Precipice (4 page)

Attempting to devise an explanation, however legitimate, was no longer an option if he hoped to avoid the same end result as Zach.

He needed an alternative.

One of the earliest memories Will Ricketts recalled of his father was from when he was seven or eight. He’d tagged along to work one day in the big shiny office building downtown, all the way to the top floor. William Ricketts, Sr. stood at the pinnacle of his career, a testament to hard work, drive, and a little luck. He was the sole owner of one of the biggest investment banking firms in the country.

William Ricketts, Sr. had always been proud to have a son to take over the family business and hoping to spur an early interest in banking, he often took Will to work with him when school was out. Not allowed to sit in on meetings with private clients, Will kept himself busy by talking to Cindy, the nice receptionist, and playing on the floor of their office.

This particular day, he’d brought a few books to read, but soon became bored and began to look for a different activity. He wandered out to the main office to say hi to Cindy, who kept sneaking him candy when they were alone, and to see the wonders of the large outer room with so many people. Much of the massive amount of wealth they earned had been poured back into the company and the firm’s office reflected that. No expense was spared in design and decoration.

As his mother always reminded him when his bedroom crossed the line between living quarters and pig sty, “A successful individual has two things, the support of his friends and family, and a clean environment in which to conduct his work.” As Will ambled down the hallway, he caught sight of his father near the lobby entrance and took off, delighted at finding him. But as he drew near, it became obvious something wasn’t right. His dad looked upset.

Startled, Will slowed to a halt and followed his father’s gaze, spying two unknown men disappear around the corner toward the elevator. Try as he might, Will remembered nothing else from this brief memory: not what the men looked like, not even his father’s stuttered, false explanation of who these men were and what they wanted. The only thing he remembered was how upset his dad had looked.

It was a mixture of fear and anger, mingling with sweat on his brow. William Ricketts, Sr., the mighty head of one of the largest, strongest companies around the globe, was scared by those mystery men. It had shaken Will and that memory stuck with him to this day.

Other than a few brief flashes, Will didn’t have many memories of his father. Always the workaholic, William Sr. spent long hours at the office and every two or three weeks, he spent a weekend traveling to exotic locations to meet with clients. The mighty Ricketts wealth did little to improve familial relationships, despite the tired clichés he spouted about the value of family. And then one day when Will was sixteen, the phone rang at their house and the voice on the other end delivered the bad news.

His father had died of an apparent heart attack. He’d been found sitting on a park bench a quarter mile from his office. His mother, a deeply emotional person, went through a bout with depression and also succumbed to a heart attack a few months later, orphaning Will before he turned seventeen. None of this made any sense to Will at the time, but reflecting on it, he recognized that these memories were where it all began. On the outside, everything appeared pristine, but the inner downward spiral that was Will’s life had begun.

Will had never worked a real job in his life and never wanted for anything, from toys as a child to fancy cars and houses as a man. Everything his father had acquired through a lifetime of hard work had passed to Will. Will didn’t realize at the time, but this included more than vast amounts of money or the company.

Despite his father’s reputation as a self-made, honest, and upright man, he’d developed a few contacts who worked below the radar, people he’d never admit knowing. And it was these relationships, transferred from dad to son, which brought ruin upon the young man’s life. This unwanted “inheritance” stalked him, and as Will continued to traipse through the deep woods toward town, he silently cursed this pain he never asked for.

***

As the door to the back chamber swung open, a slight creek from the un-oiled hinge broke the silence and a man nervously slipped inside the dark room. He approached the desk along the far wall. He’d visited many times, but just now noticed how empty this room truly was.

No curtains nor carpet, only a fancy desk at one end near the fireplace. The desk was accompanied by a large chair facing the other way, and a wooden cabinet that housed a rarely-used television and books that never left their shelves. The lack of furnishing to absorb sound caused every small noise to reverberate and magnify. Every squeak of his shoes echoed throughout, causing the atmosphere to feel even more unnerving. Not letting it break his concentration, he forged ahead.

“He ran, sir. I lost him.”

