Don't Order Dog (42 page)

“Why?” Alex asked impatiently.

“Because Agent Murstead, as these letters so eloquently say, he
ordered DOG,
and as everyone within the NSA understood back then, when you ordered the
Destruction Of Goods
, it was time for someone to die.” Connolly turned and looked at Preston. “You should have told me about this sooner, Jack. We might have saved her life.”

“Who’s life?” Preston asked.

“The bartender, of course,” Connolly replied matter-of-factly. “I think he means to kill her.”

Alex looked sharply at Connolly. “Are you telling me that you think this man – who’s already been hunted by the CIA, the Department of Homeland Security, and thanks to you, a US military sniper – is now planning to go to Flagstaff and kill the
woman he’s been writing love letters to?” 

“
They’re not love letters,” Connolly said flatly. “They’re coded messages regarding terrorist activities. Which makes the woman who’s been receiving them a loose end. Of course he plans to kill her. And he’s got a head start on you if you’re planning to catch him. Or should I say, planning to catch him
again
?”

Alex considered the Director’s response for a moment before walking to the door and waving his colleague back into the interrogation room. The two men talked briefly before Alex nodded his head and addressed Preston and Connolly. “Gentlemen, Agent Davis will be conducting the rest of
this interview. I’m sure you’ll give him your full cooperation. Afterwards, you will be escorted to a secure hotel for the evening. Please make yourself as comfortable as possible until I get back.”

He turned to leave, then paused and looked curiously back at Connolly. “Your man in the NSA
… the one who invented this protocol. What was his name?”

Connolly tensed noticeably at the question. “You don’t have the authorization to know that information.”

Alex smiled. “Oh no? I’ll bet you a short call to the Deputy Secretary of the State says that I do.”

Connolly glared at him silently. “Shafer... Robert Shafer,” he replied quietly, a slight frown creasing his face. “But back then everyone called him by his codename.”

“Which was?”

“Shepherd.”

“And where can I find this Shepherd?” Alex demanded.

“You can’t,” Connolly answered, shaking his head slowly. “He’s dead. He was killed in a car accident nearly thirty years ago.”

Tom Coleman parked along the side street outside of Joe’s Last Stand Saloon and quickly paced the empty sidewalk along Historic Route 66 towards the entrance. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shivered at the cold. It was just before noon and a cloudless, sapphire-blue December sky stretched overhead, creating a false impression of warmth. Looking ahead, Tom noticed a heavily-dressed utility worker preparing to check the power lines on the electrical pole in front of him. A second worker, broad shouldered and much taller than his colleague suddenly stepped out from the side door of the utility van parked in front of the saloon. The worker glanced over at him and nodded, his face hidden behind a thick scarf. Tom nodded in return as he reached the door, barely noticing the man’s blue eyes as he ducked inside. 

As expected, the saloon was nearly empty. Chip sat in his regular spot at the bar, quietly talking with another man. He noticed Tom and gave him a friendly wave. Tucked in her corner behind the counter, Jeri glanced up and shot Tom a brief look of annoyance before returning her attention to the book cradled in her hands. Tom walked towards the two men sitting at the bar, noting with a sense of relief that Joe the owner wasn’t around.

“Well, speak of the devil. I was just talking about you,” Chip said warmly with a wide smile as he walked up to the bar. “Tom, say hello to my new friend Max… a kindred spirit who likes drinking as often and as early as I do.”

Tom
grimaced at the smell of Chip’s breath. He’d never seen the older man this drunk before. He gave him a weak smile before extending his gloved hand to the man sitting next to him. “Tom Coleman.”

“
Hi, I’m Max Delaney,” the man replied politely. “Here, take my seat.” As he rose to move to the next barstool, Tom couldn’t help but notice Max’s sheer size.

Tom thanked him and sat down between the two men. He methodically removed and folded his gloves before tucking them into his coat pockets, then carefully laid a few clean napkins on the bar to rest his hands on. Next to him, Chip watched silently with a mocking grin.

“You’ll have to forgive ol’ Tom here, Max. He’s a bit of a germaphobe.”  

