Motive ; One Last Day ; Going Viral

by Dustin Stevens

  What it didn’t answer was why they had been brought in in the first place.

  “Tell me,” Ridge said, “if it was such a clear case of an ambush, why did they fly you guys in? Shouldn’t the local MPs, or even the crews there on the ground, have just cleaned up what they could and moved on?”

  Knowing full well that the question sounded a bit callous, Ridge hoped that he would be forgiven, everything about what he was now facing forcing a bit of political correctness into the background.

  “Because they had to,” Bumppo said. “That’s standard procedure whenever there are that many guns that are seized like that.”

  For maybe the fifth time already on the evening, Ridge felt his adrenaline surge, the feeling threatening to overcome his faculties, pushing his body into a higher state, every limb starting to tingle. So strong was the sensation that it pulled him to his feet, the phone gripped tight.

  This was the first time he had heard such a thing, his search starting to move forward.

  “Guns?” he asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Bumppo said, his tone seeming to indicate he grasped what Ridge was currently experiencing, the senator almost envisioning a smile on the man’s face. “And pardon my language, but a whole shitload of them at that.”

  Warning flags and flashing lights began to go off in Ridge’s mind, some things falling instantly into place, others seeming to fit less now than they had just moments before.

  “Which meant you had to be on hand to make sure everything was on the level,” Ridge asked.

  “In theory,” Bumppo replied, “but like I said, they shuffled us through there so damn fast, all they really got was a rubber stamp saying we’d been on the ground and asked a few questions.”

  “So there was no report?” Ridge asked. “Nothing concrete that could be returned to later?”

  “Not really,” Bumppo said, “I had just made my first small break when I was told that was good and sent packing.”

  Shaking his head, a bitter taste rising to his tongue, Ridge said, “Straight back where you’d come from.”

  “Nope,” Bumppo said. “I didn’t get it as bad as Hal, but let me tell you, central Ohio in the wintertime isn’t exactly an enviable post either.”

  Feeling his eyebrows rise slightly, Ridge said, “You got relocated immediately after getting back home?”

  “Sure did,” Bumppo said. “Hadn’t been in Virginia long either, had no reason to think I’d be moving on soon, but that’s how it goes sometimes.”

  “Any idea why?” Ridge asked.

  To that, there was a long sigh before Bumppo said, “Again, long after the fact I figured out it must have had something to do with whatever happened over there in Afghanistan, but why it would be bad enough to send my ass out this way...”

  Letting his voice trail off, it became clear the question was rhetorical, the man still searching for some reasonable way to answer it, even though both men knew the likely outcome was simply that he had been somewhere he shouldn’t, witnessed more than he was supposed to.

  “Can I ask you what it was you’d just found?” Ridge asked. “Right before they sent you back?”

  Lowering his voice just slightly, Bumppo said, “They were so hell bent that this thing was an ambush that they already had the case closed by the time I got there, right?”

  “Right,” Ridge said, silently urging the man forward, unable to shake the feeling that whatever he was about to hear would be huge.

  “Then can you explain why only three of the ten trucks in the convoy were hit?” Bumppo asked. “Or how they just so happened to be the only three out of the whole group carrying weapons?”

  Chapter Forty

  Leopold Donner was still in the front seat of his SUV, the automobile a nondescript black sort, the same as a thousand others roaming the streets of downtown D.C. With all but the front windshield tinted dark, the only difference between it and most on the streets was that the plates weren’t government issue, a fact that very few people ever made it as far as noticing.

  Not that they were registered to Donner either, the name on the paperwork someone that was said to work for his employer, a person with their own payroll account and even desk in a corner somewhere should somebody ever feel the need to come looking.

  Of course, in the event that ever happened, they would be sitting at that desk for an awfully long time waiting for its owner to surface, the person assigned to it a complete figment, the very same person that was named on all paperwork for the organization.

  Despite having such a level of security protecting the car he was in, Donner knew there was only so far he could push his luck, making two revolutions of Dirksen before pulling back.

  During the light of day, traffic would be thick enough that nobody would notice him, never piecing together that it was the same person making repeated trips should they ever look twice his direction.

  With the clock now nudging past midnight, though, the streets all but deserted, it would be hard for them to do anything but notice him as he made repeated right-hand turns.

  Easing away from the tight tangle of one-way streets twisting through the congressional office buildings, Donner drove three blocks over, easing into street parking in front of a small strip mall just down from the Eastern Market. Housing five businesses in total, four of them stood dark and quiet while the fifth, a combination mini-mart and liquor store, threw garish neon light out into the night, a steady trickle of people entering and exiting.

  Grabbing up his cell phone from the middle console, Donner left the engine running and turned down the heater before dialing Ames, the time of night not once entering his mind.

  Judging by the fact that it was snatched up after a single ring, the general wasn’t much for sleep either.

  “What have you got?”

  Per usual, a smart barb crossed through Leopold’s mind, a quick comment meant to get under the skin, though he managed to shove it aside.

