To this point, the media had only reported the basics of the story.
They had been told, and they conveyed to the public, that Doug had been investigating a domestic disturbance at the motel, and was gunned down in the process. The fleeing shooter had also killed two innocent bystanders as he made his escape. To this point no suspects had been identified, and a special tip line was set up.
They had no idea, and therefore could not report, anything about the apparent involvement of Bennett and Gharsi. Some outlets knew that Doug had been on suspension for overzealous actions on the job, but they bought the line that he had been previously reinstated. No one in the media even speculated that the suspension and shooting were in any way connected.
There were follow-up reports on Doug’s successful surgery and recovery, but the fact of his memory loss remained a closely guarded secret. Bradley, his superiors, and Homeland Security were in total agreement on the need to keep that information in house. If Bennett knew that Doug might someday reveal what he knew, it would be a motivation to target him. If he believed that Doug had already revealed it, or did not know anything in the first place, then killing him would serve no purpose.
All of this planning and strategizing was done without the benefit of one specific piece of information: they had no idea that Bennett already knew all about Doug’s condition.
The department kept disseminating information about Doug through press releases. It was all done in a matter-of-fact manner, as if there was nothing particularly unusual or urgent about any of it. The last release simply stated that Doug had recovered well, and was returning to work.
The actual return to the job was to be treated internally with a similar “business as usual” approach. Doug would work regular hours, provided he was physically able to do so, and he would perform his normal functions. As before, Nate would be his partner, and would be able to monitor him and prevent him from overdoing it.
The theory, which the doctors signed off on, was that gradual reintroduction to his former life would have the most chance of enabling him to regain his memory. There were certainly no guarantees, and success with this approach was usually spotty at best, but it was the best way they had to handle it.
Bradley explained this all to Doug with Nate in the room, so that everyone would be clear on it. “This is what is best for you, Doug, and it’s also the approach most likely to help you remember. It’s a win-win.”
“Makes a lot of sense, Captain,” was Doug’s response.
Bradley smiled and nodded. “Good, let’s do it.” He stood up, indicating the meeting was over.
Once they had left the office, Nate said, “You good with all this?”
“No chance.”
“I had a feeling you weren’t.”
“Why is that?” Doug asked.
“Because the doctor said your basic personality wouldn’t change. And ‘Makes a lot of sense, Captain’ doesn’t quite fit your personality. ‘Kiss my ass, Captain’ would be a little closer.”
“Good, because it’s not going to happen the way he thinks.”
“Let’s go downstairs,” Nate said. “When I get stressed I need a donut.”
They went down to the cafeteria. Doug sat at a table while Nate went and got a coffee for him, and a coffee for himself. He also got a jelly donut and a chocolate glazed one.
“I didn’t want a donut,” Doug said when he saw the tray.
“Good, because they’re both mine. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to be really stressed. Let’s hear it.”
“Here’s how I see it. This guy Bennett knows that I know something, and he’s afraid I’m going to remember it.”
“No way he can know you have amnesia.”
Doug shook his head. “Bullshit. How many people in our barracks? Fifty? Every one of them knows it.”
“None of them would talk to Bennett.”
“They don’t have to. They talk to their wives, or girlfriends, or buddies. Before long the whole world knows it; it’ll probably be in the goddamn Bergen Record. Bennett has to be smart and tied in, or he’d be making license plates by now. So if he doesn’t know the real deal already, he will soon enough. But I’m betting he does, and it’s safest to assume that he does.”
“So?” Nate asked, though he knew where this was going.
“So I’m not going to be handing out traffic tickets and breaking up bar fights, while this guy figures out the best way to kill me. Because he’s got to know that killing me is the only sure way for him to survive.”
“So you’re going after Bennett?”
“Hopefully, we’re going after Bennett together. But if you don’t want to, I understand, and I’ll do it on my own.”
“You already tried that,” Nate pointed out.
“And I obviously made some progress; I just don’t remember what it was.”
“You know I should discuss this with the captain, right?”
“That’s your call,” Doug said.
“He’ll suspend your ass.”
“He’s already tried that. But I don’t think he would anyway; the Feds would be all over him. They need me. As long as I’ve got the truth rattling around in my head somewhere, I’m a valuable commodity. But either way, I’m doing what I’m doing. You can help, or not.”
“Where would we start?”
“I’m not sure, but first I need to know more about Bennett. Can I get a copy of the file we keep on him?”
“You got a truck to transport it? I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good. Thanks. Are you in or out, Nate?”
Nate thought about it for a while and finally said, “I’m in.” He stood up. “But first I need another donut.”
“Starting tonight, I’m staying in my own apartment.”
“Why?” Nate asks.
“Well, for one thing, you are far too big of a pain in the ass for me to be with you twenty-four/seven. Eight hours a day is more than enough.”
He nods. “That’s what my girlfriend said before she dumped me.”
“You had a serious girlfriend?” I ask, showing more surprise than I should.
