by Helin, Don
“That would be nice.” Kaminsky’s pinched face relaxed into a smile. “I missed breakfast. A croissant or two would fuel me for the trip.”
“We can handle that.” He directed Kaminsky up the stairs and opened the door for him.
Sam motioned with his hand. “This is Jackie.”
“Why, hello, Jackie.” Kaminsky shook her hand. “I wasn’t expecting such lovely company. Jackie…ah?”
“Just Jackie.” Jackie jerked her hand back. “My goodness, your hand is cold. You must be freezing.”
Kaminsky glanced down as if he’d forgotten he had hands. “I keep misplacing my gloves.” He laughed. “And in this weather.”
They walked down the narrow winding staircase to the breakfast area. Stale air and cigarette smoke found Sam’s nose and made him cough.
The professor pulled off his stocking cap and shrugged out of his coat. Underneath, he wore a wrinkled lavender shirt, an orange and purple striped tie, and dark gray rumpled pants.
Kaminsky poured himself some tea. He reached into the breadbox and, after touching a number of pastries, his pudgy fingers pulled out three croissants. He scooped up a half-dozen grape jelly packets, then walked over and plopped down in a chair.
Sam poured himself and Jackie a cup of coffee, waiting to see if the hemp chair would hold the rotund little man.
“Climbing that hill almost did me in.” Kaminsky pulled out a cigarette and lit it, pulling the smoke into his lungs. He leaned back and shut his eyes. “Ah, that’s better.”
It would be a long trip with Kaminsky puffing away in the back seat.
Jackie sat down at the four-person wooden table. “Have you lived in Montreal long?”
Kaminsky leaned forward. “Almost thirty-five years. I left the States to protest the war and never went back.” He slathered jelly on the croissant and took a bite. The croissant disappeared into his mouth. The only evidence was a spot of grape jelly that joined the other spots on his tie. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, then spread jelly on the second croissant.
“I understand you’re a professor.” Sam took a sip of coffee. “Where do you teach?” The hot coffee tasted good.
A couple entered the coffee area and started cooking waffles.
“McGill University. Love it. The students are motivated and fun to be with. Not like those spoiled brats south of our border.” He took another sip of tea, then inhaled again, blowing smoke out into Sam’s face. “What about you, ah … Jackie?”
“Well, I attended the University of Pennsylvania, then went to work in state government.”
“Penn, I went there briefly, although I’m sure long before you did.” He looked at Sam. “And you?”
“That’s not important. As you must know, I now work for Aly Kassim.”
“Ah, yes, my friend Aly.”
“You know him?” Sam leaned back in his chair to stretch his right leg. It ached from the cold—souvenir of his football days. Between the sore leg and pain in his side from the attack, Sam still moved gingerly.
“Oh, yes.”
“What do you think of him?”
“Intense, but capable. Have you spent much time in Washington?” Kaminsky asked.
“A while.” Sam would test the professor with more questions about Kassim later.
Kaminsky kept chewing on his croissant and raised his eyebrows. “I understand from Aly that you have some training experience.”
“That’s right.”
Kaminsky nodded and looked back at Jackie. “And what do you do now, my dear?”
“I work in human resources.”
Kaminsky waited, apparently hoping for more information.
“What do you teach?” Sam asked.
“Chemistry.”
Jackie chuckled. “Not one of my best subjects.”
They finished their croissants and coffee amid a flurry of small talk about Montreal.
Sam looked at his watch and stood. “Let’s go. It’ll take about nine hours to drive back to Pennsylvania.”
Bob O’Brien sat in the back seat of the black Chevy Suburban, his Blackberry in his lap. He watched Sam’s Explorer pull out from the curb and move down the street. Captain Jeffrey had told him that Sidney Kramer was a chemistry professor at McGill University but, more importantly, was on the Mounties’ watch list. According to Sam’s message last night, the professor was now going by the first name of Sean.
