by Leslie Wolfe
“Oh, fuck me...” Sam said, letting several seconds of silence say the rest. “Then what happened?”
Sam’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper.
“Then two of my employees died—one in a car crash in Nevada, the other from a heart attack here in DC.”
“That could be a coincidence, Bobby; have you thought of that?”
“They were the only ones opposing the offshoring of this contract. They were not going to let it go. And I don’t know how, but somehow he knew. That guy, Helms, knew.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then we awarded the contract to the company Helms was pushing. They were the strongest offshore vendor anyway, so I didn’t have to do anything.”
“Is that it?”
“No, Helms appeared again, told me I can’t pull out of the contract or they’ll kill Melanie. He said the contract must run its entire course or she’s dead.”
“OK, so what do you want to do?” Sam asked.
“I’ve got to call the cops. They’ll throw me in jail, I know, but there’s no other way. People are dead, Sam, and e-vote? Out of all the contracts in this world? I have a gut feeling this isn’t about money or that Indian CEO’s ego. This is about the next president, Sam. It must be.”
“Here’s what we need to do. You need to give me a couple of days to look into some options.”
“No.” Robert snapped. “No, we have to call the cops, the feds, or you tell me who to call, who handles stuff like this.”
“If you do that, Robert, you go to jail most likely for the rest of your life, Melanie’s life is in danger, and whoever is doing this will go underground and will never be caught. They’ll strike again, who knows when and how. How is that better?”
Robert couldn’t think of an answer. Sam was right.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Hold on to that burn phone. Keep it handy and make sure it has minutes and the battery is charged. I’ll be in touch in a day or two with options. And Bobby?”
“Yes,” Robert managed to say.
“Hang in there. We’ll fix this somehow.”
...Chapter 29: Withdrawal
...Saturday, January 16, 10:00AM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Flash Elections: Breaking News
...Nationally Syndicated
Phil Fournier’s greeting opened the newscast on a background of red, white, and blue. The background shifted to show the portrait of Vice President Sheridan.
“A surprise announcement came today when Vice President Mark Sheridan revealed that he will not be pursuing his candidacy for the US presidential elections. His decision comes as a shock to everyone, including the Democrats. Everyone was sure that Mark Sheridan would succeed President Mason and continue the democratic top-level presence in the White House. With President Mason by his side when he made the announcement, the vice president claimed health and family reasons for his decision to step down. At the end of his mandate as vice president, he will retire completely from the active political arena.”
The background shifted again, displaying the image of Senator Bobby Johnson, Democrat from Illinois and presidential candidate.
“In the wake of VP Sheridan’s announcement, the spotlight moves to Senator Bobby Johnson’s bid for president. Most likely he will now be granted Democratic support for his candidacy. With VP Sheridan in the run this support would have never been granted. Consequently, his ratings have gone up, but not by a lot. His support is currently at 22.8 percent, and he will need to do a lot better that that to have a chance to enter the White House as our next president. The low support for Johnson is attributed largely to his perceived indecisiveness.
“A moderate with open yet hesitant views of what America’s role should be in the world, Johnson is failing to convince the public that he has what it takes to revive the economy, address the burning issues in our immigration legislation, and stabilize healthcare. Johnson appears undecided about how to tackle poverty and illiteracy in our country, while stating he strongly believes the economy will make a comeback, which will address at least some of these issues.”
The background image changed again, cueing footage filmed on the streets of New York City.
“Let’s hear a few reactions to today’s surprise announcement,” Phil Fournier announced before the filmed interviews expanded onto the entire screen.
“I am a Democrat at heart, so I don’t care whose candidacy they decide to support. I am voting for him,” a young man responded, his face partially hidden by the hood of a down parka.
“Johnson’s lame, that’s what he is. He could bring this country to ruin. This one bends in the wind; that’s what he does. No backbone whatsoever,” remarked a man in his fifties, bracing the windy New York City winter in a business suit and hurrying to get out of the wind.
“I don’t think Johnson’s views on immigration will do this country any good,” said a woman in her thirties while hailing a cab. “I think we need to think of the welfare of our own children before caring about other countries and their problems. I want a job and a future for my son, first,” she finished speaking, slamming the cab door behind her.
“He’s a kind man, he is, you know,” an elderly man stated, “and we need kind men.”
The screen shifted back to the studio.
“Senator Johnson has some strong supporters, and he could get more. The coming months will be critical for his chances to win, and we will keep an eye on things for you. From Flash Elections, this is Phil Fournier, wishing you a good rest of the day.”
...Chapter 30: Calling a Friend
...Saturday, January 16, 12:13PM EST (UTC-5:00 hours)
...Sam Russell’s Residence
...Timberlake, Virginia
Sam paced his snow-covered deck; he was wearing a light jacket on top of a sweat suit, not feeling the cold, not noticing the winter wonderland landscape unfolding behind his home. There were many ways this could go terribly wrong. He’d been out of the spy business for six years now, and yes, some things never change, but this deal that Robert had gotten himself into seemed intricate and treacherous, a real can of worms.
