The Journalist

by G L Rockey

  Beno said, “Who is that lady?”

  “Waiting to use the phone. Senator, where are you?”

  “Well, I’mlet’s just say I’m in the Washington DC vicinity. My residence here iswell, you’ve seen the news.”

  “Can’t get into DC, huh?”

  “Mr. Stearn”

  “We may not be private?”

  “I see her behind you.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Gray Lady taped Zack’s shoulder with her umbrella. “Hurry up”

  Zack said softly to Beno, “I meant you are more than likely being monitored, under surveillance.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Beno said.

  “Your are being monitored.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just know.”

  “Not likely. Besides, I’m at a friend’s house.”

  “This number the answering service gave to you.”

  “Boston called me on a secure line.”

  Skeptical, hoping maybe Armstrong’s goons had missed the pay phone he was on, Zack wiped his face.

  “Senator, this is going to sound bizarre. I don’t even believe it myself. I must see you. Utmost urgencytonight, if possible.”

  Senator Beno chuckled. “Zackary, I can’t do that.”

  Gray lady shouted, “Hurry up, sonny boy.”

  Zack to Beno: “You don’t understand, I have a recording you must hear.”

  “And what might that be of?”

  “The current situation, the Miami TV station’s video that started all thislast Thursday, it’s a fakeI have a recording”

  Gray Lady: “Not you, too, on that goddamned videohurry up”

  Beno frowned. “I don’t understand. Why do you have to see me? Why don’t you call your Florida Senator, Senator Fawcett?”

  Gray Lady: “Fawcett is a dork.”

  “I can’t be sure of him,” Zack said.

  “Zackary, this is sounding very strange.” Beno tilted her head.

  Gray Lady tapped the back of Zack’s head. “Hurry up”

  Zack said, “Senator, I have to see you tonight.”

  “But that’s impossible. Besides, you’ll never get a flightMr. Stearn, I”

  “Zack, call me Zack. I’ll get there.”

  The gray-haired lady becoming more impatient, “Hah, Zackary. Hurry up, Zack, or I’ll bean you good.”

  Beno said again, “ButI don’twhat can be so important that you have to see me tonight?”

  Zack said, “Can’t say over the phone. But it islet’s say your job is at stake.”

  Beno: “Zackary, this is sounding fishy.”

  “Please, I’m begging you.”

  Gray lady shouted, “Goddamn it, Beno, tell him yes.”

  There was a long pause as Beno flipped pages of an appointment book. “Well, ah, what about next week?”

  “Senator, you do not understand. This is about an imminent threat, national security.”

  “Is it now?” Beno took her glasses off, letting them dangle from the chain around her neck. “Mr. Stearn, have you been drinking?”

  Gray Lady: “Smells like a doghouse.”

  Zack said, “No, no, I haven’tplease believe me.” He put his face close to the camera lens. “Senator, please, I’m not making this up.”

  “Where are you?” Beno said.

  “A bank’s ATM phone, Miami area.”

  Senator Beno pressed her lips together and studied Zack’s face.

  Gray Lady: “I’m calling the goddamn police.” She left.

  Beno said, “A few of us here in Washington are meeting next week to deal with this present emergency”

  “Too late, Senator. There is something terribly wrong. It involves the President. I must see you. I have a recording you must hear.”

  Beno tapped her lips with her fingertips. “Well, I, ah, let me seehow do you propose to do that?”

  “I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “Can you tell me more? I mean”

  “Not on the phone. I’m not surethey may be listening to us now.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Gray Lady returned. “You’re in for it now, pup.”

  “Please, Senator.”

  The Senator put her glasses on and took a pen to write. “All right, all right. When willyou will call when?”

  “Tonight. I’ll call when I arrive. I’ll take a cab to your”

  “You’ll never get onethis emergency” She paused. “Ah, look, why don’t I just have my driverwe’ll pick you upbut where?”

