Jack
By
Al Lamanda
Copyright
by Al Lamanda
Prologue
It was one of those rare summer days in Virginia when the temperature was moderate
and the humidity low enough so that your shirt didn’t stick to your back after
a five minute walk around the block.
Mild
and pleasant enough for a boy to play with his dog in the safety and comfort of
his own backyard without having to worry about sunburn or heat stroke or
dehydration. Jennifer Grant watched as her nine year old son Jack rolled around
on the grass with his dog Button, a three year old Beagle they adopted as a
pup. As Jennifer watched Jack and Button wrestle around on the grass, Button
climbed on top of Jack and licked his face.
Jennifer
smiled at the sight and wished she could take a photograph of the moment, but
pictures of her son were strictly forbidden. As was attending school, riding a
bike or skateboard, sports of any kind, having friends and just about anything
else that was normal activity for a boy Jack’s age.
Button
was Jack’s only friend and Jennifer feared that would be the case for the rest
of his natural life. Pets in place of people. She fought back a tear and did
her best to smile at Jack when he called to her so she could watch Button jump
through Jack’s arms. On his knees, Jack held his arms out in a circle and the
little Beagle got a running start and jumped through the circle, spun around
and jumped through it from the other direction.
Jennifer
laughed and clapped her hands. Button jumped on top of Jack and licked the
boy’s face again. It was one of those moments, those few and far between
moments that should have been captured on film and placed in a scrapbook, but
scrapbooks, like just about everything else that gave proof to her and Jack’s
existence was prohibited.
Agent
3 appeared beside Jennifer’s lawn chair. “It’s time, Mrs. Grant,” he said.
Also
forbidden were the names of the six men who guarded Jack around the clock, so
she gave them numbers. Agent’s 1 through 6, that’s what she called them. She
selected the order of the numbers by the age of the agents with 1 being the
youngest. Of course, she went their appearance since she had no actual
knowledge of their real ages, or anything else for that matter.
“Let
him have five more minutes,” Jennifer said.
Agent
3 looked at his watch. “Okay, but just five,” he said. “No more.”
“We’ll
meet you inside,” Jennifer said.
Agent
3 turned and walked toward the sliding glass windows that led to the kitchen.
Jennifer didn’t have to call her son. On his knees with Button licking his
face, Jack saw Agent 3 talk to his mother and knew it was time for a car ride.
Jack
stood up and patted Button. “Okay, girl, I have to go with my mom now,” he
said. “You be good until we get back or no treats.”
Jack
walked toward Jennifer and she stood up to take his hand. Together, they
entered the kitchen through the sliding glass doors where agents 1 through 4
waited for them. “Does he need anything?” Agent 2 said to Jennifer.
“Apple
juice,” Jack said.
Agent
2 opened the refrigerator and removed a small carton of apple juice, peeled off
the thin straw, inserted it into the tiny hole atop the carton and handed it to
Jack. “Let’s go,” Agent 2 said.
Agent’s
5 and 6 were in the van parked in the driveway of the secluded Virginia home. Agent 6
drove today, often switching with Agent 5 and they must have had a system,
although Jennifer could only guess as to what that system was.
Jennifer
and Jack rode on the middle seats with Agent 1 and 2 on their left and right.
Agent’s 3 and 4 rode in the back behind them. The windows of the van were
bulletproof and tinted so dark it was difficult to tell day from night from the
inside. It was the only time Jennifer saw the agents remove their sunglasses
while outside the house, when riding in the van.
From
the outside, the van appeared old and worn, a faded white with dents and rust.
That was a custom job for appearances sake. In reality, the van would stop
anything shot at it short of a missile or a tank-busting round and maybe even
that, so said Agent 6.
While
Jack sipped his apple juice, Agent 6 drove the van along side streets and back
roads and avoided the highway north into Maryland.
The drive took twice as long, but safety was always rule number one whenever
Jack was allowed outside the home.
While
Jack sipped apple juice, Jennifer closed her eyes and took an unexpected nap on
his shoulder. She didn’t wake up until they were at the gate of the warehouse.
Located somewhere in the countryside of Maryland, Jennifer was never really
sure exactly where, the warehouse stood three stories tall and housed ten
thousand square feet of mostly wasted space. There was a comfortable apartment
with three bedrooms and a fully furnished kitchen and living room, but the
remaining nine thousand square feet sat empty and unused from what little she
could determine.
Jennifer
and Jack, on several occasions, spent as long as ten hours inside the
warehouse, but never stayed overnight. There was never the need. If an
appointment was late or didn’t show, they were always driven home rather than
stay overnight.
Agent
5 used a remote to open the motorized gate and a dozen security cameras
followed them as the van crept along to the front of the warehouse. A second
remote opened the motorized front door and Agent 6 drove the van into the
warehouse and turned off the engine.
Agent
5 turned around in his seat and looked at Jack. “Is there anything you need
before we get started?”
“I
have to pee from the apple juice,” Jack said.
“No
problem,” Agent 5 said.
They
stepped out of the van into the dimly lite warehouse parking area. With
Jennifer and Jack between the 6 agents, Agent 6 opened a door and they stepped
into the comfortable, well lit apartment.
“See
to the kid while I check on the contact,” Agent 6 said.
Agent
3 walked Jack to the bathroom while Agent 6 entered one of the bedrooms.
Jennifer opened the refrigerator for a can of Coke and took a seat at the
table. She pulled the tab, took a sip and looked at Agent 4. “Is this going to
be a long one?” she said.
Agent
4 shrugged his shoulders inside his black suit. “Depends,” he said. “Well see
how it goes.”
Agent
6 returned and looked at Jennifer. “Where’s the boy?”
“The
bathroom,” Jennifer said.
“Bring
him in when he comes out,” Agent 6 said. “There isn’t much time.”
Agent
5 and 6 entered the bedroom and left the door open. Jennifer took a sip of Coke
and a moment later Jack and Agent 3 reappeared. Jennifer stood up and took Jack
by the hand. “They’re ready,” she said.
Jennifer
led Jack into the bedroom. Agent 5 closed the door behind them. In the bed was
an old man of about eighty-five, or so Jennifer put his age as she had no way
of really knowing. He appeared on the verge of death and she wondered if a man
in his condition would survive her son’s touch.
Two
doctors stood beside the bed. Jennifer called them Doctor 1 and Doctor 2.
Doctor 2 motioned to Jack, Jennifer released his hand, and the boy walked to
Doctor 2. “Are you ready, Jack?” Doctor 2 said.
Jack
nodded.
“Good
boy,” Doctor 2 said, and then he and Doctor 1 stepped aside.
Jack
moved to the head of the bed where the old man’s head rested. The old man
opened his eyes and looked at Jack. “Are you he?” the old man said. “The boy?”
“Yes,”
Jack said, barely above a whisper.
“Thank
God all won’t be lost,” the old man said.
“Don’t
move,” Jack said. “This won’t hurt.”
“Should
I be afraid?” the old man said.
“Not
of me,” Jack said. He raised both hands toward the old man’s face.
“Wait,”
the old man said.
Jack
paused.
“Promise
me you will never use the knowledge for other than what it was intended,” the
old man said.
Jack
stared at the old man.
“Promise
me,” the old man said with the last of his strength.
Jack
nodded.
“Good
boy,” the old man said.
Jack
looked at the two doctors. Doctor 1 gave Jack a tiny nod of his head and Jack
placed his hands on the old man’s face. The old man reacted as if his flesh was
suddenly on fire and gasped loudly in pain. Jack lowered his face to look at
the old man and slowly the old man settled down.
There
was a moment of complete silence.
Jack
closed his eyes.
Jennifer
and Agent’s 5 and 6, as well as the two doctors stood back against the walls
and waited. There was a reason the entire warehouse was made of metal and
didn’t have a single window. A couple of years ago, Jack blew out every window
in the home of a famous mathematician living in Florida.
They constructed the metal warehouse without windows or glass of any type
specifically for Jack. Even the lights were made of a secret alloy designed by
NASA.
Jack
held his pose, eyes closed, hands on the old man’s face.
Jennifer
looked at the metal walls. There was a creaking sound, then the walls started
to contract and expand as if made of gelatin. This went on for several minutes
until Jack tilted his head up and opened his eyes. Jennifer didn’t need to look
at her son to know that his eyes would be pure white at that moment.
Suddenly,
the walls went still and appeared solid again. A second or two later came the
burst of pure kinetic energy that vibrated the metal walls and would have blown
out the glass windows if there were any.
Jack
raised his tiny hands above his head and Jennifer knew the session was over and
the old man had died. Jack turned to look at Jennifer. Blood ran down his nose
and splattered on his shirt. The doctors rushed to Jack to catch him before he
passed out and hit the floor.
The
second bedroom was for Jack to rest in as he usually slept for one to two hours
following a session. The third bedroom was for Jennifer, but she rarely used it
and usually waited for Jack in the kitchen with the agents. Sometimes, as was
the case today, Jennifer prepared lunch for the agents just to have something
to do while she waited for Jack to regain his strength and come around.
She
made western omelets, brewed a pot of fresh coffee, and served the agents on
plastic plates at the table. They ate with plastic utensils and drank their
coffee from plastic mugs. Today, Jennifer made extra for the doctors who joined
them after checking on Jack’s condition.
“How
is he?” Jennifer asked as the doctors took seats at the table.
“Fine,”
Doctor 1 said.
“Growing
stronger as he ages,” Doctor 2 said.
Jennifer
looked at Doctor 2. “That worries you?”
“It
gives me pause as it should you,” Doctor 2 said.
Jennifer
served him and omelet, filled his plastic mug with coffee and turned away to
begin washing the dirty pans and plastic cookware.
Ninety
minutes after he passed out, Jack wandered into the kitchen and asked for a
glass of milk. Jennifer filled a plastic tumbler with milk and he drank it at
the table in the company of the two doctors.
“How
do you feel, Jack,” Doctor 1 asked.
“Fine.”
“Headache,
blurred vision?” Doctor 2 said.
“No.”
