by David Perry
“Very good. Well, I hope the rest of the night goes well for you. Call me if you have any questions.” Jason was comforted by Park’s proficiency. Jason could chase his demons and not worry about the pharmacy’s state of affairs.
“Thanks. Oh, Jason, by the way, Sam said he really needed to be off Saturday. Said he’s going to Canada for the weekend. I’m gonna cover for him, if that’s okay.”
Jason had completely forgotten about Fairing’s request. Sam had demanded the day off when Jason started as vice president. But for the first time in his professional career, he didn’t give a crap about his responsibilities as supervisor. “Sure, that’s fine, Billy. Thanks for being so flexible.”
He hung up and called Peter’s cell phone. “I need you to do me a quick favor. Can you do a reverse look-up on this phone number and get me an address?” He recited the number Bryant had given him.
Jason heard the muted clicks on the keyboard. “8888 Riverdale Road with an apartment number, Newport News,” said Peter. “It’s Sam Fairing.”
He walked back to the Ford and climbed in. The dark blue sedan was parked a quarter mile up the road, watching him. Jason saw it but pretended not to notice. They, whoever they were, were still following every move he made. He reminded himself to change out the Ford rental for a newer one. He didn’t know if he could keep them off his ass, but he’d certainly try.
CHAPTER 42
The sandstone guardhouse had a flimsy, swing-up gate painted with red-and-white barber-pole striping. A uniformed black man, looking bored, then irritated, pushed open a sliding glass window.
“Can I help you?”
“I was hoping you could help me find an address,” said Jason.
“Yeah, what it is?”
“8888 Riverdale Road.”
“Well you found it,” the guard said dryly, looking at him as if he were a moron.
“This is it?”
“Which number you looking for?”
“17-A. Sam Fairing.”
The guard punched a few keys on his keyboard. “He’s in the south tower. I have to announce you first. Give me a minute.”
“That’s okay. I was just trying to make sure I knew how to get here. It’s late. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”
“You sure, man? Ain’t no problem.”
“I’m sure. Thanks anyway.” He backed out of the small driveway and headed home.
Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place, unlocking another trunkful of questions. The night of September 15, Sam Fairing had left work at the Colonial and driven to the north end of Lions Bridge. With Thomas Pettigrew following, he’d parked and done God knew what with the crumpled prescription bag there. Then Fairing drove home to his condo in the Windsor Towers on Riverdale Road.
And somewhere in the course of the night’s events, Thomas Pettigrew was murdered.
* * *
The guard watched until the Ford Fusion disappeared from view. Fairing had given each guard on all three shifts five hundred dollars and a promise of a thousand more to the man who reported anyone asking for him. A jealous ex-wife might send people looking for him, he’d said. He lifted the handset from the phone and dialed Fairing’s number. No answer. The guard left a message as he thought about where the new big-screen television would fit best.
CHAPTER 43
Jasmine Kader fired a fifth round at the ten-ring target painted in the torso of the silhouetted figure a mile away. Oliver lay next her, calling out the results of her efforts. The cloth target was lit up by a small but powerful infrared laser registered only through the rifle’s scope. The success of their mission depended entirely on the infrared aspects of their weapons.
“Six ring at about five o’clock,” he said, his eyes not leaving the large spotting scope. Jasmine rotated the elevation turret two clicks.
She was having a hard time keeping tabs on Jason. Her trips to the Camp had become more frequent making it practically impossible to monitor the pharmacist. Lily was unaware of the predicament and Jasmine, thinking the matter of minor importance, was content to keep it that way.
Situated deep in the thick woods of northern North Carolina on a fifty-acre tract of land purchased three years ago, the Camp, as it was known, was miles from the nearest town or road. Constructed by a small army of now-deported immigrants, the camouflaged range consisted of an elevated, wooden firing platform and numerous human-form targets positioned a mile downrange under an equally dense canopy of foliage obscuring the view of passing aircraft and satellites. A short, dirt landing strip carved from the forest flanked them. The wheeled float plane sat pointed for a quick takeoff under netting stretched between thick, rough-hewn logs on the runway.
