The Traitor's Revenge (Wallis Jones Series 2016)

by Martha Carr

  “Hello, Fred. I’ll take you up on that lunch offer. Let’s meet by the benches but I have to eat early today, say around eleven, okay?”

  “Sure, sure, that’ll work. See you then,” said Fred. He sounded hesitant but Mark knew he couldn’t refuse. He had used key phrases that were a request to meet in order to exchange information. Fred was obligated to appear and complete the transfer.

  Mark hung up before Fred had the chance to ask any questions. His expertise as an attorney with a forensic accounting background would come in handy. He’d recognize the reasoning and motivation behind the pathways and be able to answer what really mattered to Mark.

  Fred was particularly good at piecing together what someone’s intentions were with money. Mark knew that’s why the Circle saw him as invaluable despite his nervous temperament. It was like he was a savant when it came to numbers and patterns and human behavior.

  A chill went down Mark’s back when he realized that if there was a group out there smart enough to hide large assets flying out the door, they were probably smart enough to realize there was someone else in there with them. Were they tolerating his presence because he was only the mouse to their elephant and they couldn’t be bothered?

  A worse thought came to him. Any cell knew it was standard procedure to have a fall guy in place in case there was ever any kind of exposure. They would need someone to throw to the media who would then whip up the case for them that this was their culprit.

  Someone may have seen him as an added blessing to their scheme.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mark walked out of the door ten minutes before the appointed lunch time to avoid any unexpected offers from Frank to join him. He walked down the stairs quickly, as he always did, and tried to appear as if he was showing off his stamina instead of his anxiety.

  Fred was already waiting for him at the wrought iron benches that was off to the side of the large statue of men near their building. He looked to either side as Mark approached him.

  “Stephen said he made your favorite today and he’d be hurt if you didn’t stop by and try some,” said Fred.

  Mark stopped short and looked back toward the Gourmet on the Go cart. “Sounds good,” he said. “Makes my choice easier today. Be back in a minute.” So much of his life was being dictated lately by some short amount of code or direction that told him what to do next. This was no different. Many different patterns had been set up a long time ago to make the request seem invisible. Stephen pointed out the chicken curry to Fred so he could let Mark know he was needed over by the cart and Mark obeyed the order.

  In just a few short weeks his life would be his own at last. Until then, he was going to keep following protocol and he was going to try and take comfort in just following the rules.

  He turned and walked toward the cart. There was already a short line of people waiting to buy lunch chatting amiably with each other. A man suddenly strode quickly past him and got in line ahead of him, craning his neck around the others in front of him trying to see what Stephen was doing, as if he were in a great hurry. The man turned back for a moment and looked at Mark.

  Mark nodded his head at the man who was young and well dressed but still within the usual parameters for clothing in downtown Richmond. He looked Mark up and down but said nothing and turned back to face the front, checking his watch. Mark rolled his eyes.

  The man took out his wallet and pulled out his money, checking his watch again. He took a step back, bumping into Mark and trod heavily on his foot. Mark winced as he pulled his foot back and tried to smile at the man to let him know he wasn’t going to start a fight.

  The man grumbled, “Sorry,” as he stepped back into line. Finally, the line moved forward and he got to the front. “I’ll take a dill tuna salad sandwich,” he said.

  “Dill tuna,” said Stephen. “Have it ready in just a minute. Sorry you had to wait.”

  “Keep the change,” he said curtly to Stephen, as he grabbed the sandwich out of his hands and walked away briskly. “Only have a few minutes,” he said, his back already turned.

  “Guy’s a little overworked,” said Mark, watching the man walk away.

  “There are more regulars like that than you’d imagine,” said Stephen. “It’s okay, all green is good here. You here for the special? I know it’s your favorite, chicken curry.”

  “Absolutely, no bread though,” said Mark, patting his stomach. “Need to watch the middle.” He looked back at the short line still forming behind him. “Hi, how are you?” he said to the man behind him. Usually everyone was polite in Richmond. It didn’t matter if you’d never seen the person before or not.

  There was an entire system of rules that let locals know how long someone had lived there by how many of the subtler commands they followed. No one who was from around these parts ever honked at a light, no matter how long it took for a driver to move forward, and long-time locals gave a two finger wave without ever taking their hands off the steering wheel.

  It was always necessary to acknowledge everyone’s existence when out in public. A quick nod or short hello occurred between every warm body even if the passerby was wearing a pin from the other side. Some semblance of civility was expected.

  If somebody didn’t bother it would be assumed they weren’t raised right and was sure to be a tidbit of gossip around the supper tables later that night. The older families that lived along River Road would understand completely and gently nod their heads in recognition of what can’t always be taught. There would be some speculation about whether or not the offender was a Northerner and therefore some leeway allowed.

  The newcomer who had only arrived ten years ago may not know any better.

