Ground Zero Part 39
"You can't miss it." He pointed and gave directions.
"How far?"
"A couple of miles."
Was that all? h.e.l.l, he'd walk it. And as a bonus he'd get to see Grauman's Chinese Theater.
Might as well be a tourist for the afternoon. Might never be back.
He remembered seeing Hollywood Boulevard on the revival list and took another look. Sure enough ...
"Where's this Egyptian Theater?"
"Keep walking past the Highland Center," Hector said. "Cross Highland and you can't miss it. It's even older than the Chinese. The first Hollywood premiere was held at the Egyptian in 1922."
"Yeah? What film?"
"Robin Hood with Douglas Fairbanks." with Douglas Fairbanks."
Cool. Jack knew it well. He had a thing for silents. He'd be checking the place out even if it wasn't on the list.
He stepped out of the lobby onto Sunset and took a left. He pa.s.sed some interesting looking eateries and watering holes interspersed among Starbucks and McDonald's. He came upon the Chateau Marmont, which did indeed look like a chateau. He strolled up the short, steep driveway. The lobby was small and elegant and the AC welcome after the heat of the street. He was tempted to ask if he could rent the bungalow where Belushi bought it but pa.s.sed.
The environs became a little rundown as he continued east. Where was the glamour of Sunset Boulevard? Where was Erich von Stroheim driving Gloria Swanson's limo? Where was the Whiskey a Go-Go? Maybe he was headed in the wrong direction for that sort of thing. He found Hollywood Boulevard and soon stood before Grauman's Chinese Theater.
The famous red columns and huge circular forecourt were even more impressive than he'd expected. The place delivered on its reputation. He hung out for a while, checking out the footprints and handprints of the film industry's icons-from Jack Benny to John Woo, Cantinflas to Clint Eastwood. He grinned when he found Gene Autry's along with Champion's hoof-prints.
For half an hour he took a vacation from reality and enjoyed himself. Then he moved on to the mall.
Abe's instructions had been to find the Mailbox Centre at this address.
No problem there, but he didn't go in right away. He hung out to see if anyone was watching the store. Overly cautious, maybe, but he had no schedule. Ten minutes of observation satisfied him.
He checked the combination Abe had given him: R10-L22-R13. He went to box 367, entered those numbers, and the door popped open. Inside he found a padded envelope. He slipped it out, closed the door, spun the combo dial, and headed back to the street.
A neat way to transfer merchandise: Abe's contact rents the mailbox; when he needs to make a delivery, he opens the door, adjusts the combination to a prearranged number, then sticks the package in with the junk mail already present. The buyer opens the box, removes his purchase, and takes off. Completely anonymous.
If Abe's contact was true to his word, the envelope should contain a Glock 27 loaded with .40-caliber Speer Gold Dot JHPs. The weight felt about right, but he'd have to wait before he knew for sure.
He continued east on Hollywood Boulevard, crossing Highland, until he came to a dramatic sandstone block facade. A side sign said "Egyptian" but "American Cinematheque" arched over the entrance in wrought iron. He strolled along the lines of stately palms, pa.s.sing pharaoh heads and other Egyptian bric-a-brac. The sign over the inner entrance said "Grauman's Egyptian." Grauman again. Taste aside, you had to admit the guy had style.
Hokey as it was, Jack loved the place. Other than an exotic setting, what did ancient Egypt have to do with movies? But who cared? The place had a genuine wow wow factor. Back then they knew how to do these places up right. Better than the s...o...b..xes that pa.s.sed for theaters today. factor. Back then they knew how to do these places up right. Better than the s...o...b..xes that pa.s.sed for theaters today.
Gia's recurring comment came back to him: You were born in the wrong generation. You don't like anything modern. You were born in the wrong generation. You don't like anything modern.
Not quite. He hefted the package in his hand. He loved modern weaponry.
The Egyptian looked too legit to be paying off the books, but Jack had walked too far not to give it a shot. He asked to speak to the manager and soon found himself in the company of a slender man in his forties.
