by Mark Goodwin
Benny leaned against the rail. “What did he want?”
Noah rarely heard Benny talk. He thought it was curious that he’d come outside to speak with him. Of course, everyone was offering support in their own way. “He had some ideas on how to help out.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Oh?” Noah said.
“He just started coming around all of a sudden. He shows very little attention in the actual Bible studies. I’d be very careful around him if I was you.”
Noah was very surprised to hear Benny talking like that. “Is it just a hunch, or do you know something specific?”
Benny said, “He reminds me of some folks I used to work with. Bad people.”
“Before you worked at the church?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you used to work?”
Benny turned to go back in the house. “I went through something similar to what you’re going through. We’ll sit down and talk when we have a little more time.”
Noah was getting to know a different side to some of the people in the Bible study.
CHAPTER 14
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
Benjamin Franklin
Everett went to his storage locker Saturday morning. He turned on his new burner phone to see if there were any messages. There was nothing. He took the burner and his tablet and headed to Dunkin’ Donuts. Everett bought a large coffee, powered up his tablet, and sat down to work.
Everett navigated to Armslist.com and selected Virginia. Rather than select a specific category of firearms, he scrolled down the page to see what was available.
Armslist.com was an online source for firearm classified ads. They featured private sales, which required no formal filing of paperwork in most states.
He found several nice-looking handguns but wasn’t well versed in which ones were high quality and which ones weren’t. He’d been given only an abbreviated introduction to firearms during his orientation with the CIA. Since he was an analyst, very little time was spent on weapons training.
“This looks familiar. I think one of the trainers at orientation had something like this. Kimber Eclipse Pro 2, $1,200. Only eight rounds in the magazine.”
Everett continued perusing the ads. “This looks a little more like a good middle-of-the-road pistol. I don’t need a Cadillac, but I don’t want a piece of junk either.” He read the ad to himself, just below a whisper. “Sig Sauer P229 .40 caliber. It comes with two 12 round magazines. That’s more like it. And it’s almost half the price, $625. But it’s all the way in Stafford. I wanted to take some food to the cabin. Looks like I’m taking a road trip today.”
Stafford was sixty miles south of Everett’s apartment. The cabin was one hundred miles west of Stafford, and then he still had seventy-five miles to get back home. Even with Everett’s heavy-footed driving, he was looking at three hours total drive time.
Everett called the seller from his burner phone and arranged a time to pick up the pistol.
The man answered. “Hello?”
“I’m calling about the Sig. I’ll take it.”
“I’m running a couple of errands right now. I should be home in two hours.”
“I can be there in two hours,” Everett said.
“Do you have a concealed carry license?”
“No, but I have my law enforcement ID; will that work?” Everett didn’t flash his agency ID too often, but he understood its value.
“That’ll work. I’ll text you the address,” the man said.
His first stop was the bank. Everett asked to withdraw $9,000. He was told that $5,000 was the maximum.
“Why is that?” he asked.
The teller said, “It’s our policy. We don’t keep that much money on hand. If you want to make a larger withdrawal, you have to fill out a request form and schedule ahead of time. It’s for your security.”
Everett shook his head. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
The teller just smiled.
Everett filled out a new withdrawal slip and handed it to the teller, who gave him the money.
Next he headed to the grocery. He threw several bags of dried beans and white rice in the cart, followed by lots of pasta and canned pasta sauce. He also loaded up on peanut butter, crackers, and cookies. Noting that his cart was now full, Everett checked out and placed the contents in the back of his car. Before he left Ashburn, he returned to the coin shop.
The old man greeted him as he walked in the door. “You came back fast.”
“I heard there was a sale.”
The old man laughed. “You might say that. Silver lost another twenty percent by the time the market closed yesterday. Premiums are down, too.”
“How does that work? The premiums, I mean,” Everett asked.
The old man walked over to the case with the modern coins where Everett was standing. “The mints charge a premium over the spot price of the metal. Might be five, ten, or twenty percent. It depends on demand. On top of that, when the market starts making wild swings, the secondary buyers and sellers assess their own premium or discount. If the price is shooting up, lots of buyers chase the market higher, and the secondary market will tack on an extra five or ten percent. When it starts tumbling, people generally run for the exits, and they want out, even if they have to take a bigger hit because there are no buyers. That’s when I buy.”
Everett looked at the selection of silver and gold coins in the case. “So you’re buying now?”
“Are you here to sell those two coins back already?”
Everett chuckled. “No, I’m actually looking to buy a few more.”
“Good time to buy. Tubes of the Eagles are only $1,920 today.”
“Wow! That’s a big drop from Thursday.”
The man took a tube of the Eagles out and handed it to Everett. “The combined drop in the metal price and the premium really adds up.”
Everett inspected the tube of twenty Silver American Eagles. “How much are the gold coins?”
The man took out a tray of the coins. “The one-ounce Gold American Eagles are $2,740. A little less for a Gold Canadian Maple Leaf.”
Everett picked up the half-ounce Gold Eagle. “And these are half of that?”