The large man shrugged his broad
, muscled shoulders. “That’s just fine by me,” he said quietly. “You never know what you might come in contact with these days.”

“Good point,” Chip conceded. He peered down the bar at Jeri.
“Jeri, can I buy a round of drinks for my two friends?”

Jeri nodded without taking her eyes off her book.

Tom looked at the older man with surprise. “You want to buy me a beer? This must be a special occasion.”

Chip patted him on the shoulder. “Oh that’s right, you didn’t hear the news, did you?”

“What news?”

“I meant to tell you yesterday, but you snatched that letter from the wall and flew out of here before I could even turn around and say hi. By the way, why were you in such a damn hurry?”

“I don’t want to talk about that right now,” Tom said with a dismissive shake of his head. “What news?”

“It’s a good thing Joe isn’t here,” Chip continued, a wide grin stretched across his face. “Christ, he’d probably hang you from the rafters.”

“For fuck sake, Chip – what’s going on around here?”

“Oh that… yeah
. Well, you see, it’s Jeri’s last day.”

“What?” Tom said, glancing
over at Jeri as she stood pouring their beers from the tap. “Is that really true? Today’s your last day working here?”

“Yep,” Jeri replied. She walked the beers over to the three men and placed them on the counter, her
amber-brown eyes locked coldly on Tom. “Anything else you’d like to ask me?”

“Well…well yeah,” Tom stammered, caught off-guard by the news. “I mean, what are you planning to do?”

“I’m planning to get out of here for a while,” Jeri answered, narrowing her eyes on him. “There’s just a little too much attention being focused on me right now.” 

“So where are you gonna go?”

“Somewhere far away from here,” she replied as she turned and walked back to her seat in the corner.

“Wait, Jeri… can I please–” Tom stopped at the rough nudge of Chip’s elbow.

“Let it go,” Chip slurred, waving his hand. “You’re not going to get anything else from her. If there’s anything I can tell about Jeri, it’s when she’s made up her mind. Hell, look at her… she’s practically gone already.”

Tom nodded reluctantly and took a sip of his beer. He could feel the o
lder man leaning closer to him.

“So tell me, what was that whole letter-stealing drama all about yesterday?”

“I told you Chip, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Of course, it’s
classified information
now, right?” Chip said mockingly. “Come on, Tom, what the hell could be so top-secret, anyway? Have you already forgotten that I was the one who helped you with this whole ridiculous investigation? Does it really even matter now? After all, our little letter-writing terrorist has already killed his last target, and Jeri’s getting the hell out of here tomorrow. What else could you possibly expect to accomplish?”

“It’s not about her, Chip. It’s about the person this guy’s sending mess–” Tom paused and looked over his shoulder at the large man named Max seated next to him. The man appeared to be ignoring their conversation as he quietly drank his beer. Tom turned and grabbed Chip’s arm. “Just drop it, okay?”

Chip raised his eyebrows innocently. “Okay, fine…fine. I was just asking.”

The three men sat quietly at the bar for a few minutes before Chip took a long drink of his beer and sighed loudly. “Well, anyway… it’s a damn bittersweet day for this forgotten old saloon,” he said, raising his beer glass towards Jeri. “Jeri, there isn’t a soul around here who won’t miss you pouring their beer, but we both know this day is long overdue. It took the love letters of a terrorist to make it happen, but I’m damn happy to see you finally going back out in the world where you belong. Here’s to you, my beautiful, intelligent friend. Cheers.”

Tom and the large man sitting next to him raised their glasses with Chip. On the other end of the bar, Jeri bowed her head and smiled.

“Thanks, Chip.
I’m going to miss you too.”

Chip nodded and quickly tossed back a good half of his beer. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said, his
face breaking into a wide grin “Make sure you leave me a forwarding address. No matter where you end up, I at least want to know I can write you.”

Jeri shook her head. “No promises, old man.”

