The Immortality Plot

The Immortality Plot - Chapter 3

Mike Delaney loved Chicago. It was one of his favorite American cities. Although he had been brought up in New York after his mother and father emigrated from Ireland when he was twelve, and although he loved the anonymity of the Big Apple, Chicago had something special.

Chicago was a good city to walk around and Delaney set himself a brisk pace through River North’s restaurant district, where he called into a few bars and sank a couple of Goose Island beers.

He crossed over the Chicago River heading for the James Thompson Center. He wasn’t following any particular route, just taking streets as they came. He was in a reflective mood but the clatter of the Elevated Railway, the El, helped to drown out his gloomier thoughts. But not completely.

He had no job, enough money to survive another few months, a partially burned out beach home near Monterey, a life experience in covert services, combat, investigation and undercover policing and that was about it.

He’d never made friends easily; he was too much of a loner. He’d met a lot of people when Maria had been alive. She seemed to know everybody on the planet. Maybe this was why she had been such a fine and respected journalist. He had been happy to just drift along in the backwash of her energy. He took odd jobs and gained a reputation as a Tai Chi teacher with his daily beach classes. After a lifetime of regimentation, discipline and, ultimately, of despair when he was framed in Hong Kong along with Bob Messenger and they were both kicked out of their respective military service units with nothing other than ‘retired’ on their records, he had relished the freedom.

Delaney liked the anonymity of cities and the push and shove of the myopic crowds. He sat at a sidewalk café, leaning back in his chair, legs splayed out. He ordered an industrial strength coffee and a cheeseburger and watched a couple of police officers strolling casually on the opposite sidewalk, hands on their firearms.

Delaney ate quickly, drained his coffee then paid the check and headed for the Magnificent Mile, threading his way impatiently through the hordes of retail therapy junkies hooked on window shopping. An old black guy in a doorway was playing an urban blues tune on a beat-up guitar. Delaney stopped and listened, oblivious of the surging shoppers peeling around him surprised that anyone would want to stop moving let alone listen to an old loser on the streets.

The twelve-bar riff matched his mood and acted as a relief valve. Delaney tossed five dollars into the bluesman’s cap and received a wrinkled wink in return.

Delaney reached the venue in exactly eight minutes and joined a stream of people entering through the glass revolving doors into a nondescript lobby where security checks were being carried out. Then he entered a large conference room laid out theatre style. At one end of the room was a large table with screens either side and behind it three people were seated, waiting patiently. There was Bob Messenger, looking a little heavier than Delaney remembered; Laura, his assistant, looking brisk and efficient and another man, whom Delaney took to be Messenger’s business partner or the technical guru sitting impassively by their side.

Soft music was playing in background; Delaney identified it as Wiegenlied by Brahms. He had always loved music and poetry, especially growing up in Ireland and with his father being such a great storyteller and singer of the old songs. As a child he used to dance like a wild thing at the regular ceilidhs and music sessions loving the sound of fiddles and bodhrans, flutes and pipes. But his father also loved the classics and brought this love of music with them to America.

He moved to the side of the room but didn’t sit. Instead, he sidled his way along until he was close to the front, flanked by a tight knot of delegates. Bob Messenger looked calm. He was wearing a neat tartan shirt with his sleeves rolled up. He had on pair of thin, black designer spectacles and flecks of grey were starting to appear in his short hair. He was gazing around the room, waiting until it was full and the presentation could get underway. His eyes moved to the right and he spotted Delaney leaning against the side wall in his grey slacks, sea island cotton shirt and creased linen jacket. He smiled and moved back slightly in his wheelchair.