by Cherry Laska
71
ORLANDO, FLORIDA
JESSICA DRIFTED IN AND OUT, tossing and turning. She was really hot then freezing cold. The fever must have eventually broken, because she woke up soaked in sweat. She checked the clock, squinting bleary eyes to focus on the numbers. It was still early.
She stumbled to the shower and saw the sky was just starting to get light. For a long while, she stood under the warm water, letting it wash away the aches and pains caused by the fever and lying in bed for so long. She summoned the energy to shampoo, condition, and shave.
She returned to her bed in fresh jammies, completely drained. More medicine, more sleep, and she believed she’d emerge victorious. She felt guilty lying in bed, knowing that she was leaving her kids to fend for themselves. She told herself Nadia was there for them, and they also had a father. They’d survive. Not to mention they were old enough to take care of themselves and do what they needed to do. Nevertheless, Jessica still felt guilty.
She felt terrible she wasn’t doing anything to help the team. There was a terrorist with a chemical weapon on the loose, and she should be working the case. She just couldn’t summon the energy to get up. She had to let it go.
Jessica got settled on the other side of the king bed for the fresher sheets and turned on the TV.
Hours later, when she finally checked her phone, she found she had four missed calls, seven missed texts, and sixty-seven emails. They were from Joe, Donna, the school, three from Lacey, and various businesses advertising specials. Thankfully, the message from the school was purely informational. Jessica didn’t feel up to talking, so she sent a text to Donna explaining how she felt and told her if it was anything that couldn’t wait to call. Jessica sent Joe a text to tell him she was feeling a little better and asked him to call her later unless he needed her now.
She was glad her phone remained silent. She watched TV for a short bit and drifted into a disturbing dream-filled sleep. The sound of her ringtone mixed with her dream. It took Jessica a minute to realize it was her phone. She answered, still groggy.
“Hi, gorgeous.” It was Joe. “I’m sorry you’re sick. How are you feeling?Any better?”
She sat up and took a drink of water. She was grateful it went down without feeling like she was swallowing glass. “I’m on the road to recovery.”
“Glad to hear it. How was flying?”
“Totally awesome,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “I’ll always think hovering is the coolest. It all came back quickly. What’s going on with the case?”
“We got a copy of Moreau’s autopsy. The tox screen showed an elevated potassium level, which of course raised a red flag with the medical examiner. He looked for an injection site and found one under Moreau’s left arm. There’s no doubt it was a hit. All the people Moreau was linked with are bad dudes to fool around with. None of them—the Cubans, the executives, government leaders benefitting from C-FC producing certain chemicals, or the Iranians—would have wanted Moreau giving them up, and one of them made sure he didn’t talk.”
“Any of them could easily get their hands on potassium chloride.”
“As far as the case is concerned, we lost an information source,” Joe concluded. “We’ll let the French figure out who was responsible.”
“Any hits on the fingerprint? Have we picked up any trace of Zircone?”
“Nothing on the fingerprint. We did get lucky when Zircone made a mistake. There was a ticket issued to a rental car parked at a local restaurant on the Tamiami Trail a few hours after you were chasing the guy in the swamp. The ID of the man who rented the car turned out to be phony. I sent you a copy of his picture. It matches the images we have of Zircone. We put out a bolo on him and the car.”
“With a little luck, someone will spot him. Hopefully, he won’t switch cars or find some other means of transportation.”
“I think he’ll stay in his car. He’s driving the most common rental vehicle out there. I’m guessing he picked it on purpose.”
“Hmm. Well, at least we have a better picture. Any other good news?” Jessica asked.
“Not yet.”
“I feel bad I’m not helping.”
“Don’t. You’re sick and there isn’t anything you could be doing right now anyway. We have everyone helping who can help without drawing too much attention and setting off a panic. Stay on your schedule and get healthy. Go to Vegas as planned. I’ll let you know the second we get a lead, and we’ll go from there.”
