The Sam Prichard Series - Books 9-12 (Sam Prichard Boxed Set 3)

by David Archer

  “I’m betting he’ll want to leave as soon as he’s up,” Sam said, “so I think I should go and get packed now. My gut says he isn’t going to wait until later tonight.” They climbed out of the chair and left Kenzie explaining the movie to her grandmothers while they went to the bedroom.

  Indie grabbed Sam’s favorite carry-on from the closet while he got out his Glock and checked it over. He loaded three extra magazines and slipped them into one of the big pockets on the bag, then added a box of ammunition. The gun itself went into a holster that would be clipped to his waistband and hidden under a light jacket.

  Sam still had valid DHS credentials, which would allow him to carry the weapon even on a commercial airplane. Harry’s, on the other hand, would have recently been revoked, since he was retired. The old man could probably handle a gun better than ninety-nine percent of the population, but he wouldn't be allowed to take one on an airliner.

  There were some things, Sam felt, that just shouldn’t be allowed to happen as you got old.

  Forcible retirement was one of them. As long as a man could contribute to the field he had chosen, he should be allowed to do so, in Sam Prichard’s opinion.

  Indie took charge of packing his clothes, so Sam went to his office and dug out the little Kel-Tec P-32 Harry had once given him. The little gun was light but powerful, and had the added benefit of having been fitted with a silencer that cut its noise down to barely above the sound of an asthma inhaler. The silencer was both thicker and longer than the gun itself, but if it came down to a need for a stealth shot, Sam would trust it over any other gun he’d ever used. He dismounted the silencer and shoved it into his shaving kit, then added the pistol to the pocket with his extra magazines and ammo. Two extra seven-round mags and a box of .32 ACP for the P-32 went in, as well. He could slip the gun to Harry later.

  A noise caught his attention and he stuck his head out of the bedroom. Harry had just come down the stairs and was looking for him.

  “Down here, Harry,” Sam called out, and the old man turned toward him and smiled.

  “I suspect you might be anticipating me,” he said when he came into the room and saw the bag on the bed. “I’m afraid I can’t seem to stay asleep, so I think we might as well start planning on leaving this afternoon.”

  “Yeah, I figured,” Sam said. “Indie and I thought you’d feel that way, so we went ahead and packed my stuff.”

  Harry smiled sadly. “Does it make sense to you, Sam,” he asked slowly, “that a part of me dreads this journey? As much as I have missed Kathy and the kids all these years, I’ve at least known where I stood and who I was. Now, I’m not so certain anymore. Will this trip give me peace and answers, or will it cause me to doubt who I’ve been for so long?”

  Sam shook his head. “Harry, I can’t imagine what you must be going through,” he said. “To me, this would be the worst nightmare I could ever have, and I don’t know if I could handle it at all, let alone as well as you’re doing. Don’t look to me for advice or opinions on this one; I wouldn’t know what to say.”

  Harry nodded. “Of course, Sam,” he said, “but at least I know I’ve got the best man possible at my side.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said, “but I’m no Navy SEAL or secret agent, which reminds me. While you were sleeping, Indie and I tried to find out a bit more about your old buddy Michael, what he’s like these days, and we stumbled across something interesting. There was a hidden link in something he posted on a yachting board that turned out to be some kind of back door into the NSA website. Indie’s got Herman working on finding out what it’s for, but it’ll take a while. Maybe a day or so.”

  Harry’s eyes became brighter suddenly, but they didn’t actually register surprise.

  “So,” he said, “the bastard’s still running with the spooks, is he?” He was silent for a moment, then grinned at Sam. “Sam, it could mean anything, but I have a feeling, a gut feeling, that we may have just stumbled upon the first hand of that poker game Beauregard mentioned. Play your cards close to your vest, Sam, and don’t be afraid to bluff if you have to.”

  7

  Sam had expected to have to book a flight, but Harry surprised him. “I didn’t want to have to fight with airline security,” he said, “and the TSA is a royal pain to anyone who ever worked in intelligence, so I chartered a private jet. It’s not one of the really big ones, just a six-passenger job, but it’ll get us there. A lot faster than a Delta flight, too, by the way.”

