The door opened and Murphy entered the room. He was dressed in black slacks and a white polo shirt. His eyes were tired and heavy, his jaw tight. On either side, more guards, big and armed, flanked him.
“Patrick, look—”
But before he could finish, Jed lunged at him, swung hard, and connected his fist with Murphy’s jaw.
THIRTY-ONE
• • •
Murphy stumbled back, lost his balance, and tumbled to the floor. The guards jumped into action, drew their sidearms, and pointed them at Jed.
Jed stepped back a few feet but did not lift his hands in surrender. He stared at Murphy, now clumsily climbing to his feet. Murphy rose to his full height, adjusted his shirt, and smoothed his hair back against his head. The left side of his jaw was red and had already begun to swell. He lifted a hand and motioned to the guards. “Easy, guys. It’s okay.”
The men lowered their weapons but did not holster them.
Murphy rubbed his jaw and winced. “I didn’t deserve that, Patrick.”
Jed decided to take the direct route. “Were you behind this? The guy on the plane? He was one of your men.”
Murphy put his hands in his pockets and frowned. “No.”
“No? That’s it?”
“There isn’t any more to say.”
“Do you know who was behind it?”
“Connelly.”
“How did that guy get on the plane? Don’t you screen your men?”
“Of course we do.”
“Well, maybe you should do a better job of it. He could have brought the whole plane down.”
“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know how he infiltrated our ranks.”
“He was trying to kill me.” Jed’s pulse tapped out a staccato rhythm in his neck.
“I know all about it. Believe me, we’re looking into it. We have him in custody and will interrogate him as soon as he’s ready.”
Jed glanced at the guards, who were still in alert mode. They stood with slightly flexed knees, wide stances, sidearms gripped with both hands. “Ready for what?”
“You broke his arm, Patrick; knocked him unconscious. We have to wait until he’s alert enough to undergo interrogation.”
Jed paced the room.
“Are you having second thoughts about the mission?” Murphy asked.
Jed stopped. “Do I have a choice? You’re holding my daughter hostage.”
Murphy shook his head. “Not hostage. Don’t look at it that way. Remember, we’re on the same side, Patrick. We’re on the side of the American life we grew up with, the America we love. Connelly is a threat to that way of life, to the greatness of this country. He will bring us all to our knees. I’m keeping Lilly with me for insurance, that’s all. You have to admit you have a reputation now.”
Murphy tilted his head to the side so he could look Jed in the eyes. “Patrick, you have a reputation for letting your conscience interfere with your mission. I needed to protect our interests against that reputation.”
He was right. Jed hated it, but it was true. With Lilly being held as insurance, he would go through with the assignment, no matter what it was. His daughter’s life was more important than anything else.
Again, Jed eyed the guards. “What’s the plan, Murphy? How does this play out?”
“We’ll go over the details when we get to Kill Devil. For now just know you’re doing the right thing. And . . .” He paused and glanced at Karen. “Understand that Karen will be with you throughout the entire mission. She won’t ever leave your side.”
Jed shifted his eyes to Karen, who smiled at him and nervously chewed her bottom lip.
• • •
Tiffany pulled up in Ed’s Toyota at quarter to four in the morning. She’d filled the tank for him and would make sure it was filled again whenever she returned the car.
The condo was located in a small town called Secretary and situated along the Warwick River. It was one of seven homes in the unit, three stories, with a small front porch. Jack sat on the porch. He smiled as she approached. “So I see you found a way.”
“I’m smart, remember.”
“I do. Where’d you get the car?”
“It’s Ed Worley’s.”
“Ah, so you’re not just smart; you’re persuasive. But I bet it didn’t take a lot of persuasion to get Ed to loan you his wheels.”
A twinge of guilt pricked at Tiffany’s conscience. She’d taken advantage of Ed’s interest in her, the same interest she’d deflected countless times. She’d used Ed and now felt bad about it. But this wasn’t the time to feel guilty. She’d have an opportunity later to apologize and make things right with Ed. She scanned the parking lot, illuminated by one sodium lamp bulb that cast a yellowish light across the asphalt. On one end of the lot sat a large fish market with multiple docks that jutted out into the slow-moving river. On the other end of the lot were single-family homes, each with its own dock and fishing boat.
“So how do we get in?” she asked Jack.
He held up a key.
“Is that ten years old too?”
“Nope. Thirty-six.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes.
Jack stood and opened the front door. “Cousin Fred never changed the hiding place of the emergency key.”
“And you remembered where it was after all these years?”
“Some memories never leave you.”
“That’s just weird.”
He walked inside to a foyer, keeping the lights out until the front door was completely closed, then turned on a lamp that sat on a dark wood sofa table. The interior of the home was decorated in a distinctly oceanic and boating theme. Framed prints of sea vessels and waterfowl covered the walls. Looking beyond the foyer, she saw the dining room and living room furnished with dark wood pieces and rustic colors. A bookshelf, stuffed with hardback novels, reference books, and duck decoys, stood along the far wall next to a gas fireplace.
