“She’d been following some conspiracy stories on social media about compromised DNA samples. People posting all sorts of crazy stories about fetuses being genetically modified and crap like that. Stuff sci-fi movies are made from.”
“If it’s all BS, then what’s the story?”
Ed took a large bite of his sandwich, making Jon wait till he finished chewing. “Turns out several related posts were more credible, had real details about shady confidentiality practices of genetic testing. Company names, lab facilities, and the like. She figured what the hell, she’d look into it. Looks like she may have hit pay dirt.”
Jon’s sandwich arrived, the pastrami spilling out the sides. He slathered it with mustard and took a bite. Heaven!
“She found hard evidence?” Jon asked, his mouth nearly full.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“She started making calls. Spoke to some big company reps, that sort of thing. That’s when the warning emails started coming in. At first, she assumed they were from a concerned party trying to keep her from stirring up trouble. Then they became more threatening. Telling her to back off, not go forward with her investigation if she wanted to keep all her limbs, that sort of thing.”
“Can I see the messages?” Jon asked.
“Luanne has them.”
“Quite honestly, anyone will tell you that isn’t much to go on.”
“My gut is telling me there’s a big story here.”
“What could I possibly do with all this?”
Ed leaned forward, his gut squeezing against the table’s edge. “Are you kidding? Don’t you realize you’re now a full-fledged member of the Federal Bureau of Investigations? That’s nothing to sneeze at. You have access to information most journalists can only dream about.”
Jon knew it was true even at his low level on the totem pole. He still couldn’t believe he’d wiggled his way in the door. “Why not just get the FBI on the case legitimately? Wouldn’t that make more sense?”
“What case? There is no case yet. You just said so yourself. What I need is to dig deeper. Find out if there’s a real conspiracy here. Who sent the threats and why.”
“You could start by tracing the sender’s IP address.”
“We’re working on it.”
“I hear where you’re going with this. You think if someone’s willing to issue threats, they’ve got something big to hide.”
Ed took a bite of his pickle. “Here’s hoping.”
“Okay, What’s in it for me?”
“If there really is something here, and I can smell it, you’ll be the one to break it on the Fed’s side. Of course, Lu and I will do it from the media end. But you’ll look like a hero, taking down the bad guys yet again, only this time from inside the FBI. You’re sure to climb the ladder.”
Jon liked the sound of that. He wasn’t a patient guy and would love nothing more than to skip the line by breaking a big case to get ahead faster. Until recently he would have figured out how to help Ed by bending the rules without actually breaking them. Not anymore.
“Sorry, Ed. I can’t risk jeopardizing my dream job. Matthews warned me if I ever went rogue again, he’d kick me out on my ass. I won’t give him a reason to do it.”
Ed pursed his lips, shook his head slowly. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed. Maybe it was a long shot now that you’ve entered the inner sanctum. If you change your mind and you want to speak to Luanne, let me know.”
Jon stood. “Not happening. Sorry. Just meeting you here could get me in hot water.” He downed what was left of his coffee. “Thanks for dinner. Best sandwich I’ve had in years.” He stood, headed to the exit, and turned. “It was good to see you again, Ed. Let’s hope I won’t live to regret it.”
***
“Jonny, that you?” Eunice Steadman said into the phone.
“Hi, Granny.”
“What’s the matter?” Her tone quickly changing to worried.
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Don’t nothing me, sweetheart. I can hear it in your voice.”
Jon exhaled. “Things are heating up at work.”
“Sorry to hear it. But if anyone can get things on track, it’s you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Are you enjoying the new job overall?”
“It’s great.”
Once again, Granny, his only blood relative, managed to turn his mood around. “So, how are your surfing lessons going?” he asked.
His grandmother laughed aloud. “I’m way too old for the water. But if by surfing you mean on the internet, you’ll be happy to know I’ve graduated to wireless. No more dial-up.”
“Better late than never.”
