“And were they doing business here?”
“Not really. They’d made contacts. It’s easy to make contacts in that business when you’re from the Middle East. But it seemed to basically be a shell. A terrorist front.”
“And. .?”
“And it’s been closed down. The people responsible for it have been arrested. They’re being dealt with.”
“How did Cooke pull off the doubleheader? How’d he work for Midas the same time he was supposed to be flying for the Air Force?”
“He was AWOL. It’s what led us to him in the first place. We’d been looking for him ever since his commanding officer made it official.”
Justin thought his head might burst. They had answers for everything. It was all getting tied up in a neat and seamless package. “Who killed Cooke?” he asked.
“We believe the crash could have been an accident. Although it’s possible it was suicide. Cooke flew Bashar Shabaan, the man who blew himself up at Harper’s, into the area. It’s possible he felt remorse when he realized the consequences of his support. Or fear because he realized he’d be caught.”
“And his wife?”
“Also involved with the cell. Our people believe she became unhinged after the Harper’s incident. When Cooke died, she blamed America and our government. She was clearly deranged or she couldn’t have done what she did.”
Justin spoke very slowly and carefully. “You’re saying she was involved in the McDonald’s bombing?”
“Yes.”
“She blew up her own children?”
“These are very sick, evil people we’re dealing with.”
“Yeah,” Justin said. “They sure are.”
“We’re not going to be revealing to the public what I just told you. It wouldn’t do us any good to announce that a U.S. military man had switched sides, and ultimately it’s not really relevant to the story.”
“But you’re telling me.”
“As I said, your investigation of Captain Cooke is what led you here. We believe you deserve to know the truth.”
“What about Martin Heffernan?”
“Heffernan did us a favor. He happened to be on the spot, saw Cooke’s ID, and called Cooke’s commanding officer. Zanesworth had been alerted that Cooke was under investigation and he immediately contacted us.”
“‘Us’ meaning. .”
“Meaning those of us directly involved in the war on terrorism.”
“So you guys told Heffernan to wipe the plane clean, take any ID. . ”
“We made the connection immediately. As I said, we’d been suspicious of Cooke and his wife for some time. We made an immediate decision to keep their involvement quiet. You can question that decision, it was not made easily, but it’s the one that was made and it’s one we’re not deviating from.”
“Why didn’t you question Theresa? After her husband died, she could have been a valuable source.”
“Who says we didn’t question her?”
“Well. .” Justin hesitated. “She did.”
“Was she nervous when you spoke to her? Jumpy? Frightened?”
“Yes.”
“That’s because we were putting the screws on her. She gave up valuable information right away but we didn’t let up. It’s largely through the information we gathered from her interrogation that we found the cell in Delaware. She was guilty as hell, that woman.”
Justin stayed silent, trying to poke holes in the story he was hearing. But he wasn’t sharp enough. He was too overcome with fatigue.
“Is that it for your questions?” Starched Fatigues asked.
“What about Heffernan’s death?”
“A tragic coincidence. Conspiracy theorists would have a field day with that one, but it’s absolutely true. The guy was a regular at a restaurant and somebody else decided to blow that restaurant up.”
Starched Fatigues reached into a desk drawer, pulled out a bottle and two small paper cups, the same cups Justin had been served water in during his incarceration. The cups were white and flimsy, the kind one got in a dentist’s office.
“You know,” the man behind the desk said, “in my job you have to get used to one thing: how much people hate you. You can see it in their eyes. Their whole face, really.”
“Must be tough.”
“Not really. I never minded very much. It’s understandable, their hatred. I talk to people who have secrets. Their job, and sometimes their passion, is to keep those secrets. My job is to find out what they are. Cross-purposes. It’s like the Arabs and the Jews. Or cowboys and Indians. It’s hard not to hate the person who’s trying to take what you’ve got. I mention all this because I thought you should know, I can see in your face how much you hate me. But there’s nothing else you’ve got that I want to take, so it’s wasted effort on your part. And ultimately, it can’t do you any good.”
The soldier filled both cups halfway, the equivalent of two shot glasses.
“We are not apologizing to you, Mr. Westwood, but that doesn’t mean we don’t sometimes regret the actions that have to be taken when serving our country.” He handed one cup to Justin, who, as he leaned forward, saw the label on the liquor bottle for the first time.
“Havana Club,” Justin said.
“Fourteen-year-old Havana Club. The best rum in the world. It’s like fine cognac.”
“Cuban.”
“We are in Cuba, after all. It’s the worst thing about the damn embargo-you can’t buy this stuff at home. It’s liquid gold.”
“Can’t get this in America? Anywhere?”
Starched Fatigues shook his head. “There’s got to be some reward for being stuck in such a godforsaken place.”
Justin took a sip of light brown liquid. It scorched his throat as it went down and filled his belly with heat. But the flame that spread inside his stomach didn’t compare to the flame that was raging inside his head. He remembered sitting in Theresa Cooke’s kitchen and Theresa showing him the exact same bottle, saying her husband had brought it back from a Midas-related trip to Florida.
