‘This is your captain speaking. We have been cleared to land at Dulles International Airport. Would the cabin crew please prepare for landing. On behalf of United Airlines, I’d like to welcome you to the United States.’
Connor flicked open his passport. Christopher Andrew Jackson was back on his home soil.
25
MAGGIE ARRIVED AT Dulles Airport an hour early - a habit which used to drive Connor mad. She checked the arrivals screen, and was pleased to see that the flight from San Francisco was scheduled to land on time.
She picked up a copy of the Washington Post from the newsstand and wandered into the nearest coffee shop, perched herself on a stool at the counter and ordered a black coffee and a croissant. She didn’t notice the two men occupying a table in the opposite corner, one of whom also had a copy of the Washington Post which he appeared to be reading. But however hard she’d looked, she wouldn’t have seen the third man who was taking more interest in her than in the arrivals screen he was looking up at. He had already spotted the other two men in the corner.
Maggie read the Post from cover to cover, checking her watch every few minutes. By the time she had ordered her second coffee, she was delving into the supplement on Russia published in anticipation of President Zerimski’s forthcoming visit to Washington. Maggie didn’t like the sound of the Communist leader, who seemed to belong in the last century.
She had downed her third coffee twenty minutes before the plane was scheduled to land, so she slipped off the stool and headed for the nearest bank of phones. Two men followed her out of the restaurant, while a third slipped from one shadow into another.
She dialled a cellphone number. ‘Good morning, Jackie,’ she said when her deputy answered. ‘I’m just checking to see if everything’s OK.’
‘Maggie,’ said a voice trying not to sound too exasperated, ‘it’s seven o’clock in the morning, and I’m still in bed. You called yesterday, remember? The university is in recess, no one is due back until the fourteenth of January, and after three years of being your deputy, I am just about capable of running the office in your absence.’
‘Sorry, Jackie,’ said Maggie. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you. I forgot how early it was. I promise not to bother you again.’
‘I hope Connor gets back soon, and that Tara and Stuart keep you fully occupied for the next few weeks,’ said Jackie. ‘Have a good Christmas, and I don’t want to hear from you again before the end of January,’ she added with feeling.
Maggie put the phone down, realising she had only been killing time, and shouldn’t have bothered Jackie in the first place. She chastised herself, and decided she wouldn’t call her again until the New Year.
She walked slowly over to the arrivals gate and joined the growing number of people peering through the windows at the runway, where early-morning flights were taking off and landing. Three men who weren’t checking the insignia of every aircraft that arrived continued to watch Maggie as she waited for the board to confirm that United’s Flight 50 from San Francisco had landed. When the message finally appeared, she smiled. One of the three men punched eleven numbers into his cellphone, and passed the information back to his superior at Langley.
Maggie smiled again when a man wearing a 49ers cap emerged from the jetway - the first passenger off the ‘red-eye’. She had to wait for another ten minutes before Tara and Stuart came through the door. She had never seen her daughter looking more radiant. The moment Stuart spotted Maggie, he gave her the huge grin that had become so familiar during their holiday in Australia.
Maggie hugged them in turn. ‘It’s wonderful to see you both,’ she said. She took one of Tara’s bags and led them towards the subway which led to the main terminal.
One of the men who had been watching her was already waiting in the short-term parking lot, in the passenger seat of a Toyota transporter with a load of eleven new cars. The other two were running across the lot.
Maggie, Tara and Stuart stepped into the cold morning air and walked over to Maggie’s car. ‘Isn’t it time you got yourself something more up to date than this old scrapheap, Mom?’ Tara asked in mock horror. ‘I was still in high school when you bought it, and it was second-hand then.’
‘The Toyota is the safest car on the road,’ said Maggie primly, ‘as Consumer Reports regularly confirms.’
‘No thirteen-year-old car is safe on the road,’ replied Tara.
