Cardinal Rule: A James Kendrick Thriller

by James Kendrick

“Anybody got a torch or something,” he said.

  “I’ve got a LED bulb on my key chain…will that do?” one woman said.

  James nodded his head.

  She searched her pockets, then coughed up a set of keys. She unhooked a small LED torch dangling from a steel ring that bunched a neat set of keys together. Then handed it over to another passenger upfront, who handed it over to another before finally handing it over to James.

  James clicked the button on the torch. A burst of pure bright white blinded James momentarily. He blinked his eyes a few times and waited for his vision to normalize. Then pried open the little girl’s left eyelid and shone the torch into her eye. He jiggled it from left to right, waited, and then pulled her right eyelid open and repeated the same process. Then clicked the device off.

  “She’s okay,” he surmised.

  The concerned man perched by side shot him a questioning look.

  “Her pupils contracted,” James said, sensing his need for an immediate explanation.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that her brains isn’t messed up. She’ll live.”

  “Oh thank god,” the man said. Then squeezed her hands to his lips and kissed them.

  “Are you…?”

  Eyes still closed, the man nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  “I’m her father. Yes.”

  Then James heard a slight groan from the little body that was sprawled over the aisle.

  “Oww…that hurt like hell.”

  James smiled. Then clapped the little girl on her shoulder and said, “Welcome back, Miss Fancy-Pants.”

  8

  6.45 a.m., Eastern Time

  United States

  THE GIGANTIC BOEING Dreamliner touched down with a gentle grace that was a testament to the pilot’s fifteen-years of flying experience. The crew and passengers were relieved to arrive at one of the busiest terminals in the world safely. Especially, after the brief nerve-wracking episode that’d transpired in mid-air. James was eager just to get off the plane as well. He’d become the hero of sorts and wasn’t pleased at receiving all the extra attention. The crew had thanked him. Unknown strangers patted his back and commended him. A woman even hugged him. And he didn’t like being in the spotlight. Understandably though, he knew, they were just happy because no one liked surprises or incidents when they were traveling sixty-thousand-feet above ground level. Not even the trivial ones. And he knew, more often than not, even a simple incident at that altitude, if left uncheck, or unconfined could quickly spiral out of control and develop into mass hysteria.

  But James was used to it. Jumping out of planes and choppers at dizzying attitudes. Parachuting under enemy fire and into uncharted territories that would make a grown man whimper and cry if he’d ever come to it. Or piloting small gliders in the blackness of the night. And he knew, the key to it all of it, was to stay calm and focused. To control the breathing. To keep the mission on mind. That, and of course, over a decade’s worth of combat experience.

  His quick manner and calculated approach was almost natural. He’d assessed the girl’s injury systematically. Determined she’d not been seriously injured. That there was nothing to worry about. And that calmed everyone’s nerves down. Gave them the feeling that there was a professional on board. That everything was under control. That everything was OK. That there was no need to push the panic button just yet. And when Nancy regained her consciousness again, everyone on board was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Able to return to their former, calmer, dispositions. Let the rest of flight descent be steady and uneventful.

  Except for one man.

  * * *

  NOW, LOOKING OUT the window of the aircraft, James noticed the huge US Airways commercial airliner taxiing smoothly into the far-west-end terminal of the airport. It took the passengers about twenty minutes to disembark from the flight. But a small crowd remained behind: the crew and James, Nancy and Tim and their father.

  “Thank you,” the father said, stretching his right hand out towards James.

  James reached out and politely shook his palm.

  “It was nothing.”

  “My name’s Lee. Lee Dawson. You’ve met Tim and I guess you’ve become quite acquainted with Nancy over there,” he said. Nodding towards her. She sat herself on the first row of the seats. Rubbing the side of her head with the heel of her palm.

  “What’s your name, sir?” he asked.

  “James,” he said. Then squeezed his palms. Rocked it rapidly.

  “Glad to meet you, Mr. James.”

  “Likewise but I’ll be out of your hair in a minute. I’m just waiting for the medics to get here. They’ll confirm her condition. I wouldn’t worry though. From the way I see it, she’s already back to her usual self.”

  The man searched his left jacket pocket. Then produced a fat wallet. Filled with stacks of cards and folded receipts that jutted out from its sides. He flipped it open, not noticing a card had slipped out and fallen to the ground. Licked his index finger and thumbed through a couple of notes. Then handed a hundred over to James.

  James raised his hands in the air and said, “Hey mister, I didn’t do it for the money.” Then bent over to pick up the sprawled card on the ground. Straightened his back and handed it over to the nervous man in front of him.

  “Here. It fell.”

  The man ignored him, adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose and pulled out a couple more dollars. Flicked through them and whispered the count anxiously. Then tried to force it in James’ palm. Must have been a couple of hundreds.

  “Please, mister, take it. I can’t thank you enough. I have money. Lots of money. Don’t worry.”

