Mourning Dove (18 page)

“Put it down, sweetheart.
Put it down and come to me,” he hobbled around the end of the bed.

“Why?” She reached out
with her hand, the pen pointing to the man she thought she knew. “Why?” The pen
and key chain dropped to the bed and she raised her hands to cover her face.
The brass smell was on her hands. She walked to the bathroom and emptied her
stomach. Afterward, she tried to scrub the stench of the Nazi medallion off her
hands. For a very long time she stood at the sink lathering, scrubbing,
rinsing, lathering, scrubbing, rinsing.

“Sara, come sit down and
I’ll tell you what I know about the medallion.”

He was standing in the
doorway. She couldn’t look at him. She continued washing the contamination from
hands already red from the scalding water. “Please, Sara? Dry your hands;
you’ve washed enough. Come and sit. When I stand like this my leg throbs.
Please, come and sit.”

“I can’t.”

“I removed the key chain.
You don’t ever have to see it again. Please, come.”

After another moment of
silence she turned around. His brown eyes were filled with sadness, glistening
with tears. “Come.”

They moved to the bed and
sat. Silence filled the room as Ron adjusted the pillows behind his back and
propped his right leg on a mound of covers. “I was going through Carl’s things
and found the key chain.”

“No!” She denied Carl’s
involvement shaking her head.

“It explains a lot, Sara.
Why he was so secretive, why he isolated himself, why he took his life.”

“No, damn it!  He didn’t
die by suicide!  How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Sara, it was suicide.
The police have evidence and a note. Just bear with me here. The key chain was
not the only thing in his possession linked to this group. There were
printouts, two that I still have on my desk. Did you read anything on that
desk?”

“No. I just organized it
all by type and date. I have enough of my own reading to do.”

“There were pictures,
what looks like an initiation into the group.”

“No.”

“Sara, I’m not making
this up. There was a Nazi flag folded neatly in his steamer trunk with a file
folder filled with printouts and pictures. At the bottom was the key chain. It
had three keys on it. The one that remains I’ve yet to identify, the other two
were for his apartment and his car. I’ve been trying to find out why he would
join this group, but it takes time. I’ve run into some stumbling blocks. The
reason the key chain and printouts were on my desk is because I’ve been surfing
the net to research the Nazi group. You would be surprised how much is out
there. Some of it isn’t good; hell, most of it isn’t good.”

Sara shook her head in
denial. “There has to be another answer. I’m going to find it. He didn’t kill
himself. I know!”

“How do you know?”

“I know in here,” she
pointed to her right temple. “I know here,” she cupped the soft belly over her
womb. And in a very soft voice she looked into his eyes and jabbed her thumb
into the left side of her chest punctuating each word, “I...know...here.”

***

Downstairs Sara was
livid.

Okay, Carl, where are
you! Pacing from one end of the first floor to the other, she called out in her
loudest boy-are-you-in-trouble-now thought.

Damn it, Carl! I know
you’re here. Both of your parents are in this house; you can’t be anywhere
else. Talk to me! She paced back into the den and slammed the door.

Mom, you’re shouting.
I can hear you fine. Calm down.

Calm down? You want me to
calm down? You tell
me
why you carried a Nazi key ring! How could you with
our family history? How could you with the set of standards we have always
lived by? What the hell is going on!

Sit down, Mom. Please.

 His voice echoed inside
her head.

I guess it’s time to
confide. You have to promise me, not even to Cass, will you share what I have
to say.

What about your dad? He’s
right in the middle of this, too.

He’s not going to
believe you. To him I no longer exist.

Sara folded into the
computer chair and inhaled, breathing out in slow resolve. Tell me what you
were into, she thought calmly.

Do you remember when I
spent my first year in Amsterdam doing post graduate work?

Go on.

That last summer
before I left, when I was working for Granddad in DC, I was approached to work
as a mole for the CIA.  After training, I was told to infiltrate a radical
group while I studied in Amsterdam, earn their trust and pass on information. I
was young and impressionable, cocky about the assignment. I bought into the
idea and agreed.

Are you telling me you
agreed to become a member of the Nazi Party?

She stood again and paced
the ten-foot length of brown carpet in the center of the den running her
fingers through her hair.

I agreed before I
realized what group they were asking me to infiltrate. I spent years admiring
the ability of our family to actively work for the good of our country,
following Granddad in the capital, traveling to Europe to visit Great Grandpa,
the Ambassador. This was my way of adding to the dedication of my heritage. It
wasn’t until later when I realized I would not be able to share my work with
anyone but my contacts within the agency, and then only on a need to know
basis, that’s when the shine went out of the assignment.

