Ahmed reviews the document and smiles, satisfied that he is finished, creating his masterpiece. Ahmed knows that the man at the university will be pleased with his work. He places the papers in his backpack.
He looks over at four large plastic bottles on the floor. Two are ammonia and the other is bleach, and there is a bag of large Ziploc freezer bags.
An audio prompt on his laptop sounds off signaling an instant message has arrived for him. He has never received a message before. He clicks the message icon, it reads: "Thirty-Six Turns Of The Glass."
Ahmed panics and looks to the bottom of the screen to check the time the message came in, "Sunday seven fifty-nine P.M." He finds a pencil on the table and scrawls on a piece of scratch paper. "Eight A.M. Tuesday," and draws an hourglass next to it.
Ahmed knows that this will be the only communication he will receive; the time has finally come for him to fulfill his destiny.
***
The next morning a black Lincoln Town car speeds east on Highway Seventy east of Denver through the suburb of Aurora, Colorado. The freeway sign shows arrow transition to the right for Denver International Airport and Pena Boulevard.
The driver glances in the rearview mirror at his passenger as he makes the turn toward the airport. "We will be there in about twenty-five minutes, Mister Bloomfield. That should give you a good two and a half hours for pre-board screening according to your itinerary, sir, and we should be fine."
David sits in the back with his shades on and his head is resting on the seat. Dana was not kidding about her pre-trip itinerary last night. David lifts his head to see where they are at and realizes the hassle he is about to experience at the airport. "We should be fine? I get to stand in line for over two hours, in a human cattle drive with a bunch of pissed off people, and have some knick-knack rifle through my stuff. And then, some TSA person is going to look at me like I'm some Mook, who is trying to get over on them. Fanfriggintastick." He lays his head back with dread.
They arrive at the international terminal and the driver rushes to retrieve David's luggage from the trunk. David reaches for his carry-on bag and then his wallet as the driver checks in his luggage with a sky cab. The driver returns to see him off as David tries to tip him.
"That has already been taken care of by Miss Pucci, sir." The driver hands him his baggage check receipts.
David is surprised once again by his efficient assistant and shakes his head giving the driver the tip anyway. "That girl is just too much."
The driver smiles at his good fortune. "She certainly is, sir. A real class act, and a looker, too." The driver retreats to the car and leaves.
David throws his carry-on over his shoulder and goes inside; he realizes that Adriana went out of her way to choose his driver in person.
He enters the terminal to a mass of commuters moving like molasses running uphill in Minnesota in January.
Dana is in her office. She has decided to get caught up and to get going on Mr. Lucero's next deal to find him another property right away.
She misses David already and it has only been three hours since they parted at his apartment that morning.
Her intercom goes off and the receptionist's voice erupts from the speaker.
"Dana?"
"Yes Gracie. What's up?"
"Dana, you have a delivery up front."
"What is it, can I pick it up on my way to lunch? I'm buried right now."
"I wouldn't want to wait . . . I'll just bring it down."
Dana looks at the phone curiously. "Okay."
There is a rap on the door and her coworker enters her office with a huge bouquet of white roses.
Gracie parades in and sets them on her desk. "I guess you have made a big impression on someone, Miss Underwood. Not one, but three dozen white roses and the vase looks like real crystal."
"I had a big weekend with Mr. Wonderful." Dana smiles as she pulls the card out of the envelope, and a small yellow slip falls out. "Mr. Wonderful says here that these will have to do in his seven days' absence away from me." Dana looks at the folded slip that fell out Ordered and verified by A. Pucci. A.M. Delivery guaranteed."
The vibrant blonde-haired woman's facial expression turns angry and she pushes her chair back with her legs as she rises and snatches the vase up and forces it into the receptionist's hands with a frontal thrust, apparently startling her coworker.
"Here Gracie, you take them and enjoy the three dozen white roses. Get those out of her please."
Gracie is puzzled as she balances the flowers still wavering from Dana's thrust, "Okay sure, is there something wrong?"
Dana leads poor Gracie to the door and announces, "Other than the fact that I am now done with white roses for life, everything is great. Thank you Gracie."
Dana closes the door, almost hitting her coworker on the heels, and storms over to her desk and slams herself down in her seat as she reaches for her keyboard. She goes to her contact file and scrolls down to Matthew Cohen, Attorney-at-Law, (303) 555-7991. She dials the number and the phone rings.
Matt is sitting at his desk typing a motion to vacate the judgment on one of his clients and his intercom sounds off. He hits the speaker button on his phone. "This is Matt."
The receptionist's voice echoes out, "Matt, you have Dana Underwood on line five."
He is surprised. He hits the button on the phone and keeps typing as he answers. "Hey, Dana. So he's gone for less than a day and you finally decide to give me a shot and settle that burning curiosity. Perfect timing I must say."
Dana frowns at her lecherous friend's remark. "Matt, knock it off, I'm in no mood for your libido dementia today, and I need a favor."
He smiles at her remark as continues to type. "Well, since you both appointed me as your best man, which is odd because you're marrying him and I am the 'best man' and you're probably making the wrong choice, what can I do best for you?"
