Secret of the Scroll (Greg McKenzie Mysteries) (13 page)

“David will be okay, but if something should go wrong in this little operation, it could backfire on you,” I said. “I don’t want your career to get fouled up like mine did.”

“Yeah? Well, let me tell you about that. First, don’t worry about it. Know why?”

“Why?”

“Remember when my mother was sinking fast?”

“Ah. You mean Jill,” I said.

“Sure I mean Jill. Remember, the airline strike was on. I couldn’t get to my mother–you know what that feels like?”

“I understand.”

“Next thing I know, Jill’s piling me into her Cessna, we’re dodging storms, and then I’m with my mom. Tell me, Boss, how do you say thanks for something like that?”

“Jill’s special.”

“Damn right. All she said was, she needed to log some instrument time.”

I managed a laugh at that, even as I ached for her safety. “That’s Jill.”

Ted reached over and gripped my arm with surprising strength. “I’d fight tigers for Jill McKenzie.”

I nodded. “Maybe we’re gonna get that chance.”

“And by the way, Boss.”

“What?”

“You’re pretty good yourself.”

It was good listening to him but it was quickly tempered by the knowledge that I had as yet done nothing to get Jill back. “Thanks,” I said.

“You’ll be happy to know I brought my tool kit along.”

I recalled how he had always packed what looked like a large tool box in his car when on a special assignment. It was filled with all sorts of gadgets and widgets for most any eventuality. “What do you have that will help us?” I asked.

“For one thing, a couple of mini-radios with ear pieces and clip-on mikes. We can stay in touch while patrolling the streets. I also have my night-vision head set.”

“Good. I had considered using our cell phones, but the radios will be better. What’s their range?”

“Several miles.”

“That’ll do. I hope we don’t encounter any cops roaming the area.”

“Yeah. We look like a pair of cat burglars. I might show my ID and claim to be on a case, but you could be in trouble.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know that I’d be any worse off than I am already.”

“Maybe I could talk to somebody down there.”

“Not a good idea. I appreciate more than I can say your willingness to help me look for Jill, but I know you have to do business with Metro on an official basis now and then. I don’t want you getting at odds with them because of me.” I pulled the map from my glove compartment and folded it to show the
Riverside Drive
area. “Here’s Rosebank,” I said, pointing, “and there’s
Porter Road
.”

Between the two pay phones was an area about half a mile wide and three-quarters of a mile long. It appeared to contain a little more than two dozen streets.

“I’ll take Rosebank and you can start at
Porter Road
,” I suggested. “You can take the map.”

“I’ve got one in my car,” he said. “If one of us spots the van, we can rendezvous in a hurry. You realize, of course, it could be in a garage.”

“I know. But best I can recall, there were lots of cars in driveways over there. We’ll just have to check it out and see.” At least it would be doing something. I couldn’t sit idly by any longer. I glanced at my watch. It was getting close to
midnight
. “I’ll come with you to get a radio, then we’ll head out.”

Before I could open the door, my cell phone rang. It showed the name of a motel along the interstate near Adelphi Coliseum, where the Tennessee Titans play. No doubt it was the
Temple
Alliance
guy. Somehow I thought they would stay in the airport area, which would put them closer to my house.

“This is Zalman,” he said. “We’re finally checked in and settled down. Would it be possible to come by tonight?”

“Sorry. I’ve got a few urgent matters I have to take care of,” I said. “Give me your number and I’ll get in touch first thing in the morning.”

He didn’t sound pleased but gave me the number and hung up.

“Are you sure you’re up to this operation?” Ted asked warily. “I imagine you’re really going through some serious jet lag.”

My eyelids were beginning to feel like somebody had hung lead weights on them, but I wasn’t about to admit it. “No problem. Let’s move out.”

I got my radio hooked up and hurried back to the Jeep to check it out. “Unit One to Unit Two,” I called.

“This is Two. You’re loud and clear.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

You might think the odds would be little better than searching for that needle in the haystack. But since the invention of the metal detector, I figured maybe the odds weren’t so bad. I said a prayer that we would find Jill–unharmed–and get her back. But the ugly thought wormed through my brain that these people sounded too much like the Middle Eastern terrorists who surfaced on
September 11, 2001
.

Chapter
17

At this time of night, navigating I-24 resembled a giant game of chicken played with a convoy of eighteen-wheelers. But if my mission was a game, it was a deadly one. Welch was dead. They had my wife. It reminded me of something I had conveniently chosen to forget. A circumstance that brought the Peterson case agonizingly close to home. It went all the way back to the 1960s when Jill and I first met.

My initial duty station was Sewart Air Force Base at
Smyrna
,
Tennessee
, just south of
Nashville
. The location of a C-130 outfit, it went out of existence early in the process of Air Force base closings. I was as green as one of the area’s tobacco patches when my boss sent me over to nearby
Murfreesboro
to talk about security, a public speaking chore that was new to me. My audience was a Civil Air Patrol unit at Middle Tennessee State College (it’s now a university, Jill will have you know). Anyway, this cute junior with intense blue eyes and nice curves kept asking questions, forcing me to improvise a lot on my answers. When the ordeal was finally over, she came up to thank me, which I found quite flattering, and asked if I could arrange a tour of the air base for her.

I not only arranged it but served as her personal tour guide. I found her a sharp young lady, knowledgeable about airplanes, a lot more than I was. She, in turn, appeared impressed with the deferential treatment I received on showing my
OSI
credentials. We were soon dating and, after a few months, she wanted to take me to meet her father.