I reasoned with myself
I was going to get some payback for the destruction of my family. I couldn’t
tell you and Dad. I just had to pray neither of you would ever find out.

You met Stacey in Amsterdam. Was she involved?

She was a member of
the group. At first I used her to gain admittance. She and her cousin had been
recruited. When she realized the danger she was in, she told her cousin she
wanted out. He told her entrance into the group was a one way deal.

Carl’s voice stopped
echoing inside Sara’s head. And?

He was right.

Last year, the group
kidnapped a chemist who was working on a new chemical weapon.  They had him
holed up in Toronto in a makeshift lab in an abandoned warehouse. Meanwhile,
one of their leaders was in secret meetings with a member of Al Qaeda. The
formula was being perfected.  Al Qaeda was willing to pay a very large sum of
money. The group knew better than to give up the formula. They would hold onto
it, and sell only the product.

“Oh my God!” Shaking her
head in denial, for the second time that night, Sara felt herself become
unhinged. Her heart beat an anvil chorus in double time. She felt like she was
in the middle of a James Bond movie. This is unreal, Carl.

Unfortunately, it’s
not.

Stacey was killed because
she wanted out, wasn’t she?

She was killed because
I stole the formula and eliminated the source before the product could go into
production. She was supposed to get it back. And, she didn’t.

What do you mean by
eliminating the source?

Dad is investigating
my involvement. He has to stop. It will get him killed.

You didn’t answer my
question.

Don’t go there, Mom.

She shook her head in denial
again. What about Jordie? His mom would be devastated.

Jordie hasn’t a clue.

He fell in love with her.

I know. She wanted
out. She told me she just wanted an ordinary life.

When was that?

After she died.

Is she still with you?
Can you talk to her?

I could feel her
essence as her spirit passed, her thoughts a whisper on the wind.

What can I do to help?

You can’t, Mom. The
more involved you are the more danger you’re in. I’ve hidden the formula.
And
the sample.
I pray they won’t find it.

Why didn’t you destroy
it?

I didn’t have time. Be
careful who you speak to and what you say. There are bugs everywhere. The
agency is listening, the group is listening, and I am not a hundred percent
sure that the terrorists aren’t listening.

What do you mean?

The formula is on a
disk. Everybody involved wants it. There’s a leak in the agency. I don’t know
who. There’s only one person I trust beside you. But I can’t make contact.

Who? Maybe I can be your
contact.

It’s too dangerous. I
told you, Mom. Bugs are everywhere and I’m not sure who owns what.

“Is this house bugged?”

This house, Dad’s
office, your house, your office, your car, maybe more, that’s why it’s
important to only think any conversation you have with me.

Sorry, I forgot. Who is
the other person you trust? Maybe I can lead him to the disk.

I can’t tell you where
it is. It’s too dangerous.

Don’t you trust me, son?

I don’t trust the
people who might get to you.

Oh. Who is this other
person? I need to know who is safe, and who is not, if I’m going to stay safe.

You have a point. Let
me think.

Carl, what about Matthew
Farrell? You mentioned before he was a good guy, but some of his associates
were not.

How much do you know
about Farrell?

He works for the
government in communications. He’s working with Starr Shine at the moment as an
advisor on an R & D project. It’s star wars stuff. He apparently is friends
with my boss, Jonathon Pierce, and Robert Starr. Why?

It’s important you
remember there is a leak in the agency. Matthew Farrell was my contact home. I
trust him. What he’s doing at Starr Shine is probably a cover. I don’t know his
contact up the chain of command. There would be one, maybe two, in the channel
to the top. Jonathon Pierce sometimes helps the agency but I don’t believe he’s
a member of the team. Robert Starr I’m not sure about.

You’re telling me Matthew
Farrell and Jonathon Pierce work for the CIA?

Farrell for sure,
Pierce on occasion.

I wondered why I was
hired so quickly. They’re watching me, aren’t they? It has nothing to do with
my capabilities as an accountant, does it?

I suspect they
wouldn’t have placed you in that position without your ability to do the job.

So this is just a game to
them. A spy game called ‘Watch Sara, Find the Disk.’ They’re all connected.
They have to be.

Who are they, Mom?

Matthew Farrell, Jonathon
Pierce, Robert Starr, Marilyn Margeson, Louise, Steve, who else is involved,
Carl?

