by Ken Fite
“Holding,” Morgan said with a sigh and Jami could hear him typing on his laptop. Jami looked through the peephole and saw a man in a suit standing just outside the suite. Jami opened the door and was caught off guard to see that the man on the other side was not Blake.
“I’m looking for Mr. Jordan,” the young man with wavy auburn hair said.
Jami didn’t know what it was about the man, but she immediately felt a chill run up her spine as she kept the cell phone to her ear. “Blake stepped out for a few minutes,” she replied. “May I ask what you need?”
The man looked past her into the suite, as if he was confirming what the woman was telling him before his cold eyes fell back on her. “I didn’t realize he had brought a guest,” the man said. “Who are you?”
Jami reached into a back pocket and presented a badge. “Agent Jami Davis, DDC Chicago. And you are?”
The man was caught off guard by the woman. But getting Jordan out of the suite was all he really needed anyway, so he backed off. “I’ll catch him later,” he said. “Tell Mr. Jordan that Mark Donahue stopped by.”
“Got it,” Jami said softly as she watched the man pass two other suites and disappear around the corner.
“Jami? Everything okay over there?” asked Morgan, becoming increasingly concerned about the half of the conversation that he was listening to.
“That wasn’t Blake,” Jami replied. “I need to call you back. Work on finding the embassy that received the tip, if you get that far, then see if you can find someone on the ground that can tell you more about the person who talked to them. We’ll go from there.”
“Jami, hold on a sec. How am I supposed to–”
“Sorry Morgan, I really need to go. I have one of those feelings.”
Jami ended the call and slid the cell into her left pocket and jogged over to the landline to call downstairs. It had been a while since Blake had left. Jami thought that he should have been back by now. She lifted the receiver and pressed the button to be connected with the front desk.
“Hay-Adams, this is Olivia. What can I do for you Mr. Jordan?”
“Actually, this is Jami Davis.”
“Good morning, Ms. Davis – I’m sorry about that. How can I help you?”
“When we checked in earlier, we talked to a gentleman at the front desk. I didn’t catch his name, but he said that our room wasn’t ready yet and took our luggage, saying that he’d send our bags up later. They were never brought up here. Do you know if our luggage is down there somewhere?”
“Let me check,” the woman said and Jami heard her set the phone down and ask a passing bellboy what he knew about them. “Nothing’s here, Ms. Davis. And there’s no gentleman working the desk, just me.”
“And nobody’s come to ask you about the luggage in the last few minutes?”
“If you’re referring to Mr. Jordan, then no ma’am,” replied the woman on the other end of the line. “Haven’t seen him yet. I’ve been here all morning except for a few minutes when I had to step away to take a personal call, but that was over an hour ago. There’s nothing here and I haven’t spoken to anyone yet.”
Jami removed the receiver from her ear and disconnected the call. She grabbed her laptop, closed the lid, and stuffed it inside the black duffle bag that sat at the edge of the bed. Jami zipped it closed, strapped the bag over her shoulder, and left. It wasn’t the luggage that Jami was worried about.
FIFTEEN
THE ELEVATOR STOPPED at the third floor as I headed to the lobby to talk with the front desk clerk. I was surprised to see Ron Gibson and Gary Wallace step inside. They said that they were going to another meeting. Wallace wanted to know if I’d like to have dinner with him and his wife, Sherry, before I headed back to Chicago. I explained that it was a short trip and my flight back home left early Saturday morning.
When we got to the second floor, they stepped out of the elevator, saying that they’d see me at Keller’s staff meeting later. I continued to the ground floor, headed to the woman who was now at the front desk.
Before I got there, I heard my cell ring. “This is Jordan,” I said as I continued to walk.
“This is Emma Ross,” Keller’s chief of staff began. “Are you still in the Hay-Adams?”
“I’m here,” I said and turned around to find a less noisy area to be able to hear what Ross had to say.
