After the Fall

by Patricia Gussin

  “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do,” he told her. “Break off with Harter. You are not to marry him. With your father so high up in the regime, with you replacing him, do you think they’d allow an American husband? So get over that stupid idea right away.”

  “I thought my parents would adjust—even if they consider Jake an infidel, but—”

  “They will not tolerate him. Period. Before you leave Friday, you sign over power of attorney to me. That’s the important thing. I’ll invest your money somewhere safe.”

  “Somewhere like Switzerland?” Adawia asked.

  “Wherever is safest. You know that’s my expertise.”

  “If only—”

  “Adawia, they will kill you and your entire family if you don’t leave for Baghdad. First leg, London, Friday night.”

  “I guess I’ve always known my family wouldn’t accept an American,” she said, starting to cry, “but Jake makes me feel safe, and he says he’ll become a Muslim—”

  “Jake doesn’t know shit about Iraq, about Islam, about sharia law. I’m not saying he’s a bad person, but he doesn’t deserve the trouble you’ll bring down on him.”

  “I never thought of it that way,” Adawia said with a sniffle. “I do think he loves me. Enough to—”

  “It doesn’t matter. You have to leave the United States.” Dru went into Addie’s small bathroom, brought back a box of tissues. “Here. Stop crying.”

  Adawia blew her nose. “I forgot to tell you. The DIA agents know I told the detectives from Rockville I was with you when Jake’s wife was murdered. They knew that I need for you to give me an alibi.”

  “That’s bullshit. They think you killed that man’s wife?”

  The telephone rang. Dru told Adawia not to answer it.

  When it rang again, he got up and disconnected it.

  “Look, you’re out of here in two days. I’m not volunteering to talk to the cops. Besides, the Feds never mentioned that to me. If they did, I’d admit I was with you that night. So don’t worry.”

  “What if that call was from Jake?” Adawia asked, standing over his shoulder now, still sniffling.

  “You’re done with him. So forget about it.”

  Adawia would never talk to Jake, Dru assured himself, because I will not let her out of my sight.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 4

  Jake rented a charcoal-gray Chevy Blazer SUV with 4-wheel drive. Not as tough a ride as his Jeep Cherokee, but sturdy, dependable, with only 600 miles on the odometer. He tried to concentrate on his plan, but his head pounded, and his anger surged, and every bump he took felt like hell. First, that Dru pal of Addie’s would pay. Tonight. Next would be Addie’s new girlfriend, Dr. Laura Nelson.

  Jake stormed into his house, barging into the walk-in closet off the hall, stopping at the hidden compartment in the rear where he kept his guns and emergency supplies. Just a few steps from where his wife had died, and the police hadn’t even found it. Karolee hated guns, one of their many differences. As for Jake, his thing for firearms had begun in the Marines, and over the years, he’d collected some nice ones.

  The closet was packed tight. It contained food items, water, cash, first-aid supplies, flashlights, but, by far, most space was taken up by guns and ammo. Handguns hung from hooks; twin Glock 9mms sharing the same hook; the Browning .22 caliber fitted with a six-inch suppressor on another; the Beretta, a third. All were loaded. His long guns rested in the corners: a Mossberg 12-gauge tactical shotgun, a Bushmaster .223 outfitted with a Zeiss scope, and an AK 47 he’d won playing cards. Jake loved his guns, and felt an instant of nostalgia for the Smith & Wesson .38 that had terminated the life of Karolee—his Saturday night special now rusting in Croydon Creek.

  Jake considered his strategy. Should he take only the two weapons he’d need tonight: the Browning with the silencer, carried in his jacket pocket, and the Beretta for backup in an ankle holster? So far, the cops had not discovered his arsenal, but his instinct told him to take them all. Survival mode. Once a Marine, always a Marine.

