by Jack Bowie
Braxton’s eyebrows popped up. “Don’t you think I have a reason?”
She retrieved her cell from her purse, found Fowler’s number in her contact list and punched the call button. Nothing happened.
“Adam,” she called. “My phone doesn’t work.”
“Sorry, forgot to mention that coverage is pretty bad out here.” He pointed to the phone on the kitchen counter. “That’s how I called you.”
“We really are in the wilderness,” she replied.
“Fowler,” came a tired voice when the call connected.
“Detective, it’s Susan Goddard.”
“Goddard!” he exclaimed. “Where the hell are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Detective. Why?”
“Look. Braxton’s in trouble. I’m worried he may have gone over the edge. Have you heard from him?”
Fowler’s tone worried her. She put a finger up to her lips then pulled Braxton over to the phone. Maybe he was right. “What happened?”
“There was a murder in Boston. Warren Chamberlain from Century Computer. The police think your friend Braxton did it.”
“My friend, Detective? I thought he was your friend, too. You were the one that kept pushing him into the investigation.”
“Okay, our friend. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure about any of this. But there’s a hell of a lot of evidence against him. And I don’t want you to get any more involved.”
She remembered what Braxton had said earlier. “All that evidence is electronic isn’t it?”
“Electronic? What do you mean?”
“On the computer, email. Nothing written down.”
“Well . . . Yeah. Most of it. But he was at the scene. And he ran.”
“What would have happened if he didn’t?”
The line went dead. Fowler returned after a few seconds. “This isn’t a debate, Ms Goddard. Braxton is in lots of trouble. And I’m worried about you.”
“I’m flattered, Detective. But you needn’t be concerned. We’re both fine.”
“Both! Dammit, you’re with Braxton? Where are you?”
“Outside Boston, Detective,” Braxton interrupted. “I really want to thank you for your confidence.”
“Uh, yeah. Look, I’m sorry. But what am I supposed to think?”
“How about that the same people who killed Mohammed Ramal and Paul Terrel, also killed Chamberlain and framed me,” Braxton said. “Is it all that far-fetched?”
“I don’t know. Tell me what happened.”
Braxton again related the story of the night. He tried to remember everything for the detective.
“You really did get hit?”
“Yeah, caught me in the shoulder. I’ve had a great nurse, though.”
“You’re damn lucky. You’ve got to turn yourself in, Adam. The Massachusetts cops are sure to find you eventually. Just tell them what happened.”
“Right, Sam. And what would happen then? Are they going to let me go? There isn’t a bit of evidence in my favor. Without something to support my story I go to jail and they toss away the key. Any argument?”
Fowler’s silence was answer enough.
“What’s happening in D.C.? Are they looking for me there?”
“The Cambridge cops called once asking about you. Other than that I haven’t heard anything. Why?”
“We’re coming back to town day after tomorrow.” Goddard was about to interrupt until Braxton shook his head at her. “I’ve got to see if Chamberlain’s USB stick has anything useful on it.”
“It’s crazy. What if they pick you up on the way down?”
“We’ll be careful. I have to take the chance.”
“Maybe you do, but what about Ms. Goddard? Why get her messed up in this?”
“We’re in this together, Detective,” he said as he looked over to her. “It’s more complicated than you think.”
“Turn yourself in, Adam. For both your sakes.”
“Sorry, Sam. Not yet.”
“Okay. But we meet as soon as you get back. Monday morning. Same place as before. We can talk it through.”
“We’ll call you when we get in Sunday night. That’s the best I can do. I’ll explain then.”
“You damn well better. Two days, Braxton. And be careful.”
He handed the phone back to Goddard. “I thought you said we were leaving tomorrow?” she asked after dropping the handset in the cradle.
“We are.”
“Don’t you trust Fowler?”
“I don’t know. But I sure don’t trust any communication system. Especially the digital ones.” He slid down on the cushions and flopped his head back. “Fowler’s right you know. There isn’t any reason you have to get tied up in my mess. It could be dangerous.”
“I think there is a reason. Whatever is happening to us, we can work it out better together. Besides, it’s clear you’re lost without me.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “Look what happened when I let you go off on your own.”
Leaving Braxton to rest on the sofa, Goddard packed up the things they would need on the trip to D.C. and took them out to the rental car. Then she remembered that the Jeep was still parked out back. It was an all too obvious piece of evidence; she had to find a way to hide it. Searching the woods with her flashlight, she found a trail heading back from the house and drove the Cherokee as far into the dense forest as she dared. It was well out of sight from the clearing.
As she was getting out of the Jeep, her foot hit something under the seat. When she looked, she found Braxton’s revolver. Gingerly lifting it off the floor with her thumb and index finger, she dropped it on the seat.
Should she leave it? It’s caused nothing but misery so far.
It’s evidence. I should hide it.
But what if there’s trouble?
She finally grabbed the handle of the weapon, awkwardly pointed it away from her body, and walked back through the woods to the cabin.
* * *
They settled into their bunks for the night. The moon lit the cabin’s interior with a soft, intimate glow. Only an occasional call from the crickets and bull frogs broke the stillness of the night.
