Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (34 page)

The internet was a wonderful thing. In a matter of minutes he had the man’s address, date of birth, hometown and a complete credit check. He was careful not to dig too deep as he didn’t want to set off any warnings. He just copied down the information he needed, along with a few maps, and he was ready for the next step.

He glanced at the GPS one more time to confirm the distance to the marina. He wanted to arrive just as the weekenders would be showing up to go out. The marina would be busy and he could hopefully get lost in the shuffle. By that time his hair would be a different color and the beard would be more grown out. It meant another day, but he had learned to be patient a long time ago.

He pawed in his backpack and extracted the passport he planned to use. He would have to get the hair as close to the picture as possible. Fortunately, he had been schooled in just how to do this and he already had the necessary box on board in his cut-and-run kit. All he needed the ID for anyway was for the rental car. He could always steal one, but that was always taking a chance. Right now he needed to keep the chances to a minimum. He rooted around in the bag for the other needed items. A quick trip to the post office would have to happen soon, also, and he didn’t want to forget anything.

Tomorrow would be a big day. He would become another spring tourist in the DC area, only his pictures wouldn’t interest anyone else. He settled back in the padded deck chair for a nap. Soon he would be running on little sleep again, and like most soldiers, he knew when to bank it up.

Over-fishing imperils fish in deep waters.
February 19, 2007—The Associated Press
 

—TWENTY-EIGHT—

T
he sun was no longer streaming in through the windows, but Jack didn’t notice as he continued to peck at the keyboard. Although his office had a secure computer with more speed and power, he was currently using his laptop, something the government discouraged, yet it happened every day. People just preferred to work on the machines they were used to, transferring work back and forth as needed. It had made for some embarrassing leaks when laptops were stolen or left on the table at Starbucks. But there was no real way to enforce the policy.

Jacks reasons for using his laptop at this late hour were not for convenience. As he pecked, he kept an eye on the door. He had closed the shades of his glass cubicle but people had a knack of just tapping on the door as they entered without warning. He understood why, but still hated it. At least they were all professional enough to do it only when it was important.

He proofread what he had written before burning four copies to disc. These he slid into sleeves which then found the inside pocket of his coat. Only then did he delete the document on the screen. The computer asked him, was he sure he wished to delete it? Yes, very. He glanced at the clock before standing and slipping the coat on.

He stepped out of the office to see Sydney behind the glass of the conference room. The entire table was covered in paper and she was pacing around the room. He knew she worked better when she had space so he had let her take over the room. He caught her eye and patted the pocket of his coat. She nodded. Message received.

“I’m going home to kiss my wife and get some clean clothes. I’ll be back in an hour,” Jack told the room as he walked out.

Sydney’s eyes followed him until he was out of sight.

•      •      •

Jack pulled the Cadillac up to the garage door but didn’t bother waiting to pull it in. He wouldn’t be home that long. The garage door was slow opening and he had to duck his head to enter. He was greeted by some soft rock music and the lingering smell of something Italian as he entered the kitchen. He found the remains of some chicken Florentine on the counter and sampled a piece with his fingers. He munched as he followed the music down the hall to a small sitting area looking out over the backyard. His wife was curled up on the couch with her feet tucked under her, reading a book.

“Well, hello, stranger,” she greeted him.

“Don’t get up.” He stepped across the room and gave her a kiss.

She smiled as the kiss broke. “You found the chicken.”

Jack smiled. “Yes, wish I had time to eat it, but I’m afraid I’m just here long enough to get some clothes.”

Debra pouted at the statement but said nothing. He had already warned her of the job he had and that he would be gone for awhile. She didn’t like it, but she was slowly coming to terms with it.

“It’s delicious by the way,” Jack called as he moved down the hall toward the bedroom.

“I could heat some up and you could take it with you?”

“That would be great!” She could barely hear him now.

She moved to the kitchen and got out some Tupperware. After spooning a generous helping into one bowl she stopped and got a bigger one that would hold it all. Jack wouldn’t be alone and it would just go to waste if it stayed here. She added a few forks so he could share it with his crew. She put it all in a bag and added some bread before sealing it. She put it on the counter next to the keys to the Cadillac so he wouldn’t miss it before moving down the hall toward the bedroom.

The carpet masked the sound of her bare feet and she arrived without Jack hearing her. She found him on his knees in front of the closet where they kept a small floor safe. He had it open and was looking at some computer discs he held in his hands. The look on his face was one she hadn’t seen before. Conflict. The expression lasted for only a moment before he placed the discs in the safe and closed it. He replaced the carpet and shoes over the safe and began pulling clothes from the hangers and tossing them on the bed.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

Jack swiveled to see her leaning in the door. “Slow, but we’re making progress.”

“Anything you can tell me?”

“Not really, honey. I’m sorry, it’s just . . .”

“Its okay. I get it, secret agent man.” She smiled, disarming the situation. She changed the subject. “You’re not going to wear that shirt with those pants, are you?”

Jack froze over the bed, looking at his selections and trying to figure out which ones she was talking about. He quickly gave up.

“Help me?”

