The Keeper Returns (The Wallis Jones Series Book 3)

by Martha Carr

  The entire operation was going to be about paying attention to the details, the spreadsheet. That’s why the rehearsals were necessary. Tabletop runs with everyone playing out their role.

  Someone stood in for the one person who wasn’t in on the plan, just yet.

  Every evening they’d discuss what didn’t go as planned and what caused the deviations. Then, they took the rehearsals to the street, playing out their parts again and again, making small changes as they progressed, and testing what would happen.

  The teams would arrive at their designated small airport and take off, filing a flight plan so as not to attract attention, landing at another small airstrip in the Midwest. At random times, in the middle of the operation, the team leader would announce an unforeseen problem that was staged to make everyone problem-solve in the moment. Transportation suddenly needed to be changed, improvised, and without drawing attention as the team headed off in a different direction in case they were seen, or part of the plan had been detected.

  The second team would be ready to go with a completely different route, blending into the main thoroughfares but still avoiding the highways, staying close to the older business sections of town. They practiced flying to the alternate location down the Eastern seaboard.

  Both sides had teams waiting on the other side at the next locations who practiced meeting the planes and transporting someone to the next destination. The safe house.

  The two safe houses were chosen in two different, larger cities far apart. Each had once had a thriving black market in moonshine during prohibition. Forgotten trapdoors and small hidden rooms that didn’t exist on modern building plans were considered as a necessity. A proximity to a noisy business was marked down on the spreadsheet as an advantage.

  It was noted that an escape route that was not obvious went a long way toward helping with a mental attitude of security.

  These were people who preferred knowing things would succeed because the logistics and contingencies had been buttoned down. Someone had even scribbled on a post-it note that was hanging off the edge of one of the computers, ‘Good logistics and good contingencies are a wonderful thing’. It was true, after all.

  The ketamine was the easiest part of the plan. An ample supply was obtained months ago from the expired military stockpile left over from the war. No one would notice a small supply of drugs that was past their use-before date had gone missing.

  One of the men on each team was a trained paramedic who could quickly administer the drug and was on hand in case there was an unforeseen reaction. Everything was taken into account.

  After all, the creator of the plan, a coldhearted man named George Clemente, pointed out again and again, to take down a whale you’d better sharpen your harpoon.

  Sneak Preview - The Circle Rises

  Norman Weiskopf came in the house in a rush, he had forgotten two files on the kitchen counter. “Not there,” he said, looking at his watch, as he turned around in a circle, hoping to catch of glimpse of them. “Wallis?” he called out. “You’re not still here are you?” He stood still for a moment, hoping to hear someone moving around. “Of course you’re not. It’s after nine on a Tuesday, you’re already headed to court. Not a good day for this,” he said, frustrated, trying to remember where he saw them last.

  His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, as he ran up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was a text from AT&T that he had another update.

  “Nuisance,” he mumbled, clicking on the link imbedded in the text. The last time he had kept hitting ‘remind me later’ until Ned saw what he was doing and took the phone from him. “Geez, not here either,” he mumbled, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He quickly ran back downstairs and into the home office that was more of an oversized nook off the living room.

  “Last place you look,” he said, quickly scooping up the files. “I will just make it.” He ran out of the house, already forgetting about his phone.

  It never occurred to him to question why he was getting a text instead of a push from an update. He wouldn’t have grasped the difference, anyway.

  It only took a moment for the phishing to be complete and the malware to begin tracking his every move, sending back the data. It was to be collected for a month, long enough to draw out the patterns in his day and give the team who was watching him a chance to practice their plan.

  The information spilled out into a spreadsheet and a flow chart pointing out similarities in time and location. No one would need to follow him, attracting any attention. That would come later.

  Once they had the data it wasn’t hard to correlate where Norman was traveling and decide which locations were more secure spots, and which ones were too heavily populated, at least for what they had in mind.

  It didn’t take long to see that Norman like routines. If they’d known him at all, they’d know he sometimes graded his weeks based on which ones went off like clockwork. It was something his wife, Wallis treasured about him. He was predictable and, after everything that had happened, that was particularly valuable to her.

  Lately, though, he had noticed he was having to use a different hole on his belt and his pants were getting a little tighter. “What do you think?” he asked Wallis one night as he was getting ready for bed.

  “Still hot,” she said, ignoring the pat, pat he was making on his rounding belly.

  “Thinking of taking up running,” he said, “Maybe check out Deep Run Park.”

  “We have that gym membership at the Y,” said Wallis, yawning as she scooted down in the covers.

  “Nope, too many people watching you. I’ll try running in the park. It’ll be good for me. Maybe Fridays, no court on those days. Feel free to join me,” he said, trying to pull the covers off of his wife, as she batted him away, laughing.

  “Be careful what your next words are to me,” she said, lifting her head.

  “You are clearly the more athletic of the two of us and I would look forward to chasing you around the lake,” he said, lying down next to her, pulling her closer to him.

