by Bob Blink
“She’s still at the office?”
“She planned to stay all night. She has a couple of agents checking details without knowing what it’s all about, and she is personally handling anything that touches on you. She also has been setting things up with her brother.”
“Her brother? I didn’t know she had a brother. Is he an agent as well?”
Laney shook his head. “Sam is, was I guess is more appropriate, in investments. He is ten years older than Carlson and retired a couple of years ago. He has a big place in Colorado. He’s also a private pilot. She wants him to fly out in the morning and take your family back to his place. They’ll be secure there, and with a little slight of hand she is planning, no one will even know they left on a plane yet alone went with him.”
Laney explained the idea between sips of his scotch. Jake thought it had a good chance of hiding Karin’s escape, if only he could convince her to go. Laney pointed out that if she nixed the plan, they could instead go to a safe house in San Francisco that would be manned by several agents. That was probably acceptable, but Jake couldn’t help feeling that the leak that had led this man to him had to come from someone inside the FBI, and that made Carlson’s use of her brother more attractive. In theory he could back-track out of anything that developed, but his adversary had already shown he knew enough to tangle up Jake’s ability, and he’d rather have a plan that kept everyone safe without relying on his ability.
“You said something about a room?” Laney asked as he finished off the drink. “I’m bushed. I’ve never been able to sleep on a plane.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “In here.” He led the FBI agent down a small hallway where the guest suite was located.
“Carlson’s going to call at seven, you said?”
“Yeah. Just enough time to get to sleep and we’ll need to be up again.” He looked at Jake. “Don’t worry. This guy can’t realize what he’s started. I know its different because your family is involved, but once we get the necessary background, you’ll be able to go back and unwind this thing just like all the other times.”
Jake tried to smile, but the uneasiness he felt wouldn’t go away.
“He’s the right Ray,” Carlson said the next morning. Jake was a bit fuzzy-headed this morning, but somehow Agent Laney looked as if he’d slept a full night. He was up, showered, and dressed in the familiar dark suit that marked him as an FBI agent. They sat in the study using the video conference setup. Both had large mugs of coffee. Karin was up and had promised breakfast afterwards.
“You found out about his sister?” Jake asked.
“Pati Ray,” Carlson replied, holding up a photo. The photo showed a younger woman. Jake guessed she was in her early twenties. She was blond and good looking, if a little on the heavy side. Very different from her emaciated, dark haired brother. Something about the look in her eyes said “airhead” to Jake, although he couldn’t pin it down.
“I’ll be sending you an email with all of this in a bit. She was killed in a car accident around the time of the attack on Senator Kerns. She was only two blocks away from the Ritz-Carlton when it happened. Apparently she was driving her brother Henry to the hotel to cover the conference that was scheduled for later in the morning.”
“How could I be responsible for her car accident?” Jake asked.
“That’s something you will have to ask Ray once you find him,” Carlson said. “She was too far away to have been affected by the explosion. You’ll note the differences between the two siblings. They apparently had different fathers. Henry’s father, who was married to their shared mother died nearly thirty years ago. Pati’s father is not listed on the birth certificate, and there is no record that her mother was ever remarried. We probably need to assume a transient relationship. I’ll have my agents see what they can find. Unfortunately the mother died almost fifteen years ago of cancer, so there’ll be no help there.”
“It sounds like our note writer is the only survivor of that family,” Jake observed.
“There’ll be friends or relatives. What they know of the situation remains to be seen.”
“What about Henry Ray. Did you find anything useful on him?”
“You and Jim will need to do some checking. The newspaper he works for has him listed as a staff reporter, but the woman I talked to last night says he works strictly freelance these days. I think you need to go to the paper and see what you can learn. I’ll included his address, his bank, etc. The bank indicates he has infrequent deposits and automatic payouts for his major bills. We are supposed to get a complete printout sometime today. We need a court order to be forwarded before they’ll release specifics. I’ll forward that to you when I get it.”
“How did he find out about me?” Jake asked. “He may have been around at the time of the attempt on Senator Kerns, but so were a lot of reporters. Besides, it’s been nearly two years. If he has an issue with me, why has it taken him so long to act?”
“We don’t know any of the answers to those questions,” Carlson said. “My guess would be that he didn’t know of your involvement or abilities until far more recently.”
“That suggests that there was more of a leak in Washington than we thought,” Jake said.
“That would be my guess. I’ll carefully probe everyone we know or suspect is in anyway familiar with you and your ability. That is something that will have to be done carefully, as only a couple of us know, and Jim is there with you. Given the small number of people who are believed to be aware, I can’t see how a leak could have originated here, but I’ve been surprised before.”
Carlson hesitated, then switched topics.
“Jim told you about my plan for your family?”
“He did,” Jake confirmed.
“And does your wife agree?”
“Reluctantly. We talked last night. I think it would put my mind at ease. If she is protected and we are physically apart, it would make this madman’s task much harder. He might go after me in anger, but that would cost him any hope of getting what he claims to want.”
