“Oh my God, I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Marcus removed the Lodge folders. All of them.”
She saw his expression drop.
“Oh, come on silly, he found me in the archives. I had a perfectly good reason for being there.”
Roarke stopped listening. Shivers rippled through his spine. She was compromised. Katie smiled at him, trying to make the moment easier. Roarke’s senses heightened. He looked passed her eyes, over her shoulder, to the bar behind her, about twenty feet away. Reflected in the mirror was a man who looked out of place at 75 Chestnut. He was leaning over a short drink that hadn’t been touched. For a split second he appeared to be studying them in the mirror. When Roarke locked on him the man hastily disengaged. It was enough of a sign to convince Roarke one of them was being followed.
The appetizers arrived. A country paté full of flavor and a delectable Maryland crab cake, prepared with a spicy remoulade and in a crispy, but flaky crust. The crab cake in particular bordered on the erotic. It was deliciously moist and succulent inside. They both felt a certain sexiness about the texture, yet from entirely different points of view. After the first bite, Katie decided to add to the moment. She cut a portion with her fork and fed it to Roarke. He automatically closed his eyes and no longer simply tasted the food. He lost himself in the sensuality of the flavors and where it was taking him. He returned the favor to the equal delight of Katie.
As he fed her, Roarke watched the man at the bar. Dark. Maybe late-30s. Solid body. Very solid. He wore a black crew neck shirt and black loose fitting linen sports coat affixed by the middle button. Black pants. Dark glasses. He went back to the jacket. It was probably one size too big for him. Enough to hide a gun.
Roarke put a name on his adversary. Giving the man an identity made him human; someone he would take seriously, even deadly seriously. This man would be Crabbe, in honor of the first course.
“Katie, excuse me. Gotta make a quick trip to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
In one motion, Roarke rose and slide the manila envelope under his jacket. He ignored Crabbe and walked to the back of 75 Chestnut and into the men’s room. He went to the only stall, opened the envelope and removed the microfilm print of the photograph. The quality was questionable, but there was young Teddy Lodge getting honored as an Eagle Scout. He wore a proud smile with his chest puffed out and his shoulders raised. Lodge’s merit badge sash was filled with the honors he earned on his way to Eagle. He looked like a soldier whose ribbons distinguished his battles, only these were for such achievements as swimming, lifesaving and good citizenship. Roarke realized he never wore the commendations he’d earned in the service. Like this one now, most of his assignments were never formally acknowledged.
He put the photograph in his inside jacket pocket and ripped up the envelope into small pieces. It took three flushes to get it all down. When he finished he returned to the table, catching Crabbe peripherally. He hadn’t moved or touched his drink.
“Sorry. So, what are we having for dinner?” he asked Katie.
“Well, this time, I have my eye on the lobster lasagna,” she said. “The waiter took one to that couple.” She nudged her shoulder toward a table to the right. “Looks scrumptious.” She paused, “Like you.”
“Well, the lobster it is.”
“Lobster lasagna,” she corrected.
He missed the compliment, his mind was elsewhere, figuring and planning on what to do about Crabbe when it was time to leave.
The dinner was a delight. Katie’s recommendation was superb. The lobster’s shell was placed on top of layers of pasta filled with lobster amidst an ocean of tomato-cream sauce. If it was too rich, neither Katie nor Roarke minded. It was the way they fed each other that made it so enjoyable. For dessert they chose another appealing creation, the tiramisu. Katie considered the evening quite romantic, except for times when Roarke seemed distracted. The dinner was filled with soft and sensual foods; intentional choices that she hoped would serve as the appetizer for the rest of the evening.
As they ate, they talked about themselves and what filled their lives.
“I worked too hard at college,” Katie explained. “I never had any free time at Smith. Everyone else spent weekends in New Haven or New York. I lived in the library for four years. I gained weight, forgot about friends and ignored men.”
“Something changed. You’re tanned, you obviously exercise and I don’t feel ignored,” Roarke said.
