by Sam Powers
Carolyn gestured to the opposite chair. ‘He was hovering. Please...’
‘What are we drinking?’ Adrianne asked as she took a seat.
‘Virgin Mary, unfortunately,’ Carolyn said. ‘I’ve got a meeting with the chairman this afternoon.’ She’d filled Adrianne’s old job as deputy assistant director of information security. It was a thankless and exhausting role, but she was loving it.
‘I had a small ulterior motive in inviting you,’ Adrianne said. ‘I’m working on a file involving your husband right now.’
Carolyn’s mind whirred over the possible questions, but the one that jumped immediately to mind was automatic, procedural. ‘Are you supposed to be telling me this? And here?’
‘Oh, nothing too specific,’ Adrianne said. ‘But I did think it would be helpful to get your opinion on how suitable you felt it was to have him out and about, as it were, rather than back training the youngsters.’
‘Why? Are you worried about his performance for some reason?’ She’d been in the trade long enough not to show overt concern for Joe’s safety. But her first thought was that something must have gone wrong.
‘Nothing of the sort, don’t worry,’ Adrianne said. ‘It’s just that as you’re no doubt aware this particular matter came upon us rather suddenly and I don’t know him from Adam, and yet am tasked with handling the fallout. It’s not the most comfortable position in which to find oneself. Have you heard where he is right now?’
‘We… haven’t really been keeping in touch while he’s away.’
‘Ah.’
Carolyn suppressed a small smile. She could smell Jonah politicking from ten miles outside the Beltway. ‘Well, don’t worry; if there was any chance that Joe would be any less than stellar, I wouldn’t have let him go. We were in the middle of our first family vacation in three years.’
The older woman looked pained. ‘Sorry about that, really I am. So given his preference, he wouldn’t be handling this one?’
‘That’s fair to say.’
‘The devil is usually in the details.’
‘Sometimes. These days, that’s a pretty normal response for him.’
‘Then he hasn’t complained about any specific issues?’
‘No. Like I said, we haven’t talked much recently. But Joe takes his sense of duty pretty darn seriously. If the gentlemen upstairs want him somewhere, off he goes.’ What was she playing at? She didn’t expect her to indict her husband, did she? Then Carolyn silently chided herself for being so cynical; Adrianne had recommended her for the NSA position and championed her in the first few rough months.
‘They can be tough,’ Adrianne said. ‘I know better than most; but you and I are both proof that the old boys’ club isn’t the future of either agency. Maybe when we have a woman in charge, we won’t see stressed-out agents being forced to leave their families back home.’
She wasn’t going to overtly agree, but Carolyn had felt exactly that way about Joe’s career since prior to Walter’s death and the nuclear incident. It felt good to have an ally for a change in the briefing room. ‘That would be good,’ she said. ‘Adrianne...’
‘Please... it’s Adi to friends.’
‘Adi... thank you for this. For inviting me today. I really needed this, to get away from the office and just let off steam.’
‘You and me both, sister.’
LOS ANGELES
The schedule seemed solid. The man known publicly as Benjamin Levitt was calm as he looked down the shelves in the corner grocer’s refrigerator cabinet for the two percent milk.
They’d discovered the first safe house too quickly for comfort, but he knew that was a possibility. The handler had drummed it into his head, along with every other detail of the operation. The second base was two miles from the strip in a fleabag motel, and he had no reason to believe they knew his appearance. He had no motive to kill Paul Joseph, other than their physical similarity and his need for a place to work, so there was nothing to connect them. And no one had seen him leave the man’s house.
There had been the girl he’d shot at, right after activation, but there wasn’t much he could do about her. He assumed she’d been integral to his cover, but there was no way to be certain. And that was Malibu, miles away.
He paid the young Korean clerk for the paper bag’s worth of food and supplies and began walking back to the motel, a block away. It had been nice to find food so close to his room, he decided, so that the he could walk in the sun without any real risk of being spotted. After so long in the dark, it made him feel close to whole again.
