“I only have one set of pants in mind—”
“Shut up. And then when the place quiets down, slip upstairs. I’ll join you when I can. We’ll spend some time exchanging germs and things, and I’ll drive you to your airplane in the morning. How about that?”
Ike kissed her lightly on the cheek and nodded. “Youse is a good boy, Denny.”
“What?”
“See you later.”
Chapter 41
The phone’s insistent chirping finally woke him. With just a sliver of moon to light the room, Ike could barely see and, befogged with sleep, couldn’t remember where he was either. He tried to think. Ruth huffed and pulled herself up on one elbow to squint at the luminous dial on her alarm clock. Then Ike remembered. He scrabbled to retrieve the phone.
“What time is it?” he mumbled.
“Without my glasses on, or my contacts in, I can only say with any certainty that it’s either 12:30 or 6 AM. The hands make a straight line up and down.”
“That’s firm? No possibility of a three or a four?”
“See for yourself?” Ruth flopped back on the bed and pulled the sheets up over her head.
“Okay, I’ll settle for twelve-thirty.” Ike flipped the phone open. “Yeah, Schwartz.”
“Hi, Ike, I know it’s late and you probably have other things on your mind…” The understatement of the week “…and I hate to bother you…this is Frank down at the office.”
“What’s the problem?” It had to be a problem. Frank would not have called, otherwise.
“We did that raid I told you about, and now I have a room full of upset parents. I’m not used to this.”
“You will be. So how did it go?”
“Good, I think. One or two kids managed to slip away but we corralled about a dozen. We confiscated drugs, nearly a pound of weed, a dozen rounds of ecstasy, some prescription pills, you know, oxycodone in several brand names, a few tranquilizers, and some other stuff I haven’t identified yet. They were either having, had, or were contemplating having, a pharm party. Judging by their behavior, I’m guessing they’d already had it. Oh, and there was some stolen property.”
“What kind of property?”
“Well, the reverend insisted on riding with us, and he identified his silverware. The kids were using it in their ceremony. And there was a video camera with ‘Property of Picketsville H. S.’ engraved on it. They said they borrowed it. You know how that goes.”
“The parents are angry at you, or their kids?”
“A little of both. When I said drugs and stolen property, most of them settled down and started giving their children the dirty eye. A few others are talking attorneys.”
“How many others?”
“Actually, just one. Mrs. Starkey is raising bloody you-know-what.”
“Put her on.” Ike waited while Frank found and brought Barbara Starkey to the phone.
“Okay, here she is…”
“Sheriff—”
“Barbara, it’s me, Ike. What’s the deal?”
“Frank Sutherlin broke up a little get-together in the park and has all the kids confused. I mean, it was just a party, for goodness sake. I’ve spoken with Peachy, and she’s very upset. I can hardly understand her. I think it’s terrible. And Blake Fisher is going on, and on, about Satan and…well, you can imagine. It’s all wrong. They’re just some kids doing a little acting out, and your deputies come barging in like storm troopers and—”
“Whoa. Stop. Did Frank tell you about the stolen property? Your kids were using the missing silver from the church. Your church, if memory serves. That can’t be brushed off with a ‘kids acting out.’ Then there are the drugs. Peachy is more than upset. I’m willing to bet she’s stoned. I’m sorry, Barbara, but Frank is right. As for the devil business, I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but I do know that it can’t lead to any good. You mix drugs and that sort of occult foolishness and you are bound to have trouble. It may seem like nonsense to you, but it’s potentially dangerous.”
“But—”
“Look, you put childproof caps on your drugs, and safety catches on the cabinet doors when the kids were young, right? Well, this pre-emptive action by the deputies on what could be bad news is the same thing. I can give you a book or two about it if you like, but it is not something you should take lightly.”
“Oh, Ike, really.”
“No, you listen. Your daughters—”
“Only Peachy was involved.”
“Both of your daughters were involved. You need to talk to Ashley about blood. Is she around?”
“She came to the jail with us, yes. What about blood?”
“Is she sporting a bandage anywhere?”
“Now that you mention it, yes. So what?”
“You need to ask her why. If, and when, she tells you the truth, you will need to go over and apologize to Frank, and thank him for putting the kibosh on what might have turned out to be a small or big disaster down the road.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely. And I think you might think about an apology to Blake Fisher, too.”
“I’ll talk to Ashley.”
“Good. Put Frank back on.”
“…Yeah, I’m here. Ike.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“Here’s something worrisome. There was an adult out there with the kids.”
“An adult? Who?”
“New teacher at the high school named Byerson. He teaches English and coaches the drama club, as near as I can tell. He joined the faculty at the end of last year when Susan Meara took maternity leave. Then he hired on full time after she decided to be a stay-at-home mom. He nearly slipped away tonight, but Billy nabbed him back in the dark with a fourteen-year-old girl. Had her blouse off and was going for the rest when Billy spotted him.”
“Where is he now?”
“We segregated him from the kids. He’s cooling off in a cell.”
“What about the fourteen-year-old?”