“Any
weakness?” Doctor 1 said.
“No.”
“Good,”
Doctor 2 said. “Good boy.”
Jennifer
looked at the doctors. They avoided her eyes and looked at Jack.
Agent
6, the man in charge, entered the kitchen. “Are we ready to go?” he said as a
question, but it was really a command.
Three
days later, while Jack played with button in the backyard, Agent 5 escorted the
two doctors into the kitchen where Jennifer was preparing his lunch. “How is
the boy?” Doctor 1 said.
“He’s
fine,” Jennifer said.
“We’re
ready for him,” Doctor 2 said.
Jennifer
glanced out the glass doors to the backyard where Jack and Button rolled around
on the grass. “Can it wait until after lunch?” she said. “I made his favorite,
franks and beans.”
After
lunch, the agents drove Jack and Jennifer to the secret warehouse where they
met the subject, a brilliant mathematician from NASA. He was young and in
excellent health and hardly screamed at all when Jack placed his hands on the
young mathematician’s face and transferred the knowledge given to him by the
old man into the young man’s brain.
Chapter1
United States Secret Service Agent Ryan Dunn looked out his sixteenth floor
hotel window at the Centre Block of Parliament Buildings in Ottawa, Canada.
One week ago, Dunn celebrated his twentieth year as an agent with a small party
hosted by his boss James Bayless at the Washington
DC offices. Dunn’s gift from
Bayless was a trip north to the city of Ottawa
where the number 3 most wanted criminal on the Secret Service list of ten most
wanted lived in hiding. Dunn had been on his trail off and on for seven years
without results.
The
man’s name was Luis Lopez and he was suspected of money laundering, real estate
fraud, mail fraud and conspiracy. From Peru, Lopez conspired to acquire 97
million dollars in real estate loans as part of a foreclosure rescue scheme
that left 503 victims homeless. In all, thirty banks were defrauded by Lopez
before he went underground in Canada.
Canadian
police suspected Lopez for several years. They began an investigation into his
Canadian activity and once convinced of his identity, contacted the US Secret
Service for assistance.
Working
with a Canadian team of special officers, Dunn raided the home of Lopez where
they found him living with two women from Montreal
who fronted as his office receptionist and escort for out of town investors.
Canadian authorities found one million in American currency buried in the
basement under a wood floor. They also found several M-4 automatic rifles, a
dozen handguns and high explosives. In a small wall safe, they found twenty
thousand in Canadian currency and six passports for Lopez in various names and
countries of origin.
Dunn
turned away from the window when room service knocked on the door with his pot
of coffee. Wearing just underwear and tee shirt, Dunn opened the door and took
the tray from the room service waiter, tipped him and closed the door. On the
tray were coffee pot, thermos style, one mug and a small server of milk.
Dunn
filled the mug, splashed in some milk and returned to the window where he drank
it in small sips as he watched traffic mount on the wide boulevard below. Two
days ago, after the arrest of Lopez, Dunn sat around and waited for the
expedition disposition and approval to transfer to the states. If all went well
in two hours, he would be home in time to catch the Orioles play a night game
against the Yankees in their new stadium in The Bronx.
Dunn
finished the coffee, turned away from the window and entered the bathroom to
shave and shower. Forty minutes later, dressed in his usual fare, dark suit,
white shirt, dark tie with black loafers, Dunn left the hotel to cross the wide
boulevard to the Parliament Buildings. He felt naked without his weapon, a
Glock .40 that he carried in a right-handed draw shoulder rig.
Walter
F. Riggins, a senior Federal Office for the Canadian Government met Dunn and
signed him in as a guest in the lobby of the Federal Investigations
Building. Riggins was
just short of sixty; stood an inch less than six feet and what little hair
still left on his head was snow white. He had bright, blue eyes that always
seemed on alert.
“Have
breakfast yet?” Riggins said with no trace of any discernable accent.
“Just
coffee in my room,” Dunn said.
“We
have an hour or so to kill,” Riggins said. “Our cafeteria has excellent food.”
Dunn
followed Riggins down a series of hallways to the cafeteria where Riggins’
critique of the food proved correct. It was excellent. Dunn had pancakes made
with buttermilk, smothered in butter and syrup from the Canadian woods, a side
order of bacon, toast and coffee. Riggins settled for scrambled eggs, potatoes
and tea.
Luis
Lopez and his two lawyers, one Canadian, the other from the States met with
Riggins and Dunn in a small room adjacent the interview room. “My client wants
to make a deal,” the American lawyer said.
“A
deal?” Riggins said.
“He’s
willing to name names on both sides of the border,” the Canadian lawyer said.
“A plus for both governments.”
“It’s
an opportunity,” the American lawyer said.
“To
do what?” Dunn said. “Lopez is top ten list all the way. Who is he going to
give up bigger than himself?”
“At
least listen before you reject the proposal,” the Canadian lawyer said.
“Sure,
at least just listen,” the American lawyer said.
Dunn
looked at Riggins. “Do you agree with Ike and Mike here?”
“That
we should listen to what he has to say, why not?” Riggins said.
Dunn
looked at the lawyers. “Okay, I’ll listen, but I’m not authorized to act on
behalf of my government. Clear?”
Both
lawyers nodded eagerly, smelling career maker in the budding. As they entered
the connecting doo to the interview room, the Canadian lawyer whispered, “Who
are Ike and Mike?” to his American counterpart.
Thirty-six
hours later, Dunn and Lopez were on a US
Marshals transport plane bound for Washington
DC. Six heavily armed Deputy
Marshals guarded Lopez while Dunn took a nap and the American Lawyer read a law
review magazine hopping to spot his name in print.
At
Dulles International Airport,
Dunn relinquished custody to four FBI Agents, said goodbye to the lawyer,
picked his car up at long-term parking and drove directly to the office for a
meeting with James Bayless.
The
meeting lasted four hours. Besides Dunn and Bayless, a Special Agent for the FBI
and a Federal prosecutor were in attendance. All agreed that the Cuban
counterfeiter operating in Miami,
Florida that Lopez coughed up
quicker than a cat does a furball was worth the price of a reduced sentence.
Afterward,
Dunn and Bayless went to lunch at a small diner near the Mall that was a
favorite of Congressmen and Senators and less frequently some White House
staffers looking to spread some spin around the Beltway.
Dunn
had the meatloaf special while Bayless ordered the chicken potpie. Both had coffee
and apple-pie for dessert. “When can you leave for Miami?” Bayless said as he lifted a forkful
of apple-pie into his mouth.
“Tomorrow,”
Dunn said. “I’m going home for the rest of the day and sack out. Then I’m going
to barbecue a rack of ribs, open a six pack and watch the Orioles blow another
one against the Yankees.”
“I’ll
call you later with flight details and hotel arrangements,” Bayless said.
Dunn
nodded. “I hope this guy is worth slicing ten years off Lopez.”
Bayless
shrugged. “It’s a federal deal. If it doesn’t pan out, they pull the plug and
he does his full shift.”
“I
just hate wasting my time,” Dunn said.
The
drive across the Potomac to his Arlington, Virginia home always took twice as
long, sometimes even longer than it should have due to the round the clock DC
traffic. Even at two in the morning, a time when Dunn had traveled the highways
many a time in the Metro Area, traffic was artery clogging.
To
make matters worse, it was a scorcher of a day, above ninety with high humidity
and the air conditioner in his eleven-year-old car was on the blitz again. He
sat and soaked in his own sweat as bumper-to-bumper traffic inched along the
Beltway until finally, there was a break and he was able to get out of Dodge.
Across
the river, the heat was even worse and Dunn had to use a handkerchief to wipe
sweat from his eyes as he drove. On I-95, there was an accident somewhere and
traffic slowed to a crawl and finally to a complete stop.
As
he sat in his car and wiped sweat from his face and eyes, Dunn glanced to his
left at the man in a BMW. The windows were up and he appeared perfectly
comfortable. To Dunn’s right, a man in a massive Lincoln appeared equally at ease. In a
childish fit on momentary anger, Dunn balled his right hand into a fist and
whacked the AC vent on the dashboard and son of a bitch if the thing didn’t
sputter to life and try its best to operate. It hummed for a few seconds, then
clanked, sputtered and shut down.
Traffic
eased up a bit, started to move and a mile or so down the road, Dunn passed the
scene of a three-car pileup. How, in five mile and hour traffic people managed
to smash into each other was as much a mystery to him as where they were always
in such a constant rush to.
It
was late afternoon by the time Dunn finally arrived at his three bedroom, Tudor
home in the sticks of Arlington.
He selected the home for its seclusion and for its price. Listed as a fixer
upper, the house came cheap and in the four years since he lived in it, Dunn
hadn’t fixed or repaired one thing. Not because he was lazy or inadequate with
tools, he wasn’t. It was just that a man living alone has simple needs, or at
least he did. One bedroom furnished, the living room and kitchen, close the
other two bedrooms and leave the second bathroom in dire need of repairs
because who was there to use it?
Dunn
parked in his driveway, picked up the stack of mail in the box mounted outside
the front door, unlocked the door and went inside where he tossed his jacket
and the mail on the small coffee table by the sofa.
Stripping
off the soaking wet shirt, Dunn entered his bedroom on the first floor off the
kitchen. It was the smallest of the three bedrooms, but the other two were on
the second floor and he felt the need to keep everything on one level. If it
weren’t for the fact that the only way to the attic was by way of the second
floor, he would have no need to visit that level of the house.
Dunn
shed his clothes and took a cool shower to rinse away the sweat of traffic,
slipped on a pair of shorts and allowed himself to air dry. He dug out a can of
soda from the fridge, sat on the sofa and whittled down the mail. Most of it
was junk, ads in the form of discount coupons, specials on phones and other
nonsense and he tossed it into the kitchen trash bin. He kept the copies of the
Post to read later.
The
much-needed nap was out of the question now as it was too close to evening to
risk tossing and turning all night waiting to fall asleep. Dunn tossed on a tee
shirt, a pair of old sneakers and went to the backyard. One third of an acre,
enclosed by a tall, wood slat fence, in dire need of lawn care, the area
contained a small table with one chair and a propane grill.