“No, the smaller denominations have a higher premium. That’s $1,450.”
Everett tried to quickly calculate the increase in the premium. “A little over twenty percent premium. What’s the premium on the quarter-ounce Eagles?”
“Roughly twenty-five percent. They’re $750.”
Everett pulled a stack of hundreds out of his pocket. “I’ll take one of the quarter-ounce Gold Eagles and a tube of Silver Eagles.”
The man slid the coins toward Everett and placed the others back in the case. “$2,670. Looks like you still have a lot of paper in your hand. Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?”
Everett counted out the money. “I’m sure. I’ll be back, but it looks like the price might keep falling. I want to keep a little powder dry.”
Everett stuck the coins and change in his pocket, returned to his car, and headed to Stafford.
An hour later, he arrived. It was a nice house in a good neighborhood, so he felt less nervous about the transaction.
The man walked outside to meet him. “Nice car.”
Everett figured the seller must have been relieved to see that he wasn’t some junkie. “Thanks.”
“What branch of law enforcement pays well enough to afford that?”
Everett knew he’d have to have this conversation sooner or later, so he took out his CIA credentials and handed them to the man.
The man took his ID. “Oh! That one!”
Everett followed the man into the house. The pistol was sitting on the kitchen counter. “Looks brand new.”
“I take care of my guns. Here’s the sales form for you to fill out. I filled out the seller’s info. I’ll photocopy it so you can have a copy for your records.”
Everet
t filled out the form and handed it back.
The man took the form and turned to go copy it. “I’ve got a Remington 870 if you’re looking for a shotgun.”
“How much?”
“$350. I put a tactical stock on it and a nice sling. I’ll throw in two boxes of shells.”
Everett considered the fact that he was still under $1,000 for both guns. “Okay. Do you have any ammo for the Sig?”
“I’ll give you a box of fifty full metal jackets and twenty-five rounds of hollow point if you take both guns at the price I’m asking.”
It hadn’t occurred to Everett that he could have negotiated the price lower. No matter, it seemed like an honest deal. He counted out the money. “Wrap it up.”
The man returned with the shotgun, ammo, and sales form. He added the serial number of the shotgun to both copies of the form and handed one to Everett. “Nice doing business with you.”
“You too, take care.” Everett collected his new purchases and headed to his car.
Everett sped down the road toward the cabin. Once he arrived, he knocked to see if Jones was there. No answer, so he let himself in.
He found the ladder that led up to the loft and headed up to scope it out before trying to lug his supplies up. “Wow, look at that.”
Jones had several shelves filled with assorted canned goods, MREs, and dry foods. There was also a large black safe. “I wonder what he’s got in there.”
Everett went back to the car and started hauling his groceries inside and up the ladder. He was in great condition, but by the third load, he started feeling the strain of lugging the heavier food items up the ladder. “I wonder how he got that safe up here. I guess, being a Mason, he probably knows the secret method the Egyptians used to build the pyramids.”
Once the supplies were unloaded, Everett walked around and looked over the property. The leaves were changing colors, and the smell of fall was in the air. He breathed in the serenity and remembered what Jones had said about complexity being evidence of a designer. Everett looked at one of the orange leaves on the ground. He picked it up. He looked at the individual veins and considered how they all worked together with the branches and roots of the tree to form a complex system. Then he thought about the way the fall colors looked like a painting. “Maybe it is silly to think this all just happened by itself. I don’t know.”
Everett decided today was not the day to think about such things. He got in the car and headed home.
He arrived back in Ashburn in record time. Everett stopped by the storage locker and returned the tablet and burner. He also left the shotgun and ammo in the locker. I’ll keep the pistol at the apartment, he thought. It might be nice to have around. The gold and silver, I’ll keep those at home too, but I need to find a better way of securing them besides my sock drawer.
Once he arrived home, he checked his phone, which he had purposely left on the charger by his bed. “Three texts from Ken. ‘Are we still on? Where are you? Don’t leave me hanging.’”
Everett snickered as he dialed the phone. “Serves him right for pushing this on me.”
Ken was loud. “Bro! Where you been? I’ve been texting you all morning!”
Everett turned the volume down on his phone. “I’m here. Chill out. I’ve got like two hours.”
“Yeah, but it’ll take you an hour to get downtown.”
Everett looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Downtown?”
“Yeah, I got reservations for Groove. It’s that new place on H Street.”
Everett shook his head. “I thought we were doing something around here. I don’t want to drive into DC. That place is a war zone. Parking, traffic – what are you doing to me?”
“Give me one shot, bro. Trust me, you’re going to like Courtney.”
“One shot.” Everett made sort of a growling noise to show his displeasure as he hung up.
He jumped in the shower, shaved, and put on his nicest clothes . . . just in case.
He was ready on time, but had to have a quick look at his new pistol before he left. He loaded the magazines and practiced working the slide to load and unload the chamber. Then he looked around the house for a good place to stash the gold and silver. He decided to hide them in the freezer. He opened one of his frozen dinners, took out the plastic pouch inside, and placed the silver and gold in the box. He super-glued it closed and stuck the box back in the freezer. “Not exactly the right weight for a frozen meatloaf dinner, but it will have to do for now.” He checked the time on his phone. “Great, now I’m late.”