The figure in the armchair didn’t turn to face him. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and then enunciated, “That’s too bad. What are you planning to do about that?”

“I – I don’t know, sir...” the messenger replied. His demeanor showed a sign of cracking in this man’s presence, a faint twitch in his eyebrows, barely discernible to all but the most careful observer. There was something about this dark, dingy room and the man who inhabited it that sent shivers down his spine. If he believed in that sort of thing, he might swear it was indwelt by pure evil.

“Well, you’d better decide quickly. You have one week to find him and get what we need. You know what happened to the last man who failed in one of his collections…”

“Yes sir, I do. Don’t worry. I will finish this.” Sean Lynch feigned confidence, but he was slowly losing his hard exterior in the presence of his boss, the one man who had ever been able to strike him with true fear. It was chilling, but except for one lone bead of sweat sliding down his brow and over his cheekbone, he felt pleased to be holding up so well.

“Then go.”

Turning to leave, Lynch stumbled once but recovered and hurried out the door, determined to track down Will Ricketts and relieved to be free from the invisible grasp that surrounded that infernal room. He wasn’t about to let Mr. Ricketts slip through his fingers a second time.

The old high school’s red brick building cast a long shadow across the weather-beaten parking lot as Dominic pulled his battered Chevy into an empty spot. It was a Saturday afternoon, so almost every spot stood empty. A small construction crew worked on one side of the campus, repairing damage where a few bricks had fallen from the aging main building. The area had been deemed unsafe for students and fenced off, but they were working hard to make the repair.

However, unlike the day before, Dominic did not head for the school building. Instead, he opened the car door with a loud creak, got to his feet and set off in the opposite direction. Across the street lay the left field fence, bordering the school’s baseball field. The outfield blazed a brilliant green, newly installed, hybridized grass, resistant to heat and draught. Its color was a marked contrast to the browning blades that pock-marked the rest of the school grounds. Spring had yet to end, but an unusual dry heat spell had stunted the growth of the normal grass, mimicking its traditional summer manifestation.

Along the first base side of the diamond, behind the dugout and past a single tier of rickety, wooden bleachers, stood a small, netted batting cage. The enclosure normally held host to a handful of teenagers perfecting their swings, especially on a beautiful day like today. However, when the team played an away game on the other side of the county, the facility was abandoned. Save for the one, older man lazily whacking balls delivered from a mechanical pitching machine.

The date was Dominic’s 18
th
birthday. He had reached adulthood… legally speaking. To make the weekend even sweeter, he’d received notice the previous evening that he was accepted into his top choice for college. Beginning in August, he’d be attending lectures and learning from some of the top minds in the country.

He informed his mother about the acceptance letter last night and the two of them celebrated by going out for Japanese cuisine, Dominic’s favorite. She’d been the emotional rock in Dominic’s life since the divorce. Today, it was time to tell his father the good news and Dominic knew where to find him.

“You going to stand there looking lost all afternoon or are you going to join me?” John Randal’s deep, gravelly voice boomed. The tall, athletic batter cracked another line drive straight up the middle. The netting caught the ball and dropped it harmlessly to the grass at the far end of the cage. Johnny “Hammer” Randal had been the star shortstop on this exact field when he was a seventeen year old senior. Today, he looked as though he could still effortlessly slide into a game with children thirty years his junior, having not lost a single step.

“You saw me pull up?” Dominic asked.

“I heard you coming a mile away. Actually, I heard those idiot shoes you insist on wearing,” John Randal hated the slap-slap sound of his son’s flip-flops. “Real men don’t wear beachwear outside of the sand. Thong sandals are bad for your feet anyway.”

“I know, dad.” They rehashed this same argument every time they were together.

“You wanna hit a few?” John asked, his wooden bat whistling through the air before a loud crack resounded and another baseball tore into the netting. This batting cage was his place of peace and solitude the last few years, a sanctuary to relieve the stress of a career near the top of federal law enforcement. His job was high-powered and clandestine. When days got too long, cases too tough, or the strain of secrets too great, he always returned to this exact spot, pound his frustrations into rawhide spheres, and relax.