Oliver spent his afternoons shuttling Kader and Fairing to the site. Sam had traveled down the previous day. Tomorrow, both would be flying down with him.
Kader pulled off five more shots. Oliver announced the results after each volley. Kader made her adjustments. Her final three rounds were placed in a nearly perfect cluster dead center from a mile away.
“That’s all for tonight, Oliver,” she said. “I’m dialed in.”
“It’s a pity that the world cannot appreciate your talents, Ms. Jasmine. The infidels will pay dearly.”
* * *
“He made a trip to the Windsor Towers this afternoon,” the young Secret Service agent explained. “Our guys followed him to some bridge near Lake Maury a couple miles up the road. He made a phone call from his cell phone, then proceeded to the towers.”
Special agent in charge Clay Broadhurst was reviewing the security procedures for the christening, reading from a list he’d prepared on his laptop. Everything was progressing as planned, except for one disturbing fact. Jason Rodgers was ignoring Broadhurst’s warnings to stay away from the shipyard. He was becoming a pain in the ass of enormous magnitude. “What did he do there?” Broadhurst demanded.
“We don’t know. He stopped at the gate, spoke to the attendant, then left. The agents followed him home. He’s there now.”
Broadhurst glanced at his watch. It was eight forty-five. Night had descended over Newport News. He looked out over the dark waters of the James from his borrowed work space, which served as one of two command centers on shipyard property. The small, windswept waves were colored orange by the lights of the marine terminal.
“What’s the status on Rodgers’s background check?”
“I sent it to IB,” the junior agent replied. IB was the investigative branch of the service. “We’re still waiting for it.”
Broadhurst shook his head in displeasure. “Call them and tell them to get their asses moving! And I want that search warrant to examine his finances. I want to know what he eats for breakfast and what time he takes a shit every day.”
“I’ll get right on it. What do you want me to tell the guys on surveillance?”
Broadhurst stretched and clasped his hands behind his head. He removed a plastic container of Tums from his suit coat, shook two from the bottle, and popped them into his mouth. The heartburn felt like it was eating a hole in his stomach. It always got worse as the big day approached.
“Tell IB I want that report first thing in the morning. Then tell our guys to watch his house tonight and pay Jason Rodgers a visit before he leaves for work in the morning.” He held up a thumb and forefinger. “Make sure Rodgers knows he’s this close to finding his ass in jail.”
CHAPTER 44
Tuesday, October 3
Her naked form hovered over him. She bobbed up and down in slow motion, as if floating on gentle, unfelt waves on an invisible ocean.
Jason’s head shifted fitfully as the image played out with his bedroom ceiling as its backdrop. Jasmine Kader’s stern demeanor in his dream was markedly different from her come-hither persona in real life. Her voice filled his ears with radio static, never rising to the level of coherence, but filling Jason with unease. Yet, in the time and space of this nightmare meaning penetrated, dredging the grooves of his subconsc
ious, excavating memories of his noontime meal with her and the events that had followed, which until now had been locked away.
Jasmine Kader had interrogated him, probing, threatening, groping for information. His mind tried to grasp the purpose, but came up empty.
The sightlines of the dream blurred, wavering like a pane of glass coated with cascading water on a rainy day. He looked up from his bed at her naked form. At the caramel skin, delicate breasts, and soft curves. She was a perfect female specimen. Though he had never seen her undressed, his imagination filled in details. His loins stirred. He reached for her with a tentative hand. Kader, the apparition, smiled and drifted out of reach.
Her right arm, covered by a sheath from shoulder to wrist, extended toward him gracefully. Her left hand slowly pulled back the sleeve. Jason shrank from the sight even before his eyes fully focused on the image.
The arm was not abnormal or grotesque. In fact, it was perfect and unblemished in every way, except for the tattoo. Through the wavy, undulating curtain, he discerned the marking. Jasmine moved her arm closer to him. It broke through the wavy drape as if coming from another dimension. The body art on the flawless skin repulsed him, convulsing him with dread.