“Keller wants you and Gibson to come to Blair House. He’s not backing down from moving forward with keeping the inauguration as scheduled and wants you here to help us come up with a game plan.”
“Alright, fine. I just saw Ron, he was going to a meeting with Gary Wallace. But I can head over now.”
“I’ll have an agent bring you over, if you could go down to the lobby, I’ll locate someone for you.”
“I’m in the lobby now and I see an agent. I’m on my way,” I replied and ended the call as I walked to the font of the hotel where I thought I had seen one of the Secret Service agents assigned to Keller’s detail.
“Mr. Jordan,” I heard from behind me and I turned around to see a man walking quickly to me with a hand held to an ear, listening to instructions from someone. “Please come with me,” he continued and I joined him and left the lobby area, heading down a long hallway that took us toward the back of the hotel.
I once again felt like something was wrong, the same way I felt when I saw the agent from earlier when Jami and I had arrived. As I walked to the left of the man, I noticed that the agent had a firearm holstered on his right side. “You park around back?” I asked the agent as we approached the hotel’s kitchen.
“Area around back’s a lot more secure. Not much foot traffic from civilians, either,” he replied.
Being unarmed, the only idea I had was to call Jami. I put a hand to my left trouser pocket, not remembering if I had left my cell in my sports jacket or not. I felt it in my pocket. I pulled my cell out as discreetly as I could, dialed Jami, and let go of the phone, allowing it to fall back into place.
I wondered if Jami had answered or if my call had gone to voicemail. I thought that maybe the call wouldn’t even go through, being so deep inside the middle part of the building, surrounded by concrete.
The agent that I walked with was confident, he knew exactly where we were going as we passed cooks, hotel staff, and a few suits that I figured were part of management on our way to the back of the building.
At one point we passed close to the agent that had been standing outside the conference room where I had met with Keller and a few others. He didn’t see us as he turned another corner, but I started to think that maybe I was just being paranoid and nothing was actually wrong.
“After you, Mr. Jordan,” the agent said as he stopped at a large metal door that had an exit sign above it.
I pushed the door open and the agent followed me into a back alley. I heard the door snap closed behind us and I watched as a black limousine slowly parked at the opposite end of H Street, blocking our view of the road. “Let’s move,” the agent said to me. I still couldn’t shake the thought that something was wrong.
Then I had an idea. “I haven’t seen Keller in a while. Glad to finally make it to DC. How long have you been assigned to Wolf’s protective detail?” I asked, intentionally using the incorrect code word for the president-elect and watching the agent’s face, looking for any kind of change in affect.
I was looking for one of two things. Either the agent would correct me and tell me how long he had been on Hawk’s detail. Or he wouldn’t acknowledge the mistake and there would be no change in his facial expression, which would tell me everything I needed to know. A moment later, I had my answer.
The agent was expressionless, staring at the limo as the driver started to get out. “Two months,” he said.
I moved quickly and tried to open a second door in the alley, but it was locked. The agent grabbed me. I elbowed the man as hard as I could in the stomach and as his body bent over, I grabbed his neck and brought my knee up into his ribs.
He swung at me and I ducked, causing his fist to miss me. I shot back up and delivered a punch to the face. He came at me again, and this time, I reached for his gun.
The firearm came loose from his holster, but just as I tried to get a firm grasp on it, I felt the man’s arm hit my back, knocking me to the ground. He pointed the gun at me and I kicked it away before lunging at him, grabbing his hands that held tightly to the weapon and bringing them up over his head as I got to my feet.
Two shots fired into the air as we both struggled to get control of the gun.
Holding on as tightly as I could, I forced the man against the wall with all of my strength and felt his body slam into it. Keeping my left hand on top of his, my right hand grabbed the man’s arm and I repeatedly slammed the hand that still clutched the gun into the side of the building, causing him to loosen his grip.
When he finally let go, I punched him in the face again and reached down to grab the gun.
