Behind the dead body, in the recesses of the trunk, was a black gym bag. With some difficulty Grady pulled it past the dead man’s shoulder, and out of the trunk. He closed the lid as quietly as he could. Picking up the keys, he headed back to the room. It was hard to walk without constantly glancing back at the car or staring at each room window to see if peering eyes were watching him.
In the room, his plan gained depth and clarity. He’d been lucky. The gym bag contained a sweatshirt and pants, along with a pair of gym socks and sneakers. Everything was too big, but it would do to replace his stained clothing and dress shoes.
The steps became clearer in Grady’s mind after he dressed, and cleaned all evidence of his stay from the room. He tossed everything, even the garbage from his room into the gym bag, and took it out to the car. He made a quick drugstore trip, then got back into the car and drove to the airport. Grady left the brown sedan in the close-in parking, and took the shuttle bus to rent a nondescript economy car, using the dead man’s card and license. The rental car clerk was distracted and hardly gave the license picture more than a glance. Grady had doctored the license using a picture from one of his own cards, with the help of a cheap razor and some Super Glue. It wasn’t perfect, but it was passable. Grady was thankful that the dead guy didn’t have one of the new, harder to fake licenses.
Consulting the map, he decided that Roosevelt Island was a good location for carrying out his plan. He drove to the parking lot there, parked the rental, and using his newly acquired pay-as-you-go cell phone, called a cab. He had it drive him back to the airport.
Grady had parked the brown sedan in a dark section of the garage surrounded by cars. No one seemed interested as he drove out of the airport, or as he continued behind a rundown, empty shopping strip. It was still early, so he figured that the chances of a passerby spotting him were slim. He saw nothing resembling a camera in the area. A ten-foot wall hid him from the houses behind the strip. He pulled the car next to a dumpster.
It was easier than he’d thought to drag the dead man out of the trunk and into the floorboard of the car, on the front passenger side. Grady’s adrenaline was flowing, but knowing that scraping the body on the ground didn’t matter helped him accomplish the task. The dead man ended up in a crumpled position with his knees on the floor and his chest and head face down in the seat. His head was cocked at a grotesque angle against the bottom back of the chair. Grady had to move the seat all the way back to make the body fit. After he pulled the blanket from his hotel bed over the corpse, and stuffed the two pillows on either side, all he needed was some trash to complete the disguise. The dumpster provided plenty of fast food bags, Kleenex, candy wrappers, paper cups, and plastic bags, which he liberally distributed around the car. He made sure some of the garbage was on the dashboard, as well. The car quickly became a pigsty. No one would want to look under the lumpy blanket. The grenade was tucked under the blanket, behind a pillow and against the man’s face.
Grady’s plan was simple. Get Robert to meet him at the tourist parking lot. Say what he had to say, then leave first, and fast.
It had all been less difficult to achieve than he’d thought. Once he’d driven the brown car back to the Roosevelt Island parking lot, Grady re-parked the rental car in the emergency lane outside the exit, far enough down the road so the trees blocked the view. With the flashers on, it might get tagged, but it would take hours for a tow truck to arrive.
When he’d left Robert on the bridge and started the brown sedan’s engine, Grady had set his plan in motion. After leaving the parking lot, he’d pulled the sedan partially into the grass at an angle behind the rental car, jumped out, and started the rental’s engine. Leaving the door open, he ran back to the brown car and reached in through the window for the grenade. He took a quick look at the parking area exit, and seeing no one, pulled the pin. As the grenade fell into the floorboard under the pedals, Grady ran to the white rental car and sped away.
The explosion filled his rear view mirror. The power of the blast seemed to push him forward faster. Grady made several road changes, immediately heading north, and glancing back constantly. He made one stop for coffee and a muffin, paying cash. Scanning the parking lot for suspicious cars, he made a complete circle around the shops before leaving and driving to Baltimore, then traveled up Eighty-three to Harrisburg. Switching to eighty-one, he headed toward Scranton. Pennsylvania was cold and grey. Two days had passed since the last snowstorm, so the roads were clear except for annoying patches of sand and dirty salt.
Low clouds rushed by overhead, while passing trucks threw salt crystals and sand into his windshield. He worried about being tailed. While crossing a bridge he threw Robert’s beeper and his old cell phone into the river. If a homing device or 911 GPS tracker had been placed in either one, they’d become worthless in the icy water. He drove at the speed limit, watching his mirrors continuously.
Reaching for his travel mug, he found only a trace of stone cold coffee left in the bottom. He decided he could use a good espresso, but the desire to put some distance behind him outweighed that need.
When he found himself almost nodding off, he followed the signs for Scranton, and pulled off in search of fresh java. Spotting a small café with an Espresso sign he drove into the parking lot. After ordering up a quad shot Grande Mocha, and adding a huge turkey and provolone hoagie, he headed to a quiet table in the back, near the bathrooms.
