She wasn’t stupid. She knew we couldn’t talk.
CNN was on TV across the living room. Although Owen and the girl, Rachel, hadn’t been seen since the 14th—three days—they were still giving it all of their airtime. The most important thing in the media at the moment was to find Owen Marina. Even more evidence to back up my newfound revelation. The bombs were a sham, Owen was framed, and someone was trying to slant the election in their favor.
I stood up and paced around my apartment. The transition from the carpet to the cold tile of the kitchen caused a chill to race up my spine. I wanted to brew a cup of coffee, but I knew that wouldn’t be smart. My heart was racing as it is. Eating was another option, but I was also nauseous. This whole situation had my stomach in knots. I felt like I was running out of time.
My dad was only four hours away. Four hours and that godforsaken FBI agent outside my apartment complex were all that kept me from getting my father the truth. I could almost taste the satisfaction, knowing that I would have finally disassembled their lie told so long ago. But how? How could I get there without being followed?
I would have to wait. A thought plagued me, though. What if they never left? I had to find another way. Time was not on my side. It was only three weeks till the election and the polls were plummeting day by day. They were watching. They were listening. How would I?
That was it. I had an idea.
- 11 -
I couldn’t remember the last time I had seen Grey smoke a cigarette. The tobacco odor intermingled with the smell of coffee. He was drinking it non-stop, as was everyone else. Briana was out with Vinny. Apparently, they were going to meet the contact for the passport at some Cuban restaurant in Downtown Miami. Grey, on the other hand, had purchased my ticket to Moscow. The flight left the day after tomorrow, and I still wasn’t all that convinced Grey and Briana could pull it off in time. When he printed off my ticket, I almost got sick. It had hit me like a train in the gut, harsh and swift—it was really happening. In forty-eight hours, I would be on a plane headed to Moscow. That was if we even made it that far.
A couple ashes fell onto Grey’s beard.
“You better watch out, Grey. If you’re not careful you’ll catch your beard on fire.”
He chuckled. “That’s the least of my worries.”
The deep grooves along Grey’s forehead spoke louder than his words. He was very confident our plan would work, and that was why he was working so hard to make it perfect. He also bought a ticket, a one-way from Miami to Atlanta. A relatively cheap flight, and he told me that was for a reason. Apparently, with the help of some wacky Chinese module and his plane ticket, he could create this ‘diversion’ he spoke of. Something about the fact the ticketing system used a common SQL database, helped him. The system scans the ticket, queries the database for the correct flight and passenger information, and prints out the correct boarding pass. When the ticket is scanned, it was basically a comparison of the data from the database to the encoded information on the ticket, or so Grey said.
Grey’s idea was to encode a piece of information on the ticket with the Chinese module that would infiltrate the database and perform an execution, instead of just comparing the data off of the ticket to the data in the system. He called it an ‘SQL injection’. He said it would cause something in the mainframe to mess up. How he knew it would work was beyond me, but Grey was an incredibly talented individual. If he was working for the CIA, they probably would have already caught me by now. I was glad he was on my side.
Rachel was on the sofa taking a nap. Grey had convinced her to wait to call Ian. He insisted that we didn’t use the pre-paid phone at all, because of the potential risk of Ian’s landline being monitored. They could triangulate our location and then all of our effort would be wasted. He proposed we call through a computer and heavily encrypt the connection to ensure no one could trace it back to us. Not being able to call him, Rachel felt useless, and so she had gone to rest. Her long hair was put up into a bun, and her caramel skin looked so flawless, even after all the stress we had been under lately. Her chest gently moved up and down. I wondered what she was dreaming about, or if she was dreaming at all. Maybe it was a nightmare…
I saw a flash of the mother and daughter, holding hands in the snow in front of the Capitol. The mother whispering, ‘Thank you’.
I shook my head quickly to forget about my reoccurring nightmare. I tried to forget, but I had come to accept it would haunt me forever.
.
“What is all of this shit?” I asked, setting it back down on the pool table. Briana wasn’t amused. “It isn’t shit, Owen. It’s your disguise. Believe it or not, your hair is already growing. The sandy-brown is coming through.” I walked over to a nearby mirror to confirm her claim. She was right. The bleach-blond was already beginning to fade, the culprit being how short my hair was. “And this?” I held up the plastic packaging. “You trying to give me a Hitler mustache?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s a fake goatee. A blond one. And you better damn appreciate it because it took half the day to find. By the way, your cash is getting low.”
“How low?” I asked.
“Thirty-five thousand.”
I laughed at Briana’s statement. Our cash might have been getting low, but Grey had seven hundred thousand dollars at our expense, and that was including what we owed Briana, Vinny, and Luke. All he had to do was wire it into an account or a pre-paid card. I heard Grey chuckle as he processed Briana’s words. He was hunched over his laptop, sitting at a desk in the corner of the room. There was a table-lamp he had tilted down, shining it on the papers and ticket beneath it. An ink pen between his fingers zipped around the paper and the scraping noise was constant. I sat up a little farther and could barely make out what he was drawing—it almost looked like a QR code.
