"I'm sorry, Jack."
"I know. Nothing you could do, Jess. This is my fault."
"No, Jack. Don't say that."
"I called him. We showed up. Half an hour later he's dead. Hard to ignore the damn pattern."
She said nothing. Her eyes scanned the desktop.
"I need to get you someplace safe. You're in danger with me."
"What are you looking for?" she asked, ignoring everything I had just said.
"He said, 'the desk.'" I gestured across the six-foot long, three foot wide desktop. "So I'm looking on the desk."
"Maybe inside the desk?"
I shook my head. "I checked. Nothing that made sense in there."
She started to speak, and stopped after letting out an
ah
sound.
"What is it?"
She hesitated and bit the left side of her bottom lip. She lifted her head and initiated eye contact. "202."
"What?"
She reached out and pointed at the calendar.
"202."
I followed her hand. There it was, 202, followed by a dash, three more numbers and another dash followed by three more numbers.
"202 is D.C.," she said. "It's a phone number. Missing a digit, but still a phone number."
"And a name," I said. "Look." I put my finger down on the calendar next to the name and number. "Conners."
"Who is that?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "It's either who Abbot was talking to or who he was being referred to."
"The desk," Jessie said.
"I need to find him." I tore off the section of the calendar with the name and number and stuck it in my pocket, then gestured to Jessie to follow me.
Bear met us in the living room. "We should go, Jack."
I nodded. I had a feeling the police would show up soon. Whoever did this would try to frame me for it. My prints were all over the house by this point, and we had no time to clean up.
"Go start the car," I said. "I'm going to take a quick look around."
Bear ran to the door. His heavy steps reverberated through the floor. He left the house.
"Should I go outside?" Jessie asked.
"Stay with me." I led her into the kitchen. "Look for bottled water and food we can take with us."
She scavenged the kitchen while I checked the table, drawers and cupboards. A phone hung on the wall. A piece of paper was held in place behind a piece of plastic above the number pad. The paper contained a few names and numbers. My name was there, so was Keller's. That wasn't what I was looking for though. At the top of the list was the name Clarissa. Next to her name was a 212 phone number. New York City. I popped the plastic off the phone, grabbed the piece of paper and stuffed it in my pocket. I checked over my shoulder. Jess didn't seem to notice.
"We can go," I said.
I left the kitchen with Jessie following behind.
Bear stood in the open doorway blocking our exit to the outside.
"Everything all right?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said.
"Let's go then."
"It's too all right, Jack."
"What do you mean?"
"If you did this wouldn't you do something to the car?"
I shrugged. "Yeah, most likely."
"They didn't."
"What're you thinking, Bear?"
"They didn't even slash a tire to stop us."
I said nothing. Bear's brain was processing this in parts. I wasn't sure where he was going with it.
"I half expected the car to blow up when I started it."
"But it didn't."
"Yeah, I know." He turned and crossed the porch.
I grabbed Jessie's hand and led her outside with my gun drawn. The passenger side of the car was shielded to the woods. I opened the back door for her and then ran around the front of the Tahoe and got in the front seat. I shifted into drive and drove down the gravel driveway in the dark.
"Lights?" Jessie asked.
"Not till we're on the road," I said. "Might be an ambush."
"They would have done it inside," Bear said.
I nodded. "I'm not taking any chances."
I eased onto the road and drove a half mile before turning on the headlights. I continued on to I-95 and took the northbound on-ramp.
Half an hour passed without a word being spoken.
"Jack?"
I looked over at Bear. He held his right arm tight to his chest.
"How's the shoulder?" I asked.
"Hurts. I think the stitches came out. It's bleeding."
I focused on the road ahead at a steady stream of cars in tight lines heading northeast into the rising sun. The sky changed from dark blue to light blue to purple and orange as the sun peeked up over the horizon. I soaked the sunrise in. The colors calmed my mind.
"What the hell is going on, Jack?"
I searched my mind for the answer.
"I've got no idea."
"All this, for beating up a couple damn CIA agents?"