Tom took a sip of his beer, his mind spinning.
What was he going to do now?
Suddenly every piece of the investigation seemed to be dissolving and scattering around him. Jack Preston was strangely unreachable. Rick Martin was somewhere in China chasing their terrorist – if he wasn’t dead already. And now Jeri herself was leaving for god-knows-where before… before what exactly? Even that wasn’t clear. For the last few months he’d been pouring over letters full of obscured messages and photos of an obscured face, all in the hopes of catching a man who was killing for an unknown purpose. This wasn’t how investigations were supposed to happen. You were supposed to draw closer to the answers, not drift farther away. As he now considered everything around him, Tom realized the facts of the case were like so many grains of sand slipping maddeningly through his fingers. Chip was right. What could he possibly expect to accomplish now? There was nothing–     

Tom suddenly turned and looked at Chip.
“How did you know that?”

Chip glanced up from his beer, a look of confusion on his face.
“How did I know
what
?”

“How did you know that
Jeri’s letter-writing terrorist has already killed his last target?”

Chip gazed at Tom wi
th a blank stare for a moment. “Oh that…well, from the letters of course. He must have said something about it in the last letter.” He paused and glanced over at the shrine of letters on the far wall. “I don’t remember exactly where, but I’m sure that’s where I saw it.”

Tom shook his head slowly. “That doesn’t make any sense.”    

“What do you mean
it doesn’t make any sense
,” Chip said defensively. “How else would I know that?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve spent hours studying those damn letters, and I can say with absolute certainty that you didn’t learn that from them. Our terrorist refers to his victims as the
Brainy Buddies
, and in the last letter he says he’s nabbed three of them, but not the last one.” Tom leaned closer. “So I’ll ask you again, Chip. How did you know that the last target was already dead?”

Chip
rolled his eyes at him. “What are you saying, Tom? Do you actually think
I’m
the letter-writing terrorist?”

“No, but I’m beginning to believe you’re the person he’s been sending the messages
to.” He stared at the older man intensely. “Those letters have been meant for you all along, haven’t they?”

Chip laughed. “Listen to yourself
! A minute ago you were sitting here drinking a beer with me, and now you’re accusing me of being a terrorist? An old man who spends his day drinking at the bar… is that Homeland Security’s new profile for bad guys, Tom?” 

“You didn’t answer my question,
” Tom said calmly.

Chip took a swallow of his beer and ran a hand through his wavy, salt-and-pepper hair in agitation. “Put yourself in my position, Tom. If you were innocent of these accusations, what would you say?”

“First I’d say I was innocent. Then I’d explain how I managed to have information that only our terrorist would know.”

“And if you were guilty?”

Tom leaned back and studied the older man suspiciously.
“I’d kill my accuser and immediately flee the scene.”

“I’m an old man
, Tom. Do you really think I’d try that on my own?”

Tom shook his head.
“No, I suppose not.”

Chip smiled and nudged him playfully with his elbow. “
Of course I wouldn’t.” He glanced over at the large man seated next to Tom.

“Max, would you do me the honors?”

Tom looked curiously at Chip before the meaning of his remark struck him, but by then it was too late. Max suddenly stood and wrapped his massive arm around Tom’s neck before he could turn and confront him. Pinned from behind against his attacker’s chest, Tom frantically tried to punch at Max’s face but was quickly subdued in the vise-like grip of the larger man’s free hand. Max then tightened his grip around his neck. Tom’s eyes searched around wildly as he fought for breath, straining to free himself from the pillar of muscle now suffocating him. His eyes locked on Jeri, who stood in her corner behind the counter staring back at him, too shocked to move. He tried calling out to her, but only produced a muffled gasp.

“Don’t fight it, Tom
,” Chip said calmly. “It’s much better if you don’t fight.”

From her corner behind the counter, Jeri watched in horror as Tom’s eyes slowly glazed over and his body went limp. A moment later, at the command of a brief nod from Chip, Max unwrapped his arm from Tom’s neck and gently laid his lifeless body on the floor. The two men spoke briefly before the large man spun and
marched out the front door.

Chip then turned and gazed at
Jeri, his pale blue eyes shining lucidly.

“I’
m sorry, Jeri, but I think I just ruined your last day at Joe’s.”