The
grass was six inches tall and filled with weeds. Dunn didn’t own a mower as
there was no need. In a few weeks, the relentless sun would scorch the lawn to
a crispy brown and the weeds would shrivel and blow away. Since he never
watered the lawn, it wouldn’t start to grow again until the cooler month of
late September or early October, just in time for fall to kill any additional
growth.
Dunn
stood in the shade provided by his house and stretched for a few minutes with
some light yoga to limber up. Multiple plane rides in the span of a few days
reeked havoc on his limbs and muscles. Once limber, Dunn did some pushups and
situps, then practiced the techniques he learned in the academy twenty years
ago. The forward roll into a weapons draw and aim, the dislocate an arm, the
neck kill, the drop and stun, the crowd disperse, the protect the President at
all cost and so on and on until Dunn was so covered in sweat he might as well
have been back in the shower.
Dunn
ended with additional pushups, situps and a session with a leather jump rope
that left him breathless. A second shower followed, then, dressed in a well-worn
warm-up suit, Dunn fired up the grill to barbeque a rack of ribs. He drank a
beer and read a copy of the Post while the ribs cooked.
Dunn
set up a folding tray in front of the sofa and ate the ribs while watching the
Yankees pound the Orioles in a three-hour game that ended shortly before the
eleven o’clock news.
Bayless
called a few minutes after the game ended. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Dunn said.
“Don’t
you?” Bayless said.
“Every
chance I get,” Dunn said. “So what’s the plan?”
“You’ll
be hitching a ride on a nine thirty US
Marshals transport flight into Miami,”
Bayless said. “A routine prisoner pickup flight. Someone from the Dade County
Sheriff’s Department will pick you up at the airport. You take it from there.”
“My
FBI contact?”
“Special
Agent in Charge Tom Wilkes. I’ve met him, he’s a good man.”
“I’ll
send you gift box of oranges,” Dunn said.
“What
for?” Bayless said. “I hate the Goddamn things.”
Dunn
turned in after that and gratefully slept the night without waking to a
sweat-drenched nightmare.
Chapter 2
Jack was watching the Cartoon Network from his favorite perch,
prone on the rug in front of the television. For some reason, Jennifer noted,
Jack preferred the older, less sophisticated cartoons to the more modern, high
tech ones. The Road Runner and Bugs Bunny were two of his favorites, but he’d
watch just about anything so long as it didn’t involve Japanese monsters,
yellow sea creatures in short pants or sword wielding girls who could fly.
As
the Road Runner dashed off in a cloud of smoke and uttered its famous
“Beep-beep,” much to the dismay of the befuddled coyote, Jack laughed and
sipped apple juice through a straw in the tiny carton.
Jennifer
sat on the sofa and read a novel, or tried to, but every time Jack laughed her
eyes went to her son and she found herself smiling, distracted from the book in
her hands. There were so few real boy moments in her son’s life that each one
that came along had to be burned into Jennifer’s memory for there was no other
way to remember them. She would grow old and Jack would grow up and she would
have no scrapbook of his childhood photos, no home movies or trophies from his
little league, no report cards to frame and display on the walls.
All
she would have was what she was able to lock away tight in her mind to recall
later on in her old age and that would have to suffice.
Button
wandered in from the backyard and took her usual spot beside Jack on the rug.
She gave him a few licks, then flopped over and closed her eyes beside him.
Jack placed a hand on her exposed tummy and gently rubbed it. The dog responded
with gentle tail wagging.
Agent
5 entered the room then and stood beside Jennifer. “Mrs. Grant, can you get the
boy ready?” he said. “We’d like to be on the road in ten minutes.”
On
the road meant a one-hour car ride to the small, private hospital sixty miles
south of their Virginia
home. Constructed three years ago, the only patient of the hospital was Jack
and as far as Jennifer knew, was staffed and used just for his visits.
Jack
wore shorts, a short sleeve shirt and basketball shoes for the outing. Even so,
the boy was hot and Jennifer asked Agent 6, not driving today, if he could turn
up the air conditioner in the car.
Agent
5 was the better driver; at least it seemed so to Jennifer. His skill behind
the wheel was with the small things such as taking a turn at the right speed to
avoid passenger shift, braking to a stop without feeling that little kickback,
accelerating on the highway without having to floor the gas peddle. The little
things that made the ride more comfortable.
The
hospital, secluded in the countryside and surrounded by a ten-foot high privacy
wall, was a one-story structure painted entirely white. Like the warehouse, a
dozen or more security cameras followed the car as it made its way from the
automatic gate to the hospital front door.
Doctors
1 and 2 conducted a preliminary examination of Jack and told Jennifer what she
already knew, that her son was in excellent health. Doctors 3 and 4, young
assistants to 1 and 2 then prepped Jack for his MRI, a procedure that by now
was routine for the boy.
About
an hour later, while Jennifer watched The Bold and the Beautiful on a wall
mounted television in the lounge, Doctors 1 and 2 came in and told her that her
son was a miracle of science. They had been telling her that every three months
for the past four years. At first, they tried explaining the brain, its various
compartments and functions, what did what, but it was lost on her, and she
shortened their briefing to just her son’s health and mental wellbeing.
On
the drive home, Jack tugged on the collar of Agent 6’s suit jacket and the
agent turned around in his seat. “Where are we going?” Jack said.
“Home,”
Agent 6 said.
“I
meant tomorrow or the next day,” Jack said. “After every trip to the hospital
there is a place to go to.”
Agent
6 looked at Jennifer. “Tell him,” Jennifer said.
“I
won’t know until we’re called on the phone,” Agent 6 said.
“But,
we’ll be going?” Jennifer said.
“Yes,”
Agent 6 said and turned around in his seat. “Somewhere.”
The
phone call came two days after dinner. Agents 1 through 3 ate with Jennifer and
Jack at the large kitchen table while 4 through 6 stayed on duty, then they
switched places before dessert.
Jack
helped Jennifer do dishes, then after a bath, they watched television for one
hour until it was his bedtime.
Agent
5 took the call in the living room on the hard line. He spoke for less than one
minute, then entered the kitchen where Jennifer was baking scones for something
to do other than watch realty shows on television. “Boston,” Agent 5 said. “First thing tomorrow
morning.”
Jennifer
sighed, then nodded and returned to the scones. An hour or so later, she
carried a plate of warm scones to the living room where Agents 3 and 4 were
taking a break on the sofa. They were watching a rerun of 24 and laughing where
they shouldn’t be. “Best comedy on the air,” Agent 4 said.
“I
made these with a fresh pot of coffee,” Jennifer said. “Who’s in the watch
room?”
“5
and 6,” Agent 4 said.
That
meant 1 and 2 were grabbing some sleep. They would rotate accordingly. As far
as Jennifer could tell, none of the six agents slept more than four hours at a
clip. “Could you tell them I made scones and some coffee,” Jennifer said.
Jennifer
was washing out the pans at the sink when Agent 6 came in from the watch room,
the room set up with monitors and other equipment installed for their safety.
“Help yourself,” Jennifer said over her shoulder.
Agent
6 loaded four scones onto a tray along with two mugs of coffee and looked at
Jennifer. “Thank you, Mrs. Grant,” he said.
Jennifer
turned to Agent 6. “Thank you, Mrs. Grant,” she said, mocking him. “Is that all
you can say, thank you Mrs. Grant.”
Agent
6 appeared confused. “I don’t understand.”
“For
God’s sake,” Jennifer snapped. “We’ve been living under the same roof for
years, would it kill you to call me Jennifer, Jen, Jenny, something other than
Mrs. Grant?”
“Is
something bothering you, Mrs. Grant?” Agent 6 asked.
“Nothing,
forget it,” Jennifer said. “No, wait. Would it hurt to takes us out once in a
while? Let my son see a movie, eat some popcorn and maybe go for ice cream
afterward like a normal kid? Toss a fucking football to him. Would it?”
Agent
6 stared at Jennifer. She so rarely swore that it usually meant she’d reached
the boiling point.
“He’s
just nine, for God’s sake,” Jennifer said. “He needs to act like a boy once in
a while instead of a robot all the time.”
“I’m
not authorized to allow that,” Agent 6 said. “You know the rules.”
“You
know the rules, Mrs. Grant,” Jennifer mimicked Agent 6 again.
Agent
6 continued stare at Jennifer.
Jennifer
flopped down at the table, buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow.
Agent 6 stood there with the tray of scones and coffee and watched her. “Mrs.
Grant?” he said.
Jennifer
raised her face. “Go on, go back to your precious cameras.”
“I’ll
ask,” Agent 6 said. “That’s the best I can do, but I’ll ask.”
Jennifer
nodded. “Thank you,” she said and returned to the sink.
Agent
6 turned around in his seat and looked at Jack. “This is a four hundred and
fifty mile drive, Jack,” he said. “We’ll stop for lunch and dinner later on,
but if you need additional stops speak up. Okay?”
Jack
nodded. “Can we watch TV?”
Agent
6 nodded, then turned around and looked at Agent 5. “Go,” he said.
Jennifer
switched on the mounted DVD player and selected the movie Shrek, one of Jack’s
favorites. That took them through to lunch. They stopped at a highway rest stop
and ate outside at a picnic table on the lawn where the six agents could keep a
close watch on the pedestrian traffic.
Jack
napped for an hour after lunch, then a second movie took them nearly into Massachusetts. “We’ll
take a break at the border,” Agent 6 said. “There’s a big place on the
highway.”
Although
it was close to dusk when they stopped, it was still warm enough to eat
outdoors at a picnic table where the agents could keep a close eye on the
massive parking lot and Jack.
Agent
6 made several calls while they ate. After the last call, Jack looked up from
his plate of Popeye’s Chicken and said, “Are we staying at a safe house
tonight?”
“Yes,”
Agent 6 said. “One run by the FBI, so we know it’s protected.”
