Thy Kingdom Come: Book One in the Sam Thorpe series

by Helin, Don

  “Maybe I should turn around and drive back. I don’t want a goat rope with your father.”

  Jackie put her hand on his arm. “Don’t do that, please. It’s a long drive back. I don’t want you to fall asleep at the wheel.”

  Well, that’s something, Sam thought.

  They arrived at the house just after midnight. The McCarthy home was an imposing, colonial two-story with a circular driveway in the front. Tall oak trees graced each side of the drive. “Looks like they’re expecting us. Every light in the house must be on.”

  “That’s my mother.” Jackie hopped out before Sam could get around and open her car door. She grabbed her suit bag and walked up the front steps while Sam unloaded the rest of the bags from the trunk.

  Evelyn McCarthy must have heard the car because she threw open the door. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been worried all evening. This weather.”

  Evelyn hugged Jackie. She reached up to put her hands on Sam’s shoulders. Standing on her toes, she kissed him on the cheek. “Samuel, welcome.”

  Sam hated the name Samuel, but he thought the world of Jackie’s mother. “Thanks for inviting me.” Evelyn seemed to be the only one of the McCarthys’ delighted that he was there.

  In spite of the late hour, Evelyn had sandwiches waiting and, of course, a Bud for Sam. She had tried on many occasions to convince Sam he should drink something a little more upscale, like brandy or maybe a glass of Merlot.

  “Welcome, Colonel Thorpe.” Angelina stood in the doorway. She had been with the family for most of Jackie’s life. “I saved up some fried chicken just for you in case you didn’t like those sandwiches.” She smiled, and her whole face lit up. “Now you eat plenty because you two have had a long day.”

  Sam would weigh five hundred pounds if he spent much time around Angelina.

  Evelyn got quiet.

  Senator McCarthy stood in the doorway. “Good evening, Sam.”

  Sam stood and shook hands with the senator. “Good evening, sir.”

  At six feet, five inches, Senator McCarthy presented an imposing figure. His wavy gray hair was parted and swept back, and reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. “How was your trip?”

  “Long.”

  Jackie sipped her Merlot and told her parents what they had seen in Montreal. Sam chewed on the fried chicken and drank his beer.

  The McCarthy’s had spent time in Montreal the previous year when the senator had attended a conference there. Jackie’s father was an influential member of the appropriations committee. The state legislature remained interested in recruiting Canadian businesses to Pennsylvania.

  “Why did you go to Montreal now?” Senator Mc-Carthy asked. “Not a great time of the year to head north.”

  “Business.”

  McCarthy gave Sam an inquisitive look, but Sam didn’t provide more information.

  After some polite conversation, Sam yawned and stood. “I’ve got another long day ahead tomorrow.”

  “You know where the guest room is,” Evelyn said.

  “Thank you. See you in the morning.”

  When he got upstairs, Sam pulled his laptop out of its case and retrieved the memory stick from his suitcase. He summarized everything he could remember about Kaminsky and his meeting with Carla, then lay back on the bed to read the package one more time. He fell asleep.

  The same dream haunted him. He was outside a window, looking in at a figure on a bed. Soft organ music played in the background. The figure rose and walked toward the door, away from Sam.

  Sam called out, “Wait! Wait!” but the figure kept walking.

  “Wait! Please, wait!” It was useless.

  Sam awoke with a start. He had heard a noise and pushed himself up on his elbows. It took him a moment to figure out where he was and why the overhead light was still on.

  He sat up and shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

  The door clicked as Jackie crept into his room. A navy-blue bathrobe covered her from neck to foot. She sat on the side of his bed. “Same dream?”

  Sam nodded.

  Jackie wrapped a tissue around her fingers, unwrapped it, then wrapped it again. “I’m sorry for what happened Tuesday night. It never should have happened.” Her eyes were red. She dabbed at them with the tissue.

  Sam tried to take her hand, but she pulled it back. “I’m sorry, too. I’d like to try again after this assignment is over.”

  “Maybe … we’ll see.” She rose and walked to the door. Then she turned, came back to the bed, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “We’ll see.” She opened the door and turned off the light.