“She’s bawling her eyes out and blaming her absentee dad or something.”
“Here’s what you should do. Make sure the parents know Byerson was there and suggest—no accusations mind you—just suggest, that he might have been the instigator of the whole business. Then let them pound on their kids a bit, say fifteen minutes or so, and then get their statements. You should be able to tie the whole mess up in an hour.”
“What do I do about the kids we pulled in?”
“Release them into the custody of their parents. Byerson stays in a cell. You can hold him for at least twenty-four hours. By then you’ll have had time to digest the kid’s statements and run a background check on him. You already have him on attempted statutory rape, contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and probably distribution of controlled substances. That bird needs to spend some quality time with adults for a change—in the county lock-up.”
Ike hung up and searched for his handkerchief.
“You sounded like the cop I’ve come to know and admire.” Ruth said.
“Don’t get smart with me, woman, or I’ll get Charlie to release the tape from our weekend at the beach.”
“There’s no tape…is there?”
“You’ll never know.”
“I will if I ever get to look your pal in the eye. Men cannot hide things like that. If they’ve seen you naked, they never look at you the same way again.”
“You are wise beyond your years.”
“I’ve been around. What was that all about?”
“Some other time. I need sleep. Do you have anything in your medicine cabinet to make me instantly unconscious?”
“I might. I have some prescription stuff, but if you’re going to be Top Gunning tomorrow, you shouldn’t use it.”
“Top Gunning?”
“You know, like what’s-his-name, the hunky guy, who flew the jets in that movie you showed me the last time we were at your place in the mountains.”
“Flying a Ce
ssna is along way from driving an F-14 Tomcat.”
“That’s okay, you’re my jet jockey.”
“I thought I was the honey in your Honey Bunches of Oats,”
“I like the imagery of a jet jockey better.”
“Sleep medicine?”
“I can do better than that, Schwartz. Come over here.”
Chapter 42
Blake had not experienced anything approaching a hangover since his freshman year in college. Early Saturday morning he felt as though he’d spent the night at a fraternity party rather than the sheriff’s office. He shook his head, a thing he’d been doing since midnight, at the reaction of the parents to their children’s arrest in the raid at the Pit, or Cauldron, or whatever it was called. He naively believed that they would be grateful for having their kids snatched back from an event and behaviors that they would never have countenanced in their own youth.
He was wrong.
The complaints and threats leveled at the deputies, at Frank Sutherlin, and at him were shocking. What, he wondered, had happened to society when parents taught their children to distrust and disrespect authority? Schoolteachers, police and clergy were all experiencing the same phenomenon. He’d seen it before, but never as vituperative and open as last night.
He dropped an antacid in a glass of water and watched as it danced and fizzed in a glass. Oddly, it had been Barbara Starkey who, although she came into the station complaining and accusing everyone in sight at the top of her lungs, calmed down the earliest. Her daughter, Ashley, whose presence there seemed a mystery, refused to make eye contact and remained mute when he’d spoken to her. Blake had stayed until the last child had been trundled out the door. Beyerson, the English teacher, had been incarcerated for the night. What would become of him, he wondered. Frank had looked grim when he’d asked. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor is all he would say.
Blake moved to his tiny kitchen and began to fix breakfast, even though his stomach was still doing nip-ups and the thought of coffee made him cringe. He settled for a cup of tea and two pieces of toast. Saturday the church office was closed. If any parents were still on their high horse, they’d have to vent to the answering machine.
There was always the possibility that Barbara Starkey might call to apologize but he doubted it. He knew from past experience, she was as likely to ditch the church as call him. Sadly, he’d learned, people were reluctant to admit an error to their priest, particularly when it involved confrontation—a variation on the “blaming the victim” phenomenon. He guessed.
***
Ruth sat in her car and watched Ike’s airplane until it disappeared over the mountains. Her eyes were still sandy from sleep. She’d thrown a raincoat over her hastily donned pajamas, slipped into a pair of sneakers, and driven Ike to Hooper’s farm. She shivered against the early morning chill. Ike had filled her in on what he was up against, but only briefly. She didn’t think he was worried about a security breach. He just wanted to minimize the fright factor. He had failed. If she understood him correctly, he was flying into harm’s way. She felt the fear flutter in her stomach. She had so much to learn about this man who could alternately be charming, maddening, serious, and fey. This much she knew: he was fiercely loyal. Loyal to his friends, his family, and to his country.
That was the part that worried her. She came up through academe where cynicism about God and country were de rigueur. Ike was an anomaly, a throwback to another era and time.
“You’d kill?” She’d asked him at the beach. His eyes had turned to ice and he’d said, “I’d do whatever I had to do to keep us both alive.”
He’d do that for Charlie, and for all those people who’d treated him so badly in the past. Not because he had reconciled himself to what happened, but because he put duty and honor before personal resentment. She loved him for that and she hated him for it. Why hadn’t she fallen for a normal man? She smiled. What sort of normal male would dare hook up with her? No, it would have to be someone like Ike Schwartz. Still, she wondered if he wasn’t flying into a maelstrom, and if it might destroy him. She rummaged in her purse and extracted her phone. She was about to do something she’d never done before in her life.
