“I find it strange that a son who would so vehemently oppose his father, suddenly got the urge to join the family business. Something doesn’t add up,” Gwen said.
Jovana received a beep, and pulled a phone from her pocket. I got the idea that it wasn’t your average phone, and it’s what she was using to track Junior’s movements.
She studied it, and her face scrunched with dread. “Turn on the television, Warner.”
Chapter 60
Lauren Bowden appeared in her usual role as the Angel of Death. On the bottom of the screen read the words, America’s Most Courageous News Anchor.
Seriously, it said that. I understand she was held at gunpoint, and later took a bullet to the chest on 42nd Street, but c’mon, really?
“If you’re just joining us, we have breaking news to report,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
I began to run through possible scenarios in my head. The one thing I was sure of, was that it wasn’t related to what happened at the NoMad Hotel. The CIA had completely cleaned that one up the moment we vacated the premises, or so Jovana claimed.
“On this April 12, the anniversary of the first shots of the Civil War, Fort Sumter is once again under attack,” Lauren announced.
I got the feeling this wasn’t a case of a Confederate sympathizer getting liquored up and deciding to “take back the fort!” This was the quick escalation that Murray predicted.
Lauren began wiping away tears. “I’m sorry for my unprofessional behavior,” she said, but not specifying if she meant the crying, or her entire career. “But as a proud South Carolinian, and the former Miss Beaufort County, this is personal for me.”
America’s most courageous anchor found the fortitude to trudge on, “Here’s what we know so far. Tonight, during a ceremony held at Fort Sumter, all those present were taken hostage. The estimate is that thirty to forty souls are being held inside. There have been reports of a shooting, but that is unconfirmed at this time. And to make matters worse, the captors have claimed to have surrounded the fort with mines in the harbor, making a rescue a risky event, and one that will have to be approached with caution.”
Lauren briefly paused, before stating, “As always, GNZ goes right to the heart of the story, and we have reporter Christina Wilkins on the phone with us now—she is currently stowed away inside the fort. Christina, are you there?”
“Yes, Lauren, I am,” she replied in a soft voice, as if she feared being discovered. Her picture was plastered on the screen as she spoke. It looked like a high school yearbook photo, reminding me of just how young she was. “Please don’t get yourself killed, Christina,” I muttered to myself.
“First off, what is your situation? Are you in need of medical attention?”
“I am currently unharmed. I apologize for the low volume of my voice, but I don’t want to give away my location. These people are very dangerous.”
“Please tell us what you observed tonight.”
“I was present for a ceremony to honor former GNZ cameraman, Byron Jasper.”
It felt like an anvil had hit me square in the jaw. With all that had gone down in the last twenty-four hours, the ceremony had slipped my mind—Byron and his family, along with Carter, were among those taken hostage.
Gwen read my sick look and put her arm around me, as we continued to stare at the screen in disbelief.
“Just as the ceremony was about to begin, a couple of cadets from the Citadel, who were here as part of the festivities, were overheard making comments to the effect that, if the South had been as pro-active as the Whiskey Tax group, there would have been no need for a ceremony, and America would be a better place.
“This set off the Jasper family, who declared themselves as unabashed supporters of Huddled Masses. They exchanged words with the cadets, and things quickly escalated. At one point, Byron Jasper’s mother, a prominent restaurant owner in Charleston, began screaming, “You’re not my master, and I ain’t your slave!” This set off an ugly chain of events—the Jasper group began chanting ‘Huddled Masses!’ and ‘No New Taxes!’ at the Whiskey Tax supporters, who were greatly outnumbered. They rushed the cadets, who appeared overwhelmed, and disarmed them. They were then forced to the ground at gunpoint.
“The head of the Charleston Hall of Fame, which ironically, Jasper was being honored by, tried to be diplomatic. But the Jasper clan shouted him down, telling him he was either with them or with their enemy. When he refused to concede to their threats, he was shot with one of the guns taken from the cadets. The man who did the shooting was an employee of Jasper named Lamar Thompson.”
“I know Lamar Thompson all too well,” Lauren cut in, as Lamar’s photo replaced Christina’s on the screen. It was shaded dark, making him appear sinister. “He is a felon and drug abuser … and worse than that, he is rude and uncouth. So where do things stand, Christina?”
“The captors said they planned to kill a hostage each hour, unless their demands are met.” Suddenly Christina’s voice filled with fear. “I must go … they’re coming my way.”
“There she is … get her,” I heard Byron’s unmistakable voice.
“Byron—no!” Christina said, right before her connection was cut off.
“That was staged … there’s no way,” I stated the obvious.
Lauren looked into the camera with a look of determination. I’d seen that look before—hold on to your hats.
“And tonight I ask what many of you at home are thinking—what’s wrong with this country? What is the point of me being an American hero if I can’t recognize the country I’m a heroic symbol of? People have always made it to the top in America by either being born into it, or those like myself, who are willing to do whatever it takes to make it. The fact is, not everyone is going to be successful in this country, and when Huddled Masses starts to get that through their thick skulls, then we’ll all be better off. And for all of you out there who would argue that all men are created equal, I would tell you that I’ve been with many men throughout the course of my life, and they certainly aren’t all created equal.”