“Right. Now when I read the news, I can do it from anywhere. I’m catching up on the royal engagement now. The wedding is set for next month. They are such a lovely couple. But enough about that. When are you coming for a visit? I’m not getting any younger.”
“Are you guilt tripping your favorite grandson?”
“Busted.”
Jon could envision his grandmother’s devious smile.
“How’s Melanie?” Eunice asked. Melanie worked as a biochemist in Northern California.
“We’re in loose touch. We’re both so busy, but last I heard, she’s doing well. Already lining up for a promotion.”
“Good for her.”
“Yeah, but with her in San Francisco and me here . . .” Jon trailed off.
“I know, honey. If it’s meant to be, it will. But I don’t want you lonely. Go out, meet people. Make new friends.”
The old refrain. “Granny, I’m okay, I’ve come a long way since I came out of hibernation.”
“And no one is prouder of you than I am. Say, what about those dating sites? The one where you swipe right or left. It’s fun.”
“Granny?”
“Yes, dear.”
“How do you know that?”
“Umm . . . well.”
“No way!”
She giggled. “It’s fun,” she repeated.
Jon couldn’t help but laugh along with her. “Just be sure to be home by midnight.”
“Midnight? I’m usually home by six.”
After a few more laughs, Jon asked, “How’s your hand?” Granny had been through an awful ordeal, lucky to survive. Abandoned in freezing temperatures, she’d recovered but lost two fingers.
“Just fine. Stop worrying. The ladies are going to the mall shortly and then to see a movie.”
“Sounds fun. Have a great time. I’ll call soon.”
“Looking forward to it already. Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up, thankful his grandmother was always there.
Chapter 3
Masada, Israel
Gabe Lewis stood atop the mesa, looking out on the expanse of the Judean desert far below, shades of ecru dotted with patches of incongruous green. Perfectly lined rows of date palms—the result of cutting-edge agricultural technology—stood like sentinels along the tiny country’s eastern border. Just beyond, the still, sulfuric waters of the Dead Sea separated Israel from Jordan. He raised his water bottle to his forehead, hoping for a cool reprieve, but it was useless. His fiancée, Dr. Terry Lavi, had warned him, yet he couldn’t have imagined how brutal the heat would be.
They’d risen before dawn, taking the snake path up to the top rather than wait until the cable car opened. Terry had slathered him in sunscreen, insisting they each bear the added weight of several bottles of water. He wore Nike shorts, a UNT tank top and a Cowboys ballcap. Terry set the pace and twice he’d asked her to slow down. Her petite frame belied her strength. She was in peak condition, her regular krav maga practice resulting in a toned physique.
A strong hot wind blew across the sandy ground. If not for the intense heat, he’d stay for the early tour. What he had learned online was remarkable. Only thirty miles south of bustling Jerusalem, the landscape se
emed other-worldly, as if driving south on Highway 90 had ushered them through a time portal, dropping them into the distant past.
Gabe approached Terry standing beside one of many archeological digs. The rock formation surrounded a squared depression in the ground, remarkably well-preserved given it was dug in 66 CE. The fortress itself had been breached by the Romans, leaving the inhabiting Jews to choose between servitude or death. The community decided as one. To die.
Terry said, “This was the mikvah, the ritual bath. It’s incredible that in the face of an existential threat, they maintained the sacred tradition. One that carries on still today.” Her accent turned the r’s guttural. She paused, looking Gabe over. “Have you been drinking enough?”
“Yes, doctor. But I’m ready to get back to the hotel. This temperature is beyond what my delicate system can process.”
Terry went to her fiancé. “I’m impressed how you managed the hike up here. With no complaining.”
“Aw shucks.” He took her in his arms. “Ani ohev otach” I love you.
She kissed him. “I’m so glad you’re learning the important words.”
***
Gabe and Terry descended by cable car, returning to their hotel in nearby Ein Bokek. There, they showered and fell into the deep, restorative sleep that follows exertive exercise. The first time the phone buzzed, neither one stirred.