Jennifer
stroked Jack’s hair. Nine-year-old boys shouldn’t know about FBI safe houses
and the inner workings of the Secret Service. They should know about video
games and football, how to tease girls and what it feels like to get a punch in
the nose by the school bully.
“If
it’s not too late when we get there, can I watch another movie?” Jack asked
Jennifer.
Jennifer
looked at Agent 6. He looked at his watch. “We should be there in ninety
minutes,” he said.
Jennifer
stroked Jack’s hair. “I think so,” she said.
The
safe house, a three-story brownstone building on Boylston Street in the heart of Boston had a beautiful,
fenced in backyard garden, complete with frog pond and water fountain. After
dark, hanging lanterns illuminated the gardens and the frog pond lights turned
different colors every thirty seconds.
Jack
fell asleep on the sofa halfway through The Incredibles, another of his
favorites and after Jennifer tucked him in, she took a mug of coffee to the
patio table in the backyard gardens. Although they were in the heart of Boston, the only sound she
could hear was the running water of the fountain in the frog pond.
Agent
4 came out to join here at the table. “I’m fine,” Jennifer said.
“I
know,” Agent 4 said.
“I’m
just getting some fresh air.”
“I
know.”
Jennifer
took a sip from the mug and looked at Agent 4. Like his colleagues, Agent 4 was
tall, well built with a deadly, sinister way about him. She knew all of the six
men were capable of killing at a moments notice to protect Jack. Somehow, that
wasn’t a comfort to Jennifer. “Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“I
guess so,” Agent 4 said. “Sure.”
“Don’t
you ever get sick of baby sitting us?”
“I
don’t…I’m not sure what you mean,” Agent 4 said.
“I
mean being with us round the clock, day in, day out, month after month,”
Jennifer said. “Don’t you ever get sick of us, bored with us, that’s what I
mean.”
“You’re
my assignment,” Agent 4 said.
Jennifer
searched his eyes to see if he was serious or not. He was. She might as well
have been talking to an insurance salesman about a policy. “I guess, I’ll go to
bed now,” she said and stood up.
“Mrs.
Grant?” Agent 4 said.
Jennifer
paused to look at him. “Yes.”
“He
really is a good kid.”
Jennifer
nodded. “Good night, Agent 4.”
They
transported him overnight to the backyard gardens where he lay on a bed inside
a large tent. Once a large man, his cancer ravaged body weighed not ninety
pounds by Jennifer’s estimation. Although the man’s face was but a skeleton of
his former self, Jennifer recognized him immediately. It was the first time she
knew the identity of a subject. Her husband Matt was a mathematician with the
NASA engineers and studied at MIT for four years. One of Matt’s professors, a
Nobel Prize winner for his two hundred-page theory on modern banking
transactions presided over Matt’s graduating class twelve years ago. The man
gave a wonderful, humor-laced speech that ended to loud applause and cheers
from the graduates.
Jennifer
remembered that day as if it were yesterday because so few in Matt’s world had
a sense of humor.
Now
the man was at death’s door from cancer, too weak to travel to Virginia so they brought
Jack to him. The agents took every precaution, from the tent to boarding up all
the exposed windows facing the gardens. They knew from experience that the
tremendous shock waves given off by Jack would do far less damage outside in
the open and chances of damaging surrounding buildings were slim. The tent was
to hide the event from prying eyes, if there were any.
Doctors
1 and 2 must have flown in early this morning or late last night. They examined
Jack, then led him to the garden and into the tent. Jennifer followed and stood
aside near the open flap.
The
professor looked at Doctor 1. “Is this the boy?”
“Yes,
professor,” Doctor 1 said. “Jack.”
“The
recipient?” the professor said.
“The
student you selected. One of your own,” Doctor 1 said. “Now an engineer with
NASA.”
“Good,”
the professor said. “Good.”
“Are
you ready, professor?” Doctor 1 said.
The
professor turned his head and looked at Jack. “I’m ready.”
Jack
moved closer to the bed and looked at the professor. “Don’t be afraid,” Jack
said in his small boy’s voice. “I won’t hurt you.”
The
professor smiled at Jack. “I know.”
Jack
reached out with his tiny hands to touch the professor’s face.
Four
days later, the agents drove Jennifer and Jack to the secret warehouse where
the young NASA engineer waited with all the excitement of a five year old on
Christmas morning. “This is amazing,” he said. “Just fantastic. To think that
all of the professor’s knowledge will live on through me is just amazing.”
Doctor
2 listened to the NASA engineer’s heart with a stethoscope. He lowered the
stethoscope and looked at Doctor 1. “I guess we’re ready for Jack now.”
Doctor
1 turned to Jennifer. “Bring the boy in, if you would.”
Jennifer
nodded, left the room to fetch Jack. He was at the kitchen table, sipping apple
juice and working a five hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle that he started months
ago. From the looks of it, he was about half way done. “They’re ready,”
Jennifer said and took Jack by the hand.
The
young NASA engineer was still smiling when Jennifer led Jack into the special
room. Smiling, but sweating heavily, Jennifer noticed. The doctors noticed as
well. “Relax,” Doctor 1 said to the engineer. “The boy won’t hurt you.”
“I’m
just so excited,” the young engineer said.
“Well,
take a seat in the chair and the boy will give you something to really get
excited about,” Doctor 2 said.
The
young engineer nodded and took a seat in the leather chair so that Jack would
be eye level with him. The young engineer smiled at Jack. “I’m ready for you,”
he said.
Jack
moved forward and extended his arms toward the young engineer’s face. “I won’t
hurt you,” Jack said.
“I
know,” the engineer said.
Jack
placed his hands on the young engineer’s face. “Close your eyes,” Jack said.
The
young engineer closed his eyes as did Jack. For a few moments, the room was
completely silent. Then, slowly the energy started to build. Jennifer looked at
the walls as they started to bow and take on that liquid metal appearance. In a
few moments would come the full burst of energy and the transfer would be
complete. A bloody nose would follow and Jack would need to sleep off the
experience.
Then
something entirely different happened, something new. Jack opened his eyes and
lowered his hands. The two doctors quickly rushed forward to Jack. Agents 3
through 6 went on immediate alert. The young engineer remained motionless with
his eyes closed, suspended in some sort of mental time warp, Jennifer reasoned.
“What
is it, Jack?” Doctor 1 said. “Is something wrong?”
Jack
turned his head to look at the two doctors. “He doesn’t speak…English,” Jack
said.
“What
do you mean, Jack?” Doctor 1 said.
Agent
6 pushed past the doctors. “Jack, what do you mean? Tell me.”
“Different,”
Jack said. “I can’t understand what he’s thinking.”
“Different,
how?” Agent 6 said.
Jack
shrugged his thin shoulders. “Funny sounding.”
“Can
you repeat some of it?” Agent 6 said.
“I’ll
try,” Jack said. He placed his hands on the young engineers face. A few seconds
passed and Jack started to speak in Persian.
“My
God,” Doctor 2 said. “What is that?”
“Persian,”
Agent 6 said.
“You
mean from Iran?”
Doctor 1 said.
Agent
6 nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”
Agent
5 had his cell phone out. “I’ll call the boss.”
“Tell’em
we got a hot one,” Agent 6 said. He looked at the doctors. “Okay, make him stop
now.”
The
following morning, Jennifer sat in the backyard to watch Jack play with Button.
Agent 6 sat in a lawn chair by her side. “I suppose I’ll never find out what
happened to that engineer, will I?”
“No,”
Agent 6 said.
“He
was a spy, wasn’t he?” Jennifer said.
“I’m
not authorized to speak on that,” Agent 6 said.
Jennifer
turned to look at Agent 6. “Have you found a replacement donor for the
information yet?”
“We
don’t find anybody,” Agent 6 said. “When they have someone, they’ll tell us the
specifics.”
“How
about you?” Jennifer said. “Wouldn’t you like to be a great deal smarter than
you are right now?”
Agent
6 stared at Jennifer. He wasn’t sure if she was kidding with him or not. “No, I
wouldn’t,” he finally said.
“Why
not?”
“I
wouldn’t want that kind of responsibility,” Agent 6 said. “Sometimes being too
smart is a burden.”
Chapter 3
Except for six US Marshals armed for war, Dunn was the only
other passenger onboard the massive, four engine transport plane. The senior
deputy marshal told Dunn they would be flying to Leavenworth
from Miami with
twenty federal prisoners later that afternoon.
Dade
County Deputy Sheriff Carlos Rios, a third generation Cuban-American picked
Dunn up at the airport in an unmarked car that was so obvious a police car they
might as well taken a cruiser with the lights and wailer on full power.
Dunn
rode next to Rios as the deputy hit the Florida Turnpike South. A large man
with a round, jovial face, Rios would have been equally at home wearing a Santa
suit at the mall as his uniform. The man wasn’t hard in the eyes, Dunn calculated
from his smiling face. That meant he had yet to draw his weapon in the line of
duty and use it.
Dunn
hoped for two things on this assignment, that if Rios were part of the invasion
team, the need for gunplay wouldn’t occur or that if it did, Rios would be up
to the task. Usually, Dunn knew from experience, first timers froze in place
until one of two things happened. The first is the first timer didn’t react
until someone in command gave the order to shoot. The second was the first
timer stayed frozen and wound up getting shot and possibly killed.
Training,
no matter how much of it you received didn’t add up to actual field experience
and no truer thing could be said of police work. So when Rios smiled at Dunn
and said, “I thought you guys spent all your time running beside the
President’s limo and guarding First Ladies,” Dunn shuddered a bit at the
question.
“The
last President I met in person was Bush,” Dunn said.
“That’s
not so long ago,” Rios said.
“Forty-one.”
“Oh.”
Rios
slowed to take the off ramp for US 1, turned right and headed south. “We’re
meeting Sheriff Escobar for lunch, okay? he said.
“Sure,”
Dunn said. “The Flamingo Diner about a mile from the Safety Building.”
Rios
looked at Dunn. “How’d you guess?”
“This
isn’t my first time in Miami,”
Dunn said.
The
Flamingo Diner was one of those modern diners made up to look like a throwback
to the Art Deco era of the nineteen thirties that populated the Miami landscape back then.
