Mr. And Miss Anonymous (14 page)

Josh had to leave, he knew that now. He had to get Tom’s book and go to a newspaper. The hard reality he was forced to recognize was that he couldn’t trust the police or the FBI. He’d known all along the only person he could trust was himself. And now Tom.

Josh’s last conscious thought before drifting into a sound sleep was to wonder if Jesse was safe and if he would ever see him again.

T
essie Dancer glared at the small recorder she was listening to as she drummed her fingers on the desktop. When the tape ended, she pressed the
OFF
button. She rewound the tape and listened to it for the tenth time, knowing she could almost recite the words verbatim at this point. She had a tiger by the tail, and it wasn’t a baby tiger. Oh, no, this tiger was the grand-daddy of all tigers.
The
scoop of a lifetime. Possibly a third Pulitzer. Front-page stuff, big byline, above the fold. It didn’t get any better than that, and she knew it.

The problem was, and it
was
a problem, how should she tackle the story? Should she go with bits and pieces? A tease, so to speak. Or should she wait, the way Kelly wanted her to, and do it all in one shot? Or…go to the source? Once she found the source.

Tessie turned off the recorder and turned on her computer to check her e-mail. She’d sent out over fifty e-mails to her sources, friends and families of those sources, and anyone else she had thought of who might have information for her.

As Tessie stared at her blank e-mail screen, her fingers continued to drum on the desktop. A nervous habit just like biting her nails was. She thought about Pete and Lily’s story. How sad that was. Two high-powered people who were wealthy beyond anyone’s dreams, and they were miserable because of something they had done in their youth, something they had no way of knowing would bring them to this place in time. They made their donations for the right reasons, not only because they needed the money but because they hoped they would be helping childless couples. And now, those actions had come back to haunt them.

Who are the principals in the sperm bank and fertility clinic? Her cursory trace was so complicated, she’d given it up and turned it over to a computer wizard who owed her big-time for a favor she’d done him a few years back. Why bury ownership so deep if the principals weren’t trying to hide something? Why?

Tessie thought about Lily’s description of the lab and minihospital. Why would a fertility clinic need something like that? Where did the money come from to outfit something like that? First rule: Follow the money.

Then there was the California Academy of Higher Learning. Ownership of the academy was buried just as deep. Same owners? Probably. Who put the lid on the media? Someone high up in the food chain. What were they hiding at the school? Where did everyone disappear to? Who was the boy Josh Baer? Was he Pete Kelly’s son? Pete seemed to think he was, and Lily had agreed.

Years of experience had taught her one thing. When people went to so much trouble to bury something, it meant it was either drug-related or the principals were politicians with deep, dark secrets. Tessie’s eyes narrowed. Her gut told her it was fifty-fifty.

What kind of person would hire a contract killer to snuff out an entire class of seventeen-year-old kids, one of whom was mentally challenged? The same kind of person who was hiding ownership of the school, the fertility clinic, and the sperm bank. That had to mean all three were connected. Tessie scribbled notes to herself.

Where were the other kids and their teachers? Where was the dean? Did all the records disappear before the shooting or did the FBI confiscate them? Tessie made more notes. How could a large group of students disappear with no one seeing them? Private charter flights to…somewhere. Maybe there were other schools like the California Academy of Higher Learning. Why? For what purpose?

Who was the shooter? Where was the boy? Were the kids at the school geniuses?

Every private school she’d researched had a Web site; not so for the academy. Well, she had one of her sources working on that, too.

Tessie’s guts started to churn when she thought about the missing boy, who might possibly be Pete Kelly’s son. How long could he stay safe? Her blood started to churn at what could happen to him. She’d been a child advocate for the past fifteen years. In fact, her first Pulitzer was a heart-and gut-wrenching article on child advocacy. Her thoughts shifted to Pete Kelly and the academy. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew that before the end of the day, he was going to be in jail. She was so deep into her thoughts she almost missed the e-mail that popped up on her screen. The moment she saw it, she jerked upright to read the terse message.

Tessie’s eyes almost popped out of her head. She sent back an e-mail asking for a time to meet. The response to her e-mail was: One hour.