Out of breath, I pointed it at the man. “Who are you?” I asked with no response. “Who are you?” I yelled.
That’s when I heard it. The sound of a gun being cocked behind me.
“Drop the gun, Mr. Jordan.” The driver – I had lost track of him during the struggle. “I said drop it!”
I slowly lifted the gun and raised both hands into the air and bent down so I could set the gun on the concrete. I stood and watched the man that I had fought get to his feet and wipe blood from his mouth.
“Now, turn around. Keep your hands where I can see them,” the voice from behind me said.
I turned around slowly and saw who was speaking to me. It was the driver. The first agent. The one that I had noticed as soon as Jami and I arrived at the hotel. I felt warm blood drip down my face and looked down to see it splattered all over my dress shirt. “Who are you? And what do you want from me?” I asked.
“You’re making things more complicated for us,” he replied. With a gun trained on me, the driver kicked the other man’s gun back over to him. It slid past me and I heard the man behind me pick it up.
The driver’s face was the last thing I saw. I felt the blow of the gun from the second man standing behind me come down hard, striking the back of my head. I fell to the ground. Everything faded to black.
SIXTEEN
JAMI HURRIED DOWNSTAIRS and headed for the front desk. She heard a voicemail notification and was relieved to see that Blake had called. The message he left was exactly four minutes long, which she thought was odd. Jami leaned against one of the large columns in the lobby and listened to the message. She heard muffled voices and what sounded like Blake walking. Jami smiled, remembering how she had unknowingly accepted a call from Blake on a drive home a few months back. She had the radio turned up and Blake teased her because she was singing along with one of her favorite songs. Payback, she thought.
As she continued to listen, no longer stressed about Blake’s whereabouts, she saw a man intermixed with other hotel guests walking down one of the corridors. Jami recognized him immediately.
It was Donahue.
Still listening to the message, Jami walked to the other side of the wide column and looked away, waiting for Donahue to pass and hoping that he wouldn’t notice her. He didn’t. Instead, Donahue walked across the lobby floor and Jami cautiously followed, still curious as to who he was and how he knew Blake.
Jami carefully followed Donahue to the end of the hallway. When he turned a corner, she peeked around without him seeing her and watched as he disappeared into a conference room. Still listening to the message, Jami followed. When she got close to the room that Donahue had entered, Jami was startled to hear voices on the voicemail message – “After you, Mr. Jordan,” a man said clearly, followed by silence.
Jami noticed that there was an unoccupied room adjacent to the one that Donahue had gone into. She walked inside, closed the door, and rested her back against the inside of the door with the lights still off.
“Haven’t seen Keller,” she heard Blake say on the voicemail before his voice trailed off. “Two months,” another voice replied moments later. Who are you talking to? Jami thought to herself as she noticed that she could also hear voices coming from the next room, who she assumed was Donahue and another man.
Jami kept listening to the voicemail and heard more rustling, similar to before, but the sounds were louder now. It sounds like a struggle, Jami thought. There were muffled shouts followed by a loud crack.
The phone fell, Jami thought as her eyes were growing wider with every passing second. She jumped when she heard the sound of two gunshots.
“Who are you?” Blake yelled twice. Then there was nothing but silence. Jami held out the phone and saw that the voicemail had stopped playing after being cut off at the four minute mark.
Jami stood in shock. It wasn’t until she heard one of the men in the next room say Blake’s name that she refocused on the discussion that they were having. Jami walked to the opposite side of the room and realized why she could hear the voices coming from the other side so clearly – she found a one inch gap separating the dividing wall of both conference rooms from the window, allowing her to hear everything.
As Jami listened, she realized that there were actually three voices coming from the next room – two men and another who they were talking to on speakerphone. The younger voice she decided had to be Mark Donahue. The other man’s voice sounded older, a man in his fifties. Maybe sixties. She couldn’t tell. The man on speakerphone had an accent; Jami realized that he was the one in charge, the one giving orders.