It was big, bright, beautiful and pink. A pond in back was filled with the
birds of the diner’s name.
Dade
County Sheriff Xavier Escobar occupied a booth for six by a window. Dunn went
in alone, picked up the Sheriff and walked to the table. “Sheriff Escobar,
Agent Dunn,” Dunn said extending his right hand.
Xavier
Escobar was tall, fit, in his early fifties, had thick, graying hair and
bright, very dark eyes. He was in full uniform. When he spoke, it was without
accent. “How’s your Spanish?” he said as Dunn took a seat opposite him.
“Fair
to good,” Dunn said.
“Mine’s
terrible,” Escobar said. “I’m fourth generation Cuban. My parents never spoke
it around the house, so I never learned. I went to night school after I joined
the department because down here if you don’t speak it, you don’t speak.”
A
waitress brought Dunn a mug and filled it with coffee. “If you don’t care about
your waistline, try the strawberry pancakes with whipped cream,” Escobar said.
Dunn
nodded to the waitress. She looked at Escobar. “Two,” he said.
The
waitress nodded and walked away. “My contact with the FBI, have you heard from
him?” Dunn said.
“Special
Agent Tom Wilkes, he called from the airport,” Escobar said. “Should be here
any minute baring any mishaps on the turnpike.”
Wilkes
arrived a few minutes later. Escobar told the waitress to hold their pancakes
until Wilkes ordered lunch and to bring the food out all at once. Wilkes, a
fifteen-year veteran of the FBI was about Dunn’s age, shorter and had the look
of an accountant. Dunn knew he was anything but as the FBI didn’t assign men by
their looks, but their capability.
Wilkes
looked at Dunn after sitting. “I read your report on Lopez,” he said. “Nice
work up there in Canada.
What do we know of this, what’s his name?”
“Peralta.
Alexei Peralta,” Dunn said.
“He’s
a first class scumbag,” Escobar said. “Came over as a kid in the eighty-one
debacle with his family. The word is that he murdered his father over a Chevy
Nova when he was just fifteen. Owns and operates a scrap yard in North Miami, but it’s
really a front for car thieves. He’s been picked up a dozen times, but has a
high priced lawyer and always beats the rap. He employs a known hit man at his
scrap yard, but we haven’t been able to nail down exactly why.” Escobar looked
at Dunn.
Dunn
said, “Our CI said he filters counterfeit money into Canada,
Mexico and South
America. He buys in bulk at thirty cents on the dollar and sells
it for fifty. That may not sound like much, but when you’re dealing in tens of
millions, it adds up quick. We don’t know who his supplier is, but my guess is
he’ll roll over and cough him up rather than spend life without parole.”
“How
do you want to handle the arrest?” Wilkes said.
“I
have a twelve man task force in place,” Escobar said. “We’ll raid his house
after dark. My information is he lives with a woman and her three kids. We
don’t know if the kids are his or not, but either way, we go in clean and no
one gets hurt.”
“Warrants?”
Wilkes asked.
“Through
us,” Dunn said. “Federal all the way.”
“Who
gets him in the end?” Wilkes said.
“Us,
split between our two departments, Dunn said. “But, the Sheriff will grab the
headlines, is that’s okay with you.”
Wilkes
shrugged. “Who needs headlines?” he said. “Headlines never put anybody away.
Besides, I hate the dog and pony show for the media bloodsuckers.”
Dunn
glanced at his watch. “Eight hours okay with you, Sheriff?”
“Fine
with me,” Escobar said. “I call my task force in around six for a meeting.”
Wilkes
picked up a menu and glanced at it. “What’s good in here?” he said.
The
element of surprise minimized the risks involved when children and girlfriends
occupied the home of the suspect, especially if that suspect had the reputation
for pulling the trigger. To knock on the door and announce Police gave the
suspect ample time to scoop up a kid and place a gun to the child’s head, leaving
you defenseless and in need of a hostage negotiator. Then your quiet raid
became fodder for CNN.
It
was easier and safer to do exactly what Sheriff Escobar’s highly trained and
equally efficient task force team did when they received the order. They mobilized
around the house, cutting off all escape routs while a two-man team used a
battering ram to smash in the front door. The moment the door smashed in, a
second two-man team rushed in with M-4 rifles at the ready.
Dunn,
Wilkes and Escobar waited on the curb. Peralta’s house, set back on a
cul-de-sac with woodlands behind it received very little streetlight and the
entire operation was over in fifteen or less seconds by Dunn’s watch.
When
Dunn, Escobar and Wilkes entered the Peralta home, they found three children,
two of them girls seated on a sofa where they watched a woman of about thirty
being restrained by two deputies as she spit on Peralta who was handcuffed on
the floor.
“Control
her,” Escobar said to his men as the woman attempted to kick Peralta in the
head.
Two
deputies pulled the woman away and gently forced her to sit on the sofa with
the three children, who watched the antics with mild amusement. Escobar looked
at the woman. “Do you speak English?”
“Of
course I speak English,” the woman snapped. “Where do you think we are?”
“Are
these your children?”
“Yes.”
“Two
of my men are going to take you to my office and if we have to, we’ll put you
up in a motel for the night,” Escobar said. “I’m hoping we won’t have to.”
The
woman stood up. “Let me put on some shoes,” she said and looked down at her
bare feet.
Escobar
nodded to one of his men. “Go with her.”
The
woman and a deputy left the living room and turned down a hallway. Dunn turned
to two deputies. “Get him off the floor.”
Two
deputies lifted Peralta and sat him in the chair he had been sitting in prior
to the raid. In person, Peralta was a short, but powerful man, forty years old
with thick features and slick, dark hair. Six gold chains adorned his thick
neck. He glared at Dunn as Dunn stood in front of him.
“I
know you speak English, so don’t try to bullshit me you don’t,” Dunn said.
“Why
would I bullshit you?” Peralta said. “You got nothing on me.”
“No?”
“I
want my lawyer.”
“Sure,
no problem,” Dunn said. “Let me tell you this first before you make your call.
You’ve been ratted out, my man. We know all about your operation and we’re
going to find the goodies if we have to tear every stick in this house down. If
we have to do it the hard way, you lose any chance at a deal. You’ll pull life
and serve twenty-five before you see the streets again. Do the math.”
“Deal?
What kind of deal?”
“Twenty,
out in twelve,” Dunn said. He looked at Wilkes. “Sound reasonable?”
“Depends
on what he gives us.”
Dunn
looked at Peralta. “So what do you got to give us?”
At
that moment, the woman raced out of the bedroom armed with a hammer and
attempted to hit Peralta in the head with it. Escobar and a deputy jumped on
her, wrestled her to the floor and cuffed her. From the floor, she spit at
Peralta.
Dunn
said to Peralta, “My, my, what did you do to this woman, Alex?”
“I
want my lawyer,” Peralta said.
“Take
him downtown and get him his lawyer,” Wilkes said. “Deal’s off. See you in
twenty five to life, asshole.”
Escobar
nodded to two deputies. They grabbed Peralta, lifted him off the chair and he
said, “Okay, okay, you win, but I want the deal in writing and signed by my
lawyer and the prosecutor.”
“What’s
your lawyer’s phone number, Alex?” Dunn said.
With
Peralta’s lawyer present, Escobar’s deputies dug up the coffin buried in the
false floor of Peralta’s garage. The coffin contained four million dollars in
counterfeit money and one million dollars in genuine US currency. The four million in
counterfeit ten and twenty dollar bills was scheduled to be sold in South America the following month. The buyer was a
Colombian businessman who left the drug trade for the equally lucrative, but
far safer profession of money laundering. The quality of the counterfeit money
was high level, good enough to pass for genuine in most stores, shops and maybe
some banks if the tellers were careless.
The
bigger fish came later in the interrogation room at the county public safety
building where Peralta gave detailed information on his sources. A retired
engraver for the Treasury Department living on a modest pension in Costa Rica
decided to give himself a cost of living raise by opening his own print shop.
During the day, he printed local newspapers, advertisements, menus and fliers.
During the evenings, he printed money and a great deal of it.
By
phone, Dunn gave a detailed report to Bayless, then faxed him a copy of
Peralta’s statement. “I guess we’ll have to go down and get him,” Bayless said.
“By
us you mean me,” Dunn said.
“I
can reassign the case and let someone else mop up,” Bayless said. “But then
you’d miss out on mini vacation to Costa Rica and…”
“Jim,
I’ll be home tomorrow,” Dunn said. “Work out the details with Justice and I’ll
go down and clean up the mess.”
“Remember
the crate of oranges?” Bayless said.
“You
said you didn’t like oranges.”
“But,
I love cigars,” Bayless said. “Especially when they’re from Costa Rica.”
Chapter 4
Known to Jennifer Grant as Agent 6, Richard Zane, a
seventeen-year veteran of the Secret Service drove his car into Washington DC
for a classified meeting with his supervisor John Watts.
They
met in Watts’ sixth floor office in the agency
building. Watts, a twenty-five year veteran
was second in command of all bodyguard details of Presidents, past and present,
their wives and foreign dignitaries.
“How
is it going out there, Richard?” was Watts’
first question.
“You
read my daily reports,” Zane said.
“Yes,
now tell me what isn’t in them,” Watts said.
“To
be honest, she’s having a difficult time keeping it together,” Zane said.
“The
boy’s mother?”
Zane
nodded. “She lonely and I think a bit frightened for the boy. Maybe if her
husband were still alive…” Zane left the sentence unfinished.
“I
can understand how she feels,” Watts said.
“Would it help if I paid her a visit?”
“It
couldn’t hurt.”
Watts nodded. “Okay, lets talk about Los Angeles.”
Forty-five
minutes later, Watts and Zane walked the
hallway to the elevators. From his office, James Bayless walked out with Ryan
Dunn and together they walked to the elevators where Watts
and Zane stood waiting.
“John,
how are you?” Bayless said.
“Good,”
Watts said. “You know Richard Zane?”
“Sure,
of course. Ryan and I were just going to lunch. Join us?”
