“Yeah. I’ll meet you at Hugo’s at eleven.”
He pushed the end button. Hank was not only his boss, he was a good friend. It was going to be hard to quit. He hoped Hank would understand.
He jumped into the shower. It was past ten. He would need to leave soon to get to the deli on time. After the shower, he pulled on his favorite pair of blue jeans, then he grabbed his wallet. It felt lighter than normal. He flipped it open and remembered the switch.
Everything personal had been replaced with identification only WJA could track. He pulled out the credit card they’d given him. He flipped it over and stared at the strip on the back. It looked just like any other card, but this one had no limit—or so they said.
He smiled. It was like winning the lottery, but without the exposure. He wondered if it really was unlimited. Maybe he’d test the limit later today.
* * *
THE STREET WAS LINED with cars and a few trashcans rolling in the road. Kirk drove slowly as Geoff read house numbers. The houses were jammed close together. Almost all of them were two-stories tall with no yards or privacy. Tall and skinny, like living on top of each other.
“Next one, I think.” Geoff checked the number on an old, black mailbox. “On the left.”
The house was stucco, with concrete steps leading up to the front door, which was painted blue and needed another coat. The dirt yard featured a small doghouse with the name Fluffy stenciled over the opening. The few patches of grass left indicated the yard had once been green and lush—probably before Fluffy arrived.
Kirk touched the butt of his gun as he stepped from the Mustang. He had that feeling again, which was never a good sign. He waited for Geoff to get out of the car and follow him up the sidewalk to the cracked, peeling, blue door. Through the half-drawn curtains, he could see a man in a lounge chair reading a newspaper by lamplight. He knocked and tensed when he heard movement.
The deadbolt clicked and a chain rattled as the door cracked open. A middle-aged man peered out. “Yeah?” he barked. “What do you want?”A quiver hovered beneath his gruffness.
Kirk held up his badge. “Detective Weston, and this is my partner.” He pointed over his shoulder to Geoff. “We just want to ask you a few questions Mr. Jenkins.”
Jenkins sighed and opened the door. He waved them inside, a frown on his face. He indicated the sofa. “Have a seat. Want somethin’ to drink?”
“No, I’m okay. My partner would like a glass of water, if you’ve got one.” He smirked at Geoff, who rolled his eyes.
“Sure, I’ll be right back.”
Kirk looked around. The house was decorated with photos of family and simple trinkets that might be found in an old spinster’s house. He could see by the photos on the mantle above a white, brick fireplace that Jenkins was married—or at least had been at one time. The morning paper lay open on the coffee table next to a book on criminology.
“Here you go.” Jenkins handed Geoff a glass of ice water.
“Thanks.” Geoff smiled and took a sip.
“So, what can I do for you, Detective?” Jenkins sat down in his recliner and peered at them through his thick glasses.
“We’re trying to get some information on a case you and Cassy Meyers worked on a year or so ago.”
“Oh?” Jenkins raised a single eyebrow and settled back in his chair. He folded his hands on his lap.
“The prison, David’s Island. I was on that case. I had some new evidence come to my attention recently that made me curious. I was told you delivered the file to the FBI?”
“Yeah, I probably did. Meyers and I work on many cases together. I’m the spokesperson to the FBI. That was a weird case, as far as I remember it.” He took off his glasses and started chewing on the earpiece. “I’m not sure, but I think the lead person on that case was a Jacob… uh… yeah, Jacobson.”
“Captain Jacobson?” Kirk remembered the tall captain, who so passionately encouraged them to investigate the case his way.
“Yeah, that’s the one. I delivered it to him, and I went over everything we found in detail.”
Kirk rubbed his chin. That didn’t make any sense. Jacobson seemed to know it wasn’t an accident from the very beginning.
“Why are you still interested in that case? It’s been closed for a while now, hasn’t it?”
“It’s been reopened. We’re just following the evidence. So far, it leads back to Jacobson.”
“Well if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”
Jenkins was a little too helpful for Kirk’s liking. “Thanks. We’ll get out of your hair.” Geoff thanked Jenkins for the water and his help as Kirk got up and headed out the front door.
The moment they got in the car, Kirk asked, “Well, what do you think?”
Geoff scratched his head. “He seemed on the up-and-up, but it is a little fishy that this Captain Jacobson would have anything to do with covering up anything.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I have a feeling our friend Jenkins is lying to us, that he knows something. Now I have to figure out how to interview Jacobson. The last time I saw him, he kicked me off the case.”
Geoff looked out the window. “Why am I not surprised?’
“You.” Kirk pointed at Geoff.
“Me?”
“Yeah, you can get an interview for that magazine of yours. You could say you’re doing a story on the case.”
Geoff nodded. “I guess I could do it.”
“There you go.”
“No worries. I’ll get a story out of this yet.”
Kirk laughed. “You deserve it, man. After this is all over, you’ll probably have more story than you bargained for.”
* * *
JENKINS WATCHED THE DETECTIVE’S car drive away. He put on his glasses and went into the kitchen, where he picked up the phone. He dialed.
The call was answered in two rings. “I told you never to call me at home.”
