Hour of Reckoning (Donatella Book 2)

by Demetrius Jackson

  The woman in the middle picked up the tale.

  “As you can see there are a number of moving pieces and a relatively short period of time to achieve what we need to without anyone noticing.

  Your firm is well renowned as the best security firm in the country, if not the world. We need for you to offer your services to them.”

  Veronica who listened patiently to the series of monologues that ran around her kitchen island scuffed at this request. She was now back in business mode and responded, “They could never afford our service, and this is not something our board would go for.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized with horror what she said.

  The woman in the middle sat forward once again, steepled her hands in front of her and simply said, “Mrs. King, this is not a request. This is an order. You will offer your services, free of charge in fact, to the Cleveland Museum of Art. Write it off as a charitable donation if you must, but this will be done.

  As for your board of directors, I’m pretty sure they do not have any objections.”

  This statement hung in the room for what seemed like a full minute. Veronica could sense the non-existent bile creating a lump in her throat.

  The woman continued, “You will hold a press conference today to speak out on the horrors that took place at your company and buoy the confidence that many have known you for as you have risen in the ranks of GIS.

  You will also begin looking for new board members. Don’t worry, we already have a list of candidates for you to bring on board. See that this is done.

  Lastly, you will reach out to the board of the Cleveland Arts Museum and let them know that your company would like to donate a security system to them. I personally do not care what story you spin to make this happen, but you need to make it happen, and it needs to be done today. They are preparing to send out bids and we prefer to keep this under wraps. Our associate Ms. Buckley will be in touch should we need anything further.”

  All three images simultaneously disappeared and the blinking red light on the metal tube dimmed and then faded. Veronica sat there speechless until Terri broke the silence.

  “There is one more time sensitive project that you will need to accomplish and I expect you to be just as proficient with this one as I’m sure you will be in completing the task that has just been asked of you.”

  For the next 20 minutes Terri walked her through the auxiliary plan that she had for Veronica to complete. Once she was done, she packed her gadgets in a brown messenger bag and walked toward the front door. Before she left, she turned and gave Veronica an appraising up and down glance followed by a wink and said, “Welcome to the team.”

  Once outside, Terri walked to her rented black Mercedes CLA, fired up the engine and drove north. Coming from the south, the black Audi R8 Coupe of Agent Donatella Dabria pulled up and took the spot that was freshly vacated by Terri Buckley.

  Chapter 8

  December 12th – 5:30 a.m.

  A gent Donatella Dabria pulled up to the house of Veronica King. Throughout the course of the night and first thing this morning, she read all of the material that was sent to her by BJ. King was married, one daughter, and Chief Operating Officer for Global Insights Security. She obtained her BA from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and her master’s degree from The Ohio State University. She later returned to North Carolina where she obtained her Juris Doctorate degree from UNC School of Law.

  She came into GIS and earned everything that had come her way. From all accounts, she was a rising star and someone Donatella could respect. However, at this moment she had more questions than answers as it related to Mrs. King. By all accounts she was in the building prior to the incident but miraculously missing from the board meeting when the attack took place. As Donatella approached the door, she was determined that King would have some answers.

  She considered the early call just before ringing the doorbell. Nonetheless she rang the doorbell and proceeded to wait. To her surprise Veronica opened the door with speed as if she was expecting someone. For a moment Donatella felt she exhibited a look of confusion as she was expecting someone else.

  “May I help you?”

  “I apologize for the early visit. My name is Special Agent Donatella Dabria with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Do you have a few minutes for us to talk?”

  She thought back to the conversation she just had with the woman calling herself Bree.

  “It’s only a matter of time before you will be paid a visit from someone from the FBI. If I had to guess, it’ll be from Special Agent Dabria. She’s sharp and will likely know more about you than you would think is possible. Do not underestimate her!

  She’s going to want to know where you were and how you were able to survive when all of your peers did not. Keep your answers short and to the point. We have provided enough of a trail that your answers will hold up as long as you stick to the script. Do not deviate under any circumstance. She will pick up on the slightest hesitation or notable deception.”

  Veronica thought idly, this is all a deception.

  “Lastly, and for some incentive, your daughter’s life depends on you convincing her of what we have discussed. You do that and everything will be just fine. You don’t and –”

  Veronica knew exactly what this woman meant without it being spelled out for her. She would need to keep her composure, perhaps put on the best performance of her life.

  “Sure, come on in,” she said opening the door fully. She led Special Agent Dabria down the hallway to the kitchen. “I was just about to put on some coffee. Can I interest you in some?”

  “No thank you, and again, I apologize for coming at such an early hour. With everything that has transpired, I know you and your husband must be out of your minds with grief.”

  Veronica remembered the advice – warning from her prior visitor and decided she better tread lightly.

  “It certainly is a trying time for us all and all of the families who were affected by this barbaric travesty.”