“As
long as we don’t have to see any Congressmen,” Watts
said.
They
took Bayless’ car and he drove them four miles south of the Mall to a quiet pub
that offered a decent lunch at a reasonable price and more importantly was not
a hangout for Washington
powerbrokers.
They
ordered coffee before lunch and Bayless told Watts and Zane about their latest
counterfeit money bust in Miami.
“Ryan is off to Costa Rica
tomorrow to extradite the retired engraver. More like a five day paid vacation
if you ask me, but he’s definitely earned the right. What about you, John?”
“Same
old, same old,” Watts said. “We grab the
headlines, but you guys have all the real fun.”
“This
probably isn’t the right time to bring this up,” Zane said. “But my detail is
up in fourteen months and I was thinking of transferring over to active
investigations for a while.”
Bayless
looked at Watts. “He’s earned it,” Watts said.
“Tell
you what,” Bayless said. “In twelve months, come talk to Ryan here. He’ll fill
you in and if you’re still interested, he can take you under his wing.”
Zane
looked at Dunn. “Okay?”
“Why
not,” Dunn said.
On
the drive back to the Virginia safe house,
Zane thought about the upcoming trip to Los
Angeles. The boy couldn’t fly, so they were scheduled
to travel by Amtrak sleeper car more than three thousand miles. Security would
be tight as the boy would be exposed to the general public, but if there were
no leaks, no one would know the boy was on board that train making that trip.
Still,
the whole ordeal worried Zane. He wasn’t the cold hearted, uncaring robot
Jennifer Grant believed him to be. Since he was first assigned to the boy
thirty months ago, he’d grown quite fond of him, but he wasn’t a father figure
and acting as one didn’t protect his life.
Zane
ran through the schedule one more time searching for loopholes and weaknesses.
He would call the team together later tonight and they would go over it again
and again until they either found a problem or eliminated them.
Zane
guided his car to the off ramp of his exit. It was one of those long, winding
ramps that required deceleration to twenty-five miles per hour. As he turned
into a long curve, he never saw the drunk behind the wheel of a large pickup
going sixty-five the wrong way on the ramp.
Chapter 5
The government of Costa Rica was extremely friendly
to Americans and with good reason. The expatriate population of retired
American citizens living there grew at great numbers each year. Retired
businessmen purchased homes and condominiums along the beach, spent vast
amounts of money and helped turn the eight hundred miles of coastline into a
year round tourist destination that generated two billion a year in income.
The
country of four million had no standing Army and laid claim to have the only
President who has won the Nobel Peace Prize, Oscar Arias. Another, lesser-known
claim to fame for the tiny country was that the first European to set foot on
its soil was Christopher Columbus in 1502. So said the file Dunn read on the
private jet he took for the trip.
He
also read the file on Arthur Wentwood, the engraver turned counterfeiter turned
money launderer. A government employee all his life, Arthur retired ten years
ago from the US Mint where he spent the last twenty years engraving the backs
of twenty-dollar bill plates. Now sixty-three years old, it was a good bet that
Wentwood would die of old age before seeing the outside of a federal prison.
Dunn’s
plane landed at the airport in San Jose, the
capital of Costa Rica
where a detective with the state police met him at the gate. The detective
spoke near perfect English and told Dunn he had an emergency phone call from
his office back in the states.
On
the car ride to the police station, Dunn called Bayless on his cell phone.
“I
hate to cut short your mini vacation, but I need you back home as soon as
possible,” Bayless said. “Can you wrap it up down there in two days?”
“Two
days?” Dunn said. “That’s cutting it close, Jim.”
“Not
if I make some calls to the federal police,” Bayless said. “I’ll arrange for
their men to extradite Wentwood on a Marshals transport plane later on, but I
need you home in two days.”
“Can
I ask what this is about?” Dunn said.
“You
can.”
“But
you’re not going to tell me.”
“Not
until you’re in my office.”
“All
right, two days,” Dunn said.
“Don’t
forget my cigars.”
Arthur
Wentworth stood five foot four in his stocking feet and looked like a poster
boy for the black socks with sandals retirement crowd. With snow-white hair,
twinkling blue eyes, he appeared harmless to the point the Costa Rican Police
questioned Dunn’s information.
As
it turned out, Arthur Wentworth was so harmless after all. “I’ll make a deal
with you assholes,” Wentworth said in a chipper, almost upbeat voice and with
his blue eyes twinkling.
“We
found a fully operational printing press, four sets of engraved plates for the
ten and twenty dollar bill, a dozen drums of ink, mixing tools, washing
machines filled with poker chips, a complete set of government engraving tools
and ten million in counterfeit currency,” Dunn said. “What kind of deal can you
possibly offer me?”
Wentworth
chuckled. “Ever try living on a G-12 pension, sonny boy?”
“Not
yet,” Dunn said. “I’ll get there.”
“Well,
when you get there, you’ll learn pretty fucking quick you wasted your entire
life in government service,” Wentworth said.
“Nobody
forced you to work for the government, Mr. Wentworth,” Dunn said.
“That’s
right, nobody did,” Wentworth said. “Do you want to hear my deal or not? If
not, somebody else will.”
“What’s
your deal?” Dunn said.
“You
drop all charges, turn me loose and have my pension increased to a level 15 and
I’ll stop printing my own money,” Wentworth said.
The
Costa Rican detectives looked at Dunn. “He’s insane,” a detective said.
“Because
if you don’t, at my arraignment, I will name the Costa Rican government
officials who take bribes and look the other way when paper is shipped to my
home from the states,” Wentworth said. “I will also name the high level
American officials who sold me the paper and ink right from the supply house at
the mint in exchange for a little supplemental income, of course.” Wentworth
glared at Dunn. “Now, are you going to slap the cuffs on me or are we going to
fucking talk?”
Dunn
turned to the Costa Rican detectives. “I need a hard line phone.”
Thirty-six
hours later, Dunn sat in Bayless’ office, along with John Watts. They used the
conference table near the window for maximum light. The view from the window
was of the Washington
Monument, the west Mall
and the Reflecting Pool. No one so much as glanced out the window at the
tourist spectacle below.
Each
man had a cup of coffee. Milk, cream and sugar packets rested beside a thermos
style coffee pot. Dunn sipped from his cup and waited. Bayless spoke first.
“Ryan,
this isn’t going to sit well with you, but I’m taking you off the Wentworth
investigation as of this morning,” Bayless said.
Dunn
didn’t speak. He knew his boss very well, knew the full explanation would be
forthcoming. The only mystery was what John Watts was doing in the room.
Bayless
continued. “I’ll take responsibility for the full investigation while you’re
away,” he said. “I won’t screw it up, I promise.”
“Away?”
Dunn said.
“Ryan,
just listen for a minute,” Bayless said. “We have an emergency that calls for
experience, intelligence and a cool head. That’s why John here requested you
for the job. I thought about it and I have to agree.”
Dunn
shifted his eyes to Watts. “John, would you?”
Bayless said.
Watts took a small sip of coffee before speaking. “After
lunch the other day, Agent Richard Zane returned to his car and drove south
into Virginia
to brief his men on a special assignment. On the exit ramp, a drunk behind the
wheel of a pickup smashed into him head on. Zane died on route to the hospital.
The drunk was thrown from his truck and sustained a broken nose.”
“Jesus,
the man wasn’t forty, was he?” Dunn said.
“Just
turned,” Watts said. “However, his untimely
and unfortunate death, as tragic as it is has left us in a real bind. I need
you to help out on this, Ryan. If there were another way at the moment, I would
take it. There isn’t.”
Dunn
looked at Bayless. “Are you going to tell what this is about or do you expect
me to wade through all this Washington Spin the Tail on the Donkey speak and
figure it out for myself?”
Bayless
looked at Watts and nodded. Watts
said, “This is more about the security of our nation than anything else going
on in the world today and not one word of what I’m about to say leaves this
office.”
“I
don’t think that after twenty years of service that my loyalty, dedication or
ability to keep classified information classified is in question,” Dunn said.
“Do you?”
“Ryan,
this is not about…” Bayless said.
“No,
he’s right,” Watts said. “I asked for him
because he has those very qualities I just questioned. I’m sorry, Ryan. That
was stupid on my part and I apologize.”
“No
need, just tell me what’s going on,” Dunn said.
Bayless
spoke first, then Watts, then it went back to
Bayless to finish up the briefing. During the forty-five minutes it took for
Bayless and Watts to complete the briefing,
Dunn drank two full cups of coffee and half of a third. Bayless ended with,
“Well, there you have it, Ryan. That’s it. That’s what we need.”
Dunn
stared at Bayless and Watts. “This is some
kind of fucking joke.”
“No,
no joke,” Bayless said. “I wish it were.”
“How
long has this been going on?” Dunn said.
“We’re
into our fourth year,” Watts said.
“Four
years and nobody knows about this?” Dunn said.
“Nobody
who isn’t supposed to,” Watts said. “We’d like
to keep it that way.”
“That’s
why you volunteered,” Bayless said with a weak smile.
“I’ll
drive you home so you can pack, then I’ll drive you to the Grant residence in Virginia,” Watts said.
“You won’t need your car so it can stay downstairs in the garage.”
“No
need to go home,” Dunn said. “I always keep a suitcase with a week’s worth of
fresh clothes in the trunk of my car.”
“Well,
let’s go then,” Watts said.
Chapter 6
Jennifer Grant started to cry at the news of Agent 6’s
unexpected death on the highway. She wondered how she could cry for a man whose
name she didn’t know and probably never will know, but it struck a chord with
her, reminded her of Matt’s untimely death and the tears flowed as John Watts
told her the story.
“Mrs.
Grant, this is an awkward moment for all of us, but Jack is still my top
priority,” Watts said. “If you could find it
in yourself to calm down a bit, I’d like to introduce you to his replacement.”
Jennifer
wiped the tears with a tissue and forced a tiny smile on her lips. “Silly, I
suppose, to cry for someone whose name I’ll never know, but it seems like such
a waste to me. What happened to the man who hit him?”
