by Helin, Don
Elevator music floated into Sam’s ear as he waited, remembering the first time he had met with Aly. His tenth-floor office overlooking the Washington Mall had reminded Sam of a basketball court. Well, maybe a half-court.
Sam and Aly were seated in two of the four overstuffed chairs surrounding a coffee table, making small talk. Vivian walked into Aly’s office on her three-inch spiked heels, smiling her perfect smile. Her tray held a silver coffeepot and two china cups, with matching creamer and sugar dishes, a far cry from the Styrofoam cups Sam had become used to at the Pentagon.
“Coffee, Colonel Thorpe?” Vivian asked.
“Yes, please.” Sam flashed his best smile at Vivian, glad he had stopped at Nordstrom’s and bought a new mocha colored sports coat. He reached up to straighten the blue and beige tie.
She offered cream and sugar.
Sam held up his hand. “No, thanks. Take it straight.”
She allowed a frown to crease her perfect forehead as she undoubtedly didn’t understand his comment. Vivian’s lips moved as she measured two teaspoons of sugar and a thimble of cream into Aly’s cup. She handed it to Aly, leaning over so Aly couldn’t miss her cleavage. “If you need anything else, call.”
“That will be all.” Aly pulled his gold French cuffs out from underneath the sleeves of his navy-blue suit. “Thank you, Vivian.” He adjusted his maroon and navy tie and took a sip of coffee.
Sam, feeling very out of place, had tried to brush a wrinkle out of the arm of his sport coat.
Aly had crossed his long legs and leaned back in the overstuffed chair. “How may I help, Sam?”
“We have a mutual friend—George Darling.” Sam had been given Darling’s name by Bob O’Brien. Sam had never met Darling, but knew he would confirm his story when Aly would later question him. Bob O’Brien had unsubstantiated intelligence that Aly’s corporation might be supporting the Patriots, along with a number of other militia organizations.
“Yes. How is George?”
“Fine. George mentioned that you might be able to help me find a job. I just retired from the Army after twenty-five years of service and am shopping for someplace where I can use my military training, someplace I can grow.”
Aly had watched Sam for a moment. “Have you any experience as an advisor?”
“After I attended the Armed Forces Staff College in Norfolk, I spent six months at the Defense Language Institute in Monterrey, then a year in Saudi Arabia as an advisor to the Saudi National Guard.”
Aly had raised his eyebrows. “You speak Arabic?”
“I’m pretty rusty now,” Sam had replied. “It’s been about twelve years.”
Aly had continued to watch Sam over his coffee cup, his lips pursed in a thin line. “That is good. Yes, that is very good. What did you think about the government in Saudi Arabia?”
Sam had measured his response. “Pretty autocratic.”
Aly had nodded in response, and Sam had studied him a moment. Aly must be around fifty years old, Sam had thought. His tanned face had shown some lines, but no double chin. Overall, he’d looked fit.
“I made a number of good friends in the Saudi military, but steered clear of any discussion about politics or the Royal Family,” Sam had said. In his past, Sam had played a lot of poker on field problems. He’d been complimented by his sergeant major, a real poker shark, on his ability to keep his face blank and his eyes empty. Now he’d needed that skill while sitting here with Aly. “Have you spent much time in Saudi Arabia?”
“I’m originally from Pakistan, but I have lived in Saudi,” Aly had said.
“Did you work there, or was that when you were a kid?”
“Both. More coffee, Sam?”
“Please.”
Aly walked over to his desk and pushed a button. In a moment Vivian had opened the door and tottered into the office. “Yes, sir?”
Aly motioned toward their cups. “Coffee, please.”
Vivian refilled both their cups, going through the same routine with Aly’s cream and sugar, then wiggled back out of the office.
Sam wondered if she ever tripped on those high-heeled shoes.
Aly smiled, saying, “Attractive, but a little slow.”
They had talked about Sam’s background, Aly focusing on the time Sam had been an advisor. Finally, Aly pushed himself out of his overstuffed chair and walked over to his desk. The steps of his highly polished wing tips had been muted on the thick Persian rug. He’d pushed a button, and soon the door had opened.