  He went to the basement to retrieve his large fishing cooler, backed up the Blazer to the garage, placed the cooler in the back, and started loading. Any deep breath caused stabbing pains in his chest, so he panted small but rapid air intakes as he made multiple trips from his hall closet and basement to the garage. Except for the guns he’d carry tonight, he was able to pack his firearms into the cooler with little problem, except for the shotgun, which he needed to break down to fit inside. He could only take about half of his ammo, but that would be plenty. He threw in a fishing pole next to the cooler for disguise. He figured with the ammo, the loaded clips, and the guns, the cooler would weigh about 300 pounds. He’d have to reconfigure the load into multiple containers soon. Too bad he didn’t have the Jeep, where he’d had hidden compartments installed for just such an occasion—traveling armed.

  Jake was breathing hard, despite the intensified pain from his broken ribs, by the time he stuffed a large black backpack—his bug-out bag—on the floor of the Blazer’s front seat. Ready to go at all times, the bag contained water, protein bars, Tylenol, oxycodone, bandages, antibiotics, an assortment of knives, his Glock 17, a powerful flashlight, leather gloves, and twenty thousand dollars in hundreds and twenties.

  Jake locked the hidden cabinet, leaving only extra ammunition. In the closet of the guest bedroom, Jake had at the ready a duffle loaded with warm clothing, extra underwear, a comforter, and a pillow. Karolee had never mentioned it, likely never noticed it. He carried it to the Blazer, throwing it into the backseat. Going to his bedroom closet, Jake selected a suit and a more casual outfit, a couple of dress shirts and other items, placing them neatly in a garment bag. He carried the bag as he took a last walk through his house, not knowing or caring if he’d ever be back. He locked the house, not activating the alarm. The garage door was still open and he retrieved his sleeping bag, camp kit, and an ice chest from the garage, put them in the backseat, the garment bag on top, and went back to lock the garage.

  Once in the Blazer, he headed back to Addie’s. He’d deal with that Arab on his terms and with his weapon of choice. Jake patted his jacket pocket. Jake’s job at the FDA may have been pushing paper, and he was a damned good planner. But most important, he was a Marine.

  On the road, Jake wondered what Addie must be thinking of him right now. Jake, the coward, slinking away from that asshole Dru’s knife, abandoning her to a guy who’d hit her. Back in Vietnam, Jake had killed another bastard who’d hit a woman, and he’d kill Dru too. He’d prove his commitment to Addie, make her proud of her man, and tomorrow, they’d be husband and wife. The following day, Friday, Immunone would be approved, and Mr. and Mrs. Jake Harter would be a wealthy couple, free to travel the world.

  Jake thought of Mark’s voice message. Thought of the baby Amanda. Chuckled at the thought of Addie as a grandma. Then he sobered, realizing that he and Addie had never discussed the possibility of children. He remembered hearing that Laura Nelson had kids. Tough, with a job like hers, but Addie seemed to idolize the woman. But not for long. Addie might be deluded into hero worship, but Nelson had screwed him, and he would make her pay.

  As Jake approached Addie’s building, a parking spot opened up directly in front of the door. He swung into it, feeling a surge of luck. Still in the darkened interior of the Blazer, Jake patted his right jacket pocket, assuring himself his primary weapon was at the ready. He reached down to his right ankle, felt the Beretta in place, at the ready for backup.

  Jake drew no attention as he entered the lobby of Addie’s apartment building, as he had done so many times before. He glanced about for security cameras, tried to keep his head down. No one took note of Jake as he strode through the lobby and headed to the elevator.

  Outside Addie’s door, Jake took a calming deep breath and turned the key. Without hesitation, he charged into the room. Addie was sitting on the sofa across the room, still wearing her business suit, legs tuc
ked up under her. Jake saw her eyes widen and he heard a choked, “Jake!”

  The man he had come to kill was standing in front of a fake-leather chair, only three feet from Jake as he stepped inside. Jake swung the gun toward him, aimed at center mass, and pulled the trigger, the resulting sound a muffled pop.

  Addie’s friend Dru fell backward into the chair, his white shirt already soaked in blood. A messy kill. Should have tried for the head, a trickier shot, but much cleaner.

  “Addie, get a blanket,” Jake ordered. “Do you have any plastic sheets?”