I got a real shock when we drove up to the large fieldstone structure she called home–I referred to it as a mansion. She said it was just a big house. I learned quickly that her father hadn’t been too pleased to find she was dating a “soldier,” as he called me. After infantry service during the last year of World War I, he still thought of the military in Army terms.

“What are you, a buck private or a general?” he asked pointedly.

“Neither,” I replied. “But I outrank one of them.”

I explained that
OSI
ranks were confidential, which didn’t win me any points.

Parsons’ wife had died five years earlier, and Jill was his only child. Having married late, he was nearly forty when she was born. He was also forced to cope with the fact that his daughter had been exhibiting a rebellious streak for some time now, though it was not much more than growing pains. He had wanted her to go to Vanderbilt, as he had, while she chose
Middle
Tennessee
State
because of its aviation program.

All in all, Parsons and I did not get along. But I guess the main problem was we were too much alike, both with definite–and unshakable–opinions on the way things should be. By the time Jill was ready to graduate, I knew I would soon be reassigned, no telling how far away. I didn’t want to chance losing her, so I proposed. She accepted.

That was more than Parsons could take. He wasn’t gaining a son-in-law; he was losing a daughter. He did his best to change her mind, but when it became obvious she wouldn’t budge, he offered to provide a wedding fit for a princess. It was a bit too much for a brewer’s son. I talked her into making it a simpler ceremony, adding to Parsons’ disaffection.

When we were transferred away a few months later, Jill’s dad bought her a Piper Cherokee so she could fly home often, whenever she liked, whether or not I could come–preferably not. The constant friction between the two men she loved was the most disappointing aspect of her life. She worked hard to bring about a solution, but she was still far from her goal when Daniel Parsons died in the 1970s.

I wondered now what he would think about the way I had let his daughter be taken captive and held for twelve or more hours? After all, this was the first positive step I had taken to set her free. Would he feel the same way about me that banker Harlan Walker Blackford had felt about his son-in-law, John Peterson?

I found the Piggly Wiggly store adjacent to a traffic light that was flashing yellow. The moon languished in a dark sky, casting the streets in light and shadow. I stopped beside the store for a moment and rubbed my forehead, hoping to dislodge some of the fatigue that had built up. Using the lighter in the Jeep I lit another cigarette and savored the tobacco taste. If I ever needed to think right, now was the time.

An occasional security light spread a yellow pool over somebody’s yard. I drove slowly through the neighborhood, checking vehicles on both sides of the street. I saw cars of all types, plus pickup trucks, minivans, SUVs, even a tractor for an eighteen-wheel rig, but no dark green van with a white swirl. The houses appeared mostly ranch style, with an occasional two-story. As I worked my way onto another street, I passed some larger homes. If Jill were being held in one of these, I realized, the van would surely be parked in a locked garage.

“See anything of interest?”

Ted’s voice abruptly broke into my lagging concentration.

“Afraid not,” I said. “A lot of vehicles, but not the one we’re looking for.”

“Same here. I notice they’re building some new houses. That’s a little surprising.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Most of them are probably from the sixties or seventies. We’ll just have to keep looking.”

“Roger that.”

It was well after
one o’clock
and I had lost count of how many streets I had covered when Ted’s excited voice burst from the radio. “I think I’ve found it. Let me swing around and get a better look.”

“Where are you?” I asked.

“I believe it’s called
Sheridan
. Hold a sec.” A few moments later, he was back. “Bingo! Complete with swoosh and all. You see
Sheridan
on your map?”

I had stopped and was checking it with my flashlight. “Yeah. I’ve got it.”

“Come ahead. I’ll be parked across the street. All the houses around here are dark.”

Fatigue vanished, replaced by anger. Finally we were moving forward. I felt the comforting butt of the Beretta. I would use it. Before God, I would use it. I was soon cruising up
Sheridan
to the spot where Ted’s black Mercury with the AAFB sticker sat at the side of the street. I also spotted the van in a driveway beside a brick ranch. I couldn’t tell if it was dark green or black, but the swirl was the telltale marker. I pulled over and parked in front of the house next door. Ted walked up as I got out of my Jeep.

“I couldn’t see any lights around the place,” he said in a low voice. “By the way, the van’s got a flat front tire. See it lean?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you want to handle this?”

“First we get rid of the porch light at the front door. It would be nice if we could pick the lock.”

“Can do,” Ted said. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pouch containing an assortment of odd-looking probes used for opening locks. “Had this in my tool kit.”

“Great,” I said, drawing my pistol. Fifteen rounds and one up the spout. “You get the door open and I’ll go in first. If the living room is clear, we’ll start checking the rest of the place. The room Jill is in may have a lock on it.”

Ted eyed my Beretta as he handed me a pair of rubber examination gloves. “You know, if we’re wrong about that van, we could wind up in one helluva mess.”

“Stay outside, if you’d like. I won’t hold it against you.”

“I’m right behind you.”

We moved quietly across the darkened lawn, which contained only a bare maple tree. The gloves would be handy for the initial entry, and maybe opening a couple of inside doors. But as soon as our hands began to sweat, they would be useless. Our fingerprints would show right through the latex.

At the porch, I unscrewed the bulb.

Ted placed a gloved hand on the knob before using the pick. Then he whispered, “It isn’t locked.”

I eased the door open, crouching with my Beretta in the dark of the house. My night vision had kicked in. Moon glow filtered through flimsy curtains.