Jason awoke with a jerk, eyelids fluttering. Temporarily paralyzed, stuck on the cusp between dream and reality, his chest heaved rapidly. Eventually, his muscles regained feeling. Movement returned, first to his fingers, hands, arms. He flexed his feet up and down, back and forth. He managed to find the floor, walked slowly to the bathroom, and splashed water over his face. Downstairs, he made coffee, turning the dream over, centrifuging two important realities into focus.
First, the tattoo was real.
Jason had seen it in the flesh through his drunken mist. His mind replayed snippets of their conversation at lunch. Staggering to his car. Jasmine grasping his arm. Heavy, pleasing perfume filling his nostrils. Then everything went black. He must have passed out. The next recollection was that of Jasmine and a man, helping him up the stairs. A liquid was squirted up his nose. His nostrils burned and his eyes watered. A minute later, the room began to roll and wave. He felt as he had after waking from an appendectomy many years ago.
He realized that he’d been drugged. Words had flowed from him in response to her pointed questions. Lies had been impossible. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said. But he told her what he knew. Why his mind was revealing it to him now, he would never know.
At some point, Jasmine had leaned in close to make sure he heard her words, her nose nearly touching his. Jason had reached out and grabbed a fistful of blouse in an attempt to pull her close. Jasmine had been caught by surprise. He was a man under the influence of a narcotic and she, after all, was an extremely attractive woman.
Kader had tried to pull away, but Jason had held tight. She’d broken his grip, but not before her right sleeve rode up, exposing the forearm—and the tattoo. He’d seen the image before. It was identical to the one etched on the attacker’s arm at Pettigrew’s house. Jason hadn’t realized it until this very moment, but the hand-drawn sketch that Thomas had left in his files was a cruder version of the same design.
Jasmine Kader was tall and athletic, but she could never be confused with the brawny man who’d broken into Pettigrew’s home. They were two different people. Two identical tattoos in the same location on the forearm. Were Jasmine and the intruder part of the same organization or group?
Jason had assumed his attacker that day had been a robber, looking for loot. Now, Jasmine—adorned with the same tattoo—had drugged him and was asking difficult questions about his knowledge of the Colonial. He grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and sketched the image across the entire page. Ten minutes and three drafts later, he was satisfied. He folded it twice and put it in his wallet. He would compare it to the sketch Pettigrew had left in his files. But Jason was confident they were identical.
He gulped down the last of the coffee. The doorbell rang twice impatiently. Padding to the door, he threw it open. Two serious-faced men in dark suits and sporting sharp crew cuts glowered at him. The closest man held up an identification wallet. A bright gold badge with the star of the Secret Service was rammed into Jason’s face.
CHAPTER 45
Lily Zanns’s policy forbidding electronic communications or over-the-air transmissions had been successful in keeping their operation undetected. Eavesdropping devices were everywhere. Hammon, she knew, nonetheless communicated by very advanced, high-tech methods. She was quite certain he was an American, with access to vast resources. The secret group he headed had access to a plethora of sophisticated devices. The Simoon did not. That was fine. There would be no e-mails, cell phone calls, or text messages about their mission. The only compromise she allowed was the rare coded phone call to the pizzeria in Hampton to set up the meetings with Cooper. So far, the strategy had worked.
Having to meet with Cooper face-to-face was becoming a chore. He had called an hour ago requesting another meeting. She despised the man sitting in her Mercedes more every time she laid eyes on him. “What is so important that you had to get me out here at this early hour?” she demanded.
The circular parking lot on the banks of the York River was deserted. They stood at redoubts nine and ten in the Yorktown National Battlefield. These two fortifications, held by the British, were vital to the defense of the hamlet more than two hundred years ago. If they’d fallen into the insurgent American hands, the small village would have been within range of the Continental Army’s cannons. An assaulting party led by Lieutenant Alexander Hamilton and supported by French troops stormed the earthworks in October 1781, capturing them, thus signaling the beginning of the end for the British.