  “So, I’m your metal rabbit?” she asked.

  “If that makes me the greyhound then I’m going to say yes. I could use the win.”

  Norman kept his promise to himself and started showing up at the park every Friday at noon, running around the lake. There were only a handful of people who ever showed up to walk or sit by the lake, and he soon came to recognize all of them.

  Grocery shopping, which had always fallen to him, was on Saturday mornings before Wallis or Ned, their teenage son, were up yet. It worked because Norman was the one who did all of the cooking in the house with the occasional assistance from Ned. The few times Wallis had tried over the years to heat something up when Norman was out of town or too sick to get out of bed had ended in a little smoke and eventually takeout.

  Wallis said the next time she was starting with takeout and everyone quickly agreed. “Oh, thank God,” said Ned, rolling his eyes. Norman had stifled a laugh as Wallis shrugged, smiling over Ned’s head at Norman. He found it so easy to be around his wife. It was that way from the day he met her, despite what he knew about her birthright in Management, even if at the time she didn’t know it.

  The hidden app on his phone showed that he was always in the office, meeting with clients every Monday and Thursday mornings, and Wednesday afternoons. Lunch with his best friend, Father Donald on Tuesdays.

  They alternated between eating at Mekong on Broad Street or Millie’s closer to the Richmond courthouse, downtown. It didn’t matter to Norman which one they chose.

  A regular date night was started after what happened just outside their house only six months ago. A shootout with all of their neighbors coming out of their house, revealing themselves as Circle operatives set up to protect Wallis Jones and her family. Even Norman wasn’t aware of how elaborate the protection had become.

  Maureen Bowers had died in her arms that night. It didn’t help that Wallis’ mother, Harriet had a stroke w
andering around a graveyard trying to protect an old diary on the same night. Wallis had come a little undone, not letting anyone help her wash off Maureen’s caked blood till well into the next morning.

  Norman told her a little old fashioned dating was needed, knowing it was a pale response but hoping that maybe the small gesture would give Wallis a little bit of an anchor.

  “Pockets of normalcy,” he told her.

  They usually took in a movie and went out to dinner. One night they even tried bowling but he could tell by the fifth frame Wallis was getting tired of the heavy bowling balls and was holding up her arm as she approached the yellow line. Her toss of the ball even resembled more of a heave with an arc into a slow roll that meandered down the lane.

  “No, no,” she protested. “This is the perfect sport for us. We should keep going. You eat a little, throw a ball, drink a little, repeat.”

  “Roll a ball,” said Norman.

  “I’m going to have to work up to that,” said Wallis, biting down on a fat French fry.

  “And it’s all takeout,” said Norman.

  “I’m the only one who sees that as an advantage,” said Wallis, smirking, licking ketchup off of her fingers.

  “French fries are just ketchup boats for you, aren’t they” he said, smiling.

  He never told her but that night it occurred to him that she was the only person who made it possible for him to be happy in the midst of all the chaos and intrigue of being born a zwanzig, a descendent of the original twenty surviving members of the Circle.

  I will tell her one of these days, he thought. There’s time.

  On Sundays, Norman spent as much time with his teenage son as Ned would allow. Some weeks that was more than others. They cooked together or Norman listened to Ned tell him about the new applications for computers, as he tried to follow at least a basic thread of the conversation so he could say ‘uh huh’ in the right places.

  On even rarer occasions the two of them would go to the go-kart track across the river in Chesterfield County and race each other, or try out the batting cages. Neither one of them was very good at either activity, but it didn’t matter. He was spending time with his son and after everything that had happened when Management tried to use his son as their mascot, parading him in front of a loyal group of local Management members, he just needed to be near him. There was also the death of his brother, Harry trying to make up for things in the end. It was all more than enough.

  George Clemente, he thought. He’s still a threat to all of us. Norman had asked Father Donald during one of their lunches if anyone had heard anything.

  “I’m not that far up the food chain,” said Father Donald, changing the subject.

  Norman didn’t believe him but knew pushing his friend wouldn’t help. He suspected Father Donald knew far more than he was going to be willing to say to Norman. He had seen Father Donald in quiet conversations too many times with Esther Ackerman, one of the only remaining original zwanzigs, not to suspect that Father Donald was more important than he was willing to say. Besides, he wanted to believe him. Ned was the happiest he had seen him in a couple of years. Since it all had started to unravel, he thought.

  He wanted this small amount of peace to go on for a bit longer, even if he knew it wasn’t possible that it would last.

  A car drove slowly by the diner where Norman and Father Donald were eating lunch. It was only a spot check and to get a better look at part of the normal routine. It was three weeks into the quiet surveillance by the people keeping tabs on Norman Weiskopf. They had already decided they had what they needed and had started to make a plan. By now, Norman expected to be watched by Management, and the opposition wanted to keep up appearances. Father Donald was of no concern to them.