  Sam’s alarm went off at six o’clock. He thought about Jackie while he shaved and showered.

  When he arrived downstairs, Angelina stood at the stove stirring a pan.

  “Good morning, Colonel Thorpe. Now you just sit down over here at the breakfast bar. I’ve got juice, coffee, eggs, and a few pancakes just to be sure.”

  Sam could get used to this. He sat on one of the stools and sipped his coffee, exercising care with the china cup so it didn’t fall to the floor and burst into a million pieces.

  As Sam downed his second cup, Jackie hurried into the kitchen. “Good morning everybody.”

  They talked about the upcoming trips, Sam to Harrisburg and Jackie to Washington. The conversation was stilted, but picked up when Evelyn walked in.

  After breakfast, Sam pulled Jackie aside and they went into the den. He gave her a sealed envelope with the memory stick inside. “I’ve included the card chip from the camera. Hope I got some good shots. Be sure to give General Gerber your impressions of the professor.”

  She nodded. “I’ll make sure the general gets the envelope.”

  He took Jackie’s hand. This time she did not pull it back. “Thanks for coming along. I’m glad you were with me.”

  She smiled but remained silent.

  Sam bid Evelyn farewell and cranked up the Explorer, savoring the smell of fried chicken coming from the package next to him on the seat.

  He waved to Jackie and pulled out of the driveway.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sam stopped at a rest stop shortly after he entered the turnpike and walked inside. A crush of noisy people moved between the McDonald’s, the restrooms, and a Papa John’s. Most seemed to pick the McDonald’s right after the restrooms.

  Sam did too. He bought a cup of coffee and pressed in Alex’s number on his encrypted satellite phone. “Popogolis.”

  “Sam Thorpe. Bob with you?” “Wait a minute. I’ll get him on speaker.” “Hey, Sam. O’Brien here. Where are you?” “I left Jackie’s about a half hour ago and stopped at a rest stop on the turnpike. I’ve got to be back to the farm by about noon.”

  “I’ll make it quick,” O’Brien said.

  “Let me get something to write with.” Sam pulled out his notebook. He checked to make sure no one could hear him. “What can you tell me about Kaminsky?” “His real name is Sidney Kramer. He’s a chemistry professor at McGill University. Guy’s been teaching there about thirty years.”

  Sam made a note. “Sidney Kramer. He’s calling himself Sean Kaminsky. The time at McGill corresponds with his age.”

  “He used his assumed name on the passport he handed the border guards.”

  “Kaminsky hates the U.S.”

  “He’s been on the Canadian watch list for years,” O’Brien said. “Kramer was involved with protests against the war in Vietnam. Later on, he participated in protests against the Canadian government. Records show that Kramer blames us for his mother’s death.”

  A woman and a toddler sat at the table next to Sam’s. The little girl sat in a high chair and shared a plate of pancakes with her mother. The toddler kept banging the tray of the chair and laughing. A number of small pieces of pancake ended up on the floor.

  O’Brien’s voice pulled Sam back into the conversation.

  “She had some sort of dementia and lived with him. His number came up, and the draft board sent
him their famous “Greetings” letter. He tried to get a deferral to care for her, but the board wouldn’t grant it. Guess they were cutting back on deferrals for graduate students and decided to make an example of him.”

  “What year?” Sam asked.

  “1969.”

  “Ah,” replied Sam, “the Age of Aquarius.”

  “Anyway, Kramer pleaded his case with the board, but they voted down his appeal. It must have broken his heart to admit his mother to the state home. Can’t say I blame him. Some of those places were pretty bad— stench, mess, and broken pieces of humanity waiting to die. He told the staff he planned to come back for her. It would have required some balls to do that because if the authorities caught up with him he would have ended up in prison.”

  Sam didn’t have much sympathy for draft dodgers like Kaminsky.

  “Anyway,” O’Brien continued, “He spent about a month in Toronto looking for a graduate program. Unsuccessful there, he headed north to Montreal. He managed to land a job as a teaching assistant at Mc-Gill.”

  Sam made a note.

