upon something you’ve heard about. I'm in no doubt that your ultimate intentions are worthy, but here you're setting a very dangerous precedent. It's not a long road between the righteous vigilante and the contract killer, Jack. You are not acting as your father would. He would be deliberating. He would first see me publicly humiliated, before there was any talk of murder. But then, I suppose that he would still pull that trigger. In a sense, perhaps, this is a better way for me. It would have devastated me so, to have one of my own turn the gun on me. But for you? You have no conscience in doing this. As you should, you are following your father’s orders. But if he told you to jump off a cliff…?”

“My father never gave me orders,” Jack explained, conversationally, as he worked out the angle in his head for the grisly moment forthcoming, “He took away every other possibility to leave me with one; the one he needed me to take on. Call that what you want, but at the end of the day, I can always quit and blow my own brains out. You want to know if this is any kind of life? You got a problem with how I’m killing you? What, do you want tears or hesitation or respect? I can wake up every day and I can keep fighting and you know, nowadays it isn’t even because of my father anymore. It's because of what I've seen, and what I know is happening out there. You’re right, I don’t need justifications.

“You lost me, Haynes, when you said what you just said. About how America might 'hesitate' to stop IBORIS melting North Korea. Right then, you pulled this trigger yourself, just like everyone will think. Up until that point, I was genuinely trying to justify going to Plan B…” The silencer of the gun touched the chin of the old man, who had begun to tremble.

“You want to know if this is any kind of life? Well, at least I’m not out there in North Korea.”