Whitewash (59 page)

Thursday, June 15
Somewhere over the Eastern U.S. en route to Florida

Jason hadn’t gotten any sleep. He’d showered and shaved, but that was about all. No breakfast. No newspapers. Earlier he had caught a reflection of himself. His swollen eyes and disheveled hair, along with the untucked shirt, faded blue jeans and worn Nikes gave him an uncharacteristic grunge look. It also gave him an unintentional disguise. After his run-in with Detective Christopher last night, he found himself looking over his shoulder as he walked through the airport, keeping his head down when he met up with anyone close enough to recognize him.

He had shut his cell phone off before he boarded his flight. Normally he was one of those guys still getting in one last call as the plane taxied to the runway and the flight attendant asked for any electronic devices to be turned off. Today he was in no mood to fix any last-minute problems or answer “urgent” questions. Luckily it was too early for any problems at the office. And everything had already been arranged for the energy summit’s reception. He’d check all the details himself when he got to Florida. In the meantime, his secretary and the senator knew he couldn’t be reached while he boarded and was in flight.

That no one could bother him for almost three hours ended up being a wonderful escape. He had a Bloody Mary, even eating the celery stick since he hadn’t had breakfast. He decided to stay off his laptop and started listening to the latest Jack Reacher novel on his iPod. By the time the plane landed in Tallahassee, he knew he’d be more relaxed than he had been in weeks.

He had arranged for early check-in at the hotel. Maybe he’d order brunch up to his room. He’d have all afternoon to check e-mail and see to the reception details. Senator Allen’s private jet would arrive at Tyndall Air Force Base late afternoon. Jason had a limo scheduled to pick him up. For himself, Jason had reserved a BMW Z4, a red convertible. Not a bad way to eliminate a bit of stress. He planned on a drive along Highway 98, which he understood included some amazing views of the gulf.

Jason nodded when the flight attendant asked if he’d like another Bloody Mary. He glanced at his watch. Not quite seven o’clock, but he figured he had reason to kick back. He deserved it. Later this morning the Appropriations Committee would award EchoEnergy the $140-million military contract. And Senator Allen would be the darling of the energy summit. He didn’t even care if the senator had to share the limelight with William Sidel.

In fact, Jason decided he wouldn’t stress out over the connection Sidel may have had with Zach Kensor. After this summit it wouldn’t matter—both Sidel and Senator Allen will have gotten what they wanted.

And Jason decided he wouldn’t worry about what Lindy may have told Senator Malone or Detective Christopher. By the time he got back to Washington that whole mess with Zach could be old news. He needed to sit back and enjoy the results of his hard work.

Thursday, June 15
Somewhere over the Eastern U.S. en route to Florida

Jason hadn’t gotten any sleep. He’d showered and shaved, but that was about all. No breakfast. No newspapers. Earlier he had caught a reflection of himself. His swollen eyes and disheveled hair, along with the untucked shirt, faded blue jeans and worn Nikes gave him an uncharacteristic grunge look. It also gave him an unintentional disguise. After his run-in with Detective Christopher last night, he found himself looking over his shoulder as he walked through the airport, keeping his head down when he met up with anyone close enough to recognize him.

He had shut his cell phone off before he boarded his flight. Normally he was one of those guys still getting in one last call as the plane taxied to the runway and the flight attendant asked for any electronic devices to be turned off. Today he was in no mood to fix any last-minute problems or answer “urgent” questions. Luckily it was too early for any problems at the office. And everything had already been arranged for the energy summit’s reception. He’d check all the details himself when he got to Florida. In the meantime, his secretary and the senator knew he couldn’t be reached while he boarded and was in flight.

That no one could bother him for almost three hours ended up being a wonderful escape. He had a Bloody Mary, even eating the celery stick since he hadn’t had breakfast. He decided to stay off his laptop and started listening to the latest Jack Reacher novel on his iPod. By the time the plane landed in Tallahassee, he knew he’d be more relaxed than he had been in weeks.

He had arranged for early check-in at the hotel. Maybe he’d order brunch up to his room. He’d have all afternoon to check e-mail and see to the reception details. Senator Allen’s private jet would arrive at Tyndall Air Force Base late afternoon. Jason had a limo scheduled to pick him up. For himself, Jason had reserved a BMW Z4, a red convertible. Not a bad way to eliminate a bit of stress. He planned on a drive along Highway 98, which he understood included some amazing views of the gulf.