Little Slick, the e-mailer, was the best computer hacker known to man. He must have found something really important. Little Slick had his own computer lab and sixteen employees. Not many people knew Little Slick was on retainer to the FBI, the CIA, and the rest of Alphabet City, also known as the nation’s capital. Little Slick had appeared on her radar screen when one of his kids needed a neurosurgeon and someone gave him her name. She’d called in favors and promised far more than she should have in the hope the five-year-old could be saved. It had all turned out well, and Little Slick worked overtime to pay off what he considered his debt to her. She, in turn, sent small gifts from time to time to the little boy who called her Aunt Tessie.

With Little Slick requesting a meeting, whatever he’d found had to be red-hot and top secret. Tessie felt giddy at the thought.

Tessie looked around, suddenly aware of how quiet it was. A sigh escaped her lips as she looked out the window. Eight o’clock. She should be home fixing her parents’ dinner. The home health aide she’d hired to fill in for her was worth every hard-earned penny she paid her. Still, she felt bad that she wasn’t the one making the meat loaf that both her mother and father loved. She’d long ago given up the idea that she could be all things to all people. All she could do was her best, and if that wasn’t good enough, so be it.

Tessie reached into her desk drawer for not one but three power bars. She scarfed them down, then swilled the rest of her cold coffee.

Tessie reached for her cell phone, which had been strangely silent these past few hours. Most days it rang nonstop. Was the silence an omen of some kind? She wasn’t the least bit surprised when Pete Kelly didn’t answer his cell phone. She wondered how he would like a few hours in jail. She sent off another e-mail to Little Slick advising him of the current situation with Pete:

Morgan cursed long and loud. How the hell was he going to get out of there? Five SUVs? Obviously they weren’t FBI reinforcements. Then who? No one in his right mind messed with the FBI except maybe someone like him. Outsiders. The guy from the library? What the hell difference did it make who they were? All that mattered was for him to get out of there in one goddamn piece.

Morgan looked up at the ceiling. Did he get the little bastard? Too late now; saving his own skin was paramount. He’d just have to figure out another way to get the kid, or else he’d pack it in, give back the money, and move on. He didn’t like the flip side of that coin very much. People as powerful as the ones he was dealing with would find a way to get to him and kill him. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Morgan ran from the building to the stolen Toyota, climbed in, and raced to the bottom of the hill, where Agent Warner was standing guard over the five SUVs. He thrust open the door the moment he brought the Land Cruiser to a stop, his automatic weapon drawn. He hit the ground running, the safety off. He motioned for Agent Warner to step out of the way. Within seconds all five SUVs had flat tires. Morgan was surprised that his gun wasn’t smoking. “Take care of this, Warner. My team hit a roadblock ten miles down the road. I have to take care of it. Run these people in and I don’t give a good rat’s ass if they claim to be friends of the president of the United States. I’m glad you had the good sense to keep them in their vehicles. Did Agent Robbins call back?”

“Don’t know, sir, I’ve been kind of busy with this,” Warner said, waving his arm toward the line of SUVs. “They have a dog inside.”

Morgan pulled out his cell phone, pretended to dial a number, then spoke to himself, his back half-turned to Agent Warner but still within ear-shot.

“Special Agent Lionel Lewis. I’m up at the California Academy of Higher Learning. My task force is stuck at a roadblock ten miles away, and I’m on my way to straighten that out. We have an incident here, and this is a request for additional agents ASAP. I’m leaving Agent Warner in charge. No IDs but obvious firepower. Civilians or media would be my guess. They aren’t going anywhere, I shot out all the tires. There is a K-9. Send four of ours. I thought it best not to bring the rent-a-cops into it, ma’am. It was my call. I’m in charge here. Fine, fine.”

Morgan clicked the cell phone shut. He’d never make an FBI agent. He’d totally forgotten the rent-a-cops. He turned to Warner, and said, “Get those rent-a-cops down here and keep these people in their vehicles. Now, Agent Warner.”

Agent Warner ran over to the guard shelter and used his squawk box to call in the rent-a-cops, who responded on the run.

Morgan could feel a panic attack coming on. He had to get out of there before it all blew up on him. The moment the rent-a-cops skidded to a stop, he was in the Toyota, speeding out to the highway.