‘In any case,’ said Maggie, ignoring her daughter’s jibe, ‘your father thinks we should hold on to it until he begins his new job, when he’ll be given a company car.’
The mention of Connor brought a moment of awkward silence.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing your husband again, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ said Stuart as he climbed into the back seat.
Maggie didn’t say, ‘And so am I,’ but satisfied herself with, ‘So this is your first visit to America.’
‘That’s right,’ Stuart replied as Maggie switched on the ignition. ‘And already I’m not sure I’ll ever want to return to Oz.’
‘We have enough overpaid lawyers in the States already, without adding another one from down under,’ said Tara as they waited in line to pay the parking fee.
Maggie smiled at her, feeling happier than she had for weeks.
‘When do you have to go home, Stuart?’
‘If you feel he’s already outstayed his welcome, we could just turn round and take the next flight back, Mom,’ said Tara.
‘No, I didn’t mean that, it’s just …’
‘I know - you do love to plan ahead,’ said Tara with a laugh. ‘If she could, Stuart, Mom would make students register for Georgetown at conception.’
‘Why didn’t I think of that?’ said Maggie.
‘I’m not expected back at my desk until the fifth of January,’ said Stuart. ‘I hope you’ll be able to tolerate me for that long.’
‘She’s not going to be given a lot of choice,’ said Tara, squeezing his hand.
Maggie handed a ten-dollar bill to the cashier before pulling out of the parking lot and onto the highway. She glanced in the rear-view mirror, but didn’t notice a nondescript blue Ford about a hundred yards behind her, travelling at roughly the same speed. The man in the passenger seat was reporting in to his superior at Langley that the subject had left ‘Kerbside’ at seven forty-three and was headed in the direction of Washington with the two packages she had picked up.
‘Did you enjoy San Francisco, Stuart?’
‘Every moment,’ he replied. ‘We’re planning to spend a couple more days there on my way back.’
When Maggie glanced in her rear-view mirror again, she saw a Virginia State patrol car coming up behind her, its lights flashing.
‘Is he following me, do you think? I certainly wasn’t speeding,’ said Maggie, looking down to check her speedometer.
‘Mom, this car is practically an antique, and should have been towed away years ago. It could be anything, from your brake lights to defective tyres. Just pull over.’ Tara looked out the back window. ‘And when the traffic cop speaks to you, be sure to flash that Irish smile of yours.’
Maggie pulled over as the blue Ford drove by in the centre lane.
‘Shit,’ said the driver, as he shot past them.
Maggie wound down her window as the two policemen stepped out of their patrol car and walked slowly towards them. The first officer smiled and said politely, ‘May I see your licence, ma’am?’
‘Certainly, officer,’ said Maggie, returning his smile. She leaned over, opened her bag and began rummaging around inside as the second patrolman indicated to Stuart that he should also wind down his window. Stuart thought this was an odd request, as he could hardly have been guilty of any traffic offence, but as he wasn’t in his own country, he thought it wiser to comply. He wound down the window just as Maggie located her driving licence. As she turned to hand it over, the second policeman drew his gun and fired three shots into the car.
The two of them walked quickly back to the
ir patrol car. While one eased the car into the early-morning traffic, the other phoned the man in the passenger seat of the transporter. ‘A Toyota has broken down, and is in need of your immediate assistance.’
Soon after the patrol car accelerated away, the transporter carrying eleven brand-new Toyotas drew up and stopped in front of the stationary vehicle. The man in the passenger seat, wearing a Toyota cap and blue overalls, leapt out of the cab and ran towards the stationary car. He opened the driver’s door, lifted Maggie gently across to the passenger seat and pulled the lever that opened the car’s bonnet, then leaned over to where Stuart was slumped, removed his wallet and passport from his jacket pocket and replaced them with another passport and a slim paperback book.