Kramer had run to Canada to avoid the draft in 1969. He’d been active in student protests during the height of the FLQ movement in the early ‘70s. Nothing much had been heard from him over the past few years. Interesting he should show up now.
Agent Monar held up the photograph of Kramer. “The date on the photo is 1999. Sure looks like the guy who just met Sam, but he’s added some weight. Actually,” she smiled, “a whole lot of weight.”
O’Brien punched in the speed dial for Captain Jeffrey.
“Jeffrey here.”
“O’Brien. Sam and Jackie just pulled out with Kramer in the back seat. Will the guy be able to get out of Canada?”
“We have no reason to stop him if he has a valid passport.”
“Let’s make sure he gets through. I think he’s key to what we’re working on.”
“I’ll call the border authorities to request that they get a picture of him and make a copy of his passport.”
“Let me know what you find out. We’ll be following about twenty minutes behind Sam.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and Captain Jeffrey, thanks for your help. I think we’ll both benefit before this is over.”
“Keep me in the loop.”
Sam drove along Route 20 until they reached Ontario, then followed Route 401 to the border. The total trip took about an hour and a half. Uneventful, except for the ongoing cloud of smoke emitted from the back seat.
Sam glanced in the rearview mirror. “You’ll have to cut back on those cigarettes. They’re starting to bother me.”
“Sorry.”
When they reached the border, Sam maneuvered the Explorer into a parking spot in front of the duty-free shop. Jackie bought a few things for friends, then exchanged the rest of their Canadian money.
Sam started the engine. “They’ll need your passport.” He looked in the rearview mirror to see if he could spot O’Brien. A black Suburban idled in the driveway.
Sam handed the three passports to the custom agent, sure that he would ask why Sam was bringing this draft dodging son of a bitch back into the country. Perspiration trickled down his back. The guard studied the passports, then looked at each of them.
He asked Sam to get out of the car and open the trunk. After sifting through items in the trunk, he made some notes, nodded to Sam, and handed back the passports. He waved them through. Sam turned the Explorer south toward Interstate 81.
Sam adjusted his leg again. Darn thing continued to ache. “You’d think after 9-11 they’d be more thorough at the border. It seems like anyone could cruise through.”
“Why?” Kaminsky blew out some smoke from his umpteenth cigarette. “What? Are you afraid of someone sneaking into the good old USA? Who in their right mind would want to do that?”
Sam was surprised at the question. “There’s enough going on in the world. I wish our border with Canada was more secure.”
“Ah, but they’re not going to stop a retired Army colonel unless they’ve got a pretty good reason, now are they?”
Sam didn’t comment.
“Does either one of you have children?” the professor asked.
“Not me,” Jackie said.
Sam shook his head in the negative. No way did he want Kaminsky to know anything about Emily.
“Do you have any family?” Sam asked.
Sam glanced in the rearview mirror, but Kaminsky stared out the window and remained mute.
The Suburban cruised along Interstate 81, maintaining a constant speed of sixty miles per hour, the pace agreed upon with Sam.
“What happens
when we reach Harrisburg?” Agent Monar asked.
“Depends on what we find out from Captain Jeffrey,” O’Brien replied. “I think his call will be enlightening.”
Agent Stoner looked over at O’Brien, his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel. “I’d be willing to bet a month’s pay his passport doesn’t say Sidney Kramer.”
“I wouldn’t take that bet,” O’Brien replied.
As if on cue, O’Brien’s cell phone jangled. “O’Brien.”
“Captain Jeffrey here. An interesting development. It seems that our good friend Professor Sidney Kramer is now Professor Sean Kaminsky.”
“Why am I not surprised?” O’Brien answered.
“I’ll fax a copy of his current photo to you. Guy has really added some weight since his last picture in 1999.”
“Thanks again, Captain Jeffrey,” O’Brien said. “I’ll keep you up to speed on things as they develop, and you do the same.”
“Will do,” Jeffrey replied. A click, and he was gone.
