Taylor’s head snapped up. “You believe me?”
Standing, Jim stacked the photos, trying not to look at the one with his own image. “Do I have a choice?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Over a year’s worth of shame and humiliation exploded out with a single breath. Mark bent forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped behind his head as he absorbed the fact that Jim believed him. His throat convulsed, and embarrassed, he closed his eyes. He sensed motion in front of him, and lifted his head to meet Jessie’s gaze. No words were necessary, and then he broke the eye contact and stood, suddenly restless.
The lunch crowd had dwindled in the mid-afternoon, and he was glad for that. Their section only had one other table and with a couple of older guys who weren’t paying any attention to them. Jessie took her purse off the back of her chair and he grabbed the bag. Together, they followed Jim to the front of the pub. The waitress prattled about the weather as she rung up the meal. When Mark pulled out his wallet, Jim waved him off and paid with a credit card. Ten minutes ago, Mark would have protested, and fought for the right to pay for his own meal.
Energy pumped through him and, not knowing where to focus it, Mark went outside to wait for the other two. Pacing in front of the pub, he felt ready to burst as emotions tumbled one over the other. Elation and satisfaction at finally being vindicated bubbled inside. The bubble of joy burst when a guy wearing a shirt emblazoned with a Cubs’ logo passed him. Time was running out. What was taking them so long? Just as he thought that, the door opened and both exited, cell phones pressed to their ears.
Jim glanced at Mark, but spoke into the phone, “I need everyone on this. A level one alert…that’s right. Wrigley Field.” He approached a dark blue sedan with government plates parked along the curb. Still barking orders into the phone, he leaned against the car.
Mark turned to Jessie, about to ask what was next, but she held her hand up, her head bent to her phone.
“Sir, just giving you a heads up. The FBI is now involved and advises we get all available manpower on the Wrigley Field case.” She brushed past Mark and stopped, a finger in one ear as she spoke to what sounded like her boss.
Confused, and unable to make eye contact with either, Mark resumed pacing. Did this mean they didn’t need him? It sounded like they had called in the cavalry. His lunch hour was over and if he wanted to keep his job, he’d need to get back. Aimlessly, he wandered up and down the street, checking every few seconds to see if the other two were done with their conversations. Lacking direction, and feeling unneeded, he turned and headed for the El. He’d gone half a block when Jim caught up to him and grabbed his arm.
“Mark! Wait, where are you going?”
He whirled at the contact, yanking his arm out of Jim’s grasp, and walking backwards. Just because they had called a truce didn’t mean he felt comfortable being touched by the other man. “I figured I’d head back to work. You don’t need me.”
“Like hell we don’t!” Jim motioned him back towards the sedan. “Come on. We need to pick your brain to find out any more details.”
“Pick my brain?” A chill washed over him and he halted. “What do you mean?” Visions of chains and a stark white room rose in his mind.
His fears must have shown because Jim’s eyes widened and then he put up both hands. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking. I mean just see if there are any more details you can recall. Maybe something that didn’t seem important when you first wrote down your notes.” His phone rang then, and as he answered it, he inclined his head back towards the car, his hand resting on Mark’s shoulder.
Jim and Jessie exchanged cell numbers, and he and Jim left her to work things from her end. Mark climbed into the car and tried not to think about how surreal it was to be voluntarily in the passenger seat of his tormentor’s car. The short trip could have been awkward, but Jim kept his eyes on the road and his ear to his phone as he continued to direct operations. Jim concluded the conversation and dropped the phone into a center compartment between the seats, then cast a look at Mark. “Do you need to call your work and let them know you won’t be back in today?”
Mark reached for the phone. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Mark explained that his errand was taking longer than he thought, and if it was okay for him to take the rest of the afternoon off and make up the time the next day. Gary was fine with it, didn’t even ask many questions, and instead, acted thrilled that he’d have the next evening off to take out the waitress. Mark hung up, a smile lingering at the excitement in the younger guy’s voice.
When they arrived at the FBI building, Jim whisked him through security, telling the personnel that he was bringing Mark in for questioning.
In the elevator, Mark wiped his hands on his thighs, and then shoved them in his pockets and leveled a look at Jim “I’m not in any trouble, am I?” He had to ask. He had to be sure. The guy had only spoken a few words on the ride over and even now, Jim stared at the lit numbers on the panel. He might have been alone in the elevator for all the attention he paid Mark. The lack of communication was nerve wracking.
Jim’s brow furrowed and he gave a little shake of his head, before turning to Mark. “No. Why would you be in trouble?”
“I don’t know…it’s just you told security that you were taking me up for questioning.” Mark shrugged and allowed a touch of sarcasm to flavor the next sentence. “I can’t imagine why that would make me nervous.”
The doors slid open and Jim put his hand on Mark’s shoulder again as he guided Mark around the corner. “Listen, right now, you’re what we call an asset. You have info I want. Sorry I’m not getting that across to you. I have about a million things going through my mind right now. I’ve got to get all the different agencies on board, coordinate efforts, make sure we’re all talking to each other, and-well, more than you probably want to know. Regardless, I should have been more sensitive in my wording. Sorry about that.”