“Honey?” Terry heard Gabe mumble.
She kept her eyes closed.
“Terry?”
“Mmm?”
“Your phone.”
Terry opened one eye, turning to see her phone creeping across the nightstand as it buzzed. Unknown number. She sat up, let out a loud yawn, and answered the call.
“Hello?”
“Efoh at?” Where are you?
“Good morning to you, too, Yosef.”
Yosef Kahn was the director of the Mossad, and Terry’s erstwhile employer. He had recruited her for a mission that had taken her from Israel to D.C. and Rome. A dangerous operation, but one she was proud of. She’d lost a new friend, but her relationship with Jon had solidified in the process. She could only guess why Kahn was calling her now months later.
“I’m by the Dead Sea. Everything all right?”
“You need to come in.”
Terry bristled. She didn’t do well with people telling her what to do. Even if it was a man as powerful as Kahn. “What’s happening?”
“You know better than to ask that over the phone.”
Terry looked over at Gabe who was now fully awake, watching her. “But I’m on vac—”
Gabe shook his head vigorously, gave a thumbs up.
Terry sighed. “Okay, when and where?”
Kahn told her and ended the call.
Terry asked Gabe, “Are you sure? We’re having such a lovely time. We still have two more nights here.”
“I know, sweetheart, but if that’s the Yosef I think it is, we have to go back. An ally like that will only help advance your work. He’s one of the most influential people in this country.”
Terry knew he was right. Kahn had already made it possible for her lab to acquire major funding, allowing her to purchase the best equipment available, accelerating her work in predictive genetics.
Gabe got out of the bed, dressed, and began packing. “Let’s grab a quick lunch and hit the road. The bus to Jerusalem comes every two hours. If we hurry, we can make the next one.” He looked up from his duffle. Terry wasn’t budging. “Something wrong?”
Terry opened her arms wide. Gabe let the t-shirt he was holding fall to the floor, and hopped back into the bed, covering Terry’s face in kisses. “Message received.”
“What about the bus?” Terry asked through her giggles.
Gabe stopped what he was doing, looked her in eye and with a perfectly straight face said, “What bus?”
Chapter 4
Los Angeles
Ed parked his beloved Camaro convertible in the garage, farther than usual from the gym’s entrance. I’ll get a few more steps in, he thought as he took a giant bite out of his jelly donut, polishing it off. Probably not a great idea to walk inside a gym with a powdery pastry in hand.
Diabetes, the gray cloud following the Hernandez clan through the generations, had claimed his Grandma Fortuna, her name betraying her as she died at fifty-eight. His sister was in and out of the hospital with gangrene. And now him. At forty-four, he was bordering on obese, high risk for type 2 diabetes. The doctor had scared him enough to join the gym and pay for a personal trainer. Said if he didn’t shape up, he’d never make it to fifty. Clara, his long-time flame had been nagging him for years. Well, here I am. He flicked a crumb off his shirt, grabbed his gym bag from the back seat and got out of the car, clicking it locked.
He considered his trip to New York, his mind taking him to his talk with Steadman. The kid was going places. Unless of course he got in his own way. His cocky manner had a tendency to get on people’s wrong side. But he had stellar instincts, even if he still was wet behind the ears.
Ed made for the garage elevators. A well-built young man wearing a scuffed ball cap was heading his way, clicking his Benz open. Gym rat. Weightlifter. Show off.
As the man walked by, he grabbed Ed from behind, shoving him against a concrete pillar and sticking a long-needled syringe in his face.
“Don’t make a peep Ed or you’re dead,” the man whispered an inch from his ear. “Ha, good rhyme. Actually, you’ll be dead in five years anyway. I’m just speeding the process up some.”
Ed nearly wet himself. “W-why? Why are you doing this?” he stuttered.
“You’ve been sticking your nose into other people’s business.”