“Yes, sir?” Vivian had practically breathed her words.
“I need an orientation package for Colonel Thorpe. He may be joining our family.”
“Oh my goodness,” Vivian had said, “wouldn’t that be nice! I’ll get a package together right now.” She’d pulled the door shut behind her.
“I have a feeling about you, Sam. I think you’ll be a valuable asset to us. Would you be willing to move out of Washington?”
“Depends on the job …”
“Hello, Sam, thank you for calling back.” Aly’s voice shook Sam back to the present. “Are you there, Sam?”
“Ah, yes, Aly, I’m here.” Sam’s mood had soured from the incident with Marshall. “What can I do for you?”
“Something has come up,” Aly continued. “I need you to drive to Montreal.”
“Montreal? I can’t leave now. Only one more day until Oliver’s all over my ass if his troops aren’t trained properly.”
“There’s a meeting you must attend.”
“Now is not a good time.”
“I need you to go. Didn’t they teach you in the military to do what your boss tells you?”
Sam bit his tongue and tried to process what was going on. Was this tied to Marshall at the bookstore? No, Aly couldn’t possibly know about that yet. Was this Popeye’s doing? Had his cover been blown?
“Drive over to our Harrisburg offices,” Aly said. “Pick up my fax. It’ll give you details of where you are to go. You must leave in the morning and be at the meeting site tomorrow evening.”
“Aly, this makes no sense. Oliver’s gonna be pissed. He’s concerned with the trainees’ progress and wants me to pick up the pace.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Aly replied. “You’ll be back in time to meet his requirements. Trust me.”
Sam didn’t trust Aly worth a damn. “I don’t like it. Timing’s a problem.”
“Do you know a woman you can ask to accompany you? Use her as a cover. Make it look like a vacation trip. That’s going to be important.”
Sam thought for a moment. Cover—could mean more problems. Alex? No, they’d check her background.
Who could he take? Wait a minute—maybe Jackie would go. As a member of the anti-terrorist task force, she had proven she could handle herself in difficult situations. “One possibility would be a friend of mine, Jackie McCarthy. I don’t know if she can get away on this short a notice.”
“Call her. Sam, this is important. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t.”
“You’ll take care of Oliver?”
“I said I would, didn’t I?”
Sam disconnected the phone. This felt wrong.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sam pulled to the side of Route 322, about halfway out to Oliver’s farm, and switched off the engine. A flatbed truck hauling bales of hay roared by, swaying dangerously close to Sam’s Explorer. After staring through the windshield for a few minutes, he keyed in Alex’s cell phone.
“Popogolis.”
“Alex, Sam.”
“Everything okay?”
“I don’t know. Aly Kassim called. He wants me to drive to Montreal to attend a meeting tomorrow night.”
“Montreal? Tomorrow night? What’s up there? Attendees? Place? Time?”
“I don’t know.” Sam remembered that Alex had the habit of asking five questions at once. “Aly is pushing me to take someone along as a cover. He wants to make it look like I’m on a vacation. I’m thinking of talking to Jackie McCart
hy to see if she’s willing to help me out.” Sam heard Alex take a breath. “What do you think?”
“It could be dangerous.” Alex paused. “How about if I go?”
“I think you’ve got to stay out of the way for awhile.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, “Alex replied. “But, you know what? Jackie’s tough. She could pull it off.”
“I think so too.”
“You won’t be able to give her details on the plan.”
“That concerns me,” Sam said. “We should give her enough information so she can help out.”
“I don’t know.”
“Call General Gerber. Tell him what’s going on. Let him know I’d like to take Jackie and tell her enough so she can help me. He shouldn’t have a problem with that.”
“All right.” Alex hesitated. “Bob O’Brien can follow you. They haven’t seen him.”
“I’ll call Jackie.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know what General Gerber has to say.” Alex disconnected.