Tell me about these
other people. Who are they?

Marilyn Margeson, from
the employment agency, steered me straight to Starr Shine as if she were under
orders to do so. They conveniently pushed out the former comptroller to create
the spot for me. Now he’s dead. Louise and Steve work for me in the office,
within earshot.  Jonathon is always trying to be more than a boss. He calls it
mentoring; it looks more like an attempt to get me in b...I pushed him away
and, oh my God!

Matthew Farrell is the
second team. I remember now where I saw his eyes before. At the pool in Portsmouth, he was watching me swim. He had a beard then, mirrored sunglasses, and a baseball
cap. The next morning he walked passed my room without the glasses and I saw
his eyes.  He was at Stacey’s funeral, too. You saw him there. He’s been sent
to follow me, hasn’t he?

He’s still looking for
the disk and the hit man who got me. You and Dad have all my things. I guess
they figure one way or another you will find what they’re looking for. If they
are on top of you, they’ll know it.

I’m going to be sick.

Mom?

Do you know who killed
you?

The same person who
killed Stacey.

You’re not going to tell
me, are you? If I need to, can I trust Matthew Farrell?

I wish you could just
stay out of it, Mom, but, now this. Too much has happened.

What do you mean, ‘but,
now this?’

I don’t believe in
coincidence. Get Dad to stop investigating. He’s been warned.

Carl, what do you mean?

Silence filled her head.

Carl?

He was gone again just
like that. Sara knew it. She was certifiable.

Matthew knocked on Sara’s
door jam and walked into her office. He looked so sure of himself, easing into
the closest chair beside her. She’d spent the whole day suspicious of every
move any of the employees made. She’d tried to focus on this moment, how to
act, what to say. He sat there with a bland smile on his face like a male
version of the Mona Lisa.

“We need to talk about
the Chicago conference. How about dinner?” he asked. “I tried to catch you at
lunch, but Steve said you had already gone to the pool with Louise.”

“I’m expected at home.”

“Leonardo?”

“You know more than
that.”

“Ah, yes. Playing
nursemaid tonight aren’t you?”

“Look, I’ve had just
about enough of the cat and mou…” She stopped at mid-sentence when he raised
his right index finger to his lips. He pulled a pen from his pocket, grabbed a
square of notepaper from her desk and wrote:
‘Not here, we’ll talk later at
the restaurant.’

Sara mouthed the words,
“I have to go home.”

Crinkling a plain piece
of copy paper from her fax machine, he whispered in her ear, “After dinner. I
know you aren’t expected until then.”

So, one of the bugs at
Ron’s place was his. She wasn’t surprised. “I’ll get my coat.”

Out the front door of the
building Sara headed for her car but he grabbed her arm and steered her to his
black SUV with tinted windows. His grasp was not enough to bruise but strong
enough to mean it. The door lock chirped and he opened the passenger door for
her. Buckling her seatbelt out of habit, she waited for him to enter the
vehicle.

He slid into the driver’s
seat and leaned over as if to kiss her, but she pulled back. He whispered in
her ear instead, “It isn’t safe in here, either. Wait ‘til we get to the
restaurant.”

She nodded and wondered
whether it was a good idea to trust him. Maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe she should
say something so whoever was listening would know she was here and have a clue
to where her body could be found. He started the vehicle and slowly pulled out
of the parking lot. To her surprise he reached down to the CD player below the
dash and his car filled with the tinkling sound of a Chopin sonata. Within
minutes they pulled into a small shopping center where he pointed to the Subway
restaurant across the parking lot.

When they walk through
the order line, he winked at her and ordered for both of them. She was
surprised he knew her favorite sub, Italian with oil, no onions. In a booth
hidden from the front windows he finally said, “I’m sorry for all the cloak and
dagger stuff back there, Sara. Because of it, I’m sure you have many questions.
As you can imagine, I do to. I work for the government but not in the capacity
you’ve been told.”

She nodded her
understanding, put her soft drink down, and folded her hands over her wrapped
Italian. “I’m listening.” A fair amount of electricity stood between them as
she waited for him to continue.

“You can trust me, Sara.
I’m one of the good guys.”

“Carl said that about
you. But he’s dead, so what does he know?”

“Carl talked about me
before he died?”

She could see the panic
on his face. “Not before; after.”

He brought his hands to
his face, paused, then glanced back at her with a look of tired frustration. “Look
Sara, I was wrong to think we could help each other here. You are not stable
enough to help yourself.”