“This is nice,” Tiffany said.
Jack entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a can of soda and popped the tab. “Hasn’t changed much. From what I remember.”
“Isn’t this kind of like breaking and entering?”
Jack took a long swig of the soda, then wiped his mouth. “First, there was no breaking. I used the key. And it’s not illegal to enter if you have permission.”
“So what? The fact that you last talked to Fred four decades ago gives you permission?”
“It was 3.6 decades ago and I talked to him more recently than that.”
She squinted her eyes. “Like how recent?”
Jack looked at his watch. “Last night. I called him, told him I was in town on business, and asked if I could crash at the condo. He said sure. It was nice to talk to him again.”
“How did you get his number?”
“The Internet. I stopped at the Hampton Inn in Easton and used their Internet and phone.”
So he couldn’t be tracked. Smart.
“And you don’t think they’ll find Cousin Fred and question him?”
“Not likely. As far as they know, we haven’t had contact in thirty-six years and him being such a distant cousin . . . it won’t be a problem.”
Jack walked to the living room and sat on the sofa. Tiffany followed and took an overstuffed chair by the fireplace. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait a couple days, lay low.”
“You always have a plan, don’t you?”
“I try to.”
“You still think Patrick is going to take a shot at Connelly?”
Jack shrugged. “I have no reason to think otherwise.”
“Okay. So when?”
“Connelly is slated to speak at the Wright Brothers Memorial in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. I’ve been there; it’s elevated; he’ll be exposed. It’s the only shot Patrick will get.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
THIRTY-TWO
• • •
T
he plane touched down on the runway of the Dare County Regional Airport just as the sun peeked over the horizon. They’d called in a new one to transport Jed and Karen from Kansas City to Manteo, North Carolina. Four new armed escorts had accompanied them. Murphy assured Jed they had all been checked and verified and there would be no more excitement. But Jed didn’t sleep even a minute on the plane.
At the airport, Murphy was waiting with a car to take Jed and Karen to a house in Nags Head that overlooked the sand dunes and ocean. Upon entering the house, Jed stood in the living room, looked out the large sliding-glass door, and watched the waves crash on the beach. He could imagine Karen and Lilly and himself vacationing in a place like this, walking on the beach, splashing in the waves, building sand castles, and hunting for shells. If they were a normal family. But they weren’t. They would never be able to vacation like other families because he would always be hunted; he would always be someone’s target.
Karen stood beside him and put her arm around his waist. She rested her head on his shoulder.
“You think Lilly’s okay?” he said.
“Yes. She’s strong. Stronger than me.”
Jed put his arm around Karen’s shoulders. “You’re the strongest woman I know.”
“I’m not strong.”
“Your faith is strong.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
“Faith isn’t about your feelings or even your senses; it’s about the actions you take in light of what you know to be true. Putting one foot in front of the other and moving forward.”
Karen squeezed Jed’s waist. “You sound pretty profound.”
“Lilly once modeled that for me. I mimic the profundity of an eight-year-old.”
“Impressive.”
“Aren’t I?”
They both stood quietly for several long minutes, watching the ebb and flow of the Atlantic. A family walked by, mother, father, two girls. The girls couldn’t have been more than six and two. The little one toddled along, waddling through the sand, stopping for every seashell she spotted. Her father finally lifted her up and set her on his shoulders. He trotted toward the water while she threw her head back in laughter.
Jed had few memories of Lilly’s toddler years. They were spotty at best. In time, he hoped they’d return, but there was no guarantee. He still wrestled with the void that resided in his mind, that great empty chasm that had been left when his memories were stolen by the Centralia Project.
“I have one recurring memory of Lilly as a toddler,” he said to Karen. “We’re in bed; it’s dark outside. It’s bedtime, I guess. She snuggles in close to me while I read her a book. Peter Rabbit. Her head is on my shoulder, her little hand on my chest. About three-quarters of the way through the book, she looks at me and whispers, ‘I love you, Daddy.’ Then as I finish reading, she slowly drifts off to sleep.” He paused to fight off the tears that pressed behind his eyes. Then, in a tight voice, he said, “Is that memory real?”
Karen didn’t hesitate. “Yes. She’s always loved her daddy.”
The door of the room opened and Murphy walked in. He wore different clothes, khakis and a blue polo, and appeared refreshed. He’d no doubt caught a few hours of sleep and had a nice shower and breakfast before paying them a visit. The same two guards that had accompanied him in Kansas City flanked him again.
“Good morning, Jed, Karen.” He motioned to the dining room table and chairs. “Please have a seat.”
As they sat, Murphy wandered to the glass door and studied the beach, hands clasped behind his back. “Beautiful, isn’t it? We picked this house because we knew you’d enjoy the view. It’s not often you see such tranquility.”
“Are we safe here?” Jed asked.
Murphy turned and faced them. “Absolutely. Our own people don’t even know where you are. The only ones who know are myself and—” he nodded toward the two guards by the door—“a small army of guards positioned around the house and occupying the neighboring homes.”