“Thanks, Joe. This tournament is really important to the boys, and I can’t count on Anderson to be there.”
“I’m here for you. What are friends for?”
Jessica heard the sincerity in Joe’s voice, and she drew strength and calm from him, but friends? She couldn’t help noticing his choice of words. “I know you are. That means the world to me.”
After a moment of silence, he said, “You mean the world to me. Listen, we need to talk. There are some things I want, rather I need to tell you, and I promise I will the next time we have more than a few minutes alone.” With a little sadness in his voice, he added, “I wish I had already. For now, just know I’m really happy you’re in my life again. In fact, I wish I were with you.”
She was a little confused by his mixed signals. She couldn’t worry about it now and had to trust it would all work out. Maybe it was the fever or the meds. She shook it off and looked around at her room. It was filled with all the mess of a sick person. She was suddenly eager to clean up the tissues and trash and change the sheets. “Trust me, be glad you aren’t here right now. It’s not a pretty sight.”
He knew what she meant. “You know, I had a dream about you.”
“Me too, about you I mean,” Jessica said with excitement. “A couple of dreams I think. They were all jumbled up. I was feverish.” She laughed as it came back to her. “We were Sandy and Danny.”
Joe had heard tales about her childhood Grease performance. It suddenly occurred to her that was probably why their code names in Paris had been Cassandra and Daniel. “I’m sure it was awesome, but in my dream, we weren’t the Thunderbirds and Pink Ladies. We were here, in my house, and we were hosting a party. It was really nice and when everyone left, things got really fun,” he said in a way that was full of innuendos that spread a rush of warmth and tingles through her.
“Tell me about it, stud,” Jessica said in imitation of Sandy’s line from the film-ending carnival scene.
“I think I’m becoming a fan of that movie. I hate to go, but I’m running late for a meeting.”
After they had said goodbye, Jessica grabbed her iPad and went through her emails. One was from the photographer who had been hired to photograph the gala. She clicked on the link to look through the pictures. He’d gotten some good shots. She downloaded one of Mark performing on stage to send to him. He looked great. Maybe singing could be his second career. There was a great one of Farah. She never did link back up with her. Jessica would give her a call. There were even pictures of the group who went deep sea fishing. The last photo was the back of a couple with their arms around each other watching the sunset. The photographer must have mistakenly thought the woman in this photo, which was his masterpiece culminating the event, was Jessica. It was actually a picture of Anderson and Laura. Jessica was kind of sad but not because she was seeing her husband of eighteen years with another woman. She was sad because she didn’t care. She downloaded the photo and sent it to her lawyer.
72
SOMEWHERE IN NEW MEXICO
THE SKY WAS A DAZZLING array of red, orange, and yellow. Reza wore a peaceful smile as he drove under the vibrant colors of the beautiful desert sunset. The land in this part of the country was more similar to his homeland than anywhere else he’d been.
It had been a hard push to keep driving over the past couple of days on very little sleep. The memory of that awful night when he’d been forced to flee fueled his hatred and tenacity. He hadn’t been able to pray at the five obligatory times. He could ha
rdly pull over on the side of the road, face the sun, and roll out his prayer rug. In his hotel room the day before, he’d said the prayers aloud and tried to imagine himself back in his mosque in Iran, praying with his friends and brothers. Reza yearned to perform the prayers as they were intended, but he knew what he was doing was for a higher purpose. His actions were in the name of Allah. Soon he would be at his destination. He was more than three quarters of the way there. Soon he would have revenge for his loved ones and countrymen. Soon the world would not be able to deny what was happening in his homeland. Soon, he told himself as he continued west. Soon.
Hours later Reza’s happiness faded away as he approached the city. All the joy he had felt during his drive through the desert was destroyed by the sight of the ungodly flashing LED lights and ostentatious buildings of Las Vegas. Pasha had been right about America. The sex and sin of the filthy Americans had desecrated the beauty of the desert land. Even though they were not his main targets, Reza had no remorse that many young American boys also would be casualties.