“Josh, wake up! Wake up! I hear gunfire! C’mon, c’mon, wake up! You have to see what’s going on.”

Josh struggled to a sitting position. Tom was right. He clamped his hands over his ears, his eyes burning. It sounded just like that day when all his friends were killed. Where were the gunshots coming from? Inside or outside? Outside, he decided. Who was that skunk shooting this time? The guards? The police?
Maybe someone was shooting at the shooter.

“C’mon, Josh, you have to check it out. You need to stay on top of what’s going on. If you don’t, they’re going to catch you, and you can’t let that happen. Can’t you move any faster?”

Josh picked up his feet and ran, staying close to the wall as he hit the first floor and the long hallway that led to the main entrance. He looked down once to see hundreds of shell casings littering the floor. He’d seen the same casings that day when all his friends had been gunned down.

“Don’t look at them, Josh, they’re just pieces of metal. You need to keep your wits about you and you also need a weapon. Think… Agent 8446.”

“The baseball bat in the dean’s office. The one Adam hit the grand slam with last year. I can break the case it’s in. Adam… Adam doesn’t…won’t… He won’t ever need it again. Maybe I can kill someone with it to avenge him.”

“Just get the damn thing and worry about killing someone later. It’s to protect yourself. You’re no killer, Josh. C’mon, c’mon, hurry up. You got lead in those legs today. Move it!”

Josh raced back down the hall to the dean’s office. He took a second to stare at the dead plant on the desk, wondering if he should water it.
I must be crazy to think about watering plants at a time like this.

A heavy glass paperweight in his hand, Josh smashed the glass case that housed the winning bat and baseball. He pocketed the ball and gave the bat a few wild swings. Now he felt like he had a little control.

“You just going to stand there, or are you going to do something?”

“What? What? You want me to go out there and show myself with that crazy guy shooting people? I don’t think so. I have to get out of here. I just want to see what’s going on down by the gate. What if he shot everyone? If he did, then I have to call the police.”

“Well, if that did happen, there’s nothing you can do. When you’re dead, you’re dead, and calling the police can’t help them.”

“They might not be dead, just hurt. I have to help.”

“At the risk of getting caught?”

Josh debated the question. “Yes.”

“Go out through the kitchen, walk behind the shrubs. They’re so thick against the building, no one will see you. Just don’t make any noise. I’m here, Josh, right beside you. Be careful, now.”

“If he’s gone, he’ll be back. I have to get out of here, Tom.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. First things first. Check out the situation first. If that guy even thinks about coming back, he’ll know you’re gone. No more talking, now. Be as quiet as you can.”

Josh looked around to study the terrain. Even though he knew it intimately, he studied each bush, shrub, and tree to see what would afford him the best cover. He eyed the sycamore tree with the low branches that were thick with fresh green leaves. Before he shinnied up the tree, he slid the baseball bat under a bush. With the dark gray of his sweat suit, he’d blend in with the foliage.

Josh climbed steadily. He didn’t like the idea that he had to go as high as he was going. Talk about being a sitting duck. But, if he wanted to see all the way to the guardhouse, he had to go midway up the tree. The limb was sturdy, so there was no problem about its holding his weight. Still, as he stretched out his body, he hung on for dear life.

The view was startling and definitely not what he expected. People, lots of people. No shooter. The guards with guns, the FBI agent. He knew it was an agent because it said “FBI” in bold yellow letters on the back of his Windbreaker. Eight men. Five big utility vehicles, all with flat tires. Shell casings all over the place. The lady and the man from the library.

The FBI guy was holding a gun on the people. The lady in the hat looked like she was going to cry. The guy with her, the one from the library, looked pissed to the teeth. The dog looked like he wanted to take a chunk out of someone. Josh closed his eyes, and whispered, “What’s this all mean, Tom?”

A strong gust of wind whipped through the trees just as Tom was about to respond.
“Uh-oh, get out of here right now, Josh. That dog just picked up your scent. Quick. He’s straining at the leash and looking right here where you are. Try not to disturb the branches. Move, Josh, hurry. Everyone is looking at this tree.”