“Dad, I have some news,” Dominic declared as he fought to hide his smile. He hoped acceptance to his father’s alma mater would make him proud.

John Randal didn’t answer right away. He stood still and posed for a couple seconds, studying another pitch as it spun toward the plate, before uncorking his body in a sudden, swift, smooth rotation.

Crack!

“You got in. That’s great.”

“How did you know?” Dominic’s lips turned down in a confused frown, but no answer came. Another pitch careened in toward the plate before connecting with the sweet spot on the wooden bat.

Crack!

“Did mom tell you?” Dominic asked.

“You know your mom and I haven’t spoken in months,” he grunted. The divorce had been hard and not particularly amicable. Dominic understood the clutter of problems between his parents was not one-sided, but his father—and his overly demanding career—took the brunt of the split. Custody went to the mother and Dominic spent most of his time with her.

“Oh no, Dad…” Dominic closed his eyes and groaned in exasperation, “You did something, didn’t you?” He took his thumb and forefinger and kneaded his forehead.

“Of course I did something.” His father knit his brow. The pitching machine ran out of baseballs to hurl his way, so John lay down the bat and turned to face his son. “I am your father.”

“Dad, we’ve talked about this.” Dominic scowled, his irritation getting the better of him. His words became sharper and more biting. “I don’t want you going behind my back…”

“I’m a respected and esteemed alumnus of the university,” his father said. “And my position in government lends itself to influence in many high places. Why not use my pull with the board of trustees to help my son? I knew you wanted to go there, so I stepped in.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Dominic spat.

“I wanted to help you and it’s my duty to do so,” John countered. “I really don’t know why you’re so upset…”

“Of course you do! We’ve gone through this before. I don’t want your help!”

“Son, one of these days, you need to rein in control of that stubborn streak. Along with your strange aversion to accepting help,” John spoke slowly, enunciating every word. “No one ever got to the top—to where I am—solely on their own.”

“I just wanted to be accepted to college on my own merits,” he muttered in frustration.

“And if that wasn’t going to happen?” John Randal’s voice dropped in volume.

“What do you mean?” Dominic asked after a pause. He frowned. His transcript and standardized test scores weren’t quite at the top of his class—he understood that—but they were still high. His application should have been very competitive. “You don’t think I was going to make it on my own, do you?”

“That’s not what I said.” John shook his head and readjusted his ball cap. “Forget I said anything.” With that, John turned his back on his son and approached the machine to reload it with another round of baseballs.

“You didn’t believe I was capable,” Dominic repeated. He refused to let it go. “You assumed I’d be rejected…” Dominic’s voice rose in both volume and pitch.

John sighed. “Look, if you want, I can call them back and rescind my recommendation.”

“Your recommendation?” Dominic shouted. He paced, trying to stay calm. “Was it really a recommendation or did you just pull your puppet strings?” His face grew hot, flushing with embarrassment and anger as he spoke. “You didn’t think I was good enough….you never did. And you still don’t…”

“Fine, Dominic. I will call and tell them to reconsider your acceptance, based purely on your merits,” John said, his voice an annoying monotone. “If that’s what you want.” Dominic’s face flushed beet red. His father’s extreme—and perpetual—composure only added to his frustration.

“Forget it, Dad,” Dominic half-turned to leave and made a snap decision. “I’m leaving. I’ll accept your help this once, but when I get there, I’m going to finally be beyond your reach. You won’t be able to swoop in and pretend to be my savior anymore when you think I can’t handle myself. I will do this on my own and I’m going to ace it. I’m going to prove you wrong. I belong there.”

Dominic stomped off, across the street, got in his car and sped away. As he flew past the cage on his way out of campus, he saw his father watching his retreat, his bat on his shoulder and a frown on his face.

A sudden knock on his office door woke Dominic. Startled and disoriented, he offered a quick prayer of thanks it wasn’t Sloan catching him asleep, but their young intern, Craig, hand-delivering the photos.

