The Assassin (Max Doerr Book 1) (32 page)

“Perhaps
there are cops,” Janco mumbled, worried that his newly attained freedom might
end abruptly just because that woman drove too fast.

“Chill,”
the woman said. “I got a radar.”

Sitting
next to him, Taylor gave him a
shut up
look.

While
the car raced forward, Janco looked around. The sun was rising, and a view of
the horizon soothed his eyes though his heart fluttered from the uncertainty
that lay ahead. The land around was barren, only a few cactus plants visible
here and there.

Janco
tried to savor everything he saw, but after an hour he was bored. He closed his
eyes, hoping for some sleep, but the bumpy ride in the compact car was making
it hard.

Later,
the sun was up, scorching the land. Janco leered at the distant hills. It had
been over two years since he had seen something like this. He’d spent a little
over two years in the penitentiary, twenty-eight more years left to serve.

Janco
had been found guilty of treason and selling secrets to a foreign government
for money. In his mind, the charges had been preposterous. The information he’d
given away to Iran was owned by him and couldn’t be used to make nuclear
weapons. But the prosecutor had argued that his research was funded by the government
and the secrets he’d passed were critical for nuclear bomb-making.

His
lawyer had argued one could not make a pipe bomb with the info he had passed on
to the Iranians, let alone a nuclear one. But the jury had agreed with the
prosecutor and found Janco guilty as charged.

“Four
to eight years is what you’re looking at,” his lawyer had assured him. “With
good behavior you might be out in two.”

But
when the fat, melon-headed federal judge had given the sentence, Janco was
stunned – thirty years. He wanted to jump and smash that melon. But he knew
that would lead to more trouble; after all, Janco was an educated man with two
PhDs in his pocket. Many lawyers and journalists had opined the thirty-year
sentence was overkill. There was even an op-ed in
The Washington Post
calling the sentence too harsh.

Janco
had started to serve his sentence in a Virginia penitentiary. At first it was
surreal, but within months he’d adjusted to the reality and was able to move on
with his new life, befriending many inmates, who had committed serious crimes,
including murder.

Three
months into his criminal trial, his ex-wife had filed for divorce. He’d had to
hire a family lawyer to deal with it. On top of everything, his ex-wife had his
bank account frozen, putting more stress on him. He’d felt if he could have
focused on his criminal trial, maybe he’d have been acquitted or at least
received a lighter sentence. It had all been the fault of that whore.

After
six months into his prison term, his only relation outside the jail was Mark,
the elder of his two sons, who used to send occasional emails. His younger son
never cared.

In
the prison, Janco had met thugs, murderers, rapists, and one crime boss. Some
inmates espoused their innocence, and some bragged about murders they didn’t
commit.

He’d
tried to be friendly with them. He thought of them as people with special
skills, just like his own skill in science. He’d tolerated stale food for two
years. During summer, his cell used to get so hot that many times he’d thought
he was having a heart attack.

And
then he had seen those two men, Taylor and Gibbs, who had introduced themselves
as agents sent by Iran’s government. Gibbs was the tall man and Taylor short;
both were muscled and had a thuggish appearance. They talked to Janco in a
corner of the yard, no other inmate in earshot.

“We
can get you outta here,” Gibbs had said, and Taylor nodded and looked around,
making sure no one was paying them any attention.

“Where
do I go from here?” Janco asked, covering his lips with his hand. “Feds will
hound me down.”

“We’ll
take you out of this country.”

Janco
had thought for two seconds. “Who sent you?”

“The
Iranians,” Gibbs had whispered and Taylor nodded. “Think about it. You can live
in Europe or South America or wherever you want. They’ll give you the money.
You have twenty-eight years left here. You
will
die here.”

“I’ll
think about it.”

“We
don’t have much time,” Gibbs said. “We need to know by tomorrow morn.”

The
three men had dispersed, and that night Janco had turned left-right-left in his
bed – no sleep, just like his first days on that bed.

Things
can go bad. Don’t really know where they would take me. I might die on the way.
But then I might die here. I’m over sixty already.

The
next morning Janco had said
yes
.

THE
COMPACT CAR rumbled along the highway, cutting through the hot, dry air. They
were moving straight, stopping only for short bathroom breaks, picking up junk
food. Janco wanted a cheeseburger and some fries at one rest area with a food
court.

“You’ll
have plenty of time to eat good food later,” Gibbs balked. “Now isn’t the
time.”

Janco
got the point and munched dry potato chips for lunch in the car. Out of jail,
still freedom felt a light-year away. His heart quivered at the uncertainty
lying ahead. Janco peered outside. Soon he should be out of America, away from
the FBI’s reach, away from anybody’s grip. He didn’t know where he was going.
Gibbs had said somewhere in Europe or South America. He looked at Gibbs, who
was sitting in the passenger seat now. Janco wanted to ask him – where?

Neither
Gibbs nor Taylor had been talking to him much since breaking out of the jail.
Janco decided not to ask the question, for now.
I’m free, I’m free
– he
told himself repeatedly.

Janco
saw a
Welcome to California
sign. Having lived on the East Coast most of
the time, he wasn’t familiar with this part of the country. Then he saw a sign
– Los Angeles 190 miles.

Los
Angeles Airport, the destination wasn’t too far away, and the way the woman was
driving, they might reach LA in just one more hour. It was near noon, and the
sun was bright. Janco thought he was on his way to the Los Angeles airport, and
very soon he’d be out of the country.

But
ten minutes later, Gibbs pointed to a sign with some motel names on it and said,
“We get off here.”

Janco
wanted to ask why, but he kept the question to himself.