  There would be plenty of time for such things once noon arrived, even he knowing they were in the midst of something that precluded a bit of playful banter.

  “I just made two passes by Dirksen,” Donner said. “I saw Ridge and his Chief of Staff enter the building, though they still have the curtains pulled, so I have no visual beyond that.”

  “But you’re sure they are there?” Ames asked.

  “I haven’t seen them exit,” Donner said. “Can’t imagine them coming back at such an hour just to turn around and leave again.”

  He didn’t bother adding that he had no idea where they would possibly go, the notion that Ridge would suddenly just decide to retire home for the night so absurd it didn’t warrant voicing.

  An indecipherable sound somewhat approximating a grunt was Ames’s only response, quiet settling in over the line, Donner waiting for the old man to process things in his own time.

  Which, he couldn’t help but notice, was becoming slower with each passing day.

  “And the woman?” Ames asked.

  “She hasn’t left either,” Donner said. “She being his Chief of Staff-“

  “Not that woman,” Ames snapped, his tone sharp, causing Donner to raise his middle finger again to the phone, his features taut as he stared at it, wishing nothing more than that the condescending prick was there to receive it in person.

  Moments such as these were fast becoming the problem with working in the private sector. Men such as Ames were too accustomed to the military life, being able to say and do whatever they pleased with impunity, the existing structure meaning that they were always obeyed without question.

  For people like him that had been inside for so long, it became impossible to separate that from the rest of the world, truly believing that everybody should snap to their word like nineteen-year-old enlistees.

  Something Donner had not been in a long, long time.

  “She’s out of surgery,” Donner said, relaying what Packard had given him. “Packard is on-site there now with the two junior me
mbers of Ridge’s staff.”

  “So she’s alive and well?” Ames asked.

  Again Donner felt his face contort at the inanity of the question, at the fact that it was an odd thing for a man with so little regard for those around him to even be asking.

  “She’s alive,” Donner said. “We didn’t get a full report or anything, but judging by the fact that Ridge left and his staff remained...”

  He didn’t bother filling in the rest, hoping what little common sense the general may possess could do that for him.

  “Hmm,” Ames replied. “Anything else?”

  “Packard said a team from Capitol Police just arrived,” Donner said.

  “Is that a problem?” Ames asked.

  “No,” Donner said. “If it was, they would have already arrested her. She’s sitting there in plain sight.”

  “So it’s purely precautionary,” Ames reasoned.

  “Seems to be,” Donner said.

  Another few moments passed, the general continuing to put things together in his mind, plotting in silence.

  On the other end of the line, Donner couldn’t help but feel his ire rising. All afternoon and now evening, they had done little more than monitor, Ames hoping his face or even what happened to Tarby would be enough to make the situation go away.

  What he couldn’t seem to grasp was that wasn’t going to happen. Ridge now had his fingers sunk into something, an event they would all like to keep buried, and he wasn’t likely to just suddenly stop.

  Not unless he was made to.

  “My orders?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  The information was scribbled down on a notepad in front of Jackson Ridge, everything Al Bumppo had just told him transcribed as fast as he could. Jotted down the moment the conversation ended, he had scratched out each detail, not wanting to forget a single thing, the resulting mash of blue ink on the page looking closer to a Rorschach Test than an actual collection of information.

  Not that Ridge thought he would actually need it, the new data seared into his mind, bringing with it a whole host of new questions, ideas and considerations that needed to be entertained.

  With them came the realization that his time was continuing to dwindle, the clock moving well into the new day.

  His final day.

  His thoughts and focus still on what Bumppo had said, what it might mean, how it might tie back to Josh Tarby, Ridge had to force himself to try and push the information aside for a moment. When that didn’t work, he took the additional step of literally doing so, reaching out and shoving the list to the side.

  He had to slow down, to continue taking one thing at a time.

  Before the call from Bumppo, he had entered his office set on looking into General Arnold Ames. Prior to that, he had been interrupted by the call from the Hilton, the visit from the man now hours earlier, Ridge still needing to get in there, to determine exactly what the man’s angle was.

  Reaching for his cell phone, Ridge flipped it open and checked the indicator in the corner, seeing he was already down to just two bars of battery life remaining. After using the device more in the previous ten hours than he had in as many years, he was amazed it was still functioning.

  The thing had been on staff longer than all of his employees save Beckwith, after all.

  To his knowledge, the sole charger for it was at home on the kitchen counter, the act of plugging it in each night one of pure rote habit and nothing more. If there even was a suitable spare anywhere nearby, he had no clue, an eventuality that could become problematic.

  As with most things with the situation he was in, he just had to hope it didn’t get that far.

  Thumbing his way back into his address book, Ridge scrolled until he found the name he was looking for and pressed send. Rising from his seat, he grabbed the wadded up coat from it and walked to the side of the room, tossing the garment toward the rack, not caring enough to follow and pick it up when it missed and crumpled to the floor.

