by Ken Fite
“Still at DDC, Jami?” he asked, knowing the answer, but trying to make conversation. I looked over my shoulder and saw Jami nod. “The good ol’ Department of Domestic Counterterrorism,” he added.
“We spent a lot of time together, the three of us,” Jami replied.
“A lot of time together. You don’t truly know someone until you see how they react to their bag of Cheetos getting stuck in a vending machine at three in the morning,” I quipped, looking in Chris’s direction.
Chris Reed smiled. “Blake was a great boss. Just like a diaper,” he said, waiting for Jami to take the bait.
“A diaper?” she asked from the backseat.
“Yeah. Always on your ass and usually full of crap.”
I shook my head and looked out the window as Chris and Jami shared a laugh at my expense.
“It’s great to be back together again, even if it’s just for a short drive. Thanks for picking us up,” said Jami.
“Anytime, glad to do it. It’s impossible to find a cab nowadays, especially with everything going on this week. And the metro is insane with close to a million people visiting DC to watch the inauguration.” After a few seconds passed, Chris turned to me. “So, how are you, man? When do you start the new gig?”
“Went a few months looking for another job. Hard to find work after being fired. That’s kind of a resume killer. Nobody wants you,” I replied. “I start the new job today. Not sure what to expect, but glad to be working again. So how’d you end up at the FBI? I thought you hated those guys as much as I did.”
“Bill Landry,” Chris said. “He reached out to me before the holidays. I guess he transferred to Washington late last year. He’s in charge of the DC field office now. I tried to bring you in, but he said you were–”
“Toxic?” I said, interrupting him.
“Unpredictable.”
An awkward silence hung in the air. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jami finally asked.
Chris looked at Jami in the rearview mirror then turned to me. “Look, Blake. Landry thinks you’re an ends-justifies-the-means kind of guy. Especially after last August. You used to be so by-the-book. I’m not sure what happened to you, but it’s like you don’t care that there are rules and procedures and–”
“I’ve paid for my sins, Chris, and it cost me everything. You know that,” I interrupted.
After a few more minutes of silence, Chris finally spoke again. “I don’t think you would’ve wanted to work for the FBI anyway, Blake.” I smiled and looked out the passenger window. He was right about that.
Before we reached the hotel, Chris’s cell phone rang. It was Landry who needed Reed to get to the office ASAP. “Duty calls. You know how it is. You have to be at their beck and call twenty-four seven,” said Chris.
“Just drop us off out front,” replied Jami from the backseat as we approached the Hay-Adams. Chris parked underneath the overhang and helped us with our bags.
We said goodbye to Chris and, as we approached the door, a Secret Service agent walked up to us.
“My name’s Blake Jordan,” I said and handed my identification to the agent who looked it over.
“Follow me,” he replied and Jami and I stayed close behind as he walked us inside the historic hotel.
FOUR
PAUL HURRIED ACROSS Grant Park, headed back to the parking garage at the Congress Plaza Hotel. Before he reached Columbus, he spotted the picture of his daughter and bent down to pick it up. Before he could grab it, Paul felt another gust of wind hit his back and watched the photo get carried away from him.
As it disappeared somewhere in the direction that the woman had left, Paul thought about his Bella and how important the next few hours would be, not only for getting paid, but now for his family’s safety.
Paul crossed Michigan and after arriving back at the garage, he carefully held onto the briefcase, jogged up the stairs to reach the third level, and found his truck. He thought about how he was going to pay for parking and decided that he shouldn’t use a credit card that could be traced. Paul checked his wallet and confirmed that he didn’t have any cash on him, either. He took a deep breath and backed out.
While driving to the exit of the parking garage, Paul reached for the ticket that he had placed on the dashboard earlier, when another car started backing out of a spot and Paul had to slam on the brakes.
After almost hitting the car, Paul had an idea of how he’d get out of the garage.
The moment that the person in the car ahead of him paid and the white bar raised, allowing the vehicle to pass, Paul gunned it, hoping to make it through before the bar could lower on his truck.
He almost made it.
Paul watched the arm of the bar come down and hit the back of his pickup hard, surely denting the vehicle and causing more of a scene than he had hoped. Paul just wanted to get out of there without having to talk to anyone that could identify him.
A moment later, he was back on Congress Parkway and turned right at Michigan, headed south.
When Paul hit 25th Street, he hung a right and drove west, pulling into a parking lot once he passed State. He exited the vehicle, grabbed the briefcase, and walked past the two large bay doors, fumbling for his keys as he approached the entrance to his office.
Once inside, Paul flipped on the lights and headed into bay two where one of his two large Hartmann Moving Company trucks was parked. Paul carefully set the briefcase down on the concrete floor, dropped his keys next to it, and started walking around the truck, trying to figure out what his options might be.
He had to hide the briefcase somewhere inside the van, in a place where it wouldn’t be easily spotted.
Paul walked to the rear of the van that he had refueled the day before and pulled on the latch, unlocking it. He pushed up on the heavy door and climbed inside, looking for a spot – any spot – that might work.