The driver of the transporter opened the Toyota’s bonnet and checked underneath. He swiftly deactivated the tracking device and slammed the bonnet closed. His companion was now seated behind the wheel of the Toyota. He turned on the ignition, put the car into first gear and slowly drove up the transporter’s ramp, taking the one space left. He switched off the ignition, put on the handbrake, fastened the car’s wheels to the ramp and rejoined the driver in the cab. The entire exercise had taken less than three minutes.
The transporter resumed its journey towards Washington, but after half a mile it took the air freight exit and drove back in the direction of the airport.
The CIA officers in the blue Ford had come off the highway at the next exit, then doubled back and rejoined the morning traffic heading into Washington. ‘She must have committed some minor offence,’ the driver was saying to his superior at Langley. ‘It wouldn’t be surprising with a car that old.’
The officer in the passenger seat was surprised to find that the Toyota was no longer registering on his screen. ‘They’re probably on their way back to Georgetown,’ he suggested. ‘We’ll call in the moment we regain contact.’
As the two agents sped towards Washington, the transporter carrying the twelve Toyotas turned left off the Dulles service road at a sign marked ‘Cargo Only’. After a few hundred yards it turned right, through a high wire gate held open by two men in airport overalls, and drove down an old runway towards an isolated hangar. A lone figure stood at the entrance to guide them in, as if the transporter was a recently-landed aircraft.
The driver brought the vehicle to a halt next to an unmarked van. Seven men in white overalls quickly emerged from the back. One of them undid the chains that secured the old car to the transporter. Another took his place behind the wheel, released the handbrake and allowed the Toyota to roll slowly back down the ramp to the ground. The moment it came to a halt, its doors were opened and the bodies inside were carefully lifted out.
The man in the Toyota cap jumped out of the transporter and took the wheel of the old car. He threw it into first gear, swung round in a circle and shot out of the hangar as if he had been driving it all his life. As he passed through the open gate the bodies were being gently placed in the rear of the van, where three coffins were waiting for them. One of the men in overalls said, ‘Don’t put the lids on until you’re approaching the plane.’
‘OK, doc,’ came the reply.
‘And once the hold’s been closed, remove the bodies and strap them into their seats.’
As another man nodded, the transporter backed out of the hangar and retraced its route down the old runway and out of the gates. When the driver reached the highway he turned left and headed towards Leesburg, where he would deliver eleven new Toyotas to the local dealer. His fee for six hours’ unscheduled work would allow him to buy one of them.
The wire gate had already been locked and bolted by the time the van drove out of the hangar and began heading slowly towards the cargo docking area. The driver passed rows of cargo planes, finally stopping at the back of a 747 marked ‘Air Transport International’. The hold was open, and two customs officials stood waiting at the bottom of the ramp. They began checking the paperwork just as the two CIA officers in the blue Ford drove past 1648 Avon Place. After cautiously circling the block, the agents reported back to Langley that there was no sign either of the car or the three packages.
The old Toyota came off Route 66 and joined the highway into Washington. The driver put his foot down hard on the accelerator and sped towards the city. Over his earphone he listened to the two officers in the Ford being instructed to go to Mrs Fitzgerald’s office to see if the car was in her usual parking space behind the Admissions building.
Once the customs officials had satisfied themselves that the coroner’s documents were in order, one of them said, ‘OK. Remove the lids.’
They carefully checked through the clothes, and in the mouths and other orifices of all three bodies, then countersigned the documents. The lids were replaced, and the men in white overalls carried the coffins one by one up the ramp and laid them side by side in the hold.
The ramp of the 747 was being raised as the old Toyota drove past Christ Church. It sped up the hill for another three blocks before screeching to a halt in the driveway of 1648 Avon Place.
