“What?”
“- he got hit on the head and passed out. A voice, ‘Control,’ he called himself, came over the microphone on his shoulder and told everyone listening to shoot us on sight, shoot to kill, and don’t let us leave the house alive.”
“Who are you and why don’t you know any of this?” asked Richard.
The officer bit her lip, then said, “I’m Emily Clark, a member of the Newark Police Department. Unless I’m mistaken and I don’t believe I am, you’re Alex Stewart and Richard Gregg. Now,” she demanded, “what the hell is going on here?”
Alex couldn’t help exploding with a short guffaw. “You tell us! You’re the one who forced us to come here. You’re the one with the gun.” Try as he might, he could not keep the distress out of his voice.
“You don’t want to shoot us,” said Richard calmly. “We’re not the bad guys.”
The officer looked over at Richard. “Shit!” she said. “You guys are for real, aren’t you? Christ, why does this kind of crap always happen to me?” She put the pistol back in its holster and moved over to remove the cuffs from Alex and Richard.
Once free. Alex moved back about six feet and shouted at the officer. “What the hell is going on here? This makes the second time a police officer pulled a gun on me and threatened to shoot! Why? I’ve done nothing!”
“Calm down, Alex,” said Richard. “Give her a chance to explain. We’re okay.”
Alex leaned on the trunk of the car; the two of them faced the cop and waited for an explanation.
“I was contacted by an old colleague, a retired FBI agent, and told to come down here and look for you. He thought you might show up here. Apparently, he knew you, Alex, were an aerobatic enthusiast and he knew you have a plane. He knew the plane’s tail number and he thought this would be a natural place for you to seek out to hide. Under duress, one usually gravitates toward the familiar.”
“So what was with the gun and handcuffs?”
Emily shrugged. “I had to get you guys out of there quickly and as unnoticed as possible. Also, dammit, I don’t know what’s going on and what I’m getting into. The word is you killed a cop and everybody’s out looking for you. Now my colleague told me you're innocent, and I believe him. But I had to make sure I wasn’t walking into disaster, had to get control as soon as possible. And I applied a little pressure to see what would shake loose. I still don’t know what’s going on, but you guys sure don’t appear sinister to me.”
Richard gave her a quizzical look. “Just like that? You were going to shoot us and now you can trust us? You don’t know us.”
“No, dammit, I don’t. But someone I would trust with my life told me you were unwittingly put in grave danger and I needed to help you if I found you. Well, I found you, so here we are.”
“We never killed anyone,” said Alex. “A cop is dead, but another cop, an Officer Martin, killed him.”
“I believe you. Not because you’ve convinced me, but because I believe absolutely in the judgment of my FBI colleague. Okay? Are we okay here? Now,” she gave a heavy sigh, “I’m in a position where I need to help you guys, in opposition to my brothers-in-blue, and it’ll probably louse up my career permanently. But what you’re telling me doesn’t make any sense. Cops don’t shoot each other and we don’t go around trying to kill civilians on sight that aren’t an immediate threat, even if it's believed they've killed a cop. You must have misunderstood. You must have misinterpreted something somewhere along the line.”
“It’s kind of hard to misinterpret ‘Shoot Gregg and Stewart on sight. Shoot to kill. Don’t let them leave the house alive,’” said Alex. “That’s a direct quote.”
“We were there and saw Martin shoot the other cop without warning. Can’t confuse that,” said Richard.
“And I’m sure as hell not confused about the guns firing and bullets hitting my house,” said Alex. “I’m not confused about running as hard as I could as bullets are whizzing all around me.”
“Then they can’t have been cops. They must have been impostors.”
“Then who were they?” asked Richard. “They were all dressed in uniforms and wore badges. All the cars they came in, at least the ones I saw, were police cars.”
“And one of the cops, the one killed, I’ve seen before,” said Alex. “I know he was real, for sure.”
Officer Clark stood as if perplexed, shaking her head in apparent disbelief. “It makes no sense.”