The bed of the van was completely empty with no compartments to hide the small briefcase.
Paul looked at his watch and seeing that it was almost six o’clock, he began to panic, realizing that he had fifteen minutes before his client and employee would arrive.
He opened the driver’s side door, popped the hood, and jogged to the front of the vehicle. There wasn’t any extra room to store the briefcase there, either. “Think, damn it, think,” Paul muttered to himself.
He looked at his watch again and saw that he only had a few minutes left. Then it hit him – he’d have to hide it in plain sight. It was the only option he could think of. And the only one that might actually work.
Paul grabbed the briefcase and walked to his office in the back of the building and set it down on his desk. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out the large lunch cooler that Judy had given him for Christmas the year before, back when he was still handling moves himself, before he could afford to hire additional help.
It looked big enough. Paul felt his heart skip again, knowing that this absolutely had to work since he had run out of time and exhausted every other possible option. He unzipped the orange Igloo cooler, grabbed the aluminum briefcase, and carefully turned it on its side and slid it down into the base of the cooler.
As Paul pushed, the briefcase got stuck. Then he heard what sounded like car doors being closed just outside his office window. Paul stepped to the right and slowly pulled down the blinds overlooking the lot and saw that Richard had arrived, ready for work. A black SUV then pulled in and parked next to Richard’s car and Paul saw two men exit their vehicle and start talking with his employee.
Paul let go of the blinds and pulled the briefcase back out an inch to try and reseat it back into the cooler. This time it slid right in and Paul pushed it all the way down before he placed a thermos on top along with bags of trail mix from another desk drawer to conceal the briefcase before he zipped the cooler closed.
He walked to the front of the office and unlocked the door just as the three men approached.
“Morning, Rich,” Paul said before turning to th
e other men who followed inside. “You must be the gentlemen we’ll be working with this morning,” he continued, extending his hand to the other men.
“Mark Hastings, Secret Service. This is my partner, Terry Miller.”
“Paul Hartmann, pleased to meet you both. And this is my partner, Rich Sullivan – we’ll be handling your move today.” The men laughed as Rich shot Paul a confused look and wondered what was going on.
“Are you familiar with the Kenwood neighborhood?” asked Hastings.
“Of course, it’s just north of the University of Chicago. We just handled a move in that area last month.”
“We’ll drive ahead of you. Try to keep up,” Miller said. “Everything’s boxed up, just needs to be loaded. Do you have any questions?”
Paul shook his head. “I’m good,” he said and turned to Rich.
“I’m good, too,” he said, staring at his boss, still trying to understand what was happening.
“Alright, well then we’re ready if you are,” said Hastings as he and Miller stepped toward the door.
“Let me just lock up. We’ll open the bay and follow you over to the property,” Paul said.
As soon as the men stepped out and headed to their SUV, Rich approached Paul and grabbed his arm.
“Where’s Cliff? I thought we were both scheduled to work this assignment.”
“He called in sick, Rich. This is a two-man job and a very high-profile client that I’m going to want more business from. You know how good government contracts are. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. Go open the bay and start the truck for me. I have to grab my cooler and I’ll join you in a second.”
FIVE
WE FOLLOWED THE Secret Service agent through an arched doorway and stepped inside the building.
The Hay-Adams is a five-star, luxury hotel located across the street from the White House, where government officials and the occasional president-elect like to hold meetings due to the close proximity to the White House. Meetings like the one that I was set to attend in just a few hours.
If these walls could talk, I thought to myself as I straightened my tie and buttoned my blazer.
The agent that was escorting us to the front desk radioed to the other men in the building. I didn’t catch what he said, but I did spot another agent to my right, leaning against the wall at the far end of the room. He didn’t see us walking to the front desk. It looked like he was standing guard outside a conference room down the hall. I waited for him to acknowledge the transmission from the agent we were walking with.
But he never did. It was like he didn’t even hear the transmission. There was no response.
When we reached the front desk, the agent that we followed got the attention of the man standing behind the desk with his back turned to us. “Blake Jordan has arrived,” the agent said before he turned to leave after handing us off to the clerk.
“Welcome to the Hay-Adams. Two guests, two nights, check out Saturday morning – correct?”
“That’s right,” I replied and looked back over my shoulder, realizing that the agent that walked us in had already disappeared. Something didn’t seem right, but I dismissed the thought and tried to relax.
“I’m sorry,” the clerk said as he typed. “There seems to be a slight problem, Mr. Jordan. We double-booked a few rooms and your suite isn’t ready yet. If you’d like, we can take your bags and bring them up shortly. It’ll be about an hour, if you don’t mind waiting. I’ll print your keycards so you’ll have them.”
Jami looked at me and smiled. “Fine,” I replied and handed the man my suitcase, as did Jami.
I grabbed the keycards and handed one to Jami who I noticed kept a bag strapped to her shoulder. “I have you on the top floor and I think you’ll both like the view,” the man said, winking, and Jami squeezed my hand. She was so excited to be traveling with me, but I was on edge, knowing it was a work trip for me.