“Thank you, Mr. Perceptive. I sort of came out of my shell at Harvard Law School. I met a med student who was the polar opposite. Everything came easily to him. He could touch a text and come away knowing the material. And that’s what he did to me. The trouble was I stopped studying and started playing. I guess I’m catching up for lost time.”
Katie took a sip of Dolce, a delicious late harvest desert wine from Far Niente vineyards in Napa. Roarke preferred his port, a 20-year-old Fonseco. “A long story short, it took me an extra year to get through Harvard.”
“And your med student?”
“He became a doctor and as far as I know he’s now practicing on someone else,” she said laughing. “But he did teach me a thing or two. I picked up sailing because of him. I exercise pretty rigorously. And I developed into the woman who sits before you.”
“Who is most delightful,” Roarke dared to say.
“And you, Mister Roarke. Is there anything you can tell me about yourself?”
The question he always avoided answering.
He hesitated and looked everywhere but at Katie.
“Oh come now, it can’t be that hard.”
His eyes met hers. He smiled. He actually wanted to tell her.
“You’re something. You know that?”
“I know. But we’re not talking about me. Now where were you born?”
Roarke took a big sip of his drink and gave in.
“I was born in Phoenix.” And he stopped.
“Well that clears it all up.” She made a gesture in the air jokingly and said, “Check please.”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “You win. My father was a long haul truck driver and my mom did every odd job imaginable during the year so she could take off summers. We’d all drive back and forth across the country. I have vivid memories of those great stretches of road—through Utah, Colorado, Wyoming. I loved it. A lot of country music and laughing together.”
“When I was ten, my father’s company went under and he took another job at a company based in Canoga Park, California, just outside of Los Angeles. We moved and it was pretty hard on me. The neighborhood was rough and we lived in a shitty tract house. My father always said it was temporary. But we never left.”
“They’re still there?”
“My dad is. Retired. My mom died,” Roarke said sadly.
Katie watched his whole physique, totally contained a moment ago, change. She sensed the presence of a young boy inside this hardened man.
“I’m sorry,” she said taking his hand.
“Me, too. Cancer. She was a two-pack a day smoker. It was awful.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen. Not a fun time. Of course, my dad had to keep driving. He was away about twenty-five days out of every month, so I kind of became a latch key kid and a surrogate son to a neighbor down the street. They basically took over and it wasn’t quite good enough.”
“What do you mean?” Katie asked.
“I lived in gang territory.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“Hispanic and Black turf. Block by block. And I couldn’t ever seem to get to school or back home without trouble. I did learn how to run fast,” he added with a chuckle. “But a lot of times I didn’t get away. So, just to stay alive, I took up with some white kids I’d never otherwise hang around. And I picked up all the bad things you can imagine.”
Roarke paused. He was ready to stop, having told her far more than he ever felt possible.
“You really want to hear this?”
Katie squeezed his hand and caressed his fingers with her thumb, encouraging him to continue.
“Summers were okay because I’d go on the road with my dad. Before I had my license he had me driving the semi while other truckers kept an eye out for police and radioed us if I had to pull over and switch seats. Hell, I think I was only fifteen. And it was the most fun I ever had. I got damned good at driving the thing at 90.”
“During my junior year at school the gang stuff got worse. I’d been a decent student up until then, but it all went to shit. One day I got caught running out of a 7-11 with some awful donuts I lifted. Donuts. A big heist. Well, I ran right into a police car. I mean right smack into it as it was pulling up. The clerk came screaming out of the store. I threw the donuts at him and tried to take off. Now here’s where it gets interesting. A cop got out, grabbed me by the arm, got my right hand and put me in some sort of hold. Not a hard one, but I couldn’t move. I’d never seen anything like it before. I was completely immobilized. He told me to give him money for the donuts, which I did, and then he asked me to get in the back of his cruiser. He wasn’t really asking. I’m cleaning up the story a little.”
“I’m sure you are. Go on,” Katie pronounced with real interest.
