The Value Of Valor - KJ3

by Lynn Ames

  If I just disappear, so does the danger.” Alexa tried to ignore the lump in her throat at the thought of being all alone in a world where she knew no one—not even herself.

  A cold fear gripped Trystan at the thought of losing this woman she had just found. She cupped Alexa’s face with both hands. “My mother and I are more than willing to take the risk, Alexa. We knew what we were getting into, and we chose to take you in anyway. More than that, we’d do it all over again given the choice. You have to believe that,” she added vehemently.

  Alexa shook her head, trying to free herself from Trystan’s tender grasp. It was so hard to think surrounded by that kind of caring.

  Unfortunately, moving her head from side to side sent a bolt of white hot pain shooting through her skull, and she gasped as her world spun.

  Immediately, Trystan was beside her, anchoring her in place. “Come on, Alexa. Let’s take you home.”

  This time, Alexa didn’t hesitate. The thought of a warm bed almost made her weep.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so.”

  Trystan lifted Alexa off the rock and helped her stand. She was a little wobbly at first but seemed to get her bearings after a moment.

  The Value of Valor

  “Let’s go. Mother will be worried sick by now.” Trystan checked her watch—she’d been gone twenty-three minutes.

  Slowly, deliberately, the two women made their way back to where Trystan and Terri had split. When they finally arrived, Terri was pacing in circles.

  As soon as she spotted her daughter and Alexa, she rushed forward.

  Ever the consummate healer, she immediately began examining Alexa for signs of hypothermia or injuries.

  Seemingly a little embarrassed by all the attention, Alexa squirmed.

  “I’m all right, Terri. Really.”

  “No, you’re not, but we’ll deal with that once we’ve gotten you back in bed. Right now I’m worried about us being able to find our way in the dark.”

  “I know this area like the back of my hand,” Trystan boasted. “I’ll have us out of here in no time.”

  True to her word, Trystan did lead them out of the area and back to Terri’s house in less than forty-five minutes. Both she and her mother undressed an exhausted, clearly overtaxed Alexa, putting her in bed and bringing some extra blankets with which to cover her.

  Terri spent some time examining her patient more closely for signs of injury. It appeared she had aggravated her tender ribs and shoulder. In addition, the physical and emotional strain of her foray into the wilderness had left Alexa with a severe migraine. Terri gave her a shot to relieve the pain and help her sleep, and Alexa was out in seconds.

  As if by mutual agreement, mother and daughter met in the kitchen.

  “She thinks she’s endangering us—says she’s a burden. She wants to leave,” Trystan began, pacing agitatedly around the small space.

  “That’s ridiculous.” Terri made a dismissive motion with her hands.

  “You and I are in complete agreement on that, Amá, but she means it.

  She didn’t want to come back with me—she wanted to leave the reservation right away.”

  “Where did she think she would go?” Terri, who was coming to view Alexa as a second daughter, was frightened at the prospect of the young woman alone and lost in a world that could be less than kind.

  “I don’t get the sense she’s thought that far or that she cares, as long as she doesn’t jeopardize the tribe anymore.”

  “How did you convince her to come back with you?”

  “It wasn’t me so much as it was her injuries. She shook her head, and I think she saw stars. After that, she wasn’t in much of a position to resist when I insisted she return with us.” When Trystan paused in her pacing and looked at her mother, tears welled in her eyes. “I know she’ll bring it up again.”

  Lynn Ames

  Terri was thoughtful for a few moments before she spoke next. “Even after she’s healed physically, she must stay here for her own safety until her memory is restored.” She looked at her daughter. “Unless and until she knows who those men were or why they were trying to kill her, she’ll be an easy target anywhere she goes.”

  Trystan’s lips formed into a grim line. “I’ll just have to convince her to stay then.”

  Terri put her arm around her daughter and squeezed. “We both will.”

  Silently, she wondered if they could succeed.

  Kate sat down at the light oak desk in her home office. The space was completely empty with the exception of five sheets of paper sitting directly in the center of the wooden surface. She’d been over the names on these pages four times already but hadn’t found what she was looking for. She took another swig of Diet Pepsi and arranged the pages side by side until they covered the width of her desk.

  When Peter had faxed a copy of the invitees to the New York Inaugural Ball to her earlier in the evening, he’d instructed her to look for anyone who seemed out of place or anyone who might have had a grudge against her or Jay. Kate recognized dozens of names on the list; after all, the ball was attended by a veritable “Who’s Who” of New York politics, business, and the media, in addition to high level donors from across the country and the Washington power elite.

  She ran her finger down the list. There were her former bosses at WCAP-TV and DOCS, every member of the president’s inner circle from when he was governor of New York, talk show hostess Wanda Nelson and her husband, the famous biographer Ted Graham, Bob Hawthorne from the DNC, Michael Vendetti, and a slew of others who Kate had never heard of before.

  She stared at the names until they blurred together. Could one of these people have killed Jay? It was inconceivable to her. She ruled out all the names she recognized; none of them had a motive to harm Jay.

