by Tom Haase
“Hi, any relation to Sara Palin?”
“None,” she said with that pleasing smile reemerging.
Jake thought she must feel safe talking to a man old enough to be her father and then some. But what the heck, it was going to be a long flight and he might as well pass the time talking to this young lady. She might be what his plan might call for.
“I'm Cornelius Jake. Pleased to meet you, Stephanie.” He raised his glass in a salute to her. She responded by clicking his glass with hers. He had not even seen her come to the bar. He needed to be more observant.
“You are a reporter for the Washington paper,” she said, not as a question but as a fact.
“Yes, I am.” He responded slower than usual, taken aback by her recognition.
“I’ve read some of your articles in the paper. I live in D.C.”
“May I ask what you are doing on a flight out of Cairo?” His mind now started to think of a different scenario.
“I'm a student at American University studying hieroglyphics. Just spent two weeks at their national archives working on some documents for my doctorate degree.”
“I'm impressed that students can fly first class. Different from my day.”
“No, I'm not rich, if that's what you think. Quite the opposite. All the travel was on air miles, and I stayed at a youth hostel. At the airport the ticket man became impressed when I could read the ancient writing on the wall. I told him what I did, and he said he would like to treat me to an upgrade. I have never even been in the first class section before. It's something. Beats the hell out of the back of the bus.” She used her head to indicate the rear of the plane.
An hour and a half passed in inconsequential conversation. Jake's mind now formed a new plan. He returned to his seat and decided that he could use this young lady to good advantage. This young student who said she lived on a shoestring while engaged in her academic pursuits could fit into his plan.
The flight attendant woke him for a snack before landing. He went over to the seat where Stephanie ate her light fare and asked if he could join her.
“I have a proposition for you. It's not sexual in any way, young lady. It may well be of financial benefit to you. I need something done that will not inconvenience you and should only take an hour or two of your time since you live in the Washington area. Would you be interested?
“It will pay?”
“Yes, my dear. It will pay rather well. Shall we say five hundred dollars? What do you say?”
She nodded, pushed the thick glasses up on her nose and waited. “It depends. Tell me more.”
Cornelius Jake let out a sigh of relief. He knew he could convince her, and in great detail, he proceeded to explain what she must accomplish.
50
Onboard the Boeing 747 Bound for New York
Matt waited for an hour. He could see land out the window of the aircraft. He figured they were somewhere over southern Europe. Good enough. Time to attempt his plan. He went to the toilet.
He closed and locked the door and turned on the phone. The iPhone came alive and showed a text message. He hit the button and the message from Liz appeared on the screen.
“Have captured the terrorist from the D.C. Metro bombing. Scott Donavan was not—repeat—not involved in the attack. Call me.”
His head felt like a baseball brained him at ninety miles an hour from a major league pitcher. How could this be? They witnessed him carry the bomb. The tape showed him. He cupped his hands under the tap and splashed some water on his face. Nothing he could do about anything at thirty-five thousand feet. He sent a text message to Liz.
“Meet my plane. Delta 85 at JFK.” He turned the phone off and returned to his seat. Had he made a drastic mistake in going after Donavan and leaving Liz on her own? He felt defeated. After a few minutes, he reoriented his thinking. Yes, he’d been impulsive, even driven, to get the terrorists and wanted to repay them for the death of his wife. He saw that now and swore never to let that interfere with his duty again. He would recover from this and go on to be a superb federal agent. This he promised to himself. He would accomplish this in memory of his wife.
His focus from now on would be on bringing any terrorist to justice. But he would never again allow his personal involvement to override his judgment. No John Wayne heroics, just good solid and well thought out actions to protect his country from any future attack by terrorists, be they homegrown or imported jihadists.
* * *
Liz Gonzales read the text message five minutes later. She called Delta to get the exact arrival time in case any delay occurred since the text message. She planned to be there to meet him. Hours remained to develop her next move before he arrived.
She called Libby at FBI headquarters and asked her to track the Gulfstream by the tail number Matt provided. It remained essential that they talk to Scott Donavan as he might shed light on some aspect of the Metro bombing.
She arrived at JFK airport in plenty of time to meet Matt.
“I have my car just outside,” she said in greeting when he entered the baggage claim area and she spotted him. “A security guard is watching it. Let's go. We have a little while until the Gulfstream lands.”
“How the hell is Donavan not guilty? We had him cold for the bombing,” Matt said, as he hurried to keep up with her.
“Wait till we are in the car, and I'll explain what happened and how I found out about the real bomber.”
On the drive to Teterboro, NJ airport, where private jets could land in the greater New York area, she gave Matt a detailed account of the events that occurred while he chased Scott and how she apprehended the terrorist.
“You did good work. I, on the other hand, should be fired for incompetence,” Matt said.
“Not at all. You took the initiative and could have been right. You were the one who gave me the idea to check the train cars for individual cameras, and that saved the day. Nothing wrong with good intuition.” She gave him a pleased look.