  The next phase would be to flesh out each stage of the plan. Each phase was given the time it needed to get it right. There was no real need to rush, the civil war was over and the Circle had won. The two sides were either busy either celebrating or licking their wounds.

  It was better to get it right than rush things. There would only be one chance.

  Two teams were assembled of three men each with the second team to be used as the contingency. Each team had a specific driver who spent time taking different routes at different times of day, getting to know the traffic patterns and shortcuts.

  The cars they used were all mid-range American models bought at used lots from nearby cities. Non-descript to pass unnoticed in traffic. Every evening the drivers would check the cars for any broken tail lights or low tires to make sure there was nothing to attract someone’s attention.

  The primary team worked out their route first, taking the most advantageous with the least amount of traffic, using side streets whenever possible that led out of town and into the more rural area near the smaller airports. They timed the route over and over again at five different times during the day and evening, marking down the differences in time and population. Local government websites offered up helpful information about upcoming road closings for construction or lane changes.

  The entire operation was going to be about paying attention to the details, the spreadsheet. That’s why the rehearsals were necessary. Tabletop runs with everyone playing out their role.

  Someone stood in for the one person who wasn’t in on the plan, just yet.

  Every evening they’d discuss what didn’t go as planned and what caused the deviations. Then, they took the rehearsals to the street, playing out their parts again and again, making small changes as they progressed, and testing what would happen.

  The teams would arrive at their designated small airport and take off, filing a flight plan so as not to attract attention, landing at another small airstrip in the Midwest. At random times, in the middle of the operation, the team leader would announce an unforeseen problem that was staged to make everyone problem-solve in the moment. Transportation suddenly needed to be changed, improvised, and without drawing attention as the team headed off in a different direction in case they were seen, or part of the plan had been detected.

  The second team would be ready to go with a completely different route, blending into the main thoroughfares but still avoiding the highways, staying close to the older business sections of town. They practiced flying to the alternate location down the Eastern seaboard.

  Both sides had teams waiting on the other side at the next locations who practiced meeting the planes and transporting someone to the next destination. The safe house.

  The two safe houses were chosen in two different, larger cities far apart. Each had once had a thriving black market in moonshine during prohibition. Forgotten trapdoors and small hidden rooms that didn’t exist on modern building plans were considered as a necessity. A proximity to a noisy business was marked down on the spreadsheet as an advantage.

  It was noted that an escape route that was not obvious went a long way toward helping with a mental attitude of security.

  These were people who preferred knowing things would succeed because the logistics and contingencies had been buttoned down. Someone had even scribbled on a post-it note that was hanging off the edge of one of the computers, ‘Good logistics and good contingencies are a wonderful thing’. It was true, after all.

  The ketamine was the easiest part of the plan. An ample supply was obtained months ago from the expired military stockpile left over from the war. No one would notice a small supply of drugs that was past their use-before date had gone missing.

  One of the men on each team was a trained paramedic who could quickly administer the drug and was on hand in case there was an unforeseen reaction. Everything was taken into account.

  After all, the creator of the plan, a coldhearted man named George Clemente, pointed out again and again, to take down a whale you’d better sharpen your harpoon.

  Pre-order The Circle Rises December 22nd on Amazon.

  Will also be available for sale on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited starting January 9th.

  Martha’
s Notes

  The Keeper Returns – The Wallis Jones Series 03:

  Written October 19, 2016

  Thank you for not only picking up this story, the first book in the series, but for reading it all the way to the end, and NOW you are reading this as well. I am very grateful for each and every reader. It’s a great feeling for any author. The next book, The Keeper Returns is up for pre-order on December 8th and will be out for you to read on December 22nd, including in Kindle Unlimited. My plan is to have a new book in the series every 22 days and to make sure that happens I’ve already written a few ahead and have run the books through the best readers – Diane Velasquez and Dorene Johnson. I’m still hard at work on another book further along in the series, making sure there are just must as many plot twists and that the pace keeps your heart racing as the conspiracy grows and grows.

  I had a mind for puzzles – and a good conspiracy is just a puzzle that unfolds, after all – and loved creating complicated treasure hunts, writing clues that went throughout our house that eventually led to a prize. That sounds like a good book, doesn’t it? Then there were the board games that had moving parts and took forever to play. I wish I had saved some of those.

  Most of my inventions were for my little brother when we were both really young. He was a really good sport and went along with all of my inventions. I even threw him a birthday party when I was eight and he was turning six and put on a magic act. Mystery and suspense with some complications was in my nature.

  The artist Rube Goldberg was an early hero of mine. He created complicated machines with a lot of moving parts just to do a simple task. His cartoon drawings were depictions of the same thing and won him a Pulitzer prize. They were like conspiracies built into an object.

  The Wallis Jones series is also a complicated conspiracy with a lot of moving parts that spread out in every direction. All of it is leading somewhere and some of it you’ll see coming, some you may not. That’s part of the fun.