Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames

by Richard Paolinelli

  “Gateway, Ninja,” Hirako spoke into his helmet mike. “Target splashed. Repeat, target splashed.”

  “Well done, Ninja,” Cavanaugh said. “Return to base.”

  Cavanaugh lowered the phone from his ear and quickly punched in a six-digit code before Ninja could sign off. A signal was transmitted to the flight computer of the Navy jet that armed and detonated all of the air-to-air missiles attached to the belly of Ninja’s Hornet. Hirako never knew what hit him, never got off a mayday and very little of him or his plane remained to tumble into the cold ocean below not too far from where the other jet had splashed into the water.

  Only three radars in the area might have picked up the two jets as they flew into range and then suddenly disappeared from the sky. But a simple command had been entered into their computers minutes before the jets entered the radars’ coverage areas, and that command had ordered that their computers ignore any signal return from the two doomed planes; displaying a blank screen to any observing controllers.

  No one was out and about on the shoreline on the cold January evening to see the twin fireballs plunging into the water, and no surface craft had been reported in the area either. It had been a perfect crime.

  Or so those responsible for the murders of seven men had thought to themselves at the time.

  FOUR

  The Los Angeles was still out on the surface, moving forward, and once again back on her original course. His ship under power and underway only slightly brightened her captain’s mood as he stood in the conning tower, scanning the surface around his boat. His XO had only just recently joined his commander with the welcome news that the repairs were complete and the engineer wanted to run at a lower speed on the surface to make sure those repairs would hold.

  “Con, bridge,” blared out of the tower speaker.

  “Con, aye,” the XO answered.

  “Sir, engineering reports we are cleared to proceed at the Captain’s discretion, sir.”

  “Bridge,” Steve Del Rio said as he leaned over his XO’s shoulder, “maintain heading and increase speed to full. We’ll remain on the surface for a while yet and see if we can make up for some of this lost time. I’ll be up here a little longer.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Very good,” the Captain said. “Con out. What the hell….?”

  Even as Del Rio snapped off the intercom his attention was drawn to a flash of light in the sky. Everyone in the tower snapped their binoculars toward the flash and followed an object they couldn’t quite make out as it slid slowly toward the surface, trailing flames as it fell. Before any of them could say a word, another brilliant ball of flame flowered to life high in the sky very near to the original flash.

  “Bridge, con,” Del Rio snapped the intercom back to open.

  Bridge, aye.”

  “Adjust course five degrees to the starboard,” Del Rio ordered. “Increase speed to flank. And bridge…”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Sound general quarters,” Del Rio added with a shared look of concern at his XO as alarms blared to life and the men of the Los Angeles scrambled for their duty stations below.

  ***

  “Do we have full confirmation?” Cavanaugh asked, keeping his back to his two compatriots as he spoke on the phone.

  “Everything went off as planned. Both aircraft were destroyed, and neither of them got off an emergency signal or was showing up on any radar but ours. There have been no calls to local authorities regarding any explosions in the sky. There was no chance of survivors and, even if someone did manage to live through that, there's just no way anyone could survive very long in those cold waters at night.”

  “What is the current status of the Atlanta flight?”

  “It just went down in the Appalachians west of Lynchburg, Virginia. All they got off was a flight ID and a general mayday before all communications with the plane were cut off. They’ll never find all of the debris and human remains in that rugged terrain. As far as anyone else will know, Cashman was on board that plane with the rest of his staff when it went down.”

  “Very well then,” Cavanaugh said. “I believe we can consider this phase of the operation complete. Make sure everything has been tied-off and cleaned-up. I will see you tomorrow at the briefing for Arthur.”

  “Then all that remains,” Soors said, “is for me to convince Arthur to pick the right person this time to replace Cashman as soon as the official announcement of the crash is made. After that, it is only a matter of waiting for the inauguration.”

  A ping sounded from Cavanaugh’s phone. After a few taps on the screen he looked up with a grim smile. “From our friends in the East…They are tracking down Karpov as we speak and they will take care of that particularly vexing loose thread once and for all. They are also in place to act as soon as Arthur is sworn in.”

  “Then in six days,” Soors said as she stood up to leave the room, “we begin the final phase. Good night gentlemen.”

  Cavanaugh waited until Soors had closed the door behind her before turning back to his remaining companion.

  “We always knew there would be a number of necessary deaths to achieve our goal Charles. If it disturbs you so much, why did you remain? You could have walked away like the others did.”

  “Yes, I could have,” Charles answered. “But I stayed because I believed in the original objective, before Georgina and her faction corrupted it. Now I stay because I want to limit how much blood we are going to have to spill to attain it.” Charles stood to leave. “But I will caution you, Bradley, if you let her get too bloodthirsty you are going to trigger a reaction and it might just undo everything our parents and grandparents sacrificed so much to accomplish.”

  Cavanaugh waited until Charles had reached the door before calling out to stop him. “If you are that concerned about what she’ll do, should you be so open in opposing her?”