"Is Ernie working here tonight?"
Jack didn't expect Goren to be using his surname, but he might have kept his first.
The manager frowned. "Ernie? We have no Ernie working here."
"Older guy, sixtyish, gray hair. He's the night manager."
His head shake was emphatic. "No one like that working here, certainly not as night manager."
Well, it had been worth a try, and he'd eliminated a stop from his list.
He had a bad thought as he headed back to the street. This was Goren's daughter's first night in from the east. Wouldn't he want to spend it with her? Even if Jack found the right theater, he might not find Goren.
Swell.
6.
Back in his room, he opened the package and found exactly what he'd ordered. He checked the chamber-empty. He'd leave it that way for now. Checked the magazine-maxed at ten rounds. The Glock 27 was a pocket carry, smaller than his 19, with a smaller magazine. But he figured the extra stopping power of the .40-caliber hollowpoints would compensate should things come to that. He hoped not. He'd do whatever he could to keep this a safe, quiet, peaceful trip.
He slipped it into his right front pocket and stood before the mirror. Even with his loose-fitting jeans, the pistol left a bulge. He untucked his T-shirt. There. Hidden.
No Mae West wisecracks tonight.
He checked his watch: just after four. Not quite Miller time in L.A. but hours past it in New York.
But first, a couple of calls. After all, it was already seven back there and he didn't know when he'd have another chance tonight.
He checked in with Gia and gave her a rundown of all the pulse-pounding excitement so far. Then he called Weezy, and sensed the dismay in her tone when he told her about the problem at the airport.
"You lost them?"
"We knew all along that was a good possibility. I'm going to start making the rounds of the revival theaters in a little while. Meantime, how are things going with the Compendium?" Compendium?"
"Jack, it's just incredible." He could hear her spirits lifting. "Literally incredible. There's so much here, and it's all so ... so ..." "Literally incredible. There's so much here, and it's all so ... so ..."
"Incredible?"
"Yes! I'm having a hard time believing what I'm reading, and an even harder time wrapping my mind around it."
"How are you managing with the changing pages?"
"It doesn't seem to matter. I can somehow remember the pages I've read and my brain puts them in sequence no matter what order I see them."
Remembering his months of frustration trying to make sense of the book, he said, "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"Okay, I seethe with envy. Any helpful flashes of insight yet?"
"Not yet. Maybe never."
His stomach dropped. "Don't say that."
"Jack, there's so much." much."
"Keep at it. Got to be something."
He rang off and headed for the elevators. He figured the House of Blues ought to be as good a place as any to grab a couple of brews and a decent steak.
7.
"What do you wish me to do?" Kris Szeto said.
Ernst Drexler watched the man fidget and drum his fingers on the table between them.
"I want you to complete your a.s.signment."
Szeto glanced away, as if afraid to speak his mind.
"Go ahead," Ernst said. "Spit it out. I want to hear your thoughts. I want an honest a.s.sessment. Don't worry about telling me what I don't want to hear. I've already had a bellyful of that: You saw her go in, you saw the explosion, you didn't see her come out so you thought she was dead and you left. But there's no report of her body in the wreckage. Yes, quite quite a bellyful." a bellyful."
"Very well. I wish to say that perhaps a.s.signment has has been completed." been completed."
"Oh, really?" Ernst felt a spike of anger but suppressed it. "Five of our enforcers dead and their target still at large ... how can you possibly spin that into even a subatomic particle of success? Even string theory won't help you there."
Szeto shrugged. "The purpose was to get her off line. That is exactly where she is now. She has no house and her computer is slag. She is on run and too terrified to go back online."
"Terrified? Of what? Us? No one we send against her comes back. We try to blow her up and she survives. We should be terrified Of what? Us? No one we send against her comes back. We try to blow her up and she survives. We should be terrified of her of her."
"Is not her. Is that Jack fellow Harris tell us about. Woman did not steal gun from Max. It was this Jack."
