The Gate by Bob Mayer Page B

the water slowly seeped into him, throttling back the adrenaline flowing in his veins. He could have gotten the Hush Puppy from the Ranch supply without any problem, but getting it from Jonas helped his position with the man. Ideology aside, most people looked more favorably upon those they could make some money off of once in a while. Plus Lake wanted a gun that the Ranch didn’t know he had. He couldn’t explain that desire, but he had learned a long time ago to trust his instincts. Lake followed the waterfront street until it passed under the ramp for the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge.
    A figure came out of the dark, wrapped in a long raincoat. “I don’t have much time. I have a plane to catch.”
    “Nice to see you too,” Lake said. Randkin was the science expert for the Ranch. He was a short, compact man who moved nervously. He had long blond hair and wire-rimmed glasses that framed a pinched face. Randkin always looked to Lake like he was constipated. He imagined having to work at the Ranch with Feliks looking over his shoulder all the time contributed to that.
    Randkin ignored the barb. “There was a virus in the glass jar. But it wasn’t lethal.”
    That was Lake’s first surprise of the evening. “What?”
    “It would have made a bunch of people sick. Maybe even killed a few people here and there who had other physical problems, but it was basically a non-lethal virus. That’s why Feliks sent me to meet you.”
    Lake rubbed his forehead. “I killed three men over that virus.”
    “You didn’t know that it wasn’t lethal,” Randkin said. “No reason to. Your wet work was justified.”
    “That’s not the worry,” Lake said. “What concerns me is that maybe this was a test-run and I shot up my only link in the chain. Maybe somebody wanted to see if it was pos sible to get some dumb-shit Patriots to do this sort of thing.”
    “Feliks did express some concern about the same thing,” Randkin dryly noted. “But there might have been another purpose to the entire episode.”
    Lake had been considering the situation. “To make the attack public and point the finger at the Japanese without causing a major disaster, but hinting at one.”
    “Correct.”
    “And the Patriots would love that,” Lake noted.
    “Not just the Patriots,” Randkin said. “The automobile industry. The entire Republican Party. The American Legion. Wall Street. There’re a whole lot of people in this country right now that are just itching for an excuse to go after the Japanese. The sanctions Clinton started and this administration picked up have backfired and we aren’t winning this trade war. The Japanese aren’t winning either, which in a way makes it worse all around. The Tokyo market crash last year shows that, but the man on the street doesn’t care about what’s happening in Japan. He only cares about what’s happening in his home burg.
    “So we know it was a setup,” Randkin concluded. “We just don’t know who was behind it.”
    “And Feliks wants a name,” Lake said.
    “Correct. Feliks also is concerned about the third man. We checked him out. Fingerprints weren’t on record. His image isn’t on record either. We don’t have a clue who he is. Genetics indicates he has Japanese ancestry. That doesn’t jive with a Patriot operation. You never saw this guy before?” Randkin asked, holding out a morgue photo of the man from the boat.
    “I told Feliks that,” Lake said, taking the photo.
    “Feliks told me to double-check.”
    “You’ve double-checked,” Lake said.
    “Hey, don’t jump my case!” Randkin looked around nervously. “Hey, Feliks is upset about something. Some weird stuff is going on, so everyone’s a little uptight.”
    “What kind of weird stuff?” Lake asked.
    “If I knew, it wouldn’t be weird,” Randkin said. “I just wouldn’t want Feliks after my ass. Some of the stuff I’ve heard about him...” Randkin paused, then shrugged. “Anyway, one more thing about our