Watts hesitated, then thought, what the hell, why not?
“He’s a second cousin to a Senator. A carpenter. He was working on the
Senator’s home that day and stopped for a few on the way home.”
Jennifer
stared at Watts. “Is that why it hasn’t made
the news?”
“No,”
Watts said. “Because your son is classified
and that makes everybody around him classified, including you and all
incidents.”
Jennifer
nodded and settled her eyes on the tall, striking looking man standing just
behind Watts. He was maybe five years older
than Agent 6, broader in the shoulders and chest, with strong features and
speckled with gray black hair. “Are you the new Agent 6?” she said.
Dunn
stepped forward. Jennifer, seated at the kitchen table, looked up at the
towering man that she now estimated at six foot four inches tall. “I guess you
can call me Agent 7, if that’s all right?” he said in a deep, but soft voice.
Jennifer
nodded.
“Mrs.
Grant, where is Jack now?” Watts said. “I’d
like to introduce him to the… to Agent 7.”
“Backyard
playing,” Jennifer said. She stood up from the table and slid open the glass
doors. She turned to look at Dunn. “Like dogs?”
“Well
enough,” Dunn said and followed Jennifer out to the backyard. He took ten steps
behind Jennifer, paused and took in the entire backyard with one sweep of his
eyes. “Excuse me a moment, Mrs. Grant,” he said and reentered the kitchen where
Watts was helping himself to a Coke at the
refrigerator.
Dunn
said, “How long have they lived here?”
“Three
years,” Watts said. “Problem?”
“Step
outside for a minute,” Dunn said.
Watts followed Dunn through the open sliding glass door
to the patio table. Jennifer had walked across the lawn to Jack, who was
rolling around with Button. She turned to look backward at Dunn.
Watts said, “What’s on your mind?”
“The
fence is twelve feet high and that’s good,” Dunn said. “But it won’t stop a
bullet and that’s bad. Any idiot parked in a car with a sound monitor can
pinpoint the boy and his mother and put two in their heads and be gone before
your men reached the street. There’s six cameras on a pan, tilt, zoom mount covering
the entire backyard and that’s good, but they’re not night vision and that’s
bad. There’s four floodlights creating a light pool and that’s good, but
they’re not on a night timer and that’s bad. There’s also blackout areas where
the light pool doesn’t cover and there’s no inferred motion detectors to back
up those dead spots and that’s really bad.”
Watts said, “Jesus Christ.”
“Do
you want to protect this kid and his mother or not?” Dunn said.
“What
do you want?”
“Have
the interior of the fence reinforced with four inches of Styrofoam insulation
and covered with a one inch layer of stucco,” Dunn said. “Anybody shooting less
than armor piercing, all it’s going to do is fragment. Have night vision
cameras installed with built in motion detectors and add two more floodlights
to cover the blackout areas. Oh, and have the glass in the sliding doors
replaced with bullet proof.”
“Anything
else?” Watts said.
“I’ll
let you know after I’ve checked the rest of the house,” Dunn said. He looked at
Jennifer. “Right now I’m going to introduce myself to the kid.”
“Don’t
you want to meet your team?” Watts said.
“One
of them is in the backyard,” Dunn said. “Have him meet me inside the house with
the others in a few minutes.”
“In
the watch room,” Watts said and turned away.
Dunn
walked across the lawn to Jennifer and Jack. The boy was wrestling with his
dog, a cute little beagle and it was obvious the dog loved its owner. “Boy or
girl?” Dunn said.
“Girl,”
Jack said. “Her name is button.”
“Because
she’s as cute as?” Dunn said.
Jack
stood up and Button nipped at his ankles. “Down,” Jack said and Button sat down
next to Jack’s leg. “That’s what my mother called her. It just kinda stuck.”
Dunn
looked at Jennifer. “Good choice.”
“So,
who are you?” Jack said to Dunn.
“Replacement,”
Dunn said.
“Agent
6 was in a car accident, Jack,” Jennifer said. “Agent 7 will be filling in for
him for a while.”
Jack
looked into Dunn’s eyes, then reached down to pat Button on the head. “Agent 6
died, didn’t he?”
“Yes,”
Dunn said. “It was just one of those things that shouldn’t have happened but
did.”
Jack
nodded. “Do you play chess?” he said.
“A
bit,” Dunn said. “I’m not very good though.”
“That
doesn’t matter,” Jack said.
“No,
I guess it doesn’t,” Dunn said.
“Jack,
come in the house and help me get started with dinner,” Jennifer said. “Agent 7
has to talk with the others for a while.”
Jack
looked at Dunn. “Play a game before bed?”
“Why
not?”
While
Jennifer and Jack started dinner in the kitchen, Dunn met Watts
and the five agents in the watch room. Watts introduced each member of the five
man team by name and told Dunn names were never to be used going forward for
the safety and security of the boy and his mother.
“That
white van outside,” Dunn said.
“A
custom job,” Watts said. “The glass will stop
everything up to an elephant gun and maybe even that. Same with the doors,
sides and back. The tires will stay inflated for fifty miles when pierced and
even the gas tank is reinforced.”
“We
sweep it every day for explosives,” Agent 5 said. “Same with the house, phones
and yard.”
“The
radio?” Dunn said. “That entertainment system in the living room. A radio can
be turned into a wiretap without much effort.”
Agent
5 seemed momentarily confused. “We’ll… check it.”
Dunn
turned to Watts. “I want forty Manhattan phone books and some cans of liquid Styrofoam
delivered by tonight.”
“What
the hell for?” Watts said. “I just said the…”
“Is
he the most valuable human being alive on the planet today or not?” Dunn said.
“Those were your words, John, not mine.”
“I’ll
have them delivered,” Watts said.
“Good,”
Dunn said. He looked at the five agents. “Let’s go over the train schedule and
assignments, then we’ll talk about the weak spots in this house and the van.”
Watts glanced at his watch. “I’ll have the books
delivered as soon as I reach the office.” He shook Dunn’s hand and said, “Thank
you for this. I’ll make it up to you one way or another.”
“Just
tell Jim not to screw up my investigation,” Dunn said. “And have that other
equipment delivered no later than tomorrow.”
Watts nodded and left the watch room. Dunn looked at the
five agents. “How’s her cooking?”
“I’ve
gained seven pounds since I’ve been here,” Agent 5 said.
Dunn
ate last at the kitchen table with Jennifer and Jack. The boy, for so slight a
kid had a ferocious appetite, finishing a plate of spaghetti and meatballs that
gave Dunn trouble. He also ate four garlic rolls to Dunn’s three and washed it
all down with several cartons of apple juice.
“Play
a game?” Jack said.
“You
know the rules, Jack,” Jennifer said. “Dishes and homework before play. Right?”
Jack
frowned like a normal kid as he looked at Jennifer. “I guess so.”
“And
I’ll be checking the math test, so no fudging.”
Dunn
stood up from the table. “How about I help with the dishes so the boy can get
started on his homework,” he said. “That might give us a bit more time for a
game.”
Jennifer
stared at Dunn for a moment. “You’re going to help me do dishes?”
“It’s
not against the rules, is it?”
“You
make the rules,” Jennifer pointed out.
“All
right then,” Dunn said and walked to the sink where a large pile of dirty
dishes rested.
Jack
jumped up from the table. “I’ll be done in an hour,” he said and raced out of
the kitchen.
Jennifer
wrapped an apron around her waist. “You dry,” she said.
Twenty
minutes later, Jennifer poured two fresh cups of coffee at the table. “He seems
like a perfectly normal boy,” Dunn said as he took a sip from his cup.
“He
is,” Jennifer said. “A bit of a runt for his age, but otherwise normal as the
next kid. Well, except for that.”
“I’m
not sure I understand what that is,” Dunn said.
“I’ve
been living with it for nine years and I barely understand it myself,” Jennifer
said. “I probably never will.”
“They
called it telekinesis,” Dunn said. “But, I’ve never believed in that.”
“It’s
more psychokinesis,” Jennifer said. “Without the spoon bending or levitating
knives from the table. At least not yet.”
“He
reads minds, so I’m told.”
“Reads
them?” Jennifer smiled and took a sip of coffee. “It’s more like he records
them, stores them and then transplants them into a selected subject.”
“So
the knowledge is never lost,” Dunn said.
Jennifer
nodded as she took another sip from her cup.
“Any
idea how it works, his mind, I mean?”
“Nobody
does. They’ve been studying him for four years now and they don’t have a clue.
When and if they ever figure it out…well, who knows?”
“How
did you discover his…talent, for lack of a better word?”
“I
didn’t,” Jennifer said. “My husband did. About six years ago when Jack was
three years old.”
“Tell
me about it,” Dunn said.
Jack
appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. A folded chessboard and a wood box of
pieces were under his arm. “My homework and test are done,” he said to
Jennifer. “On my desk.”
“One
hour,” Jennifer said. “Then it’s bed.”
“What
if we’re not finished?” Jack said.
“Then
you carry the game over to tomorrow.” Jennifer stood up and looked at Dunn.
“I’ll be in Jack’s room.” She looked at Jack. “That test better be no less than
an A, young man.”
“Aw,
mom.”
“Aw,
mom,” Jennifer mimicked Jack as she stuck her tongue out at the boy.
Jennifer
returned an hour later and looked at the chessboard. Jack, playing white had
made nine moves. Dunn, playing black had made eight. “I see this is going
nowhere fast,” she said.
Dunn
slid a bishop across the board in a move designed to block a move Jack wouldn’t
make for two more moves. Jack knew it and looked at Dunn. “Pretty good, Agent
7,” he said. “It’s going to take some figuring.”
“Figure
it while you brush your teeth and get ready for bed,” Jennifer said.
“Aw,
mom.”
“Aw
Mom me one more time, young man,” Jennifer said. “Go ahead.”
“Can
you at least send Button up?”
“Don’t
I always. Say goodnight to Mr.…. to Agent 7.”
“Good
night,” Jack said. “We’ll finish the game tomorrow.”
