by Jim Laughter
“You just let those young agents work it from the inside, but stay on top of it from here,” Truck said. “If he’s our man, we’ll get him.”
∞∞∞∞
The doctor sat alone in his private seat onboard Air Force One. He was tired; so tired. He’d gotten back to the Luxury Suites Hotel just before 4 a.m. and managed to get a couple hours of fitful sleep.
The President’s meetings with the California governor and senate members dragged on until only minutes before 2 pm. He’d waited alone in an anteroom, not mixing or intermingling with anyone else, trying to catch a moment of sleep when possible.
His mind and spirit were a whirlwind of exhaustion and confusion. He didn’t know how many more of these trips he could handle. Would the day ever come when he could rid himself of this inner drive forcing him to seek out and kill his mother again and again?
This last kill haunted him. He’d never killed a woman like this before. He’d spotted the woman standing on a street corner only a mile or two from the hotel. There was something about her that told him she was the one.
He’d never picked up an obese prostitute before. He could tell at a glance that she was at least forty years old, perhaps a few years older, five feet and a couple inches tall, and weighed at least 200 pounds. He’d driven past her once, then again, before his inner voice told him to pick her up. It had whispered the name Martha over and over, haunting his mind like a ghost from the past.
When she directed him to an alley between two dark brick buildings, and took his hand to lead him up the stairs to her apartment, visions of his mother and her dirty men overwhelmed him. Before he realized it, he removed his knife from his pocket and stabbed the bitch through her liver. She screamed but there was no one around to hear her. He plunged his blade into her throat once, twice, a third time, cutting into soft, fat flesh. Blood, oxygen rich and red, spurted from the wounds as her heart raced with fear and the knowledge that her life was ending.
A frenzy he’d never experienced before took control of him. He stood over her and stabbed her body and neck, deliberately aiming for her throat. Her body went limp under his attack but he continued to plunge his knife deep into her lungs, heart, stomach and lower abdomen.
With her body fallen on the stairwell, he lifted her dress and cut away her under garments, exposing her genitalia where his senses were assaulted by the ammonia acidity of her profession. The memory and stench of his naked mother rubbing against him blinded his reason and he slashed at her genitals until they were unrecognizable as human organs. He watched her life drain onto the stairway but it was as if he were seeing it through someone else’s eyes; dark eyes; sinister eyes; eyes that belonged in a different time.
This all has to end soon. I can’t go on like this much longer.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The C-17 Globemaster III leveled off at 30,000 feet and the captain announced the all clear to allow the passengers to move around the cabin. Cooper and Benjamin occupied the same seats they’d sat in on their trip to California.
The news that another prostitute had been murdered while they were in Sacramento weighed heavily on Benjamin’s mind. He wondered if there was anything he and Cooper could have done to prevent it. With security as tight as it had been on the motorcade, and with them staying is separate hotels, he didn’t see any way he could have prevented her death. That didn’t dissuade him from feeling guilty that an innocent person had died on his watch.
The seats they occupied afforded a perfect view of the cargo hold of the C-17. The cargo master had not deviated from his weight distribution, so the motorcade vehicles were loaded in the exact same configuration as they’d been on the trip out. George and Cooper spotted the Lincoln Town Car they’d identified as belonging to the President’s doctor.
“We’ve got to get a close look at that Town Car,” Benjamin whispered to Cooper.
“There’s no way in hell we’re gonna get close to it without stirring up a whole shit storm,” Cooper said. “Toolie and the Secret Service will be on us like stink on gorilla shit before we’d get the doors open.”
Benjamin looked around the cabin. He spotted Jake mixed with a group of other support personnel. He wondered why Jake didn’t mingle with the other Secret Service agents. Was there something about the other agents that Jake didn’t like? There were other black agents so he didn’t expect the separation was anything racial.
“Wait here. I’ve got an idea.”
George rose from his seat and worked his way toward the rear of the passenger compartment until he reached Jake and the other drivers and mechanics. They were laughing at some sort of off-color joke that he was certain he was happy he missed hearing. One of the group tilted his head, indicating George’s presence.
Jake turned around and faced George. His demeanor wasn’t unkind but neither was it as jovial as it had been in the Suburban. Had they done something to arouse suspicion or to offend the mechanic/driver?
“What’s up, George?”
Benjamin took in the atmosphere of the tight-knit group. He didn’t feel comfortable discussing the Town Car in front of all these people.
“Could I have a minute?”
“Shoot,” Jake answered.
“It’s personal.”
He pointed at a section of empty seats and asked Jake if he could speak to him in private. He had the feeling he was also going to have to divulge their true identities to Toolie but he wanted to start with Jake.
Jake nodded and excused himself from the group he’d been mixing with, telling them he’d be back in a minute and that he wanted to hear the rest of the story one of the other drivers had been telling.
After taking seats apart from the rest of the passengers, George leaned in close to Jake so he could speak privately with him. Jake’s expression hadn’t changed. He couldn’t tell if Jake trusted him or not. Perhaps he was just tired.