Murphy walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat. “When I leave here, I want you to get some sleep. We have a big day tomorrow, and you’ll need to be refreshed and at your best.”
“Are you going to tell me why we’re here?”
“Connelly.”
“I know that part.”
“He’s coming to Kill Devil Hills tomorrow, the Wright Brothers Memorial, to give an address.”
“And?”
“And you’re going to assassinate him.”
Jed stared at Murphy. The man had made his declaration so casually Jed thought he’d misunderstood him at first. But he knew he hadn’t. His chest tightened. He’d known the end result of all this would be him taking a shot at Connelly, but every time the thought surfaced, he’d pushed it back down. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to consider it. It was absurd and ridiculous and impossible and so wrong.
Wasn’t it?
Murphy remained quiet as if letting his pronouncement hang there for effect. Jed’s immediate reaction to the statement was to reject it outright, to declare it insanity and refuse to have anything to do with it. But the longer the silence went on, the less repulsed by the idea he became.
Finally Murphy said, “This is the right thing to do, Patrick. Connelly will go through with his plans. He has all the pieces in place. There’s no changing his mind now. He has set his course and paved his own path. If he’s a target now, it’s only because he’s chosen to be at the center of a treasonous conspiracy.”
In some strange and twisted way, what Murphy said made sense. Connelly needed to be stopped, and he alone had put himself in that position. Like a lone gunman drawing his weapon on a unit of armed police officers. The outcome was obvious, wasn’t it?
Wasn’t it?
Jed glanced at Karen, hoping for some assurance or a way out. She caught his eye and nodded. She knew he had to do it too.
Murphy leaned forward over the tabletop. “You have no idea how many lives will be saved by this one shot. Millions. In the US and around the world. This man says he wants a strong America, but what he’s planning will shatter this nation. Do you realize the chain reaction this will have worldwide? The world is unstable enough as it is. If we fall, much of the world goes with us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Think of it. World markets crash. Despots who had previously been held in check are free to wreak whatever havoc they like. Rogue nations will form. Any support and stability our country has fostered will no longer be there.”
Karen reached over and put her hand on Jed’s. Her touch was cool and soft. “He’s right, Jedidiah.” There was fear in her eyes, a shadow that lingered in the corners and darkened the light that was once there.
Jed nodded. “I know.” He hated that he’d said the words aloud, that he’d agreed with Murphy. But Murphy was right. If Connelly succeeded, the shock around the world would be devastating. Millions of lives would be lost; countless more would suffer.
And he, Jed Patrick, could stop it all with one shot.
He looked at Murphy. “Okay.” The word, that one solitary word, came out of his mouth like a blacksnake and felt like it took part of his soul with it. For the briefest of moments he was sorry he’d said it. He wanted to reach out and snatch the word out of the air before it reached Murphy’s ears and stuff it back into whatever dark hole it had slithered out of.
Murphy smiled like a hormonal sixteen-year-old behind the wheel of a hot rod. “Good.”
“Where is it?” Jed said. Every word felt forced now and sounded to his ears like they were spoken by someone else entirely.
“Where is what?”
“The nest.”
Murphy turned to the guards, who had remained by the door, and nodded. “We’ll send you there tomorrow. We’ve had the location occupied for a couple weeks now. A man and woman, two of our own who look much like the two of you, have been staying there, coming and going.”
“So no one will be suspicious when I suddenly show up the day before Connelly’s
speech.”
“Exactly.”
“How far?”
“Eighteen hundred yards, give or take.”
“A mile.”
“Just over.”
Jed closed his eyes. He knew any location near the sea was going to be windy. A mile shot through shifting winds was nearly impossible.
“You’ve done that distance before,” Nichols said. “Or close to it.”
He had. In Afghanistan . . .
The town is a Podunk village of just over a thousand people. Pabid. The buildings are low and brown. Everything brown, the color of the earth. No variation for the eyes. Always brown on brown. The only thing that breaks the monotony is the people. And shadows. There isn’t a tree within a mile of Pabid, not a major population hub within a hundred miles, but it sits on a crossroad, and for that reason the HQ wants it. Insurgents use those roads to move ammunition and men. Pabid is a popular location to rest and strategize.
For the moment, the town is quiet. Jed’s been watching it for days, the foot traffic in and out, the vehicles that come and go. The last group of insurgents vacated yesterday, leaving the town vulnerable to a team of Rangers with orders to infiltrate and secure the village from within. Infantry will move in then and secure the borders and set up vehicle checks along the road.
Jed’s job is to provide protection. Though the insurgents have moved on, some townsfolk are armed, and not all are friendly to Americans.
The order comes in to begin the raid, and for the most part, it goes smoothly and as planned. The team moves methodically through the town, covering the streets in short time. Some men greet them, older men with graying beards and dark skin. The town leaders. They smile, laugh, shake hands.
Not a single shot has been fired.
Jed runs the scope mounted on his rifle over the rough terrain surrounding the town. He’s been monitoring the entire area and hasn’t seen even a goat herder outside the town’s borders today.
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