“What about this FBI guy that sent you here?” asked Alex. “Does he know what the hell is going on?”
“He knows more than he told me,” said Clark. “But I didn’t get the feeling he knew much.”
“Officer -”
“- Emily -”
“- Emily. We’re innocent. We’ve done nothing. Can’t we just surrender and work things out in custody? Can’t you bring us into a police station somewhere, or maybe the FBI, under your protection, and get all this sorted out? We were heading over to the FBI in Philly to turn ourselves in when you showed up.”
Emily was quiet for a few moments, thinking. “No. My gut tells me that would be disastrous for us all, including me. My colleague told me not to trust anyone, especially my superiors or other authorities. He was very particular about not trusting the FBI. I thought that sounded strange at the time; now I’m not so sure…”
“Can we go talk to this FBI guy?” asked Richard. “Can we find out what he knows? Maybe he can tell us how to get out of this.”
“That is the obvious next step,” said Emily. “Wait here. I’ve got to go change. I don’t want to stand out.” She went to the trunk of the car and pulled out a small suitcase, then moved over toward a stall in the back of the barn. “Excuse me for a moment, guys,” she said with a smile as she disappeared behind the wall.
Alex dropped down on the ground, sat with his legs out in front of him and let out a long sigh. The tension of the last few minutes drained him. “Man, I could really use that change of underwear right now. I thought we were dead for sure.”
Richard tilted his head toward Emily’s stall. “She should be some use helping us to stay away from the cops, anyway.”
“If she can be trusted.”
“Trusted with what? We don’t have any secrets.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Our lives.”
“Well, she didn’t shoot us on sight. And I don’t think we’re any safer without her.”
Alex leaned back against the car. “Good point.”
Emily reappeared, dressed in slacks and polo shirt.
Nice! thought Alex. She hides a lot under that uniform and Kevlar. I don’t think dressing like that’s going to keep her from standing out!
Chapter Eight
“Do either of you have a cell phone? Have you used a credit card? Made any phone calls at all? Done anything that can be traced?” They were northbound on the interstate toward New York. Emily drove, Alex was in the front seat next to her. Richard was in the back seat, sitting with his eyes closed.
“I have a cell phone, but it’s turned off,” said Alex. “Last used a credit card in Georgetown. No calls or anything else that would identify us.” Alex grinned. “I do watch movies.” He paused for a moment in thought. “Except the plane. I guess that can be found easily enough.” He felt the blood drain from his head and his stomach twist with nausea. “Christ, I just might lose the plane...”
“We’ll have to assume they’ll know you were at the airport. If I found you, so can they. With a little luck, it’ll take them awhile. Best case, a day or two. Worst case, they’re at the airport now. Either way, we’re not there and I don’t think we left a trail.” Emily looked in the rearview mirror. “Is he awake?” she asked. “Can he hear me?”
Alex turned toward the back seat. “He’s meditating. I don’t know squat about meditation, but I’d bet he’s fully aware of what’s going on around him. He’s just not paying attention to it.” He looked at Emily. “So, where are we going?” He was still more than a bit on edge
over having a gun pointed at him. Again.
“Meditating, huh.” Emily seemed to chew on that a bit. “I’m not sure where to go. Right now, I’m heading in the direction of New York because that’s where Doug said he was going – Doug Brown is the name of the agent I told you about. I plan on calling him when we get close. He’ll tell us where to meet. So, why don’t you tell me what you know?”
Alex hesitated and then answered, “Let’s start by going over what you know. What’s this guy Doug told you?”
Emily paused, apparently a little irritated. “Alright. Doug called me in Newark. It’s been a long time, years, since I last talked to him. He tells me he’s been onto something for the past six months and he needs my help. He says there’re a couple of guys who are being hunted down by law enforcement, you two, who are innocent, in grave danger and need help. He thinks there’s some kind of conspiracy going on that involves people in very high places. I’m supposed to find you and do what I need to do to keep you alive. Doug is hoping you have information that will help him figure out whatever it is he’s working on. He says you have an aerobatic airplane, he gives me the tail number, and suggests you might be at the Flying W because there’s a contest there this weekend. He gives me a prepaid cell phone, which can’t be traced, and a phone number to use to contact him if I find you. I’m supposed to call only on even hours on the hour. He tells me your names and I recognize them as being the ones that belong to two guys who are supposed to have killed a cop. That’s all I know.”