  That left the other three pages of names she didn’t know. Disappointed that she couldn’t find anything obvious, she picked up the phone and paged Peter on his beeper.

  Less than five minutes later, the phone rang.

  “Hey, Technowiz.”

  “You sound discouraged.”

  Kate ran her hand through her hair, making it more disheveled than it already was. “I am. I’ve been over this list five times, and I can’t come up with anyone who makes any sense as our suspect. I’ve divided them into groups—people I know on a personal level, work acquaintances, and strangers.”

  The Value of Valor

  “Okay.”

  “None of the folks I know personally have any reason to target Jay.”

  “Do they have any reason to target you?”

  “What do you mean?” Kate asked warily.

  “I mean the best way to get you is to hurt Jay. It’s not like your relationship is a secret.”

  Kate thought about it. “True.” She scanned the list again, this time looking for anyone who might have had a reason to hate her enough to kill the woman she loved. “Peter?” Her voice was animated.

  “Yes?”

  “What about Michael Vendetti?”

  “What about him?”

  “Think about it for a minute.” Kate warmed to the idea. “Here’s a guy who was the governor’s press secretary for two terms. I walked in the door and everything changed for him. The governor started inviting me to dinner to talk about policy issues, among other things. Then as candidate for president, he named me his lead spokesperson. Finally, as president, he named me press secretary and relegated Vendetti to the number two spot—working for me.” Kate paused to take a breath; she had never thought about how Vendetti might feel about being, in essence, demoted.

  “Sounds like he has a motive or at least a reason to be jealous of you.”

  “But jealous enough to kill someone?” Kate asked.

  “It’s hard to say. I don’t suppose you can recall if he was anywhere in the vicinity when you and Jay were talking to the president.”

  Kate searched her memory. “There were so many people there...” She blew out a frustrated
breath. “I can’t say for sure.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll put him down as a possible while I do a little poking in his business,” Peter said.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I won’t know until I find it. Unusual activity in his bank account, interesting phone calls to or from folks that seem out of place—that sort of thing.”

  “Okay. How am I supposed to work with this guy every day now?”

  Kate asked.

  “We don’t know anything yet either way. So just treat him like you always have.”

  “It’ll be hard, knowing that there’s a chance he could have had something to do with Jay’s death.”

  “I know, but look at it this way—if you start acting differently around him, you might tip him off.”

  “And he could start covering his tracks.”

  Lynn Ames

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay.” She could hear a loud hum in the background on Peter’s end.

  “Where are you, anyway?”

  “I’m at Quantico, running the list through their databases to check for criminal records.”

  “Oh, good thinking. Anything yet?”

  “It’s still processing. I’ve found a few parking scofflaws, a couple of DWIs, and one interesting notation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you know a guy by the name of Kirk Hexall?”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Me either. His name comes up with a fingerprint match; when I open his file, it gives me a list of priors, including manslaughter, and the jurisdiction of the crime.”

  “Okay.” Kate drew out the word.

  “That’s it. It doesn’t give me anything else.”

  “That’s unusual?”

  “You bet it is. It says there’s no record on file.”

  Kate still wasn’t following. “What does that mean?”

  “It means somebody deleted the details of the crime and the disposition. Somebody has something to hide.”

  “Kind of odd for someone with that background to be at an inaugural ball, don’t you think?” Kate asked.

  “I think it certainly makes me curious.”

  “I take it you’re going to do something about it?”

  Peter chuckled. “You know me, I hate unsolved mysteries. I think I’ll take a little trip to New York City and ask a few questions about the mysterious Mr. Hexall.”

  “Is that where the crime was committed?”

  “You got it.”

  “Okay. What do you want me to do?” Kate asked.

  “Nothing. Just sit tight for now. I’ll get answers just as soon as I can.”

  “I know you will, Technowiz. Have I said thank you lately?”

  “For what?”

  “For everything—for being my best friend, for helping me through all this, for investigating Jay’s death.” She still choked on the words, even more than a month later.

  “Oh, that. You know I want answers as much as you do, right?”

  “Yeah,” Kate said.

  “We’re going to get them, sweetheart, I promise you. And when we do, I’m going to make sure the sons of bitches pay.”

  “I’d rather just have Jay back,” Kate said softly.

  “I wish I had the power to make that happen, Kate. I really do.”

  The Value of Valor

  “Good night, Peter. Get some sleep sometime, will you?”

  “I will if you will.”

  Peter sat at an empty desk in the computer room at FBI headquarters in Quantico. He began to punch commands into a keyboard, then thinking better of it, turned off the machine, got up, grabbed his coat, and hurried out.

  Finding a phone booth nearby, he fished in his pocket for the necessary change, dropped it in the slot, and dialed a number from memory.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that any way to answer your phone, Gustav?”

  “Depends on who’s calling,” a man with a heavy Russian accent responded. “For you, Pietro, I will revise my approach. What the hell do you want, Yankee?”

  Peter laughed. “Ah, that’s much better. I need a favor.”

