MORE THAN THE MOON

by A Rosendale

  Cooper had watched the brawl begin and ran for his mom’s room. He grabbed the screwdrivers and fumbled with the lock. Before she’d even spilled from the room, he was working on Wyatt’s.

  “My dad!” he’d exclaimed, and the FBI agent bolted for the stairs in time to tackle Lusana before he could shoot Dirk in the back.

  Alma took her son’s hand and they ran downstairs.

  “Dirk!” she called through the growing smoky haze.

  “Go!” he yelled back.

  Johnson’s meaty fist sent him stumbling into a wall. He kicked the advancing man away.

  “Go, Alma!” He locked eyes with her as flames licked higher, reaching for the drapes. His eyes flared emerald in the light. Then he was gone, swallowed by the inferno as Johnson dragged him back into the mansion. Wyatt disappeared in the same burst of light.

  Alma felt Cooper’s small hand in hers, swallowed her emotions, and they ran from the house.

  * * *

  “I need to exchange these tickets.”

  The airline agent stared at her across the counter. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

  She nodded. “I just need to exchange these. Can I do that here? Please?”

  His expression softened. Her makeup was smeared so much he could see the bruising on her jaw. He suspected the long sleeves of her out-of-season sweater hid further evidence of domestic abuse. “Of course, ma’am. Where would you like to go?”

  * * *

  Ramsey emptied the gun clip into the flaming drapes he’d just shoved Lusana into. Coughing violently, he saw Travers stumble. Johnson crawled from under the dining table. Flames were consuming the tailored suit and scorching skin from bone. The man’s right cheek was grotesquely melted. A gruesomely burning hand wrapped around Travers’s bicep.

  Dirk kicked him away, but struggled to find his feet. The house was so hot, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. The breaths he was able to draw were searing. Suddenly a firm hand gripped him by the wrist and he looked up into Ramsey’s face.

  Leaning heavily on each other, they crawled out the shattered living room windows and across the lawn. When they were almost to the shelter of the tree line that surrounded the property, there was an earth-shattering explosion and they hit the ground.

  Chapter 86

  “Agent Ramsey! I’ve been so worried! I-” Dr. Miles froze as he threw open the door and the hallway light was thrown on Ramsey’s companion, who leaned against the brick entryway. Even through the soot and scorched clothes, he recognized the handsome outline and twinkling green eyes of Dirk Travers. Never in a million years would he have expected to feel this relieved at the man’s sudden appearance.

  “Miles,” Dirk muttered.

  Before he could answer, a golden streak leapt out the door. Bailey planted his front paws on his master’s shoulders and laid a series of long, sloppy kisses on his cheeks. Laughing mixed with coughing as Dirk slid down the wall to ruffle the dog’s ears.

  “I’ve missed you, boy!”

  “I was starting to think…” Miles muttered to Ramsey.

  “Me, too,” he replied honestly. He took in the professor’s appearance. Yellowed splotches of leftover bruises were in the final stages of healing on his face and his left arm was held stiff in a shoulder-to-hand length cast. ‘They did a number on you, Prof,’ he thought.

  “Come in, come in. Where’s Alma? And Cooper?”

  Wyatt helped Travers to his feet and they all stepped inside.

  “Where’re Alma and Cooper?” Miles asked again as they sat down at the kitchen table.

  Ramsey glanced at Travers, wondering how much he knew. The man looked worse than he’d expected. Thin, cheeks sunken, boney shoulders poking from a charred T-shirt, he sported a dark black bruise around his neck and several more spotted his face. There were small dots at regular intervals along his arms that looked like cigarette burns, not to mention the bangle of burned flesh around his bicep from Johnson’s final attempt at murder. He slumped in the chair and laid a heavy hand on Bailey’s head.

  Observation complete, Ramsey opened his mouth to answer.

  “They got away,” Travers answered. His tone was of exhausted relief. “They flew to Norway.”