Everett ran to his car and headed downtown. When he arrived, there were no parking spaces. He finally found a garage four blocks away. He checked the time. “I’m twenty minutes late.” He decided against running to the restaurant, as he didn’t want to show up sweating.
He arrived at the hostess desk. “I’m with the Gordon party.”
The hostess smiled. “Oh yeah, they’re waiting for you.”
Once at the table, Everett greeted Ken and his girlfriend, Lisa.
Ken introduced Everett to Courtney.
Everett was surprised. She really was beautiful. She wore stylish glasses and had long blonde hair and an hourglass figure.
“Nice of you to join us,” Courtney said.
He suddenly wished he’d made more of an effort to be on time. Rather than apologize, he went for the joke. “Ken’s been trying to find someone to cook for me.”
Courtney peered over the top of her glasses, leaning in toward Everett. “Are you sure you want to open with that one?”
Everett repositioned himself. He’d already lost his tactical advantage. He’d have to start over and regain lost ground. This was bad, but he’d come back from worse situations. He took her hand. “Hi, I’m Everett Carroll.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Carroll. I’m Courtney Hayes.”
Everett kissed her hand and sat down.
Courtney cracked her first smile. He thought he might have seen her blush, but he kept his head in the game.
Appetizers arrived, and Ken said, “We ordered some starters. I knew you’d be here soon.”
“Great,” Everett said.
The server asked, “Can I take everyone’s order?”
The others started ordering, and Everett looked at the menu to make a quick selection. By the time the server got to him, he was ready. “I’ll take the lobster ravioli.”
The server collected the menus and Everett took a few appetizers.
Everett looked at Courtney. He still couldn’t believe how pretty she was. “What area do you live in?”
“South Laurel.”
Everett took a drink of his water. “In Maryland. You’re on the other side of DC. Isn’t that near Fort Meade?”
“It’s near Laurel.”
Everett knew exactly where it was. It was minutes away from NSA headquarters in Fort Meade. Her attempt to redirect him was as good as confirmation. “Ken tells me you work for H and M. That’s a cyber-security firm, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You know, the government has a big cyber-security facility over that way.”
Courtney lowered her eyebrows and tilted her head. “Oh, really?”
Everett remembered the files that Jones had forwarded to H and M. “Yeah, it’s all top secret. That’s probably why you haven’t heard of it.” Of course, the NSA headquarters in Fort Meade wasn’t secret at all.
Courtney stirred her drink with her straw and took a sip. “That’s probably why.”
The main courses arrived and they continued talking. They talked about where they had gone to school, family life, hobbies, and interests. Courtney was really into the outdoors, while Everett was into movies. It wasn’t a perfect match, but they found common ground in exercise. As the night moved on, Everett could see that Courtney was letting her guard down.
Courtney and Lisa excused themselves to go to the ladies room.
Ken moved over to sit next to Everett. “What do you think? Was I right?�
��
Everett fought to hold back his smile. “You were right.”
“Nice recovery, bro. I thought you blew it in the first thirty seconds. Looks like she’s coming around.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to try to completely redeem myself somehow. I’ll order dessert. What does Lisa like?” Everett asked.
“Anything chocolate.”
Everett motioned for the server to come over. “What are your best desserts?”
The server replied, “We have an incredible crème brûlée, chocolate ice cream cake, and a cherry cheesecake.”
“We’ll take one of everything,” Everett said.
The girls returned, and Everett informed them of the dessert selection.
“That’s very sweet, but I can’t have dairy,” Courtney said.
Everett’s face dropped. “Would you like a coffee?”
“No thanks.”
The desserts came, and Everett served a small portion of each one to everyone except Courtney. He felt like a complete loser. Why didn’t I wait and ask? Now she has to watch everyone else eat while she has nothing.
Courtney stuck her spoon onto Everett’s plate and took a huge bite of his ice cream cake. “I suspected that you might work for the intelligence community since you work in an office park out past Langley, but I guess I was wrong.”
Everett was stuck. “Why is that?”
Courtney took a bite of his cheesecake. “You obviously can’t read a bluff. There’s no way the Company would ever hire someone like you.”
No one called it the Company except people who worked in the intelligence community. Everett had met his match. She could take a joke, and she could dish it out.
Everett grabbed the check when it came and paid the server. He took out his phone and said to Courtney, “Can I have your number?”
“Why?” Courtney asked.
He couldn’t believe how hard she was making this. She evidently knew he was hooked. “In case something happens to Ken and Lisa. I’d like to have an emergency contact.”
“Good answer.” She proceeded to give him her number. “Can you cook?”
Everett was caught off guard. “What?”
“Lisa said she was going to find someone to cook for me. You better know how to cook.” Courtney grabbed her purse, said goodnight to Ken and Lisa, kissed Everett on the mouth, and walked away.