Then again, what did he really know about Jake? He’d only met him a few days ago, and the time they’d spent in the Suburban was limited to sitting in the hanger and a few hours on the road. Jake had separated from them when they’d stopped at Travis Air Force Base for lunch, choosing to eat with the other drivers and mechanics.
“Jake,” George began, “I need to speak to you about something very sensitive.”
Jake’s demeanor still hadn’t changed.
“I’m also going to ask you for a favor that you’re not going to like.”
Now Jake’s demeanor changed. He cast a worried glance around the cabin as if to see if anyone else was listening.
“What the hell are you talkin' about? What kind of sensitive information do you think I know? And what the hell makes you think I’d do you any favors?”
“I…”
“Don’t think you and me both bein' black earns you any special privileges,” Jake interrupted him. “I can tell you right now that Toolie don’t trust you two, and I sure as hell don’t know who you are or where you come from. So don’t you go to thinkin' just because we rode in the same car together that I owe you anything.”
This is going to be more difficult than I figured. How am I going to earn Jake’s trust enough for him to get me access to the Town Car?
George nodded. He’d hoped to take a roundabout route into Jake’s confidence but he could see that wasn’t going to work. It was apparent that Toolie had been talking to Jake about him and Cooper. He wondered how deep Toolie had dug into their stories and if he suspected them of being anything other than replacement drivers. It was apparent he’d shared his suspicion with Jake.
“You’re right,” Benjamin said.
“What’s that?”
“You’re right,” Benjamin repeated. He reached his right hand inside his jacket and extracted his identification flip folder. “We’ve not given you any reason to trust us.” He laid his identification on the seat beside Jake.
“What’s this?”
Benjamin looked around the cabin. He could see Cooper watching him and saw his ex
pression change when he realized what George was doing.
“Open it.”
Jake picked up the folder and held it in his hand, not opening it but instead staring George in his eyes.
What’s this sum'bitch up to?
He’d seen government-issue identification folders before. After all, he had one almost identical to it in his own inside jacket pocket. But what the hell would a limousine driver be doing carrying an ID flip almost identical to his Secret Service ID?
“Open it,” George repeated.
Jake flipped open the folder and examined George’s FBI identification card. He ran his fingers over George’s badge, feeling the heft and texture of the metal. It too was almost identical to his own.
“You’re FBI?”
George nodded.
“Cooper too?”
“Yep.”
Jake looked down the aisle and saw Cooper staring back that them.
“You’re undercover?” Jake asked. George nodded again.
“We figured you was up to somethin', me and Toolie,” Jake said. “We knowed you weren’t no drivers. Didn’t 'xpect this. Figured you was internal affairs or somethin'.”
Now it was Benjamin’s turn to be surprised. Had Toolie been on to them the whole time? How long was he going to string them along before exposing them for who they really were?
“You fellers are here about the prostitutes, ain’t y0u?”
The shock on George’s face must have telegraphed itself to Jake. He’d sat down with Jake to ask his help in gaining access to the Town Car so they could find some evidence to link Dr. John Williams with the Jack the Ripper killings. Was it possible he’d misjudged the driver? How could Jake know about the prostitutes? Could Jake be their killer and was preparing to confess to his crimes? Could Toolie be an accomplice?
“What do you know about the prostitutes?” Benjamin asked, careful not to spook Jake. After all, he was armed. He didn’t want Jake to pull out his gun and shoot him right here on the airplane. You could never tell what a criminal might do in a moment of stress.
Jake leaned back in his seat. He’d regretted this moment for the last couple of years, ever since the new security detail had been assigned. He knew the time would come when the scandal would be exposed. He’d just hoped this President’s second term would be up before the true details of the scandal came to light. Now it didn’t look like that was going to be possible.
“I know all about 'em,” Jake said. His expression blanked over. George couldn’t tell if he were going to continue with his confession or not.
“I’ve tried to get'em to stop but none of 'em will listen to me.”
“Them?” George asked. Now he was confused. “There’s more than one?”
“Hell yeah,” Jake said. “Almost ever damn one of 'em at one time or another.”
This is incredible, George thought. More than one killer, and all on the President’s security detail.
“Jake, are you talking about…”
“I’m talkin' about them damn nasty-ass hookers the other Secret Service agents sneak into their hotel rooms when we’re on the road,” Jake said.
Now George was really confused. What the hell was Jake talking about? What hookers being sneaked into what agent’s rooms? Was it possible the prostitute, Elizabeth Simmons, killed at the Luxury Suites Hotel in Houston was a victim of one of the Secret Service agents and not Dr. John Williams?
“That’s why I can’t stand to be 'round them sum'bitches,” Jake continued. “Bringin' them whores into the same hotel the President is stayin' in, riskin' a scandal that could bring down the whole damn administration.”
He looked at George and saw the confusion in his eyes.
“What the hell did you think I was talkin' about?”
He didn’t answer.
“You said you had somethin' sensitive to talk to me about.”
At that moment a shadow passed over George. He looked up to see Bob Toolie standing in the aisle, glaring down on them.
“What the hell’s going on back here?”
Jake shrugged his shoulders at Toolie, a resigned expression on his face. “They know about it.”