Jenkins tried to calm his shaking voice. “I know, but I just got interviewed by Detective Weston.”
The man on the other end went silent.
“I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. He wanted to know who was in charge of the investigation. I told him Jacobson.”
“Good. Now, you stay out of this, or you can kiss your pretty little wife goodbye.” The gruff voice gargled and coughed as if he had a bad cold. Jenkins was glad his contact was on the other end of the phone, not standing in his kitchen.
“I won’t say anything. I was just a delivery guy.”
“I’ll take care of Weston. You make that file disappear on your end, you hear? I don’t want anyone else poking their nose into this.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Hanging up the phone, Jenkins hiked the stairs to the bedroom. His wife was asleep with the lamp on the nightstand still on. He leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and stopped to look at her as she slept before he clicked off the lamp.
Grabbing his car keys, he hurried downstairs and out the back door. He needed to get that file from Meyers’ office. His old Ford Escort smoked and sputtered when he started it. It didn’t like the cold weather any more than he did. He opened his glove box and pulled out his service revolver, checking it to make sure it was loaded. He set it on the seat next to him and pulled into the vacant street.
The parking lot was dark and empty, which gave him a creepy feeling of being watched. The back door was locked and had a sign reading Under Video Surveillance. He knew where the camera was and pulled his hood over his head as he made his way across the icy asphalt.
He unlocked the back door and went down the hall toward Cassy’s office. Her door was locked, but he had a key and was in without any trouble. Muttering, he flipped through her file cabinet. “Not here.”
He took off his glasses and looked around the dark office littered with pictures and papers. There, on the desk.
He recognized it right away. The file was open, sitting out on the desk like a mocking, staring judge, looking at him wi
th sharp, knowing eyes. He unzipped his coat and slid the folder inside, then zipped his coat over it and shut the file drawer.
In the hallway, he turned to lock the office and hurry down the hall to the back entrance, where he pulled his hood over his head and relocked the outer door. He held the file tight against his side, under his coat, and hurried across the frozen parking lot. He drove back toward his house wondering why he’d done what he’d done. He never thought he’d be mixed up in something like this, but he needed the money. However, he was beginning to think it wasn’t worth the stress, no matter how far in debt they were. He could have saved and paid it all off. But the easy way out had looked so good. Now it was turning on him, like a snake lusting for his blood as well as repayment. He took a breath and told himself to stop worrying. It would all be over soon.
His car was still cold when he parked it in the alley behind their little house. The stupid heater would only work when it felt like it. He sat in the dark, shivering, trying to think. Should he get rid of the file? Or keep it? He might need it, just in case things got bad.
Walking up the stairs to his bedroom, he ducked into the closet and opened a small safe that sat on the floor in the back under a box of Christmas wrapping paper. He placed the file inside, closed the safe, undressed and quietly got into bed, being careful not to disturb his wife.
He stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about everything that had happened. Nevertheless, his mind would not let him rest. He could feel dark eyes staring at him, waiting…waiting for his soul.
CHAPTER 19
“MARK, IT’S GOOD TO see you!” Hank shook Mark’s hand and pointed to a nearby table. Hugo’s Deli was family owned and operated. Though the place looked as if it was about to fall in on itself, the food was famous and delicious. He’d eaten lunch here many times with his boss and friend. It made Mark a little sad to know this was probably their last time to eat lunch together.
“Hi, Hank.” Mark sat down and looked around. The deli was small, with only six round tables, all of which were filled. The waitress brought them two glasses of water and a menu. He picked up the menu but didn't see the words.
“So what’s been going on, Mark? You haven’t called in for days. We’ve all been worried about you.” Hank took a sip of water, then took off his long, gray trench coat and draped it on the chair next to him.
“Sorry. I’ve been a little preoccupied lately. Actually, for the last year, I suppose. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He took a breath and placed his hands on the table. The only way to do this was head-on and fast, or he’d lose his nerve. “Hank, you’re a great boss and an even better friend.”
Hank’s forehead creased. “I don’t like where I think this is going.” He leaned back in his chair. “I know you’ve gone through a lot this last year, but just hang in there. It’ll be better. These things take time to heal.”
Mark looked at the menu again and tried to focus on what he knew he had to do. “I know, and I’m thankful for all the help you’ve been to me. But I need a change. I need to regroup and start my life over.”
The waitress came to take their orders. He didn’t feel hungry, but he ordered a club sandwich anyway. “I’m taking another job. I’ll be traveling a lot and might even relocate.” He sat back. “I know it’s hard to understand, but this is something I have to do.”
Hank leaned on his elbows and stared out the window. His silence was unnerving. Finally, he turned back. “You’ve been there for me every time I needed you, Mark. If this is what you feel you need to do, then I support you in it. Just don’t go crazy on me and do something stupid, okay?”
Mark smiled, thinking about the cabin and the last few days touring the Merc Building and the secret WJA city underneath. Hank didn’t know how close he was to the truth. “I’ll be okay. I just need new scenery, fresh air, and a place where I don’t have to fight off old memories, if you know what I mean.”
Hank nodded. “So what is this new job? Are you going over to the enemy?” He laughed.
