The 13: Fall (8 page)

   CHAPTER 12   

S
o where are we going?” Taylor asked. Keene drove the black Pathfinder with a race car driver’s skill, swerving in and out of traffic. “And why are we driving like this?”

“We’re going to see a friend,” Keene answered.

She was silent again. This was how it had been since he picked her up. A few short exchanges and then nothing. Keene wasn’t giving out any information, and he could see it was beginning to frustrate her.

“Hey, let’s get something straight, okay?” she said.

Keene noted the tone in her voice. “What’s that?”

“I know you’re not that excited to be working with me. That’s fine. I’m not that keen on working with you either. No pun intended.”

Keene showed a hint of a smile. “That’s actually funny. I’ve never heard that before.”

She looked at him sourly.

“No, I’m serious,” he laughed. “I’ve never heard that. You would think with my last name, someone would’ve used it before. Never heard it.”

“Glad I could amuse you.”

“Hey, look. I’m not trying to be confrontational here. I’m just saying. Jeez, lighten up, Taylor. It’s no wonder no one likes working with you.”

Taylor whirled around on him. “What! Where did you hear that? I’ll have you know, I get along with everyone! And in my job, I don’t work with anyone because my work doesn’t require me to!”

Keene didn’t know anything about her. But he was finding out everything he wanted right now.

CIA operatives are taught many things; one of the first things is how to read people. Information can be elicited just by introducing certain topics to a conversation without ever asking a direct question. And right now, Keene was confirming what he already knew. This Taylor was a close-kept, smart woman who wasn’t afraid to mix it up with anyone. Maybe he was going to like her after all.

“Look,” Keene said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

He stuck his hand out to her.

“My name’s Jon Keene, CIA.”

She looked at the offered hand and took it reluctantly.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Taylor. First of all, I’m not too excited about you and this chapy being on my team.”

“Chapy?”

Keene blew out a big sigh. “Doesn’t anyone know what a military preacher is called? Chaplain, chapy. Whatever! I mean, I don’t even go to church and I know this!”

Taylor didn’t say anything.

“Anyway,” he continued, “I know you aren’t crazy about working with me, either. But that doesn’t change the fact that Grant has us together. So here’s the deal. In my line of work, you get paired with someone, you don’t trust him with anything. ‘Cause if you do, you usually end up getting burned. I trust my boss, Jennings. And that’s about it. And he tells me I have to trust you and this chapy. So whatever. We’re here, and that’s that. Any questions?”

“Just one,” she said. “I don’t remember Grant putting you in charge.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this. Are you going to be a pain my rear end the whole time we’re working together?”

Keene smiled as he pulled the car into the alleyway. He watched as Taylor unbuckled her seat belt and reached behind her and pulled out her gun. She checked her magazine, put it back in, and then racked the slide. She put it back in the holster and looked at him.

“So who we going to see?” she said with an impatient look.

“Planning on shooting someone?”

“I thought all you CIA boys liked to play with guns.”

Keene reached back and pulled out his own weapon, repeated the same process she just had and said, “Only when they won’t give us grenades. Let’s go.”

He opened the door and got out. He watched as she bent down and unnecessarily tightened the laces on her shoes, giving herself a few seconds to visually sweep the area. Maybe she wasn’t just a computer geek, he thought. She at least had some sense about her. He was starting to like this girl. Even if he didn’t like the situation. He decided she was okay.

“Don’t worry, Taylor,” he tried to assure her. “If I thought someone was going to come out gunning for us, I wouldn’t have brought you.”

That was a lie. This area of town was not the kind of place that anyone wanted to be. Including the people who lived here.

He was actually kind of glad he had seen Taylor check her gun and her reaction when she stepped out of the truck. For all he knew, the guy they were here to see … was probably going to answer the door with his own gun.

Now all he had to do was try not to get her killed.

   CHAPTER 13   

T
he Prophet finished his sandwich and tea. He left the cup and plate on the table. He had wanted to wait until lunch to actually eat. But after the small breakfast so early in the morning and his system slowly coming around to the idea of solid food again, it wasn’t long before his insides felt like they were trying to eat themselves. Figuring the effects of the fast were quickly subsiding, he allowed himself to eat the sandwich.

This time his body quickly responded with a burst of energy. He no longer felt weak and lethargic. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins. He felt alive! He grabbed his coat and hat and stepped out of the small apartment.

Chicago was unusually cool for this time of year. Just last week, they had had a cold front drop in from Canada, and the temperature had dropped back down into the sixties. You never knew what you were going to get in the Windy City.

It was three blocks to the train station and then a twenty-minute ride into the city. It would give him time to read the papers and see what everyone was saying. He had to admit, he was curious to see how the people would take it.

He passed by a newsstand on the corner and picked up the
New York Times
, the
Chicago Sun-Times, USA Today
, and two tabloids. He tossed the attendant a twenty-dollar bill and told him to keep the change. He pulled his jacket collar up and kept walking.

On the train, he found a seat in the back and lay the papers down beside him. He got situated and grabbed the top one, the
Times.
The headline was: “President Grant’s Health-Care Bomb: Pipe Dream?” He continued thumbing through them, sure that something would be there. But there was nothing. Why was the president still ignoring him? He didn’t understand.

When he was chosen and told to do this, he was told President Grant was a good man, one who loved his God and his country. That he understood America had changed and was far from what her forefathers had intended her to be. Why, then, would he not listen?

The train stopped and he got out. He walked a few blocks over and entered a diner. His appetite was coming back with a vengeance. He sat down, ordered some coffee and a sandwich, as he continued to try and think about what was happening. He didn’t understand. But he would do as he was told.

He was more saddened than anything. He knew what was coming. He had been told. And it broke his heart. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a hoax. And unless the president took his warnings seriously, it definitely wasn’t going to be stopped.

   CHAPTER 14   

W
ho did you say this is?” Taylor asked, falling in behind her new partner.

“I didn’t,” Keene said.

They made their way around back to a metal door. Taylor continued to look around as Keene rapped his knuckles on the big steel frame. The fact that he had his other hand behind him, his fingers lightly resting on the gun tucked in his waistband, was not comforting to her. She quickly did the same.

“Open up, Artie!” Keene shouted. “I know you’re in there!”

A few seconds passed and then a muffled voice.

“Who is it?”

“It’s your mom!” Keene shouted back. “Open up or I’ll kick it in!”

The sound of several latches could be heard on the other side of the door. Then it opened up a few inches, still attached to a chain.

“Aw, man!” the squeaky voice said. “C’mon, Keene. What do you want?”

Apparently, Taylor thought, she wasn’t the only one Keene had this effect on.

“Open the door.”

The door opened and a skinny man with a scraggly beard stood there. He wore an open bathrobe and slippers; underneath he sported a T-shirt with a picture of a Commodore 64 computer on it that read
Old School.
His Nike gym shorts were baggy, and his legs looked like toothpicks sticking out from them.