Just then two middle-aged ladies came by, chatting and laughing, oblivious to Ed’s plight. One said, “You see Cheryl in that ridiculous leotard? Does she think we’re reliving the eighties?”
The attacker lowered the weapon, even with Ed’s abdomen, positioning himself so it appeared as if they were having an intense conversation.
My only chance to walk away from this, Ed thought.
Ed screamed, kicked as hard as he could and pulled away.
No use. The man had him in a vise grip.
The women turned quickly in their direction, saw the commotion and screamed in unison. The man raised the syringe, plunging the needle deep into Ed’s carotid artery, its contents flowing directly into Ed’s bloodstream. He convulsed, his body shaking uncontrollably then crumpling to the ground with the full weight of his hefty girth.
***
FBI Headquarters
New York City
Jon gripped the phone listening to Luanne Parker, Ed’s assistant. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Ed in a coma? How could that be? He just saw him on Tuesday and he was fine.
“You there, Jon?”
“Sorry, Luanne. I’m processing.”
“Yeah, I know how you feel. I was supposed to meet with him this morning. He’s never late. Always first at his desk unless he’s meeting a source or on assignment.”
Jon noted Luanne sounded stricken but professional.
“Do you know his prognosis?”
“From what I hear, it’s not good. He’s in critical condition, unresponsive. You know Ed. He’s not in the best of shape. That’s why he was at the gym in the first place. His doctor put the fear of God in him.”
“What happened?”
Luanne provided all the details she had, calmly and coherently. A true reporter even when it was personal.
“And the perpetrator?”
“Got away. Two witnesses saw the whole thing. They said Ed was being held at knifepoint, screamed and tried to get away and the man stabbed him. Turns out it wasn’t a knife, but a syringe. Whatever was in it took him down fast, they said. Then the a-hole got in his car and raced away.”
“Any camera footage?” Jon asked.
“No idea. The police are still working it. I can tell you which officer called to tell me what was happening.
Ed had me as one of his emergency contacts. Who knew? I guess he doesn’t have a lot of people checking up on him.”
The guilt hit Jon like a sledgehammer. “If I’d just helped him when he asked . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
“He asked me to follow some story leads, and I declined. Didn’t want to take any chances with my new job.”
“Come on, Jon. No one saw this coming.”
“I should have. Give me the officer’s number.”
She did.
His job at the FBI had been really good while it lasted.
Chapter 5
New York City
Jon walked past City Hall and through the adjacent park carpeted in an autumnal spectrum of color, his feet crunching on scattered mounds of fallen leaves. Toting his lunch, he made the ten-minute walk from his office to the Brooklyn Bridge. It was a perfect fall day. Nippy with puffy clouds. He found a free bench and took a seat, taking his time savoring his egg dumpling soup he’d had delivered from The Noodle Bar. He pulled out his phone and called the LAPD.
The officer who worked Ed’s case had directed Jon’s call to the captain of the precinct. The conversation was getting off to a poor start.
“Why are the Feds getting involved in this? Something you’re not telling me?” The captain sounded close to losing his patience with Jon’s evasiveness. “Ed was a friend of mine, Agent Steadman. I’d appreciate a candid explanation for your involvement.” A pause. Then, “Wait a second. Steadman. I know that name. Aren’t you the guy who got caught up in the UN debacle, the one Ed wrote about in The Times?”
“Yeah, that’s me,” Jon said.
A change in tone. “I take my proverbial hat off to you. You’re one brave dude.”
“Thanks.” Jon was not interested in reliving that time.
“So, what’s the story here?” the captain asked, his tone friendlier.
“I honestly don’t know if there is one. All I can tell you is that Ed asked me for help days before he was attacked. He knew something bad was coming his way.”
“Help with what?”
“Digging up info for a potentially big story.”
Vengeance: An Action-Adventure Novel (A Jon Steadman Thriller Book 3) Page 2