Alex frowned. “Tell me again why you’re helping us? You’re a cop, the cops are chasing us, and they think we killed a cop. Why in the world would you want to help us? Why should we trust you?”
Emily sighed. “When I was a rookie, I was chosen to liaison with the FBI on a case we were working on. It was supposed to be a safe assignment with an experienced law enforcement officer, but things went sour. I made some bad choices and almost got myself killed. Doug saved my ass. We worked together on a couple of other cases, then he retired. Even though I haven't seen him in years, I would still do whatever he asked. He’s one of the few people in this world I would trust without question. Why should you trust me? I don’t see you have much choice.”
“Is there any reason why anyone would be looking for you?”
Emily swung the car onto an off ramp. “Not yet. Let’s grab some breakfast at Denny’s. I’m hungry.” She nodded toward a restaurant sign that could be seen from the freeway.
They pulled into the parking lot, roused Richard from his reverie, and went into the restaurant. The tantalizing aroma of coffee, bacon and eggs filled the air as they were seated at a booth near the front window.
“This should be good,” said Emily. “We can keep an eye on what’s going on outside from here. Okay, it’s your turn to tell what you know.”
They spent the next thirty minutes, while they ate, going over what happened to Richard and Alex. They discussed the various theories they explored earlier.
“I still think it has something to do with drugs,” said Alex. “What else is going to generate this kind of interest?”
“I don’t think so,” said Emily. “Apparently, there’re some very important people involved, including some in the FBI, if I understand Doug right. It would take a hell of a lot of drugs to gain that kind of support.” She paused for a few seconds. “But, I agree with you that Richard’s past doesn’t seem relevant. Whatever’s going on seems to have started on Richard’s arrival to Boston, or shortly before. Alex, you got a pen and a piece of paper? Let’s write down what we know and see if we can draw any connections.”
Alex felt his shirt pocket and found a pen there. He usually had one. He pulled an unused paper placemat toward him, turned it over and started to write. “Okay, let’s start with Richard’s arrival to Boston.” He made some scratches with the pen. No marks were left behind. “Damn. Pen’s out of ink.” He glanced at the pen. “Hey, Richard, your pen seems to be kaput.” He held it out for Richard to take.
Richard glanced at the pen and said, “That’s not my pen. I’ve never seen it before.”
“Yes, it is. It's the pen I borrowed from you in the ER. I put it in my pocket to give back to you and forgot. I took it from… your …bag…” Richard and Alex looked at each other, the pen, at each other and then at the pen again as awareness began to dawn on them.
“What?” asked Emily. “What’s going on?”
Alex turned the pen over in his hand, scrutinizing it closely. It was big and fat, but otherwise looked like an ordinary pen. “Remember how we told you the cop who almost shot us in the house was searching for something in Richard’s bag? This was in the bag and I took it out before the cop searched it. Could this be what he was looking for?”
“A pen?” asked Emily. She sounded doubtful. “Richard, do you have any idea how it got into your bag?”
“No, none. I had personal belongings in the bag – things like prayer books and beads, stuff like that. Some money, tickets. It didn’t leave my side after I left the monastery in India. Except when I had it locked up in a locker in the Darjeeling train station.”
Alex twisted the barrel of the pen to take it apart and see if there was anything unusual about it. He slid the barrel away from the tip and a small metal cylinder fell onto the table. The three of them stared at it closely.
“What is that?” asked Emily.
“I don’t know. It sure as hell isn’t a cartridge.” Alex picked it up and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It had a groove around its middle. He twisted the two ends of the cylinder and it came apart. The inside was lined with something that looked like thin felt and contained a transparent vial, about the size of a short piece of pencil. The fit was snug and secure, but Alex was able to remove the vial easily. It appeared to contain a clear liquid.