“She never lacks for a unique perspective,” I said.
“All I’ll say, is it’s a good thing she’s sleeping with her boss.” Gwen commented.
I looked quizzically at her.
“Long story,” she said, and pulled me closer. “Look, JP—Carter is in there, and Byron and Christina are obviously up to something. They have a plan.”
That’s what worried me.
“Nothing we can do about it,” Jovana cut in coldly. “But we can head directly to the source and cut off the head of the snake.”
“You think we should go after Hakim?” I asked.
“I was thinking Lauren Bowden,” she said with a confident smile. “But come to think of it, Hakim might be a better idea.”
Chapter 61
Gwen came out of the bedroom wearing a baggy sweater and a pair of jeans twice her size. Besides a few stragglers that Christina left behind, the only choice of clothing was from my wardrobe. Not ideal, but still a better option than her Austin Powers dress. The “safety pin” one might have proven useful, but it was left behind in the hotel, now likely property of the CIA.
I changed into an all-black ensemble, similar to what I wore during my last showdown with a mass murderer—Grady Benson—and since that worked out well enough, I figured it was good luck. Just because my superstitions fail to fit my quest for truth and logic, doesn’t make them any less real … knock on wood.
Jovana jammed a handgun into the back waistband of her jeans, reminding me of Carter. She then draped a holster over her tank top, and slipped a denim jacket over it.
As I watched her prepare for battle, I thought of the words of a more docile warrior named Murray, who had stressed our enemy’s use of historical connections as part of its arsenal.
“Seizing Fort Sumter on April 12, wasn’t exactly subtle. Maybe we should focus on historical events for April 13, to try to beat them to the punch.”
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“It’s going to be a historic day when I put a bullet through Hakim’s skull, I know that,” Jovana said, checking her gun, before placing it in the holster. “Now do you want to make history, Warner, or do you want to wait to see it next year when the movie comes out?”
“April 13 is Thomas Jefferson’s birthday … and also the day they dedicated the Jefferson Memorial on his 200th birthday. Maybe we should watch it closely tomorrow.”
Jovana flashed me a look to kill, and I don’t think she was bluffing.
“Sorry, my mother is a historian, and my brother is a history teacher … it comes with the territory.”
“Back here in the present, we need to get a move on, while we still have the element of surprise on our side,” Jovana countered, and fit the last of her weapons into the holster.
I didn’t have any guns or holsters, so I jammed my phone and a pack of breath mints into my pockets, and asked, “Do we need bulletproof vests?”
Jovana shook her head. “A waste of time—guns aren’t really Hakim’s thing. He’s more of a beheading kinda guy.”
On that note …
The only vehicle we had access to was Allison Cooper’s Audi. Jovana removed the tracking device that Rich Tolland had placed on it, and we were off to go meet Hakim, David Franklin Sr., David Tully, New Colossus, or whatever he was calling himself these days. I was starting to long for the days of Kyle Jones and Grady Benson, when I only had to keep two aliases straight.
Gwen drove, while Jovana sat shotgun. I was placed in the back like a child. I put on my sunglasses to block out the night lights, but they didn’t keep the thoughts out. “I’m surprised you weren’t able to get us one of those limos that brought you two to the hotel tonight.”
“We didn’t have time to arrange it.”
“Don’t you think we should call for backup, or at least let them know where we’re going?”
“I work alone … and if you don’t want to be here, we can drop you off,” she said tersely. That was the end of the conversation. I sat silently as Gwen drove over the George Washington Bridge, and onto the Jersey Turnpike.
Gwen ended the torturous silence by turning on the radio. She found the all-news station, searching for an update on Sumter. The Coast Guard had surrounded the place, and the outskirts were being checked for mines, before any rescue attempt could commence. I had a bad feeling that the Huddled Masses plan was for no hostages to leave the fort alive. That way nobody could dispute Christina’s claims about what occurred, and the road to civil war would continue to be paved.
We drove over the Delaware River Bridge, and onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike, facing little traffic in the wee morning hours. When Gwen clicked off the radio, the only remaining sound was the monotonous drone of the tires grinding against the pavement of the highway.
I really didn’t handle silence well, so I broke it, “I hate to be Debbie Downer here, but do we actually have a plan?”
“I’ll know it when I see it,” Jovana said.
“In that case, I apologize for asking. Isn’t that the same strategy they used on D-Day?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Warner. We’ve been in tighter spots than this and made it through just fine, right?”
Now I was sure she was bringing up Syria on purpose, just to get a reaction from Gwen. It was like she knew this might not end well, and was detaching herself from us emotionally. Not a good sign.
Although, I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to get too close with her history. Losing her parents and brother like she did, and who knows how many others.
