by Scott Blade
Cameron turned back to the pay phone and dug in his pocket for his last quarters, found them, and fed the phone. The quarters rattled again into the slot.
He dialed the number and waited.
“Hello,” a voice answered.
“This is Cameron.”
Silence fell across the line, and then a voice said, “Cameron? Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“I know. I heard. So what’s the information you have about Jack Reacher?”
The guy on the other end asked, “Jack Cameron?”
“That’s right.”
“Great. I want to talk to you, but I want to meet in person.”
“Who is this? Exactly?”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve told you that at the beginning of this conversation. My name is Sean Cord. I’m a Federal Agent.”
Cameron paused a beat and then asked, “Special agent?”
“Yeah.”
“Special agent of what exactly?”
The guy on the other end said nothing for a moment. Cameron counted down the seconds left on the phone line in his head.
The guy came back on the line and said, “Sorry, I’m in the middle of something. I work for the United States Department of Treasury. I knew your uncle.”
“You knew Joe?”
Cameron felt hopeful for the first time in months that this was a break in finding Jack.
Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
“Yeah. I used to work for him.”
Cameron said, “You work for the Secret Service?”
“That’s right.”
Cameron stayed quiet and heard the sounds of a busy street on the other end of the phone. A car motor. The heavy sounds of tires on pavement. And another voice that Cameron assumed was another agent said something.
Cord came back on the line and asked, “I really can’t speak now anyway. Where are you?”
“Seattle.”
Cord said, “I’d love to talk to you. I’m sorry that I’m busy right now.”
“You work the protection side or the financial side?”
The United States Secret Service has two main functions. One is the investigation into financial crimes like counterfeiting, and the other is protection detail—the side everyone knows about. Those are the guys who run alongside the president’s motorcade and the guys who are famous for being willing to take a bullet for the president. The guys like Clint Eastwood from that movie from way back in the 1990s.
Cameron recalled from his mother’s files that Joe Reacher worked for the financial, investigative side. In fact, he was the head of a major counterfeiting task force. Actually, this was past tense. As in he used to head a financial task force because Joe wasn’t around anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. Joe had fought tooth and nail to make it impossible for counterfeiters to exist within the borders of the United States. And he had been successful, too, until one day it had gotten him killed in a little town called Margrave, way down in Georgia, which was the next place Cameron’s mother had tracked Jack down to.
Jack had met Cameron’s mother six months before in Mississippi, and then he had vanished without a trace until he popped up again in police records in Margrave, Georgia.
Cord said, “The protection side.”
Cameron stayed quiet. No response.
Cord said, “Listen, why don’t you come out here so we can sit down and have a proper discussion.”
A pause between both of them.
Cord sensed the silence and felt Cameron’s hesitation. He said, “I can help you find Jack.”
Cameron said, “How?”
“Come out, and we’ll discuss it.”
Cameron thought for a second and said, “Okay.”
“Okay? Great. When can you get here?”
Cameron said, “I’ll be there tomorrow or the next day. However long it takes for me to get a flight.”
“Just like that? You’ll fly on a whim from Seattle to DC? Without even knowing for sure who I am? Without even knowing what I know?”
Cameron shrugged, more out of habit than anything else. He knew that Cord couldn’t see the gesture. And he said, “Sure. Why not?”
“What about your job? Will they let you up and leave like that? Without telling them?”
“No job. I don’t have roots here. I can go wherever I want and whenever I want. I’m only visiting Seattle. It hasn’t been too welcoming to me anyway. Plus, I’ve got to be somewhere. DC sounds about as good as any other place.”
“Okay. Well. Keep this number. It’s my cell phone. Call me when you get in, and I’ll meet you somewhere. I’m very busy here this weekend because of what’s happening. And the president’s returning from a trip. So all hands are on deck—even though he’s not my assignment.”
“I’d think that, technically, he’s everyone’s assignment. Always.”
Cord said, “You’re right. Of course, no matter who you’ve sworn to give your life up for, POTUS is always our number one priority.”
“Would it be better for me to come another day? I can come slower. Take a bus and probably be there in three of four days instead.”
“No. Tomorrow is perfect. It can’t wait. The thing is time sensitive.”
Cameron said, “Okay. I’ll be there tomorrow then. Or the next day.”
“Call me with your arrival time as soon as you know. I’ll have someone pick you up. In case I can’t make it myself.”
“Sounds good.”
“See you soon. And Cameron?”
A pause.
“I’m looking forward to meeting you in person.”
And he hung up the phone.
Cameron listened to the click and then the squawk of a dead line, and then he hung the phone up and heard the same change swallowing sound he had heard the last time. He turned and crossed the street. He walked past the truck that had been parked there and went over to the little coffee shop and peeked inside. There were two computers that sat on a ledge up against the corner closest to the door—two ancient machines. Probably Dell or Gateway or Hewlett-Packard or one of those old computers he wasn’t sure were even around anymore.
Cameron couldn’t tell because the labels had been completely removed. He had no idea why and didn’t really care. The important thing was that one of them was unoccupied and available.
