Pieces of the Puzzle by Robert Stanek Read Free Book Online Page B

Marxists and Leninists. Marxism-Leninism. Mao Tse-tung’s China, Maoists. So many
     variations, all with the same fatal flaws. The fall of the U.S.S.R was only a precursor, the fall of the Berlin Wall only
     a symbol. The reality check: The greed and corruption that followed.
    There was no maybe about it; there was only certainty. But he knew it wasn’t just about the money. It was about control. Control
     the money by controlling the flow of information, by stopping global commerce and exchange. Everything was linked to the Munich
     assignment—the assignment he was the only one to come back from. But there were times when he thought it would have been better
     if he hadn’t made it out alive.
    He should’ve died with the rest of his team—the captain going down with the ship as it were. Captains who survived their crews
     when the ship went down weren’t regarded well and in his circle, survival in those circumstances meant something else entirely.
    The minutes ticked by. Another cab pulled up. Scott looked up momentarily. Just then someone said, “Excuse me?”
    Scott didn’t say anything. He was waiting for the cab’s occupant to emerge.
    The guy tapped him on the shoulder. “Eh buddy, you know what time is it?”
    Scott didn’t have to glance at his watch to know what time it was, but he did anyway. “Almost two.”
    “ Mahalo .”
    Scott folded the newspaper. The cab’s occupant emerged, but it wasn’t Jessica Wellmen. It was a man wearing a thousand-dollar
     suit, lugging a leather attaché case and staring up at the top of the financial center as if it were a monument. It was Whuthers
     of Whuthers, Wolcott and Williams. Whuthers went back to the taxi and asked the cabby something, then looked back up at the
     building. The cabby shook his head, waved his arm and pointed as he spoke, then Whuthers paid the cabby and the cab sped off.
    Scott watched and waited. He took a pen out of his pocket and circled something in the want ads. As he stuck the pen back
     into his pocket, a loud bang sounded from across the street. The sound, not dissimilar to a car backfiring, didn’t alarm anyone—except
     Scott. To his ears, the sound, muffled or not, echoed like a gunshot.
    He looked around, tucked the paper under his arm, then started into the financial center. Whuthers made his way to the elevators.
     Scott followed, noticing how tight the lawyer’s grip on the attaché case was. As Scott filed into the elevator, he pushed
     ninety-two after Whuthers pushed eighty-nine.
    Before the doors closed, the press of the business crowd thrust Scott right up alongside the unsuspecting Whuthers. The ride
     toward the summit of the Southeast Financial Center went slowly. As the elevator emptied out, he nonchalantly shifted to the
     opposite side. Soon there were only the two of them and one gray-suited old man. When the doors opened for the 89th floor,
     he stepped expectantly forward, but Whuthers didn’t move. He pretended to suddenly notice this wasn’t the floor he wanted,
     and took a step back.
    On the ninetieth floor, the old gentleman stepped out. The doors closed. Scott’s mind started to work. He watched the lights
     above the elevator doors move: Ninety-one. Ninety-two. The elevator’s buzzer rang. The doors opened. Scott hesitated, considered
     his options, then stepped into the hall. He glanced back over his shoulder. Whuthers was still leaning against the elevator
     wall. The elevator doors were almost closed.
    Scott spun around, stuck his hand in between the closing doors. The doors jerked open. He jumped into the elevator.
    Whuthers didn’t move. He was wearing sunglasses, so Scott couldn’t see his eyes. Scott glared at him.
    Behind him, Scott heard the doors close. He spun around, hit the emergency stop button and drew his gun. He whirled back around
     to Whuthers, but Whuthers still didn’t move. Scott shook his head in disbelief. He expected some response— but no response?
    “The