“You said you have a printer, right?” Grey asked.
“For the last time, yes! It’s downstairs at the reception desk, just like I told you.” Vinny’s tone escalated. Grey didn’t react, just continued working and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m just making sure. It’s important.”
“Why?” Rachel asked from her seat on the couch. Grey spun around in the desk chair. “Well, I’m drawing a rough sketch based on some designs on how the code is formed. Once I get the execution code written in, I will have to design it on the computer and print it off. A drawing wouldn’t work on a ticket.”
“What kind of diversion are you trying to make?” she questioned further. Grey seemed nervous. He chewed on the bottom corner of his lip and tapped his pen against the arm of the chair. “I’d rather not say. I just don’t want to jinx it, you know?” Rachel shrugged off her curiosity and turned to me. It was honestly the first time our eyes had met since she woke up. Staring into her warm brown eyes made me melt inside. As difficult as it was to acknowledge given my circumstances, it was still happening. I was falling for Rachel—hard.
“All right, it’s time I get to work,” Briana announced. Her ringlet curls bounced around like rubber bands that sprung out of her ponytail. I was amazed she never complained of headaches as tightly as her hair was slicked back. She threw me the plastic container with the goatee hair and adhesive. It landed on my crotch and I winced from the pain.
“Sorry,” she said, nonchalantly. “Go take a shower.”
“Excuse me?”
She pursed her lips. “Once the goatee is on, you won’t want to shower because it might mess with the glue. I would say wait until tomorrow, but I need time to get your passport ready. So I have to take the picture as soon as possible.” She pulled out a camera I hadn’t seen before. “Where’d you get that?” I asked. “Wal-Mart. It was on sale.”
I had the sudden sensation of Déjà vu. Briana’s purchase of the camera reminded me of when Laura bought one for herself back in Raleigh. I wondered if she was doing well…
“Nice,” I muttered.
I heard Grey’s chair squeak and he stood between Rachel and me.
&nb
sp; “Rachel,” he began. “I’ve got the line secured. Are you ready to call Ian?”
I scratched the back of my head, troubled by the front page story of tomorrow’s paper in front of me that I had to approve. Never in my life would I have imagined that I would be looking at the face of my goddaughter as the headline article for my paper.
Emilio was probably rolling over in his grave right now. I shook my head, distressed at what to do. It was killing me, having all of these baby-faced journalists fresh out of college, who didn’t know shit about what real journalism was, putting this garbage on my desk. How could I allow us to publish another day of this tabloid nonsense? Just because that was what USA Today, The Washington Post, and every other major newspaper was spewing out as fact.
Emilio was a real journalist, and he was my greatest friend in life. Even after almost twenty years he was still on my mind. Although he was in Rachel’s life for such a short amount of time, he instilled a lot of wisdom in her. Rachel was just as good as her father, perhaps even better. She just hadn’t had her moment to shine. I wanted her to get a few years under her belt in a smaller paper before I brought her up here.
I set the papers down. Frustrated, I let out a long sigh. Something didn’t feel right. I knew it had been a year since I had seen Rachel, but she wasn’t the type to befriend a bad person, let alone a terrorist. I knew her. I watched the girl grow up for Christ’s sake. I was dubious to say the least when Owen was first wanted for the bombings. As genuine as he seemed in all of his public appearances and interviews, I saw it as a rumor at most. Once Rachel became involved, that rumor seemed more like a blatant lie. Rachel had to be with him for a reason, because there was no other logical reason. Their combined talents must have done them well because they had been off of the fed’s radar for four days now.
Police sirens echoed in the streets far below me. After living my entire life in New York, you would have thought I would have been used to them by now…but they always bothered me. This city never slept, and that was the truth. I glanced over at my faint reflection in the floor to ceiling glass that encircled my office. Damn, did time sure do its toll. My hair was almost entirely gray.
I signed my name on the black line at the bottom of the final draft, putting my seal of approval on tomorrow’s cover story. My gut panged as I did so. It hurt to have to publish these hideous articles about Rachel, but I had nothing else. I had no other leads. Part of me wanted to use some of my sick days just so someone else would have to make my decisions.
I picked up my briefcase and stood up. I winced as my lower back trembled—the pain just became worse as the years passed. I rubbed it and headed toward the door.
Ring…Ring…
I had taken two steps before it rang. My jaw clenched up, and my exhale shuddered. It was the final straw to an already hectic day. Normally, I would have just ignored it…but with everything going on, it was necessary. I didn’t get this far in life by dodging calls just because of my status.
I glanced at the red light on the phone and saw it was coming from my assistant’s line. I pressed the speakerphone button.
“What is it, Sharon?”
“I have a call on hold. Line four.” Her voice was shaky. I hadn’t heard that kind of tenor from her since the bombs went off outside of Wall Street.
“Then why didn’t you transfer it to me?”
“Because. I was afraid you wouldn’t pick up.”
“All right, Sharon—stop the nonsense. I have to go.”