Not that that would ever be possible. He knew time had passed since his last activation -- years, potentially. But the concept of time itself was abstract to him, no longer part of his central programming. His life had long ago ceased to be his own.
The street was nearly deserted, a residential row a few blocks off of Sunset Boulevard. The motel was on the next corner, a ten-unit brick joint that might have been nice at some point before the Second World War. Its small parking lot was almost empty; most of its inhabitants were month-to-month, and without the means to afford transportation.
He’d parked his stolen station wagon horizontally at the curb by the office, so that the plate wasn’t easily seen from the road, and his eyes naturally travelled there, keen to ensure it was undisturbed.
Then he stopped short.
The man looking at the car was middle-aged, maybe a bit older, in a grey business suit and tie. He was taking notes with a pencil and small pad of paper.
A policeman? Probably. Maybe he’d made the plate as stolen. Levitt looked up and down the street, but there was no other traffic, no one watching. It had to be connected to his objective. The man was too well-dressed to be a car thief. He reached into the side pocket of his coat and gripped the stiletto, then began to cross the street, walking at pace.
The man’s back was to him, his pencil tracing swift passage across the notepad page. He wasn’t a big person and appeared middle-aged or older, a veteran. He wouldn’t have the reaction times to prevent what was about to happen, Levitt knew. He closed the gap between them and began to slip the stiletto out of his pocket. He walked quickly, heel to toe, so that there was no noise. His target put the notepad into his pocket again and looked at the building. With his head tilted slightly back, the timing was perfect...
A car pulled into the lot and Levitt paused. It slowed to a crawl, its path running between the stalls, parallel to the road, as if it was looking for the right room number or something. Levitt wasn’t sure what to do; he couldn’t jeopardize the operation by taking the man out, but if he was discovered again, the chances of finding an easy third bolthole were slim-to-none. Police would be looking for him everywhere.
He swallowed hard, his eyes shifting from the slow-cruising car and back to the presumed plainclothes policeman. If the man turned around, he would have to explain the bizarreness of standing in the middle of the road fifteen feet behind him, staring at his back.
The car reached the end of the lot, but instead of turning left to park in one of the stalls fronting the long building, its right-turn signal lit up and it pulled back out onto the street and departed. The policeman didn’t even lift his head from his examination of Levitt’s stolen station wagon. The missing man’s eyes refocussed on his objective and he crept up slowly behind the curious note-taker. He was five feet away, the knife about to come out of his pocket so that he could slide it into the man’s basal ganglia, the clump of nerves between the spine and brain...
The motel’s front door opened. ‘And if you can believe it,’ a large woman said as she and her husband walked out, ‘he claimed the air conditioning never works in July. July!’
Behind the car, the policeman looked up at the couple emerging from the office. The risk had become too great, the couple witnesses. He slid the knife back into his pocket and was about to turn and walk away when the policeman headed toward the front door.
Levitt watched him until he was
inside. The motel was no longer secure, and neither was the car. He had to assume Paul Joseph was no longer useful as an identity, as it might have been how they’d traced him. He grimaced ruefully at so much cover work going undone. But it couldn’t be helped. It probably wasn’t going to matter anyway, as the next phase was almost upon them. He turned and headed for his room, the last unit. He had a few minutes while the policeman followed procedure and questioned the motel manager to gather his things and move on.
The man at the front desk had wild, greasy black hair and smelled of sweat. There was food caught in his moustache, which drooped to either side of his mouth like remorse. His string t-shirt was stained with food and perspiration, and his brown skin had a greasy sheen to it from the broken air conditioning.
He didn’t look up when Drabek entered.
‘Air conditioning’s out for everyone. You people, you gotta stop asking...’ He turned the page on the magazine that sat open on the counter ahead of him. ‘I gotta... I gotta do everything ‘round here.’ His round, nasal tone made him sound simple. ‘I gotta run the whole show, the whole shebang.’ He turned another page, caught up in the glossy celebrity pictures. ‘That’s why Mister Herrera says I’m a smart guy, ‘cause I can run the whole shebang.’