  “Harry, I know you said you’re not hurting for money, but isn’t that a bit over the top? A private jet can’t be cheap.”

  “No, they’re not, but the owner is an old friend who owes me a favor or two. I’ve got it for a week, and all he’s charging me is the operating costs. It’s not as bad as you might think.” He took out his phone and called the pilot, who agreed to have the plane fueled and ready by four that afternoon.

  Sam told Indie they’d be leaving at three, and she insisted on getting some pictures of them all together in the backyard before then. Harry was delighted to sit with little Kenzie on his lap in her swing, with Sam and Indie standing alongside him while Grace and Kim took the photos, and then he demanded one with the two older ladies, as well. Grace and Kim both giggled and blushed, but then they got into a minor fracas about who got to stand on which side. Indie settled it by grabbing her mother and putting her on Harry’s left, while Grace stood on his right.

  Neither of them was silly enough to argue, and the picture came out fine.

  Once the pictures and the goodbyes were over, Sam and Harry climbed into the Corvette and drove away. It was a twenty-mile drive to the airport, but Sam knew how to avoid the busiest roads and got them there in less than forty minutes. The small jet and its crew would be waiting, Harry had told him, on the tarmac beside the terminal, and they were able to find a parking spot in the long-term lot that was not too far away.

  Sam carried both bags slung over his shoulder, despite Harry’s protests, and they made good time. His hip was giving him a little trouble, probably because the sky was so overcast, but he simply leaned a little harder on his cane and ignored it, as usual.

  “Mr. Winslow,” said the pilot as they got to the plane. “We’re ready to go as soon as you’re on board.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” Harry said, then pointed at his companion. “This fellow is also a Sam,” he said. “Sam Prichard, meet Sam Kilgore, our pilot. If you need someone to hustle a plane around the sky, Kilgore’s the best there is. And Sam Prichard is the best private detective I’ve ever known. You guys ought to trade phone numbers or something, find a way to keep in touch. Never know when one of you might need the other one!”

  Sam and Sam laughed, but then swapped business cards. The co-pilot, Jerry Wolford, took the bags from Sam and carried them inside while Sam and Harry climbed up the small flight of steps that folded down.

  The hatch was closed, and the flight crew went into the cockpit. A moment later they heard the sound of the starter motor whining on the left engine, and once it had caught and was running smoothly, the left one fired up. Kilgore’s voice came over a speaker in the ceiling.

  “All right, gentlemen,” he said, “we’re going to taxi out to the runway now. We’re number four for takeoff, so we’ll be in the air in about five minutes. Seat belts on, please, and stay put 'til we level off, then there’s soft drinks and snacks in the cooler up here by the cockpit.”

  Sam and Harry were sitting on opposite sides of the small craft, so they each had a window. They watched out through them as the plane made its way out to the runway, and a few minutes later they were pressed back into their seats as the plane accelerated and launched itself into the air.

  Sam loved to watch the city recede as a plane took him up into the sky, so he watched it for the brief few minutes before they were too far away to see any more, then turned to Harry. He started to say something, but then realized that the old man was asleep again, so he leaned back in his seat and smiled.

  T
he flight lasted just under four hours, but with the time zone factored in, it was almost nine PM by the time they landed. Harry had awakened as they descended, and Sam wondered if it was something that came from all the flying he must have done in his years of service.

  “Absolutely,” Harry said when he asked. “We all learn it, eventually. Rest while the plane is on the way, then make sure you’re wide awake by the time it’s on the ground again, because you can’t be sure what kind of welcome you’re going to get. Been more than once I got off a plane ducking, because someone really objected to my arrival.”

  “Well, hopefully we won’t run into that this time,” Sam said. “And that reminds me...” He picked up his bag from the seat in front of him and withdrew the Kel-Tec. “Brought along a friend for you,” he said as he handed it and the spare loaded magazines to Harry. The old man looked at it for only a second before making it vanish into an inside pocket of his jacket. The mags went into another one, and he didn’t look at all like he was carrying a weapon.

