I shrugged.
“Yeah, most likely.”
“They didn’t.”
“What’re you
thinking, Bear?”
“They didn’t
even slash a tire to stop us.”
I said nothing.
Bear’s brain was processing this in parts. I wasn’t sure where he was going
with it.
“I half
expected the car to blow up when I started it.”
“But it
didn’t.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He turned and crossed the porch.
I grabbed
Jessie’s hand and led her outside with my gun drawn. The passenger side of the
car was shielded to the woods. I opened the back door for her and then ran
around the front of the Tahoe and got in the front seat. I shifted into drive
and drove down the gravel driveway in the dark.
“Lights?”
Jessie asked.
“Not till we’re
on the road,” I said. “Might be an ambush.”
“They would
have done it inside,” Bear said.
I nodded. “I’m
not taking any chances.”
I eased onto
the road and drove a half mile before turning on the headlights. I continued on
to I-95 and took the northbound on-ramp.
Half an hour
passed without a word being spoken.
“Jack?”
I looked over
at Bear. He held his right arm tight to his chest.
“How’s the
shoulder?” I asked.
“Hurts. I think
the stitches came out. It’s bleeding.”
I focused
on the road ahead at a steady stream of cars in tight lines heading northeast
into the rising sun. The sky changed from dark blue to light blue to purple and
orange as the sun peeked up over the horizon. I soaked the sunrise in. The
colors calmed my mind.
“What the hell
is going on, Jack?”
I searched my
mind for the answer.
“I’ve got no
idea.”
“All this, for
beating up a couple damn CIA agents?”
“People are
dying. We’re being framed. It goes beyond that, Bear.”
“They killed
that family.” He paused and looked out his window. “Dammit, we stopped them and
they still killed that family. Little kids. The wife.”
I said nothing.
It had been on my mind the whole time. I felt responsible. Maybe Martinez had
no intentions of hurting the family. But I stepped in and signed their death
certificates in doing so.
“Maybe it’s
that simple,” Bear said. “Maybe some other group killed the family ‘cause they
were afraid the family talked to us. Easy enough to pin on us.”
The thought had
crossed my mind already. But it was too simple, too clean. That would be easy
to refute. “Doesn’t explain Delaney and Abbot. There’s something else going on
here. Someone or some group behind this. And there’s a damn reason. We’re close
to finding something out, and someone doesn’t like that.”
Bear leaned his
seat back and crossed his left arm over his right. “What now?”
“I’m going to
D.C.”
“We should be
there in what, five hours?”
“Not we. Just
me.”
“Like hell. I’m
coming with you.”
“Look at you.
You’ll weigh me down.” I hated saying it. If I had to run, Bear would be a
liability. “Besides, I need someone to watch over Jessie.”
“Screw you, Jack.”
I dropped Bear
and Jessie off at a hotel in Petersburg, Virginia and swapped the Tahoe for a
rental car just outside of Richmond. It crossed my mind more than once that the
Tahoe might have been bugged. It was risky driving the Tahoe as far as I did.
But I figured whoever was after me had proved time and again that they would
wait until I was settled somewhere before striking. Why would now be any
different? Besides, I still wasn’t sure that they followed us to Abbot’s. The
hit on Abbot could have been in motion long before he told us to come out to
his lake house. That made sense. The hit had been planned before he talked to
me. Otherwise, why not send a team and take all of us out?
I stopped at a
convenience store and picked up a TracFone, then got back on I-95 northbound to
Washington, D.C. The sedan provided a smoother ride than the Tahoe. I caught
myself falling asleep more than once.
I exited the
interstate in Springfield, Virginia and stopped at the first hotel I found.
Paid cash for a two night stay. The hotel wasn’t fancy, a two story place with
outside entrances to each room. I drove to the far end and walked up a flight
of stairs to room 228. I ran the green programmed key card through the lock and
the door clicked open. I stepped into the room. To my right was a bathroom. To
the left a full length mirror followed by a shallow closet. A dresser with a TV
on it leaned up against one wall. Across from the dresser was a queen sized
bed. On the far side of the bed was a round table with two chairs.
I pulled out the
TracFone and the torn paper with Conners and the phone number missing one digit
written on it. Blood stained the paper. Abbot’s blood. My jaw clenched as anger
built inside of me. I started dialing the number, stopping after the ninth
digit. I tried to decide what number to press next. My finger hovered over the
button labeled with the number five. Instead of pressing the button, I flipped
the phone shut. Once I heard a voice on the other end of the line I’d need to
act on whatever information it gave me. Right now I needed sleep. Sure, I’d
been trained to operate in sleep deprived situations, and I had been since
leaving the little house in Iraq. But now I needed every bit of cohesion and
clarity I could muster.
I took off my
clothes and hung them over one of the chairs next to the table. Placed my gun
on the nightstand and laid down. I was out within five minutes.