"People are dying. We're being framed. It goes beyond that, Bear."
"They killed that family." He paused and looked out his window. "Dammit, we stopped them and they still killed that family. Little kids. The wife."
I said nothing. It had been on my mind the whole time. I felt responsible. Maybe Martinez had no intentions of hurting the family. But I stepped in and signed their death certificates in doing so.
"Maybe it's that simple," Bear said. "Maybe some other group killed the family 'cause they were afraid the family talked to us. Easy enough to pin on us."
The thought had crossed my mind already. But it was too simple, too clean. That would be easy to refute. "Doesn't explain Delaney and Abbot. There's something else going on here. Someone or some group behind this. And there's a damn reason. We're close to finding something out, and someone doesn't like that."
Bear leaned his seat back and crossed his left arm over his right. "What now?"
"I'm going to D.C."
"We should be there in what, five hours?"
"Not we. Just me."
"Like hell. I'm coming with you."
"Look at you. You'll weigh me down." I hated saying it. If I had to run, Bear would be a liability. "Besides, I need someone to watch over Jessie."
"Screw you, Jack."
I dropped Bear and Jessie off at a hotel in Petersburg, Virginia and swapped the Tahoe for a rental car just outside of Richmond. It crossed my mind more than once that the Tahoe might have been bugged. It was risky driving the Tahoe as far as I did. But I figured whoever was after me had proved time and again that they would wait until I was settled somewhere before striking. Why would now be any different? Besides, I still wasn't sure that they followed us to Abbot's. The hit on Abbot could have been in motion long before he told us to come out to his lake house. That made sense. The hit had been planned before he talked to me. Otherwise, why not send a team and take all of us out?
I stopped at a convenience store and picked up a TracFone, then got back on I-95 northbound to Washington, D.C. The sedan provided a smoother ride than the Tahoe. I caught myself falling asleep more than once.
I exited the interstate in Springfield, Virginia and stopped at the first hotel I found. Paid cash for a two night stay. The hotel wasn't fancy, a two story place with outside entrances to each room. I drove to the far end and walked up a flight of stairs to room 228. I ran the green programmed key card through the lock and the door clicked open. I stepped into the room. To my right was a bathroom. To the left a full length mirror followed by a shallow closet. A dresser with a TV on it leaned up against one wall. Across from the dresser was a queen sized bed. On the far side of the bed was a round table with two chairs.
I pulled out the TracFone and the torn paper with Conners and the phone number missing one digit written on it. Blood stained the paper. Abbot's blood. My jaw clenched as anger built inside of me. I started dialing the number, stopping after the ninth digit. I tried to decide what number to press next. My finger hovered over the button labeled with the number five. Instead of pressing the button, I flipped the phone shut. Once I heard a voice on the other end of the line I'd need to act on whatever information it gave me. Right now I needed sleep. Sure, I'd been trained to operate in sleep deprived situations, and I had been since leaving the little house in Iraq. But now I needed every bit of cohesion and clarity I could muster.
I took off my clothes and hung them over one of the chairs next to the table. Placed my gun on the nightstand and laid down. I was out within five minutes.
I awoke in a dark room. It took a few moments to remember my location and why I was there. I sat up and turned to look at the window. The sunlight that penetrated the folds of the drapes had disappeared. I pulled back the shades and saw that it was dark outside, too. I grabbed my watch. Seven p.m. I brushed off the initial burst of anger and took a deep breath. Seven hours of sleep would prove beneficial. A pen and pad of paper were placed next to my gun on the nightstand. I grabbed all three and moved to the table. My stomach growled. I leaned over and checked through the drapes. A Mexican restaurant next door caused my mouth to salivate.
I quickly dressed and left my room. Crossed the parking lot and entered the restaurant. I ordered take out and returned to the room to eat.
I picked up the pen and wrote Conners at the top of the notepad. Below that I wrote the nine digit number and below that I wrote the numbers zero through nine in order. My finger had hovered over five before I had lain down to sleep, so I decided to start with that one.
A raspy voice answered the phone midway through the first ring. "Hello?"
