Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (22 page)

“Let’s go!”

“Almost there, open the door.”

The man pushed buttons and the green light changed to a blinking red. He hustled around the van to enter the passenger side, his camera swinging wildly. While he was careful opening the door of the van he forgot about the camera. It struck the door of the Corvette with a loud thunk.

“Damn it!” the driver swore.

“Too late, let’s roll.”

The driver punched the door code and the garage slowly opened. He jumped behind the wheel and drummed his fingers as the he watched it creep up in his rearview mirror.

•      •      •

Jack swung the car into a wide left turn. With the hour being what it was, the streets were practically deserted and for once his wife was not complaining about his driving. One might say she was encouraging it at the moment.

She had slipped off her seatbelt and drawn her legs up onto the seat. The black Vera Wang had also ascended her legs and Jack was dividing his attention between them and the road ahead of him. His tie was long gone and what lipstick she had worn was now mostly on his neck and shirt collar.

His left foot twitched on the imaginary clutch as he pulled out of the turn and accelerated down the street, his wife ignoring his blatant disregard for the speed limit.

•      •      •

The driver noted the scratch in the door of the car as he backed out. It was spilled milk. Nothing he could do about it now. He gunned the engine till the van was out and exited to punch in the code again. The door responded and he was quickly behind the wheel again, backing out of the driveway. He had just put the van in gear and started forward when he saw the lights approaching.

•      •      •

Jack tapped the brakes when he saw the lights ahead. His wife let out a giggle as he swerved to the right to avoid the oncoming vehicle. Its lights were set on bright and made worse by the height. A large SUV or truck, he thought, as they passed within inches. He continued around the curve until the house came into view. He caught a glimpse of the vehicle in his rearview as it passed under a streetlight. A van?

“Are we home?” his wife asked.

“Yeah, we’re home.”

She gave him a final squeeze before she bolted out the car door and punched in the code to enter the house. She had it open before he could shut off the car and follow, and ran away from him down the hall, shedding clothes as she went.

Jack was no fool, he quickly did the same.

UN: Droughts, melting ice signs of
worsening climate change.
September 24, 2009—USA Today

—SIXTEEN—

S
ydney was tired but doing her best not to show it. The last few days at work had consisted of multiple debriefings, conference calls, endless meetings and mountains of forensic evidence that all needed to be processed. While she realized the importance of it all, she hated being rushed. These things took time to do right, speeding through the process caused mistakes to happen. Something the political leaders didn’t or wouldn’t understand. They demanded everything immediately and God help you if you made a mistake. If you did, it was your fault, never theirs for rushing you.

“Screw ’em!” she spoke aloud.

Since there was nobody in the Mustang with her she didn’t get a reply. She had the road to herself this morning as it was still a few hours before dawn. She needed to unwind, and since it was Friday she was giving herself a few hours to do so before work. She planned on a couple of boxes of 9mm at the range, followed by a few laps around the mall. She enjoyed watching the sun come up over the Potomac while the rat race was in progress all around her.

As she passed the White House she noticed lights already on in the West Wing. She tried to remember if she had ever seen them off, but couldn’t recall. Good for them. If she was putting in the hours then so should they.

She stifled a yawn as she pulled up to the security point at the Hoover Building. It was going to be a long day.

•      •      •

Four hours later she finally made it to her office. Her official one anyway, after an hour at the range and another on the streets, she had used her dungeon office to change and get herself organized. She managed to keep two offices only because no one wanted her previous one in the basement. While she preferred it to her official one, she still had to put in time here so people could reach her. Otherwise the messages and memos piled up into a quantity too large to handle. So she transformed from running shorts and ponytail to up-do and business suit. As she carried a box of files down the hall she was pleased to see that she still got second looks from her male counterparts. Maybe someday she would have the time to look back, but not any time soon.

She managed to unlock her office while balancing the box on a raised knee. As she pushed it open and hit the lights her office presented itself as she had left it.

Almost.

She paused in the doorway and looked carefully at her desk. Something was wrong. Her Tell files were out of place. She examined the chair next to the door carefully before placing the box on it. Once her hands were free she checked the carpet. It had not been vacuumed since her last visit. She examined the windows and sniffed the air. The windows did not appear to have been cleaned recently and there was no lingering odor of a chemical cleaner in the air.

She carefully crossed the room until she was close to the two files lying on her desk. They had numbers she had pulled out of her head for file names and contained nothing but old information that had been public for years. She examined the surface for the hair. It was gone. The corners were no longer in line with the edges of her desk. Someone had moved the file. Someone had been in her office.

She walked around the desk, looking at the locks on her file cabinets and desk drawers. They appeared to be free of scratches. The Bureau used steel hardware with brass plating. Any attempt to force the locks would leave marks. She reached in her purse and found a Kleenex. Keeping her hand from disturbing any prints, she tugged on each drawer. Everything was secure. Finally she sat in her chair and thought about the last time she had been in the office. Did she forget to reset her Tell, or maybe bumped it on her way out? She had never forgotten before.

She rose and shut her door before returning to the desk and pushing the chair back. Hiking up her skirt, she got down on her hands and knees and combed through the carpet with her fingers. After a brief search she found the hair. She picked it up and set it on the blotter. Returning to her chair, she contemplated the hair.

