Mourning Dove

by Donna Simmons

  Finally, the Brit appeared on the patio. It was hard to wipe the satisfied grin off his face, but for Sara’s sake Ron was trying. “Welcome to my home. Next time try the front door. I save the booby traps for the garden varmints.”

  “Be nice, Ron.”

  “I thought I would help with the explanations and see if you’ve discovered any more information in your investigation.” Farrell lifted an expanded metal chair from the far side of the concrete pad and placed it on the other side of the chaise.

  “Sara?” Ron asked.

  “Yes, he’s the contact.”

  “No wonder we’re losing the war.” Ron shook his head.

  “Actually, I’m very good at this sort of thing. I seem to klutz out only when I’m around Sara. I heard most of what you told him. Smart move to come outside, by the way. I swept through again this morning. Those cages weren’t there before.”

  “Wait just a minute, bud. What do you mean you swept through here?”

  “Ron, shush. Being out here won’t help if you shout loud enough for Mrs. Murphy to hear.”

  “This guy is full of it, Sara. He’s just trying to get into your...”

  “Don’t say it, Ron.

  “Matthew, he’s going to have to see it to believe it. His ancestors are from Missouri.”

  “Missouri?” Farrell asked. “Oh, okay, I get it, the ‘show me’ state. Just bear with me here, Ron. Before we go back inside the house I want you to know if we pull all the bugs the bad guys are going to know we’re on to them. They might come back and do more than set bugs. I believe Sara has explained their desperation.” Matthew looked down at Ron’s cast.

  “I tripped.”

  “Right. Start by telling me everything you know about the vehicle that didn’t run you down? Before you begin answering my questions, beware that we also had a little run in this evening with a black Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows.”

  “Ron, what you need to do is trust him. And, no, I didn’t scrape my hand then.”

  He watched the look change on the Brit’s face. The man didn’t know about her hand. “What do you want to know?”

  ***

  Sara sat at Ron’s desk trying to cover her ruined nylons and scraped knees. Ron watched her cross her legs, then reminded of their tender condition, pulled her skirt over the damage. Farrell leaned forward on a kitchen chair, elbows to knees. Whatever she got into Farrell wasn’t part of it. Ron was sure of that.

  Ron propped his broken foot on a pillow and observed his wife’s body language toward the Brit. On the desk beside her, sunk in the bottom of a clear glass of water, were two identical small black devices no bigger than a pair of buttons from a child’s sweater. How could this be real?

  “Ron, we asked you if you have the printout and pictures you mentioned. I can retrieve them if you tell me where they are.”

  “I’m sorry, Sara; I was just trying to figure out how we got to this point. Please don’t respond to that.”

  “Where are the pictures and the code?” she asked again.

  “The things you want are in a folder in the nightstand.”

  “I’ll get them.”

  “Sara, wait.”

  She turned back at the door.

  “Just, ignore everything else, please.”

  Ten minutes later, Farrell asked, “I wonder what’s taking her so long.”

  “If I know Sara, she’s picked up the blankets and clothes on the floor and is making the bed.” He thought about what else was in that drawer and her reaction to the key chain last night. He probably should have sent the Brit but he didn’t have a permit for the gun. He drew in a big breath to bellow up the stairs.

  “Don’t yell,” the Brit said. “Remember the other bugs still in existence.”

  She walked into the room past Ron and straight to the agent, balancing the folder like a tray of champagne glasses in a crowded restaurant. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and ran back up the stairs slamming the bathroom door.

  “What’s that all about?”

  “She’s gone back upstairs to throw up.”

  “She’s what?” Placing the folder on the computer chair, Farrell headed for the stairs.

  “She probably doesn’t want you to see her this way. It’s best to wait down here.”

  “What’s going on? What’s in the drawer?”

  “Some protection and the folder she brought down. If you’re going to be helping us you need to understand Sara’s history.”

  “I know both your backgrounds. What particular point are you trying to make?”

  “If you don’t know why she’s emptying her stomach right now, you don’t know it all. Sit down and I’ll see if I can explain before she gets back. She’ll be embarrassed if she hears me telling you.”

  ***

  Several hours later Sara asked, “Does anyone want another cup of coffee?”

  “No hon, I’m about done in.”

  “No thanks, Sara. I’ve got to get back to where I’ve hidden my car.” Both men spoke at once.

  “Don’t share this code or anything we’ve talked about this evening with anyone else. I’ll see what I can come up with on my own. Sara, Ron, thank you both for your courage and your help.” He slid the printout with the double column code into his jacket pocket and headed for the door.

  “Brit,” Ron called out before the agent left the room.

  “My name’s Matthew Farrell, I wish you would use it. I have dual citizenship and I work for the U.S. government.”

  Ron grinned and continued, “Mr. Farrell, what do we do with those?” He nodded to the glass of water on his desk.

  “Throw in a bicarbonate wafer, when it’s done fizzing, take them out, dry them off, and place them back where we found them. They won’t ever work again, but if the people who put them here check, they won’t suspect they were tampered with either.”

  “I thought you put one of them here.” Sara said.

  “I did, but I’m not always the one listening and I don’t want anyone else knowing we’re working together.”