He took a ticket and drove up the ramp. He circled around until he found the right spot. He backed his rental car into a spot in the back of the garage. He unloaded his bags carefully and locked the car.
Reza checked into his hotel room and settled his things. He wanted to say his evening prayers properly, but he didn’t dare go to one of the local mosques. He knew the government monitored and targeted them. He grappled to keep his composure as he contemplated how this country that boasted to the world about their freedoms was so intolerant of Muslims. Instead of going to a mosque, he took another cab to the middle of the Strip and began walking. He planned to familiarize himself as much as possible with the city, his target, and its surroundings. He wouldn’t get careless so near the end. He had to take the time to prepare properly.
His eyes were black pools. Everything that his government had done to him and the Iranian people had changed him. The pain and suffering had morphed into dark feelings of hatred and the need for revenge. Everything the American government and the United Nations had not done for the people of Iran had deepened those feelings. All of this put Reza on a path that would culminate in unleashing his terrible fury in the name of Allah.
73
LANGLEY, VIRGINA
JOE WAS IN HIS OFFICE reviewing SIGNET reports relating to the case he was looking into. There was so much data with matching key words it was easy to see how things slipped through. He put the papers down and rubbed his eyes. He made a mental note to buy a pair of the drugstore readers to try out. He’d always had perfect vision and didn’t like the blurry, tired-eye symptoms he was experiencing. Moments like these were reminders he was getting older.
Hearing a knock, he looked up. “Hey, Mark. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to stop by an’ talk to ya a bit.” He sat down and leaned back casually. “I was wanting to hear the story. You know how much I enjoy a good love story.”
Joe scrunched his eyebrows. He was confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, your history. You know, how y’all got together.”
Joe glared at Mark. He knew he was busted, but he wasn’t going to blink.
Suddenly, Mark broke out in a shit-eating grin. “Don’t worry, boss. I’m totally busting on you. Now, I told you before, I can read situations pretty well. I sensed it the first day Jessica came to the office, and I said my piece. You can deny it all you like, but I know the God’s honest truth for sure. I see how y’all look at each other. I can feel the heat in the room whenever y’all are together. I sang the dang song you wanted to dance to with her.” He was quiet for a minute.
Joe started to speak, but Mark held up his hand. “Boss, let me finish. I know I said it wasn’t a good idea, but I am happy for you. She seems like a hell of a woman, and I know you have a long history, so you must know each other’s crazy shit.” The all American boy flashed him a genuine caring smile. “I know you haven’t been with anyone seriously, and I’ve never seen you respond to anyone like you respond to her.”
“Mark, there may be feelings, but we aren’t involved.”
“I didn’t say y’all were. I’m saying y’all should be. Think about it. We only live once and life is short. Don’t blow the shot at being happy.” Mark had his hand on his heart and was nodding his head.
“I am not confirming or denying anything, but what about the fact she’s on our team and reports to me. You said that was an issue.”
“I know I did. But seeing y’all work together, well, I believe neither of you would let it interfere. In fact, y’all seemed to elevate each other’s game. I guess I’ve been thinking, and I am telling you true love is precious. Okay, I have to run. I have a sweet Southern belle meeting me for a little bite at Georgia Brown’s. Who knows. Maybe she’s my special one.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Joe sat back and thought about what Mark had said. The man was pretty sharp and surprisingly romantic. Joe picked up his phone. He started a text, erased it, and started over.
Hi. Hope the boys have a good tournament. I looked up your kids’ team. They’re good! The coach has done well with them. I know it’s nerve-wracking. I wish I were there to watch with you. We could have some fun in Vegas.
He watched the three dots and waited for Jessica’s reply. Chicken shit, he called himself out. He was somewhat flirtatious, but kept pulling back.
Thanks. It’d be great if you were here. We’d definitely have some fun. Serious fun. Rain check on Vegas. Anything new with work?
