“Not very big. I’m only one rank up from your job,” Samantha reminded her friend.
“Yes, but you get to work on national security issues. I get to meet with the Tile Council of America. At least you can take a break and have dinner with us. My parents are really pleased you would drive all the way out here tonight.”
“Wouldn’t miss my friend’s thirtieth, now would I?” Samantha said, finishing her task.
“C’mon, say hello to my mom.” Angela led the way. They pushed through swinging doors into a warm kitchen filled with the pungent aroma of bay leaves, melting butter, and yeast rolls. A wrought iron rack held an odd assortment of pots and pans hanging over a large island where white china platters, vegetable dishes, and a gravy boat waited to be filled with the evening’s entrees. A refrigerator stood in the corner covered with snapshots of Angela, her brothers, and sisters at various ages beginning with kindergarten.
“Look who’s here,” Angela said.
Mrs. Marconi, a plump woman, her dark hair swept back in a bun, dried her hands on an apron and held out her arms.
“Samantha. You smart girl. You come to my baby’s birthday dinner. This is wonderful.” She gave Samantha a hug. “I’m so proud of my Angela. First girl in our family to get a college degree. First girl in our whole church to get a job in the government. And it’s the White House. It’s always so exciting, you girls working there on all those important things.”
Angela’s violet eyes twinkled as she murmured, “Little does she know what important things I actually work on.”
“Stop whispering and get your friend something to drink. Dinner will be ready in a little while. Your dad will be home soon. We have other guests coming in a few minutes. Go relax in the living room,” her mother suggested.
The two women walked back through the swinging kitchen door. “We never use the living room except on Christmas,” Angela said.
“Nobody ever does. By the way, I saw the coolest house for sale on House Hunters last night. Since, as you say, nobody seems to use that room, they had this system where you push a button, curtains close, a huge screen comes down and voila, it’s turned into a fabulous media room.”
“Since when do you have time to watch the House and Garden channel these days?” Angela asked, opening the Chianti and pouring it into two glasses.
“Hardly ever,” Samantha admitted. “I was just so up to here with bad news, I flicked around the channels last night looking for a break and saw that one. Of course, the people looking at that house lived in California, not in Oklahoma or Kansas where they wouldn’t have power to watch something in a media room.”
“Right you are,” Angela said.
They meandered into a room with yellow walls, a floral sofa, and a skinny Christmas tree in the corner decorated with colored lights, a series of miniature churches, and crosses with tinsel strewn on every branch.
“Oh, your folks have their tree up already.”
“Always,” Angela said. “They put it up the day after Thanksgiving and don’t take it down until twelve days after Christmas.”
“This is the first one I’ve seen. Guess I should try to start getting in the mood, but there’s been so much going on, I can’t even find time to do any shopping.” Samantha sat on the couch while Angela perched on a brown leather Barca-lounger.
“Okay, now tell me what’s going on in your shop. Two gas line explosions? Was it sabotage? I mean do we have some new terrorist group operating in Kansas?”
Samantha leaned forward. “Sounds pretty far-fetched, doesn’t it? I’ve been in meetings all day. That’s not our only problem, you know.”
“Of course, I know. Well, I don’t always know what’s going on. Seems that everything over there in the West Wing is classified while I’m working with groups that either want to export more ceramics or save red-cockaded woodpeckers. Life’s not fair.”
Samantha chuckled. “There are times I wish we could trade places, believe me.”
“Don’t be too sure. It’s not only my White House life but my private life that you wouldn’t want.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, mom fixed me up with a doctor last night He was in town for this big meeting going on at the convention center. You know, the new one downtown.”
“You mean the building that looks like it was designed by a communist?”
“Yes, that one. It does kinda look like the Kremlin. Well, anyway, so I go out with this Italian doctor who’s the son of some old friend of mom’s. He asks if I can take time off and come to some of the breakout sessions at the conference.”
“What’s the conference about?”
“It’s ‘Digestive Disease Week’,” Angela said.
Samantha almost choked on her wine. “You’re kidding.”
“No really. So here’s this guy, and he wants me to come listen to a presentation he’s making on ‘Unusual Perspectives on Peptic Ulcers.”
Samantha started laughing. “Sorry, but that’s the first time I’ve laughed all day. So what did you tell him?”
“I explained that my White House job is really important and I couldn’t possibly take time off.” She took a sip of her wine and added, “He didn’t need to know that in addition to the woodpeckers, the same group I met with today wants protection for the white-tailed prairie dog, the Preble Meadow jumping mouse and twelve species of Hawaiian picture-wing flies.”
“Send them over to Interior.”
“I did,” Angela said.
“So, you don’t like nature?” Samantha asked with a slight smile.
“I like nature. But for me, it’s more of a screen saver.” She took a sip of her wine and continued. “But let’s get back to real issues.”
Samantha’s cell phone rang. She got up to retrieve her purse from the hall table and murmured, “Sorry.”
“No problem. We’re all on call. 24/7.”
She picked up her cell. “Samantha Reid.”
“Hi, it’s Tripp. Sorry to bother you. I know you said you had a party of some sort.”