He went to the counter, ordered another black coffee, and sat down on the stool in front of the empty computer.
He went online and looked at ticket prices for a flight out of Seattle to Washington, DC, which he found with no trouble at all. The disconcerting feeling sweeping over him wasn’t the knowledge that he was about to fly for the first time in his life. It was the price of the tickets. Last minute tickets were damn expensive, but he needed one. So he bought a one-way ticket and then checked his email again for the receipt and the confirmation number and the copy of an electronic ticket the email said he’d have to keep to get his boarding pass, which may or may not have been true.
He memorized the information and clicked on the “X” button and left the screen.
Cameron stayed at the coffee shop for another half hour but left the computer. He took a seat near the window, still with his back to a wall, and looked out onto a rainless Seattle. Even though the rain had stopped, the dreary, inclement weather remained.
Chapter 14
CAMERON DRAINED THE LAST OF HIS COFFEE and got up from his seat at the coffee bar in the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and walked to his gate and waited. Across from his gate was a set of pay phones—only two phones left, and both were completely empty and unused as Cameron had expected. There was a sign in front that read: “To be removed soon.”
This made him think about Jack. Probably because in a way, Jack was also an old relic from the last century. Cameron wondered if he’d ever find him.
He stepped past the sign and picked up a phone, deposited the last of his quarters, and dialed Cord�
�s cell phone number again. The phone rang and rang. Cord didn’t answer, but his voicemail came up.
“It’s me. Jack Cameron. I’m coming to DC tonight. I’ll be on Flight 1029 from Minneapolis. See you soon.”
He hung up the phone and returned to the gate. The boarding of his plane had started, and his row was called. He boarded the plane and sat uncomfortably in an aisle seat.
He closed his eyes and did his best to try to sleep during the flight, but this was constantly interrupted by flight attendants trying to pass with the food cart and then the drink cart or by passengers who would wake him up to pass by on their way to the restroom near the rear of the plane. Each time someone needed to pass, Cameron had to pull his left knee into his row as best he could.
By the time his plane touched down in Ronald Reagan-Washington Airport, Cameron had cramps in all of his joints—knees, elbows, and neck. As soon as the fasten seatbelt light went off, he stood and stretched the best he could. As soon as he had, he realized something that was a little annoying about riding on planes, and that was disembarking. Once you get up, you still have to wait until everyone else has gotten their bags from the overhead bin, and then you have to wait for them to start moving toward the exit.
First class looked pretty convenient.
When everyone began moving forward, Cameron followed and exited the plane. He walked the long corridor and then had to make a left-hand turn down a flight of stairs.
Coming out of the stairway, he saw another long corridor with a conveyor belt which enabled people to walk to the other end of the hall much faster. He stayed on the footpath and walked at his normal pace. He was in no hurry. He wasn’t sure if Cord would pick him up or not so was prepared to find his own way into the city and a motel for the night. Either scenario suited him fine.
Cameron walked through the maze of high ceilings, chrome rails, and foot traffic to the baggage claim but only because it was before the exits.
At the first exit sign, he saw something that he hadn’t expected. He had wondered if Special Agent Cord would be there to pick him up or not and was betting that since the guy sounded so busy, he wouldn’t make it. Perhaps he hadn’t heard his voice mails yet and didn’t even know that Cameron had landed. Being an agent assigned to protective detail on someone who was important must be hectic. Certainly, Cameron would understand if Cord couldn’t be there to pick him up. He wasn’t anyone special, just a guy from nowhere that Agent Cord had never met.
And Cord wasn’t there to pick him up. Instead, Cameron saw a sign with his name on it. A simple white five-by-eight card. Big, bold black letters. Impeccable handwriting.
But even more impeccable was the stimulating hand holding the card—and the woman attached to the hand. She was the most beautiful Asian woman Cameron had ever seen. She was Secret Service, too. No doubt about it. Which was okay with Cameron because he had an inexplicable attraction to women in law enforcement. Inexplicable because it was uncontrollable. Cameron hadn’t tried to rationalize or analyze it. He hadn’t entertained the parallels with his mother because that was pure nonsense. Except that she had been a strong female presence in his life, and Cameron liked strong females. Of course, he liked a lot of different types of females. There was no rule that said he could only like this or only like that. And he had known guys who did have such restrictions, but for Cameron, a good-looking woman was a good-looking woman. No matter who the hell they were or what the hell they did.
A woman who was in law enforcement was attractive to him for many reasons, but none of them stemmed from his mother or any other woman who had influenced him growing up. It didn’t stem from the fact that most females in blue were fit, either. Although, in his experience, this had been true. An occupation like law enforcement generally attracted the kind of people who liked to stay in shape because often times it was a job requirement. And an athletic build on a woman was a nice feature, but it wasn’t necessary for Cameron to be happy. Karen hadn’t been an athlete of any kind, but she had still been attractive.
Cameron guessed that there was no real standard that a woman had to live up to in order for him to find her attractive. However, if there did exist such a thing, then this woman exceeded it.