  “What’s the plan, Harry?” Sam asked as they disembarked and walked toward the car rental agencies near the front of the terminal building.

  “Well, a part of me wants to go straight to their house, get it all over with, you know? Another part says we should do this fresh in the morning. What do you think, Sam?”

  “Tomorrow morning would suit me better,” Sam said, “but I can understand your need to get some kind of closure. It’s your call, Harry. You tell me.”

  Harry let out a sigh that sounded even older than he was. “Tomorrow morning, then,” he said. “I want to get some rest tonight and get up early, though. I want this face to be the very first thing they see when they open the door in the morning.”

  They rented a Buick Enclave and Sam googled directions to a local motel. By ten o’clock, they were checked into a room and Sam was on the phone with Indie.

  “Any news on Herman?” he asked.

  “Nothing yet,” she replied, “but I can tell you that whatever it is, it’s buried pretty deep. Herman’s gone through a few dozen proxies already, so there’s no telling where the server is located. Could literally be anywhere.”

  “And it could be tied to just about anything. Are you sure it can’t be traced back to you, if they see Herman trying to get in?”

  “Yes, babe, I’m sure,” Indie said, and he could hear the grin. “Herman takes good care of me, he won’t let anyone trace him back home. But while I’ve got you on the phone, I did think of something else, and it didn’t take long to find what I was looking for.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “And what was that?”

  “Well, when we were looking at Michael earlier, I didn’t think about maybe running a similar background check on Kathleen, because we’ve been thinking of her as another victim in all of this, right? So I started one, just to see if there’s anything you and Harry ought to know, and I found something interesting. Kathleen has a habit of taking trips without Michael, and she’s been doing it under her daughter’s name. I can tell it’s her, because the trips happen at times when Beth is somewhere else, and the ID she’s using has Kathleen’s picture on it, rather than her daughter’s. She’s been making these trips for about a year and a half, at least, and always when he’s out of town on business, like when he has to go somewhere to deal with a big boat sale.”

  Sam grinned into the phone. “You’re not gonna suggest we start taking separate vacations, are you?”

  “No, butthead,” she said, but he could hear the giggle. “No, the thing is, she always goes to the same place. Care to take a guess where?”

  “Um…Disney World?”

  Indie sighed. “You could have at least tried, Sam,” she said. “No, she goes to Annapolis, Maryland. Sam, that’s where Harry lives, and guess where she was at last weekend.”

  Sam looked over to where Harry was flopping around and trying to get comfortable. “I’m going with the same place, right?”

  “Yes. She flew in on a Delta flight last Friday evening and came back on United Monday night. That was the day Harry was told he was out, Sam. And it was the day that envelope was left in his apartment.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “Let me think about this for a bit, and I’ll decide what to do with it.” They talked for a few minutes more, most of it in romantic whispers, and then Sam hung up the phone and turned to Harry to tell him what Indie had found, but Harry hadn’t waited for an update; he was snoring.

  Sam smiled and got ready for bed. It was actually still a little early for him, since it was only around eight back home, but he felt like he could stand a little extra sleep.

  The alarm Sam had set on his phone woke him at six-thirty local time in Florida, and he sat up to find Harry already awake and in the shower. Sam waited until he finished, thinking over his conversation with Indie the night before, but the cold light of morning made it seem that her trips to Annapolis were coincidental. She was probably going there to visit a friend, or for some purpose completely unrelated to Harry. That had to be it, Sam thought, for surely if she knew the truth, she would have actually made contact with him rather than break into his apartment and leave a single letter from years before.

  He couldn’t bring himself to say anything to Harry, to get his hopes up that she was reaching out to him. The mystery of the way the letter had been left was just too vague. When the old man came out, he smiled at him as he went to take care of his own morning necessities, and then the two of them went to the continental breakfast room for waffles and coffee.