“Well, I got very, very scared. Scared about what my dad would do. And scared that I had blown it. Basically, I wasn’t a bad kid. Maybe he sensed it. The cop just watched me in the rear view mirror. We must have sat there for ten minutes before he turned around and said something.”
Katie followed the story word for word. “What did he say?”
“He gave me a choice. Go to jail, where he figured I’d be rather unhappy. Or drive across the valley to see a friend who he said would straighten me out.
“Now I didn’t know who the ‘friend’ was, but the idea of jail wasn’t on the top of my list. He said I had to make up my mind by the time he returned to the squad car after giving the clerk my money.”
Roarke’s lips were dry from all of his talking. He finished his glass of port, wiped his mouth and asked, “Are you sure I’m not boring you?”
“Oh, no. Tell me. What happened? Who’s the friend?”
“He came back with a coffee for himself and a donut for me. Jesus, that surprised me. And he asked if I’d made a decision. I was slow on the uptake. I saw his eyes in the mirror close. ‘Sorry, kid, you’re going to jail.’
“I said, ‘Wait, wait! Please!’ We sat there for another few minutes. Finally he said, ‘A few minutes ago you wanted donuts real badly. Not hungry now?’ Well, I started crying. ‘Okay,’ I said. And I had a bite. We still sat there and then I gave him, what do they call it, the magic words?”
“‘I’m sorry?’”
“That’s exactly what I told him. I saw him crack a smile and then we left. After about a mile I asked who we were going to see.”
“Who was it?”
“He didn’t say a word. We got on the freeway and drove for a good twenty-five minutes. A few blocks before stopping he told me, ‘You can take a bus to here.’ He pointed to the intersection. ‘It’s about ninety minutes each way. Twice a week. If I hear you’re not coming and you don’t have a fucking good reason, I’ll throw your ass in jail so fast you won’t know what happened.”
“So where?”
“An academy for martial arts.”
“Karate.”
“Actually Tae Kwon Do. And it changed my life.”
“We walked in and he spoke to an Asian man about 5’8” who didn’t look particularly strong. I learned differently. He walked over to me and bowed. Not knowing what to do, I automatically bowed back. ‘Very good,’ he said in a Korean accent. ‘He’ll make a good student.’ He bowed to the policeman and went to a display counter where he pulled out a traditional white uniform for me. ‘Here, put this on. It will fit.’ Apparently he was used to the cop hauling in students.”
“This is incredible,” Katie said excitedly. Who was he?”
“His name is Jun Chong, and he’s one of the leading martial arts masters in the country. His Tae Kwon Do classes are based on respect, discipline, character building and oh yes, self defense. And he is incredible.”
“So you did it? You went right into it?”
“Instantly. And was I ever bad. But I went there every week. Not twice a week, but four times a week. I trained every chance I had except when I was on the road with my dad. And my grades went up. I developed confidence. And word got around, too. The townies stopped messing with me. I never even had to fight to prove myself.”
As Katie listened she became more aware of the strength and power of the man opposite her. His muscles pushed at the seams of his shirt and jacket sleeves. His face appeared rugged and tight. She imagined him naked and became breathless at the thought. But his eyes still gave him away as the sensitive boy who got caught by the policeman. Katie leaned across the table and kissed him.
“What’s that for?”
“That? That’s for starters,” she said with a coy smile. “Now go on. You’re still only, what, seventeen?”
“Right,” Roarke said smiling. “That was nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. There’s more where that came from, but go on.”
“Well, okay.” He was flustered and liked it. Recovering he said, “Let’s see. During a demo my senior year I saw an army guy talk to Master Chong. I didn’t pay too close attention until my Master signaled for me. I’d just broken three separate boards with three kicks while jumping in the air and not touching the ground. Two were held to the side, another higher up. I ran over and bowed and he said, ‘Mr. Roarke, meet Lieutenant Cutler. He wants to talk to you.’”