“Yeah, actually you liked her. Problem was she didn’t like me. She was like a hundred pounds; I outweighed her by two people. What are your other reasons?”
“The doctor said it’s more likely that I’ll get my memory back if I return to normal, and normal is living in my own home. And I feel strong enough to handle things myself.”
“Okay, you’re calling the shots,” Nate says. “But I’m stationing a black-and-white in front of the building.”
“No. I can protect myself.”
It has taken a while, but Nate realizes where this is going. “You want them to come after you, don’t you? You think you can nail them that way.”
“That’s the preferred outcome, yes.”
“Come on, Doug, you think Bennett is going to come himself? He’ll send a soldier twelve rungs down below. And if that guy doesn’t do the job, he’ll send two others even lower.”
“I’ve got to start somewhere.”
About an hour later, Nate drives me to his place and we get my stuff. As promised, he also has two boxes of documents that represent the department’s so far unsuccessful efforts to nail Bennett. He then takes me back to my apartment, and on the way I ask, “Hey, where’s my car?”
“They took it from the scene and brought it back to your place.”
“What kind is it?”
“I told you … it’s a Crown Vic … just like this one. It’s department issue.”
“What happened to my Mustang?” I gird myself for the answer; I loved that car, it’s a classic, and I can’t believe I would ever have given it up.
“You still have it; you store it in some garage so nothing can happen to it. You never shut up about it.”
When we get to my apartment, I notice that there’s a police car sitting in front, with two cops in it. “I told you I don’t want them here,” I say.
“
Tough shit. You’re not getting your way on this one.”
This is a battle I can afford to lose, so I just nod and take my stuff out of the car. I carry the two bags myself, but I can tell in doing so that I don’t nearly have my full strength back. Nate helps carry the boxes of the Bennett documents in, and when we’re done I walk him back down to his car.
“Thanks for everything, pal,” I say. “I mean it. I know this hasn’t been fun for you.”
“No sweat. Call me if you need anything, at any time.”
“I will.”
I go back into the building and get on the elevator, and a young woman gets on with me. “Doug, good to have you back.”
I smile. “Thanks, good to be back.”
“How is Jessie?”
“Fine. She’s fine.” I guess Jessie was here a lot; it’s starting to look like we weren’t just casually dating.
We reach the fourth floor, and the door opens. I hesitate, because I have no idea if she is getting off at this floor as well. She doesn’t, and looks at me a little strangely, as if I should know that. I should, Miss Whatever Your Name Is, but I don’t, so what do you think of that? “Have a good evening,” I say as I get off.
Entering my apartment feels just as strange as it did the other day. There’s a sense you get when you’re home, a certain level of comfort, and I’m just not feeling it. I’m a visitor here.
I spend the first few minutes throwing out everything in my refrigerator, since it’s all expired. Fortunately, there are takeout menus in the kitchen, so I order a pizza, which shows up in a half hour, and costs twice as much as I would have expected. The delivery guy knows me by name; I’ve got a feeling I don’t cook much.
I open up the first box of Bennett documents, and before long I’m immersed in the department’s efforts to nail the son of a bitch. Dan Congers and Jerry Bettis took the lead on it a number of years ago, and then I became the unofficial leader. Apparently Congers was partners with Bettis, who I remembered being in the Academy with.
We’ve obviously not had any success in putting him away, but we have damaged his business. The goal has been to cut off his access to funds, and some success has been achieved. Bennett has a very large, very expensive operation, and we’ve gotten decent results damaging the financial end of it.
The files are helpful, but I of course wonder what I knew that I didn’t put in the file. I can’t find anything in the apartment to tip me off. I’d never been much of a note taker, but I was hoping that I had picked it up over the years. If I have, I must also be a good note hider, because I can’t locate any.
I see that I have what looks like a fairly new computer, and I start to play around with it. It’s called a MacBook Air, and it’s really thin. I always used a Mac, so it should be pretty easy.
It should be, but it isn’t, and I run into an immediate brick wall. It asks me for my password, and of course I have no idea what that might be. I try some of the ones I think I used in the “old days,” but the image on the monitor moves back and forth, left and right, as if it’s shaking its head no at me.
I call Nate, and he answers the phone with, “You miss me already?”
“I’m dealing with it,” I say. “You have any idea what my computer password is?”
“We were partners, Doug. We weren’t married.”
I’m feeling frustrated. “I can’t even get into my goddamn computer.”
“You could call Jessie. She could get in; she’s a genius with stuff like that. She might even know it anyway.”
“Never mind; I’ll keep trying.”
I get off the phone and start to look around. There’s a small desk in my bedroom, and when I open the drawer there it is, a list of all my passwords. It’s probably a terrible idea to keep a record like that, but it sure has worked for me this time.
My password for the computer is “Jessie,” and that’s also my password for a bunch of Web sites. Sometimes it’s “Jessie1,” or “Jessie#,” or various other versions of “Jessie.” I’ve got a hunch I knew Jessie pretty well.