“Okay. You and Jim should take your family to the city this morning. Here’s how my brother will contact you and escort your family to safety.” Carlson explained how the hand-over would work, and Jake had to agree it sounded safe enough.
Chapter 6
Separating at the airport had been far harder than Jake had anticipated. He had this strange feeling that it would be some time before they were back together and this matter was fully resolved. Even little Janna seemed to sense something was wrong, and clung to him fiercely, crying loudly to indicate she was not happy about being separated when the time came for her and Karin to board the plane.
“They’ll be fine,” Sam Carlson promised as he shook Jake’s hand before departing.
Jake had liked Susan’s brother. He exuded the kind of confidence that was contagious and he appeared to be fully in control of matters under his care.
Jake and Agent Laney waited by the large windows until the small plane pulled away from the parking spot and taxied away toward the runways. Jake had mixed feelings about the situation. Given the lack of progress the FBI had had on tracing back the people responsible for the various events that led to this, he believed he’d be forced to back-track before long, in which case none of this would matter. On the other hand, if they found a lead, they might just become actively involved in a chase, in which case he’d feel better knowing his family was where they couldn’t easily be found. Even Laney had said something that indicated he was thinking along similar lines.
“He’ll be difficult to find, and will be looking for us coming after him,” the agent had said the night before just as he’d headed off to bed.
“Let’s go,” Jake said when the plane could be seen climbing into the sky above the open tarmac.
Laney drove them in his rental car. The newspaper office where Ray was employed in some function was in one of the less glamorous parts of San Francisco, several miles to the south of the ci
ty center. They found themselves driving through an industrial area, with numerous large warehouses and a steady stream of large semi trucks coming and going.
“There,” Jake said, pointing to a steel gray structure halfway down the block on Laney’s side.
They had to follow a number of large trucks with the logo of the newspaper on the side.
“Morning delivery completed, I’d guess,” Laney said.
Close up, the steel sided building showed that it had seen better days. The larger of the two interconnected buildings displayed spots of rust, and the steel siding looked weathered. Flush with the main building and looking somewhat like an unlikely growth, was a smaller structure made of the same material as the main warehouse.
“Over there,” Jake said. He could see that the smaller building had numerous windows, and a sign announcing the office for the paper. The first floor looked like it was set up for interfacing with the public, although Jake wondered how many bothered to come here. The second story was probably where the reporters had their offices.
Laney guided the car into one of the open parking slots near the front door. Together they climbed the six tired steps leading up to the double doors that led inside.
“Who are you looking for?” the receptionist asked as they approached the desk.
“Your editor, Mr. Wally Hamilton,” Agent Laney said as he flashed his badge.
The badge didn’t even earn a raised eyebrow. Perhaps they were used to law enforcement coming to talk with reporters.
“Second level, third office on the right,” the receptionist said, and then turned back to something far more interesting on her computer monitor. “I doubt he’s here this time of day,” the receptionist added as they walked away.
Laney led the way, since technically he was the one with authority. He could see the bump in the agent’s coat jacket where his FBI issued Glock was holstered. Jake carried his Sig. He was even legal. Laney had given him an ID card earlier this morning that identified him as a Special Agent of the FBI. It wasn’t true, but Jake was certain any cop who checked would get back a verification that Jake Waters was indeed fully authorized to carry.
The stairs leading to the upper level were wide, but old and worn. Several creaked as they ascended to the upper level. The stairwell opened into a large hangar-like bay, with several dozen desks haphazardly arranged around the room. The wall to their right held a half dozen offices, each with a large window looking out into the main area. Most of the desks were empty, but a half dozen individuals, most likely reporters were in attendance. An older woman sat a couple of desks into the bay, typing furiously on her computer keyboard.
“No one here,” Laney said as they approached the office that the receptionist had directed them to. The door was locked, but the shade over the large window was raised and they could see that no one was there.
“He won’t be back until late this afternoon when the evening issue is getting ready to print,” the woman they had passed a moment before said. She had obviously been more aware of them than she let on.
“We’re trying to locate one of your reporters,” Laney replied.
“Ask Agnes,” the woman said, tipping her head toward a long counter in the back where another woman could been seen pecking at yet another computer. “If anyone has any idea, she might. We usually let her know where we are going. Sometimes she even pays attention as we leave.”
Jake thanked the woman, who nodded absently as her attention returned to the monitor in front of her. Having discovered what they wanted, she had lost interest in them and was back to composing whatever article she wanted to get into the evening run.
As they approached the long scarred counter, the woman behind it eyed them suspiciously. Agent Laney was quick with his badge, and flashed it at her.
“So, what do you want?” she asked gruffly, momentarily pulling a nearly consumed cigarette from her mouth. Like the receptionist on the level below, she seemed wholly unimpressed by the badge.