  “Not at all,” Charles answered with a cold smile as he turned back around. “Because, like you, she is smart enough to know that I have protected myself well enough so that if she were to order me killed, I’d drag both of you to the grave with me. And you are smart enough to know that seeing as I am serving as the ‘bank’ for this little conspiracy of ours, if I should suddenly die or disappear from sight you’ll never find a single penny of our funds.”

  Cavanaugh merely returned the smile with a nod of respect.

  “By the way,” Charles added as he pulled a small plastic bag filled with small electronic devices out of his coat pocket and tossed it to Cavanaugh. “You and your spooks can stay the hell out of my house unless you have been invited in first. Good night, Bradley.”

  “Good night, Charles,” Cavanaugh replied, graciously accepting both the rebuke and the defeat as he watched Charles exit the room, saving a rueful look for the bag of listening devices and computer bugs that he himself had ordered to be planted at Charles’ house.

  FIVE

  The Lavender had long been one of the best nightclubs in all of the D.C. area. It was, surprisingly, not that difficult for non-power-players to get into given its popularity—provided you could afford the prices on the menu—considering it was at the top of everyone’s list of “the places” to be in D.C.

  Ever since the first day the club had opened for business—right in the middle of prohibition no less and with plenty of liquor provided for its guests despite the law of the land at the time—there was one strict rule that was followed to the letter. If you were a politician or, god forbid, a lobbyist, then you were denied entrance. If you even so much as worked for one of those two groups and were discovered inside, you were promptly shown the door, sometimes not so gently either.

  The Lavender was for people who appreciated fine dining, fine spirits, intelligent discussion, and the arts. Writers, actors, musicians, and all who were connected to those worlds, along with those who gave serious thought to serious issues, were warmly welcomed inside.

  As the name implied, the primary interior color was lavender
with only the occasional white of the linen, the silver of the cutlery, and the clear crystal glassware serving as accents. Each table and bar was adorned, naturally, with an arrangement of lavender grown year round in a small greenhouse behind the club.

  It was likely the last place in the world FBI Special Agent Jack Del Rio would walk into while off duty, even though members of law enforcement and the military were also warmly welcomed within the Lavender. But the club had the one thing that made the place attractive to him, and she was standing front and center on the Lavender’s small stage on this night, as she had for every night for the past year.

  Sara Tomassi, dressed in an elegant white evening gown, sang “For Sentimental Reasons” with her accompanist masterfully playing the baby grand piano to her left. Jack had been promptly waved in at the front door, much to the chagrin of the dozen or so people stuck waiting outside, and made his way around the large room by sliding along the outer wall where little of the lighting fell. He managed to make his way backstage without Sara spotting him and leaned against a pillar so he could watch her as she sang.

  In the months following his return from the Navajo Reservation murders out west, it was remarked by those who best knew him, that a smile rarely found its way onto his face. When one made such a rare appearance the smile never quite made it all the way up to his eyes.

  But Sara was the lone exception to that rule. Whenever he saw her, his smile was quick, warm, natural, and made his blue eyes twinkle. She had done more to help him recover physically and mentally from the wounds incurred in New Mexico than anyone else.

  But he was still very much haunted by his failures. In his waking hours, and often in his dreams as well, he kept replaying that fateful morning trying, and failing, to figure out what he could have done different.

  He had told Sara all about the investigation during the third date, which had originally been delayed by his trip west. To jazz things up, it was a morning coffee the day after he’d returned to D.C.; his arm still in a cast and the stitches just barely removed from the stab wound in his shoulder.

  She’d listened wide-eyed with occasional glances at the wounded areas when they came up during his narrative. But his concern that the violent nature of his job would scare her away proved to be unfounded. Instead of her being jealous of a ghost, he’d told her just how close he’d come to his temporary partner while out west, she’d shown nothing but compassion and understanding for the pain he was feeling at the loss.

  The fourth date, and the delayed dinner, took place later that same evening, and the decision to keep seeing one another soon followed. With Sara singing six nights a week at the Lavender, which lay less than six blocks from Jack’s top floor apartment, it seemed only natural to move in some of her things rather than deal with the near hour drive to her place in Aspen Hill every day.

  She had fallen in love with the place he’d played a large role in designing the very first time she’d set foot in it. And Jack had quickly discovered that having someone around was far from an intrusion but more like completion.

  The sudden applause of the crowd interrupted his musing as Sara wound down the song. As she took a quick bow, the accompanist looked over his shoulder and nodded his head at Jack. With Sara’s attention out on the crowd, she did not see the two men quickly change places.

  Jack had felt a little flash of nerves as he settled in. His mother had insisted that he learn to play a musical instrument as a small child, so he’d chosen the piano. Although he rarely played now, he’d kept in practice out of respect for her memory. But in the last two weeks he’d been practicing a little more often for just this night when he’d get to play for Sara as she sang as a surprise present.

  “Thank you ladies and gentlemen,” Sara said, casting a quick glance around the room as if she were looking for someone. “I’d like to dedicate my last number of the evening to a very special person. He has devoted his life to making people safe and I know I always feel safest when he’s near.”