  Jake hadn’t given any thought about how to deal with the body. The man must weigh 160. Chopping him up in pieces was not an attractive option, but he realized it might come to that. He did have one of those battery-powered chain saws in his escape pack.

  Addie had not moved other than to place her feet on the floor. Her mouth was open but silent. Her black eyes were huge, unblinking, as she stared at the man he’d shot.

  “Help me, Addie. We have to get him out of here.”

  “You killed him, Jake,” Addie’s voice was so quiet, almost inaudible.

  “I had to, my sweetness. You saw him attack me with a knife.”

  “Go check him,” she said. “See if he’s dead.”

  “He’s dead all right,” Jake knew what a bullet at that range would do. “We have to deal with him. Don’t want his blood all over your place.”

  Jake shoved the gun into his pocket and walked across the room to Addie. He reached for her arm to ease her up. “We need to clean this up right away. What about a plastic sheet?”

  “No,” Addie said, as Jake pulled her to a standing position.

  “Plastic bags then. Big ones.” Once he got the body wrapped, the rug would have to go.

  When he let go of her arm, Addie stood, frozen.

  “I’m going into the kitchen to get them. Addie, I’ll need your help here.”

  Jake crossed the living room, disappearing into the kitchen, searching for the large plastic bags he knew she used for her trash. Bending down to peer under the sink, he found a full package of them. They’d have to do. He’d drag the body over the polished wood floor into the bathroom. Contain the blood to the extent possible, and figure out how to get it into the dumpster outside the back door to the building. He’d use the battery-powered saw he had in the trunk of the car if he couldn’t carry out the body in one piece. Get rid of the rug and the towels he’d use to clean up. Turn the Blazer rental in tomorrow after picking up his Jeep from the impound lot. Then he and Addie would drive to the courthouse to be married, right on schedule. Friday, she’d come into her inheritance. From then on, they’d be free to live wherever they wished.

  Pulling out a handful of black plastic bags, Jake headed to the living room. The throw rug under the body would make it easy to drag it across the floor into the bathroom. The tough part would be getting the body into the bathtub. Then he realized he could just as easily use the separate shower enclosure. Drain out as much blood as possible to make the body more manageable. His clothes would be a bloody mess, but they’d go into the dumpster. His garment bag had a couple of changes of clothes and a new pair of shoes.

  When he returned to the living room, Dru lay slumped in the chair just as Jake had left him. The room was agonizingly silent. Where was Addie?

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  THURSDAY, MARCH 5

  “Laura, I know you’re awake,” Tim said. “You had a bad night, but it’s time to get up. You have to be at the airport at nine. Right?”

  “Yes.” Laura started to roll over to face Tim, but of course, she couldn’t. That was her injured side. One glance at the bandaged hand told her the swelling was excessive. She should keep it elevated, difficult with all she had to do today. Once this Immunone approval extravaganza was behind her, she’d get back to a therapy schedule. Post-op rehab was vital to a patient’s functional healing—she was no exception.

  “You okay?” Tim asked, helping her into a sitting position. “I’d suggest you take the day off work, but this is no ordinary day.”

  With Dr. Minn dead, Paul Parnell wanted a scientist-doctor to speak for the company at the press conference announcing Immunone’s approval. Thus, Laura would be the face and the voice of Keystone Pharma. She knew that billions of dollars rested on her performance. But most importantly, thousands of lives would be saved by this remarkable drug. To prepare her to step into this major public role, Keystone’s public relations machine had scheduled a prep session all day today for the Friday event.

  “I’ll miss you tonight, Tim. I wish you could join me at the Hay-Adams.”

  “I might, if I can juggle my schedule to free up Friday morning. I have a six-year-old, coming from Brazil. If she’s stable enough, I’ll switch her to Monday.”

  “Tim, I’m sorry for being so selfish. You take care of your little patient. I’ll be fine. But I will miss you.”

  Tim took Laura’s left arm and helped her out of bed. “I hope our nights apart are few and far between. And speaking of our life together, Laura, we need to set the date. Sooner rather than later, babe.”