The driver had already slipped around the side of the house and let himself in through the back door by the time the doctor began checking the pulses of his three patients. He ran upstairs to the master bedroom, and opened the chest of drawers by the side of the bed. He rummaged among the sports shirts, took out the brown envelope marked ‘Not to be opened before 17 December’, and slipped it into an inside pocket. He pulled down two suitcases from the top of the wardrobe and quickly filled them with clothes. Next he removed a small cellophane packet from his overalls and slipped it into a cosmetics bag which he threw into one of the cases. Before he left the bedroom he switched on the bathroom light, then the light at the bottom of the stairs, and finally, using the remote control, the television in the kitchen, setting the volume to high.
He left the suitcases by the back door and returned to the Toyota, raised the bonnet and reactivated the tracking device.
The CIA officers had begun slowly circling the university parking lot for a second time when a blip reappeared on their screen. The driver quickly turned round and headed back towards the Fitzgeralds’ home.
The man in the Toyota cap returned to the rear of the house, grabbed the suitcases and let himself out by the back gate. He spotted the taxi parked in front of Tudor Place, and jumped into the back just as the two agents returned to Avon Place. A relieved young man called Langley to report that the Toyota was parked in its usual place, and that he could see and hear a television on in the kitchen. No, he couldn’t explain how the tracking device had been out of action for nearly an hour.
The taxi driver didn’t even turn his head when the man jumped in the back of his cab carrying two suitcases. But then, he knew exactly where Mr Fitzgerald wanted to be taken.
26
‘ARE YOU TELLING ME that all three of them have disappeared off the face of the earth?’ said the Director.
‘It looks that way,’ replied Gutenburg. ‘It was such a professional operation that if I didn’t know he was dead, I would have said it had all the hallmarks of Connor Fitzgerald.’
‘As we know that’s impossible, who do you think it was?’
‘My bet is still Jackson,’ replied the Deputy Director.
‘Well, if he’s back in the country, Mrs Fitzgerald will know her husband is dead. So we can expect to see her home video on the early-evening news any day now.’
Gutenburg grinned complacently. ‘Not a chance,’ he said, passing a sealed package across the table to his boss. ‘One of my agents finally found the tape, a few minutes before the university library closed last night.’
‘That’s one problem dealt with,’ said the Director, tearing open the package. ‘But what’s to stop Jackson telling Lloyd who’s really buried in the Crucifix?’
Gutenburg shrugged his shoulders. ‘Even if he does, what use is the information to Lawrence? He’s hardly going to phone up his pal Zerimski, a few days before he’s due to arrive in Washington on a g
oodwill visit, to let him know that the man they hanged for planning his assassination wasn’t a South African terrorist hired by the Mafya after all, but a CIA agent carrying out orders that had come directly from the White House.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Dexter. ‘But as long as Jackson and the Fitzgerald women are out there, we still have a problem. So I suggest you deploy the best dozen agents we’ve got to track them down, and as quickly as possible - I don’t care what sector they’re working in or who they’re assigned to. If Lawrence can prove what really happened in St Petersburg, he’ll have more than enough excuse to call for someone’s resignation.’
Gutenburg was unusually silent.
‘And as it’s your signature at the bottom of every relevant document,’ continued the Director, ‘I would, alas, be left with no choice but to let you go.’
Small beads of sweat appeared on Gutenburg’s forehead.
Stuart thought he was coming out of a bad dream. He tried to recall what had happened. They had been picked up at the airport by Tara’s mother, who had been driving them towards Washington. But the car had been stopped by a traffic cop, and he had been asked to wind down his window. And then … ?
He looked around. He was on another plane, but where was it going? Tara’s head was resting on his shoulder; on her other side was her mother, also fast asleep. All the other seats were empty.
He began to go over the facts again, as he always did when preparing for a case. He and Tara had landed at Dulles. Maggie had been waiting for them at the gate …
His concentration was broken when a smartly dressed middle-aged man appeared by his side and leaned over to check his pulse.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Stuart quietly, but the doctor didn’t reply. He carried out the same cursory examination on Tara and Maggie, then disappeared back up to the front of the plane.
The Eleventh Commandment (1998) Page 23