Debra set down her wine and quickly sorted through the clothes on the bed. Rejecting some, re-pairing others until Jack had a suitable wardrobe set before him. He quickly grabbed a garment bag and packaged the selections while his wife added ties and belts. Shoes were not a problem since Jack had adopted his athletic-shoes-only policy. Fortunately, she had found several pair that were workable.

She sat back on the bed and watched as her husband disrobed and took a quick shower. Seeing he was preoccupied, she stayed silent until she saw the look on his face again as he stared at his reflection before he shaved. Something was bothering him. She had never seen such unease in him before. Jack was never one to shy away from difficult decisions. She noticed that he would never have doubts before making an important decision, only after. It made him strong in her eyes. Yet he was worried about something tonight, and she didn’t know if the decision was made or yet to come. What was on those discs? Should she ask?

Jack finished shaving, brushed his teeth and quickly got dressed. She followed him to the door where she pointed out the bag of food. He turned for a good-bye kiss and a long hug. She straightened an imaginary flaw in his collar so she could get a good look at him.

“Jack?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Is the water over your head?”

He looked into her concerned face, realizing he couldn’t hide things from her as easily as he used to.

“No, the water’s right at my head.”

•      •      •

The Deliveryman let the shutter cycle twice more and captured them in their embrace. He had thought the shots of Jack’s wife on the couch were all he was going to get and had been pleasantly surprised to see Jack show up at such a late hour. It was obviously going to be a short stay as Jack had some clothes and a bag of food with him. He hadn’t even bothered pulling the car into the garage.

He had over fifty shots to show for his day of crisscrossing the DC area. After dyeing his hair and trimming his beard just so, he had docked the boat at one of the many marinas on the bay and rented a car. He had chosen his tourist outfit carefully as Washington was one of the few cities in the nation with video surveillance coupled with facial recognition software. A baseball hat, sunglasses, and trimming the beard to change the shape of his mouth would work to defeat this. He also dressed as a tourist complete with a map sticking out of his pocket and a camera around his neck. It had only taken him one lap around the mall to note the heightened security and heavier than usual police presence. He had avoided the White House and Capitol Building and had found a bar where he could sit and nurse a beer while studying his map and the entrance to the Hoover Building. His patience had been rewarded by Sydney Lewis visiting the Starbucks across the street. He had managed to get several shots of her as she waited in line and more as she crossed the street. He had then made a trip to Georgetown and taken a few more of her condo before venturing into the suburbs to find the Randall home. Here he had found a good place to observe the home from the seclusion of a vacationing neighbor’s backyard. He had watched Jack’s wife cook a dinner for herself while watching the evening news only to eat alone in front of the TV before doing the few dishes and finding a book. He had been about to leave when Jack showed up.

He snapped a couple more as Jack walked outside to his car. He saw him pull out his cell phone as he backed out.

“Soon, Jack. You and me. Real soon.”

•      •      •

“This is my dream job?” Danny asked himself as he stared at the computer screen. The cursor blinked at him patiently as if encouraging him to write. Danny had to fight the urge to turn it off. He looked at the notes he had taken and wondered why he didn’t just print himself up a form. They were the same notes he had taken two days ago and again four days before that. Only the names and the locations had changed. Just another gun battle in southeast DC. The ongoing turf war was good for a murder or two a week lately and Danny was growing quickly tired of it. He could only write the same story so many times. Occasionally an innocent bystander was brought down, too, and there would be a brief public outcry, but that was all. When the mayor of the town smoked crack and still got reelected, what more was there to say? The people got exactly what they asked for.

At least he was no longer in Orlando, although he admitted he missed the weather. He would trade cold and damp DC for hot and damp Orlando any day. But sometimes he questioned his desire to work for the
Washington Post.
After his story about the sniper shootings a few months ago he had finally received a call from the paper and offered a starting position in the Metro section. He had taken it without a second thought and was now putting in the hours necessary to work his way up again. So far he had kept his editor pleased and not stepped on his dick. Tonight though was not the opportunity to shine he had been waiting for. But a man had to pay his dues.

He was tapping out the story, wondering if he could just cut and paste it from a previous one, when his phone rang. Although he had assigned ringtones to certain people, he hadn’t heard this one in awhile and answered it without checking the caller ID.

“Metro, you got Danny.”

“They still got you in Metro, Danny?”

It took Danny a moment to recognize the voice. He pulled the phone from his ear long enough to check the screen before answering.

“Uh . . . yeah, gotta start somewhere.”

“I’ve been reading your stuff, Danny. You’re doing well.”

“Thanks.”

“Busy tonight?”

“Not especially.”

“How about a walk through Rock Creek Park?”

“Okay.”

“Same place we met before, say about fifteen minutes?

“Uh . . . hold on . . . yeah, I remember. I’ll see you there.”

“All right. Just you, though, Danny.”

“No problem.”

The connection broke and Danny sat looking at the phone in his hand for a long minute. He hadn’t spoken to Jack since before the interview with the sniper’s brother-in-law. He hadn’t even been sure if Jack knew he worked for the
Post
until now. He shook it off and tapped the keys to save his story before grabbing his coat and racing out the door.

Flow of investment dollars to farms seen growing.
June 23, 2009—Rueters
 

—TWENTY-NINE—