Toolie didn’t speak for a moment. He wasn’t sure what Jake was talking about, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give away any information to someone he didn’t fully trust.
“They know about the hookers and the other agents; everything,” Jake repeated. He handed George’s identification folder to Toolie. The large man inspected it, turning it over in his hand before giving it to George.
“FBI?” Toolie asked. “You boys are FBI agents?”
“That’s right,” Cooper said from behind Toolie. None of the other men had seen Cooper walk down the aisle and stand behind the large man.
“Well, I don’t give a shit what you boys are here about, nor do I care about what you think you know or don’t know. This here’s the President’s…”
“Shut up, Toolie, and sit down,” Cooper said before he could finish.
Toolie spun around as if to confront Cooper. The look in the agent’s eyes told him it wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead, he sat down on the seat beside Jake. Cooper stepped over George and lighted in the adjoining seat.
“Let’s start from the beginning,” George said. “Tell me about these prostitutes.”
“George, what the hell are you…” Cooper started but Benjamin cut him off.
“Hang on, Coop. Let me finish.”
Benjamin slid a little closer to Jake and Toolie so his voice wouldn’t carry across the cabin. He had a sinking feeling something was going to be revealed that he really didn’t want to know about.
Jake resigned himself to his fate. If these agents knew about the prostitutes and the FBI had launched an undercover investigation, chances are other agencies knew about it too. It wouldn’t be long before it would be in all the papers and news channels.
“It ain’t all the agents, you understand,” Jake said. “Just the new ones that come onboard a couple’a years ago.”
“I see,” George answered, not really sure he did see.
Toolie started to protest Jake’s words but Cooper cut him off.
“Let him speak,” he said. “Confession is good for the soul.”
Benjamin cringed at Cooper’s use of a common Christian phrase. Cooper shrugged his shoulders as if to say, ‘what the hell?’
“Whoa now, wait just one damn minute here,” Jake said. “I ain’t confessin' to nothin'! It ain’t me that’s been sandalizin' behind closed doors. Matter of fact, it’s me that’s been avoidin' them sum'bitches. I ain’t got nothin' to do with it. Ain’t that right, Toolie?”
George laid his hand on Jake’s arm to comfort and reassure the driver.
“We know you’re not involved in any kind of scandal.”
“You do?”
“Of course. Do you think we’d be taking you into our confidence if we suspected you of anything? You or Mr. Toolie?”
“So what’s this favor you need from me?”
“Favor? What favor?” Toolie asked.
“One thing at a time,” George said.
Toolie sat back in his seat, confused at this turn of events taking place on his aircraft.
This is incredible, George thought. I pulled Jake aside to gain access to the Town Car to look for evidence of a serial killer. Now it looks like I’ve opened a whole new can of worms that may take us a direction I really don’t want to go.
“First tell me about the prostitutes and the other agents,” George said. “Then we’ll get to our investigation and why we’re here.”
He looked at Cooper who now appeared confused. He hadn’t been privy to the first part of their conversation.
Jake nodded. Toolie leaned back in his seat as if to say he’d given up and would go along with whatever Jake was going to say.
“Ain’t much to tell,” Jake said. “When we go on the road with the President and stay at fancy hotels, some of the other agents get call girls
to come to their rooms.”
“Call girls?” Cooper asked. “You mean hookers?”
“You can call 'em anything you want to,” Jake said. “It all boils down to the same thing.”
“How do they arrange it?” George asked.
“Escort services,” Toolie answered before Jake could say anything. He leaned forward in his seat and placed his large hands on his knees.
“They call escort services and arrange for the girls to come to their rooms after the President has already retired for the evening.”
“So he doesn’t know?” Cooper asked.
It looked like Toolie was going to smack Cooper for asking such a question.
“Of course he doesn’t know, you dumb-ass,” he said. “He’s the President of the United States. The only thing he knows is what his advisors tell him.”
Benjamin held up his hands to stop the flow of the conversation.
“Let’s get back to our investigation.” This was getting out of hand and was something they’d have to address under a different context.
“Jake,” Benjamin began, “do you remember me asking you about the black Town Car in the hanger back at the airport?”
Jake nodded. “Doc’s car? Sure I do. Why?”
“What the hell?” Toolie asked.
“Doc ain’t got nothin' to do with them hookers,” Jake said.
Benjamin and Cooper exchanged eye contact. This is going to be fun, Cooper thought. George is fixing to jump right out into the big fire. Morris is going to blow a fuse when he finds out. God help us all.
“He might me more involved than either of you think,” George said. “Which is why I asked you about the Town Car.”
“The Town Car?” Jake asked, confusion written all over his face. “I don’t see…”
“We need to get a close look at that car,” Benjamin said. “We need to see in the trunk, the passenger compartment, the glove compartment; everything.”
“That’s the favor you asked me about?” Jake said. “To see inside Doc’s car?”
George nodded.
“Ain’t no way in hell you can get inside that car,” Jake said. “I done told you ain’t nobody gets close to it 'xcept Doc and the agent that drives it on and off the plane. Hell, even me and Toolie can’t get close to it.”