  “I’ll call you”

  “Alright, then, I’ll await your callbutnever mind.” She made a note.

  “Thank youand Senator, I don’t know who may have been listening”

  Gray lady rapped him on the shoulder, “I am, buddy boy, and the fuzz is coming.”

  Beno said, “Who is that lady?”

  “F.B.I.”

  Gray Lady hit him. “Liar Dork Hurry up”

  Beno said, “I understand. Tonight, then. Goodbye.”

  “Wait Where will I call you?” Zack said.

  She gave him a twelve-digit number that he scrawled on the inside of a match book cover and put it in his shirt pocket.

  Gray Lady hit him on the back. “Police Police”

  “Thank you and goodbye,” Zack said to Beno.

  “Goodbye.”

  He pressed phone then entered Mary’s iphone number. Gray Lady saw him and began pounding his head with her umbrella.

  “Oh, no, you don’t Help Help”

  Thunder clapped and a tropical downpour began. Zack squeezed under the tiny shelter.

  The lady raised her umbrella. “Goddamn you”

  After six rings Mary answered. “Hello.”

  “Mary, turn on your video, it’s me.”

  Gray Lady began rapping his head with the edge of her umbrella.

  Mary looked distraught. “Zackary, where are you?”

  “I”

  Gray lady: “Help Help Rape”

  Mary said, “Who is that lady hitting you?”

  “I don’t know, wants to use the phone.”

  “Where have you been all weekend?”

  “Can’t say, have to go out of town, talk to you when I get back.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “Can’t talk.”

  “Zackary, are you at that Palm Bank ATM by our offices?”

  “Can’t talk.”

  “I’ll be right down. I want to see you.”

  “No, you don’t, not now.”

  “Why?”

  “Not necessary, sit tight.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Out of town”

  “Better not be Ms. Elizabeth in California.”

  “Can’t say, talk to you when I get back.”

  Mary said, “Wait a minutecan’t say. When will you get back?”

  “Soon.”

  “What is that, ‘soon’? What the F is up? Who is that lady beating on you?”

  “Soon. Sit tight.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Have to see a guy about a computer.”

  “What?”

  “Have to see a guy about a computer.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Okay.” He hung up and turned to Gray Lady. “All yours, ma’am.”

  She screamed, “Police Police”

  Chapter Fifty

  6:15 p.m. EST

  The thundershower over, the sun bright, driving to Pompano Marina, Zack stopped at another pay phone. After some delay, he made a reservation out of Fort Lauderdale’s Hollywood International to Washington’s Dulles airport.

  Unsure about everything, arriving at the marina a little past six, figuring Veracity bugged, certain that the more they thought him insane the better, he boarded and began scolding his boat.

>   “All right, where were you?I smell it, you were outDon’t lie to me, I smell it, booze and men’s cologne.” He upset a bar stool, paused then apologized. “I’m sorry. I know how lonely you get, but I have to be gone tonight, to visit Mother in Orlando. She’s not feeling wellwater problemsbut I hope to be back tomorrow and we’re going out, for surenow, don’t start thatyou did? Tell me more.”

  He stripped, threw his clothes on a chair and put on a pot of seven-cup-brew coffee. “Really? You caught how many?I don’t believe thatLet’s eat.”

  He drank a large glass of orange juice, sucked three raw eggs from their shells and retrieved a cup of coffee from the brewing coffee maker.

  Continuing the conversation with Veracity, he took a shower.

  “I heard you, dear. Like I said, Mother has water problems, but I hope to be back tomorrow and we’re going out, I promise.”

  Shaved, he dressed in his one formal outfit–white long sleeve clerical shirt sans the white collar, blue sports jacket, tan slacks. Not owning a pair of hole free socks he slipped on brown tassel loafers.

  Dressed, he inserting the Joe Case CD in his CD player, checked the batteries, placed the player in his briefcase then spoke to Veracity.

  “You be careful now, honey, and no going out by yourselfno, no, no, remember that last time? You got lostthe sharkslove ya, I’m going to Orlando now, to see Mother.”