I don’t really know where to begin on the computer, so I just start browsing through it. Most of the bookmarked sites are related to sports in some way, and I start updating myself on what’s gone on over the years. There were the two Giant Super Bowl wins, but they didn’t do much in the other years. As far as my Mets and Knicks are concerned, it seems to have been a lost decade.
Three-quarters of the way down the list of bookmarks is Mapquest. I go on there, looking to see if it saves the destinations I’ve used it for in the past, as maybe that could give me some kind of clue. I’m a bit desperate here.
It doesn’t save the stuff, or if it does, I can’t find it. I wonder if I’ve even been using Mapquest anymore, or if anyone does, since GPS systems seem so widely used. Even Nate had one in his car, and he was always about as technologically backwards as a person could be. Maybe that’s changed.
Something Nate said the other day pops into my mind. I meant to ask him about it, but we were in the middle of a meeting, and afterwards I had forgotten.
I call Nate, and this time he answers the phone with, “Long time, no talk.”
“I just love the sound of your voice,” I say. “But while I have you … the other day you said that when I called you, you asked Jessie to trace the GPS on my phone.”
“Right.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’s a GPS in every phone. The phone company computer can tell where it is all the time, as long as it has cell service. Big Brother is everywhere these days.”
“Does it keep a record of where it’s been in the past?” I ask.
“Yes. Why?”
“Nate, I was on to something with Bennett; I wouldn’t have made that call to you if I wasn’t. So I want to retrace my steps, but I don’t know what those steps were. Maybe this way we can retrace my phone’s steps. That’s almost as good.”
Nate doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and then, “That fall on your head might have smartened you up some. You want to call Jessie and get her started on it?”
“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” I say. “She didn’t seem too comfortable around me. You’d know better than me, but I don’t think our personal relationship ended too well.”
“You guys made a great couple, and then you didn’t,” Nate said. “I’ll call her.”
For Tahir Sadri, the excitement was wearing off.
He had been stuck in that apartment for six weeks, waiting for a call that never seemed to come. When they had contacted him originally it had felt like an honor, like he had been singled out because he was special. It was a recognition of his dedication, and his courage, and his commitment.
He was quite literally the chosen one.
But it had gone on so long. They had told him it might, but he still had a fear that they had forgotten him. Maybe they had switched to someone else, someone they had more confidence in. And maybe that caused them to leave him in that apartment, run by that asshole manager, who watched him like a hawk whenever he came and went. When this was over, before he left town, his plan was to come back and kill that manager. That would be the icing on the cake.
He wasn’t positive exactly what his assignment was going to be; the target wasn’t identified yet. Or if it had been, it hadn’t been shared with him. But he was certain that it would stun the world. He hoped that many Americans would die, and that they would get the message that no one was safe. But that would depend on what he was called upon to do. Whatever it would be, he would be up to the task.
But while Sadri was a loyal soldier, he was not a robot. He had a mind of his own, and he had already decided to make one change in whatever plan they had for him. He knew they saw him as a martyr, and while there was unquestionable glory in that, there was more glory in surviving, then living to strike again, and again.
But for now Sadri could only sit and wait. He knew that someday this wasted time would be of no significance, and would
be forgotten. At some point they would contact him, and tell him what he was to do, and most importantly, give him the materials to do it. He had tried to secure them himself, but they had reprimanded him for doing so.
Sadri knew that when that call finally came, he would feel the surge of excitement that he longed for.
His time was coming.
He would be ready.
The meeting with Jessie was set for 11 A.M.
It was in the conference room of the “cyber section,” where she worked. When Doug arrived, she was already there, hunched over a computer. Nate had not arrived yet.
“Good morning,” Doug said.
“Hello,” she said without looking up.
Doug could hear either tension, or nervousness, or disdain in her voice. He was never great before the shooting at understanding women, and the trauma didn’t seem to have advanced that talent any.
He sat down across the table from her and let an uncomfortable two minutes go by before speaking. “I know this is a little awkward for both of us,” he said. “Nate told me we went out, and I’ve seen pictures of you in my apartment.”
She hesitated, and then nodded. “We did, but then we stopped.”
“I don’t know what happened,” he said. “But I’m sorry if I did anything wrong or stupid.”
“Let’s leave it in the past,” she said, just as the door opened and Nate came into the room.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, and then saw their faces and felt the tension in the room. “Very sorry I’m late.”
“Let’s get started,” Jessie said in a businesslike tone. She pointed to a large monitor in front of her, and Doug and Nate peered over her shoulders. “Most of this is self-explanatory. Here’s the date, time, and duration, and these are the coordinates where the phone GPS registered. I’ve just started assigning addresses to the coordinates, and I should be finished by the end of the day. The addresses won’t necessarily be totally accurate; for example, it could be the house next door to the one I give you.”
“I always carried my phone, right?” Doug asked. “I mean, based on my habits, can we assume that wherever the phone was, I was in that place as well?”
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