Independence Hall

by Roland Smith

  We gave them to him. He opened the backs of both phones and removed the thumbnail-sized SIM cards they had installed at the phone store and tossed them in the garbage.

  “I thought those were what made the phones work,” I said.

  “They are,” Boone said. “But to make your phones really smart we need these special SIMs.” He pulled a small plastic bag from his shirt pocket, and with a pair of tweezers from his Swiss Army Knife took out two new SIM cards. He carefully inserted the SIMs and turned the BlackBerrys back on.

  “With these I can keep track of you and you can keep track of me.” He slid the phones back over to us. “If you push the tracking icon you’ll see a list of people.”

  I looked at the screen menu. There were twelve people listed including Boone, Angela, and me.

  “The one named Ziv is Eben’s driver,” Boone said. “We have a tracking device on his SUV, but I don’t know how long that will last. They’ll discover the device eventually and take it off. Eben’s with Ziv now. The other seven people are members of my team. Five are here in Philly. The other two will be here tomorrow afternoon.”

  I clicked on Ziv. He and Eben were a few blocks away from the restaurant moving east—or at least their SUV was.

  I clicked Boone’s name, then my own name, then Angela’s. We were all in the exact same spot. I clicked back to Ziv.

  “I’m sure Eben has other assets on the ground,” Boone continued. “But we haven’t spotted them yet. So, you need to be very careful. It could be anybody. One of the security guards at the warehouse. One of the roadies working for the show…

  “There’s another icon you need to know about—SOS. It’s a distress signal, but it doesn’t go to the police. Don’t hesitate to push it if you’re in trouble, or even if you feel threatened. Within a minute, or probably seconds, someone from the team will be there to help you.

  “What about my dad and Blaze?” Angela asked. “Are they in any danger?”

  I hadn’t even thought about Roger or Mom being in trouble. But again, I still wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that Boone was telling the truth.

  “Until they left for New York I didn’t know if Eben was following you, your dad, or both of you,” Boone said. “If he was following your dad he would have gone to New York. I think they’re fine. But as a precaution we have people watching them. The two personal assistants Buddy hired to help them actually work for me. Your parents don’t know it, but they now have PAs and personal bodyguards.”

  “What’s my mom’s bodyguard’s name?” I asked suspiciously. Angela kicked me under the table. I ignored the attack.

  “Her name is Marie,” Boone answered. “And don’t let the gender fool you. Marie is tougher than Roger’s bodyguard, whose name, by the way is, Art. You can find out where they are by clicking their names on your BlackBerrys. They’ll be watching your parents’ backs 24/7. By tomorrow your parents will also be listed on your BlackBerrys, so you can keep track of them.”

  “Can they track us?” Angela asked.

  Boone shook his head. “They don’t have the same SIM card in their BlackBerrys.”

  I was glad to hear that. I didn’t want Mom to know where I was every second of the day, but it was going to be fun knowing where she was.

  “If Eben is after Angela why didn’t he try to follow her when she left the restaurant out the back door,” I asked. This warranted another kick from Angela, but I didn’t care. “All he had to do was call one of his people to pick her up,” I continued. “Ziv can’t be driving their only car. Before I left I saw Eben slip his phone back into his pocket. He didn’t look like he was going anywhere.”

  “Eben tried to make a phone call,” Boone said. “But he wasn’t able to get a cell signal because I jammed it with this.” He pulled another gadget out of his pack. “We were hoping he’d make a mistake and lead us to the other people he’s working with. But he’s a professional. As soon as I jammed his phone he knew he’d been made. He also knew that he wasn’t dealing with the security detail Buddy hired. They don’t have this kind of gear. He stayed exactly where he was and waited for Ziv to show up.”

  I looked down at my phone. “Speaking of which, the car has stopped.”

  Boone nodded.

  “Hey!” I said. “The signal just went out.”

  “Eben just found the tracking device and crushed it,” Boone said. “He and Ziv will split up and try to lose us and at the same time try to figure out who we are. It’s a cat-andmouse game. When I jammed his cell phone and snuck you out of the restaurant Eben knew I was on to him.” He looked at Angela. “This is why you need to be very careful.”

  Angela bit her lower lip. She was about to go against her own advice and ask him about her mother. I jumped in before the dam broke. “Who was the guy you talked to on the phone?”

  “Mr. Potus,” Boone said. “And that’s all you need to know about him, so don’t ask again.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Boone grabbed his pack and stood up. “I’m going to look around. You two stay here. And stay away from the window.” He walked out of the room with Croc at his heels.

  “Do you believe Boone now?” Angela asked.

  “Yep,” I said, but I was actually only about ninety-five percent convinced. “And you’re welcome.”

  “For what?” Angela asked.

  “For me stopping you from asking Boone about your mother.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask him about my mother,” Angela said.

  I imitated her biting her lower lip.

  “Yes you were,” I said.

  She didn’t argue so I knew I was right. “Here’s a question,” I said. “If your mom is alive are Roger and my mom legally married?”

  “I thought about that,” Angela said. “My mom was pronounced legally dead. If that’s the case Blaze and my dad are legally married.”