Mark hadn’t been looking for an apology, just reassurance, but he was pleasantly surprised and accepted it. “No problem.”
They came to what looked like a conference room with computers on tables along the walls and a long table in the middle. “Here we are. I’m going to get you started looking at some photos of suspects.” Jim yanked out a chair in front of a computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. In seconds, the screen was full of photos. He showed Mark how to go to the next screen when he needed to, and then he clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay, I’m going to go let the others know I’m back. This room is going to get crowded soon. You feel comfortable with this?”
Mark smiled, appreciating Jim’s attempt to be less intimidating. “Sure. I’m good.”
Jim left, but within a few minutes, more people trickled in. Some sat at the conference table behind Mark, others took spots at other computer terminals and soon the clacking of keys filled the air. Some of the pictures he studied were mug shots, but others were obviously surveillance photos. A few times, Mark stopped and closed his eyes, allowing the dream to replay in his head. Nobody bothered him except for one woman who asked if he’d like something to drink. He accepted a cup of coffee.
While Mark plowed through the pages of suspects, Jim returned and began issuing instructions to some of the others in the room, who then left, presumably to carry out those instructions. As soon as one person exited, another entered. The atmosphere crackled with tension and Mark had a hard time concentrating on the photos.
“I got CPD on line two.”
“Jim, DHS is holding on three.”
“What about DOD? Anybody call them yet?”
“Right. I want all your manpower available…No, we can’t do that…It would create panic.”
Mark put his hands over his ears and concentrated on the computer screen. He knew some people had photographic memories, but he wasn’t one of them, except when it came to the dreams. For days after having one, he could call it up at will, like it was stored in a computer file in his brain. He put that ab
ility to full use over the next thirty minutes.
“Uh, Jim…?’ He turned in his seat, and waved his hand. Jim broke off the conversation he was having with another agent. He strode across the room and Mark pointed at the screen. “This looks like one of them.” The pic appeared to be taken with a security camera. It was grainy, but he recognized the man from the shape of his face. He had a long jaw that, even with the dark beard, made it seem to jut out.
Jim leaned over Mark’s shoulder, and pulled up a file on the suspect. Finger poised over the print button, he looked back at Mark. “You sure about him?”
Mark hesitated. Was he sure? If he was wrong, nobody knew better than he the horrible price this guy would pay. Was he ready to consign someone to that fate based on a grainy photo and the image in his brain? If he said no, and it turned out that the guy was one of the terrorists, and people died, how could he live with that?
Jim straightened, then twisted, leaned a hip on the table and faced Mark. “It’s your call, but you have to be sure.” He crossed his arms and waited, but there was an air of urgency in the room. They couldn’t wait all day.
“Yeah, I know.” Mark closed his eyes, calling up the guy in the dream, and tried to ignore the image he’d seen already. What if what he’d seen had influenced what he saw in his head now? Could he take that chance? He looked again. It was the guy in his dream. It was a match. “It’s him.”
Jim nodded and then rattled off orders to someone behind Mark. Something about finding that man. Mark bent forward, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. He felt sick.
“You okay?”
Mark sat back and blew out a breath. “Yeah…just a little overwhelmed is all.”
“That’s okay. It’s a lot of responsibility.” His tone conveyed understanding and that he was no stranger to the stress involved.
“Guess I should keep looking.” Mark scrubbed his hands down his face before taking a gulp of coffee.
Jim stood and slapped him on the back as he walked past. “Good job.”
An hour later, Mark had identified three more and teams were sent off to find the men. As luck would have it, one of the suspects was already under surveillance. He and Jim went over Mark’s dream notes sentence by sentence to see if there was a scrap more they could glean from the information. Of the two men that hadn’t been identified, he was able to recall that one had waved to a little boy who had held his father’s hand as they exited the gate a minute or so before the shooting began.
“Okay, so, if you’re willing, we’ll station you with the team at that gate. If you can spot that little boy and father, it could give us an extra minute to find the guys in the crowd.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”
Jim set his pen down on the pad of paper. “Mark, I want to make certain you fully comprehend what you’re getting into. This has the potential to be extremely dangerous. You weren’t in the photos originally, so there’s no reason to think you would have been killed in this. If you go tonight, you could change that. Do you understand?”
Mark nodded, amazed at Jim’s understanding of how the future could change based on actions they would take prior to the incident. “I’m well aware of the possible outcome.”
“Nobody will think less of you if you opt to remain at a distance.” His gaze was sincere and that alone steeled Mark’s resolve. He’d see this through to the end.
“I’m a bit out of practice, but it won’t be the first time I’ve been in bad situations. I know what the deal is.” His leg bounced and he stood to cover the reaction. “Besides, I can’t shake the feeling that I need to be there.”
Jim gathered the notes and rose. “Okay then. We’ll see if we can dig up a vest for you.”
Time simultaneously flew by and dragged. His part done for now, Mark paced the hallway, tried on a Kevlar vest, and finally, sat in a chair in Jim’s office while the other man was off doing whatever it was that still needed to be done.