Drabek walked up to the counter. The office was a relic from the Seventies or earlier, with yellow wallpaper and cracked tile floor, the wall sconces populated by dead flies. In one upper corner of the room, an old tube TV sat on a wall bracket, its screen spewing out Family Feud in an analog blur. ‘Top one hundred people surveyed...’ the announcer drawled, the volume down just enough to be barely audible.
‘Excuse me,’ Drabek said.
‘We don’t got no air conditioning!’ the man exclaimed. ‘I told the others that. The old lady and man. All wrinkly.’
‘That’s okay I’m not here for a room. I’m with the police,’ Drabek said.
‘No police!’ the man exclaimed, looking hurt and a little frightened. ‘We didn’t do nothing wrong, I swear!’
‘I’m not here for you,’ Drabek said, keeping his tone deliberately soft and gentle. ‘You have someone staying in number one?’
The man frowned. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
The clerk looked back at the keys on the hooks along the wall behind him. ‘Yeah, uh huh. Only number twelve right now.’
Maybe Levitt was staying there but had parked in front of a different unit deliberately, Drabek figured. The place was anonymous and unkempt, unlikely to attract much attention. Whatever he was up to, he was working hard to keep a low profile.
‘Number twelve?’
‘Uh huh. One guy, staying in number twelve. Nobody else. Air conditioning is out again.’
‘This guy here long?’
‘Since two days, I dunno, something like. He paid cash. Only cash, no checks! No cards or checks!’
‘He say anything you remember?’
‘He asked for a room.’
‘Yeah, aside from the room.’
The man squinted, puzzled. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Did you hear him say anything else, other than asking for a room?’
The man squinted again, then shook his head. ‘Nah, he didn’t say much. People...’ He looked puzzled again. ‘... People don’t talk to me so much.’ Then he found some resolve. ‘Mr. Herrera... Mr. Herrera says I’m smart. So I run the whole shebang.’
‘He sounds like a smart guy. Did you see this man from number twelve today at all? Or see him go out?’
The big clerk nodded quickly. ‘Sure. Sure, he went out both days. He was in the lot, by his car, and I could hear him...’
‘By his car?’
He nodded toward the small window under the television. ‘Through the window, when I turned to see Feud.’
‘Yesterday?’
‘Uh huh. Steve Harvey got all up in this girl’s face, ‘cause she was flirting with him. He was speaking funny on his phone, like a Chinaman.’
‘Eh?’
‘The guest. You know, all ‘ching chong ying yong’. Funny. Like a Chinaman. He said some stuff in American, then a few words of ching chong ying yong talk.’
That didn’t fit at all, Drabek thought. Zoey hadn’t mentioned languages or anything like that. More likely, the clerk had the wrong person. ‘Did this guy sign a register or give you a credit card?’
He nodded. ‘He paid cash. We only take cash, no cards! Machine’s broke!’
‘Uh huh. Let me see your register book.’
The clerk frowned again. ‘Mr. Herrera, he said... Mr. Herrera said if police come I’m not supposed to talk. Just call me, he said.’
The veteran detective suppressed a sigh. Whatever else the owner was up to it probably didn’t compare to Paul Joseph’s remains in a tub. ‘He’s not in trouble and you’re not in trouble, so you don’t have to call anyone,’ Drabek advised. ‘Just let me see the book and maybe I can get out of your hair.’
Gingerly, the clerk proffered the vinyl ledger. ‘Okay, I guess, since you’re police.’
Drabek flicked through to the date. There was only one name on the registry.
Paul Joseph. Room one.
Drabek nodded to the clerk. ‘Dial 911. Tell them ‘officer needs assistance, then hang up.’ He made for the door quickly, unclipping the butt of his pistol on route. He peered outside cautiously. Across the lot, at the far exit, a man was walking out onto the sidewalk with a small gym bag over his shoulder. He was medium height, brown hair, well dressed, glasses. He looked exactly as he did in Zoey Roberson’s photos.