This is Cuban, Terry. Not from Florida, he’d said.
I know, she’d told him. Hutch said they sold it in Florida ’cause there are so many Cubans there. Refugees.
Another one of Hutch Cooke’s clues? Another part of the game he thought he was playing to win?
“Ever tasted it before?” Starched Fatigues asked.
“I saw a bottle once, but I never tasted it.”
“And?”
“It’s extraordinary,” Justin said.
The soldier stood from behind his desk, downed the rum in one quick swallow, dropped the cup on his desk. Justin watched it teeter before toppling on its side.
“Time to go,” the soldier said.
Justin, too, downed his rum, stood up, and his legs immediately gave way. He stumbled to the desk, grabbed on to it for support. Starched Fatigues grabbed his arm to keep him steady.
“There’ll be food on the flight,” the soldier said. “Sandwiches. It’ll give you some strength.”
“Thank you,” Justin said. “Sorry, the rum must’ve gotten to me.” He gently pulled himself away from the other man’s grasp. “I think I’m okay now.”
Starched Fatigues walked him to a small plane parked on a runway no more than seventy-five yards from where they’d been sitting. Halfway there, they were joined by a pilot. The pilot made no acknowledgment of Justin’s existence and Justin returned the favor. Before they boarded, Starched Fatigues pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and indicated that Justin should put his hands behind his back. He did as instructed and was cuffed. No apology was made. Starched Fatigues simply said, “Precautionary.”
As they stepped up into the plane, Starched Fatigues grabbed the back of Justin’s shirt. He didn’t grab him too tightly, just enough to hold him back.
“Your investigation is over,” he said. “You do understand that. There’s nothing more you can accomplish.”
Justin nodded. “I under
stand,” he said.
“Just so you know, if it was up to me, I would have killed you. But I have to follow orders.”
“Orders from who?”
“That doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“It does to me.”
“What matters is that the orders are for here and now. You keep screwing around in this thing, those orders won’t apply anymore. And I’ll be free to do what I think should have been done in the first place.”
Starched Fatigues let his fingers relax. He and the pilot climbed into the front of the plane. Justin was put in the cramped backseat. It was the same kind of plane he’d been flown down there in; the same kind of plane that Hutchinson Cooke crashed. Before takeoff, Justin leaned forward and said to Starched Fatigues, “Hey, what’s today’s date?”
“December twenty-first. You’ll be home in time for Christmas.”
Justin leaned back, but suddenly moved his head forward again. Into Starched Fatigue’s ear he said, “So, since we’re flying companions, do I get to know your name?”
The man’s head swiveled around and Justin saw another thin-lipped smile. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Some things do have to remain secret.”
“I guess they do,” Justin said. And as he spoke he could feel the flimsy paper cup that was tucked into the right pocket of his khakis, the cup he’d picked up off the desk when he’d pretended to stumble. He had handled it carefully, barely lifting it with his fingertips, trying to touch only the rim, and gently easing it into his pants as they’d walked.
Some things do have to remain secret, Justin thought.
And as the plane began to taxi, as it rocked back and forth and then lifted off the ground, Justin smiled, too.
The first smile he’d managed since he’d been in this hellhole.
It felt even better than the water and the soap and the sunshine because he knew, as long as he was careful, that this was one man whose secrets he was going to learn.
Merry Christmas to me, he thought.
31
She came running as soon as he called.
He dialed her cell phone because he didn’t want to speak to anyone else at the station; the more he thought about it, the more his plan developed in his head, he knew it would be better if as few people as possible knew he was back in town. But he called Reggie because he had to call Reggie.
When she stepped into his living room there was an awkward moment. They had never had a chance to relax as lovers or even savor a moment of the passion they’d shared, so neither was exactly sure how to act. Reggie took the lead when she really saw him-saw the weight he’d lost, and the bruises on his face, and the combination of pain and relief in his eyes. She went to stand in front of him, then put her arms around him. She didn’t kiss him, just laid her head down on his shoulder, comforting him and letting him know how much comfort he gave her.
When she backed away a step she smiled at him. It was an anxious smile. She reached back for his face, put her palm on his thick beard and stroked it.
“I’ll shave it,” he said.
She shook her head. “No. It feels like a part of you right now and I want all parts of you to be here.”
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
“There are so many things I want to tell you. And ask you.”
“Me too. But we’ve got lots of time now.” He touched her chest, the spot where he’d seen her shot. “How are you?”
“I thought I was dead when he pulled the trigger. But I was just sore for a few days. It wasn’t bad at all.”
“That was the worst part of it for me. I couldn’t even let myself think about what had happened to you.”
“It’s over now,” she said. “Isn’t it?” And when he didn’t answer, she continued, “It’s on the Net and we’ve all been watching the news all day long. They caught all the people responsible for everything, Jay.”
“I know they have.”
“So it’s really over. Everything can go back to normal.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Everything can go back to normal.”