Every employee of the FBI was encouraged to protect their office. Besides the usual locking of files and drawers they encouraged the use of the Tell, a personal way of determining if you’ve had a visitor. Each person’s Tell was left up to them to construct and never shared with anyone. Sydney’s was the two files. Every night when she left her office she arranged the files on her desk so the bottom corners of the bottom file touched the front and right sides of the desktop. Added to that, she placed one of her own hairs on top of the bottom file. It was all but invisible in the dark or low light such as moonlight coming in the window. If the file was disturbed or picked up the hair would fall. As the hair was on the floor and the files not left in their proper position, she knew someone had been in her office.

As she rocked in the chair she noticed the empty trash can. Maybe the cleaning crew had bumped it? That wouldn’t account for the hair though, unless the files had been knocked to the floor. If something such as that happened the guard was supposed to log it in. The crews were escorted every night by security and instructed to never touch or move anything. Her first instinct was to go downstairs and get her print kit, but decided that was a little overkill. She would fill out an incident form and submit it. In a few days she was sure she would be told if it was the cleaning crew. Nothing else seemed to be disturbed, and she had too much work to do.

She pulled a handful of files from the box and spread them out on her desk. May as well get started.

•      •      •

Jack was doing much the same thing in his office. Unlike Sydney, he had three separate files to close. One for the embassy bombing, another for the ambush, and a third for the raid on the terrorist camp. As the evidence and supporting intelligence was processed and cataloged it was forwarded to Jack so he could assemble it into a final report. While the work of many would go into each file, his name would ultimately be the one signing at the bottom of each. He wouldn’t get a second chance. It had to be right the first time.

Three hours later he was reading a heavily highlighted report on evidence found at the camp. The highlight would change to blackout if the file needed to be seen by someone without the necessary clearance. Jack was thinking that it would be an extremely fast read if that ever happened when he heard a knock on his door.

“Come.”

Sydney opened the door with a tired smile on her face and a thick file in her hand.

“Hello, stranger,” she greeted him.

“Hello to you, too. Seems we both got lost in the paperwork shuffle. Is that your final report on the embassy forensics?”

“I hope so. It’s three inches thick already with possibly more to come later. But all the lab work is done and the only thing left is formalities.”

“Such as?”

“Toxicology on the victims will take another few weeks, but I don’t see how that will add anything to the investigation. If we find out that one of the embassy secretaries was smoking pot I really don’t think it will be relevant.”

“Okay, just set it on the desk if you can find a spot.”

Sydney cleared a spot and deposited the thick file on the corner of Jack’s desk. She then flopped into a chair before putting her feet up on the other.

Jack stopped reading and contemplated her raised feet. The strappy heels and her legs brought up a flash of memory of last night. He drove it away and sat back in his chair.

“Yes?”

“What? Just taking a break for a minute.”

“You’re hovering. What’s on your mind?”

She looked around his office and took in the mess on his desk before answering.

“What’s your office Tell?”

“It’s mine. If I tell people, it’s not really worth having is it?”

“Ever had it disturbed?”

Jack leaned forward and dropped the file on his desk.

“What happened?”

“When I came in today, my Tell was moved. Everything else was secure, nothing out of place, just my Tell. I figured the cleaning crew bumped it.”

“You file a report?”

“Yeah, but who knows how long that will take to have an answer. Never happened to you?”

“Not me, but I’ve heard of others. Sometimes they like to test the new people. You know, make sure they follow procedure and file a report.”

“I’m not new.”

“No, you’re not.” Jack reached for the phone.

“Who are you calling?”

Jack just held up a finger while the phone rang.

“Security.”

“Hello, this is Agent Randall. I need to know if a report was filed by your people regarding office . . .” Jack cupped the receiver and looked at Sydney.

She rolled her eyes before replying, “2789.”

“. . . 2789. Agent Sydney Lewis . . . yes, I’ll hold.”

“Jack, it’s probably nothing.”

“I agree, let’s just be sure.”

They waited in silence for a full minute before the guard came back on the line. Jack had put the call on speaker.

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“I have no reports regarding Agent Lewis’s office in the past week. It’s due for vacuuming and windows in two days, other than that, just normal trash and dust. Is there an issue?”

“A Tell out of place, everything else seems secure.”

“Any chance it was forgotten or just bumped, sir?”

Sydney shook her head.

“That’s a negative.”

“Did she file a report, sir?”

Sydney answered that one. “Yes, I submitted it around noon.”

“Very well, ma’am, I can send a man up now if you’d like or I can consult with the night crew and get back to you in the morning?”

“Tomorrow will be fine. Thank you,” Jack answered.

“Yes, sir.”

Jack punched the button and broke the connection.

“More paperwork, thanks, Jack.”

“A little procedure never hurt anyone.” He smiled.

She took a good look at him before she rose to leave. Pausing at the door, she shot a question over her shoulder. “You seem to be in good spirits today. Have a nice night last night?”

Jack looked up at the surprise question and the look on his face was all she needed to see. He tried to maintain a neutral expression but ended up smiling anyway.

“Tell Debi I said hello,” she called as she left the office.

“Go away,” he called after her.

•      •      •

Kimball scanned through the stack of photos for the fourth time, but still failed to see anything worthy of a second attempt. The Randall home was very nice, tastefully decorated in simple colors and style. As he knew of Jack’s wealth, he was surprised by this. He had expected a display of money as was often the case. But the Randall home had no such display. There were no priceless pieces of artwork adorning the walls or modern sculptures in the entryway. The wife’s jewelry collection was extensive, but as a man he knew that could not be helped. The cars were quality and not flashy. The Corvette seemed to be the only indulgence, and for a sports car one could certainly spend a great deal more on such an item. If anything, it was the type of house Kimball could see himself in one day.