“I didn’t know it then, but apparently he was from a place called ‘The Fortress,’ Fort Bragg, North Carolina,” Roarke explained. “A fairly foreboding location I came to know quite well. Army Special Operations Command. Abbreviated USASOC. Apparently my martial arts training gave me a leg up for his particular line of work.
“Which was…”
“Same question I asked.”
“And he said?”
“‘None of my business unless I made it my business.’”
“Oh that answers everything.”
“He told me I had to accept the job offer on faith. That I was ready and that he wanted me. I said I needed to talk to three people first.”
“Three?”
“My father. Master Chong. And a policeman in Canoga Park.”
“What did they say?” Katie begged.
“My dad said he was sorry he hadn’t been there for me, but I should do what I needed to do. Master Chong bowed at the waist, put his right palm over his left fist in greeting and said I should serve my country. And the policeman, Jim LaRosa, hugged me like I was his own son and cried. He had paid for all of my studies. All of them.”
Tears formed in Katie’s eyes and soon spilled down her cheeks. Roarke reached over and kissed them away. He continued quietly. “Two years later I went into the field and there wasn’t a desert hole or a jungle high hide where I didn’t think of LaRosa and how much he helped me.”
Katie fought back more tears and flashed a confused look. “A jungle what?”
“A high hide. A place to hide, way up. Usually waiting for animals. But I tracked the two-legged kinds. The ones with guns.”
“Where?”
“That’s one thing I can’t really talk about.”
“What did you do?”
“That’s another. But I can tell you one thing,” her eyes sparkled through her tears. “I saw a lot of the world for free.”
“Oh you,” she said pulling one hand away to dab her cheeks with the napkin. “Well, now you’ve settled down for a nice safe job like protecting the President of the United States.”
He laughed. “Yeah. But it comes with a really great 401K.” Roarke leaned across the table again and kissed her. This time on the lips. And this time they both lingered, exploring each other’s senses, tastes and smells.
When he opened his eyes he asked, “Ready, Katie?”
“Oh yes,” she said, answering a number of questions at the same time.
CHAPTER
25
Roarke stood and casually glanced in the direction of the man he dubbed Crabbe. Even through his story telling he had been aware of Crabbe’s mannerisms and mood; everything about him was suspect.
Using the simple distraction of putting his wallet away, Roarke allowed himself a moment to study Crabbe’s features. In an instant he was convinced he could provide a complete and accurate description. He also noticed the man was also prepared to leave. His bill was paid. Cash. And most importantly, he never touched his drink. Crabbe was sober and ready to move. If he came in following Katie, he was definitely going to leave with Roarke.
Outside, Roarke and Katie made a left up Chestnut Street toward Beacon Hill. A few paces took them to Charles Street where Roarke knew he’d quickly be able to hail a cab. At the corner he casually moved his arm around Katie, turning her body slightly. She smiled, but Roarke’s motives were purely professional. He maneuvered himself to look back down the street. Crabbe was no more than twenty paces behind them. Their eyes briefly met and Crabbe slowed down and checked his watch in a highly transparent diversion.
Roarke angled back to Charles Street and struck his hand up to signal a cab. Katie smiled more. No walk home up the hill. Tonight we’ll get way passed the front door.
But when the brown and white Boston Cab pulled up, Roarke quickly opened the door, let Katie take a seat and then whispered, “You go home. There’s a man following us.” He handed her a twenty. “I’ll call you later.” Roarke tapped the roof twice. The cab began to roll even before he closed the door on his startled date. Now he searched the street for Crabbe.
“Okay where are you?” Roarke whispered. Crabbe was gone.
He retraced a few steps, looked into an empty alley, and then back down Chesnut Street. Damn. The authentic Back Bay street lamps actually offered little illumination. Primarily they were there for the ambiance. Roarke could have used more right now. That’s when he caught a shadow crossing under a tree at the corner of Chesnut Street and Mugar Way. He dashed down the street only to realize he had made an error and lost time. He had pursued a man walking his dog.
Scott Roarke 01 - Executive Actions Page 20