Everything about her screamed Secret Service in the kind of way that said she meant business. She was short and probably about twenty-five years old. She had tight shoulders and arms like a small MMA fighter. Her hair was shoulder length, and she wore a black suit with a matching skirt and plain stainless steel earrings—studs, Cameron believed they were called—in her ears. Her skirt was knee length, something Cameron was certain was regulated by some sort of clause under a section and page heading issued by the Department of Treasury on how all agents, male and female, are supposed to dress.
The only thing that Cameron couldn’t figure out was where the hell she kept her gun. But guessing was something he wasn’t opposed to doing. In fact, in this very special case, he enjoyed guessing. The only thing he wanted more than to guess where she was hiding a weapon would’ve been to actually see it on her body. Strapped somewhere well-hidden, he hoped.
He walked up to her and said, “I’m Cameron.”
She smiled in a way that seemed professional and, at the same time, oddly inhuman like she wasn’t really interested in who he was even though she was the one holding up a sign with his name printed on it.
She said, “Mr. Cameron. My name is Kelly Li. I’m from the Treasury Department.”
“I guessed that. Cord sent you?”
“Special Agent Cord sent me.”
Cameron stayed quiet.
Li said, “I’m here to pick you up.”
Cameron said, “Are you here to babysit me?”
“No, not babysit. Just make sure you’re taken care of. Shown around and shown hospitality. That sort of thing. Agent Cord is busy with protection detail. He’ll meet with you tomorrow. He just wanted to make sure that you were picked up and taken to a hotel.”
“So you’re my chauffeur?”
Li said, “If that title makes you feel better, sure.”
“Let’s get going then.”
“What about your bags?”
“Don’t have any.”
“You don’t have bags? Not even one?” Li asked.
“Nope.”
“Did you leave your luggage in Seattle?”
“I don’t carry luggage.”
Li said, “So where’re your clothes?”
She looked Cameron up and down, inspected his drab, olive shirt and his brown cargo pants with a look of harsh fashion judgment on her face. He hadn’t been aware of it until that moment, but he looked like he’d just left Afghanistan or Iraq or wherever in the Middle East the US military had been stationed and was sent home. But instead of going back to his barracks and changing into civilian clothes after taking a shower, he had simply gotten on a jet and returned home.
Li asked, “This is the only set of clothes you own?”
Cameron nodded.
“Okay.”
She led Cameron out through the glass doors of the taxi exit and over to a black Ford Taurus, parked on the side of the drive. Black tires. Good tread. The rims were solid black and rust-colored—not rusted, just rust-colored like it had been done on purpose. Cameron wasn’t sure why. The bolts showed through.
The car’s paint was matte black and wouldn’t make a lasting impression on anyone who looked at it. The one thing about it that made it obviously the car of some federal agency was the fact that it was so unremarkable. Purposefully unremarkable. This car didn’t have large antennas bolted to the back like a lot of the unmarked police cars that Cameron had seen before. There were no lights hidden in the grill. It wasn’t meant for protection or high-speed pursuits. It was merely for transport or, perhaps, for quick getaways.
Li said, “Welcome to Washington, DC. Get in, and I’ll take you to the hotel.”
Cameron said, “You already know what hotel I’m staying at?”
“We booked i
t for you in advance.”
Cameron paused, turned to her, and said, “How do you know where I want to stay?”
“We took a guess.”
Cameron shrugged.
Li asked, “Getting in?”
Cameron stayed quiet and opened the passenger door. He dumped himself down in the seat. Plenty of room in the footwell, always something he appreciated in a car.
Li walked around to the rear of the car and shut the trunk. She had left it open, probably because she had assumed Cameron had luggage. It was a normal assumption, but not in Cameron’s case.
She walked around and opened the driver door and sat down on the seat. She shut the door, put on her seatbelt, and looked at Cameron intensely like he had broken some social taboo.
She asked, “Ready?”
“Let’s go,” Cameron said.
“Seatbelt?”
Cameron put on his safety belt and snapped it into the mechanism. Then he nodded at her.
Her demeanor made her hard to read. Cameron wasn’t sure if she was mad at him or just hated her position in life. He had known a woman like that before. He shrugged and just stared out the window.
She put the car in drive and moved away from the curb.
Chapter 15
THE HOTEL THAT LI BROUGHT CAMERON to was a place he would’ve never picked, not in a hundred years. Not even if he was told that Jack had stayed there. Not even if he was told that his father was waiting in the hotel bar for him.
It was a modern, youthful hotel that looked more like a Saudi prince’s palace than a hotel in the nation’s capital city. It was called The Fifth. Cameron wasn’t sure if that alluded to the Fifth Amendment, like when someone in courtroom movies takes the witness stand and says, “I plead the fifth,” or if it meant that this location was the fifth one in the franchise or that it was on Fifth Street or Fifth Avenue because Cameron hadn’t been paying attention to the street names when they were driving.
Li parked the car in the underground parking garage, a small dark area with dim lights that might as well have been torches in a deep cave.
