A thousand suns

He smiled with satisfaction as he recalled the discreet and not so veiled warnings he had made to some very powerful and influential men from time to time throughout his long vigil. Men who had recoiled with shock that they should be under surveillance so many decades after the event.

Men who should have known better.

Wallace smiled with pride. Truman had turned to him on that final day, as men great and powerful filed dutifully and silently out of the conference room. Truman had quietly asked him to stay, and no one else.

President Truman took off his glasses and rubbed his tired and red-rimmed eyes. The last forty-eight hours had clearly taken a lot out of him. ‘I’m the new boy, here, Wallace. I don’t know who to trust, who are the sharks. All I know is that amongst all these supposedly wise men, it was your advice that seemed to make the most sense. It was your counsel I took in the end, not theirs.’

‘Thank you, Mr President,’ replied Wallace.

‘I’m going to need someone I can trust, someone with a lot of smarts, someone who can work quickly, think on his feet like you did today, to make sure this whole sorry episode stays buried. Think you’re up to it?’

‘Me, sir?’

‘Yes, lad, you.’

‘I’ve not been in intelligence long, sir… just a few months — ’

‘Then perhaps you’re untainted. You’re not habitually used to procedures, ways of doing things that might slow you down… red tape that might prevent you from acting quickly, if it was required. Do you understand me?’

‘I’m not sure I do, sir.’

‘This must never, ever become known to the public. And I’d like you to take charge of that. I’ll make sure you have everything you need — money, men, materials, your own little secret agency… just make sure this thing never surfaces. Whatever it takes… you understand me? Whatever it takes. Whatever you need to do, I don’t care what it is, and I won’t want to know either, you make sure this remains a secret.’

Truman’s eyes remained on Wallace, studying his reaction, looking for uncertainty in the young man’s response. If there was doubt or any indecision in his response, he supposed the young man would not be suitable… and he too would be a potential liability to deal with.

‘Whatever it takes, sir?’

Truman nodded. ‘Well? Do you think you’re up to it?’

In the darkness, outside the motel rooms, in response to that question asked over sixty years earlier, Wallace nodded with satisfaction. He had been up to it.

His eyes picked out the headlights of the van as it exited the interstate off the slip road, disappeared momentarily behind some trees and then, seconds later, cruised quietly past the diner and on to the parking lot in front of the motel rooms. The headlights winked off and the van rolled silently forward, the engine switched off, using the last of the vehicle’s momentum. It came to a rest a few yards from where Wallace waited in the shadows.

His men had taken their damned time.

He had called them from the diner’s toilet over two hours ago. He was lucky this man Chris and his friend hadn’t a clue who they had in their care. In fact, after his initial fear of the impromptu ‘rescuing’ had passed, Wallace had begun to find the whole situation rather amusing.

It had been an appalling fuck-up, his men being caught out like that, allowing these two amateurs to best them and escape into the night. And then, to make matters worse, abduct him shortly afterwards, right under their noses. But, despite the fact that shots had been fired, and there were some people who had witnessed what had happened, it had worked itself out all right. Here they were, somewhere remote and quiet, and now it was time to tidy things up once more.

As he had waited for his men to arrive, Wallace had contacted the dive team. The deed was done, the package had been dropped into deeper waters. So, it was finally done, the only real evidence of the event was gone. All that was left now to think about was what these two amateurs might decide to say and do.

Wallace beckoned to the two men sitting inside the van to follow him and approached the motel rooms. Both men gently stepped out of the van, leaving the doors open rather than make a noise closing them. They came to a halt outside cabin five and Wallace raised a hand, an indication that they should wait right there.

It was silent now, except for the occasional whisper of a passing car on the nearby interstate, and the hum of the neon light above the motel cabins. There were no other guests tonight, only Chris Roland’s car in the parking lot… and the anonymous-looking black van.

Wallace studied the door in front of him. It had a flat-key lock, little more than a springed latch.