“Susan, I feel chilled,” he called.
She jumped out of bed and hurried over to his bunk. An impish grin immediately alleviated any concerns on his well-being. “Oh you do, do you? And what might warm you up?”
“If you lay down here for a minute I might get warmer.” He patted the side of the bed.
“Well, as long as it’s for therapeutic value only. Nurses should never get too involved with their patients you know,” she said with a crooked smile.
“I completely agree,” he replied as he pulled down the blanket.
She unbuttoned the heavy flannel nightshirt she had purchased in Jamison’s and let it slide off her shoulders to the floor. Standing naked in the moonlight, she watched the desire grow in his eyes. Then she crawled under the covers and felt his warmth against her cool skin. She had missed him so and had prayed he would still want her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked as she stroked the bandage on his shoulder.
“I’ve never wanted anyone more,” he replied softly. They made love gently and slowly, relishing in each other’s touch. They made it last as long as they could, finally ending in a rush of emotion that spent them both completely.
After he had fallen asleep she carefully left the bed for her own. Romantic as it was, the narrow bunks were much too small for a comfortable night’s sleep and they’d need all their strength for the upcoming trip.
How peaceful and safe the world seemed tonight. The rustic cabin, the clear star-lit sky, the crisp, clean air. It might as well be another world. Would they ever see any of it again?
She looked over at him, finally resting quietly after his ordeal. Whatever happened next, she had found something more important than all the pain of her past.
She would not let them take that away from her.
C
hapter 53
Merritt, New Hampshire
Saturday, 6:00 a.m.
THEY STARTED OUT at the break of dawn. Goddard had already packed the car and had only to load her wounded passenger into the back seat.
Braxton looked a little better. He had gotten a good night’s sleep—they playfully discussed the reason behind that—and a pink tinge had returned to his cheeks. Now he looked like an only partially underfed Bohemian.
“Don’t you ever get anything normal?” he asked when he saw the arrest-me-red Chevy Camaro. “No wonder that New Hampshire cop followed you.”
“Don’t complain. I was going to get another BMW, but thought it might be a little too obvious. Anyway, it’s comfortable and has lots of power. It might come in handy.”
Goddard was to drive the rental car to D.C., then she would get out to work on her to-do list and he would take the car and find a place to stay outside the city. He was adamant that they should stay separated. They needed to be able to keep making progress in case either were caught. The plan agreed to, they locked the cabin, each wondering if they would ever see it again, and headed for Merritt.
Outside Lincoln they picked up I-93. Then south through Concord and Manchester, and into Massachusetts at Lawrence. They followed 93 down to I-95 and took the circumferential south, the old Route 128, America’s Technology Highway.
The computer companies were long gone, but 128 now shown bright with the gleam of bio-technology. All born in the research laboratories of Boston and Cambridge. So many fortunes to be made and lost. So many secrets to be protected and exposed. It didn’t seem like the area had changed that much after all.
In Canton, 95 split off to the south. The Interstate ran west through Connecticut and New York then down to Baltimore and D.C. They kept with the flow of the traffic, Goddard struggling to stay within five miles per hour of the posted limit. She stopped every couple of hours to stretch her legs and walk off the fatigue of highway monotony.
It was a good day for driving. The roads were dry and clear, and the metropolitan traffic on a Saturday morning was light. They did hit construction on the New Jersey Turnpike, but the work teams were small and the State Troopers paid little attention to the frustrated faces of motorists backed up along miles of seemingly available pavement.
The sun shone brightly all the way down the coast. By the time they reached Maryland, they had even turned on the air conditioning. Goddard had intended to drive the whole way, but finally yielded to Braxton’s whining and let him take the final leg from Baltimore.
“Adam?” she asked once they had passed through the Fort McHenry Tunnel under Baltimore Harbor.
“Yes?”
“Yesterday you said Chamberlain’s killer was very thorough. He planted evidence, lured you to the scene, called the police.”
“Right. It’s like he knew everything I was doing.”
“You know, that’s exactly what Wilson said about Nicholson.”
“Nicholson? You don’t think he could be involved?”
“You’re the one who doesn’t believe in coincidences. What do you think?”
Braxton took a moment to respond. “What would be the connection? They could be about the same age, but Warren never had anything to do with politics. He was a hard core technologist.”
“A very rich technologist. You said you thought Century’s turnaround could have been as a result of sabotage of their competition. That sounds a lot like Nicholson’s specialty. Could Chamberlain have done all that by himself?”
“Warren was really bright, but I must admit, I don’t see him masterminding a play like that.”
“They were in it together. All the murders, all the suspicion.” She was sure this was the answer.
“Hey, slow down. Why would Nicholson want to kill his partner? He’s the aide to a Senator for god’s sake. Extortion and murder may not be his style anymore.”
“Oh yes they are.” It was time to tell Braxton the rest of what she knew. “I didn’t tell you. Nicholson visited Wilson just after we were there. He was asking about me. Wilson didn’t tell him anything but that night someone broke into Wilson’s office.”
