The Plan (The Jackson Lowery Trilogy Book 1)

by Kevin P. Chavous

  THE

  PLAN

  A Novel

  Kevin P. Chavous

  Also by Kevin P. Chavous

  Serving Our Children: Charter Schools and the Reform of American Public Education (2004)

  Voices of Determination:

  Children that Defy the Odds (2011)

  Building A Learning Culture in America (2016)

  Copyright Ⓒ 2017 by Kevin P. Chavous

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed, or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  ISBN - 13: 978-1548992088

  ISBN - 10: 1548992089

  www.kevinpchavous.com

  For Amber

  PROLOGUE

  Deep in the hills of southern Pennsylvania, just south of Harrisburg, a small group of scientists huddle in a windowless building, shielded from the outside world. The top secret nature of the scientists' work require that the building has security, but there is little concern that information about their research will be leaked. The leaders behind the project have gone to great lengths to protect their plan. They possess an impenetrable commitment to each other and to the cause that has brought them together. Over the years, they have gone step by painstaking step to ensure their success. Patience has served the leaders well. It has allowed them to consider every possible scenario, every potential twist. Before long, it will be time for implementation of the plan.

  The scientists are poring over the most recent data on the toxic nature of a newly refined poisonous chemical agent. They are pleased with the data. Their progress has been stunning. Soon, the scientists will be able to control the poison’s dosage based on the body weight and food intake habits of the targets. The plan leaders will be pleased. Once the science is correct, the only variable left is the politics. Unlike science, politics is inexact. It is also malleable, subject to the twin challenges of ego and emotion. The leaders constantly remind themselves of that fact. For the plan to work, all involved must remain disciplined and focused. Any deviation from the ultimate goal will result in failure.

  In the meantime, the scientists continue to check and recheck their research to prepare for their upcoming presentation and report. The leaders will welcome and embrace the scientists' conclusions. The plan will be ready to move to the next phase.

  MONDAY

  ONE

  Jackson Lowery was being gently shaken. Once. Twice. Then, a third time. He wanted to open his eyes to get his bearings, but his head was killing him. Instead, he kept them shut and remained motionless, only to be shaken again. Jackson tried to lift his head and felt a cold uneven surface under his face. His senses were coming back. He could feel the wind. He heard the swishing of water. He smelled the pungent smell of fish. He began to open his eyes. It was night. The first thing he saw was a large green eye looking back at him, three inches away. The green eye did not blink. Jackson closed then reopened his eyes and finally began to pull himself up, noticing as he did that the green eye belonged to a frog. He noticed that he was laying on gray concrete. The left side of his face was cold, wet and numb. He looked around and realized that he was on the last of several wide steps leading to the Potomac River. Slowly, it was coming back to him. He had been hit on the head. But who was shaking him?

  “Jeremy likes you,” said a hoarse, husky voice. The voice then laughed so hard, it began to cough an old smoker’s hack.

  “They just left here and boy, they didn't mean you no good,” the voice said. “Me and Jeremy saw 'em bring you down here. We thought they were gonna toss you in the river, but then they just started pouring liquor or somethin’ down your throat. Guess they wanted it to look like you had passed out. I made a noise, which I think kinda spooked them because then they took off. But they dropped you hard on that bottom step. You ok, fella?”

  Looking up, Jackson saw an old heavy-set white man with a large gray beard. He wore a big blue coat and worn brown boots. He was sitting on one of the steps right above Jackson, four feet away. Jackson knew instantly who he was. This man was one of the homeless people living in and around the Georgetown Waterfront Park underneath the Whitehurst Freeway, which cuts through Georgetown in Washington, D.C. Jackson knew this man's face because he saw him several times a week. Jackson lived in an apartment right down the street on Cecil Place.

  “Yes, I think so, thank you” Jackson said. “My head is killing me. How long have they been gone?” Jackson began holding the side of his head, which was hurting even more now that he was regaining consciousness and coming to his senses. He also started licking his lips, tasting the alcohol and knowing that he had not willingly had anything to drink.

  “They left about five minutes ago. Jumped in a black van and hightailed it outta here. You know it was the government, don't you? They gonna snatch each of us up one by one and place us on another planet. Me and Jeremy saved you.”

  Jackson looked at the frog, who was still looking at Jackson sitting on the concrete steps. “Well, I owe you and Jeremy my life,” Jackson said. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. They were in your house too,” the man said, looking at Jackson with a twinkle in his eyes. “Didn't stay long, but they went in there. You may want to check it out. Let's go, Jeremy.”

  With that, the man held out his hand and the frog jumped into it. The man then put the frog in the breast pocket of his coat and turned to amble down the path parallel to the river.

  “Thank you! I won't forget this!” Jackson yelled after him.

  The man didn't turn around but lifted his hand and said, “Watch the government, son. Watch them, cuz they are watching all of us.”