  Members of either the Circle or Management knew there was another, simpler reason. Making the effort to be polite, at least on the surface, made it possible to get on with some semblance of a routine life. As long as appearances were kept up for the masses who weren’t in on the game there could be some moments in the day when it was possible to forget.

  Besides, Richmond was a small town and under the more normal, mundane circumstances everyone realized they had to work and play around each other for years. No one could be avoided completely and it was too exhausting to be rude for such a long stretch of time.

  Many locals, both inside and out of the organizations, were cousins of some sort and that also mattered in this small southern town. A slight could ripple out and cause hurt feelings to spread and resentments to take root. It was better to just nod and wave and show a little extra patience.

  “Where do you think that guy had to get to?” asked Mark, gesturing behind him.

  “Don’t know. This economy has people a little more worried about their jobs than usual. They want to show the boss they’re willing to eat at their desks,” said Stephen.

  Mark got out a twenty to ensure that there’d be bills in his change just in case there was an answer from his earlier inquiry.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the dollar bills. They were turned in every direction. It was a routine signal that there was nothing to report. Maybe Frank didn’t pay with the ones Mark had given him after all.

  Mark would have to let it go for now. He went back and joined Fred on the bench.

  “You get the curry?” asked Fred. “Don’t care for it. Makes my stomach churn. I like the hummus and tabouli. Get it every day.”

  Mark knew from observing him over the years that Fred felt comforted by patterns. It was why he was so good at his job. He could easily spot sequences and in the past had even been able to tell when there was something or someone that had moved outside of one.

  The two men carried on like old friends and ate their sandwiches, talked about their families, the basketball league they played in and what was going on that weekend. It wasn’t until Fred was thoughtfully chewing his pickle that Mark started to set up a way to transfer the information he had downloaded earlier.

  “I need to check my messages,” he said, and picked u
p his phone. He had been careful to separate out the information about his own bologna slicing from the Fed from whoever was building a war chest that could reach a billion dollars.

  Fred hesitated a moment and then raised his own phone, switching on the Circle application to transfer large files. He started texting someone in the office to cover the few seconds it would take for the application to be ready.

  Fortunately, everyone around them was distracted by their own phones.

  “There are some banking patterns that require an analysis,” said Mark, trying to keep it as brief as possible.

  He lightly held his phone, wrapping his fingers around it and gently bumped fists with Fred as if they were agreeing on some finer point of a basketball game. That was all it took for the file to transfer to Fred’s phone. He saw Fred briefly glance at his phone before he slipped it into his pocket.

  “Got to go,” he said. “Maureen’s making pot roast and red potatoes in the slow cooker and I want to leave the office on time.” He shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets, jingling the coins. “Funeral for Maureen’s friend is in a couple days. I said I’d go with her.”

  “I take it you didn’t really know her friend,” said Mark.

  “Don’t tend to hang out with the hens,” said Fred, the sounds of the coins rolling around in his pocket picked up just a little. “Catch you Friday,” he said and walked away.

  Mark sat back for a moment and tried to do a slow swivel of his head as he took inventory of who was outside on a raw day eating their lunch and might look a little too disinterested. Just as he turned he caught a glimpse of someone walking toward him with a determined stride. It was a lawyer from Fred’s large practice, Richard Bach, a Management operative. He was taking long strides up the slight hill to where Mark was sitting, finishing the last of his carrot sticks.

  Mark had never cared for him. He seemed to always carry such an air of entitlement.

  He stopped right in front of Mark and seemed to want to say something urgent.

  “Well, I uh, you know,” he said.

  Mark could see that he was sweating even though it was an unusually raw, cold day, especially for the beginning of April. Most people were buying their lunch and taking it back inside. He watched as Richard took a deep breath as if he was trying to steady his nerves.

  “You alright?” he asked in a calm voice.

  Richard looked pained and said in a low voice, “I know you have him.”

  “Have who?” asked Mark, slowly.

  “I know you’ve put him somewhere for safekeeping,” he hissed. He looked around nervously, his eyes darting to the different clusters of people.

  “Who are you looking for, Richard? It’s Richard, right?” Mark had never seen a director from Management approach someone out in the open. He wasn’t sure how to react but he knew better than to admit to anything.

  “I don’t have time for this,” hissed Richard in an angry tone. “Where is he? Do you think I’ve survived this long by just letting things slide?”

  “You seem a little overwrought,” said Mark in an even tone. “Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I’m not staying,” said Richard, straightening his coat. He shook his head. “You know, I don’t get it. We offered you everything and you turned your back to be a part of some second-rate place that has failed miserably more than once. You could have had such an easy ride.”

  Mark stood up slowly and leaned in to whisper, “As long as I didn’t mind who the devil was driving the bus.”

  He took a short step back and felt a slight tremor go through his body. He tried to hide the panic as he saw Robert emerge from the shadows of the parking deck across the street. He looked thinner and tired and was wearing a baseball cap but Mark knew it was him. The boys weren’t with him.

  He was trying to make contact.