I awoke in a
dark room. It took a few moments to remember my location and why I was there. I
sat up and turned to look at the window. The sunlight that penetrated the folds
of the drapes had disappeared. I pulled back the shades and saw that it was
dark outside, too. I grabbed my watch. Seven p.m. I brushed off the initial
burst of anger and took a deep breath. Seven hours of sleep would prove beneficial.
A pen and pad of paper were placed next to my gun on the nightstand. I grabbed
all three and moved to the table. My stomach growled. I leaned over and checked
through the drapes. A Mexican restaurant next door caused my mouth to salivate.
I quickly
dressed and left my room. Crossed the parking lot and entered the restaurant. I
ordered take out and returned to the room to eat.
I picked up the
pen and wrote Conners at the top of the notepad. Below that I wrote the nine
digit number and below that I wrote the numbers zero through nine in order. My
finger had hovered over five before I had lain down to sleep, so I decided to
start with that one.
A raspy voice
answered the phone midway through the first ring. “Hello?”
“Is this
Conners?”
“Who’s this?”
“This is, uh, a
friend of the Colonel’s.”
“I know lots of
Colonels. Which one?”
I took my
chances. “The one who’s dead now.”
There was
silence on the other end. Finally, the man spoke up. “Christ.”
“First guess.
What a surprise.” After a pause I added, “I was in the house when he was
murdered.”
“OK, so you are
who I think you are and I am who you think I am.” He coughed. “We shouldn’t say
much else on the phone.”
“Agreed. Where
can I meet you?”
“Carlito’s,
it’s a—do you know your way around the city?”
“Well enough.”
“19th and I
Street. You can’t miss it.”
“You sure—” I
searched for the right words. “Listen, Conners. People are dying everywhere I
go. I get the feeling I’m being framed. But, do you…is this place safe?”
“It is, and you
are. Meet me at nine thirty tonight.”
The line went
dead. I flipped the phone shut and set it on the table. I stood and peeled back
the curtains covering the window and studied the parking lot outside. The
hotel’s lot was motionless. A few cars came and went as families stumbled out
of the restaurant and others made their way inside to take the place of those
who had just left. The cycle of life, somewhat.
I wasn’t sure
about Conners. The cautious nature of our phone call and the reaction to
Abbot’s death made me think he was on my side, or a good actor. Aside from
Bear, General Keller was the only other person I could trust. But I’d have to
give Conners the benefit of the doubt. If the meeting turned out to be a double
cross, I’d be ready.
*
* *
I left my car
in the hotel parking lot and walked two blocks to the Metro station. I didn’t
want to risk losing the rental in the city if things went wrong. No one knew I
was out here in Springfield, and I’d be happy letting them assume I stayed in
the city somewhere. The train ride took half an hour. I got off at the Farragut
West metro station. A few passengers exited the train before me. I followed
them through the station, staying close to a group of two men and a woman. Took
the stairs up and emerged at the corner of 17th and I Street. I took a moment
to get my bearings down. Across the street was the Farragut Park, a city block
in length and half a city block in width. The park divided the north and
southbound lanes of 17th Street.
I walked two
blocks to the west, away from the park, and found Carlito’s. The tinted windows
of the restaurant made it impossible to see inside. I crossed the street and
walked up to the entrance. A blue neon sign formed the image of a Martini glass
with the restaurant’s name next to it. I opened the door and stepped in. A man
in a black suit and purple tie stood behind a wooden pulpit and asked for my
name.
“I’m meeting
someone.”
“Name of the
party you’re meeting?”
I didn’t
answer. My eyes scanned the occupied tables in the restaurant. Eight couples,
four families, a woman eating alone and in the back a single man. I walked
toward the single man.
“Sir, you can’t
do that.”
I looked over
my shoulder. “I found him. It’s all good.” I continued walking, ignoring his
protests.
The man at the
table looked around the room. His head stopped when he saw me and his back
straightened. He looked to be mid-fifties, maybe older. Short gray hair and a
gray beard framed his face. He wore a blue sweater and tan slacks. He stood
when I reached the table.
“Noble,” he
said.
“Conners.”
I sat down on
the padded leather bench seat across from him. A wood and glass partition
separated us from the table behind me.
“Hungry?” He
nodded at the waiter standing beside the table.
“Coffee,” I
said to the waiter.
Conners waited
a moment then said, “Tell me from the beginning.”
“I have a
feeling you already know.”
“That might be
true, but I need to hear your version.”
“Why don’t you
tell me your version?”
“We can go back
and forth all night, Noble. But if you want my help you are going to start from
the beginning.”
“What kind of
help can you provide me?”
“More than
enough.”
“You know where
this leads?”
“I think I do.”
“You think or
you know?”
Conners sighed
and shook his head. “You’re not calling the shots here, Jack. Please, work with
me.”