Dunn
nodded. “Goodnight, son.”
Jennifer
poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table. “This is about as exciting as it
gets around here,” she said.
Dunn
stood up from the table. “I should go check on the men. Goodnight, Mrs. Grant,”
he said.
“Wait,”
Jennifer said. “Can you do me a small favor?”
“If
I can.”
“My
name is Jennifer.”
Dunn
nodded. “Goodnight, Jennifer,” he said.
Dunn
and Agents 1 through 5 looked at the stacks of Manhattan
phone books piled up in the driveway. Dunn turned to the Agents. “A couple of
you men get some power tools and remove the interior walls of the doors and
rear hatch,” Dunn said. “Line the interior of each door and the trunk with the
phone books, fill in the cracks with the liquid Styrofoam, then put it all back
together.”
The
five agents looked at Dunn.
“Even
an armor piercing bullet won’t penetrate more than two inches of a Manhattan
Yellow Pages,” Dunn said. “Five and four, come with me.”
Dunn
led Agents 5 and 4 to the backyard where Watts
had delivered the equipment delivered that Dunn requested. Dunn looked at the
dark suits the two agents wore even though the sun was starting to blister. “Do
you guys own more comfortable clothing?” Dunn said.
“Like
what you have on?” Agent 5 said looking at the warm up suit Dunn wore.
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
“Well,
from now on you only wear suits when we go out unless I call for undercover,”
Dunn said. “Go change and meet me back here.”
Jennifer
served salad, soup and turkey sandwiches for lunch at the backyard patio. While
Dunn and agents five and four ate, Jack played with Button on the grass. Button
glanced at the table, as the smell of turkey was a powerful distraction. Dunn
held out a small piece of turkey and the dog broke away from Jack to snatch it
up, turned and raced back to the boy.
“We
leave in two days,” Dunn said. “What do you do with the dog?”
“There’s
a kennel not far,” Agent 5 said. “We usually take her there.”
“Same
one every time?”
“That’s
probably not a good idea, huh?” Agent 4 said.
“Only
if you want people to learn your habits and remember you,” Dunn said. “The best
way to get remembered is to own a cute dog.”
“I’ll
find a new kennel,” Agent 4 said.
Dunn
picked up a second sandwich. Working in the hot sun all morning beefed up his
appetite. “Let’s talk about this train ride,” he said as he bit into the
sandwich.
“We’ve
done it before,” Agent 5 said.
“Ever
overnight?” Dunn said.
“No,”
Agent 5 admitted. “Boston, New
York, Atlanta.
Never overnight.”
“It’s
going to take four days to reach Los
Angeles,” Dunn said. “That’s a long ride. Why can’t
the boy fly?”
“We
don’t know,” Agent 5 said. “That’s just what they say.”
“They?”
“His
doctors,” Agent 4 said. “They give him a physical usually the day before we
travel and the day after.”
Dunn
finished his sandwich, washed it down with lemonade and stood up. “Finish up
what’s left of the installation and we’ll run a test. I’m going in to talk to
the boy’s mother.”
Jennifer
was watching a soap opera on the sofa with her bare feet up when Dunn walked
into the living room. “I have a question for you,” he said.
Jennifer
slid her legs off the sofa and sat up. “Sit. Ask.”
Dunn
took a seat on the sofa and looked at Jennifer. “Why can’t the boy fly? Is
there a medical reason?”
“Cabin
pressure,” Jennifer said.
“Cabin
pressure?”
“The
doctors are concerned that the cabin pressure might somehow affect Jack’s
ability,” Jennifer said. “The same for sports, school bullies and pretty much
everything else that normal boys his age do.”
Dunn
stood up. “Cabin pressure,” he said and walked away.
Jack
studied the chessboard carefully before making his next move. Dunn studied the
board as well and knew Jack’s next move would be a placement for three moves
down the road. Button slept beside the boy’s legs and Jack would occasionally
reach down to pat the dog on the head as if reassuring himself his friend was
still there.
Jack
looked up from the board and smiled at Dunn. He placed his hand on his queen
and slid the piece across the board to take one of Dunn’s pawns and leave the
queen in a position to put Dunn’s king in check in two more moves.
Dunn
nodded to Jack, then moved his knight into position to block Jack’s second move
when he used the queen to attack. Jack studied the board and did something
adults usually do when deep in thought; he raised his tiny right hand to his
chin and rubbed it gently as if stroking a goatee.
Jack
was still deep in thought when Jennifer walked in and announced it was his
bedtime. “Can I just make this move, mom?” Jack pleaded.
Jennifer
looked at Dunn, then at Jack. She sat down and waited. Five minutes later, Jack
slid his bishop across the board in a move designed to change Dunn’s strategy
and force him to play another piece.
Jennifer
said, “Your next move better be made with a toothbrush, young man.”
Jack
frowned at her. “You’re no fun,” he said.
“I’m
your mother,” Jennifer said. “Fun is for grandparents. I’ll be up in a few
minutes to tuck you in. Go.”
Jack
stood up and immediately Button was on her feet and ready to follow the boy.
“Goodnight Agent 7,” Jack said.
“Goodnight,
Jack,” Dunn said.
Jack
left the kitchen with Button on his heels.
Dunn
looked at the chessboard. “He plays well. This game could take weeks.”
“Agent
7, I appreciate what you are doing, but don’t make friends with my son unless
you intend to stay and see it through,” Jennifer said.
Dunn
looked up from the board and saw the restrained anger in Jennifer’s eyes. “For
three years he’s lived with a group of men who he doesn’t even know by name.
They protect him every single second of his life, and that’s all they do. They
don’t toss a football with him. They don’t help him with his homework. They’re
not father figures or role models. They guard him and watch over him without
feelings like the Terminator.”
Jennifer
stood up and turned to the coffee pot in the machine on the counter. She filled
two mugs and set them on the table, then reclaimed her seat. “Do you plan to
stay on?’ she said. “Are you prepared to be the friend, role model and father
figure my son doesn’t have?”
“No.”
“Then
I would appreciate it if you didn’t break my son’s heart,” Jennifer said. “He’s
had enough of that in his nine years to last a lifetime.”
Dunn
took a sip from his mug. “Fair enough,” he said.
That
Dunn took his scolding so well it seemed to defuse Jennifer’s anger and her
eyes lightened from dark to almost a speckled green. She lifted her mug and
took a sip, sighed and set it down. “It’s obvious why Mr. Watts asked you to
fill in,” she said. “The other agents seem like amateurs next to you, but
please, don’t make friends with my son if you don’t plan to stick around and
pick up the pieces of his heart after you break it.”
“Again,
fair enough,” Dunn said.
Jennifer
lifted her mug, took a sip, set it down and looked at the chessboard. “Who’s
winning?”
“It’s
a draw,” Dunn said. “Twenty moves from now, we’ll both be playing our queen, a
few pawns and nothing else.”
“Does
he know that?”
“I
think so.”
“Why
play on?”
“One
of us might get careless and make a mistake.”
“One
of you?”
“It
happens.”
Jennifer
and Dunn looked at each other until she stood up from the table. “I have to
tuck him in. Goodnight, Agent 7.”
“Goodnight,
Jennifer,” Dunn said.
Dunn
stood quietly in the corner of Jack’s bedroom as doctors 1 and 2 examined the
boy from head to toe. Jennifer stood next to Dunn for a few minutes, then asked
the doctors what they would like for lunch and excused herself.
As
the poked, prodded and listened to Jack’s heart, the boy seemed bored by it
all. It occurred to Dunn that he probably was. Finally, after about an hour,
Doctor 1 said, “Okay, Jack, we’re done. You can get dressed now.”
The
boy wasted no time jumping into his clothes. “Agent 7, let’s go grab some lunch
before these guys hog it all,” he said with a slight smile.
“I’ll
meet you downstairs,” Dunn said. “I want a few words with the doctors.”
Jack
opened the door and looked at Dunn. “Don’t take too long. These guys will talk
your ears off,” he said and left the bedroom.
Doctors
1 and 2 looked at Dunn. “You’re Ryan Dunn,” Doctor 1 said. “Watts
briefed us on the situation. Agent 6 was a good man.”
“You
didn’t know his name?” Dunn said.
“Nor
he ours,” Doctor 2 said. “Watts’ orders.”
“The
boy is healthy?” Dunn said.
“From
head to toe,” Doctor 1 said.
“But,
he can’t fly?”
Doctor
1 looked at Doctor 2, then at Dunn. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you
mean?”
“I
mean, can he fly or not?” Dunn said. “At thirty thousand feet, will his head
explode, will he start talking in tongues, what?”
“We
don’t know,” Doctor 1 said.
“You
don’t know,” Dunn said.
“We
don’t even know how the boy does what he does,” Doctor 2 said.
“Appreciate
the fact that what we know about the human brain and how it works would fit on
one corner of a postage stamp,” Doctor 1 said. “We could study the boy for
another twenty years and still be no closer to understanding it than we are
today. We don’t know what would happen if he was subjected to intense cabin
pressure, but until we do understand more, we’d no sooner let him fly than
become a professional boxer.”
“And
what about him?” Dunn said.
The
doctors appeared confused by Dunn’s question. “When he grows up, wants a normal
life, what about all that?” Dunn said.
“We
don’t make those decisions,” Doctor 1 said.
“Who
does?” Dunn said.
“Honestly,
we don’t know,” Doctor 2 said. “Maybe you should ask that question to John
Watts?”
“Yeah,
maybe,” Dunn said.
Jennifer
sipped hot chocolate as she watched cable news from her favorite spot on the
sofa. It was a slow news day with nothing much to report, so the anchors filled
airtime with Breaking News Alerts about mudslides in California,
a heat wave in Florida, possible tornado
activity in Kansas.
In other words, they had nothing, knew they had nothing, but didn’t want you to
know it.
She
looked at her watch. Ten minutes to Jack’s bedtime. She was about to get up and
enter the kitchen and paused when she heard Jack speak from behind the swinging
door. “That was a really bad mistake, Agent 7,” Jack said. “It’s just cost you
the game.”