She took his hand and led him upstairs. “That was the worst thing for me, too, not knowing what happened to you,” she said. “When I woke up, two of those. . those men. . were here. They told me they were FBI and they wouldn’t tell me where they’d taken you. They wouldn’t tell me anything, just asked me all sorts of questions. What I knew about the plane crash, what I knew about all sorts of things, none of which I knew anything about. They took all the papers you had in the living room, all the files. And your computer. They told me not to say anything to anyone. I said I had to say something, you were the fucking chief of police, and one of them said he’d take care of it, he’d talk to the mayor and take care of it.”
They were in the bedroom now and she sat on the bed.
“I didn’t know what to do,” she told him. “I thought you were dead.”
“So what did you do?”
She looked embarrassed. “I called your father.”
Justin looked surprised. “That was smart,” he said. “That was good.”
“Well, you’d told me a little bit about him, and I’d seen some background when I Googled you. I knew he was rich and I figured rich people would have connections.”
“What did he say?”
“He was very calm, he made me feel better. He said he was going to talk to your friend in the FBI, the one up in Boston.”
“Wanda.”
“Yes. He said she could help.”
“She’s all right? Wanda’s okay?”
“I guess she is. She must have gotten involved.”
“Did you talk to Leona?”
Reggie nodded. “Yes. She called me, came to my house, said she’d talked to the FBI, said the one who’d talked to me was named Schrader.”
“What else did she say?”
“She said you were involved in something to do with national security. That you’d be okay, but that you were going to be kept in custody for a while. I was going crazy, Jay. They said I couldn’t say anything, if I did I’d be arrested, too. I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t until your friend, the big one, came and told me you were okay. .”
“Bruno.”
She nodded. “He wouldn’t give me any details, said he couldn’t. But he came and said you were all right, that I shouldn’t worry, and that you’d be back soon. How did he-”
“I don’t know,” Justin said. “But I’ll find out.”
“Jay, what happened? Why were you arrested? I just couldn’t believe-”
“That’s the right thing,” he said. “Don’t believe anything. Just believe me.” He touched her cheek lightly, ran his finger down to her neck. “How was it handled? What do people think happened?”
“No one knows a thing. At least I don’t think so. I mean, you’re not the most social person in town. So we told the other guys at the station that you were called away for a family emergency.”
“They bought that?”
“They seemed to. No one asked too many questions. Occasionally, they’d ask if I’d heard from you or if everything was okay. But I just said that Leona was the only one in touch with you.”
“Nothing in the paper? No media?”
“No.”
“So no one really knows what happened. Or knows I’m back.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t think anyone knows.” She took his hand in hers and now she kissed the tip of his fingers. “I was going crazy,” she told him. “When I woke up and you were gone, I didn’t know what to do.”
“There was nothing you could do,” he told her.
“But now there is.”
“Yes,” he said. “Now there is.”
They made love very gently this time. There was none of the passion or the physicality that was there the first time they’d been in this bed together. She gasped when she saw his body-the bruises, how much weight he’d lost-and she kissed him lightly, careful not to hurt him. She made no demands on him, just h
eld and kissed him and touched him until she coaxed him inside her and they came together, shuddering. She held him tightly for a long time after they came. She thought he was asleep in her arms but then he spoke quietly.
“Who was in charge?” he asked. “Who did Leona put in charge?”
He felt her shift her weight and he heard, rather than saw, her smile, could tell from the quiet way she breathed in and exhaled. “Me,” Reggie told him. “I’ve been the acting police chief. It’s a miracle there hasn’t been a crime wave.”
They both started to laugh. He kissed her on top of the head.
“I’ve never been so happy to give up a job,” she said.
But Justin immediately shook his head. “No,” he told her. “Not yet.”
“Why not? You’re back, Jay. No one has any idea what happened. It’ll be fine.”
“I’m just not ready yet. I’d like to stay quiet for a while.”
“Why?” she asked.
He glanced away from her. Instead of answering, he said, “You and Gary getting along?”
“Sure,” she answered. “He’s a nice guy. I mean, he doesn’t like having to report to a woman, but he’s been pretty professional about it. Yeah, we get along fine.”
“He’s the only one you can tell. In the morning. Ask him to come over here around noon. But make sure he doesn’t tell anybody else that I’m back. Okay?”
She raised her head. In her eyes he saw a bit of confusion, an equal amount of suspicion.
“You said it was over,” she whispered.
“I know I did.”
“But it isn’t, is it?”
“It’s almost over,” he told her.
In the morning, he sent her home. Asked her to go about her business as usual, reminded her to say nothing about his return except to Gary. He knew it wouldn’t be a secret for long, someone would drive by his house, someone would spot him through a window, someone would call him up, and it’d be all over town. That was fine. He didn’t need to keep hidden for long. He just wanted a brief period of peace and quiet. All he needed was a little bit of time.
The first thing he did was call Bruno Pecozzi. Bruno didn’t sound surprised to hear his voice. Didn’t seem surprised about anything.
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