He turned his head and saw Drabek. Then he began to run.
‘Levitt!’ Drabek yelled. ‘Stop!’
Drabek barged out of the office and jumped the three steps to the pavement, the jarring concrete shaking his aging bones. His dress shoes clattered on the asphalt as he crossed the lot to the street and tried to make up the distance. He reached into the pocket of his coat as he ran, withdrawing his phone and keying the built-in walkie talkie mic at the same time. ‘10-99 Officer... Needs... Assistance...’ he intoned breathlessly, trying to hold pace. ‘Suspect is code 417... north on Gardner between Fountain and Sunset... male, medium height, brown hair, blue dress shirt, tan slacks, sneakers... wanted for homicide, answers to Benjamin Levitt. He’s running. Recommend... air ... support.’
He could hear the call being acknowledged and the static-filled sound of a reply, the all-cars going out; but Drabek concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. Ahead, the man was picking up pace, the distance between them growing. He cut right suddenly, running between two walk-ups.
It took Drabek another eight seconds to get there. He cut behind the building and found a long six-foot-high wooden fence. He clambered over it, the old structure swaying, and tumbled to the ground on the other side.
Drabek found his feet and sprinted out to the street. He looked both ways quickly, then turned his head slowly, his eyes searching for movement.
But Levitt was gone.
21/
WASHINGTON, D.C.
By the time the video conference call was ready to roll, Jonah Tarrant’s palms had begun to sweat. Never the physically fittest of men, he was carrying extra weight after falling off his fitness regimen; he blamed the time devoted to his new job and responsibilities, but deep down he knew it was a matter of more willpower and less pizza.
He told himself that none of the eating was from stress. He’d shot and killed his own boss just three years earlier, then received a hero’s commendation and a promotion. He’d also had nightmares ever since. But that wasn’t this, Tarrant decided. That was separate. That could wait until things settled down.
When he got nervous, the extra weight exhibited itself as flop sweat. He wasn’t worried about appearances; the giant sweat circles under his armpits wouldn’t be visible through his suit jacket, and he was careful to have a fan placed on the table to keep his brow from beading. So he wasn’t concerned about the Chinese representative gaining c
onfidence at his discomfort; it was just sticky and distracting. It would get more so, he was sure, if the conversation with David Chan was anything like their last.
The screen flickered to life on the wall ahead.
‘Chairman Chan, good of you to speak with us again,’ he said.
‘Deputy director Tarrant. Doubtless you wish to discuss the cold file you raised the last time we spoke. Project Legacy.’
‘As I recall, you seemed in a difficult position, unable to really discuss it.’ Tarrant wanted the man to feel as if he could change tack without losing face.
‘That... would be an accurate description, yes,’ Chan remarked. ‘However, the situation continues to develop.’
‘Mexico.’
‘Yes, Mexico. That ended poorly for us.’
Tarrant shrugged. ‘I did offer a path to us working together when we last spoke. At that time, as I recall, you had absolutely no interest. That suggests to me that you must be concerned with how this is all progressing, and I do realize the politics of the day can have substantial impact on how these issues are handled.’
‘Concerned, certainly, but not alarmed,’ Chan suggested. ‘We are quite in control.’
Sure, Tarrant thought, and I’m the late King of Sweden. ‘Of course, chairman, of course.’
‘I merely felt that given America’s concern over North Korea’s sovereign exercise of its right to self-protection...’
‘Is that what we’re calling an out-of-control ICBM these days? A defensive countermeasure?’
‘Given America’s aggressive stance on North Korea’s military and testing regime in the past...’
He’ll do anything to frame this as our fault at this point, Tarrant knew. But maybe I can use that. ‘Certainly, chairman, the United States respects the considerable influence that you can exert over North Korea’s sovereign affairs and the cordial relationship your two nations have. Perhaps China can help keep us from stepping in it along the Korean peninsula, if we in turn help you round up this pesky Project Legacy situation.’