“Yes, I’m out in Silver Spring. Why? What’s going on? You sound upset.”
“It’s more than that. Look, I don’t want to talk on the phone but I’d sure like to see you as soon as you can break free. We have a new development about what happened to the lines, and we may need some help. There’s more that I can’t go into it all right now. I need to brief you. Any chance you can get away?”
Samantha looked at her watch and replied, “Hold on a minute.” She put her hand over the cell and went back into the living room. “Angela, it’s Tripp. You know. The man from GeoGlobal I’ve told you about.”
Angela raised her eyebrows. “What’s up? Other than his obvious interest in you.”
“He says it’s something important. About the gas lines. He says we need to meet.”
“Only the gas lines?” Angela said with a grin. “You sure this isn’t a booty call?”
Samantha shook her head and responded. “No way! This sounds important or he wouldn’t be calling. I mean, he wouldn’t have bothered me. Not here. I really think I need to get back.”
“Mom’s made a pot roast, but she can put some on a plate so you can take it with you. She knows how White House jobs are. You go see Tripp. I can handle the other people tonight. We have a whole gang coming anyway. We’ll get you back for dinner another time.”
“I’m really sorry, but I think I should check this out.” Samantha got back to Tripp. “Okay, I’m going to leave here in a few minutes. I could meet you at my place in about a half hour or so.”
“I’ll be there. Now take care of yourself. There are still patches of ice on the roads.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MISSOURI–THURSDAY EARLY EVENING
The gray stucco motel stood just off I-44 next to Denny’s Restaurant. Simon Gonzales was stretched out on one of the twin beds, watching the Univision channel while Carlos checked for text messages on his cell phone. “Here’s one from the
fixer,” he said.
Simon glanced over and asked, “Another assignment?”
“Looks like it.”
“Where did the signal come from this time?”
The boss read the message again. “It came from a speech at Jane’s Diocese.”
“A woman’s name. Sounds like this will be ours again. Any special instructions this time?”
“No. He’s leaving it to us to pick the spot.” Carlos pulled a set of maps from his travel bag and studied a printout of intersecting lines superimposed on a map of Missouri. “I think we’re pretty close to a good site. We’ll drive over and scope it out after we get some dinner. Better to do that in the dark anyway.”
Both men jumped up when they heard a banging on the door. Carlos grabbed a pistol and moved to one side. “Go see who it is.”
Simon went to the door. Leaving the chain in place, he opened it a few inches and peered out. He broke into a smile, pulled the chain away and pushed open the door. He threw his arms around a young man standing there, clad in filthy blue jeans, a dirty sweatshirt and torn jacket, dragging a heavy duffel bag.
“You made it,” Simon said. “Get in here before anybody sees you. Have any trouble at the border?”
Juan Lopez gingerly placed his bag on the floor and slumped down in the one overstuffed chair in the room. “Oh yeah. Big fight. Rain. Agents. I think they were agents. I don’t know. Coulda been their own guys fighting with each other over control of that piece of the border. Not sure. But when they started shooting, the convoy driver told me to get out of there. So they went one way, I went the other. I just ran for my life.”
“But you made it. And the car?” Carlos asked.
“I did what you said. As soon as I got across, I checked the map and found the rental car you had stashed in that border town. But it was okay. It all worked out. Sorry it took a while to get here.”
“You look like you could use some cleanin’ up. There’s a shower in there, and we’ve got some extra clothes. We’ll find a Laundromat somewhere later. Go get yourself ready because we just got our orders.”
“From the fixer?” Juan asked.
“Yep.”
“What about the tools, the stuff we need to pull it off?” Juan asked.
“We’ve got it all,” Carlos said. “The first two jobs went like clockwork. The parts we need now are stashed in the trunk of our car. We’ll make a dry run first.”
“Good idea,” Juan said. “The fixer told me that as soon as the signal comes, we’ll have just a day or two to make things happen. You know how he is, always looking for fast action on his ideas.”
He pointed down at his bag. “And he got some special equipment, canisters or something from Iran, I think. He told me to be very careful and to bring them here. We’re not supposed to use them until he gives us the word.”
“What’s in them?” Simon asked.
“I’m not sure. But they’re inside some heavy cases.I almost didn’t make it across the border because I had to carry these things. Rossi said to guard them with my life and to store them in a safe place until he gives us instructions. So, where should I put them?”
“We’ll keep them in the trunk of my car with the other equipment, the new explosives we picked up and everything else we need. I think we can fit it all in,” Carlos said. “Tomorrow we’ll turn in your car. We should all stay together in one car anyway.”
Juan shrugged. He was tired, hungry, and his arms still ached. All he wanted right now was a hot shower, some decent food and a good bed.
He wasn’t sure if he had made the right decision to come up here and take on this assignment. Then again, when the powerful Diosdado Rossi recruited him and the others for this job, he knew it was a chance of a lifetime to make so much money he could quit his job on the oil rigs.
He hated the grueling work in the fields, but with so many people in Venezuela out of work, it was the one job he could find back home. Now this gig could make him a small fortune, and he’d be able to live anywhere he wanted. What he really wanted was to have enough to get out of his country and go someplace where he could buy good food and have a decent life. At least that was his dream.