Jason nodded when the flight attendant asked if he’d like another Bloody Mary. He glanced at his watch. Not quite seven o’clock, but he figured he had reason to kick back. He deserved it. Later this morning the Appropriations Committee would award EchoEnergy the $140-million military contract. And Senator Allen would be the darling of the energy summit. He didn’t even care if the senator had to share the limelight with William Sidel.

In fact, Jason decided he wouldn’t stress out over the connection Sidel may have had with Zach Kensor. After this summit it wouldn’t matter—both Sidel and Senator Allen will have gotten what they wanted.

And Jason decided he wouldn’t worry about what Lindy may have told Senator Malone or Detective Christopher. By the time he got back to Washington that whole mess with Zach could be old news. He needed to sit back and enjoy the results of his hard work.

The Apalachicola River

Sabrina hated boats. Now, however, was probably not a good time to tell them.

She had gotten deathly ill on a whale-watching cruise six hours off Boston harbor. Her one-time venture from an academic conference had left her weak-kneed and drained after several hours of retching and vomiting and then dry retching over the railing when she could no longer wait in line for the boat’s bathrooms, already filled with other nauseated patrons.

She had caught only a glimpse of the whales that day, but actually met a handsome gentleman who brought her cool napkins for her forehead and a Coke to wash away the foul taste in her mouth. At the end of the cruise they had exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses, but it was difficult to maintain a long-distance relationship when the only thing they had in common was Sabrina’s marathon retching, something she’d rather forget. She should have remembered that about long-distance relationships, and if she ever made it back to her condo she’d deliver Daniel’s ring back to him. Easy to make promises when confronted with hit men and seasickness.

This boat was much smaller than the whale-cruiser. Yet Sabrina felt dizzy just looking at it. And all the while Howard pointed out the postage-sized amenities like they were luxurious showstoppers.

“Twin aft seats and twin helm seats.” He waved toward the two back corner seats and the cockpit seats like a game-show host showing them what they had won.

And all Sabrina could think about was how much room this big man would take up. He’d have to sit in one of those twin helm stools to fit in the wheelhouse. No way could he stand. Each time he disappeared down into the cabin to stow their equipment it reminded Sabrina of a magic trick, a round peg fitting into a square hole two sizes too small.

She kept telling herself the river would be much different from the Atlantic Ocean. This should be a piece of cake. But as soon as she boarded the small fishing boat she felt the rocking and immediately she had to fight back the nausea. She refused to let any of them know.

Eric had already relayed very clearly his belief that she was a liability when it came to matters that involved physical stealth and a degree of cunning. Attributes that came naturally to Eric and his odd group of friends.

Okay, so unlike them she’d never had to elude the IRS, the FBI or any other law enforcement agency…at least not until now. She was a late bloomer. Didn’t mean she couldn’t be a quick study.

“It’s best you and Russ sit portside,” Howard instructed. “I’ll balance our weights.”

Russ immediately took the other seat in the wheelhouse and started setting up his laptop and several electronic contraptions Sabrina didn’t recognize.

It made sense to Sabrina that Russ would be in the front under the protection of the wheelhouse roof and surrounded by the glass. She’d stay dry seated in the back corner where mere inches of railing were supposed to keep her from bouncing out of the boat. The rocking of the stationary boat made her nauseated, but that had been nothing compared to the Tilt-A-Whirl of the motorized boat.

The one good thing, Sabrina decided, was that by the time they reached their destination she’d want off the boat so badly she wouldn’t care if she faced security guards, guns or even tanks filled with chicken guts.

The Apalachicola River

Sabrina hated boats. Now, however, was probably not a good time to tell them.

She had gotten deathly ill on a whale-watching cruise six hours off Boston harbor. Her one-time venture from an academic conference had left her weak-kneed and drained after several hours of retching and vomiting and then dry retching over the railing when she could no longer wait in line for the boat’s bathrooms, already filled with other nauseated patrons.

She had caught only a glimpse of the whales that day, but actually met a handsome gentleman who brought her cool napkins for her forehead and a Coke to wash away the foul taste in her mouth. At the end of the cruise they had exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses, but it was difficult to maintain a long-distance relationship when the only thing they had in common was Sabrina’s marathon retching, something she’d rather forget. She should have remembered that about long-distance relationships, and if she ever made it back to her condo she’d deliver Daniel’s ring back to him. Easy to make promises when confronted with hit men and seasickness.