  “Even if your mother isn’t technically dead,” I said.

  “I think so,” Angela said, but she didn’t look sure and neither was I.

  The Ghost Cell

  “What are you doing?” Angela asked.

  “Practicing.”

  I was standing in front of the ancient mirror trying to figure out how to palm my phone so nobody could see me take photos with it. The phone was bigger than the camera Mom had given me so it wasn’t easy to hide in one hand. Also, the shutter release was going to be hard to reach without using my other hand, which would totally blow the trick. The problem was that my cargo pockets were getting a little crowded with the digital camera, BlackBerry, cord, decks of cards, and other gear. Something was going to have to go and I decided it would be the digital camera since the BlackBerry had a camera.

  “Thanks for going along with this,” Angela said. “I know you didn’t want to.”

  I looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Do you think George Washington stared at himself in this mirror to make sure his false teeth were in place?”

  “Maybe,” Angela said. “What do you think Boone is doing right now?”

  “I’ve given up on trying to figure out Tyrone Boone. That’s probably not even his real name. Have you thought of that?”

  I managed to do a one-handed shutter release. I checked the picture. It was a photo of me and Angela reflected in the mirror, blurry, but recognizable.

  I showed it to Angela. “Not too bad considering it was an accident.”

  “Not too good either,” Angela said.

  Boone and Croc came back into the room. Boone sat down. Croc jumped up on a rickety loveseat along the wall and began grooming his nether region. If Mr. Little saw this he would have had a coronary.

  Boone set a small digital tape recorder on the table and looked at Angela. “I need to ask you some questions. Can I record you?”

  “I guess,” Angela said, looking a little nervous.

  Boone switched the recorder on. “If you don’t mind I’m going to refer to your mother by her given name.”

  “All right,” Angela s
aid.

  “What did the Secret Service tell you about Malak’s death?”

  I guess Boone, the spook, didn’t believe in easing into things.

  Angela took a deep breath. “They said that she was killed by a suicide bomber overseas.”

  “Did they tell you where?”

  Angela shook her head. “They said they couldn’t reveal the location because of national security.”

  “When did they say she was killed?”

  “November 30, 2004.”

  “At least they gave you the right date,” Boone said.

  “But you said my mother was alive,” Angela said.

  Boone held his hand up. “Let’s get through this before we get into that.”

  I sat down and took out my deck of cards. Nervous hands. Nervous everything. I couldn’t even look at Angela. I didn’t know that Boone was going to grill her. And why at Independence Hall of all places? The leather chairs in the coach were a lot more comfortable than the rickety antique chairs we were sitting on.

  “Did the Secret Service interview you?” Boone asked.

  “They came to the loft several times, but they talked to my dad. They didn’t ask me anything.”

  “What do you know about Malak’s childhood?” Boone asked.

  “Not much,” Angela said. “She was born in Lebanon. Her birth parents were killed in an accident and she was adopted by another Lebanese couple. They immigrated to the U.S. when she was a baby.”

  “What were her parents like?” Boone asked.

  “I’ve never met them,” Angela said.

  I stopped right in the middle of my shuffle and looked over at her.

  “I don’t know all the details,” Angela continued. “But her parents disowned her when she was eighteen years old. They wanted her to marry someone from Lebanon, but she refused. She left home and went to work teaching English as a second language. It took her six years to get her law enforcement degree working full-time and going to school at night. The Secret Service hired her right out of college because of her perfect GPA and her language skills. At the time, she was fluent in Lebanese, Farsi, Italian, French, and German.”

  If Boone was surprised he didn’t act like it. “Did she ever say anything about brothers or sisters?” he asked.

  “She didn’t have any,” Angela answered. “Her adopted parents couldn’t have children. That’s why they adopted her.”

  “And in all the time Malak was with you she and her parents never had any contact, even by phone?”

  Angela shook her head. “Not that I know of. I think when they disowned her, she disowned them.”

  (My mom didn’t get along with her parents either, but they still talked a few times a year and they had visited us in Sausalito a couple of times. They live in North Carolina and Mom planned to see them when the tour headed south.)

  “Were you and Malak close?” Boone asked.

  “I thought we were,” Angela said.

  “What do you mean you thought you were?” Boone asked.

  “Well…I mean…” Angela’s eyes started to tear. “We used…to…”

  She was back in the produce truck. This time I tried to be more helpful. “What Angela’s saying is that if her moth…if Malak…is still alive how could she let Angela and Roger think that she was dead?”

  Angela gave me a grateful look.

  Boone went over to a side table and got some tissue for her. “I’m really sorry to dredge up these painful memories,” he said, taking his seat again. “But it’s necessary.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Angela said, wiping her eyes.

  Boone gave her a couple of seconds, then started in again. “Was Malak different the last couple of years she was with you?”

  “She was gone more than usual, which means she was hardly home at all. And when she was home she was often distracted. Sometimes she would get a call in the middle of the night, leave the loft, and be gone for hours. When she’d come back I could tell she was upset, even though she tried not to show it.”