***
Blake Fisher, his toast half-eaten, stared at the telephone. If the parents grew weary of listening to the service times and requests to leave a message from the church’s answering machine, they might soon begin calling him at home. He had just reached for the receiver to take it off the hook and render it inoperative, when it rang. He hesitated. Did he want to listen to another litany of complaints from some kid’s parents? He picked up.
“Dr. Fisher.” Ruth Harris happened to be the only person in town who acknowledged his doctor of ministry degree. “I have a request. Have you a minute?”
“Certainly.” Blake had not spoken with the president of Callend since sometime in the winter, at the Schwartz’s Hanukah/Christmas party. No, that wasn’t true. He’d said hello at the funeral service for Ike’s mother.
“I’m not much for church and praying, sorry about that, but I wonder if you could do some for me.”
He heard the anxiety in her voice. Many people who couldn’t fit themselves into church for one reason or another seemed singularly uncomfortable asking for help from that sector in times of stress.
“What can I do?”
“I need you, and anyone else who’s willing, to pray for the country and for Sheriff Schwartz.”
“Is there something special I should know? Is Ike ill or—”
“He’s fine now. I don’t know about tomorrow. I can’t talk, you understand. Oh, Lord, I feel like such a fool. Just put that in your prayer cycle, if that’s what it’s called. Ike may or may not tell you something about it later. Knowing him he’ll make a joke out of it.”
“I see.” Blake didn’t. Obviously something was afoot and Ike had a part in it. “I’d be happy to pray for Ike and the country. We always include the country in our Prayers for the People, anyway.”
“Right. Thank you. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother at all,” he said to a dial tone.
Chapter 43
Ike wheeled the Cessna onto the taxiway at Fort Belvoir. A vehicle with FOLLOW ME emblazoned in red on its bumper pulled in front of him. He followed it to a tie-down and cut the engine. While a ramp attendant secured his plane, two steely-eyed MPs escorted him to a waiting SUV. They watched him until he cleared the gate and turned north toward McLean and Langley. Flying in restricted air space had been slightly nerve-wracking. An Army helicopter had shadowed him the last several miles and through his approach. At least he thought it had him in view. He’d never know.
His driver was professionally taciturn. He didn’t speak and answered questions with grunts. Ike sat back and read the packet of information that either Charlie or the director had placed in the back seat for him. There wasn’t anything new. He studied satellite photos paper clipped to the bundle. They appeared to be some of the ones he’d looked at the week previous. He shoved the materials back in their envelope and stared at the passing northern Virginia countryside, if that’s what you called the built-up stretch of real estate in and around Route 1. He wondered what it must have looked like centuries before. George Washington would have ridden this way from Mount Vernon to Foggy Bottom, the future capital of the country.
Something in the pictures jogged his memory. Something he’d seen at the outset, but it hadn’t clicked. It still didn’t, but he knew there was something in them that he needed to think about. Something about the ships in the bay waiting for a pilot? The barge? He shook his head impatiently. He hated it when a thought nagged at him but would not surface. He knuckled his forehead and tried to concentrate.
***
It took ten minutes to clear security at Langley and for him to receive his visitor’s pass. The director waited for him in a small conference room. Charlie hovered in the background.
“Sit. You’ve read the summary?”
“Yes, sir, I have. There is nothing new here, I’m afraid. What exactly do you want me to do? And as a corollary to that, what can it be that any of a half-dozen others in the Agency couldn’t do, and do better?”
“You, whether you want to admit it or not, have the chops to make this thing work. If I pull anyone else in they will waste precious hours turning everything over in their mind. You can jump right in.”
“I appreciate your confidence, Director, but it may be misplaced, tragically misplaced, if this goes south. Look, at my best, I used to be good at this game, but I was ten years younger and I never had to deal with anything as threatening as this. None of us did. Dealing with massive terrorist plots is new to everyone, and certainly outside my abilities. Five days doesn’t leave much time, and I’ve been away. I don’t know the troops, the routine, or the limits.”
“You make your own rules. You always did before. What’s changed?”
“I’m older, slower, and happily settled in a life I enjoy. No, make that a life I love. Except for latent patriotism, and that grows weaker every time I pick up a newspaper, I am poorly motivated to do this.”
“I’ll put something in the pot to change that.” Ike waited. What could the director possibly offer him to energize him?
“I am aware, Ike, that during the years you were with us, you managed to accumulate substantial sums as a result of unused program funds. They are in your name and in various offshore accounts, and in Switzerland. We never asked for them back. Indeed, until we found a decent tracking system, we had no idea where they were, or how much they were worth. Now we do.”
“I’ve never spent a dime that wasn’t due me, or wasn’t directly related to the operation and never claimed the money, though, once or twice, I was tempted.”
“I know. In that, you may be unique. My proposal is this. We will delete those accounts from our files if you are successful.”
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