  Jackson gathered himself, and unfolding his lean, six foot four inch frame, painfully climbed up the concrete steps and jogged as best he could to his house. He crossed over K Street, went past Wisconsin Avenue and turned right on Cecil Place. For the first time since he came to, he checked his pockets. No wallet, no keys. Cecil Place was a hilly one-way street going south a couple of blocks from M Street to the north. The clustered three story townhouses facing the small, secluded street gave Cecil Place an old European flavor. Most people in D.C. weren’t even aware of the street’s existence. For Jackson Lowery, the quiet, historic anonymity fit his tastes.

  As Jackson got closer to his apartment, he noticed that his front door was partially open. Damn, he thought. What if someone was still in there? Jackson walked as quietly as he could and pushed open the front door. His place looked to be in reasonably good shape. He looked around and couldn't see anything missing. Still, his mind was racing. That would make sense, he thought to himself. They would want it to look like I did something to Amy--not that I was a victim.

  Amy Duncan.

  Just thinking of her made him sick. He ran to his bathroom and threw up. It was all coming back to him. Being hit on the head and seeing the look of shock and fear on her face. That was his last image before being knocked unconscious. Lord, I pray that she is alright, Jackson thought. But the old prosecutor in him sensed that the only reason why he was still alive was to be the fall guy for something. It was the only thing that made sense.

  Jackson went into critical thinking mode. He wiped the vomit off of his mouth, brushed his teeth and began to think. The truth was, he guessed that he had a little time on his side since they were probably expecting him to be laid out on that concrete for an hour or two longer than he was. Jackson thought about calling one of his former prosecutor friends to talk through what had just
happened. Or maybe one of his former law firm partners. But none of that felt right. If there was any truth to what Amy had been telling him, this thing was bigger than anything he had ever seen.

  Should he run? Where would he go? He could not stay in his house.

  “Think, Jackson, think!” he urged himself, feeling stalled and wanting to just lie down in his bed, hoping that when he woke up it would all have been a dream. Snapping to, he quickly changed clothes and grabbed a few credit cards from the underwear drawer in his bedroom. As he was walking to the door, it struck him that credit cards could be traced, and they wouldn’t allow him to fully disappear. Plus, with the folks he was dealing with, those cards could be blocked soon. Jackson put the credit cards back in his drawer and pulled down the ceiling fan in his kitchen. Buried near the tiny space between the fan blades and the motor was Jackson's emergency cash, $5,000. Jackson had kept the money there for years and never thought he would actually need to use it. He needed it tonight.

  Having walked briskly out of his apartment, Jackson had to keep his head clear. Just as he was walking north up Cecil Place, he looked over his shoulder and saw two D.C. Metropolitan police squad cars pulling up in front of his apartment. They had driven the wrong way on his one-way street. Their lights were on, but not the sirens. Not good, he thought. Jackson scooted up to Grace Street, made a quick right, crossed Wisconsin Avenue, and navigated his way to the footpath bordering the Georgetown C & O Canal. He prided himself on working well in a crisis. At least that was what all his colleagues used to tell him. But it sure felt different when the person in crisis was you. As much as he did not want to run, just based on what Amy told him he was dealing with something bigger than anything he had ever seen. He was being set up and turning himself in to the authorities would not help things at all. The people who knocked him out and grabbed Amy were the real deal. While he sure hoped that Amy was alright, he did not hold out much hope. Just thinking about her made his heart sink. But he had to be smart. They were all looking for him. Some probably ready to kill him on sight.

  Being in personal crisis mode made him think about the only person on earth who he knew well enough and trusted completely, who also had the skill set needed to help him in such a dark moment. He remembered hours of conversation with this person, who had often talked with Jackson about how to drop off the grid if you needed to. Jackson was formulating a plan in his head. But the first thing he needed to do was hide in plain sight. He needed to get out of Georgetown fast and head to far southeast, D.C., east of the Anacostia River. His days as a prosecutor at the D.C. U.S. Attorney's office taught him one thing: for a crime like this, the last place the authorities would look was in far southeast. It would be assumed that Jackson would seek safe haven somewhere in northwest D.C. or Virginia.

  Soon, every police officer in town would see his picture pop onto the laptop in their patrol cars. D.C. had more police monitored cameras on the street than any city except for London and New York City. With that information in mind, he had to pick the right way to head across town without being seen. Cabs and Ubers were out of the question. Same with the metro system. But, a city bus could work. Jackson recalled that there were a couple of bus lines that went from far southeast to Georgetown and back. He needed to check the bus schedule.

  But wait, he thought. He needed to call his son. He could not have Eddie find out about all of this through CNN, while he was unreachable and on the lam. Jackson had planned on getting a few throwaway phones from some random store in southeast, but now he needed to get at least one phone here in Georgetown before catching his bus. He knew he would be caught on film by the store's cameras, but so be it. Jackson kept walking east along the canal, turning left on 30th Street before crossing M Street. He headed for the CVS store near 28th and M. He kept his head down the whole time he was walking. He had grabbed an old Redskins cap from his apartment and made sure not to make eye contact with any other pedestrians. As usual, Georgetown was full of people, which helped him walk along unnoticed.