  “No, they didn’t,” Ramsey corrected. Suddenly, a ton of bricks settled on his shoulders and he felt as exhausted and done in as Travers looked. His shoulder throbbed and his chest ached from smoke inhalation. But he felt a modicum of satisfaction in the look of surprise Travers shot him. “Flescher just wanted your wife to himself.” He shrugged off the questioning gaze. “I investigated Flescher a few years ago for a prostitution charge. He was able to get it swept under the rug, but-”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” Dirk interrupted. “He’s always been overly interested in Alma. So where are they?”

  “I told Cooper to exchange the tickets. So…” He frowned. “I have no idea where they are.” He raised an innocent hand to ease the sudden anger that flared in Dirk’s eyes. “That was the plan, though. I think it’s best no one knows where they are. They’re off the grid. And Johnson, should he have bested us tonight, would have no way to find them. And the same with Flescher. Who better to find them, Travers, than an accomplished CIA agent?”

  Dirk scoffed. “Some CIA agent.” He stretched his legs in front of him and groaned. “God, I feel like hell.”

  Wyatt laughed and massaged his shoulder. “That’s an understatement.”

  “So…what’s the plan?” Miles asked hesitantly.

  Ramsey and Travers exchanged understanding glances. Dirk sighed and nodded.

  “Let’s take it one step at a time. We need a good night’s sleep. And you look like you could use a drink, a band aide, and a decent meal.” Wyatt motioned to the burn on Dirk’s arm.

  “I can help with that,” Miles said eagerly. He leapt up, clunked a bottle of bourbon down on the table, disappeared for five minutes, and returned with a handful of first aid supplies.

  * * *

  “No! No!”

  Alma shook Cooper awake before he could draw attention. They were in a corner of a Frankfurt Airport terminal. It was dark outside the wall of windows. A handful of other overnight passengers could be heard snoring or whispering through the terminal, but Alma didn’t want anyone questioning them, asking for proof of boarding passes for tomorrow’s flight.

  “Shh,” she cooed to her son. “It’s just a nightmare.”

  Cooper swallowed tears and nodded groggily. “It was about the fire. Do you think-”

  “Shh,” she repeated. “I don’t know.”

  He swallowed again and sniffled. “What are we waiting for?”

  “We’re waiting for the banks to open.”

  “Why?”

  “So we can get some money,” she whispered.

  “But you have a credit card.”

  He was right. They had lingered in Boston long enough to stop by the old apartment and collect a debit card she’d found stashed there earlier.

  “I know. But anyone can trace a card every time we use it.”

  “And we don’t want Mr. Johnson to know where we’re at.”

  She nodded. They needed a few more things here in Germany, such as fake IDs that would fool any and all TSA and government agents.

  Chapter 87

  Dirk woke up in a delectably soft, cozy bed. Aches and pains still riddled his body, but being warm, comfortable, and safe for the first time in months made them ebb.

  ‘But Johnson,’ a little voice warned.

  Closing his eyes, he visualized the explosion that rocked Johnson’s estate and the plume of flames and smoke that jettisoned into the air. ‘Johnson’s gone,’ he concluded confidently and sank deeper into the pillows.

  After a few minutes more of relaxation, he rose and got dressed in jeans and a sweater Miles loaned him. ‘Bailey,’ he thought. He remembered distinctly going to sleep with the dog lying next to him on the bed. Now he was gone.

  Miles and Ramsey were downstairs in the kitchen. Mornin
g sunlight streamed through the windows and shone through the steam rising from two coffee mugs. Bailey scrambled across the tile floor to greet Dirk.

  Miles jumped up to pour another coffee and set it before his second guest.

  “Thanks.”

  Ramsey and Miles exchanged a grin.

  “Feel better?” Ramey asked.

  “Yeah. A bit.”

  “I should hope so. You’ve been asleep for thirty-six hours.”

  He chuckled softly. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  “Hungry?” their host asked.

  “Famished,” Dirk admitted. “Can I help?”

  Miles looked him up and down and laughed. “Doubt it.”

  He took the slight as the joke it was and chuckled again. While the professor dug in the refrigerator, Dirk motioned to the laptop beside Ramsey’s coffee.