But there was another side of this. One that the reporter in me was pushing me to explore, but I refused to heed the call. What if she was detaching herself because of what she planned to do to us? She had a relationship with Qwaui, which allowed her to set up that meeting in Syria—so could we rule out that she had one with his longtime friend, Hakim? We never saw that DNA test that confirmed it was Hakim’s son, or the tracking that showed he was in Valley Forge. Hell, I hadn’t even seen a badge that proved she was CIA.
But we’d come this far, and we had no choice but to dance with the devil.
The exits began to fly by—Delaware Valley, Philadelphia, Willow Grove, Norristown. And finally we arrived at Exit-326 Valley Forge/King of Prussia. As Gwen eased down the exit ramp toward the tollbooth, I noticed a couple of General Washington Carpet Cleaning trucks ahead of us, probably going to the same place we were, but for very different reasons.
My first thought was that these poor guys are probably just scraping by, trying to make a living, and had no idea the company they worked for was involved in things that went far beyond shampooing carpets.
My second thought was, “Look out!”
Chapter 62
Valley Forge, Pennsylvania
His face lit up when he saw her.
She didn’t reciprocate.
“I’m sure Dennis will be elated that you finally got your meeting,” he said, maintaining his grin.
She didn’t reply.
Allison had pictured David Tully in her mind on many occasions. She always imagined an aging James Bond, the Sean Connery version. But the man before her was quite the opposite.
“I assume you know my true identity at this point,” he said.
“Yeah—you’re the man who had my husband killed.”
She stepped toward him with the intent of wrapping her hands around his neck. But his armed guards took issue, pointing their guns directly at her.
He motioned for them to stand down. “Just please give us a moment.”
They stepped outside the room, without a word. He then urged her to come close to him—be careful what you wish for, old man!
But when he whispered in her ear, things changed—this was much bigger than her. And she believed every word he said.
Once they had an understanding, his smile returned. “I’ve missed our conversations, Allison. It’s only been a few days, but it seems as if it was forever since our last talk. You’re what has kept me going these last few months.”
She said nothing.
“If you’d feel more comfortable, I could set up a phone, and we could speak that way … like we’ve always done.”
“My mother always taught me that if I have nothing nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
“As my account rep, I believe you’re contractually obligated to talk to me about my advertising. So how about we discuss that? Did you receive my sign-offs on the Columbus book, and for the Chicago test market?”
“I’m taking time away from the agency to deal with the death of my husband, so I’m not currently your representative.”
“If you’re not running my account, then I might have to take my business elsewhere … I’ve been very clear about that.”
“Why did you choose my family?”
“It was all part of Allah’s plan.”
“Spare me! I worked with you for six months, and the only person you worship is yourself.”
He began laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s just that you remind me of my late wife, Evelyn. She always brought me comfort. It’s one of the reasons I brought you here.”
“You kidnapped me because I remind you of your dead wife? You’re one sick puppy.”
“No reason to be upset—death will part us very soon. I just thought it would be nice that the final voice we hear is a soothing one.”
“So did you kill your wife, too?”
“Of course not—I loved Evelyn with all my heart. When I was called to fight for Allah, she didn’t understand that I didn’t have a choice in the matter. She died three years ago of breast cancer. Returning to Valley Forge allowed me to feel close to her once again. When I first came back I’d make trips to visit her in the cemetery near Philadelphia, but obviously that’s an impossibility now.”
“So that’s where we are—Valley Forge?”
“Welcome to the world headquarters o
f General Washington Carpet Cleaning. Thanks to the help of you and your husband, we’re one of the fastest growing businesses in all the land.”
Allison burned. “You never answered my question—why us?”
“Why—the question people always ask, yet it’s so inconsequential. And all it does is lead to more questions.”
“You took my husband away from me, left my children fatherless, and dragged me to this dungeon … I think the least you owe me is an explanation.”
He nodded, as if the request was acceptable. “My son, David Jr., attended school with your husband at Wharton. It was important for a man in my position to keep tabs on those who got close to my children. Unfortunately, not everyone’s intentions are noble in this world. But I came away very impressed with Marty Cooper. His smarts, his loyalty, his inventiveness. So when the time came to begin my masterpiece, I knew Marty was the kind of man who could help me. But I was completely unaware of what an asset his wife would become in the process.”
Allison used every muscle in her body to restrain herself, thinking of those poor unsuspecting people. “So what did my husband die for? And please don’t give me the ‘doing it for your deity’ line … no god, or anyone, would put so much thought into creating something, just so people like you can tear it down.”
“The world will find out soon enough what I have in store for them.”
“No—not what is going to happen. I’m sure that will be predictably perverse. I want to know why you’re doing it. Why was it worth it for my children to grow up without a father?”
For the first time he looked irritated. Like she’d hit a nerve. “You ask too many questions—if you remember, you work for me.”
“You said you brought me here to talk, I’m just trying to make conversation. So what happened, did you get dumped by a girl? Did your parents not hug you enough?”
“Hug me?” he chuckled sardonically. “My father used to beat me unmercifully. When I was eleven, he beat me so bad that I was in a coma for six weeks.”
Huddled Masses (JP Warner Book 2) Page 23