  “Yes, a travesty,” Agent Dabria responded in her warm, southern voice. “I must say, Mrs. King, I’m surprised that you were not present for the board meeting. I understand there were some key developments that pertained to your future with the firm.”

  This was a statement Veronica had not expected and she hoped the agent didn’t pick up on her shock. How did so many people know about this? Well maybe it wasn’t a lot of people who had known. Just the two women she was dealing with at the moment.

  “I was in the office earlier that morning; however, my daughter came down ill at school and I had to go and pick her up.”

  “I see. I would think with such important developments taking place at work, your husband could have picked your daughter up from school.”

  Feeling a little indignant, she responded, “Special Agent Dabria, I take it you do not have children. If you did, you would know that nothing stands between a mother and the health of her child!”

  “Forgive me,” she said again in that smooth honey, southern voice, “By no means did I mean to offend. You are right, I do not have any kids, but I have a goddaughter and I would do anything to ensure her safety.”

  Veronica took this statement well and nodded her approval.

  “Nonetheless, I would have thought with such a big day, your husband, Kyle, could have ensured your daughter’s safety,” she said this last part raising her eyebrow.

  Veronica gave a tired laugh. “Ms. Dabria, would I be wrong in my assumption that you are not married as well? If you were, you would know that in many situations both the husband and the wife work. This is our situation as well. My husband, Kyle,” the words felt like bile in the back of her throat, “Had to take a business trip yesterday morning. So, you see, it was left to me to ensure our daughter was, as you put it, safe.”

  She had to admit, she didn’t like the choice of words the agent had used. Was she hinting that she knew her, and her daughter, were not safe?
Possibly. During her conversation with the woman calling herself Bree – which she was sure was a lie – she had the vague sense that the two of them had a run in before. If this was the case, could she trust this agent? Could the agent keep her and her daughter safe? Could she tell her about the atrocity that she was forced to take part in for which she felt deeply ashamed? Could she – no she couldn’t. The woman from the orb with the shoulder length hair had impressed upon her that she could not. She could not trust anyone when it came to keeping her daughter safe. No one but The Syndicate.

  “Look, I hate to cut this short, but I have a lot of things to get done this morning. I feel horrible about everything that happened to my friends and colleagues yesterday. I am grateful in a sick way, that my daughter came down ill yesterday. If not for that, my daughter like many other children, would be waking to the realization that their mother or father would not be coming home again. As the only officer left in the company, it’s up to me to answer the questions and alleviate fear.”

  “I understand,” Agent Dabria said while standing. “If there is anything you need or if you recall anything else that will be of use, don’t hesitate to give me a call.” Veronica took the business card from the extended hand and with that Agent Dabria headed for the door. As she did so she thought, I understand you truly feel horrible about what happened to your friends and colleagues. I also understand you are lying to me!

  December 12th – 10:30 a.m.

  Sal Grandson prided himself on his network of informants and people in high places. During his time with the New York Daily, Sal managed to have a network so extensive that he had tips coming to him all hours of the day. So much so that he needed to pick and choose which leads to follow. However, since he arrived in Charlotte his network was growing slowly. Sal reminded himself that it wasn’t the quantity of informants, but the quality. He also mused that quantity never hurt as well.

  Nonetheless, today his stooge in the police department gave him an inside tip that the lone survivor of the massacre at the GIS headquarters was planning to make a public statement. The content of her press conference had not been divulged but Sal knew a story when it was staring him in the face. His journalist mind still wanted to know how she managed to survive while all of her peers had not. He was sure it was a simple explanation but he sensed there was more to it than that.

  When he pulled up to the building, the scene was surreal. Police officers paced the perimeter looking for anyone they considered suspicious. They had what looked like assault rifles laying across their chests. Sal knew next to nothing about guns and that was ok with him. He also noticed a couple of bomb-sniffing dogs pacing peacefully next to their human handlers. A podium was being erected in front of the GIS building roughly 30 yards from the main entrance. Sal idly thought they would not be holding this press conference outside in New York; however, in Charlotte, the weather on this winter day had warmed up considerably and was hovering at a pleasant 57 degrees.

  Sal continued his drive around the building looking for somewhere to park. At the moment, there were a couple of news affiliates setting up their camera equipment. A couple walking alongside the building rubbernecking to determine the reason for the commotion.

  After moments of searching Sal found the perfect spot and parked his well-used yet still functional 2002 Honda Accord. The mileage continued to stretch skyward yet she still purred like a kitten.

  “Once the remainder of the media outlets caught wind of a press conference being given by the lone member of the board, they will descend on this building like kids to a Christmas tree on Christmas morning,” Sal spoke aloud while winding himself out of the car.

  “Now that you're here Sal, old buddy, what's your plan? Maybe I'll just pull in for a front row seat. Nah, that won't do. There has to be something more. Think damn it, think.”