O’Brien folded his cell and slipped it in his pocket. “Sean Kaminsky. Now, isn’t that interesting?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The drive through New York state passed uneventfully. Sam stopped at a Cracker Barrel Restaurant just inside Pennsylvania for a late lunch.
After they were seated by the hostess, Sam excused himself to go to the bathroom. He wanted to get some pictures of Kaminsky for Alex. In the bathroom, Sam pulled the small digital camera out of his briefcase and practiced holding it in his palm.
When he returned to the dining room, Sam detoured around the edge of the tables in their section and came at the professor from the side. Jackie kept the professor’s attention, while Sam held the camera in the palm of his right hand and snapped three quick photos. He got profile shots of Kaminsky, but couldn’t get a front full-face.
Sam sat back down and nodded to Jackie.
“Did you bring the camera, Sam?” Jackie asked. “Wouldn’t it be fun to get a picture of the three of us for my scrapbook?”
Kaminsky’s head snapped up. “No pictures.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jackie said. “I just love photographs of our trips.”
“Jackie’s a real nut for pictures.”
Kaminsky focused on the menu.
Jackie put her hand on Kaminsky’s arm. “My goodness, I hope I didn’t upset you.”
Kaminsky didn’t look up. “I don’t like to get my picture taken.”
“Would you mind taking a couple of us when we get outside?” Sam asked, trying to deflate the tension.
Kaminsky seemed to relax. “That would be all right.”
After they passed Scranton, it began to snow but without much accumulation. Trucks splattered the windshield with the slop from their wheels. Fortunately the traffic stayed light, so they arrived back in Harrisburg about ten o’clock that night.
Sam exited off Interstate 81 onto Route 322 west.
“This won’t take long. I’m going to drop off Jackie at a friend’s house.”
“That’s fine with me,” Kaminsky said. “I appreciate the ride.”
Sam exited Route 322 onto Route 34 and drove into the tiny borough of Newport. Turning left at the square, he pulled up in front of a red brick house that had seen better days. A wraparound porch with white peeling paint stood at the front of the house, illuminated by a porch light. The house belonged to a friend of O’Brien’s. They had been instructed to not give out any information in case one of Oliver’s people called.
Jackie climbed out, careful not to slip on the ice. She stuck her head back into the car. “I enjoyed meeting you. Hope your visit to Pennsylvania is a pleasant one.”
“Thank you, Jackie. I enjoyed meeting you, too.”
Sam waited until Jackie had gotten inside; then he pulled away from the curb and worked his way back onto Route 322. The Explorer slipped on several icy patches in the road.
When he next turned off Route 322 just fifteen minutes later, Sam could feel the back of the car fish-tailing. He slowed down. A couple of minutes later, he pulled into the farm lane, glad he had made it back safely. His frustration level remained high, however, because he’d been unsuccessful in worming much information out of the professor.
When they pulled up to the fence in front of the barn, Popeye ran out, brushing snowflakes from his hair. “You’re late.”
“Your concern for our safety overwhelms me.” Sam got out and walked back to the rear of the Explorer.
“The general has been waiting for the professor.”
Sam pulled the backpack out of the trunk without comment. The professor had jealously guarded the briefcase. Sam had found no opportunity to check it out when they’d stopped for lunch.
Popeye reached for the backpack. “You should have planned better. We can’t keep the general waiting.”
Sam grabbed Popeye by the collar. “I’ve had about enough of your bullshit. If you don’t like the way I do things, keep it to yourself.” He released the shirt, pushing Popeye back so he nearly fell on the ground, and walked back to the back of the Explorer.
Popeye glared at Sam, his hands clenched into fists.
Sam shook hands with Professor Kaminsky, opened the car door, and climbed back inside. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
He drove back down the rutted driveway and returned to the house in Newport to pick up Jackie. He related what had happened, ending with “Guy’s name is Popeye, a real jerk.”