  Briefcase in hand, he exited the cabin, stepped to the dock, and walked down the jetty, past the newspaper dispensers, Marina office, to his car that seemed to melt into the steaming white parking-lot sand. He squeezed behind the blistering steering wheel, but before he could close the door, he heard tires crackling over breaking shells and looked to the sound.

  Mary’s familiar yellow Volkswagen Beetle pulled beside him. She lowered the right window and said, “Going somewhere?”

  “What in the namewhat are you doing?”

  “Selling Girl Scout cookies. Wanta buy some?”

  “Mary”

  “I talked to Jim.”

  “Oh.”

  “Get in, I’ll take you to the airport.”

  Zack grabbed his briefcase and slid in beside her. “I”

  “I really don’t feel like talking right now, about anything. Close the door.”

  “I”

  “Nothing.”

  “Stay off the freeways, Fort Lauderdale, Hollywood International”

  “What time is your flight?”

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “Thanks.” She backed away, turned and drove off at a pretty good clip.

  “Mary, I”

  “I’d rather not talk.”

  They drove in silence until the airport’s curbside drop-off was in sight.

  Mary said, “Which one?”

  “United.”

  She drove a little then stopped at United. “Just want you to know, Boca” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

  “I”

  “And another thing.” She paused.

  “I”

  She touched his lips. “I don’t want you to say anything–rationalize, analyze, preach, lecture–nothing, okaywhen I’m finished saying what I’m going to sayjust get out and go do what you have to do. Okay?”

  “Finished?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you get back, we’re going for a boat ride. I’m finished. Bye.”

  Chapter Fifty One

  9:15 p.m. EST

  United Flight 1161

  His briefcase wedged under the seat in front of him, his CD player and the Joe Case audio recording secure inside, Mary’s departing boat ride comment wracking his brain, Zack again recalled Jim’s comments about Mary, “Twenty males waiting in line.”

  He shook that off and touched the briefcase with his left foot just to be sure reality remained with him. It seemed so.

  The center and aisle seats empty, he stretched and tasted the black coffee he had been served.

  “This stuff is venial sin,” he said under his breath. The familiar phrase “venial sin” passing his lips surprised him. He hadn’t been in a confessional for umpteen years. No matter. He found himself pondering under what type of sin the events of the past few days might be classified. Forget about that, doesn’t matter who did what, why, when or how. Bottom line, it’s all about sticking it up somebody’s greed.

  That thought distilling he sensed a familiar lucid scaffolding of light and Joe Case’s presence was there. He recalled Case’s sentiments about greed and hypocrisyso we can get cheap oil, some capitalist can buy a bigger housemake them Christianstirring up pots to create democratic societymierda del torothe interests of the USA’s capitalists

  The Case sentiments dovetailed into thoughts of his own unending editorial: humans, God, Christ’s teachings, affairs of individuals, do unto others, Capitalism is an innocent driven by obscene greed masters, an ideal gutted by more, driven by cruel me-me masters with sharp teeth and a peculiar smell, profit has no home, men kill, women weep, children die.

  Contemplating it all in view of the present reality, he looked around. Unbelievablesimply cannot be. This is not happeningbut here I am, on an airplane headed for Washington DC. What will I say to Beno? She’ll think I’m insanealready does. But I have the recording from Joe Case—former owner of The Bimini Road, now living on an Island, surrounded by young maidens with “3.14” on their baseball hats. Like Jimbo said, think about it.

  In the middle of his thoughts, peripherally, in the graying red light of dusk, he saw the tip of a silver object in the sky outside his window frame. In a moment, a U.S. Air Force jet fighter, thirty feet away, came into full view. He read the black lettering on the silver fuselage—U.S. AIR FORCE.

  Zack smiled. “Well, hello there.”