“Seems to be glass, but what’s the liquid? Could it be drugs?” asked Emily.
“There’s not very much of it, whatever it is,” said Richard.
“Not enough to explain the amount of interest in it,” said Emily. “At least for any kind of drug I know about.”
“Good point.” Alex turned it over and over in his hands. “I don’t see an obvious way to open it. There’s no writing on it I can see. It looks like some kind of lab vessel, hermetically sealed.”
“Uh, Alex, maybe we shouldn’t open it before we know more about what we’re dealing with,” said Richard. “It’s probably protected in that metal case for a reason, don’t you think?”
“Mmmm…” said Alex as he continued to roll it in his fingers. “Let’s keep it protected in the pen and see if we can contact this guy Doug.” Even if Doug wasn’t someone he could trust, it seemed he knew something of what was going on. And Emily was right, they didn’t have much choice. Alex put the pen back together and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “What time is it?”
“Nine-fifteen,” said Emily as she looked at her watch. “Don’t you think we should keep that somewhere safe?”
“Like where?”
“Well, just be careful with the damn thing. That’s the only solid clue we’ve found.”
“We have forty-five minutes before you can make your call to Doug,” said Alex. “Call even hour on the hour, isn’t that what you said?”
Emily nodded.
“So, let’s pay up and go somewhere private to make that call.” It was about time they got some answers.
. . .
Back on the freeway, they headed north toward Newark. Richard had been doing a lot of traveling in the past few days and it was starting to get old. It was, what? three days ago? four? he was calmly, peacefully meditating on his cushion. What happened? It was supposed to be a boring, uneventful, run-of-the-mill, tiring trip back to New England and a new start at life. Get an apartment, a job, get settled and learn how to apply what he learned and trained for at the monastery to the lifestyle he had been born to. Seemed simple enough. But he couldn’t even get that right. Now lead was flying, people were dying a
nd his mere presence was endangering everyone around him. How had he screwed up?
He sat in the back seat and looked out the side window. His mind wandered. The flat New Jersey countryside flowed past at seventy miles an hour; other travelers surrounded and passed them on the road. Most of the cars and trucks carried just one person. He thought about the contrast with India. Unlike many places in the world, people in America had so much stuff. And each particle of this stuff had linked to it emotional baggage that jerked our psyches this way and that. It all caused so much frenzy. Much more here than in India. He knew about and expected that. He was confident he could deal with it and still be a good Buddhist. But he wasn’t prepared for the turmoil the three of them were dealing with now.
Beneath it all was a growing worry of how he would respond if push were to come to shove. He felt himself being drawn into circumstances that could force him to take action he would regret. He didn’t want to stumble like he had with Gary all those years ago. He was pretty clear about what things he shouldn’t do. He shouldn’t kill, lie, steal - do harm to anyone in any way. But what should he do?
He thought back to a talk given by his lama years ago, before he went to India.
. . .
“The three poisons,” began the gentle old soul, translated by an English-speaking monk. “Attachment, aversion and ignorance.”
Richard went to hear his lama give a talk in Boston. It was arranged by a Tibetan Buddhist group who converted a small business building into a temple some years before. There was an audience of about fifteen seated on meditation cushions in the shrine room. They faced the lama who sat cross-legged on a cushion raised on a low platform. Incense and candles were burning to one side on a small table. The shrine was against one wall, not used during the talks. The building’s windows let in sunlight which made the polished hardwood floor glow like gold.
“All emotions can be classified as belonging to one of these. When you have something you want, that is attachment. When there’s something you don’t want, that is aversion. Ignorance is having no reaction at all – ignoring what’s there. You have an emotional reaction to all objects in your life - you either want them, don’t want them, or don’t even notice them. This is a fact of life. There is nothing wrong with this. It’s just the way it is. Problems arise when we choose to give importance to them, to take action based on these three poisons.”
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