“Don’t ‘look Sara,’ me. I
have been chased, bugged, romanced, and drugged.  I have a husband who doesn’t
believe in ghosts but wants me back anyway – probably for my ability to
organize his life. My dead son, who was into God-only-knows-what before he
died, won’t stay out of my head. My boss is so desperate to hit on me he’s
tried drugging me and putting my unconscious body in his bed. My friends are so
afraid I’ll do something stupid they dance around on tiptoes to avoid a direct
confrontation. My son’s friends have been burgled and killed. I have espionage
at my office, and possibly murder. As far as I know every place I go has at
least one, if not two or three, listening devices recording my every move. And
now, the only man I felt safe with is playing ‘spies are us’ with me. You tell
me exactly what I’m supposed to do about that!”

“It would help, Sara, if
you wouldn’t broadcast that kind of information across the restaurant.”

He covered her shaking
hands as she attempted to open her sub. She felt the warmth of his confidence.
“I don’t want to know how you communicate with Carl, it’s too bizarre. But you
did say he told you I was one of the good guys. He was right. I was his contact
and his friend. He died before he could reach me.”

“Then you don’t believe
he took his own life, either?”

He shook his head. “It
was too easy. The evidence was probably planted.”

“That’s what I thought
but nobody believes me.”

“I deal in black and
white, Sara. A ghost, even of my best friend, talking in your head is not
reality.”

“Then, how do you suppose
I came by this opinion of you, of his death, of the knowledge that bugs are
planted everywhere I’m likely to go? Did you know there was a tail on my car?”

She watched the steady
look on his face. “Of course you know. You probably put it there.”

“I know about it; I
didn’t put it there. Tell me what else you know.”

“Why is a bug in
your
car?”

“I’m not the only player.
That’s why we couldn’t talk in your office. There’s a leak in the organization.
I don’t trust anyone. Neither should you.”

“There’s a leak at Starr
Shine, too. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

“I don’t believe in
coincidence.”

“You’re asking me to
trust you. At this point, the only one I do trust one hundred percent is dead.”

“You don’t trust your
friends? The artist? His mother?”

“I suspect that if I
trust them with this information, I could put them in danger. But I think it’s
already too late for that. Jordie’s place was ransacked and Leonardo got the
blame. I suspect this spy business was also the reason my son’s friend, Stacey,
is dead. But you know that, too, because you were at the funeral home wearing a
beard. You were at the motel in Portsmouth, too, weren’t you?”

“What makes you think
that?”

“I remember your eyes.”

“I was wearing
sunglasses.”

“Not the morning I
checked out. It just took me a while to connect it. Tell me why I should trust
you.”

“Because your son did.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“And he still trusts me.”

“I thought you didn’t
believe in ghosts.”

***

Sara picked apart her sub
eating one tidbit at a time. At this rate, it would be morning before she was
finished. Matthew could see she was scared and weary. Hell, so was he. “Sara,
tell me what you know.”

“I think you already know
what I know. Why don’t you tell me why my son died?”

“You found the key ring,
didn’t you?”

“If you were listening
last night, you know the answer to that.”

“What else did you find?”

She shook her head.

“What does Ron know?”

“He says he has printouts
from internet sites, some pictures and a flag.” She looked down at the mess of
shredded lettuce in front of her.

“Have you seen the
pictures?”

“No, he just told me
about them. He says they look like some kind of an initiation ceremony. He’s
been investigating. Carl says he has to stop, says he’s been warned.”

She looked up, tears
glistening in her eyes. “Ron’s broken ankle wasn’t an accident, was it? The
vehicle that nearly ran him down was a black SUV with tinted windows. Yours is
black with tinted windows. Where were you last Saturday?”

“Sara, it wasn’t me.”

“Prove it.”

“If I was the enemy, you
would be dead.”

“Oh, how comforting.”

Her spunk was back. That
could be a dangerous thing.

“Where were you?”

“Watching you. You were
sitting on your porch, rocking in your patio chair with your eyes closed. I was
fantasizing about what could have happened the night before. I think you were,
too. Your neighbor came up with a basket of Indian corn and a pumpkin. Then you
got the call.”

“Where were you?”

“I was one street over in
the trees.”

“What are you all waiting
for? Why are you all just sitting back and watching. If you’re the good guys,
do something!”