  “I’ve often said,” Sam said as they ate, “that waffles should be considered their own food group. I mean, they’ve got to be the most nourishing and energizing breakfast food there is, right? And they must have existed in the wild at some point, because I can tell you that my nose came from some ancestor that evolved to hunt them. I can smell a waffle from a mile away, even inside a closed vehicle with the air running and moving at forty miles an hour.”

  Harry laughed. “Well, I’m not sure about hunting them in the wild,” he said, “but I’ll concede they’re about the best thing you can eat when you’re on the road. I’ve eaten waffles in just about every country I’ve ever been to, can you believe that? Even some of the best hotels in the Ukraine serve them at one time of day or another.” He pushed the last bite of his waffle into his mouth, then grinned at Sam. “I think I’ll have another.”

  It was close to seven-thirty by the time they checked out and got into the Buick. Sam hadn’t called Indie yet, because it would have been only four-thirty back home, but he figured she’d call him as soon as Herman gave her anything to report. For the moment, he was merely steeling himself for whatever the coming confrontation might bring.

  Sam googled the address Indie had found and poked the icon for directions, and they took off. The ride was shorter than he’d expected, and it was only a quarter of seven by the time he pulled onto Bay Esplanade where it met Iris Street. A moment later, he parked in front of a beautiful Spanish-style house, with white stucco walls and red tile roof. They got out of the car and made their way slowly up the curved walkway, and then Harry reached out and rang the doorbell.

  How many ways can a man prepare himself to see someone he thought was dead for so many years? Sam wondered. Harry seemed completely at ease, but Sam suspected he was trembling underneath. After so many years of playing one part after another, though, it was probably second nature to him to put his emotions on hold while he assessed a situation.

  The door was opened after only a minute, and a lovely woman with dark hair stood there. For a moment her face bore a smile of welcome, but then there was a sudden transformation to surprise, and her mouth made a perfect “O” as she stared at Harry.

  “Hello, Kathleen,” Harry said. “It’s been an awfully long time.”

  8

  “Oh, dear God,” Kathleen whispered. “How in the world did you find me?”

  Harry’s smile faltered a bit, and he cocked his head to one side as he stared at t
he face that had held the highest place in his memory for more than three decades. “That’s odd,” he said. “I would’ve expected something more on the lines of, ‘Harry, you’re alive?’ Never would have thought of ‘How the hell did you find me?’ Tell me, is Michael here?”

  She swallowed a couple of times, then shook her head. “No,” she said. “He had to leave early this morning for Japan, and won’t be back until next week.” She shook herself, and then stepped back a pace. “Would you like to come in? I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

  “I do,” Harry said, watching her closely as he stepped into her home. Sam followed him, keeping his eyes open, and she closed the door, then led them into the large living room. She invited them to sit on a white leather sofa, and asked if they’d like coffee. Both of them declined.

  “Well,” she said softly. “Where would you like to begin?”

  “The truth is always a good place,” Harry said. “I need to know, Kathy—did you know that I thought you were dead all these years?”

  She looked him directly in the eye and shook her head. “Not all along, no,” she said. “I only found out you were alive a couple of years ago, when I saw a news story about the terrorists who tried to set off a nuclear bomb in Lake Mead. It mentioned ‘Homeland Security Station Chief Harry Winslow,’ and my first thought was that it was an awfully wild coincidence. But then I saw a photo, and I knew instantly that it was you.”

  Harry’s eyes were sad. “And you didn’t contact me?”

  Kathleen’s own eyes suddenly went wide. “Contact you? Harry, I didn’t dare! Michael—Michael was right here beside me when I saw the news, and I turned around to ask him what the hell was going on, and that’s when he told me everything. He told me he’d faked everything about you dying, because he said you didn’t really love me or the kids, and how he faked our deaths so you wouldn’t ever look for us. He told me that Russian death squads had killed you in Cambodia, Harry, and that they’d broken your cover and were going to come for me and the kids, that that was what they did. If they caught or killed an agent, they always killed his family, too, so that other agents might think twice, he said. He had all these documents, papers that gave us new names and identities in Brazil, and I was so afraid I—I just went with him when he said he’d been sent to get me and the kids out of the country.”