“Let’s go get some breakfast,” Jami suggested as we took a moment to take in the historic hotel. Wood paneling ran up the walls and the vaulted ceilings made the lobby feel bigger than it actually was.
“May I suggest The Lafayette?” the clerk offered and Jami and I turned back around. “The restaurant is right around the corner, but Mr. Jordan, your party has reserved the Top of the Hay for breakfast – best view of the White House in all of Washington.”
“Thanks,” I replied and Jami and I found our way upstairs.
We were taken to a table out on the balcony overlooking Lafayette Square, the White House, and the Washington Monument in the distance. The view was breathtaking. “This feels so surreal,” Jami said as she held onto a menu and admired the view until our waiter approached the table to take our order.
After he poured two cups of steaming hot coffee, my eyes focused on the black corduroy duffle bag that Jami kept at her feet. “What’s in the bag?” I asked. Jami gave me a look that said I’d better drop it, but she knew me better than that. “Let me guess, you brought your laptop with you,” I continued, waiting for her to confess. “What else you got in there? Schematics of the hotel? A firearm? A few blocks of C-4?”
“You know better than anybody that I can’t just leave work at work, Blake. Besides. There’s no one left.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re gone, Reed’s gone. Shapiro cleaned house, took out everyone that knew what they were doing.”
“You have Morgan Lennox – when he wants to cooperate, I mean.” That made her laugh.
“I haven’t seen much of Morgan lately. After his little systems takeover to help you find Keller, he’s been working closely with Landry and Shapiro to review the FBI’s systems security.” Jami took a sip of her coffee, added more cream, and stirred it slowly. “But, you know what I mean, Blake. It’s not the same without you there. As much as I hate feeling like I’m always on, I feel better checking in on things. Don’t you sleep better at night knowing that I’m making sure everyone’s doing their job?”
“You know I do,” I replied. “But they’re going to make you special agent in charge if you keep it up.”
Jami reached her hands across the table, and grabbed mine. “I won’t let work get in the way of our trip.”
“Famous last words,” I joked and picked up my coffee and took a cautious sip.
“You have that meeting in a little while. Are you nervous?”
“I’m just glad to be doing something new.” Jami pursed her lips to one side and looked away. “What?” She shook her head and took another sip of coffee. “Come on, Jami. What’s on your mind?”
“You’re worried about me letting work get in the way, but you’re the one taking a job in Washington.”
“It’s just a short staff meeting over lunch. The rest of the trip will be just you and me. I promise. And if you’re worried about the job consuming me, I won’t let that happen again. My job won’t define me.”
Jami tried to pull her hands away and I held onto them more tightly. “But, our jobs do define us,” she argued. “Every decision. Every indecision. All of it defines us, Blake. And I’m not worried about today. I’m worried about your job being in DC. You know I’m not going to change my mind. I won’t move here.”
“I’m not asking you to,” I said and smiled to reassure her. “Chicago is your home. I have a lot of bad memories there, but I’m committed to making this work. Besides, I could use the frequent flyer miles.”
Our waiter approached and I told him we needed a few more minutes to look over our menus.
“I still believe that you’re destined for great things, Blake. I just don’t want to get in the way of that.”
Before I could respond, Jami’s cell phone rang. She tried to let go of my hands, but I held on for a few seconds longer. “Blake, I need to get this.” Jami pulled her phone out from a jacket pocket and held it in front of her to see if she recognized the number. She looked at me and hesitated to answer the call.
“It’s DDC,” she said and stared at
me.
SIX
“Go ahead. Take the call,” I said as I stood, picked up my coffee, and walked to the edge of the balcony to admire the view. I leaned against the black metal railing and watched as a group of men in Lafayette Square were making sure that the park was as pristine as it could be for the millions of visitors that were flooding into the city. I looked beyond the square and my eyes landed upon the White House.
I thought about how in twenty-four hours from now, there would be a new president in power, taking the country in a completely different direction from where it had been going for the past eight years. And I was honored to be asked to play a part in that change. God knew we needed a change in our leadership.
I refocused my thoughts when I heard what sounded like Jami gasp from behind me.
I figured that Jami’s boss was just checking in with her. As a former special agent in charge, I knew firsthand that you should always know where your agents are and stay in constant contact with them.
“Here? In Washington?” she asked, sounding concerned as I returned to our table.
“What’s going on?” I asked as Jami held a hand up to me while she continued to listen to the caller.
Jami’s long, brown hair covered her face as she continued to listen with her head turned away from me. “What do you need me to do?” she asked.
My heart started to race. I watched Jami hold the cell phone against her ear with her shoulder as she reached for the zipper to find the laptop stuffed inside the duffle bag that she had kept underneath our table. Jami sat back up, moved her coffee to the side, and opened the laptop for it to boot up while she listened to the caller. “Understood. I’m logging in right now,” she said, disconnected the call, and placed her phone on the table. I watched her take a deep breath.
I pulled my chair out, sat back down, and waited for Jami to tell me what happened. “An interagency bulletin was just issued from the FBI’s DC field office. It–” she paused as our waiter approached our table.