  “When he returned to Philadelphia, the police were waiting for him. Instead of picking up his mother and leaving, he stabbed the sheriff and had to make a run for it.”

  Sam waited.

  “He hid out in downtown Philadelphia,” O’Brien continued. “When he snuck back to the home, he found out that she had died.”

  A mental picture of his sister flashed through Sam’s mind.

  “He swore revenge against the United States,” O’Brien continued. “Guess he’s finally getting to it.”

  “What about Carla?” Sam asked. “The redhead I met.”

  “Her name is Elizabeth Henley,” O’Brien replied. “She lives with Kramer. I’m still trying to unscramble her eggs. Canadian Intelligence tells me she may be active with the French Separatist Movement in Quebec. Red hair’s a wig. She’s a blonde.”

  Alex laughed. “I understand blondes have more fun.”

  Sam chuckled. “Guess I’d better read up on the separatist movement. Can you get me some info?”

  “Let me tell you what we got about the FLQ from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”

  “I’ve worked with the Mounties in the past,” Sam said, “and found them to be pretty efficient.”

  “Captain Jeffrey seems like a pretty straight guy. Anyway, the FLQ formed in the early 1960s in response to the ongoing changes in the province. A number of people were unhappy about the direction Quebec was taking.”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “The Liberals were moving Quebec away from the stranglehold the Catholic Church had on the province. The FLQ tried to combat the movement.”

  “What happened?” Sam asked.

  “From March 1963 to October 1970, the FLQ initiated a number of acts of terrorism against various Quebec institutions and leaders.”

  “Like the Weathermen?” Sam asked.

  “Exactly,” O’Brien replied. “Almost half of the incidents were bombings. They continued their attacks against symbols of former British rule, such as the Queen Victoria Monument, the Wolfe Memorial in Quebec City, and one of their most deadly attacks was the daytime bombing of the Montreal Stock Exchange. Twenty people were injured.”

  “How does this tie into Oliver?” Sam asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” O’Brien replied. “But I’m convinced it does. Hopefully, you can find out.”

  “Just call me Scoop Thorpe.”

  Alex laughed. “Okay, Scoop. I’ll go to work right away on that information about the FLQ.

  “Better go. I’ve still got a couple of hours’ drive ahead of me.”

  “Good luck, Sam,” Alex said. “Be careful.”

  Sam disconnected the cell phone. The mother and her daughter had just finished their pancakes. The mother wiped her daughter’s face with a napkin, moistening it with her tongue.

  The normalcy of her actions was refreshing.

  Sam arrived at the farm about eleven o’clock. He dropped his bag in his room and fired up his laptop to check for messages. The drive from Philadelphia gave him time to think about Jackie. He missed her more than he cared to admit.

  Enough of that. He needed to clear his head and get ready for his presentation that evening.

  No e-mails of importance, so Sam wandered next door to Popeye’s office. He knocked. No one answered. He tried the door—locked. Maybe they were over at the dorm. Kaminsky would need a place to stay while he and Oliver plotted their strategy.

  Sam didn’t see anyone when he walked across the barnyard. The smoke from the chimney was thicker now and straighter. He raised his face to the sky. The noon sun felt warm on his face. The icy patches around the yard had started to melt.

  When he pushed in the code at the house and opened the door, voices sounded from the kitchen. Sam moved through the small living room as quietly as he could. He stopped outside the kitchen door.

  Oliver and Kaminsky were huddled around the massive oak dining table, whispering to one another.

  Sam slipped behind the doorframe for a moment, trying to hear what they were saying. Ah jeez, he thought, too dangerous to stand here. He walked into the kitchen. “Morning. Got any coffee?”

  A large rectangular room, the kitchen contained a huge old-fashioned range and bright copper pans hanging from hooks. A man in black fatigues, chunky, with sandy brown hair, stood next to the stove turning an omelet. It wasn’t Sergeant Bacher.

  Oliver and Kaminsky stopped talking. They both looked up at Sam, like the proverbial kids caught playing with matches.

  “Ah, Sam,” Oliver stammered, “sure, there’s plenty.”

  Sam had never seen Oliver flustered. He liked it.