  “While you were getting your beauty sleep,” Wyatt teased, “I conducted some searches. I’m sure my credentials have been red flagged, so we should probably make plans to move on shortly.”

  “Why would they be watching you?”

  “Well, last I checked, there was a dead sheriff on my front door step in South Dakota.”

  “Who-”

  “Alma and I.”

  “Alma killed someone?” His tone was sad, not upset.

  Miles was too distracted with cooking to hear.

  “Yes, but not the sheriff. She just winged him. But the man Johnson sent after her… She dropped him like a pro.”

  Dirk frowned. “What did you find in your search?”

  “Alma and Cooper landed in Frankfurt yesterday. She withdrew a significant amount of money from your joint account this morning. Nothing since.”

  Travers sat back in his seat and slowly sipped from his mug. “She’s gone,” he said quietly.

  “Gone?”

  “You won’t find any more digital footprints.”

  “Even if she pays for another plane ticket in cash, she still has to show identification,” Ramsey argued.

  “You’re right. But there’s nothing to say it will be her identity.”

  Wyatt nodded sudden understanding. “She’s following the directions you left her.”

  Dirk raised a brow in surprise. “She shared it with you?”

  He nodded. “She wanted reassurance that she was doing the right thing.”

  Dirk stared at the man over the rim of his mug, considering all he must have gone through with Alma and Cooper. “Thank you,” he finally said quietly.

  Ramsey understood exactly what the thanks was for and nodded.

  * * *

  “I still don’t see how you’re planning on traveling with a dog,” Ramsey complained. He was pressed against the backdoor of the taxi to make room for Bailey between himself and Travers. His protests were ignored while Travers directed the driver through the city. Wyatt rolled his eyes and watched the buildings crawl by.

  His incredulity didn’t fade when they pulled up in front of a single story brick house in Cambridge. A handicap ramp led to the front door. Travers paid the cabbie with cash Professor Miles gave them and proceeded to knock on the door. It took several minutes for the locks to draw back and the door cracked.

  “Can I…” The door opened further to reveal a man Travers’s age in a wheelchair. The man’s upper body rippled with muscles honed from years of propelling a wheelchair through life. The clean-shaven jaw fell open as he stared at the salty-haired man in a black windbreaker standing on his doorstep. “Dirk?”

  Travers smiled broadly. “Jordi.”

  “My God! It’s…it’s been too long, man. So good to see you!”

  Stooping, Travers embraced the man. Bailey bounded into the house on his heels, leaving Ramsey to trail behind in confusion.

  Jordi kept glancing at his long lost friend as he led them down the hall. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he muttered. “You retired what, ten years ago?”

  “Retired?” Ramsey muttered.

  Travers shrugged. “Something like that. Unfortunately, I found that retirement wasn’t all fun and relaxation.”

  “I can see that,” Jordi joked.

  Travers laughed.

  “Which is what brings you by?” he guessed.

  ‘By for what?’ Ramsey thought in aggravation.

  “Yeah.”

  Jordi continued down the hall until they came into a large den stocked full of computers, monitors, and printers. “What all do you need?”

  “The works.”

  “For the two of you?”

  Travers nodded. “And some papers for the dog.”

  “The dog?”

  “Service dog papers and travel documents.”

  Jordi stared at his old friend. He exchanged concerned glances with the stranger at Travers’s side.

  “It’s my son’s dog,” he provided vaguely.

  “Travers, traveling with this dog is insane-” Ramsey started to argue yet again.

  “It’s for Cooper,” was the simple answer.

  Wyatt bit his tongue and nodded. He had to admit, it was hard to picture the boy without his faithful golden shadow.

  “Okay. Any other requests?” Jordi was already opening programs and tapping away at the keyboard.

  “No. Just keep it simple.”

  “You got it. Want to brew up a pot of coffee while I work?”

  “Sure thing. Everything still in the same place?”

  Jordi laughed. “Of course it is.”

  Travers started back down the hall.

  “You know how I like it!” Jordi called after him.

  “Yeah, yeah,” was the distant response.