Dana tries to ease into this with her fiancé's best friend. "Matt, you used to work for the district attorney's office when you first started practicing law, and you did investigations for them, right?"
Matt, concerned by the serious tone in Dana's voice, stops typing and picks up the phone to give her his full attention. "Yes, Dana. What's up?"
"Remember when we all went to Vail skiing and you said that night at the bar that you could find out anything about anybody when I was trying to find out who owned that townhouse development project that seemed abandoned?"
"I think I recall that."
Dana continues. "And I thought it would be a great location and it would sell fast?"
"Just give me the address and I'll find out everything about it I can, and if it's still available, but, Dana, that was a year ago."
Dana realizes she has taken the wrong direction. "Matt, I don't need information on that place. I need a complete background history on a person. Everything, not just the stuff you get for twenty-nine ninety-nine online. I mean everything. Can you do that discreetly? And it stays between just you and me, right?"
Matt is confused. "We do that all the time here and, yes, if you are a client we would have an attorney-client relationship. That relationship and all of its content would be confidential. Who are we talking about here?"
Dana asks, "How much would it cost me to become a client of yours?"
Matt says, "If you want me to represent you then I'm your attorney, all you have to do is send me an e-mail requesting representation. I will answer your request and I'm your attorney. That is it; we can work out a fee arrangement when I sell my house. How's that sound?"
"I just found and sold you your house four months ago."
Matt smiles. "Like I said, when I sell my house, we will work out the fees."
Dana knew she could count on him. "Thanks, Matt. You are the best." Dana begins typing an e-mail request for legal representation to Matt for a complete background check of her self-proclaimed nemesis. Adriana Pucci, age twenty-nine. She is a graduate of University of Colorado-Boulder and C
herry Creek High School. She works at National Ad Media Group LLP in Denver, Colorado as an executive personal assistant and interpreter.
Matt hears her typing. "Dana, believe me when I sell my house you will regret you made this deal."
Dana finishes her e-mail and hits send. "And why is that?"
Matt smiles. "Because when I sell in ten years, it will be worth double what it is now and I am going to be that attorney that everybody talks about, the one who always makes out like a bandit. We always get paid."
Dana smiles at his remark. "I just adore you, Matt."
"If you adore me, then you would set me up with one of your hot friends, and send her over wearing roller skates and knee pads with a full stick of lip gloss."
Dana laughs and then is struck with an epiphany, "I'll tell what Matt, you get me the info I need on this individual and I'll see if I can get you a date with her."
Matt is confused again. "What are you talking about?
She smiles. "Check your e-mail, Mr. Cohen, Attorney-at-Law. I have to get back to work, I'll be looking forward to hearing from you soon counselor, bye."
Dana hangs up and smiles knowing she will have the information on this Italian chick soon, before David returns from his trip to Korea.
Matt looks at the phone as it goes dead, and hangs up. He then goes to his e-mail and reads Dana's request. He sends back an acceptance of counsel on her request and creates a client file.
He then Google's the name Dana sent him and clicks on the cheerleader post. "Wow, check this bitch out. I love this job."
Matt does a LexisNexis search on Adriana Pucci and three pages come up. He hits print and saves the file results to Dana's file. He then dials the number for the Denver District Attorney's office.
"Denver district attorney's office..."
He does not recognize the receptionist, "May I speak with investigator Ray Velazquez please. Matthew Cohen calling."
"I'll connect you to his office."
A familiar voice answers, "Investigations. Harris."
Matt answers his old friend, "Hey Jerry, this is Matt Cohen, how are you doing?"
"Hey Matt. What's going on in the private sector?"
"I am just trying to stay ahead of you guys for my clients. Jerry, is Velazquez around?"
"He is out with that fed task force taking his turn at finding the next Bin Laden and he wasn't too happy about it. We are all turning double shifts. The taxpayers are footing the bill. Most all of the cops are out of the shop these days nailing all the overtime they can. Can I help you with something?"
"Can you give Ray a message to call me at my office or on my cell. He has the numbers."
"I'll stick it to his computer monitor so he is sure to see it, Matt. Aren't you the counsel on record on the State of Colorado verses Reginald Haynes drug case?"
"That would be me. I am your Huckleberry Investigator Harris. Why, is that one yours?"
"It was going to be, but we got a call from the feds and they came in for a file copy and interviewed the arresting officers on Friday. In addition, they said they wanted the case, so we dropped the charges on your boy this morning. The feds are going to pick it up."
"I just signed the bail release request for the courts here downtown, but you didn't hear that from me." Matt is alarmed for Reggie. "Thanks for the heads up Jerry, I owe you one, I won't forget it."
Investigator Harris laughs. "Don't thank me. You know your chances of getting him a good shot with them is next to nothing unless he rolls. You got a hell of a fight with those people. Good luck, Matt."
The phone goes dead. Matt clicks on his client list. He scrolls to Reggie's file and dials his cell number.
Reggie is sitting in the basement of his downtown body shop weighing out ounces of heroin he has just finished cutting for sale. Reggie checks his phone as it rings. "Mr. Cohen, what's up?"
Matt knows that the feds probably have his client tapped. "Reggie, I need to see you in my office right away, today."