“He’s been taken out of play,” Jami heard the older man explain.
“And the woman?” the man on the speakerphone asked. There was a silence in the room.
“She’ll be taken care of. We have a man headed upstairs right now,” the younger man replied. Donahue.
Jami felt terror. Who are these people? What had they done to Blake and why were they after her now?
A loud knock at the door startled Jami. It was so intense that, for a moment, she wasn’t sure if there was someone outside the conference room that she was hiding in or at the door where the men were meeting.
“They’re here, we need to go,” the older man said to the younger.
“Get the woman or we’re going to have a problem,” the man with the accent pressed.
Donahue cleared his voice. “Do you want her and Jordan brought to you?”
“No,” the man on speakerphone said. “They’re of no use to me. Get rid of them.”
Jami heard the door creak open as the men started to leave. When she realized that the door to the room that she was hiding in had been open when she entered, Jami worried that one of the men might notice and look inside. She ducked underneath a table and waited until the voices were gone.
Two minutes later, Jami strapped her bag back on her shoulder and summoned the courage to open the door. She was relieved to find nothing but an empty corridor. Jami headed down the hallway, unknowingly walking the same path that Blake had walked twenty minutes earlier, and found herself in the hotel’s kitchen. Jami thought it might have been a dead end until she saw that there was a door along the far end of the kitchen and walked closer to it.
Jami pushed the door open and found herself in an alley between the Hay-Adams and another building.
An archway covered most of the alley. Jami looked down both sides and cautiously walked toward H Street. She looked down and noticed there was blood splattered on the concrete. She stood motionless. Jami looked up and saw two bullet holes in the ceiling of the archway. The gunshots. The concrete above her head was cracked where the bullets had entered the ceiling and pieces had been chipped away.
Jami grabbed her phone from her back pocket and called Blake. A second later and she heard his cell phone ring from behind her, inside a garbage can next to the door that she had exited from the kitchen.
After removing the lid, Jami reached inside and grabbed it. Even though the screen was cracked, it still functioned. J
ami scrolled through Blake’s contact list and placed a call.
“Hey man.”
“We’re in trouble, Chris.”
“Jami? Where are you?”
“An alley behind the Hay-Adams,” Jami whispered, crouched behind the garbage can.
“Can you make it to the J. Edgar Hoover building? I’m about ten blocks away from you.”
“I don’t know,” Jami replied and turned to look down the other side of the alley. “I’ll try.”
“Cut through Lafayette Square, take 15th Street south to Pennsylvania and go east. I’ll meet you there.”
SEVENTEEN
I WASN’T SURE how long I had been out, but when I finally regained consciousness, all I could see was total darkness. I knew that I was stuck inside a small compartment. I felt a steady vibration coming from underneath me and it wasn’t until my body bounced and I was unable to stop myself from slamming into the opposite side of the small area where I was trapped did I truly understand what had happened to me.
As the vehicle drove over another bump in the road, my head hit the back of the trunk and I felt an enormous amount of pain. I remembered the fight with the agent and the last thing I saw was the limo driver before I blacked out. I figured that the man who stood behind me must have pistol-whipped me.
I lifted my hands and felt a sharp pain on my wrists. They were bound together. Unable to see, I brought my wrists to my face so I could feel what had been used to handcuff me. When I felt thin plastic, I was sure that they had been bound together using a zip tie.
I kept my wrists to my face as I felt around, trying to find the locking bar. I located it over my right wrist.
Using my teeth, I bit down over the bar and with force, pulled it to the left to center it between my wrists. Once I was sure that the locking bar was centered, I found the long strand of the zip tie that had been used to tighten my wrists together and clenched down on it with my teeth. I pulled it as hard as I could, making the makeshift handcuffs even tighter than they were before. The pain was excruciating, but I knew that the cuffs had to be as tight as possible if what I had in mind was going to work.