Jackie remained silent.
Sam pulled out of the driveway and headed back to Route 322 once again.
Jackie watched the snowflakes. “I don’t think you want him for an enemy.”
“He already is.”
Quentin Oliver leaned back in his chair. “Sean Kaminsky. Where did you get that name?”
Kaminsky dropped his backpack to the floor of the study and walked toward the fire. He set his briefcase next to his foot and rubbed his hands together. “Like it? I’ve always wanted to be a Sean. Much better than Sidney Kramer, don’t you think?” He paused. “Make sure you use it all the time.”
Oliver puffed on his cigar, and studied the man. He hated this lard-bellied, draft-dodging son of a bitch, but Oliver stifled his anger because he needed Kaminsky. He gestured toward the bar. “Why don’t you pour yourself a drink?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Kaminsky walked over and poured a stiff shot of Jim Beam. He sat down in one of the two black leather chairs facing the fire. “Did you save me some dinner?”
Oliver pushed a button on the intercom.
A male voice answered. “Yes, sir.”
“Bring us some sandwiches.”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“That’s what I like about you, Quentin. You know how to treat a guest.”
Oliver straightened the crease in his fatigues. How could Kaminsky talk about food when the mission should be uppermost on his mind? He drew on his cigar again. “Did you bring the plans?”
“Not one for small talk, are you?”
He struggled to maintain a straight face. “No time for that when we have a mission.”
“Yes, I brought the plans.” Kaminsky patted his briefcase. “But first, what do you think of Colonel Thorpe?”
“He’s done a credible job of working with my soldiers,” Oliver replied. “Why?”
“Seems nice enough, but I’m not sure about his companion. Why did she come along?”
“That was Aly’s idea. He thought it would be easier to get you back into the States with a woman in the car.”
“She is certainly a beautiful woman.”
The idea of Kaminsky with a woman almost made Oliver laugh.
Kaminsky took a long pull on his drink. “I’m concerned that she’s seen me and knows who I am.”
“But she doesn’t know who you are. She believes you’re Sean Kaminsky.” General Oliver rubbed his goatee. “Do you think that’ll be a problem?”
“I don’t know.”
Oliver called, “Enter.”
A man in the standard black fatigues uniform entered. His eyes had black rings underneath them, and his nose stood out like a puffy tart. “Your sandwiches, sir.” He set them on the table and stood at attention.
“Thank you, Benson,” Oliver said. “That will be all.”
Benson saluted, did an about face, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Kaminsky chuckled. “You certainly have your men well trained. What happened to his nose?”
“That’s a story for another day. Benson is a good cook but leaves a lot to be desired as a soldier. Sergeant Bacher has been tasked to correct that.”
Kaminsky jumped up, grabbed a plate, and heaped three sandwiches onto it. He lathered the bread with mayonnaise and shoved half a sandwich in his mouth. After brushing crumbs on the floor, he walked back to his chair.
He shoved the other half in his mouth. While he chewed, he said, “You should do something about her.”
Oliver stood and paced around his study to mask his irritation with Kaminsky. “Maybe I’ll have to correct Aly’s mistake. I’ll call him and see if he has the address for this ‘Jackie.” He’d better. He’s the one who screwed it up.”
Kaminsky wiped a trace of mayonnaise off his mouth with the back of his hand. “What are you thinking of doing?”
“Let me worry about that.” Oliver walked over and straightened “The Traveler” statue he’d gotten as a farewell gift from his command at Quantico. He allowed his mind to wander, imagining a future moment in which Kaminsky lay on the floor, blood pouring from where his throat had been cut.
A John Denver song floated through the car as Jackie and Sam drove east on the turnpike toward Philadelphia. Jackie stared out the window at the darkness. Sam sipped on a Starbucks coffee that he had bought during the last rest stop to stay awake.
Jackie broke the silence. “You know my dad isn’t wild that you’re staying overnight.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“He went along because my mother insisted.”