Despite the sensitive nature of their casework, interns in the outer office and labs were not uncommon, though they were never allowed much access to anything important and had their actions closely monitored. Because of the close scrutiny these young kids were under, the positions always attracted the same type of person—hardworking, but bland personalities—so Dominic usually avoided them.

But Craig broke most of the stereotypes. He was friendly, cheerful, funny and best of all, in Dominic’s opinion, a sports nut. The kid was reminiscent of himself at that age.

After scanning the images to ensure they turned out and confirming the identity of their target, Dominic wasted little time delivering them to Sloan. “It’s him alright, boss. No doubt.” He pulled out the third photograph and pointed. “This is the best shot of his face. There’s a shadow, but there’s no question it’s him.”

“Harrumph,” Sloan grumped. “What’s your next move?” Dominic recognized Sloan’s tactic of allowing his agents work through ideas on their own. He said it promoted stronger leadership qualities.

“Go back there. Stake it out again. This time, follow him.”

“And then what?

“Want us to confront him? Arrest him?”

“Not yet. I want to play this slow. Don’t overlook anything. Just report back everything he does and everywhere he goes. Then we’ll figure out what to do with that information.”

“You sure, boss? We could bring him in and question…”

“No.” Sloan interrupted. “He might just be the tip of the iceberg. If we brought him in, we’re at the mercy of whatever he decides to tell us. We need to know what information he might not be so willing to reveal in interrogation. Let’s see where he leads before we jump to that.”

“I hope you’re right, boss.”

“Me too. First thing in the morning, I want you and Faye at that site, watching. And for Pete’s sake, get some sleep tonight. In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the night off and get started on that rest early. You look like a wreck and I’m going to need you at full strength.” He paused to replace the photos in the folder and handed it to Dominic. “Remember to add these to the case file.”

“Yes, sir.” Dominic hated being reprimanded by his boss for his sleeping habits, but he couldn’t deny it was true. He visited Shannon’s cubicle and brought her up to speed, then returned to his office. There was paperwork to finish, but then he‘d take Sloan’s advice and get some rest. He’d be back to work early tomorrow morning and needed to operate at a higher efficiency than could currently be mustered.

***

Knock! Knock!

Will waited for a response. Nothing. That was expected, considering the hour. Unfortunately, “nothing” was not what he needed at the moment.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

He stood still, listening intently, ears perked for the slightest sound. There it was, the creak of someone moving about in the house. A minute later, he heard the soft clack of a deadbolt and the handle turned. The large wooden door swung inward, revealing a dark hallway and the silhouette of a short man in his 60s. He stood in the entranceway wearing nothing but a dark colored bathrobe and a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses.

“Wha’? Who’re you? Wha’re you doing ‘ere? I was soun’ asleep.”

“Hey Artie” Will said.

The man startled at the voice and took a step back. He blinked a couple times, struggling to get them to focus on the man standing before him. He blinked again. “Will? Will Ricketts?” He cleared his throat twice and attempted to shake the sleepy cobwebs out of his head, but with only modest success.

“Can I come in, Artie?” The intonation in Will’s voice carried an urgency that was absent in the words he chose. He shifted his weight front to back, keeping his head low and shoulders hunched. Intellectually, he knew none of this did much good, but it helped him feel less noticeable should anyone be watching.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Artie stepped backwards, stumbling from the fog shrouding his consciousness, hindering his movements and clouding his judgment. He swept his hand out, gesturing for his guest to abandon the chilly outdoors. Will hurried inside, and Artie shut the door behind him. “Didja know it’s after four in the morning? Is everything ok?”

Hesitating, Will struggled with how to explain. “I’m in a bit of trouble, Arthur.” They still stood in the shadows since Arthur had yet to flip on the lights inside. This mild darkness hid Will’s dirty, rough appearance, but he slowly stepped forward into a moonbeam coming from an upstairs balcony transom, revealing his torn clothing and dirty visage.

The old man, grogginess disappearing in an instant, took in a sharp breath. Will continued, “I’m gonna need your help.”