“You’ll want to take this call.”
Something tugged at my gut—intuition. Maybe it was something greater? Like a God, if there was one. I had covered too many stories that kept me sleepless for me to believe in that anymore.
“Thank you. I’ll grab it.”
“Mhmm,” the line clicked off.
The red light on line four blinked every other second. My breath was shallow. Why was I so damn nervous? I picked up the cold plastic phone and pressed the button.
“This is Ian,” I said in the unfluctuating tone I had for years.
“Ian—it’s me…”
My stomach sank in relief. Her soft voice was soothing even when talking to a bundle of nerves like myself. Suddenly, my relief turned into alarm. What if someone was listening to her? To me?
“Ra—,” I stopped myself from saying her name. “Are you okay?
“I’m okay as I’m going to be in a situation like this.”
Fear welled up throughout my body, for her safety and mine.
“Are you crazy? What if they are listening?”
“They might be.”
“What?! Why do you sound so calm then?”
“My line is secure.”
Thank God.
“Good. Why did you call?”
“I figured I owe you some sort of explanation,” she chuckled. I couldn’t help but smile.
“I was worried about you, you know.”
“I could imagine.”
“I’ve been wondering. Why were you with him in the first place?”
“You know,” her voice was short.
“Do I?” I countered.
“I believe so.”
She was right. I did know.
“Guilty as charged.”
“Anyway,” she began. “I called you for a reason. I have a very important question to ask you.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you been given any…confidential information?”
“Regarding?”
“This, Ian. All of this.”
“This is the most confidential conversation I’ve had all year.”
There was a long pause. I thought she had hung up.
“Hello? Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“What did I do? You sound upset.”
“I’m not gonna lie. I’m a little disheartened.”
“Why, because I don’t know any more than you do about all of this?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, it’s…it’s not your fault.”
I wiped my hand up my forehead, stretching the skin and rubbing all of my hair back. I wished I had more to give her.
“Any way I can help you, I will. You know that. I promised your dad when you were born that I would.”
“I know…” Her voice now a whisper. That somber tone in her words was hard to swallow. I knew I was only her godfather, but she was like the daughter I never had. I loved her.
“What is it exactly you are trying to do?”
“Piece together this lie before it’s too late.”
“You sound just like your father.”
“Really?” she asked. “I wish I could say that I know.”
I exhaled. The pain from losing her dad was a colossal weight she carried with her. I still felt that same weight on my shoulders every day. Such a great man Emilio was. Why did the good always go so young?
“You do. He was always trying to look at the bigger picture. That’s what made his work so great.”
“I know. I still read over the articles you gave me.”
“Good. I’m sure you will follow in his footsteps.”
“I hope to, Ian. I really do. There’s just one problem.”
“Which is?”
“That I am trying to solve the puzzle with only one of the pieces.” I paused, reflecting over her statement…only one of the pieces. “Are you insinuating?”
“Yes, I am. I have a feeling…that there are more pieces out there. This lie is spread out so far, and its roots are so deep, that it must have affected far more than just you-know-who.”
Owen…
“Go on,” I said.
“He is the only piece I have. His story and his recollection of what happened at the final debate. That isn’t enough, though.”
“Enough for what?” I was trying to string together what she was getting at, but she was being vague in her explanations.
“What have been the cover stories lately? I haven’t seen a newspaper in almost a week. I’ve
only seen the TV.”
Her question began to reveal the real picture to me.
“You and him. It’s all anyone wants to see. They want you in handcuffs, or worse—”
“Don’t say it,” her breath was sharp. It caused a momentary static in my ear.
“You aren’t thinking…” I murmured.
“Oh, I am. The thought has been embedded in my mind so deep since the day I met him, it is all I can think about. It is possible. That is why I called you. We have to give the people the truth. The real story. I know you value that. It’s what you and my dad established your reputations on. If anything, Ian, do it for him. In my dad’s honor.”
My eyes began to glisten just from the conviction in her tone. To hear the daughter of my best friend, now twenty-three and grown up, speaking like this…gave me chills. I was proud.
“All right,” I conceded, “Let’s do it. In his honor.”
I couldn’t tell whether she was laughing or crying in reaction to me accepting her proposition.
“Good. I knew you would agree. Thank you so much. I’m glad you didn’t believe the lie about him was true…and think bad about me. I’m sorry if I—”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re fine. I had my doubts about…him. The coverage is just too basic. Their story doesn’t have much depth. Just a lot of bells and whistles, like I told you when we were texting, the last time we talked.”
“That was the day I met him,” she added. “I recognized him at a coffee shop and made my move.”
“Wow! Bold move, I’d say.”
“It worked,” she chuckled.
“How will I get in touch with you?”
“You won’t.”
My forehead scrunched up from her statement. How could she possibly have wanted me to invest my effort into this story when I couldn’t even talk to the first and only piece of the puzzle?
“I will contact you. Find one of your tech guys and get some sort of secure line. One that I can be transferred to when I call.”
The Gambit Page 22