  Instead, his focus was on the ringing in his ear, on the crotchety voice that answered after a handful of tones.

  “Christ, man, you know what time it is?” Sebastian Murray asked.

  “I know, Sea Bass, but this is important.”

  “Isn’t it always?” Murray groaned, letting out a pained sound, the spring of a bed creaking beneath him just audible. “What’s up?”

  Knowing that Murray probably wasn’t completely over the late call, Ridge didn’t bother launching into another apology, knowing it would only slow their conversation down, both sides wanting to get on with things as quickly as possible.

  “Arnold Ames,” Ridge said. “Ever heard of him?”

  “Who?” Murray responded instantly, answering Ridge’s question with one of his own.

  “General Arnold Ames,” Ridge said, adding the man’s title. “Army.”

  Another exhausted sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt slid out over the line, followed by more bed creaking and two feet hitting a hardwood floor.

  “Ames,” Murray repeated, saying the name three times in total. “Nope, name doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”

  “No clue,” Ridge said. “Before tonight, I hadn’t heard of the man either.”

  “Before...” Murray said, his voice falling away as he connected what Ridge was telling him. “Was he overseeing things in Afghanistan at the time?”

  “Don’t know about that either,” Ridge said. “I just know that a few hours ago he showed up here in full dress attire and tried to scare me off the hunt.”

  He didn’t bother adding the part about Clara Tarby being assaulted just minutes after, the timing too much to be coincidental, but the severity of the attack being too much to lob at a ranking general without definitive proof.

  “Subtle,” Murray said.

  “As a gun,” Ridge replied.

  “Alright, give me a few minutes,” Murray said, the words coming out with one last grunt. “Let me see who I can now wake up and piss off for you.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Sea Bass was going to get back to him. Clara Tarby was out of surgery, Ellerbe and Stroh there to report any new developments. Harold Golding and Al Bumppo had both shared their experiences attempting to look into whatever had happened in Afghanistan, each having been pulled off before they could really accomplish much, their collective attitude trending hard toward bitterness, both having been sent bouncing around the country the moment they returned.

  Looking down at the notes from his conversation with Bumppo, Ridge stood behind his desk, attempting to sort things out in his mind, to put things into a logical progression.

  If not to determine what had happened to Josh Tarby, then at least to figure out what his next step was in attempting to do so.

  Extending a hand down toward the desk, Ridge tapped his fingertips against the polished top of it, drumming them faster and faster, the sound a perfect soundtrack for the way he felt. Remaining in that position for several moments, trying in vain to parse out his next steps, he broke the tension of the moment by snapping his hand back and falling into his seat.

  Landing hard, he allowed his momentum to push him to the rear edge of the plastic mat beneath him, the wheels catching as they shifted to the carpet, stopping him instantly. Resting his elbows on the pads of the chairs, he laced his fingers before him, nervous energy pulsating through his body.

  Raising his left arm, he shoved back his sleeve and checked the time, the clock now marching steadily on toward one.

  He had been awake for twenty hours and counting, his heart rate surging for most of it, the chance of sleep any time in the next twelve hours dismal at best.

  He had to slow things down, had to purge some of the anxiety within so he could breathe and think and analyze what he needed to.

  When that worked only slightly, he shifted to what might help instead.

  His first thought was to step over to the window, to shove it upward and allow the c
old night air to swirl around him. Hopefully, the icy chill would manage to lower his body temperature, to calm his nerves enough that he could take one thing at a time, to keep moving in an ordered and logical progression.

  Just as fast he pushed the thought aside, his gaze flitting across the curtains pulled closed around the room. Most likely anybody that might still be tailing him had given up - if not from the cold then from the obviousness of sitting out there staring up at his window at such an hour – but he couldn’t take that chance.

  Instead, his focus wandered to the folded up remains of the sandwich he had started a few hours earlier, making it no more than a few bites in before having to stop and rush to the hospital to see to Clara Tarby.

  Almost as if on cue, his stomach let out the slightest rumble, a not-so-subtle hint that he was running on reserve energy, adrenaline only able to carry him so far before basic physiology won out.

  Extending the heels of his boots out before him, Ridge pressed the rear edge into the plastic, using his quads to pull himself forward. Retracing the same path he had rolled just moments before, he returned to the edge of the desk and grabbed up the sandwich, the wadded paper rustling as he placed it into his lap and began to unfold it.

  “Please tell me you aren’t seriously considering eating that?” Beckwith said, the sound of her voice unexpected, extra loud in the solitude of the office.

  Not even realizing she had entered, Ridge’s head snapped up, his eyes widening as a jolt of surprise rocketed through his chest. In its wake, he could feel his heart pounding, his breathing increase.

  “Damn it, Susie, how many times...” he began before letting go of the same admonishment he had made a thousand times before. “Make some noise, will you?”

  Assuming the same posture she always did, Beckwith stopped behind the chair she had used a few different times throughout the day and said, “My apologies, sir. Now, please tell me you aren’t actually going to eat that.”