  “Do you think those calls came from her office?”

  Angela thought about this for several seconds, then shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why?” Boone asked.

  “I’m not certain. I’d heard her take dozens of calls from the Secret Service and she never reacted that way. She was all business, unemotional. But she was very different after these calls. They seemed more…I don’t know…personal.”

  “Did your father ever talk to you about Malak’s behavior?”

  “No. And I doubt that he noticed. When he’s writing music—and back then that was almost every waking moment—he lives inside his head and what’s going on around him isn’t even on his radar.”

  “The last time you saw Malak what did she say to you?” Boone asked.

  “She said that she was going away and wouldn’t be home for awhile.”

  “Did she seem worried?”

  “Not really.”

  “Did she call you after she left?”

  “No,” Angela said. “But that wasn’t unusual, especially when she was traveling overseas because of the time differences. What’s this all about, Boone?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” he said. He fiddled with the recorder, but I noticed he didn’t turn it off. “Let me first explain how you ended up saddled with an old spook. I got a call from a friend of mine, and a friend of your mothers.”

  I wondered if he was talking about Mr. Potus.

  “He got a call from a friend who used to work for the Mossad. They asked what he knew about Malak Tucker’s death. He was a little shocked because he didn’t know that Malak had been killed.”

  Not a very close friend, I thought.

  “He got the intelligence reports and passed them onto his Mossad friend, but a couple of things didn’t seem right to him. He’s worked in the intelligence field for years and has a sixth sense about these things. I think the thing that really got his hackles up was the Mossad’s interest in her death. They don’t ask about things unless they have a reason. Anyway, instead of passing it on to the CIA, FBI, or Homeland Security he asked me to look into it.”

  “So, no one knows about Eben except you and this guy?” I asked.

  Boone nodded. “So far. But eventually one of the other agencies is going to get wind of this and start looking into it. We want to find out as much as we can before that happens.”

  “Why?” Angela asked.

  “So they don’t muck things up before I figure out what’s going on,” Boone answered. “My original plan was to insert myself into your life by becoming your driver. I wanted to find out what you and your dad knew about Malak’s death. I thought it would take me about a week, then I’d get off the coach and disappear into the sunset. Fortunately for you, I found the tracking device, which led me to Eben Lavi, and my plan changed dramatically.”

  Boone got up and started pacing.

  “We’ve reached an interesting crossroad,” he said. “Which way we go from here is up to you.” He tightened the rubber band at the end of his braid. “I assume you both know that if you tell your parents about this they’ll certainly get rid of me. And I wouldn’t be surprised if they pulled the plug on the tour.”

  Angela and I nodded.

  “I wouldn’t blame them on either count,” Boone said. “The other downside of telling them is that they’ll probably go to the Secret Service or another agency.” He stopped pacing and looked at us. “The best way for me to protect you and get to the bottom of all this is for us to keep this between ourselves for the time being. So, before I go any further I need your word that what I’m about to tell you will go no further than the three of us.”

  Angela looked at me.

  I shrugged. “You said you wanted to be a secret agent.”

  “What?” Boone said.

  “Never mind,” Angela said, her face flushing. “We’ll keep it between us.”

  Boone looked at me.

  I held up my right hand. �
��I’m in.”

  Boone nodded and resumed pacing. “Now, I’m going to tell you some things about Malak that you didn’t know,” he said. “In the last two years of her career as a Secret Service agent she uncovered and busted more terrorist cells than any other agent in the world. She was personally responsible for foiling three bombing attempts in the United States and two others overseas. She always seemed to be one step ahead of the terrorists and eventually this got her into trouble.”

  “Why?” Angela asked.

  “Professional jealousy,” Boone answered. “You think terrorists are divisive? Just step into the offices of the FBI, Secret Service, or the CIA and the people who work there will show you what the word means. Career government workers don’t like to be shown up. And Malak showed up just about everyone. She didn’t rub her successes in their faces, she wasn’t arrogant about it, but she was a maverick.”

  “What do you mean?” Angela asked.

  “Let’s just say that she didn’t always go through the proper channels. She often operated on her own without the knowledge of her bosses or backup from her fellow agents. People began to wonder where she was getting her information, what her sources were. She refused to tell them. When she disappeared she was being investigated by the CIA, the FBI, and her own Secret Service.”

  “She never said a thing about this,” Angela said.

  “She wouldn’t have,” Boone said. “Not only that, she didn’t complain about the scrutiny she was under, or even pay attention to the largely bogus investigations. She just continued to do her job with a single-minded dedication I’ve never seen in any other agent. And I include myself in this group. Malak was a better agent than I ever was. She was a phenomenon.”

  “You sound like you knew her,” I said.

  “Most of what I know about her came from her dossier, but I did meet her once…unofficially. It was years ago. I went to the White House for a briefing when she was on presidential security detail. Looking like I do, you can imagine that the Secret Service paid particular attention to me. Malak patted me down after I went through the metal detector to make darn sure I hadn’t beaten the machine.” He smiled at Angela. “She was a great agent even back then.”