He finally let himself take a deep, long breath. The ensuing exhale allowed some of his stress to escape. He had made a lot of stops that morning, withdrawing a large amount of cash from several ATMs back in Arlington, and pausing to take cash from his credit card—every last bit he could get before it gave him a ‘locked’ message. He knew he had to cease using the card anyway. He also had to make phone calls without being traced, so he’d gone to a convenience store and paid cash for a second pay-as-you-go phone.
Grady also had taken time to call a business that offered secretarial services, including a receptionist and answering service. A friend of his had used it when he’d set up his own business, to make himself sound as though he had an office. They were open 24 hours. Grady set up an account. The deal included use of any of their services, including call transferring. Now all he had to do was run calls through them, and his calls couldn’t be traced. He paid for two months in advance with the dead man’s card. It was still working.
After he’d finished about half of his coffee and sandwich, Grady pulled out a slip of hotel paper with four numbers on it. He picked up his new cell phone and called the first number.
“Reception Services, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice intoned.
“This is account D17948, could you transfer me to this number?” He gave the receptionist the number on the key chain John McGarrity had given him, and waited through the clicking and ringing sounds of the transfer. He heard it connect with the corresponding beep. He quickly input the six-digit code now showing on the key chain, and it clicked again. It was working.
“Brilliant,” Grady was thinking to himself as the connection went through.
“John McGarrity.”
“John, Colonel Grady Barlow here. I know it’s a little soon, but have you come up with anything?”
“Much too soon for anything definitive, Colonel, but we have made some headway.” John’s voice was casual and unhurried. “We’ve examined much of the system structure, and think the most likely approach to breaking in would be in the first file outside the firewall that addresses the roll-up centers. I could tell you more, but we normally wouldn’t discuss that over a phone.”
“I understand,” Grady answered. “I think I have a picture of what you’re talking about. Who would have access to that file?”
“Everyone on the web,” John responded, “but it would be extremely hard to find the file, even if you knew what you were looking for. To prevent that, the organization has only a couple of people who can access or track that type of file, and they move it regularl
y to keep it hidden. They give it different IP addresses, and so forth. It’s protected by a kind of virus scanner that detects unauthorized changes, rejects them, and actively notifies the owner. It also initiates the first cycle of the spider web, if you recall our briefing. That’s the weakest spot we’ve found at this point. Right now Pat is trying to hack into it, to see if she can find one of those files and modify it. That’s it, so far.”
“That’s great John, when do you think you’ll know if you can break in?” Grady asked.
“There’s no way to tell. Two days, perhaps. Maybe more.” John told him.
“I’ll check back. Anything else?” Grady was ready to wind up the call.
“Nope, not yet.” John answered.
“Thanks, I’ll call you later.” Grady hung up. With a satisfied look at the key chain, he put it back in his pocket. Finishing off the sandwich and most of the chips that had come with it, he proceeded to gulp down the remaining coffee. Wiping his mouth with a thin paper napkin, he got up and headed toward the cashier. He handed the clerk his travel mug, saying, “same again.” The guy behind the counter complied, handing him back his filled travel mug within a few minutes. Grady paid with a twenty-dollar bill, and left a tip in the jar.
“Thanks for coming in.” The counter guy said pleasantly.
“Thanks. See you next time.” Grady called back over his shoulder. “Oh,” Grady spun around, asking, “What’s the best way to eighty-four from here?”
“Just get on Eighty-one North, and catch the Three-eighty South. That will take you straight to Eighty-four.” The guy told him.
“Thanks.” Grady turned and pulled the door open, heading out to his rental.
He had only driven a short distance when, despite all the coffee, he was starting to nod again. He realized he wasn’t holding his lane. He was exhausted, and the heavy sandwich was putting him under.
“Turkey and Tryptophan...” he said to himself, “should have considered that.” Even that thought processed sluggishly through his brain.
By the time he reached the edge of the next town he was forced to find a place to sleep. He exited off the road near two old, rundown, roadside inns. Since it was still very early in the day they were almost empty. Each had only one car in the parking lot, probably belonging to the desk clerks. He picked the least disgusting looking place, and pulled in.
The clerk seemed a little wary of Grady, taking several long looks at his face and at his car. Grady thought the guy was probably wondering if there was a girl out in the rental car. An assignation was the last thing on Grady’s mind. He ignored the clerk and took the key. Once inside the room, he hit the bed face first, and passed out.
Bang! Grady jerked upright as the door from the next room slammed shut.
He ran his hands over his face and hair, and looked at the clock. It was a few minutes after five o’clock. He’d really been conked out. He was so groggy he could hardly focus. Stumbling to the door, he opened it and put the “Do Not Disturb”’ sign out. He closed the door, threw the latch shut, and slid the chain on, propping a chair under the handle. His mouth tasted like old combat boots and his breath was worse. Sitting on the edge of the bed he pulled out his list of phone numbers, grabbed his cell phone and called the answering service.
“Reception Services, how may I help you?” A woman’s voice answered.
“This is account D17948, could you transfer me?” He gave the number for Robert Carlton. The call went through quickly.