  ***

  “What do you think, Ron?” Sara asked when they were alone.

  “This has gone way beyond bizarre.”

  “Do you trust him, or not?”

  “Well now is a hell of a time to question his trust, we just told him everything we know and he walked out with the only clue we have.”

  “I don’t think we have a choice. We have to trust someone; we’re right in the middle of a hornet’s nest.”

  “Believe me, I understand. There’s some Alka-Seltzer in the medicine cabinet upstairs. We have to put the bugs to bed. Help me up and we’ll go up together. And Sara?”

  “What?”

  “About what you saw in the drawer, I’m sorry. It’s just in case, for protection.”

  “I figured that, I just didn’t know you felt you needed it, any of it.”

  “And Sara?”

  She handed him his crutches and waited for him to lift off the couch. “What?”

  “I’m sorry you had to be the one to retrieve the folder. I know how hard that was for you. I would have asked the Brit but he would have seen the gun and asked questions.”

  “I understand.”

  “It’s not the only copy of the code. I gave a copy to Jordie, too. He’s been helping me try to decipher it.”

  “My God, Ron, you can get him killed this way! Call him right now. Tell him to back away.”

  “It’s three o’clock in the morning, he’s probably asleep.”

  “This room is the only safe place to talk. Call him now!”

  ***

  Mom?

  “I’m awake.”

  Think your thoughts, please.

  “There’s no need. We destroyed the bugs in this room.”

  Farrell put another one in the room before he left.

  “Shit.”

  You can trust him. He just doesn’t trust anybody else. It’s how you stay alive in this business. The bug is probabl
y here for protection. Just leave it. He’ll be the only one listening into it. I hope.

  “Carl, you were right. He didn’t believe me. It’s like he wants to, but can’t.”

  You’re still not thinking your thoughts!

  “Maybe if he hears my side of this conversation he’ll realize you do exist.”

  Then again, he might think you’ve slipped into delusional fantasies. And I wouldn’t like that.

  “Why?”

  He has a thing for you, and I kind of like it.

  “What about Dad?”

  A little healthy competition will either heal your breach or complete it.

  “Carl Stafford, mind your own business.”

  Your happiness is my business. Rest well, Mom.

  And he was gone, again.

  CHAPTER 21

  “Good morning, Robert, any news from Jonathon?” Sara asked as Robert walked into her office the following morning.

  “I was about to ask you the same thing. He hasn’t checked in yet.”

  She stood up from her chair and walked around to the front of the desk. “Yesterday he asked me to speak with Jack Randall. He wants him to take over Ross’s spot in San Francisco.”

  “It’s a good move. How did Mr. Randall respond?”

  Sara leaned back on the front of her desk. “I spoke with Jack by phone. He’s home with the flu, but he’s excited about the position.”

  “How are you getting along with Mr. Farrell?”

  “We touch base once or twice a day.”

  “If there’s anything either one of you need, you let me know?”

  “He’s working next door to your office. I’m sure he’d appreciate that coming directly from the top.”

  “He’s not in yet this morning. These government guys march to a different drummer,” Robert said.

  “Yes, they certainly do.”

  “They certainly do what?” Matthew asked from her doorway. “Good morning, Robert, Sara.”

  “We were wondering where you’d gotten off to this morning,” Robert said just before he left her office.

  “Take a walk with me, beautiful.” Matthew stretched his hand out toward the front door of finance and the bank of elevators at the end of the hall.

  “How can I resist an offer like that? Do I need a coat?”

  “The air is a bit nippy this morning.” He lifted her coat from the back of her door.

  Outside the building they walked toward the back of the business park – the path wound around three brick buildings and a FedEx box. “What’s up Matthew?”

  “How did you end up with this?” He lifted her right palm up, “and this?” He reached down and brushed the redness on her right knee. “And don’t give me the hubcap story.”

  “The Jeep caught up with me and ran me off the road. I didn’t have time to read the license plate. While I was inspecting the damage, I fell into a pothole and cut my hand on some broken glass. I did pop the hubcap in the process, but I was hoping you’d be right behind me. Where were you?”

  “I was acquiring another vehicle. I’m using the Blazer only in obvious places now. Are you sure about the vehicle that ran you off the road?”

  “I’m as sure as I can be. Why?”

  “Because something doesn’t seem right. There’s an extra player in here. The Jeep followed me when I headed toward the car rental office. I lost him in the mall parking lot but he wouldn’t have had time to double back to you. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “Speaking about good feelings, I’m not having too many of those either. You placed another bug in the den before you left this morning, didn’t you?”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Carl told me and if you were listening you know that. It sounds like a whole lot of no trust to me.”

  He walked a few paces ahead and turned around to stare.

  “What’s the matter, Matthew? Having a hard time believing my ghost story?”

  “You’re a bit bitchy this morning.”

  “Lack of sleep will do that to a woman. Why won’t you trust me?”

  “Trust can get you dead.”

  “Well I need to trust someone. Can I trust you?”

  “Bloody hell!” he turned around in a pivot shaking his head.

  “What!?”