"Mr. C., I'm in the middle of something right now."
Matt has no time in his schedule; he needs his client to know what is up. "Reggie, unless you are in a conversation with God or getting ready to go home with Little Kim right now, I would highly suggest that you get your ass into my office in the next hour."
Reggie senses something is up. "I'm rolling in ten. Be there in thirty, later."
The phone disconnects and Matt leans back in his chair wondering what the Assistant United States Attorney's office strategy will be, and how much they have on his client, that he may be unaware of. He speaks to himself. "I take it back. This job sucks."
***
The late afternoon traffic is thick on Colfax Avenue in front of Omar's store. Ahmed sits in the van waiting for a light. His mind is racing regarding his task in the morning. He is tired from the day's deliveries and knows he still has work to do to prepare for tomorrow.
The anxiety rises within him as he thinks about the lives he will be ending. And some that will be changed forever with injury.
He decides that he will try to pick a target without children present. The light finally changes and he turns the corner and pulls into the rear alley behind the market. He gets out of the van with his clipboard and enters the rear door.
As he enters the rear of the store, he notices that there are many customers out front, and Omar and Kari are busy. He sets the clipboard and the daily envelope on the table where Omar will be sure to see it. He then retreats downstairs to his room and prepares for prayers and tomorrow's task.
He removes his coat and goes into the bathroom to wash up.
Ahmed comes out, picks up the bottles of bleach and ammonia, and begins building his poisonous gas device. He works meticulously, and finishes the complex design. He is satisfied as if he had done it several times before. The instructions that he had received on the laptop were horrifyingly simple.
The clock radio goes off and floods the room with the music of Islam signaling time for evening prayers. He places the device into another backpack and stashes it under some boxes.
He unrolls his rug and kneels in prayer as tears roll down his face, streaming as he bows in obedience. The sounds of Islam fill the basement as Ahmed sobs in prayer. Ahmed tries to justify his intentions with the memories of his family's demise.
***
That evening across town in the Denver tech center, Adriana Pucci is sitting at her desk working late in the National Ad Media offices. A coworker passes her desk and says good night as she inputs data to a file on her computer. Adriana just glances and waves as she works. She hears the door in reception close and looks around to make sure she is now finally alone.
Adriana gets up from her desk and walks the entire office to make sure she is the only one there. After she has made her rounds through the offices, she returns to her desk and saves the file she was working on. She shuts down her computer. She prepares her coat and purse setting them on her desk readying herself to leave quickly.
Adriana walks into David's office. She turns on the desk lamp and boots up his computer on his desk and sits down. The monitor flashes with a password request, she type's in the box "dbadman." Access is granted. She clicks on his e-mail, then another password request appears, Adriana types in "mrwonderful." Again, access is granted.
The e-mail program opens and reveals seven incoming messages. She scrolls down to one that says, "When children can laugh." She opened it and the message reveals the phrase "14 turns of the glass." She looks at the time the message came in and it says Monday, six-oh-one P.M. She deletes the message and then deletes it forever from the trash file and logs out and shuts down the computer. Adriana realizes that she has just fourteen hours. She wipes off the keyboard with her dress she then wipes the desk lamp switch while turning it off and leaves David's office, closing the door behind her.
Adriana grabs her coat and throws it on, she shuts the lights off at her desk, and she makes her way quickly to the elevator and descends to the par
king structure. She is anxious to get home and prepare for tomorrow.
***
Matt is waiting in his office for Reggie and a voice calls down the hall, "Yo, anybody here?"
Matt stands to receive his client. "Hey Reggie, I'm in my office, come on down."
The tall black man appears in his doorway. "Man, I was tripping. There was no one around, usually this place is jumping with folks, and it was like the hood sidewalks after a drive-by when I walked in."
Matt extends his hand and Reggie clasps it with his thumb over Matt's and pulls Matt to him.
Matt responds, "They all go home at five-thirty or six. I usually work late. Have a seat, Reggie. We have some news and it is not good."
"By the sound of that phone call, I guess not. What's up, Mr. C.?"
Matt looks at his client, hoping he thinks correctly about what he is about to propose to him. "Reggie, I spoke with the Denver DA's office today, and the state of Colorado has dropped your case because the feds contacted them and they are going to pick it up, like I thought."
Reggie gets a sick feeling in his stomach. "So what's that mean?"
"They intend to prosecute you under federal statutes, which means that they are going to come and arrest you again or they may just contact me for a self surrender as I'm your attorney of record." Matt looks at his client, slumped, in his chair. "But we can't count on that Reggie. We have to assume they're going to come at the worst time, so you need to make sure that your whole world is squeaky clean."
Reggie says, "I need to use your phone, Mr. C."
Matt pushes his phone to his client knowing he is now thinking correctly.
Reggie picks up the phone, hits a button, gets dial tone and dials. A man answers. "What's up?" Reggie keeps it low, "Hey, man, check it out, I just found out that we are going to get those parts on that old Cadillac next week in time for the auction. You should probably see if you can just find another Caddy we can use from the salvage yards for parts, and save me some time."
The voice responds, "No problem, man. That really sucks that they done you like that."
Surrept Page 7