  “Naturally, why else do you ever contact me?”

  “As I recall, I’ve always been there when you’ve needed a thing or two.” Peter knew he didn’t need to remind Gustav that if it weren’t for him, the expert computer hacker would either be in a gulag in Siberia or a federal penitentiary in the States.

  “Yeah, yeah. Will my debts never be paid?”

  “Time will tell, my friend. Will you help me?”

  “If I am able. What do you need?”

  “Access to the telephone company’s records where the queries won’t be traceable.”

  “Child’s play.”

  “I also want to test out that fancy new program you’ve been perfecting to cross-reference the phone numbers with names and locations where the calls were placed.”

  There was a muffled curse on the other end of the line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Gustav, this is me you’re talking to. No bullshit.”

  After a short pause and another muffled curse, Gustav asked, “How soon can you be here?”

  “I’ll see you in an hour.” Peter hung up the phone and made his way to his rental car, sitting alone in a corner of the FBI parking lot.

  Fifty-five minutes later, he knocked on a plain wooden door in a nondescript neighborhood on the outskirts of Georgetown. The door was opened by a beefy, middle-aged man with beady brown eyes hidden by thick lenses, stringy gray hair, and a bushy gray beard.

  “This way.”

  “Ah, Gustav, I see you’re still a man of few words.”

  Lynn Ames

  “What is there to say? I know better than to ask why you need to interrupt my nice little life at all hours of the night.”

  “The social niceties have always escaped you.”

  The big man shrugged. “I’ve never seen any reason to waste time on useless chatter.”

  Peter laughed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

  Gustav led the way through the cramped apartment, newspapers strewn everywhere in the tiny living room and dirty dishes piled on the stained coffee table.

  “You ought to get yourself a housekeeper, Gustav.”

  “Bah. I like things just the way they are. This way, I know exactly where everything is.”

  Peter made a show of examining his surroundings, simply raising his eyebrows when he returned his focus to his host.

  “You want to make small talk or you want to get what you came for?”

  “It’s your life, my friend. Show me the way.”

  Gustav led the way down a hallway, turning right at the end and gesturing for Peter to precede him through a narrow doorway. Stepping through the entranceway was akin to stepping into another world. Here the room was pristine, the surfaces absolutely free of clutter. There were five workstations in the large, cave-like room, each with a monitor, mouse, and keyboard. Behind the desks was a massive mainframe computer that spanned the width of the space. The room was pitch black with the exception of the eerie glow from the monitors and the glowing red and green lights from the mainframe.

  Gustav pointed to the workstation directly in the middle of the group.

  “I have set that one up for you already. I have taken the liberty of patching you directly into the system and past the usual security questions. You need only type in the individual or group you want information on, and it should give you access to everything you need.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “How does the cross-reference piece work?”

  Gustav sat down at the workstation. “I don’t suppose I should ask how you know about that.”

  Peter shook his head and smiled.

  Gustav shrugged, turning his attention to the keyboard. “I didn’t figure you’d tell me, but I had to try. Okay. Say I look up my own records at the phone company.” He punched in
the query. “See, when the numbers for incoming and outgoing calls come up, I’ve modified their own program by hacking into the computer system of the company that The Value of Valor

  distributes that huge book with all the names and addresses listed by phone number.”

  “You’ve merged the two databases.”

  “Oh, my friend, I’ve done much more than that. But for your simplistic mind, that explanation will work. If I type in this command string…” His fingers flew across the keyboard. “…the names and addresses pop up next to the numbers. Here, I’ve written the command code down for you. If you need anything, I’ll be out there,” he gestured to the living room, “watching your American television. Fascinating.” He closed the door behind him.

  Peter sat down, dropped his coat on the next chair over, and bent to the keyboard. The man really was a genius and way ahead of his time.

  Peter typed in “Wheeler, Alton Franklin.” He hit the enter key. After several seconds of silence, the mainframe began to hum and whir, and the monitor began to flash. A minute later, the screen was covered with a series of entries.

  Peter began with January 21, 1989, the day after the presidential inauguration, and worked his way forward to the present. Scanning down the list, he saw routine calls to and from powerbrokers in the House and Senate, calls to the president’s office, several to his wife…Peter’s eyes were drawn to the middle of the screen.

  There was a call to Robert Hawthorne, placed several days earlier.

  Peter made a notation of the entry. It wasn’t necessarily unusual for the vice president to call the man running the political side of the party, but he was curious to know about the nature of the call, and he would cross-reference that piece of information with the vice president’s schedule and other factors.

  Peter continued scanning the records on the screen. The very next entry after the call to the chairman of the DNC was a call to a phone number in Beijing, China. It was placed two hours after the call to Hawthorne. Alarm bells rang in Peter’s head. The time lapse made Peter wonder if the vice president had gone out for a little while, perhaps to a meeting with Hawthorne. The call was made to a man named Bruce Gendreau. Peter wrote the name down on a piece of paper and kept looking. He saw nothing else of interest after that call.