I studied the
man’s face. His blue eyes didn’t waver. He slightly tipped his head down and
lifted his eyebrows. An outstretched arm and extended fingers reached toward
me. He looked like he genuinely wanted to help. I didn’t have much choice but
to trust him, so I started from the beginning. I told him about the first six
months in Iraq, shifting between different ops teams, each time given less and
less responsibility. I told him about the family and Martinez’s behavior and
then recounted the scene in the street when Bear and I were mobbed by the group
of Iraqi men.
“Wouldn’t being
attacked so close to the house be something that might have resulted in
retaliation by you?” he asked.
“Why’s that?”
“They were
ready to kill you.”
“No,” I said.
“They were defending their turf.”
He shrugged and
I continued telling him the events in order, as best as I remembered them.
Occasionally he stopped me to ask a question or two, but for the most part he
nodded as he listened to me rattle off the events of the last few days.
The waiter
returned to the table with my cup of coffee while I was telling Conners about
Abbot’s murder. I had to stop mid-sentence. I dropped my voice to a scratch
above a whisper after the waiter left.
He exhaled
loudly after I gave him my version of Abbot’s murder.
“Quite a story,
Jack.”
“It’s more than
a story.”
“I know.”
“Your turn.
Spill.”
He looked
around the restaurant.
“I don’t know
how much I can tell. In here.” He shrugged. “Now.”
I said nothing
and gave him a look that said he had better talk.
“Hey, aren’t
you worried about being spotted? Your damn picture was all over the TV and
papers here.”
“Stock photo of
me in uniform.” I ran my hand through my hair. “Doesn’t look like me with this
hair and beard.”
Conners
shrugged.
I waited for
him to talk while he took a few bites of steak and washed it down with the
amber beer in front of him.
I lit a
cigarette.
“This is a
non-smoking restaurant,” he said through a mouthful of steak as he leaned
forward and scanned the restaurant to make sure no one saw me light it, like a
lookout in the boy’s room in a high school.
“Don’t care.”
“OK,” he put
his fork and knife down on the edge of his plate, “I’ll talk.”
I waited.
“Delaney,” he
said. “He gave you something, right?”
I nodded,
didn’t say anything.
“Did he tell
you where to go next?”
“A bullet
stopped him.”
“Not yours,
right?”
I cocked my
head and didn’t answer.
“Right, I know.
OK, so…Delaney, he gave you a, uh, something that leads to something else.” He
lifted an eyebrow, waiting for a response.
I nodded.
“Only you don’t
know where to take what he gave you?”
I waited for
him to continue. When he didn’t, I responded, “That’s right. That’s what I told
you a few minutes ago.”
“OK, OK, Jack.
I’m just making sure—”
“Cut the crap,
Conners. For all we know someone is twenty minutes behind me and is going to
open fire in here in a few minutes.”
A couple of
diners stopped mid-conversation and looked at me.
I smiled and
waved.
“We’re actors.
Just rehearsing lines.”
They shook
their heads and returned to their conversations.
“Dammit, Jack.
Calm down. Let me be thorough.”
I’d grown tired
of thorough. I wanted names. I wanted reasons. None of this ‘confirm you did
this and that’ crap he kept feeding me.
“Greyhound,” he
said.
“The bus line?”
“Yes, the key
goes to a locker at the Greyhound station.”
“What’s there?”
Conners
clenched his jaw. Thick muscles worked in back and he pursed his lips together.
“I don’t know for sure.”
“Who’s there?”
“Don’t know
that either.”
“Did you work
with Delaney?”
“Yes.”
“Who do you
work for?”
“Can’t tell you
that.”
I took a sip of
coffee. “Why can’t you tell me?”
“Because,
officially, we don’t exist.” He waved his hands in the air, partly to be
demonstrative and partly to waft the smoke away. “Officially, I don’t exist.”
I nodded while
keeping my eyes focused on his. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Even
within the known agencies there were departments that didn’t exist. I was
attached to one of them. There were also men who didn’t exist, men who were
worse than Martinez. Men who did things that people refused to acknowledge
could be done in the name of freedom. The things that had to be done to defend
that freedom. Nobody wants to think of what actions must be performed to keep
them safe.
“Sounds like a
cushy position.”
“Jack, you get
those documents and call me. I need to take a look at them and then we can
figure this out.”
“What’s the
locker number?”
He shook his
head and looked to the side.
“B915.”
I reached into
my pocket, pulled out the key and tossed it at him.
“Here, you go
get it yourself then.”
He pushed the
keys back to me.
“Don’t be
stupid. One call and you’re locked up for life.”
I narrowed my
eyes and stared him down for fifteen seconds.
“That’s what
this comes down to?”
He slumped over
and placed his elbows on the table.
“I’m sorry,
Jack. That was uncalled for.”
I said nothing.
“I know where
this goes. Most of it at least. And if I go get those documents, and someone is
waiting, I’m a dead man. Look at me.” He waved his hands in front of his body.
“If I die, then all knowledge of this dies. And you’ll most likely die. As a
traitor, too.”