  She gave a slight nod of her head toward the piano without looking to see who was seated behind it. Jack, knowing that nod was the signal for him to begin playing, gave one quick prayer to whatever music gods there were and launched into “Someone to Watch over Me”.

  The Gershwin jazz classic, nearly a century old, took only three minutes to play and Jack was very surprised at how fast the time passed. The payoff came as the song ended and Sara took her bow to the loudest applause of the evening before turning to acknowledge her accompanist.

  At first she didn’t register the change behind the instrument, but once she recognized who it was she gave a quick squeal of delight as the curtain dropped and rushed into Jack’s waiting arms.

  “You sneak,” she exclaimed around a quick kiss. “I didn’t know you could play.”

  “Been awhile,” Jack admitted, displaying one of those rare smiles. “I finally started seriously practicing again a few weeks ago.”

  “Well anytime you want to give me a break just let me know,” Sara’s original accompanist said as he walked up to the couple from offstage. “That was some fine playing, son.”

  “Thanks, Sam, but I think I’ll stick to my day job. It seems a lot less stressful.”

  Sam, who’d been playing the piano at the Lavender for three decades, chuckled as he clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Alright, kid. But if you ever change your mind, you just say the word.”

  “So, Mr. Sneaky,” Sara asked as Sam went to work putting away the microphone, “how was your day?”

  “Getting better with every passing minute. So, you want to grab something to eat at Jersey’s?”

  “No,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “I want to go home and get out of this dress.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, I have plans for your body, Mr. Sneaky G-Man, and I want to see just how talented those fingers of yours really are.”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Sam called out as he lugged a speaker over from across the stage, “but you two should probably get a room if you’re going to keep talking like that.”

  Chuckling, Jack retrieved Sara’s coat and helped her put it on. Then the couple slipped out the backstage door and headed for home. It was a warm evening for January, a brief respite before an expected snow storm that everyone was praying would arrive the day after the inauguration, making for a pleasant stroll.

  “You know you’re not the only one with a surprise tonight,” Sara said as she gave Jack’s hand an extra squeeze.

  “I knew I should have checked that coat closer,” he cracked. “So what have you got up your sleeve this time?”

  “I got a call from my agent this afternoon,” she began after a slight hesitation, as if uncertain how to phrase her next sentence. “There’s a gig for me in Las Vegas that could lead to a pretty big recording contract. I’d be out there for a few weeks, maybe even a few months.”

  “That’s great news,” Jack replied, genuinely happy that Sara seemed to have gotten the break she’d been working so hard for, after so much time. “When would you go out there?”

  “Next week,” she replied, reaching into her purse to pull out a single folded sheet of white paper. “I want you to come out there with me, Jack.”

  Jack quickly unfolded the paper and saw it was a flight itinerary for two passengers. Sara’s name was printed in one of the slots while the second slot had been left blank for an unnamed passenger. It was also for a flight due to depart Reagan International the day before the inauguration ceremonies.

  “I know you are involved in the inauguration,” Sara continued quickly, anticipating the obvious issue, “but it’s the day before and you'll be done by then, right? And it’s an open ticket, so even if you can’t make that flight, you can take a later one. They set it up that way when I asked them.”

  Sara had been talking faster and faster, afraid to let Jack manage to get in a word edgewise and she was showing no sign of letting up anytime soon.

  “Jack, I really want you with me.
Ever since you came into my life everything seems to be going my way. It’s like you are my good luck charm, and I know your boss has been trying to get you to take some of your vacation time—”

  Jack moved quickly, but gently, laying his index finger on her lips to pause the verbal landslide cold. He then leaned in and kissed her, only then realizing she’d been trembling.

  “I can’t promise anything for sure,” he said when they separated. “But if I can, I will find a way to make that flight with you. And if for whatever reason I can’t make that flight, then I will get on the very first flight that I can as soon as it’s over. I’ll probably send shock waves throughout the Bureau by taking my first ever vacation though.”

  Sara’s eyes lit up and she smiled widely as she drew him closer and kissed him again, garnering an amused glance from an older couple as they walked by.

  “Are you sure?” she asked after a few moments without pulling away.

  “Yes,” Jack answered softly. “You’ve become a very important part of my life, and I want you to be a part of my life for a very long time. Besides, I think I’ve done enough over the past few years to earn an extended leave. I doubt Baker would say no.”

  “So just how much time off can you take?”

  “At least two months…” Jack began to answer but then his eyes suddenly narrowed. “Why do ask? What are you up to now?”

  “Nothing really,” she answered, suddenly nervous again. “It’s just that I mentioned you to the people out in Vegas I’m going to be working with. They are looking for someone new to head up their corporate security and they’re very interested in talking to you about taking the job.”

  The unasked question hung in the air between them. Leave the FBI was basically what she was asking him to do. Jack’s initial reaction was completely against the thought. For just over a decade now his entire life had been in law enforcement and he’d accomplished quite a lot during his time at the Bureau.