Thirty minutes after their arrival at Teterboro, the Gulfstream landed.
“This should end our association with the Donavans,” Matt said. “After we get his statement, we're through. He’ll have to appear at the trial for the man you caught, but we can go back to Washington and file our reports. That should close it out and make the Assistant Director happy.”
“He's not happy that it took us so long, and you better be prepared to answer questions on why you were not able to be contacted for over twenty-four hours.”
“Would food poisoning be good enough for him?”
She chuckled.
51
Teterboro Airport
The Gulfstream came to a stop an hour after Matt Higgins landed in New York. After a minute, the passengers deplaned and walked to the customs and immigration area. When they exited, Matt Higgins and Liz Garcia approached them. Both produced their identification before saying anything.
“Wow, an FBI greeting party,” Bridget said, with the air of someone not impressed. “Oh my God, it's you, Matt, “ Bridget shouted as she looked him in the face.
“Bridget, holy shit. I can’t believe it. How stupid of me. The name Donavan didn’t connect until right now,” he said in astonishment.
“We know one another from the army. A long time ago,” Bridget said to her fellow passengers.
“I recognized the name but had no idea you were connected to Scott Donavan.”
“We'll have to catch up later,” Bridget said. “Right now we are after something and need to go. Give me your card.”
“Bridget, I'm sorry, but that will have to wait,” Matt said.
Bridget stared at him for a few seconds. He could sense her not pleased with his suggestion
“May I inquire what this is about? I'm Monsignor Jonathan McGregor on a diplomatic mission for the Pope,” Jonathan said before Bridget could say anything.
Liz spoke up. “Please forgive us, but we need to talk to Mr. Donavan.”
“You see, I have an apology to make to you
young man, and you are lucky to be alive to receive it,” Matt said.
Scott stared at the FBI agent in disbelief. He shook his head as if trying to clear it or to attempt to understand what he just heard.
“What did I do?” Scott asked.
“Fortunately for you, we found out that you did a heroic act, and just in time, we learned that you were not the bomber in the Metro bombing,” Matt said. “I have a few questions for you and a warning that you will be called to testify in the trial of the real bomber we have in custody.”
“A real hero you are?” Bridget said with an ear-to-ear grin at her brother. “But we have to assist the monsignor in his mission and we need to be on our way.”
“Please give us a few minutes right now,” Matt said. “We can contact you later for any follow-up questions we may have. There’s a coffee shop here, and it won't take that long. All of you are welcome to come.”
They followed the FBI agents into the coffee shop, and Scott answered their questions on what transpired on that morning Metro ride to the Smithsonian. The agents were specific in their questions, and Scott answered with a great deal of precision. The questions continued for over twenty minutes. Matt stopped and related the events of his movements to trail Scott and his hope that he would apprehend him when he caught up with Cornelius Jake. He apologized for his actions in pursuing Scott as a terrorist.
“Then you were in Jerusalem. Did you see Gerti Schultz?” Scott asked. “How is she?”
“I visited her in hospital, and she is recovering nicely. She should be back in the States in a few days.”
“Based on what you say, your actions were warranted. You were overzealous in the performance of your duty,” Scott said. “Apology accepted, and it never has to be mentioned again. Seeing you as a dedicated agent is rewarding in itself. And you worked with Bridget in the war. How cool.” He smiled.
Jonathan interrupted. “I assume we are free to go?”
“Yes, Monsignor. We only have a few more questions. Five minutes, please,” Matt said. “We need to get personal information from you, Scott, and we'll need you to come in to sign a statement to what you told us. We'll be in Washington tomorrow and will contact you when to come in at your convenience. When the court trial takes place, we'll want you to appear.”
Scott's cell phone chirped. He looked at the caller ID and pressed the talk button. He smiled as he put it to his ear.
“Gerti, didn't expect to get a call from you.”
He fell silent. His face lost the smile. All at the table could her screaming voice coming from the cell phone. Not clear enough to understand the words, but obvious that something had upset her, and she screamed for a good half minute.
“Gerti, calm down. I need you to repeat this to the people I'm with. There are FBI agents sitting with me right now. Just a second.”
Scott glanced at Jonathan and then his sister. He faced the FBI agents. “You might think you’re finished with us, but I don't think so. You need to hear the latest.”
“What happened?” Bridget asked.
“Benjamin Schultz has been kidnapped,” Scott said.
52
New York
Jake calmly walked through the exit door at JFK airport. He avoided Schultz's driver holding a sign bearing his name. The man failed to recognize him. After waiting a few minutes for a taxi, he gave the driver instructions to where he wanted to go in the Harlem area.
“You sure you want to go there, buddy?” the taxi driver asked. “It's not a good neighborhood for white guys.”
“Just take me to that address.”