  He watched the fighter pilot’s white-helmeted head turn back and forth. Feeling detached, he glanced to his right across a row of drowsy passengers and there, outside the opposite window, a duplicate Air Force jet fighter floated in the purplish sky.

  “Amazing,” he said, gulped some coffee, nudged a shoe against his briefcase and longed for a cigarette.

  Two flight attendants, with bird-dart glances and plastic smiles, began cruising the aisles amid passengers’ bobbing heads and questions.

  A baby began to cry.

  A male voice said, “What in blue blazes is going on?”

  Anxious mumbling filled the cabin.

  Then a calm voice on the intercom broke the clamor. “Good evening, this is your captain, busy up here. We have, ah, as you can probably see, some company. We’ll be talking to our air force friends and keep you posted. No need for alarm. They’re ours.”

  “So you think.” Zack began mind maneuvering. “It’s true, it’s really true. They’ve traced my call to Beno orthe airline ticketor that creep, Doug Hoffman.” He pushed his passenger call button, and in a moment a flight attendant appeared at his side. She leaned over him, wide-eyed but cool, said, “Yes?”

  Zack savored her wintergreen breath and smiled. “I must see the captain.”

  “Sir, please stay quiet, that is impossible.”

  “You do not seem to understand. Here is my card, I’m Zackary Stearn, editor of The Boca, a Miami weekly. This is imperative, national security. Please, I must talk to the captain. I must talk to him.”

  The attendant took the card, sniffed Zack’s breath, looked down her slender nose into his eyes, “Sir, the captain is a her.”

  “Oh, I”

  “Right.” She studied the frayed The Boca business card, “This the only one you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay seated, I’ll be right back.” She walked toward the cockpit.

  He whispered to himself, “Captain’s a her, I have to move into this century,” and began to think. What if the Air Force blows us out of the sk
y? Naw, they wouldn’t do that. What do they want? Ha, they want me and the CD. How did they knowHoffman, that smelly creepWhat else do they know? They know everything.

  The attendant appeared again. “Follow me, sir, please, quietly.”

  Zack unbuckled his seatbelt, grunted out into the aisle with his briefcase and followed.

  A female passenger shook her fist at him,“You dirty terrorist, killer of women and children.”

  They think this is my doing, he thought and stopped. “Look, I”

  The attendant touched his elbow. “Follow me, please, keep moving.”

  She led him forward. They entered the darkened cockpit. The captain, blue-eyes, red pixie hair, talked into a tiny mouthpiece to the Air Force pilot to her left.

  “Look, pal, I don’t give a hooter’s hock who you say you are. This is more horse manure than down on the farm.” She listened then, “Look, pal-o-mine, I’ve been given initial clearance to I.A.D. and that’s where I’m putting this sucker down.”

  She listened to the Air Force for several seconds then responded, “Why didn’t the tower tell me Dulles had been closed?”

  She listened again while making steely eye contact with Zack.

  Zack pointed to his briefcase.

  The captain spoke to the Air Force: “Roger, okay, let me get back to you in a minute. I got a glitch here with a sick passenger.”

  She flipped her microphone off and looked at Zack. “You the guy with the problem?”

  The flight attendant said, “Yes, Captain, this is Mr. Stearn, you have his card.”

  “And what may I do for you, Mr. Stearn, while I talk to the U.S. Air Force, fly a very old 767 and suck my molars.”

  “Captain, I’m Zackary Stearn, you have my card.”

  “I don’t have a card but I’m Glenda Bodine.”

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  She shook her head. “Look, buddy, I’m kinda busy here. The boys in blue want me to land at Andrews.”

  “You cannot land this plane at Andrews.”

  “I can do anything I wantwell, kinda.” She flipped her middle finger toward the jet to her left then spoke to Zack. “Okay, o-pal-o-mine, what’s going on?”

  “You don’t understand”

  “No, you don’t understand. I got one hundred-fifty passengers back there, two U.S. Air Force jet fighters want me to land at a military base and my hemorrhoids are killing me.”