Sam pushed in the all-too-familiar cell phone number. He sat some more, debating whether or not to let it go through. Finally, he pushed the call button.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Jackie. It’s me, Sam.”
“Don’t you think I’d recognize your voice?”
“How have you been?”
“Sam, what do you want? You haven’t talked to me for two months. Now you call out of a clear blue sky and ask me how I am.”
That went well. “To tell you the truth, I need your help.”
Silence.
Sam blurted it out. “I’ve been asked to attend a meeting in Montreal tomorrow night and hoped you might ride along. This is tied to the project I’m working on. It’ll give us a chance to talk.”
“Tomorrow?” Her tone sounded brisk. He knew that sound. She’d been hurt when he’d called things off.
“I know that doesn’t give you much time. I found out a few minutes ago, so I couldn’t give you any more warning.” Thorpe, you sound like a bumbling idiot.
There was silence on the phone.
“Do you need me for cover?”
Always right to the point. “Yes.”
“Montreal is a fun city. I attended a conference there last fall.”
“I can drive to Philadelphia and meet you at your parents’ house.” Sam knew that Jackie’s mother still liked him, even if her father didn’t.
“I’ll drive up there from Washington tonight and be ready in the morning.”
“God, that’s great, Jackie.”
“Seven o’clock.”
“See you then.” Sam pushed the disconnect button.
Talking to her on the phone made him realize how much he missed her. With Jackie’s frustrations, the trip would be chilly and not only from the weather outside.
They had been so close, then had drifted apart. That’s not true. Her big shot state senator father had thought Sam unworthy to date his daughter. Senator McCarthy had picked Trenton Parker III—Sam liked to call him the turd—to marry his daughter. Parker had been a new state senator from central Pennsylvania and on the fast track in Pennsylvania politics.
Jackie’s mother, Evelyn, had insisted that Sam stop by for dinner on his way to Iraq. She wanted to say goodbye and wish him luck. Sam had entered the den where Senator McCarthy was talking to a slender, dark-haired man in a navy blue suit with a red- and blue-striped tie.
“Sam, good to see you.” Senator McCarthy stood and put his cigar in the ashtray next to his overstuffed leather chair. “Let me introduce Trenton Parker. Trenton, this is Sam Thorpe.”
Parker had tapped an ash from his cigar, stood, and held out his hand. “Colonel Thorpe, is it?”
“Sam.”
Parker shook Sam’s hand firmly. “I understand you’re on your way to Iraq.” He looked Sam up and down as if he were a slab of meat.
“That’s right.”
Parker wore a large Rolex that sparkled when he moved his left arm. His tie had been held tight by a gold clasp with his initials, TP III. His wing-tipped shoes shone as though he had spent hours on them. Ah, shit, Sam had thought, he probably paid some kid to polish them for him.
“It’s nice that you’re doing your part.”
The way Parker said it had irritated Sam. He’d made it sound like Sam should be doing something else. “It’s my job.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re career military.” Parker’s lip curled into a sneer. “Have you ever thought about getting into something more interesting, like politics or maybe business?”
“Sam’s job is important.” Jackie walked in from the hallway and stood next to Sam, her hand on his arm.
“I didn’t mean anything bad.” Parker flashed a smile showing a full mouth of white teeth. But, his eyes didn’t smile. “It’s just that the military seems pretty common. You know, an all-volunteer force and all that.”
Senator McCarthy chimed in. “I’m sure that Sam will be leaving the military after he gets back from Iraq. Don’t forget, Sam, I’m available to help.”
During Sam’s tour in Iraq, Jackie wrote to him every day. But it had seemed to Sam that her letters were full of the places she’d gone with her father and, of course, Parker.
When Sam returned from overseas, like many veterans, he had some problems making the transition back to the civilian world. Meanwhile Parker had been hard at work, making a full-court press for Jackie’s affection. He’d invited her to some of the big deal parties in Harrisburg while Sam worked his butt off at the Pentagon. Sam had started to withdraw, something he had done much of his life.