  Once inside the CVS, Jackson grabbed one of the throwaway phones along with some Tylenol and paid at the self-service kiosk. With help from one of the store clerks, he loaded minutes on the phone and then hustled out of the store. While he worked to get the phone going, he walked quickly up 29th Street, headed to Wisconsin Avenue and P Street NW. Having lived in Georgetown for so long, he had seen folks waiting for a bus at that bus stop late at night for years. He arrived just before 10 pm. There were five other people waiting for the bus. He started to ask someone what time the bus would arrive, but then thought the better of it. He just casually hung toward the back of the stop, waiting like everyone else.

  By now, Jackson had the phone working. Stepping away from the group, he called his son, Eddie. When his son answered the phone, Jackson jumped right in.

  “Hey, son, you alone?”

  “Uh, yeah, dad. You sound out of breath and weird. You okay?”

  “I am okay. But I cannot talk long and you need to listen to me very carefully. You hear me?”

  “Okay, dad. Now, you are kind scaring me.”

  “Well, the worst is yet to come, son. Look, there is no easy way to say this, but by morning, my name and picture will be on every news channel in the country. While I don't know for sure, I believe they are going to say that I hurt, maybe even killed someone. No matter what you hear, I did not do the things that you will hear. Do you understand, Eddie?”

  Silence.

  “Eddie?”

  “Dad... if what you say is true, why not turn yourself in? I mean, you are a former prosecutor. You know the judges. If it is like you say, wouldn't that make a difference?”

  “Eddie, you are right. It should make a difference. But, in this case, it won't. I am dealing with something bigger than all the people you mentioned. I don't know all of the connections yet, but the only way I can clear my name is to be out of jail. I gotta go, but just hold on to the man you know your father is, no matter what you hear. I will find out what all this means and clear my name. Can you do that?”

  “Of course, dad! Do you need help? Can I go with you?”

  “Son, I would love to have you with me, but it is far too dangerous. As you will soon see, whoever is causing all of this will stop at nothing. I cannot have you in the line of fire, I love you too much.”

  “Okay, dad. You can count on me. Hey, if you cannot call me, you know...”

  Jackson interrupted. “The reality is, Eddie, I will not be calling you until this is done. No way. Gotta go. Love you and give my best to your mom. Try to keep her positive during all of this. Bye, son.”

  With that, Jackson hung up. He didn't give Eddie a chance to respond. What he could not say was that his son's phone may already be tapped. Jackson was so glad he cut his son off from saying what he was going to say. Eddie was going to suggest that they could meet at their favorite place, Dumbarton Oaks, where Jackson used to take Eddie for lunch on his son's early dismissal days. They would buy sandwiches and hang out at the park for a couple of hours. Eddie loved these times and said it was his and his dad's secret place. Jackson certainly did not want whoever may be listening in to be stalking Eddie, hoping that he and Jackson would be meeting. Jackson was glad that the call had gone well, but continued to harbor extreme guilt over his relationship with his son and ex-wife, Pam. Sure, he and Eddie get along great. But Jackson knows that the family break-up was his fault. He had betrayed his wife, his son, and his career. That betrayal followed him like a loyal dog follows its master.

  When the bus arrived, Jackson quietly boarded and paid his fare, walking to the back where he settled in for the ride. He was going to ride the bus to the end of the route, wherever that may be. He would then buy a couple more throwaway phones and make contact with the one person who could help him. As his bus neared the White House, he took the phone he had just used to talk with his son and discreetly tossed it out the window.

  While on the bus, Jackson must have fall
en asleep. He was awakened for the second time that night by a friendly shake. He looked up and saw a matronly woman with a kind face. She had the look of a domestic worker. “Time to get off the bus, sir,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, I'm sorry. Thank you, ma'am.”

  Jackson got off the bus, pulling his baseball cap down over his face as far as he could. He then got on another bus that would take him to the Minnesota Avenue Metro Station in northeast D.C. The bus was over half full and everyone on it looked beaten down. Bus riders heading into the far eastern part of D.C. at this time of night have more challenges than most. But they are, without question, some of the most resilient people in the city. Jackson needed some of that resiliency. Maybe it will rub off, he thought.

  As he traveled across the Anacostia River, however, his thoughts quickly settled on Amy. His head was still pounding from the blow to his head. He was trying to remember all the details of what had happened but was having a hard time. The more he tried to concentrate on his memory, the more his head hurt. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on the bus window.

  “Amy Duncan,” he whispered out loud to himself, as he slumped down in his window seat near the back of the bus, deep in thought. Jackson vividly remembered that first day when she walked into the U.S. History class he was teaching. He was instantly attracted to her. But he had also strictly followed his rules regarding improper conduct with his students. He had disguised his attraction for Amy even as he accommodated her various requests for help; first by agreeing to meet with her study group, then by way of advising her on her semester abroad, and finally, through several one-on-one career counseling sessions in his office. Soon, it became obvious to Jackson that Amy was attracted to him, as well. During one of those supposed career counseling sessions she let it be known.