“Attorney General’s office, Lorraine speaking; how may I help you?”
“Is he in?” Grady sounded a little groggy but anxious.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carlton has left for the day. May I tell him who called, and take a message?” Lorraine was dismissive sounding, but courteously efficient as always.
Grady figured she was running interference for Robert, but that he was still there. “Tell him it’s thirteen, and it’s urgent. He’ll understand.” Grady’s voice carried a tone of command.
Lorraine didn’t like the sound of a message with no name. Her day and her desk had become disordered, and out of control. Normally she would have informed the caller that she would attempt to pass on the message, but that Mr. Carlton had, indeed, left the office. Today wasn’t a normal day, and Grady’s tone had its desired effect.
“Could you hold for a moment?” Lorraine hit the hold button and uncharacteristically called out to Robert, as he and Agent Long headed down the hall.
“Mr. Carlton!” Lorraine was as close to shouting as her voice ever got, “I have a call for you. He says it’s urgent!”
Robert stopped abruptly. Lorraine generally didn’t raise her voice, and she never called him back into the office unless there was an emergency.
“Who is it?” He called back.
“All he said was, ‘it’s thirteen and it’s urgent!’”
Chapter 43
Robert sat panting lightly at his desk. He’d ripped the receiver off its rest when the call transfer rang in. The room still echoed from the slamming door behind him. “You’re alive!” He almost shouted, but choked down the volume thinking about Agent Long outside the door. “Where are you?”
Grady’s voice was rough and abnormally low. “That clears up my first question. I was going to ask if I’ve been placed on the deceased list.” There was a pause as he recalculated. “You shouldn’t have given yourself away when you answered, Robert. For all you knew...never mind. Forget it. Look I don’t have a lot of time, so just listen: first, as far as everyone else is concerned, I’m still dead. Got that?”
Robert thought for a moment. It finally flashed through his mind that maybe Grady hadn’t escaped death, maybe he’d planned to escape; planned the death. “Yes; I get it.” He answered.
“Good.” Grady was glad that Robert seemed to be catching on. “I talked to our crypto guys, and they think they’re making progress. I’m going to keep in touch with them, but I’m going to be moving around.”
“What about the explosion? Are you all right?” Robert couldn’t help asking.
“I hope your calls aren’t monitored, Robert. I can’t afford any extra ears listening in—we both need to be careful about what we say. That explosion killed me, Robert. Don’t think any thought besides that one. I’ll tell you more when I think it’s safe. Until then, I don’t trust anyone. You shouldn’t either. I’ll be keeping these calls short. Don’t try to find me; it’ll be a waste of your time. You can leave a message at this number.” He gave Robert a number for the message service. “Get yourself a disposable phone and leave a message for ‘thirteen’ with the new number. That’s it for now. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Don’t you want to hear what we’re working on here?” Robert was still reeling from hearing Grady’s voice. He hadn’t quite grasped that Grady was on the run.
“No. I’ll ask when I want to know something. Remember...I’m dead.” Grady hung up.
Robert sat staring at the phone. Grady had staged his own death, and Robert was the only one who knew. Robert sat, questioning what he should do next.
He suddenly realized that Lorraine and Long now knew there was someone with a code name of “Thirteen.” There wasn’t much he could do about that, but he’d have to be more careful.
Grady sat on the bed worrying about his actions. Had he covered his tracks well enough? Was there a flaw in his logic? He thought about brushing his teeth and remembered he had no toothbrush, and no fresh clothes. What he had on was the sum total of his belongings. He ripped back the bed covers, kicked off his shoes, and pulled off his shirt and pants. He took a quick look in the mirror. Dark bruises had formed on his side and shoulder. If he hadn’t been in such good shape it would have been worse. He pressed a bruise covering several ribs and grimaced. With that he turned off the light, and piled into bed. In moments he was snoring loudly.
Robert said nothing to Lorraine or Agent Long when he left his office. Initially, his thoughts were too jumbled. He couldn’t bring himself to
make idle chitchat with Long on the drive home, either. The silence made him progressively more jittery and uncomfortable, but the longer he waited to start a conversation, the harder it became. He finally gave up trying.
One of the agents attending Tracie and the kids opened the front door as Long drove up to the house. Looking left and right, the agent nodded. Robert and Long got out of the car and went inside. Tracie was sitting in the living room with another agent. A long row of suitcases sat by the front door.
“Tracie?” Robert looked at the suitcases, and then at her inquiringly.
“We’re leaving.” She stated flatly, looking angry and worn out. Her fingers dug deeply into the upholstery of her chair.
Robert had dismissed Tracie and the kids to the back of his mind. Once he’d known the Agents were in residence, he’d forgotten them. Tracie had apparently not been mollified by the Agents’ presence. The suitcases made a clear statement. She didn’t feel safe, and she wasn’t happy that he’d been too tied up to call her.
“I called Mom, and I’m taking the kids to see her.” Tracie continued in her flat, aggressive tone.
One Man Two Votes (The Robert Carlton Series Book 1) Page 26