“Then they know who you are!” The pain in his shoulder suddenly ratcheted up.
“No. It’s all right. Wilson had taken the files. But Nicholson is getting closer. And he won’t stop.”
“We still don’t have any proof of a connection. If you’re right, there has to be something in their backgrounds. We can focus on that. You need to do some more research,” he patted his breast pocket, “and I have to read this damn drive.”
They crossed into Virginia at 4:30. Braxton took the George Washington Parkway along the Potomac then dropped Goddard off at the Rosslyn Metro station.
“Where are you going?” she asked as she pulled her bag from the back seat.
“I’m not sure. Somewhere out of the District, maybe Fairfax. Where should I meet you for dinner?”
“How about Auberge on M Street? About eight?”
“Okay, I’ll find it. When you get in, check on your email to see if Nicholson has sent anything back yet. Maybe he’ll have left us something we can use. Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled the USB stick out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Get a directory listing of this. Print out anything that looks interesting. There’s got to be something on here that will help us.”
He pulled her over and gave her a kiss. “Don’t worry, we’ll get back at them.”
She touched his cheek for a moment, then slid out and walked to the escalator, disappearing underground to the trains. She didn’t look back so he wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.
* * *
“Dispatch.”
“Hi, Jan. It’s Randy. I’m out at the Terrel place.”
“Oh. How’s your girlfriend?”
“Gone. The place is locked up tight.”
“Too bad. I know you wanted to see her again.”
“Give me a break, Jan. Guess she didn’t want to stay with the memories any longer than necessary.”
“Don’t blame her on that. See you later, Randy. Dispatch out.”
“Collins out.”
* * *
“Good morning, Clarice. Is Julius in?”
“Oh, good morning, Mr. Greystone. Yes, he’s waiting for you.” Montonet gave him a quick smile, then buried her head behind her monitor. She had kept to herself even more than usual the past weeks; hiding from the rumors about her and Lombard that still whirled through the office.
She must be quite lonely, the executive thought as he passed her and entered Keane’s old office.
Flitterman was on the phone when he came through the door, but waved his Senior Vice President to a small conference table on one side of the room. Other than the table and a massive President’s desk, the room was barren. Keane had covered the walls with photographs and paintings, and had placed corporate memorabilia everywhere else, but all of those mementos were gone. On the desk, Flitterman had placed only a plain desk set and a small folding frame with family pictures. Greystone hoped the sparse furnishings pointed to the temporary nature of the assignment.
This morning’s meeting was crucial to Greystone’s plan. He had to get Flitterman to agree to the alliance. Hajima had made it clear he wouldn’t wait any longer. And without Takagawa’s engineering, the plan was worthless.
“Robert, good to see you again,” Flitterman said as he took up a chair across the table.
“And good to see you, Julius. I must say you look more relaxed when we met last week.”
“Thank you. I do feel like we have passed a critical point, Robert. Charles’ death was a great loss for all of us, but we must not forget our responsibility to the other employees and to our stockholders. We must keep Theater viable through this transition.”
Despite his feigned compliment, Flitterman looked no better and possibly worse. There was a weary sadness in his expression. His eyelids drooped, and heavy purple sacs hung below his eyes.
The banker can’t be used to this level of effort. He probably hasn’t worked on a Saturday in twenty years. All the more reason to let go of some of the reins.
“I absolutely agree. You know I will be happy to do whatever I can for the company.”
“Thank you, Robert. We all appreciate that very much. Now, what have you brought for me?”
Greystone handed Flitterman a folder of papers. “As you requested, I’ve put together a briefing on my proposal. First,” Greystone pulled a document from his stack, “is this analysis of the new Senate Bill. The Promoting Freedom and Democracy Bill they call it. It cleared the Senate Foreign Relations Committee yesterday. We have been working with Senator Potterfield and his staff for several months now, and I believe the results are clear.
“The new technical specifications are based on the proposals we submitted. This Bill puts us in an ideal position to be first to market with a new class of command-and-control communications systems. A class that is guaranteed to be approved for export to countries fighting insurgencies and terrorists. I have also developed some projections of the market potential on the last sheet. You can see what this would do for Theater.”
Flitterman thumbed through the pages of his copy. “Yes, they are very promising, Robert. What is your analysis of the Bill, however? Will there be major changes as it goes through the full Senate?”
“We do not expect any. Senator Potterfield is a powerful force on the Hill. He’s able to get his way most of the time.”
“Still, it would not be prudent to commit to this strategy until we see the final version. Why not wait the next few weeks?”
“There are two problems with waiting, Julius. First, we give the competition time to react and set up their own partnerships. Some of the companies with whom we are in discussions may interpret our delay as a lack of commitment. They too may be afraid of being left out and might seek out other agreements. Second, this is an ideal way to show Wall Street that we have not given up, that we are an innovative and aggressive company in this new market. It would strengthen our credibility significantly.”
“If the partnerships are effective in creating the new product line and the State Department approves the exports,” Flitterman added. “That is my concern with the Potterfield Bill. I have seen too many examples of last minute legislative changes that have had significant, and often unforeseen, effects.”