  James shook his head again. Slightly annoyed by the man’s persistent gesture.

  “No. No thank you. I don’t need money.”

  A look of dismay flashed across the man’s face. Then he pocketed the notes back into his wallet and placed it in his jacket.

  Another man, donned in an orange jumpsuit, and clutching a medical kit in his arm, clambered into furthest part of plane from the gangway.

  “Someone here in need of medical assistance?” he shouted.

  The tall man raised his hand. Then nodded his head and rushed past James and his children.

  “Forgive my daddy’s manners,” a little voice pleaded softly.

  James looked down. It was Miss Fancy-Pants. She was like her dad. Tall and slender. With a balmy sort of appearance. Soft spoken and pleasant. Cheery in a manner. With a glint of maniacal mischief in her eyes. Just like every other kid her age should be.

  James smiled emphatically and then said, “That’s okay. He probably thought I was like a hobo or something. Must be the jeans.”

  The little girl’s lips creased into a thin smile. Then nodded her head in agreement.

  Tim chortled and then giggled engagingly.

  “He loves us to death. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for us. There’s a reason why he offered you that much of cash...mister,” Nancy said.

  James was amazed at the maturity that Nancy demonstrated. For a little girl, she was surprisingly wholehearted and understanding about her father’s situation.

  What was she? Eight or eighteen? James asked himself.

  James smiled and then said, “Well…money can’t buy everything.”

  “Ever since mom…,”

  “Nancy come on over here…let the gentleman here examine you,” her father hollered at her.

  Nancy obliged and perambulated over to the medic. When she reached him, the tall man exchanged a couple of words with the medic and then started back down the aisle. He called after James anxiously.

  “Listen, Mr. James. How about a cup of coffee? Can I offer you a cup of coffee when we get off? We’re not in a hurry to go anywhere. Our contact won’t be here for a couple of hours. Plus Tim and Nancy would be very much happy if you could join us,” he said.

  But James shook his head.

  “Mr. Dawson, thank you. B
ut I’m afraid I have to decline the offer. What did the medic say?”

  “Oh…it’s just like you said. She’ll be okay. But he has recommended me to see a doctor if the swelling on her head continues for more than three days. Other than that, there’s nothing else to worry about.”

  “Great. Then it looks like there’s nothing left for me to do here then. I guess I’ll be on my way then,” James said and walked past him. Pacing himself to the open cabin door eagerly.

  “Mr. James, wait…please wait. Actually, I want you to stay. Please. There’s a reason for that. We…We need your help,” the man said.

  James stood in his tracks. He was surprised. Then shot the man a perplexed look.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t tell you much now but I can explain everything over a cup of coffee. Please,” the man pleaded.

  James eyed the man intently. There was something in his voice. It was trebly and shaky. Plus he’d a look of mounting anxiety on his face. One that was filled with genuine concern. Filled with absolute desperation. His lips quivered and trembled. And then he saw it. His eyes. His gray weary eyes were terror stricken.

  Something was wrong. Something wasn’t right.

  James sighed. Then stepped back a feet.

  “I like my coffee black,” he said.

  9

  CAROLINE WINTERS PACED herself towards the director’s office anxiously. And with a ferocity that astonished even herself. The director of Chicago O’Hare’s Quarantine Station needed to hear what she’d to say: period. She burst into his room and caught him right smack in the middle of a three-way conference call.

  He was startled by her rude interruption. Then shot an annoyed look at her and raised his index finger to his lips.

  Caroline got the message. Shut up. Don’t say a word. Everyone’s listening.

  The director clicked the mute button on the Polycom conference phone and glared at his top advisor. The displeased look was still nuzzled in his cold-gray eyes.

  “Yes, Caroline?”

  “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt you like this. But you absolutely need to hear this.”

  A frigid concerned look evinced across his face. Judging from the way she’d unceremoniously stormed into his room, he’d a feeling that this wasn’t going to be good. He clicked the mute button on his speaker phone again and said, “Guys…I’m going to have to call you back.” Then ended the call.

  He sighed and eyed Caroline.

  “What is it?”

  Caroline swallowed her spit.

  “Sir, I’m afraid you’re not going to like this…”

  10

  NEARLY TEN HOURS had passed since James disembarked from the 787 Dreamliner. Since then, he’d been tailing Lee Dawson and his kids almost aimlessly around the terminal. Shuffling from gate to gate. Tottering from one end of the terminal to the next. Checking connecting flight schedule randomly, and then stopping for meals, snacks and finally a dinner. And in all that time, Lee offered no explanation. No reason and no clarification as to why he’d James tagging them all along. Despite all of this, James kept his cool. When he’d asked Lee about it, Lee insisted that it wasn’t the right place or time to talk about it. Or that the connecting flight out of Chicago was delayed and he needed James to stay just a little while longer. Sometimes he excused himself to attend to the needs of his children. Always finding a way to avoid the questions James was asking.