  Oliver motioned with his arm toward the cabinet. “Specialist Benson will get you a cup.”

  “I’ll get it. Morning, Benson.”

  Benson did not acknowledge Sam. He kept his face down toward the stove, watching the omelet. The sizzle made Sam’s mouth water.

  Sam poured a cup from the metal pot. “You two look like you’re planning something.”

  Kaminsky looked up at Sam, his eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say a word.

  Oliver recovered his presence. “Thank you for driving up to Montreal and bringing Professor Kaminsky back. I know it was a long drive.”

  “No problem. I enjoyed Montreal. Wish we’d had more time.”

  A pine desk with a phone and stacks of papers stood in one corner of the room. Antiques filled the room, giving it a lived-in feeling.

  “Ah, your friend … Jackie, is it?” Oliver paused, seemingly troubled over how to phrase his next sentence. “I’m wondering if it was a mistake for her to accompany you to Montreal. Professor Kaminsky is concerned that she has seen him. Can she be discreet?”

  Sam put his cup down on the table with a thud. “Damn right. You remember that Kassim pushed me to take a woman along as cover.”

  “She could identify him … ah … link him to us,” Oliver stammered.

  “Jackie has no idea what’s going on.” He dropped his coffee cup in the sink. “If anything happens to her … that would be very bad.”

  “Sam, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or your friend. I just wanted to make sure she would be careful with what she says.”

  Sam thought back to that first night when Oliver had ordered two of his own men shot in cold blood. He needed to warn Jackie. “I’d better go. Got some work to do before tonight.”

  “Sure you wouldn’t like an omelet?” Oliver asked.

  Sam shook his head and hurried back through the living room. He had to get to his cell phone.

  “See you tonight, Sam.” Oliver’s voice carried after Sam as if it were a cloud of poisonous gas reaching out to smother him.

  Sam jogged across the yard and pushed open the door to his office. He looked at his watch. Noon— Jackie should be home by now. He punched in the phone number at her condo. The phone rang four times before her voice mail kicked in requesting that the caller
leave a message.

  “Jackie, it’s me—Sam. If you’re there, pick up. Oliver is concerned that you saw Kaminsky. Be careful. If anything doesn’t look right, call Alex.”

  Sam threw the cell phone on the desk. Goddamn Oliver, he thought. A murderous anger crept over him, an icy rage. He’d kill Oliver if the clown tried to harm Jackie. He’d wait. He’d plan it. Sooner or later he’d find Oliver and kill him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jackie set her suitcase on the floor in the front hall. She tossed her keys on top of the circular table by the door. Tired after the drive from Philadelphia, she walked into the kitchen to get a bottle of water out of the refrigerator. The voice mails would have to wait until after she unpacked.

  She had enjoyed the trip to Montreal. If only she hadn’t had too much to drink that first night. She shouldn’t have been so hard on Sam. Another day or two in Montreal would have been fun. She had to focus on Kaminsky. Remember every detail so she could brief General Gerber.

  She glanced at her watch—one o’clock. The traffic had been stopped on the beltway. Some accident. She debated driving into the Pentagon and reporting to General Gerber. The traffic would be terrible on the George Washington Parkway. She’d spend an hour sitting in her car, watching the gas gauge go down. She’d call and check with him. If it were all right with him, she’d set up a time to meet first thing in the morning.

  Jackie walked to the window and looked out through the sheer curtains. How she loved her townhouse! History in Old Town permeated every block. It pleased her that her townhouse was listed on the historic register.

  Sam’s face flashed into her mind. He had been the best thing to happen to her in years. Jackie had spent years warding off the unwanted attentions of slimy men. Sam was different. She could tell that from their first date. He loved to tease her but respected her opinions and, yes, he even laughed at her jokes.

  Her father had disliked Sam from the start. The year Sam had spent in Iraq had made it worse. Her father had kept pushing Trenton on her. Nice guy, but he wasn’t Sam.

  Sam had become upset about the time she’d spent with Trenton. His frustration had built to a point where his stupid moods had driven her crazy. They’d finally agreed that he should move out until they could get it sorted out.