Juan got up and headed toward the bathroom. “Just before I left, Rossi told me to tell you that you’re doing a good job, and if we keep going like we are, the price of gas, and probably oil too, will hit the moon. That means more money for them, so there’ll be more money for us too at the end of the line.”
“But when’s the end?” Simon asked.
“Quit asking questions,” Carlos said. “We’ll know when the time comes.” He shoved the pistol in his pocket and reminded his helpers. “Right now, we’ve got work to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
GEORGETOWN–THURSDAY EVENING
“Missed you, Samantha,” Tripp murmured as he took her into his arms.
“Missed me?” she replied. “It’s only been one day.”
“I know. You’re getting to be a habit with me.”
“There’s an old song with those lyrics.”
“See? Somebody else felt the same way.”
She hesitated, enjoying the warmth of his arms, but then pulled away and led him to the kitchen of her condo. “Have you had anything to eat?”
“Eat? No. I’ve been so swamped, I haven’t thought about it. Living on caffeine fixes these days.”
“That’ll never do,” she said. “Here. I’ve got dinner.” She took the tinfoil off a plate she had warming in the oven.”
“What’s this? Did you make it?”
“Nope. I don’t have any time either. My friend’s mom in Silver Spring gave it to me to take home.”
“Sorry if you had to miss their dinner. It’s just that I …”
“Let’s sit down. You can tell me all about it.” She motioned to the side board where a bottle of wine sat opened on a coaster. “Bring the merlot and a couple of glasses.”
They sat down at her small table by the window. “Now then,” she said. “Talk to me.”
Tripp looked into her deep green eyes. He felt a connection whenever he stared at her, and their eyes met. A kind of string drawing them together. It was strange. Strange for him. He was used to being in total control. Now he often found himself waiting for her cues, taking her pulse, her mood, and going with the flow. He pushed personal thoughts aside and began to outline the gas line situation.
“First of all, we just got a report in from our crews in the field. Both teams, the one in Oklahoma and the one in Kansas came up with the same conclusion.”
“Conclusion? You mean how the lines exploded.”
“Uh huh. You’re not going to believe this. But in both cases, they happened inside the lines.”
“Inside?” she questioned, raising her voice. “But how is that possible? I figured it had to be some gang setting dynamite or something above ground. How in the world could they have exploded from the inside?”
“Beats the hell out of me.”
“What are your engineers saying?”
“They’re still analyzing the pipes. Or what’s left of them. The explosions and fires really tore up a huge segment of the lines. People saw the fires from miles away. Well, we talked about that before. We’ve never had anything like this happen. Not in the history of GeoGlobal.”
“They did sabotage gas lines in Mexico,” Samantha volunteered.
“Yeah, but I heard that was an above ground operation. It was pretty crafty, I’ll give them that. But this. Jesus, Samantha, I’m wracking my brain trying to figure it out. Then again, I’m not an engineer. I don’t design pipelines. That’s for the experts.”
Samantha took a bite of the pot roast and thought for a moment. “I wonder …”
“You’ve got some far-away look in your eyes. You wonder what?”
“I was just thinking.” She shook her head. “No, that would mean an inside job. I mean inside the company.”
“Inside job? What inside job? What are you talking about?”
>
“Pigs!”
“Pigs? You mean the little robots that crawl through the lines checking operations and cleaning up?”
“Sure. Pigs. You use them. Everybody uses them. They flow through the line along with the gas, kind of like bowling balls rolling down an alley, and they send signals back about how everything’s working.”
“I know we use them. I always wondered why they call them pigs, though.”
“My dad used to talk about them. He says that when they go through the line, it sounds like a pig squealing,” Samantha said.
“And you think that somebody put an explosive in one of our pigs and somehow got it inside the line?” Tripp asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Why not?” She asked. She paused as she took a bite of her pot roast. Then waving her fork she said, “Okay, now stay with me on this. Let’s say that some guy, or a bunch of guys who know something about gas lines, somehow get hold of some pigs and they figure out a way to put an explosive device along with a timer or something inside. They stick them in the pipe at one of your pig launching stations, which you’ve probably got all along the lines. They launch them and then run away. Somewhere down the line, the pig explodes and causes a huge fireball and you’re …”
“Screwed!” he said. “Jesus! Do you really think something like that could happen? I’ve got to talk to our engineers.”
“Give me a better explanation,” she challenged.
He took a gulp of wine, sat back and crossed his arms. “I don’t know. It all sounds so far-fetched. I mean first you’ve got to have people who know what the hell they’re doing. Then they’ve got to get the pigs. I mean, you don’t just buy them at Wal-Mart or something.”
“No, but you’ve got them in your warehouses, right?” she said. “For starters, how about a company-wide inspection of all your properties, especially in Oklahoma and Kansas? Well, make that nation-wide. I mean, if these people were smart enough to get inside your facilities, get maps of your lines and steal some pigs, wire them up and get them inside your lines, the question is, how many more have they got?”
Final Finesse Page 9