He noted the lack of personal touches in the office. There were no pictures on the desk, no homemade looking paperweights like those that a child or grandchild might make. Even the mouse pad was generic. Did the guy’s life completely revolve around CIA or FBI? Mark had never wondered about Jim’s life before. For all he cared, the guy could have caught fire and Mark wouldn’t have spared the saliva to spit on him. Now, he was sitting in the guy’s office wondering if the guy had a life. He even felt a little sorry for him.
“All right. We were able to track down two of the guys.” Jim breezed into the office. “And guess what? Their car was loaded with weapons and enough ammo to mow down the whole bleacher section.”
Mark sagged in relief. This was concrete proof. No matter what else happened, lives had been saved and he had helped. Nobody would be able to deny it.
“What’s the matter? I thought you’d be thrilled.” Jim threw a puzzled look in Mark’s direction before rummaging around in his desk
“I am…it’s just that…well, I’m relieved that there’s proof now. It’s not just based on my dream and photos.”
Jim pulled out a bottle of ibuprofen and shook out a couple. He tilted the bottle towards Mark, his eyebrows raised. “I buy these in bulk.”
Mark smiled at the dry humor and took the bottle. His head pounded too. He washed down two of the pain relievers with the last dregs of his now cold coffee and made a face. It had been his third cup and the caffeine overload hadn’t helped ease the stress.
“While the two suspects in custody are questioned, we’re going to head over to the park and start scouting around. You ready to go?”
“Have you heard from Jessie?” Since they’d parted ways at the pub, Mark hadn’t spoken to her, and wondered what was going on.
Jim pulled up in front of the stadium. “Yes, she’s helping one of our teams track down a suspect who’s still at large. CPD knows the city better than we do, so having their cooperation is vital.”
He wasn’t thrilled with the idea that Jessie was out there hunting down a terrorist. She’d be pissed if she knew he was worrying. It was her job and she was good at it.
Jim pulled into the lot just outside the fenced in players’ lot. A security guard tried waving him off, but when the man approached the window, Jim flashed his badge and the guard’s demeanor changed. He directed them to a spot close to the entrance. It was still over two hours until game time, but already, the sidewalks teemed with fans. Vendors mingled, hawking banners, bobble-heads and scorecards. Down the street, sports bars overflowed with fans getting a head-start on the fun. The scent of grilled onions, hot dogs and baking pavement melded together and stirred up memories of past good times.
Mark had been to countless games and had always loved the atmosphere outside the field. He’d usually taken the El. It stopped right behind right field and it was just a short walk up Addison to the front of the park. He remembered the old donut shop that had been where a McDonald’s now stood. Winchell’s Donuts. When had that disappeared? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen it.
When he was a kid, his dad had brought him down to a game at least once every summer. They’d leave Madison at dawn and arrive just as the players were arriving. His dad would go buy a bag of donuts while Mark would beg autographs from the players.
“Mark...hello?” Jim waved a hand in front of Mark’s face.
Shaking his head, Mark took a step back, embarrassed to realize he’d stopped walking, and was instead, standing and daydreaming. “Sorry. I was just thinking about when I’d come here as a kid with my dad.”
“All the way from Madison?”
“Yeah. How’d you kn—” Mark broke off, remembering that this guy knew everything about him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at Jim, surprised to see the other man’s face redden.
“This is awkward.” Jim crossed his arms.
Mark kicked at a stone in the parking lot, and then winced when it went further than he’d anticipated, and pinged against the undercarriage of a car.
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Anyway, even though we were in the middle of Wisconsin, we could pick up WGN on our antenna.”
“So, when was the last time you and your dad went to a game?”
Jim began walking and Mark ambled along beside him. “I can’t remember. It’s been a long time. Before college, I guess. When I dropped out, we were too angry at each other to spend much time together.”
“Angry?”
“Yeah. I was supposed to be a doctor, like him. At least, that was his plan.” They skirted a large group of teens. Once on the other side of the group, Mark sighed. “Guess things would have turned out a lot differently if I had become a doctor. I should’ve listened to him.”
“Hmmm...You never know. You’re not doing too bad at your chosen profession.”
Mark stopped walking and stared at Jim. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Jim shrugged, but evaded Mark’s eyes. “Hey, I went through your financial records, you were doing well. Add to that, your other talent...”
“Talent?” Mark gave a harsh laugh. “Curse is more like it.”
“Is that what your dad thinks of it?”
Mark stopped when they came to Waveland Avenue. He crossed his arms and scanned the street. “My dad...he thinks I’m crazy.”
“He doesn’t believe you?” Jim stood at his shoulder.
Unable to speak, Mark simply shook his head.
“Here’s your chance to prove it to him.” Jim held out his cell-phone.
“What’s that for?”
“Call him. Tell him what’s going to happen. Even if we stop this right now, the media will get a hold of something and you’ll have proof.”
“You think I should just call him?” Mark wiped his hands on his thighs. “Just blurt it out?”
“Well, do it quietly. You don’t want to create a panic here.” Jim’s mouth quirked in a wry smile, then he grew serious. “I mean it, Mark. Take it. Call your folks. We don’t know how this is going to turn out.”
[Mark Taylor 01.0] No Good Deed Page 26