  “I’m working with a delusional woman who speaks to the dead, and she wants me to trust her.”

  “Well, what choice do you have?”

  “Not much. But I still don’t believe in ghosts. Did Ron finally reach Jordan this morning?”

  “I suppose you heard that conversation, too. He called him from the bathroom using his cell phone. Jordie dropped the paper on the floor and then saw something he hadn’t noticed before. He thinks he has most of it figured out and wants to meet with you.”

  “I’ll drive to his loft this afternoon.”

  “No good, he’s coming to Greenland this evening. He wants to meet with all of us, seven o’clock.”

  “Sara, there’s no privacy there. I’ll meet with him this afternoon.”

  “We can sweep the house; we have plenty of Alka-Seltzer.”

  “This isn’t a game, woman.”

  “I never thought it was. My son is dead!”

  ***

  “Jordie, what have you come up with?” Ron asked from his propped up position on the couch. It was just past seven in the evening and the four of them leaned over a temporary table made from a plank of walnut braced on top of two spackling buckets. The printout with the mysterious code was spread out on the dark surface of the wood. Matthew turned the paper sideways, studying it in silence.

  “Well, first I thought it was a simple substitution code. You know, like the decoder kits Carl and I had as kids. One represents A, Two a B, and so on. I tried several combinations before I realized I was just making a mess of things. Then the paper fell on the floor and I saw it from another angle. I don’t have it all, but some things started to jump out at me. You know, like one of those word search puzzles.”

  “Or one of your paintings,” Sara offered.

  Matthew looked at Jordie. “Continue.”

  Jordie nodded his head, “We’ve been looking at this all wrong – from left to right, top to bottom.”

  Ron jumped in, “I thought of that but right to left, bottom to top doesn’t work either. I stared at it until I thought my eyes would fall out of their sockets.”

  “Sara, do you have something to offer?” Matthew asked.

  “I thought maybe codes to a formula. But that doesn’t work unless you know how the code is linked. Then I thought maybe a combination to a safe, but the letters didn’t make sense.”

  “Okay Jordie, show us what you have,” Matthew said.

  “What I saw after the printout fell was the line up from top to bottom, one line of numbers and letters at a time. Instead of 01, 32, 12, 55, 00, 44 you have 03, 15, 04 and 12, 25, 04.”

  “And how does that get us any closer to understanding this?”

  “Ron, did you take your pain medication? You’re beginning to sound like you did in the hospital.”

  “Sara, put a lid on it, you’re not helping here,” he snapped.

  “Jordie has something here,” Matthew added to get them back on track.

  “03, 15, 04 is a date, I know that date. We know that date.” She looked around at all their faces. “It’s the date Carl died. But why would he write it on this paper. What else happened on that date?”

  “It’s the Ides of March,” Jordie said.

  “Julius Caesar was not killed in 2004,” Ron said.

  Matthew turned toward the computer and pulled up a search engine. He plugged in the date and waited. Scrolling down through several pages of entries, he stopped on the fifth page. A tag to an article in a Toronto Paper notes an early morning chemical explosion at a warehouse by the lake. Two people killed. Cause of the explosion was still under investigation. He printed the article, and continued his search.

  “What are y
ou looking for?” Ron asked.

  “Anything that can link back to what Carl was working on.”

  “What about the other date, if these are, in fact, dates?” Ron asked.

  “Twelve, twenty five, two thousand four is not here yet,” Matthew added from over his shoulder as he continued to flag items of interest and print them.

  “Matthew, how do the words tie in? They all look like Latin except one,” Sara said. “And they follow the dates. Maybe that will help the search?”

  “Sara, read the first date and the words below it.” Matthew’s fingers paused to add the information into the search box.

  “It says 03, 15, 04 PAX KILL. Second line is 12, 25, 04 NOBIS MORTE. What does that mean?”

  “It could be the name of something, an acronym, an event name,” Ron said.

  “Loosely translated: on March 15th, 2004 Peace Kills and on December 25th, 2004 With You Death. Am I right, Mr. Farrell?” Jordie asked.

  “It could be, or Kill Peace. Good job, Jordie. It gives me something more to go on. I want to run this information on a secure computer and search for all possible solutions.” Matthew closed the last window on the monitor and began to shut down the computer.

  “Is this it for tonight?” Jordie asked.

  “Jordan, it’s been a long day and I could be on the search engine all night. I can do this at the hotel and let you three get some rest.” Matthew stood and turned toward them, “Thank you, Sara.” He nodded to Ron, “Stay aware of what’s going on around you. I’ll be in touch.”

  Matthew was out the back door by the time she started picking up the coffee mugs and the box from the pizza they’d ordered.

  Ron swung his casted foot around and whacked it into the makeshift table. “Damn it!”

  I’ll help you upstairs, Mr. Stafford,” Jordie offered. Sara chuckled at his lack of understanding of what that task meant and headed for the kitchen with her arms full.

  CHAPTER 22

  “Cass, I’m so glad you invited me to dinner. But, I thought you had a date with Ben tonight?”

  “He’s got bronchitis. Besides, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend my evening than to pump my best friend for the juicy details about her new friend. You promised to tell all last week.”