"Is this Conners?"
"Who's this?"
"This is, uh, a friend of the Colonel's."
"I know lots of Colonels. Which one?"
I took my chances. "The one who's dead now."
There was silence on the other end. Finally, the man spoke up. "Christ."
"First guess. What a surprise." After a pause I added, "I was in the house when he was murdered."
"OK, so you are who I think you are and I am who you think I am." He coughed. "We shouldn't say much else on the phone."
"Agreed. Where can I meet you?"
"Carlito's, it's a-do you know your way around the city?"
"Well enough."
"19th and I Street. You can't miss it."
"You sure-" I searched for the right words. "Listen, Conners. People are dying everywhere I go. I get the feeling I'm being framed. But, do you…is this place safe?"
"It is, and you are. Meet me at nine thirty tonight."
The line went dead. I flipped the phone shut and set it on the table. I stood and peeled back the curtains covering the window and studied the parking lot outside. The hotel's lot was motionless. A few cars came and went as families stumbled out of the restaurant and others made their way inside to take the place of those who had just left. The cycle of life, somewhat.
I wasn't sure about Conners. The cautious nature of our phone call and the reaction to Abbot's death made me think he was on my side, or a good actor. Aside from Bear, General Keller was the only other person I could trust. But I'd have to give Conners the benefit of the doubt. If the meeting turned out to be a double cross, I'd be ready.
* * *
I left my car in the hotel parking lot and walked two blocks to the Metro station. I didn't want to risk losing the rental in the city if things went wrong. No one knew I was out here in Springfield, and I'd be happy letting them assume I stayed in the city somewhere. The train ride took half an hour. I got off at the Farragut West metro station. A few passengers exited the train before me. I followed them through the station, staying close to a group of two men and a woman. Took the stairs up and emerged at the corner of 17th and I Street. I took a moment to get my bearings down. Across the street was the Farragut Park, a city block in length and half a city block in width. The park divided the north and southbound lanes of 17th Street.
I walked two blocks to the west, away from the park, and found Carlito's. The tinted windows of the restaurant made it impossible to see inside. I crossed the street and walked up to the entrance. A blue neon sign formed the image of a Martini glass with the restaurant's name next to it. I opened the door and stepped in. A man in a black suit and purple tie stood behind a wooden pulpit and asked for my name.
"I'm meeting someone."
"Name of the party you're meeting?"
I didn't answer. My eyes scanned the occupied tables in the restaurant. Eight couples, four families, a woman eating alone and in the back a single man. I walked toward the single man.
"Sir, you can't do that."
I looked over my shoulder. "I found him. It's all good." I continued walking, ignoring his protests.
The man at the table looked around the room. His head stopped when he saw me and his back straightened. He looked to be mid-fifties, maybe older. Short gray hair and a gray beard framed his face. He wore a blue sweater and tan slacks. He stood when I reached the table.
"Noble," he said.
"Conners."
I sat down on the padded leather bench seat across from him. A wood and glass partition separated us from the table behind me.
"Hungry?" He nodded at the waiter standing beside the table.
"Coffee," I said to the waiter.
Conners waited a moment then said, "Tell me from the beginning."
"I have a feeling you already know."
"That might be true, but I need to hear your version."
"Why don't you tell me your version?"
"We can go back and forth all night, Noble. But if you want my help you are going to start from the beginning."
"What kind of help can you provide me?"
"More than enough."
"You know where this leads?"
"I think I do."
"You think or you know?"
Conners sighed and shook his head. "You're not calling the shots here, Jack. Please, work with me."
I studied the man's face. His blue eyes didn't waver. He slightly tipped his head down and lifted his eyebrows. An outstretched arm and extended fingers reached toward me. He looked like he genuinely wanted to help. I didn't have much choice but to trust him, so I started from the beginning. I told him about the first six months in Iraq, shifting between different ops teams, each time given less and less responsibility. I told him about the family and Martinez's behavior and then recounted the scene in the street when Bear and I were mobbed by the group of Iraqi men.