  “I’m going back to work now,” he said. He was yelling in Richard’s face as everyone around them turned to look. “You feel the need to report something I suggest you do it.”

  He caught a glimpse of Robert startling and quickly turning back toward the shadows. They had missed their chance.

  “This isn’t over,” said Richard, calling after him. “I’m not taking the blame for this.”

  Mark kept walking. He could feel his heart pounding and he was glad for once he had a brief excuse not to look calm and steady in front of people. He dropped his phone into his coat pocket and felt something brush against his hand. As he climbed the stairs two at a time he pulled out the neatly folded dollar bill in his pocket. The man in line, he thought. He must have slipped it in. He didn’t like how important he was becoming in this game. Too many people from both sides were approaching him.

  He walked back to his office and nodded at Frank in the hall, who looked like he wanted to say something. He was in no mood. He quickly shifted a few files to the chair near his door just in case and waited a few minutes before he pulled out his phone and fed in the last three numbers.

  ‘Robert is still missing. Priority. Find him,’ said the message.

  “Easier said than done,” said Mark. He would have to search Craig’s List again tonight. He wasn’t sure what else there was to do except try and make sure his family survived intact.

  He sat down and sent an email to the realtor, telling him that Rosecroft wanted the land and was making an offer of cash. They would need the paperwork back as soon as possible.

  He needed to get out of this mousetrap.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Treasury Building took up the entire block of 1500 Pennsylvania Avenue and was located directly next door to the White House. Fred knew a car would attract too much attention near the building ever since the new anti-terrorism measures were put in place. He had taken the Metro into town instead and was walking swiftly up the sidewalk keeping pace with everyone in their dark blue or grey suits and unadorned overcoats as they bustled off to work.

  The original Treasury building had been burned to the ground first by the British in 1814 and then again by arsonists nineteen years later. The current, massive fire-resistant granite structure was started only three years after that and was one of the largest office buildings in the world for a while. The black marble tiles used for the main floors even had ancient fossils embedded in them, here and there, that amazed schoolchildren from all over the world.

  America had wanted the world to know that the country may have been young but they were a steadily growing force. Management was in charge at the time and had drawn up the original plans but even the Circle directors who came into power during the construction felt awed by the structure.

  Nothing was changed to the main plans. However, there was one secret addition.

  On the building’s southern side facing the Ellipse near a statue of Alexander Hamilton, the first Secretary of the Treasury, stood a hidden, private entrance no one ever seemed to notice.

  Fred walked swiftly by the statue and up the stairs toward the door that was out of the line of sight of tourists who would all be gathering on the northern side along Fifteenth Street.

  Fred had left before dawn so that he could easily mix in with the commuters on the D.C. streets. Maureen got up with him as she always did and took care of some of the details for Yvette’s funeral that was scheduled for the next day.

  Occasionally, back in Richmond, he ran into Alex Hamilton, a descendant of the original, who still lived in the old southern city along with the current Robert E. Lee, who went by Bob and Patrick Henry, who went by his middle name, Gilbert, given to him by his mother. He was the first male Henry to have a middle name in over two hundred years.

  They could be seen running errands at the local Home Depot, walking down Cary Street or sitting in one of the front pews at St. Paul’s Church down near the Governor’s mansion. Fred had been to church there a handful of times and sat in the back on the Gospel side of the church near the Tiffany window that depicted Moses on one side and Lee on the other. It was explained to eve
ry generation of Circle children in Richmond that both men had chosen to lead their own people.

  It often took outsiders generations to really understand how Richmond worked but it became innate for anyone who could trace their roots there.

  He parked the car at the Van Dorn station in Alexandria by seven and rode the blue line in the rest of the way to the Metro Center stop. Fred was making an unscheduled visit to the President with news that could change the Circle’s plans. Mark had inadvertently found the money trail that exposed what Management was planning to do in the coming years. He had shared it with Fred hoping Fred could find a pattern but he had understood far more than that.

  Some of it the President’s team had already speculated about but didn’t have the confirmation and the rest made the discovery breathtaking in its scope and could alter the balance of power far too much.

  The Treasury Building was just a short walk for Fred after he got off the train. He joined the flow of people headed in the same, general direction. It was still too early for most tourists but that would change in just a couple of weeks. The cherry blossoms would begin to bloom along the Tidal Basin and the city would become crowded from the early morning until dinner time. As the sun set most of them would leave the city for the relative safety of the cheaper hotels in the nearby suburbs.

  The White House was Fred’s final destination and sat on the western side of the Treasury building where there was also a reproduction of the Liberty Bell, minus the famous crack. He would need to move unseen between the buildings so that no one would begin to wonder who he was and begin a background check.

  Fortunately, deep, underneath the ground was a tunnel that connected the two buildings and was only used by the sitting President and his closest staff. Both sides knew about it but had been unable so far to place any kind of detection devices that went unnoticed by whoever was occupying the White House and therefore controlled the tunnels.