“No, nothing like that. It’s somewhat of a government-type of job. I’m not too sure of what it all entails, but I think I’ll like it.”
The food looked great and suddenly he found that he was hungry—very hungry. As they ate, he looked around the room and, for the first time, noticed a woman in the back reading a newspaper. A second look told him it was Isis. He nodded. She smiled and got up, leaving a tip on the table.
“Hank, excuse me for a minute, I need to hit the men’s room. I’ll be right back.”
He headed toward the back of the deli. Isis’s table was the last one before the hall to the restrooms. He saw a folded piece of paper sitting on top of the tip and slipped it into his pocket as he walked by.
Closing the restroom door, he locked it and took out the note, which only had three words: Answer the phone. He heard a phone ringing in one of the stalls behind him and opened the door. A slim, black cell phone sat on the top of tank. He flipped it open. “Yes?” He smiled as he heard Isis on the other end.
“Sorry for the runaround, but I needed to talk to you in private.”
“No problem. What is it?’
“We have a case for you, and we need to meet. One hour, at the bookstore on Second Avenue.”
“I’ll be there.”
Slipping the phone into his pocket, he threw the note into the toilet and flushed it. Back at the table, he bit into his club sandwich and sighed as the sweet juices mixed and tingled his taste buds.
Hank talked about the new high-rise SED was putting in a few blocks away. He’d begun talks with Trump Enterprises and it looked like they might reach a deal.
Mark listened attentively. He liked working for SED. The people were great, the work was interesting. The whole experience was something he wouldn’t trade for the world. He was going to miss it, but at the same time, he was excited to begin this new chapter in his life—to see what his future held, and to learn more about his past.
He handed the keys to the BMW to Hank before he paid for the meal. Hank protested, but Mark insisted, saying he had a company car. As they parted, he held out his hand and thanked Hank for everything.
But Hank pulled him close. “Come on, man. Friends hug.” Then he shoved him away. “Now get off me, I’ve got work to do.”
Mark laughed and said he’d keep in touch.
Hank headed back to the office, Mark hailed a cab. He told the driver to take him to Second and Seventh. The cabbie nodded and flipped on the meter.
The bookstore was almost empty. Mark wandered over to the fiction section and flipped through a Stephen King book.
“So you made it.”
Isis was good at sneaking up on people, but this time, he didn’t even turn. He could smell her perfume and knew she was close, if not right behind him. “Yeah, books are becoming a thing of the past with the internet and all, but I still love the way they smell and the feel of holding one as you read. Those are sensations you’ll never get with a computer.”
“True. Are you ready for your first assignment?”
“I guess. I hope it’s an easy one. I’m new, you know.”
“Yes. The job was handpicked by Solomon himself.” She pulled out a small white card from her pocket, handed it to Mark and smiled. “Good luck.”
He looked at the card as she walked away, her dark hair swinging. The only notations on the card were he letter M and the number 359. He thought it might be the number on the back of a book in the bookstore. He looked around and found that every book had a letter and a number on the spine, so he searched. After twenty minutes he found one marked M359 And titled, Systems of Governments and States. He slid it from the shelf and walked over to a private reading room, where he stepped inside and closed the door. Not very imaginative. Maybe they picked a book that was sure to be shelved because no one would be interested in its contents.
Sitting down at the desk, he opened the book and flipped through the pages. Noticing a bookmark, he turned to th
e page where it was placed. The heading read Law and the Government.
He examined the bookmark and noticed a small earpiece attached to the back of it. Pulling it off, he placed it into his ear and heard the voice of a woman. It wasn’t Isis’s voice but one much harder, maybe a woman who had been with the organization a long time.
“Welcome to the agency. This is top secret and will only be played once. Pay close attention.”
Mark relaxed in his seat and listened.
“The daughter of an important government official in Pakistan has been kidnapped. Her name is Alexis Moritiff. She was taken two weeks ago from her school and is being held in an abandoned office building just outside of Islamabad. Your mission is to extract her by any means necessary and bring her back to the point of origin. You will be instructed upon completion where to take her. You are to immediately go to the shop on the corner of Twenty-Third and Forty-Second, a smoke shop, where you will be given further instructions. You are to meet your contact at eleven p.m. today. Good luck.”
He removed the earpiece from his ear and placed it in his pocket, his excitement rising. He was supposed to go half way around the world to rescue a kidnapped girl tonight. Easy assignment, huh? He’d expected it to be a simple look-and-tail job or something like that. But, no, they were sending him to a volatile, war-torn, treacherous place.
Leaving the bookstore, he jumped in a taxi and told the driver to go to the nearest car dealership. He needed a car, and he wanted to make sure that this was all on the up-and-up before he flew across the world trusting his life to the so-called World Justice Agency.
* * *
SOLOMON WAVED ISIS INTO his office. He smiled as she entered. “I want you to keep an eye on Mark on this one. He might need some assistance. Stay back unless he gets in a jam.”
“Sure thing. This is a big mission for the first one, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but I need to know if he can handle it. We’re running out of time. I need him to be fully operational as quickly as possible. He was the first, and we have never seen anyone respond like he did. I believe he will exceed our expectations.”
Sweet Dreams Page 19