Nothing new yet. Need to get back at it, but yes to the rain check. Vegas, baby!
Joe picked up the papers and resumed reading. He was smiling but also disappointed in himself for being so lame. Ten pages later something relating to the Iranian designated terrorist group Mojahedin-e-Khalq known as MEK caught his eye. A San Francisco man had been posting on message boards on websites with known associations to MEK. Joe brought up the website, used a translator program, and read through the postings. It was unquestionably inflammatory. The more he dug, the more he thought it at least warranted a conversation with the guy.
74
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
JESSICA LOOKED AROUND. EVERYTHING IN the huge arena of the Las Vegas Convention Center was ready for action. Each of the twenty mats had supplies, tables, score clocks, and chairs for the coaches. Referees, table-workers, and event staff were hurrying around getting to where they needed to be. It was one busy place. Clubs from all over the United States were attending as well as clubs from twelve other countries. There were thousands of wrestlers, coaches, and fans.
The tournament started with the kids’ division on Thursday and Friday and was overlapped by the cadets and juniors competition that ran Friday through Saturday evening. While the older boys waited for their age group to start, they would help coach the younger members of the club and continue to train. When their time came, they had to be on-weight and ready to go. It was a tough international tournament, and the wrestlers were going to leave it all on the mat.
All the wrestlers returned to the area where they had dropped their bags in the center bleachers, claiming an area for their home base.
“Hey, Jessica,” Jake’s mom called, “Thanks for the info on the lightest underwear. My son really needed it this morning.”
Jessica laughed. “You’re welcome. It was a close one, huh?”
“Oh yeah. Most definitely.”
For weigh-ins, every tenth of an ounce counted. In past years, underwear hadn’t been an issue. If a guy needed to, he could weigh in naked. This year a new rule mandated wrestlers had to weigh in wearing appropriate undergarments that covered the butt and genitals. This new rule had led to wrestlers looking for innovative ways to shave ounces. Last week a boy was having a hard time making weight, so he shaved his head. The week before that, the coach had cut the waistband off a teammate’s underwear. Yesterday, Chase had asked Jessica to find lighter underwear for weigh-ins, so she conducted an un
derwear science experiment with seven different brands that ranged in fabric, style, and price. She had set up her food scale on the kitchen counter. Considering all the advancements that had been made in fabrics for athletes, she was surprised by the results. At 1.7 ounces, Hanes Traditional Cotton Briefs weighed the least. Jessica had documented her findings and shared them with the team.
The tournament director came over the speakers loud and clear: “Wrestlers, please clear the mats.” After everyone had made it to the stands, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the National Anthem brought to you by Las Vegas High’s Freshman Meagan McNeil.” Meagan turned out to be an amazing singer. The crowd clapped and whistled out of admiration for the young lady’s talent and to show their eagerness to get started. What a great way to start off the day.
Jessica cheered on the younger wrestlers for a couple of hours then headed back to the hotel for some pool time. She had scheduled a much-needed spa appointment for later. Between Jessica’s increased activity level and her increased stress level, her back was in knots.
The wrestlers and most of the accompanying families had checked into the Westgate Las Vegas Resort & Casino as planned while Jessica had checked into three rooms at the nearby Encore. One for her and one for Bridgette and her friend Allison, who had come on the trip with them, and a secret third room for Anderson. She didn’t normally agree with Anderson’s isolationism, but given the current situation, it was probably better to get away with hiding they were in separate rooms.
Jessica changed and was quickly on her way to meet Bridgette and Allison at the pool. The girls had gone down ahead to their reserved lounge chairs. A good spot next to the water was a precious commodity at a Las Vegas pool and was worth paying for. Weaving her way through the chairs around the pool, Jessica spotted the girls. As she got closer, she saw that her fifteen-year-old daughter was laughing and talking to someone. Jessica couldn’t make out to whom, but she didn’t like the flirtatious body language.