The
car turned off the highway onto a local road, and a few minutes later, it
stopped at a nondescript motel. It had a bright neon light sign –
va ancy
.
The C light wasn’t working. A McDonald’s restaurant could be seen from the
vehicle. From the number of cars parked in the motel parking lot, Janco
estimated that the motel was about twenty percent full.

Gibbs
got out of the vehicle. “You guys stay here.” He slammed the door and then went
into the motel office.

A
few minutes later, Gibbs returned with some keys. He gave one to the woman and
said to Taylor, “We all will stay in one room.”

Janco
understood that Gibbs and Taylor would be staying in the same room with Janco,
to keep an eye on him. Everybody got out of the vehicle.

Wondering
what the plan was, Janco looked at Gibbs. Gibbs’s smiley face he’d seen in the
jail was gone now, replaced by a face full of disdain.

“I
have
one
question?” Janco asked politely, knowing that Gibbs was his
protector and possibly his owner as well. If Gibbs left him now, he’d be like a
lion cub left alone in the Serengeti desert.

Gibbs
said nothing and simply kept marching toward the wooden stairs covered by a
green carpet.

Taking
that as a
yes
answer, Janco asked, “When am I going to the LA airport?”

“Tomorrow,”
said Gibbs as he started climbing the stairs.

So
Gibbs confirmed that he’d indeed be going to Los Angeles.

Janco
followed Gibbs to the second floor. “Where is my passport?”

Gibbs
stopped, turned to face Janco, and rudely said, “I thought you had just one
question?”

“Sorry.”

“It’s
being arranged. Now keep your fucking mouth shut. Will be good for everyone.”
Gibbs started walking again.

That
was the first time Gibbs used the F word.

Janco
followed Gibbs silently through the hallway, passing other rooms. A minute
later, Janco and Taylor waited for Gibbs to unlock the door.

As
soon as he entered the room, Janco smelled a musty odor inside. A king-size bed
lay in the middle with a dirty sheet on it that had not been cleaned for years,
apparently. As soon as he saw the bed, Janco felt an urge to lie down and
sleep, and his legs weighed a ton each. It had been quite a ride from his cell
that had started eight hours back.

Inside
the room, Janco walked on the worn-out green carpet, went into the bathroom and
turned the knob for the hot water. He held his palm out and felt the warm water
that had been a rarity in the jail. He came out of the bathroom and saw only
Taylor. Gibbs must have gone out for something.

“Can
I take a shower?” Janco asked.

Taylor
was opening a suitcase. Without looking up, he said, “Go ahead.”

Janco
reentered the bathroom and swiftly locked the door as if someone would come in
and stop his impending warm shower. Janco took his clothes off and entered the
tub, turned the knob and let the water fall on his back. It felt like a
massage.

At
least fifteen minutes must have passed in the bath. Janco heard a knock on the
door and then another one. He hurried, put on his clothes and came out of the
bathroom.

“Got
your cheeseburger.” Gibbs pointed at the McDonald’s take-out paper bag on the
bed. “Eat, get some rest. We’re waiting for word when to move out.”

Janco
almost ran toward the food, opened the bag, and started devouring the burger.

After
finishing his food, he fell asleep on the bed.

JANCO
WOKE UP on the bed and noticed Gibbs and Taylor sleeping on the same bed. The
room’s darkness was violated only by a slice of light from the lamppost
outside.

It
was midnight, or it could be five in the morning; Janco couldn’t tell. He sat
up and adjusted to the fact that he wasn’t in jail anymore. He stood up and
headed for the bathroom with measured steps through the darkness, without
turning the lights on, making sure not to wake up the two sleeping men.

Once
inside the bathroom, Janco splashed warm water on his face, and it felt good,
and he joyfully realized this was the first time he’d woken up a free man since
his incarceration. After doing his business, he took a fresh use-and-throw
razor blade from the toilet counter and smiled at it, a sharp contrast to the
used razors he’d received in the jail. He applied the soap to his face and
checked it in the mirror. The thick lather covered his face, and he felt his
face muscles being massaged by it.

Minutes
later, his shaving was done, no cut this time.

When
he returned to the room, he saw the lights were on, Gibbs slipping out of his
pajamas and putting on nicer clothes and Taylor still lying in the bed.

Gibbs
glanced at Janco and then turned to Taylor. “Wake up.” He gave Taylor’s
shoulder a shake.

Later,
they were back on the highway. Gibbs drove this time and the woman sat in the
passenger seat. Janco wanted to ask if his papers were ready but kept his mouth
shut.

An
hour later, the traffic became thicker, and Janco could see they were driving
through a more populated area now. He mustered enough courage and asked Taylor,
who was sitting next to him, “Where am I headed?”

Taylor
said nothing for a few seconds and then looked out the window and said,
“Italy.”

“Where
in Italy?”

Taylor
simply shook his head and looked outside, pretending to be keenly interested in
the scenery outside, unwilling to divulge the location.

“Am
I going to a good touristy place?” Janco inquired.

“Does
it matter?”

Janco
had other questions.
Where will I stay? When do I meet the Iranians? Will
you give me some money? More importantly, are the Feds after me?

But
he decided to ask those questions later.
Let me get out of America first
,
he thought.

He
turned his head just to see if anyone was following – no one.

Janco
observed that nobody in the car was concerned about being followed and looked
relaxed and calm. The woman was dozing, Taylor enjoying the view outside, and
Gibbs kept passing other vehicles. Janco wondered if that was because they were
professionals or if they really weren’t who they’d said they were.

An
hour later, Gibbs took an exit, filled up the gas tank, and bought some snacks
and beverages. The woman took over the wheel, and Gibbs occupied the passenger
seat again.