He exited the cab in front of the store. It looked the same as he remembered it from the story he wrote on a gangland shooting in the old days of the mafia rule in the Big Apple. The place hadn't changed much in appearance, but the neighborhood definitely deteriorated. The place held no racial mix any more. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. The taxi driver could’ve been right.
He hurried along to the entrance and dashed into the store. It still looked the same. There were piles of old clothing on one side and all sorts of electrical appliances on the other. Nothing in the store looked newer than a decade old.
The ring of the bell on his entrance caused the old man at the back of the store to approach.
“Whatda you want?”
Nice greeting, Jake thought. Sure sign that business floundered. The old man exhibited dark skin, silver hair, and silver half-frame glasses perched most of the way down his nose. He crossed his arms in a defiant gesture and waited for an answer.
“I could be polite and ask you how you are, but on second thought … I just want a small caliber weapon. I want it now, and I don't want any of your black back talk.”
The old man looked up in shocked surprise. First a rare thing to see a white man in his store and second, the audacious manner used to demand the gun.
“And who the hell do you think you are?”
“I'm the guy who saved your ass from jail fourteen years ago because I told the cops you didn’t sell that machine gun to old man Fazio. I stood in the store and saw you do it. You knew I did, and when I told the cops I was here the whole time and you didn't, I saved your butt.”
The storeowner moved up to within an inch of Jake's face. He stared. He slowly started to form a little smile on the edge of his lips.
“So by God, you are. Why didn't you say so instead of making an old man wait to discover you? I never got to thank you because you ran off, and I later found out you were a reporter.” He took off the glasses before they fell and stuck out his hand. “I know it's late, but—thank you. You know, you shouldn't be in this part of town.”
“I noticed as I got here but didn't know it changed so much,” Jake said.
“Now, what did you want?”
“I want a small handgun. I need it now, and I'm gone as soon as you call me a cab to get out of here. We'll call the debt paid.”
“Give me a minute,” the old man said. He walked to the back of the store and disappeared behind a curtain that swayed after his passage.
Jake looked around and saw faces looking in the window at him. They were all black.
“Come back here.” The old man waved at him to come. As Jake approached the curtain, a young man could be seen behind it as it swayed. The man led him to the back of the establishment and introduced him to his son.
“This is Lucas. He'll take you to wherever you want to go. Go out the back door.” He grabbed Jake's arm and led him back. The young man went out first and got into the driver's side of the Ford F-150. Jake felt the gun slide into his coat pocket as he went out the door.
“Thank you.” Now the next part of his plan secured in place to get more money out of Schultz. So far everything proceeded on schedule. He controlled the necessary items. He held a gun, the Bible of Constantine, and the girl to deliver his Bible. If Schultz didn't play ball, he would cut him out and sell it to the highest bidder.
“Don't use it on anyone I wouldn't,” the old man said as Jake got into the truck.
He slammed the door shut and rolled down the window.
“I plan to use it on someone who deserves it. Today.”
53
Schultz's Apartment
New York
Gerti called her father from the airport when she landed. Her plane, two hours behind Jake's, arrived at the same airport. Her father assured her that he would meet her, but she didn't see him. After calling his cell, she tried the apartment phone. No answer there.
She hurried out of the terminal and immediately smelled the evening air of the big city. It reeked of car exhaust, fumes and diesel emissions from buses. Great to be back in the environmentally friendly city, she thought, as she got into a taxi. During the drive, she again attempted to reach her father with the same result.
At their residence, she rushed up to the penthouse and unlocked the door.
“Father, are you here?”
No answer came. She walked throughout the spacious li
ving quarters and noticed that the statue, a miniature original from the first century found at the birthplace of the Buddha in Nepal, usually rested on a tabletop in a small recess near the entrance to the living room, lay shattered on the floor. The statue represented the dancing figure of the mother of the Enlightened One. The piece always a favorite of her father’s and if he ever dropped it or knocked it over, he would have picked it up. Never would he leave it on the floor smashed to pieces. Now she knew something must have happened. She went into the hall storage closet.
In the closet, she checked the monitor station for the surveillance system her father installed for protection and identification of anyone trying to steal any one of the valuable items in the apartment. It recorded on a twenty-four-hour loop.
She played back from the time mark ten hours ago. She’d spoken to her father in the apartment at that time before going to the airport in Tel Aviv. At a fast forward speed, she saw her father in the living room talking on the phone. He sat making calls for a long time. Then she started to worry as the time line came to less than two hours ago. He still appeared in the video in the apartment. She slowed the fast-forward by using the button to control the speed. She watched as he got up and went to the door.
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed when she saw Jake enter the room.
She released the forward button and the machine switched to normal play. She put on the headphones. She could hear the voices clearly. Her father had installed the best equipment available for monitoring the entire household and the resolution displayed HD quality with sound.
“You weren't on the plane,” her father said. “I got a call from the driver I sent to greet you, and he told me you failed to arrive.”
“I was on the plane,” Jake said.
“He must have missed you. Do you have it?”