Love Thy Neighbor
Page 40
“I’ll save you some time. The paper is saying the same thing it’s been saying every day since the incident. Finger pointing over the incident at Metro Center. Twenty-six people dead, another hundred in local hospitals in various conditions, ranging from critical to simply “quarantined.” Mr. Stanley paused. “You want to fill in the blanks?”
“May get you in trouble. Classified material.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
Clark shrugged his shoulders. “Ariana was dropped off on the doorstep of Georgetown University Hospital in the throes of death. She lived just long enough to tell the authorities absolutely nothing. They believe she accidentally ingested ricin. Her chief accomplice is a Pakistani national with diplomatic immunity. But you aren’t going to hear that in the news.”
“I suppose not. There’s no way the American government is going to blame the Pakistani Embassy in Washington, D.C. of coordinating or supporting a terrorist attack on our home soil.”
“More than likely our government will use it as a stick to persuade Pakistan in other matters.”
“Now you’re thinking like a politician.”
“That’s an insult.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Mr. Stanley took a sip of his coffee and put the cup back on its saucer.
“Anyhow, looks like they are hanging the whole incident on this dead Syed character. The CIA is portraying him as the mastermind behind the attack and that faulty homemade triggers on the bombs prevented further disaster.”
“No shock there. The CIA is in the business of misinformation as much as they are in the business of collecting information.”
“Even so, I’m not sure how they managed to keep a lid on the minivan loaded with explosives at Reagan National. By the time we were removed from Gravelly Point, there were a lot of eyes on the scene: Airport police, D.C. police, tourists.”
“I guess I shouldn’t expect to see an article on a young man and police officer who prevented a thousand casualties…”
“Saving a thousand lives but losing a hundred is not much of a consolation prize.”
“No, I guess it’s not. But so far, only 26 are dead.”
“Many of those exposed won’t make it.”
The appropriate level of silence fell on the conversation with the mention of mass causalities. “Are the CIA and FBI done with you yet?” Mr. Stanley asked.
“They didn’t demand that I come downtown today.”
Mr. Stanley steered the conversation away from Clark. “Did you see they came back to clean out Coleman’s Castle?”
“I thought the house was already empty.”
“Empty is a relative term. Now, it’s empty. After they discovered the firewood laced with cyanide and realized that Allan didn’t die from lack of vegetables or exercise in his diet, I guess things changed. Last night they sterilized the place. Big trucks with no markings. Movers with masks. They took everything. I saw them wheeling out the refrigerator, the stove, the water heater. Even insulation. They took the whole shed from the backyard, uprooted from its foundation.”
“Probably the same team that went through the charred remains at Ariana’s.”
“Probably.”
“You know, at this point, I really just don’t want to know any more. I’m sure there are a few bodies out there we’ll never know about. Nazim was never found, for one, but you know he didn’t make it far. Detective Wallace told me they are investigating the disappearance of a delivery guy from the company that sold Ariana the machines used to process the ricin. He also mentioned that they’re looking into the suspicious death of a sales guy at an outdoor adventure store in Bailey’s Crossroads. They traced some of the material found in the warehouse back to the store and have the dead employee on surveillance tapes selling camping equipment to Ariana.”
Mr. Stanley paused. He wiped a crumb from his morning toast off his burgundy pajama top and took a sip of coffee.
“You still interested in finding out whether Ariana had anything to do with your father?”
Clark looked out the window at a fresh blanket of snow on the tree limbs. “My father lived a long life. Nothing will bring him back. Besides, my mother would never allow for his body to be exhumed. She still has the last tube of toothpaste he used, for crying out loud.”
“How about your police officer friend? How did he fair with all this?”
“We all got the same deal. The detective, Lisa, the sheriff, myself. Keep our mouths shut and all will be forgiven.”
“Not much of a deal for heroes.”
“Not much of a choice either.”
“And the IRS?”
“I am still working through that one.”
“Well, just remember what Ben Franklin said.”
“What’s that?”