  “Sooner works for me. But let’s get Friday night with the kids over with first. I have no idea what to expect from my family, how they will react.”

  “Your kids will be fine. So it’s a deal. We’ll set the date this weekend.”

  “I’m off to take a shower and get dressed while you’re still here to help me button and zip.”

  Laura had not slept well last night. Not because of her role in the press conference, not even because of Friday night’s encounter with her kids. Weighing on her mind was Lonnie Greenwood. She needed to talk to him. She hoped it could be face-to-face, but since he was in Detroit, how could she justify a trip there? She needed to find how and what he knew. What he planned to do. Right now, it seemed he cared about his son; she was able to get the young man jumped to the top of the lung transplant priority list in Tampa. But would Lonnie demand more? She’d fallen prey to blackmail before. Would history repeat itself? She didn’t know. If the Detroit Police find out… If Tim and the kids find out…

  Tim now knew about David Monroe, but could he accept an even worse transgression? That she’d killed a man and had gotten away with it—so far. Laura had told only one person about that night twenty-five years ago. Not her husband, but David. And now there was Tim. Did she love Tim and trust him enough to tell him—regardless of Lonnie Greenwood’s anticipated threat? Would confessing her lethal act that horrific night change everything between them? And what about her children? What was best for them: leave the skeleton in the closet, or let them know their mother had killed a man? On top of the other guilty secret she had promised to disclose to them tomorrow night?

  Wearing a teal-blue suit and white silk blouse, Laura stood while Tim arranged the shoulder of her cashmere coat over her right arm. The limo had arrived, and Tim was ready to walk her to the car, carrying all her stuff. Laura couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever again let her leave the apartment unaccompanied.

  “What’s this?” Tim asked, picking up a business card from the coffee table.

  “Remember I told you about the detective that came to my office to ask about the night Fred Minn was killed?” Laura remembered the shiny, bald spot revealed when the rumpled detective took off his hat. “Simon Smith. I’ve decided to call him.”

  “Okay,” Tim said, a skeptical frown signaling his opinion.

  No matter how stupid it might sound or how irrelevant, Laura felt she should pass along the information about the Jeep that Jake Harter drove. But only if they promised her anonymity, so she wouldn’t come across as a lunatic.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  THURSDAY, MARCH 5

  “Abdul’s got a clean record,” Mintner was saying. “Model grad student at the University of Michigan.”

  “Go Blue,” Sharkey inserted.

  Long looked up from the report he was studying and grunted. The boss was a die-hard Ohio State fan,
Sharkey knew.

  Mintner pressed on. “Made important discoveries about a new class of drugs to treat transplant patients. Got hired by Replica. Small bio start-up. She’s well liked. Respected. Due to make a not-too-small fortune when this drug is approved. Which it will be—confidentially—tomorrow. Company wants to showcase her during the press conference.”

  “Communications with her father?” Long asked.

  “What you’d expect,” Sharkey responded. “Mother with family matters. Father is ill. They want her back. That’s what she’s telling us. Maybe we’ll find something on her home or work hard drive to connect to bioweapons over there.”

  “Lot of pressure from the Bush administration to find any trace of bioweapons,” Long stated the obvious.

  Sharkey again, “Denies knowing anything. But when I made the point that Immunone analogs have potential in anthrax protection, I saw a spark of validation.”

  “Her air tickets to London?”

  “Holiday,” Mintner said. “I don’t believe her. About to marry a guy and she doesn’t say ‘honeymoon.’ She and Badur Hammadi must have something going. Our surveillance has them both in her apartment. Came in last night and haven’t left yet.”

  “They’re sleeping together?” Sharkey asked, her eyebrows arched. “Intel is that Hammadi is devoted to his wife and kids. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Long glanced from the wall clock back to his papers. “Abdul woman and Jake Harter, the guy works at the FDA, applied for a marriage license on March 3rd. Two days ago. Marriage scheduled in the same courthouse March 5th. That’s today.”

  “I thought Muslim women were more…what’s the right word?” Mintner said. “So, she’s sleeping with Hammadi and marrying this other guy?”