  And James found Lee’s bland disinterest and lack of concern for having him accompany them for nearly ten hours in a row rather trying. The only reason James had opted to stay on that long was because he knew that this man was involved in something deep and nasty. Something that could potentially harm the kids. And he wasn’t going to have any of that.

  Now, sitting over at McDonald’s, Lee sat there rambling on and on about his kids, his life in Russia as an immigrant and how the death of his wife had prompted him to search for a new beginning there. But nothing about the fact of why he’d wanted James to stick around.

  James cupped his hands around the coffee cup. He listened to him. Swigged his coffee slowly. Felt the hot inky liquid travel down his throat and into his gut. Then felt a twitch of pain in his head. Lee’s rambling was getting to him. His patience was evaporating. And then he felt his hand slamming the table with a loud thud. Regarded Lee with a ferocity that spelt the anger and fury.

  Lee fell silent. He sensed his wrath. Then avoided looking at him. Stooped his head low to his chest like a whimpering puppy. Begging its owner for mercy for doing something it shouldn’t have done.

  “Mr. James, I saw the way you…accessed…my daughter’s injury on the flight. The way you checked her pulse. The way you checked her pupils with the flash light. Then checked the contusion on her head. And how you waited for the medics to clear her before you wanted to leave the plane,” he finally said.

  “Yeah…so?”

  “Everyone else on the plane was freaking out. But you didn’t. In fact you immediately leapt into action. As if like you knew what you had to do. Like you have done it a thousand times before,” he said.

  James felt his brows twitch.

  “You’re military, right?”

  James eyed Lee silently.

  “I guess that means yes.”

  “That means nothing.”

  “It does to me. I was in the army too. A long time ago. I worked for the military research institute for infectious diseases.”

  “Yeah. Ok. But what’s this got to do with anything?” James said apathetically.

  He caught a drop of sweat break from Lee’s forehead. It gleamed down the side of his cheek in a continuous rivulet. Then Lee swung his head over his shoulder to steal a glance at his kids. James followed his gaze. Nancy pushed her fries around on the plate. Tim quietly slurped his ice-blended coffee. And then he saw Lee peel his gaze away from them and fixed his eyes on him.

  He slowly leaned in towards him. Then spoke in a low, hushed, tone voice. As if someone was listening in on his conversation.

  “We can’t leave this place.”

  James fell silent hearing his statement.

  “Why not?”

  Lee flopped back onto the backrest of his chair. Then took a deep breath and sighed. He drained his coffee down, swiped his lips with his sweaty palm and leaned in again.

  “Mr. James. I’m an epidemic intelligence officer,” he said.

  James said nothing.

  “A couple of days ago, a close colleague of mine got killed. In Russia. Her name was Tara. Tara Bulva. She was…,” he stopped short from finishing his sentence. His eyes shimmered with tears.

  “She was young. Very young. Taken at the prime of her life. She’d shown a lot of potential.” His voice choked up.

  Then dropped his head to his chest. Looked down at the empty cup and fingered the edges of it. There was look of profound sadness that crept into his face. He looked crestfallen.

  “You guys were close?”

  Lee glanced over to his left. He eyed Tim and Nancy again for a brief moment, and then closed his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding his head lightly.

  “We knew each other since our college days.”

  “OK.”

  “I believe she was...,”

  James caught a tear roll down his cheek.

  “…murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That…somebody…wanted Tara dead.”

  “Who?”

  Lee didn’t answer. He fingered the cup nervously.

  “Her car slid off a cliff. A fifty-foot cliff. Fifty. Can you believe it? She was instantly killed from the impact of the crash.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” James said. “But what makes you think that it wasn’t an accident?”

  “The...,” Lee hesitated.

  “The?”

  “The report.”

  “The report?”

  “Yes.”
<
br />   “What report?”

  “The preliminary autopsy report. The hospital determined that Tara had been drinking. She’d a blood alcohol level of point two nine.”

  “She was drunk?”

  “Absolutely not. Tara never drank,” Lee reproached him.

  “Not even socially. She’d a rare medical condition, you see. Low aldehyde dehydrogenase enzyme level. The enzymes responsible for digesting alcohol. So, it’s impossible that she could have even been consuming alcoholic beverage. And to be drinking while driving? That’s crazy. There’s no way in hell she could have done that.”

  James fell silent.

  “Someone had killed her, Mr. James. And someone had made it looked like it was a D.U.I.”

  11

  THE DIRECTOR SHOT Caroline Winters with a grave look. A piercing stare that penetrated her psyche and made her insides twitch and knot. It was like standing in front of a lion’s den with a piece of meat strung around her neck. Just waiting to be mauled alive. She held her breath and then braced for the meltdown that was about to come.