This boat was much smaller than the whale-cruiser. Yet Sabrina felt dizzy just looking at it. And all the while Howard pointed out the postage-sized amenities like they were luxurious showstoppers.

“Twin aft seats and twin helm seats.” He waved toward the two back corner seats and the cockpit seats like a game-show host showing them what they had won.

And all Sabrina could think about was how much room this big man would take up. He’d have to sit in one of those twin helm stools to fit in the wheelhouse. No way could he stand. Each time he disappeared down into the cabin to stow their equipment it reminded Sabrina of a magic trick, a round peg fitting into a square hole two sizes too small.

She kept telling herself the river would be much different from the Atlantic Ocean. This should be a piece of cake. But as soon as she boarded the small fishing boat she felt the rocking and immediately she had to fight back the nausea. She refused to let any of them know.

Eric had already relayed very clearly his belief that she was a liability when it came to matters that involved physical stealth and a degree of cunning. Attributes that came naturally to Eric and his odd group of friends.

Okay, so unlike them she’d never had to elude the IRS, the FBI or any other law enforcement agency…at least not until now. She was a late bloomer. Didn’t mean she couldn’t be a quick study.

“It’s best you and Russ sit portside,” Howard instructed. “I’ll balance our weights.”

Russ immediately took the other seat in the wheelhouse and started setting up his laptop and several electronic contraptions Sabrina didn’t recognize.

It made sense to Sabrina that Russ would be in the front under the protection of the wheelhouse roof and surrounded by the glass. She’d stay dry seated in the back corner where mere inches of railing were supposed to keep her from bouncing out of the boat. The rocking of the stationary boat made her nauseated, but that had been nothing compared to the Tilt-A-Whirl of the motorized boat.

The one good thing, Sabrina decided, was that by the time they reached their destination she’d want off the boat so badly she wouldn’t care if she faced security guards, guns or even tanks filled with chicken guts.

Outside Tallahassee, Florida

Eric heaved another case of Pepsi products onto the hand truck. It was only their first delivery of the day and his formerly crisp uniform shirt stuck to his skin. His cap no longer held back the tiny rivulets racing down his face. He discarded the gloves almost immediately because his hands felt on fire. And according to his partner, he owed his employer for five bottles of Aquafina. He hadn’t thought to bring his own kegger-sized water jug like his experienced partner, a young guy named Bubba who had an amazing talent of keeping his pants up despite them being fastened clear down under his bulging waistline. He did, however, manage to keep his shirttail tucked and could probably outhoist anyone.

Eric had never known anyone who asked, no insisted, he be called Bubba even after Eric asked his real name.

“My daddy started calling me Bubba when I was two and a half. I can’t see changing it now,” he told Eric.

At first Bubba didn’t talk much. Immediately he slipped in a cassette of the Rolling Stones. He blasted the volume, joining in on certain words like
“can’t get no,”
but leaving
“satisfaction”
to Mick.

Eric quickly realized he didn’t need to worry about his young partner being suspicious of the sudden substitution. He seemed to like showing new guys the ropes, especially since his showing included letting them do the lion’s share of the work while he explained things. But he wasn’t a slacker, which he’d shown every once in a while by hoisting two crates at a time. After the first delivery Bubba asked Eric, “So did you work for that bottled-water company that went out of business?”

“No, but that was something else, wasn’t it?”

“I heard it was some crazy bastard at their bottling plant playing Russian roulette by putting stuff in only a few bottles.”

“Really?” Eric was always amazed at the stories people came up with, as if the truth wasn’t bad enough.

“A shame we couldn’t have something like that happen with Coke, huh?” Bubba let off a squawk of a laugh.

“Hey, they have their own problems,” Eric said. “It’s called Coca-Cola BlaK. What were they thinking with that? Soda drinkers drink soda ’cause they hate coffee.”

When Bubba didn’t respond, Eric glanced over, afraid he’d broken some industry code that didn’t allow slamming the other’s innovations.

Bubba was nodding and when he finally said something it was with genuine appreciation. “You’re absolutely right, dude.”

And this time when he went to punch in the Rolling Stones cassette he stopped. “You like the Stones? ’Cause I’ve got the Doobie Brothers and the Boss, too.”

“Stones are good for me,” Eric said, and for the first time he thought they might actually pull this off, if they didn’t get shot or arrested.