“Death and taxes, son. Death and taxes. The two are inevitable.”
Chapter 65
Clark approached Lisa at a secluded table at the back of Jammin’ Java. A band was setting up for the evening’s early performance, a trolley full of equipment parked next to the stage. The long haired guitarist was perched on a stool on the far side of the stage, strumming an acoustic guitar and staring out the window at the alley behind the building. A heavy-set man in need of a belt stooped and re-stooped to pluck equipment from the trolley. The rest of the band entourage moved around the stage at a slow steady pace. Mics, speakers, wires, and instruments all carefully found their way to the appropriate locations.
Clark feigned left and then went right, kissing Lisa on the ear as he sat. He placed his backpack conspicuously in the middle of the table.
“How are you holding up?” Lisa asked.
“Good. Today was quiet. Hopefully it is the beginning of a trend. And you?”
“I filed an official report on my involvement in the case directly with the Commissioner of the IRS. I will have an official warning placed in my permanent file, but the warning will be without explanation. If I keep my nose clean, the warning will be removed in two years. A slap on the wrist, essentially.”
“But without saying why.”
“Exactly.”
“Our government … I swear.”
“Well, I think both you and I would be in more serious trouble if not for the fact that you saved a few lives and the fact that the CIA and FBI don’t want any of this to go public. A grad student, an IRS agent, a police officer, and a sheriff were all one step ahead of the FBI. Technically, the CIA was one step ahead of all of us. I mean, their agent was implanted in a terrorist cell on U.S. soil. That is some modicum of success.”
“True enough.”
Clark started to speak again, mumbled something unintelligible and then paused.
Lisa rescued him. “What’s in the bag?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You put it on the table. You must want to show me something; otherwise you would have put it on the floor.”
Clark looked at the bag sheepishly. “Well, you know how I was adamant about my father being on the up and up with regard to paying taxes?”
“Yes, I remember very clearly.”
“Well, there is a teeny tiny possibility that I may have been wrong.” Clark unzipped the backpack and removed the old shoebox he had found in the basement. He pulled the lid and put it on the table next to the backpack and the shoebox.
“Holy crap,” Lisa replied, looking at the contents.
“Yeah.”
“How much is in there?”
“Well, I didn’t take it out of the rubber bands, but I flipped through the upper corner of the bills. Somewhere just over $67,000.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In the basement. But I have been carrying it around in this bag for the last couple of days. I was kind of hoping I would be mugged so I wouldn’t have to make a decision on it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I was going to.”
“But you were thinking about keeping it? Please tell me that is not the case.
”
“I would be lying if I said ‘no.’”
Lisa sighed and rubbed her temples with both hands. “Well, I will handle it.”
“Sorry,” Clark said. “There was a lot of temptation there.”
“I am going to chalk it up to stress. Who knows, maybe this will count in my favor. I mean, technically, if you did just find this in your house, then I don’t see how either of us could end up in any more trouble. But you should have called me sooner.”
“I thought about bringing it over to your apartment the other night, but I didn’t want to send the wrong message. Some girls would take issue with a man sleeping over and leaving a pile of cash on the bedside table on their way out.”
“Some. But this is not a few hundred dollars. Some girls may actually be flattered by this much cash. It could do wonders for a girl’s ego.”
“How about just a cup of coffee from a broke grad student who happens to also be a super hero in disguise?”
“I guess it will have to do,” Lisa replied in feigned disappointment. “For starters.”
About the Author
Mark Gilleo holds a graduate degree in international business from the University of South Carolina and an undergraduate degree in business from George Mason University. He enjoys traveling, has lived and worked in Asia, and speaks fluent Japanese. A fourth-generation Washingtonian, he currently resides in the D.C. area. His two most recent novels were recognized as finalist and semifinalist, respectively, in the William Faulkner-Wisdom Creative writing competition. The Story Plant will publish his next novel, Sweat, in 2012.
Table of Contents
Start
Title
Copyright
Acknowledgments
Author's Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Author