Jake couldn’t help noticing a number of ashtrays scattered around the area behind the woman, all filled to the brim with cigarette butts. Obviously the warnings on cigarettes being harmful had not gotten to her, but then given her current age, must not apply for some reason anyway. Sitting on the table behind her was an old stained mug filled with steaming coffee. The mug was huge, so she must augment her smoke with lots of caffeine.
Agnes Mooreland had to be approaching seventy years of age. Her hair was white and frizzy and in complete disarray. She had a pair of glasses with clear sparkling stones set into the frames perched on her head, yet stared at them with gray, somewhat protruding eyes as if she could see quite fine without the aid of the ancient glasses. She wore an oversized short sleeved blouse with a faded, yet somehow still loud floral pattern, from which two white, spindly, and heavily veined arms with sagging flesh protruded. Below her blouse she wore a pair of faded blue jeans over worn Nike running shoes.
“We are trying to locate one of your reporters,” Jim Laney said. “A mister Henry Ray.”
She released something between a cough and a snicker. “Good luck with that,” she said. “That’s his desk over there,” she added, pointing a claw in the direction of a large desk stacked with a number of piles of paper in a corner. “He hasn’t been there in weeks.”
“He is still employed here then?” Laney asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Agnes replied, blowing a cloud of smoke their way. “He decided that his calling was as a freelance reporter, where he could seek out his own stories and not be bound by the whims of the editor. He was seeking grander things and hoped one day to win a Pulitzer.”
“And the paper supported this?” Jake asked somewhat surprised. This didn’t look like the kind of organization that would be supportive of such grand notions.
“Why not? He doesn’t draw a salary, only an agreed upon fee for anything he submits that is accepted. He doesn’t cost the paper anything otherwise, and we get first shot at any stories he might come up with.”
“Has he submitted any stories since leaving?” Laney asked.
“Several,” Agnes admitted, as if the missing reporter had surprised her. Clearly she had thought he’d fall on his face and come running back begging for his old position back. “Wally even bought two of them.”
“Do you know where he operates from?” Jake asked. The FBI had established he had a small house in Oakland, but no one had ever answered the door, and the neighbors claimed not to have seen him in some time.
Agnes shot Jake an appraising look. “Why are you looking for Henry?” she asked.
“His name has come up in regards to an old case we are investigating,” Laney said smoothly, providing both truth and almost no information in the same sentence. He pulled out the picture that Jake had seen before and showed it to Agnes. “Just to be certain, this is the man we are talking about.”
She peered at the picture carefully, even reaching up for her glasses and putting them on. After a minute she said. “I guess so. Not the best picture of him, but he was always one of those that didn’t take care of his appearance. He was hardly ever here even when he worked out of the office. Didn’t really get to know him very well.”
As Laney put the picture away, he returned to the question of Ray’s location.
“I have no idea,” she said finally. “None of my business.”
“Do you happen to recall the last time he was in the office?”
“Yeah. He came in late. Most of the reporters were out in the field pursuing their assignments. He came in, said he was off and had enjoyed working with me, and then left.” She turned and looked at a calendar that was heavily marked up. She flipped back a page and mumbled to herself. Her bony finger moved along the days and finally she said, “Just over six weeks ago. On a Wednesday, I believe. I should have written something down, but I guess I couldn’t be bothered.”
“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Laney asked.
“About wh
at?” she asked.
Laney sighed. “About Ray.”
“Nah. He wasn’t here that long. Not long enough to be interesting.”
“Do you mind if we have a look at Ray’s desk?”
Carelessly she waved a hand. “Nothing there, but help yourself.” She started to turn away back to the stacks of papers in folders on the table behind her.
“The editor will be back when?” Jake asked.
“In an hour or two. He has to be here in time to put the evening edition to bed.”
“Thank you,” Jake said, but Agnes had already dismissed them and turned away as she shuffled over to the table, stabbing the butt of her cigarette into one of the trays. Jake noted she was extracting a fresh cigarette out of a pocket with one hand and an old lighter with the other.
Jake followed Laney over to the desk that was heavy with papers, neatly stacked and labeled. Laney reached down and flipped a couple of pages to see what the papers referred to. Maybe there would be something that would indicate where Ray had gone.
“Hey, don’t mess with those,” a voice said behind them. A youngish man, about their own age with long blond hair came hurrying over. He must have just come up the stairs as they hadn’t noticed him before.
“FBI,” Laney said as a way of explanation. He flashed his badge again, and Jake did the same with the badge that Laney had provided him with.
“I don’t care who you are, don’t mess with my research.”
“Your research?” Jake asked. “Agnes told us this desk belongs to Henry Ray.”
“It does, but Henry’s not around and I’ve been using it. There isn’t enough room on my own.” He pointed to a desk a few feet away which looked well used. “I also use that one.” He pointed to another on the far side of his own which was also stacked high with folders and books.
“I see,” said Laney. “Is there anything here that belongs to Ray?”
“Not a thing,” the man said. “He left the place bare when he left.”
“Since you sat next to him, I assume you knew him?”