Sam scratched his clean-shaven head, thinking hard. He had options, quite a few, some legal, some not so much. He could call his former boss, still working for the CIA, and hand this case over on a platter and let the experts do whatever they saw fit with it. There were many other alphabet agencies he could call, with the same results, including throwing Robert in jail for a very long time. All these were his lawful options. He was now aware of a crime being committed, and, under the law, he was obligated to report it. OK, yeah, but screw that, he thought, moving on to less lawful options.
A smile curled the right corner of his lips. Do I still have it in me? One more case? He flexed his left arm, feeling his bicep with his right hand. He stretched his legs and tried a couple boxing moves, made his feet dance, and threw a couple of jabs in the air. Yep, still alive, he thought. But I can’t do this on my own, that’s for sure. I need a team.
He went back inside the house, grabbed his encrypted cell, and retrieved a number from the phone’s memory. A man’s voice answered almost instantly.
“Tom Isaac speaking.”
“Hey, ol’ buddy, this is Sam Russell; how are ya?”
“Hey! Great, really great, how have you been?”
“All good, retired and all, just getting old and stale, that’s all,” Sam said jokingly.
“That’s bullshit if I ever heard bullshit before. You, old and stale? Never gonna happen!” Tom laughed.
“Hey, listen,” Sam’s voice turned serious all of a sudden. “Are you in the same line of business?”
“Yes, absolutely. What can I do for you?”
“How soon can you get here? There’s someone you need to meet. You’re on the West Coast now, right?”
“Yep, that’s where I am. Let’s see...” Tom paused, checking flight options online. “It’s early here, so I can hop on a flight before
lunch. How’s nine tonight your time? Landing at Reagan National? Fast enough for you?”
“That’ll work. Can we meet inside the airport?”
“Sure,” Tom responded, his answer delayed by a split-second of hesitation. “Wherever works for you.”
“Text me at wheels down.”
...Chapter 31: Vacation
...Saturday, January 16, 9:52PM Local Time (UTC-4:00 hours)
...Flamboyant Avenue
...St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands
Alex enjoyed the Caribbean more than she had expected. She didn’t care she technically had to run from San Diego because of Kramer and other potentially loose and dangerous ex-NanoLance executives. Her bruised ego healed in exactly five minutes after being in St. Thomas. Steve’s impeccable taste in beaches, convertibles, dining, and overall entertainment was helping as well, but Alex enjoyed his presence most of all.
“What are you smiling about, Miss Hoffmann?” Steve interrupted her reverie.
You, she thought, her smile widening. “I’m having a great time; thank you so much for putting up with me,” she said instead. “I took over your vacation without notice or invitation, and I appreciate you taking me in.”
“Always a pleasure,” Steve replied, frowning a little, a shadow coming over his blue eyes.
There were many unspoken things between them, the relationship that could have been but Alex had rejected because of her own insecurities and the complications such a relationship would bring to their work. Steve disagreed with her reasons, but of course he did; he was the shrink. He always disagreed, always challenged her thoughts, her feelings. They had stopped arguing about it though, both valuing their friendship to the greatest degree. It still felt awkward at times though. Deciding not to think about it anymore, Alex lifted her arms, playing with the wind and enjoying the high-speed convertible ride.
“So, tell me, do you have one of these customized cars brought over when you travel?
Steve’s frown evaporated.
“This? This is a rental; it’s not customized at all. But it was, in all fairness, very difficult to find.”
“Why the extra trouble? You can’t drive the average rental sedan for a few days?”
“Seriously? How can you ask that? I will always put in the extra effort to ensure I enjoy my ride. It’s important to me.”
“Food is important to me right now. Beach makes me very hungry.” She growled playfully, baring her teeth and contorting her tan face in imitation of a feral predator. “Where are we eating?”
“We’re gonna have pizzas at the Pie Whole. It’s an excellent place, you’ll love the pies.”
Seated and waiting for their pizzas, the conversation stalled. Alex broke the silence, not comfortable with it at all.
“Do you come here every year?”
“In the past few I have, yes,” Steve replied.
“Cheers.” She raised her glass, then downed her Heineken thirstily. Putting it down empty, she beckoned the waitress for another one.
“Go easy on it; it’ll get to your head before you know it,” Steve warned, playfully waving a finger at her.
“Ah, shut up, buzzkill. I’m thirsty, that’s all.” She laughed.
“Actually, that’s not all,” Steve added, turning pedantic. “You’re also dehydrated from a full day on the beach, and alcohol will get you intoxicated faster than normal. That’s why alcoholic beverages should not be consumed on the beach or in intense heat.”
The man loved to teach, that was a sure fact.
“That’s why Arabs don’t drink alcohol,” he continued, undisturbed.
The tidbit of information caught Alex’s curious mind.
“What? I thought it was by religious precept that they couldn’t drink. Written in the Quran, right?”
“Yes, but like with all forms of religious doctrine, the Quran was developed as a guide to keep people lawful, healthy, and productive during times where law and law enforcement, healthcare and health education, and government infrastructure were altogether absent. The religious books taught people what to eat and what to avoid to live a healthy life. You see, back then ‘Thou shalt not kill’ was about the only thing keeping people from killing one another. Back then, if anyone decided to commit murder, in the absence of the legal mechanisms we have today, there was little that could be done to catch the killers and hold them accountable.”