  Sal looked around the grounds for some inspiration to hit, or maybe a sign from the good Lord. Again, he noticed some stagehands preparing the elevated podium. The police milling around with a keen eye for anything suspicious. A couple a squirrels running full speed chasing one another. And then – yes that was his ticket. He hadn’t noticed it before because of the couple walking by that grabbed his attention, but there it was, right there in front of him.

  Sal casually strolled down the street, pondering if he locked his car door, and keeping a keen eye toward his destination. “Slow and easy as if you are just another passerby,” he said to himself. In 10 more paces he would be level with the edge of the GIS building and at least invisible to the majority of the police officers that were around. As he continued his straight path, one of the dogs turned its head and began to look – no glare at Sal. He wasn’t sure if the dog could sense his nervousness and thus making him a suspect. Or could the dog just be taking interest in everyone walking around? Nonetheless Sal’s breath was caught in his chest and it took his supreme will not to simply turn around and go back to his car.

  The last two paces had Sal feeling like he was walking in mud but nonetheless, he was securely tucked against the side of the building. Once again, he focused on the object, his way in.

  Parked at the loading dock was a service truck with the words Jerry’s Rug Cleaning and Restoration painted on the side. From his vantage point, Sal figured they were taking rugs into the building and not bringing them out. When inclement weather hit, companies placed rugs over the marble to ensure guest security while walking across the floor. With a building this size it’s bound to be a large number of rugs that need to be delivered. Sal noticed the two men riding in the cabin of the truck exit and each take a handful of rugs into the building. He also noticed that they left the door to the van open in an effort to expedite their process.

  Sal continued to casually traipse toward the van scanning left and right to ensure no one was paying him any attention. All was clear. He approached the double doors at the back of the truck and took a quick look inside. Inside the truck he saw approximately 15 more rugs to be delivered into the building. Each set of rugs were affixed with a label denoting which floor they were to be delivered to. Sal looked around the van and settled on a set slated for the fifth floor.

  Prior to hefting the rugs from their resting place, Sal took another look around. To his amazement, hanging against an interior wall of the truck rested a Jerry’s Rug Cleaning and Restoration jacket. Sal pulled the jacket from the hanger pulling his arm through one sleeve and then the other. He grimaced realizing the jacket sleeves were too short. Pulling the bottom ends of the jacket together, he prepared to zip the jacket.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  With a steady zip, the jacket closed; however, Sal felt if he took one too many deep breaths, the jacket would not hold.

  “Better get moving.”

  Sal hefted a few rugs slated for the fifth floor and shuffled quickly toward the entrance. The last thing he needed was for the delivery men to appear at the loading dock while he made his approach.

  Turning the corner and nearing the entrance Sal realized that the door the two delivery men entered was now closed. Next to the door sat a sign Ring for deliveries.

  “Shit!”

  Sal plastered his best smile to his face, depressed the bell, and waited.

  “Yea,” came a voice from the speaker box.

  “Rug delivery for the fifth floor.” Sal had noticed the camera hanging over the door and ensured the company name and logo could be seen on his jacket.

  “I thought there were only two of you guys.”

  “Typically, that is the case; however, this is my first week and I’m sort of training. I’ll have my own rotation starting next Monday.” Sal could feel his insides doing flips. At that moment he wished he had opted for the cereal Jane had instead of the eggs and bacon he decided on earlier in the day.

  “Yea, training for a new job can be the pits. I remember training for this job. I felt like I was being babysat for much too long.” The magnetic lock disengaged “Come on in.”

  Sal let out
a long stream of air he hadn’t realized he was holding as he pulled the door open.

  Once inside a young male around 25, a shade under 5 and a half feet tall with freckles and red hair exited the delivery office off to the right side of the door.

  “The elevator is right this way,” the freckled face lad stated as he began walking deeper into the building. “Good luck on your training and maybe I’ll see you around.” He pressed the up button next to the service elevator.

  “Thanks, I wouldn’t mind being on this route full time. We make some interesting stops,” he lied.

  The elevator doors slid open noiselessly and Sal stepped inside. The young man hit the button for the fifth floor, nodded at Sal, “Have a good day sir.” And walked back toward his office.

  As the elevator cage began to lift toward floor five, Sal unzipped his borrowed jacket and began to breathe normally again. Now that he was inside the building, he pondered what he would do next? Was it too bold to seek out the office of the lone survivor? Sal had been bold before, sometime to his detriment, but he’d come this far he might as well see where it leads.

  The elevator stopped moving and once again the doors slid open. Sal stepped from the elevator and quickly surveyed his surroundings. As he expected, no one was in sight. He placed the rugs next to the elevator, sitting the jacket on top. He began walking toward the center of the fifth floor when he heard a faint sound – almost like a whimper. He stopped dead in his tracks and held his breath. There it was again; he was sure of it. Someone was crying on this floor and the sound was traveling to his ears. He wasn’t 100 percent sure where the sound originated, but he was sure it came from around the corner.