Jackie would stop by his office almost every other day.
“Hi, Sam, let’s go out for dinner tonight. There’s a new show over at the Kennedy Center.”
“I can’t. I’ve got this force package to put together.”
“But you worked last night and all weekend.”
“Dammit, Jackie, it’s not my fault we committed our troops to this damn war and didn’t send enough soldiers. I’ve got to get this done. Can’t let those guys down.”
He’d been good at pulling back ever since he had run away from home at the age of fourteen. Jackie tried to reach him, but he’d held her at arm’s length. She’d gotten tired of it. And Parker, encouraged by her father, had kept after her.
One day, Parker had stopped by Sam’s office in the Pentagon.
Parker looked around the tiny cubicle. “So this is where you work. Not very big, is it?”
“What do you want?”
“I had a meeting with the Secretary of Defense and thought I’d drop by to say hello.” Parker emphasized the Secretary of Defense.
“Wish I had more time,” Sam replied, “but I’ve got to finish these operations development reports.”
“I’m sure that’s important. Got to keep pushing papers.” He smiled. “Don’t know if Jackie told you or not. She and I are going to a big fundraiser in Philadelphia this weekend. The president will be there. He’s campaigning for reelection. Senator McCarthy and I are doing all we can to support him. Jackie’s out shopping for a new dress. You know women.”
“Hope you both have a great time. But, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.”
That had been four months before. He still missed Jackie.
Quentin Oliver puffed on his cigar and listened to the clicks in the phone line as the encryption devices on either end of the call kicked in. Soon he heard Marcel Dubois’s voice.
“Quentin, how are you this evening?”
“My spirits are high. Yours should be also.”
“Oh?” Marcel’s voice had a slight edge. “Why is that?”
“Aly called to tell me Thorpe will leave in the morning. He knows he’s supposed to be at a meeting tomorrow night. No more than that.”
“Is Thorpe the best person to do this?” Marcel paused. “It’s critical we get the professor across the border without a problem.”
Oliver tapped his fingers on his
desk. “Aly is convinced that Thorpe will handle the assignment.”
“I’m not worried about his ability to do the job,” Marcel replied. “My concern is whether or not we want someone we don’t know well to do this.”
Oliver thought for a moment. “I have some of the same concerns. But Aly persuaded me with the argument that Thorpe isn’t on any watch list. A retired Army colonel shouldn’t be stopped crossing the border. Kramer will be using a false passport, so we don’t want too much scrutiny.”
While he waited for Marcel to respond, Oliver visualized him stroking his moustache.
“I’m uneasy. What we are doing is so important to our future plans. We can’t afford any screw ups, as you say.”
Oliver chuckled. “Aly told Thorpe he should take a woman along with him as cover. Make it look like the two are on a vacation.”
“What? Quentin, I don’t like this. That means a second person will meet the professor.”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but this time I think Aly’s right. The priority is to get the professor here without incident. If Thorpe turns out to be a problem, I’ll take care of it.”
“What about the woman?”
Oliver blew another smoke ring. “If necessary, I’ll take care of her too.”
More silence. “Quentin, I’ll trust your judgment, not Aly’s. I have a meeting of my soldiers tonight, so I can make the arrangements then. Make sure Thorpe is greeted properly.”
“Aly said he’d take care of the reservations at the hotel.” Oliver smiled. “I assume you’ll use the normal point of contact?”
“Leave that to me.”
“Thank you, my friend. We are about to rewrite history.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Marcel Dubois steered his rented Peugeot up the dirt lane to the old farmhouse, the light coating of snow billowing out behind him. An orange tint from the setting sun reflected on his windshield, and he pulled the visor down to block out the glare. The wind gusted across the open fields, causing the pine trees around the house to sway.
Marcel followed the driveway around to the back, got out, and pulled open the wooden garage doors. He shivered, unsure whether it was because of the cold or the anticipation of what he was about to set into motion. After driving the car into the garage, he pushed the two doors shut, hoping the rickety old building would keep standing for another three months.