"An a.s.sumption on your part. You told me Harris said he was just an old friend."
"An old friend with gun." Szeto straightened in his chair. "whatever the case, the end was to neutralize her. I believe such end has been achieved."
"The end was to permanently permanently remove this thorn from our side. You cannot guarantee that she'll stay neutralized. She has proven herself resourceful and dangerous. I sense a core of tenacity within that woman. I have no doubt she will be back. Do you?" remove this thorn from our side. You cannot guarantee that she'll stay neutralized. She has proven herself resourceful and dangerous. I sense a core of tenacity within that woman. I have no doubt she will be back. Do you?"
"We have not stopped looking for her. I will be circulating photo to our brothers in the Order and-"
"Where did you get a photo?"
"Hospital took one when she was Jane Doe. They were going to give to police departments."
Ernst nodded approval. Szeto was resourceful. And to give him his due, he had planned his moves well. His one mistake had been a.s.suming that his men would be the only ones equipped for deadly force. He had erred in that a.s.sumption. Ernst was sure he would not err so again.
"A good idea. That will give us extra eyes. I'll have McCabe contact the Dormentalists. As a measure of our new detente, we'll have them disseminate her picture as well."
"And the Kickers?"
Ernst nodded. "Oh, yes. The Kickers most certainly. They're everywhere. But we will need to offer them a reward as an incentive. They're devoted to Thompson but cash will ensure more active partic.i.p.ation on their part."
"Our people have located her credit accounts. If Louise Myers uses her MasterCard or AmEx, we will know it."
"And after you locate her, what then?"
"We take her and whoever is with her. Then we begin erasing all trace of them from planet."
Once again Ernst nodded approval.
The Order had nurtured the various 9/11 conspiracy theories, sometimes going so far as to plant false evidence or start blogs and Web sites of its own to direct suspicions or start theories of its own creation, the more outrageous, the better. The doubters were looking for the truth and the Order wanted to keep them looking in every direction but the right one, to deflect blame and suspicion from itself. Everything had been working perfectly until this "Secret Historian" had begun asking the wrong questions. Even her username had set off alarms. She obviously didn't know the truth, but she was pointing in dangerous directions. She had to be stopped.
Or did she?
Ernst was hoping the Fhinntmanchca Fhinntmanchca would make her irrelevant. But it was a nebulous hope. He didn't know if they could succeed in creating one. He had followed all the ancient lore to the letter, but he was treading terra incognita. would make her irrelevant. But it was a nebulous hope. He didn't know if they could succeed in creating one. He had followed all the ancient lore to the letter, but he was treading terra incognita.
So far the lore had been on the mark. The Orsa had come to life, and then it had awakened. And then it had swallowed Darryl.
But could the Fhinntmanchca Fhinntmanchca-if they succeeded in creating it-accomplish what the One wanted? If so, then chasing down this woman was an exercise in futility. She would not matter. But no one knew how long it would take to create the Fhinntmanchca Fhinntmanchca. And once created, no one, not even the One, could guarantee its success.
And so the search for Louise Myers had to be pressed. She had to be stopped from further interfering in matters she should leave alone-matters everyone should leave alone.
8.
Weezy's eyes burned. She closed them as she leaned back to rub her throbbing temples. After leaving Jack at the airport she'd returned here and had been poring over the text ever since. Usually she could read till all hours with no problem, but this Compendium Compendium ... ...
Maybe it was the book's autotranslating feature. She couldn't imagine how it worked, but perhaps the process of changing all the print to the reader's native language had an effect on the eyes and brain. That, plus the density of new information on each page ... Jack said he'd been told that the author was a woman named Srem ... this must have been her life's work.
whatever, Weezy needed a break. The fraction of the text she'd absorbed was a mind-numbing jumble of facts that read like fancies ...
A group of devices called the Seven Infernals ... she'd come across two of them so far and they were wonderful and terrible in what they could do. Where in the text she'd find the other five-or if if she'd find the other five-she had no idea. she'd find the other five-she had no idea.