“Interesting. So that’s why alcohol is banned in Islam, because Islam is found in the hot zones of the planet, right?”
“The Islamic faith originated in the very hot areas of the planet; although now you can find some limited Islamic influences in temperate climates, yes. But even the expansion of the Islam happened primarily toward other hot regions, like Africa. One can only speculate that it happened this way because their precepts made more sense to people living in very hot climates.”
“I see what you mean,” Alex said, thoughtful. “Muslims cannot drink alcohol, but Catholics can, the majority of them living in temperate or cold areas.”
“Catholics can and are even encouraged to taste a little red wine, very healthy for people living in temperate or cold climates. Wine is a natural circulatory aid. What other examples can you think of?” Steve asked in his teacher voice, addressing her as he would a student.
“Well, Muslims can’t eat pork either. Pork is fat, hard to digest in a hot climate, and spoils easily. What else...Ah, the Catholics and the Orthodox have biannual fasting, which detoxifies your body, if you stop and think about it. But both these religions allow eating of meat, especially at the beginning of winter.”
“Why then? Why sacrifice pigs at the start of winter?”
“Because it’s cold outside, and, historically, people living thousands of years ago did not have freezers to preserve their meats.”
“Yep, that’s precisely it,” he agreed.
“Why do you like to teach, Steve?”
“Because it changes how people, how you look at things. How you think about things. I open your mind to different points of view that you later decide to use or discard. That is very rewarding.” He paused, taking a wolf bite out of his pizza. “I also like to hear myself talk,” he laughed.
“How long have you worked with Tom and the gang, with The Agency?”
“Almost twelve years now,” he replied and took another bite.
“How was it back then? How were the earlier cases?” Alex gulped her second glass of ice-cold beer and gestured for a third.
“Oh, I don’t know about the early cases. Tom had started The Agency almost twenty years before he met me. He worked the cases himself; he did everything on his own at first, or with Claire’s help. Then we met, and I started working for him.”
“Did you work on tough cases like the ones we take now?”
“You’ve only worked two cases; you’re very junior in this job, but yes, both your cases so far were tough, and no, back then they weren’t all like that. For example, no one held me at gunpoint or wanted to kill me until several years in.”
“So I should be flattered?” She smiled playfully, almost flirtatiously.
“No, you should be concerned and wary and behave like an adult about this.” Steve was serious. “I am worried, you know,” he softened his voice a little, touching her hand. “I am concerned that you show no sign of trauma after these events. On the surface it’s almost like these events did not affect you at all, like you don’t care.”
“Steve, don’t be a shrink with me, please. I’m having a great time. Be a friend,” she pleaded, slurring a little, raising her third glass of beer and clinking it against Steve’s tall order of sparkling mineral water.
“I am your friend, and I am concerned about you. You should feel anger, fear, anxiety, or any mix of these feelings. Instead, it seems to me you don’t let yourself feel anything.”
“Nope, not true. I feel proud of being able to handle myself well. I felt embarrassment when I didn’t. I had my ass handed to me a couple of times in t
he past, and that was awful. I was afraid I’d get fired for not being able to take care of myself.” She chuckled.
“That would never happen, don’t worry. Tom will probably give you a hard time and train you some more, but he wouldn’t do that.”
“Good to know, but I still don’t wanna screw it up again, ’cause it was a lousy feeling, to let that biatch Kramer have the upper hand. But see? The tides have turned, and fate gave me the opportunity to even the score with her, so I actually felt happy about it. That’s how I felt. And grateful to Lou for spending his Christmas vacation on my self-defense lessons. My butt hurt for days...It had to count for something, and it did. And I am grateful.”
“Were you afraid? Talk to me,” Steve asked in a soft voice.
“Hell, yeah, and still am sometimes, but I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said, sadness coloring her voice. She stood up, a little unsteady, then found her balance and sense of humor. “Let’s go. I am so done letting you ruin this awesome dinner.”
“That’s your way of saying you’re a little tipsy, exactly like I said you’d be, and you wanna get to the hotel early?” Steve asked mischievously, laughter in his voice.
“Ha! In your dreams, buddy, I am so not drunk! The night’s still young!”
“Prove it to me, then,” Steve challenged her as they left the restaurant.
“How?”
Steve stepped toward a patch of fresh-mowed lawn next to the Pie Whole. Cut blades of grass covered the lawn, left behind by the mower.
“Well, it’s a scientifically proven fact that a person can’t sit on their knees, hands behind their back, and lean forward to grab a blade of grass with their teeth, then sit upright again, if they’re intoxicated.”
“You’re on.” Alex cheered at the challenge.
She kneeled on the grass and put her hands behind her back. She felt unsteady momentarily. This was going to be hard, but she wasn’t going to back down from the challenge. She started leaning forward toward the grass, slowly, barely managing to hold her balance and not fall face down on that lawn. A few passersby were watching, intrigued and entertained, but she didn’t care. She grunted a little, leaned in some more, struggling for balance with a lot of effort, and finally reached the grass. She took a couple blades between her teeth, then got back up, cheering loudly.