Zanns had picked this location to have her clandestine meetings with Steven Cooper for its ironic historical significance. Zanns’s own assaulting party would be launching their attack on the imperialist nation that had become exactly what they’d despised so long ago in the British.
Zanns had driven herself to the meeting, a rare occurrence. Oliver had arrived late last night from taxiing Jasmine Kader to North Carolina and would be making a return trip in a matter of hours. The trips to the Camp in the deep woods were now daily. Preparation for their task on Saturday took precedence. So Zanns was relegated to the menial task of actually getting behind the wheel of her Maserati.
“Rodgers,” Cooper began, “was spotted at the Windsor Towers last night. We intercepted him calling the Colonial asking for Fairing’s phone number. He then called his brother and had him do a reverse look-up to get the address. Rodgers knows that Fairing lives in the towers. Hammon is extremely concerned!”
Zanns was already aware of this fact. Fairing had retrieved the message from the towers guard and had called her last night warning about Rodgers’s visit. Cooper’s men had followed the pharmacist as well. Cooper’s call this morning asking for a meeting was annoying but not unexpected.
“We’ve had a team following him since we learned of his return. He and two other men were seen coming out of the Newport News Police building,” Cooper continued.
She knew this also, but feigned ignorance. “You’ve been following him? There was no need! I have someone handling that. My person says Rodgers knows nothing about the real plan. He thinks it’s insurance fraud.”
“Who, your tramp, Jasmine? We saw her meet with him for lunch.”
Zanns leveled a disgusted look at the spy. Cooper was unaware Fairing and Kader were Zanns’s offspring. She hid her anger, resisting the urge to reach out and slap the tight smirk from his face. “I wouldn’t want to be on Jasmine’s bad side. She’s skilled with many weapons.”
Cooper ignored the threat and replied coolly, “When was the last time she spoke with him? My men haven’t seen her with Rodgers in days. What he knows may have changed. They’ve visited the police, and we have no idea what they said. He needs to be disposed of.”
“Rodgers is not to be killed. Two pharmacists dead at the Colonial in a matter of weeks
would raise suspicion. He has no obvious vices that we can use to stage an accident, no drug use or alcohol. Anyway, there’s not enough time for him to put everything together.”
“Pettigrew was not a drunk. That didn’t stop you with the old man!”
Zanns glared. She was clutching at straws. There were many ways to eliminate Jason Rodgers without arousing suspicion. He would remain alive until such time she deemed it necessary to eliminate him.
“We’ll find out what he knows,” Cooper continued. “His house and car have been bugged. Cameras are in place. His cell phone is being monitored. He’ll be meeting with the brother, Peter, and two others. We suspect one of them is Christine, the daughter. The fourth person is the private investigator.”
“Where will the meeting take place?”
“At Rodgers’s house. We should know more then. He may have to be dealt with.”
“If suspicions are raised, they will look to me, Fairing, or Kader. We cannot have the police investigating before the plan is executed.”
“Lily, you’re a fool!” Cooper’s statement was calm and analytical.
Zanns aimed a string of French expletives at Cooper. She paused and gathered herself. “I will be confirming receipt of the funds by tomorrow night. Every penny needs to be in the ten different accounts, or the plan will not be carried out. Are you ready to move it?”
Cooper bristled. “Of course. Twenty-four million dollars, to be wired into an escrow account in the bank in the Caymans. The flow of money cannot be reversed, our account will be closed, and the records deleted immediately after the transfer. Once the plan is executed, you can activate the password. The bank has specific instructions that the money is not to be moved until Sunday, when the password is presented. You will be given the password after the event, in a secure e-mail. The letters of the password will be embedded in a seemingly inane message, and can be retrieved using the predetermined numbering sequence. It will be routed through untraceable servers in Europe and Indonesia. We’ve paid a bank employee to monitor the news channels. Once news of the deed is public, he will know to release the funds to the password holder. If there’s no news, the password will be voided, and the funds will be rerouted to other accounts. Naturally, the bank employee will be eliminated shortly thereafter.