“Calm down, Sara. Your
voice is carrying again. Carl took something important. The bad guys want it
back. Apparently the bad guys were doing business with other bad guys, who also
want it. The good guys, that’s me by the way, want it destroyed. As I said
before, there’s a leak in the agency. Some would like to keep it for
themselves.”

“Then why not just let it
go if nobody can find it? It’s gone, end of story.”

“Apparently there’s a
time factor. It’s dangerous information, important enough to kill for, maybe on
a tape, a microchip, or a disk.”

“Then, why warn Ron to
stop investigating?”

“I don’t know. Maybe
they’ve already checked Ron’s place and they don’t want him finding out any
more about the bad guys.”

“I think it’s too late
for that.”

“Sara, do you know where
it is?”

“I wouldn’t even know
where to look.”

She was lying, he knew
it. “You said you talk to Carl. Why won’t he tell you where it is and what it
looks like?”

“He says it’s too
dangerous.”

“Aha.”

“You still don’t believe
me about him, do you?”

A car backfired in the
parking lot. He pulled her head down into her sub wrapper and reached inside
his jacket for his weapon. Several other diners looked up, but no one went out
to check. Apathy and gullibility, it was what made 9/11 possible. “I’m sorry
about this,” he said as he lifted a piece of green pepper from her hair. “Tell
me something only he would know about me.”

“He said you are the only
other person he trusts one hundred percent, other than me. But he says I can’t
tell you about his ability to communicate because you won’t believe. He says
your English family is so hung up on ghosts they give haunted tours in their Yorkshire castle. They wouldn’t do that except for two things. They need the money and they
thought they saw a real ghost. When you were twelve you dressed up as a
fourteenth century ancestor and scared the crap out of them. He tells me you
never told anyone but him. Matthew, I didn’t know you existed until after he
died. Why would I know that story if he hadn’t told me?”

“It’s not possible. It’s
wishful thinking on your part. I understand you don’t want to let him go. Your
mind has been playing tricks on you to preserve his memory and keep him a part
of your life. But it’s only in your mind, Sara, and your need to hold on to
him.”

“Is the story about you
spooking your family real?”

He shrugged his
shoulders.

“You don’t want to answer
me because it
is
true. Answer me this? If this is all in my head, is the
danger in my head, too? Maybe my home, car and office aren’t bugged. Maybe you
don’t exist and there are no good guys and bad guys. Maybe I’m just sitting in
this fast food restaurant talking to an empty booth.”

“I think the evening is
over.” He slid out of his seat. “Come on. I’ll drive you back to your car and
you can go play nursemaid.”

“How would I know,
Matthew?”

“I don’t know, maybe he
wrote it in a journal and you read it?”

“Would a spy keep a
journal? That sounds a bit risky to me.”

Out in the parking lot,
he walked her to the end of the building and spun her around with her back to
him. “Look at the vehicles in this lot.”

“What about them?”

“In addition to mine
there’s a black SUV with a roof rack parked in front of the ski shop. Across
the lot by the entrance,” he pointed, “is a black Jeep Grand Cherokee with
tinted windows.” He spun her around to the left. “And there’s another parked
beside the auto repair shop. SUVs with tinted windows are everywhere. I dare
say from almost every auto manufacturer. I was not in Greenland on Saturday, I
was watching you.”

“And your point,
Matthew?”

“I want you to trust me.
Please.”

“Listen, my life has
become far too bizarre lately. I…” He spun her around to face him and backed
her into the side of the building. “What’s going on now?”

“Another black Cherokee
just entered the lot. It’s cruising the rows.”

She tried to push his
shoulder out of the way. “Please move. I can’t see.”

“It’s circling the row
we’re parked in. There are plenty of extra spots this late in the evening; the
driver is not looking for a place to park.”

“Please, let me see.” She
tried stepping around him.

“Don’t move.”

“Are the windows tinted?”

“Yes. Look, I’m going to
work my way around to the other side of the building.

I want to get a good look
at his license plate. You stay here, out of sight.”

“Matthew, is he parked in
the light?”

“No, he’s just cruising
like he’s looking for someone. I don’t think he knows which SUV is mine.”

“This is silly. If he’s
bugged your vehicle he knows where it is.”

“Bloody hell, he’s coming
around this side of the building.”

He pushed her up against
the concrete wall with a mockery of a kiss. Then he lifted his head.

“Where is he, Sara?”

“Let me come up for air,
will you?”

Matthew stepped back and
she sagged against the cold concrete.

“A black Jeep Cherokee is
idling second row from the building. The headlights are still on. I can’t see
beyond them,” she said.