  Bailey nudged Ramsey’s hand to be petted while he watched Jordi’s fingers fly over the keys.

  “Have a seat.” He motioned to the only chair in the room. “Are you CIA, too?”

  “Uh, no. FBI. Well, probably not any more.”

  Jordi nodded in understanding and Ramsey wondered just how involved this man was in Travers’s world of intrigue.

  “Are you CIA?”

  Jordi’s laugh didn’t interrupt the steady stream of clicking keys. “God, no. I graduated MIT with Dirk and went into informational technology while he went off to work for the Navy.”

  Ramsey tried not to react to all this history he was learning. Alma hadn’t talked about her husband’s past prior to meeting her. He wondered if she even knew Jordi existed.

  “I didn’t even know he’d joined the CIA until a few years later. He was in a sticky situation and came to me for help, specifically a temporary ID. I guess I did such a good job, he started referring me to other agents. I became something like a back-alley document forger.”

  “And…” Wyatt cast a curious glance at the aluminum-frame wheelchair.

  “Oh, this? An accident made by a far younger, more foolish version of myself. In fact, Dirk was there. We were in college. Spring break skiing in southwest Colorado. Trees and spinal cords don’t get along.”

  “You’ve been friends a long time.”

  “Feels like forever. I don’t know if I could have managed rehab without him.” He laughed softly. “We were different people back then.” With a final press of the ‘return’ key, he motioned to the printer. “And there we go. Now for the canine documents. That’s something I haven’t done in a while.”

  Dirk entered a minute later with three mugs of coffee. He handed a sugary, creamed coffee to Jordi and passed one of the other mugs to Ramsey.

  “How are Cooper and Alma?” Jordi’s back was turned so he missed the mask of guilt that flashed across his old friend’s face.

  “They’re fine,” Ramsey answered before the silence became too long.

  * * *

  “Now what?” Wyatt grumbled under his breath. The alley they were walking down was lined with homeless hovels made of cardboard. Grungy men and women glanced up as two men and a dog passed.

  “Dave?” Travers called gently.

  A pile of rags shifted and rolled over to reveal a
dirty, wrinkled face. “Dirk? Dirk, my boy!” The man scrambled to his feet, which were covered by a pair of battered wingtips, the soles of which were unraveling and flopped when he took a step forward. “It’s good to see you vertical! I was worried when you disappeared.”

  “It’s good to be vertical,” Travers laughed. “I came to thank you for your help.” He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.

  “Oh, no, son. I’m not takin’ your money for helpin’ a friend in need.”

  “I expected no less.” Dirk smile creased the corners of his eyes and they sparkled like emeralds. “I’d like to buy that harness from you.”

  Ramsey followed his gaze to a guide-dog harness that topped the junk pile next to Dave’s hovel. He suddenly remembered the awe he’d felt upon meeting Travers in D.C. years ago and wondered if the man would ever stop surprising him.

  * * *

  “This is your apartment?”

  “Yeah.” Dirk stopped on the third floor landing to catch his breath and curse his current health. A day of traversing the city left him exhausted and weak. He looked forward to crashing on the pile of blankets Alma had accumulated for him a few weeks ago.

  Wyatt waited patiently for his host to recover and they finished the trek to the apartment. “There’s an elevator, you know,” he pointed out as they passed the stainless steel doors.

  Travers nodded as he fished around the bricks above a doorway at the end of the hall. A moment later, he produced a key and let them into a bare, empty home.

  “I’d rather no one know I’m here,” he finally replied when the door was closed and locked.

  “Right. You’re supposed to be dead.” He shook his head. “I have to admit, I’m still floored that you’re not. Alma, she was so sure. She and Cooper, they were heartbroken.”

  Another flash of guilt crossed his face and Dirk didn’t reply.

  “So we’re going to crash here for the night? Why not catch a flight tonight? We could have made the last flight to Frankfurt if we hadn’t come here.”

  “There are some things here I need.” With that, he knelt under the living room window and wiggled a brick free. Suddenly, he was piling stacks of cash on the floor next to him.