No one moved.
“I need an answer!”
Several people yelled out, “Yes, that's fair.”
“Joanie, write that down as mistake number two.”
“Back to the professor's movements. He changes clothes, leaves his house, uses the money we missed to buy a throwaway phone at the CVS on Pennsylvania Avenue and 28th Street, right?” Everyone nods.
“The time of purchase is twenty-one twenty-two. Joanie, put the CVS camera on the screen.” Once it is in view, Livermore proceeds. “There he is. Now, he calls his son at nine twenty-eight and the phone is found near the White House some time later. Question for the room. Where did he go and how did he get there?”
Several people were shifting in their seats, but no one said anything. Deep down, Livermore hoped that his team had some ideas, because he was stymied. He looked directly at his second in command, R.J., who had served with him on several assignments in the Middle East. R.J. had a much softer touch than Livermore, at least on the surface, and the team adored him. Truth was, R.J. had a sadistic side to him. He liked to kill. It was at his hand that Amy Duncan lost her life.
Fortunately for Livermore, R.J. was completely loyal to him. Speaking in R.J.'s direction, Livermore said, “Come on people. What did he do? Where did he go? He made no other calls from that phone.”
Looking at the nerdy techies, R. J. said, “Sir, let's give our tech team a chance to share their thoughts.”
Livermore looked at the group. Slowly, a hand was raised near the back. It was one of the techies.
“Yes, Mason, right?” Livermore said.
“That's right, sir. I was checking the bus schedule and the last 30 south bus leaving for east of the Anacostia River - where most of the black people live - leaves Wisconsin and P at four past ten. At that time of night, the bus contains mostly black riders. The bus passes near the White House, ends up at the Potomac Avenue station on Capitol Hill, where some of the riders catch the subway or use a bus transfer to cross the river. Sir, I am thinking that he took a transfer which would send him to the Anacostia section of southeast D.C. or the Deanwood area of northeast D.C.”
By now, Mason was pointing to the map, recreating Jackson's possible routes.
“In sum, sir, I think that this professor is a lot smarter than we think.”
On hearing that, everyone in the room jerked their heads in Livermore's direction to see if he would explode. To the contrary, Livermore had his hand on his chin and looked like he was deep in thought following with his eyes the route Mason laid out for them.
“Good job, Mason. You are right. That son of a bitch went to the one place in the city where he would most blend in. He isn’t so dumb after all. The bastard is in the wind!”
Gathering himself, he thought of next steps, and finally continued, “Folks, let’s check the cameras at the Potomac Avenue subway as well the various drop off points in Anacostia and Deanwood. By the way, did we get anywhere with the calls from the past ten years?”
“Negative, chief,” came a voice to the right.
“Time to stop playing around, people. Let's uncover this and get it done. Now!”
__________
Four star General Michael Brock called Roger Tyler after midnight.
“What the hell is going on? What happened tonight? I know this family.”
General Brock and Rex Duncan were college roommates at Harvard. They had remained close friends since.
Tyler was calm. As the board chairman of Hampton-Powell, the largest microchip computer processing firm in the world, he had learned to lower his voice when others raised theirs. “Yes, I know you do. A little intemperateness from our friend Steve Mills led to some rash decisions.”
“I'll say. And, judging by the news, it is still unresolved, wouldn't you agree?” asked the general.
“Yes. He says he has it under control, but, frankly, I am not sure. I am not sure that Livermore is competent enough. Suggestions?”
The general hesitated. This was not how things were supposed to go. For the past couple years, there had been smooth sailing as they waited for the political timing to work in their favor. Now, it was getting messy. Messy was never good.
“You know what to do and who we need. Make the hire. We can bring it all together later, but immediate containment is key. Excuse me, but I need to call my best friend. He lost a daughter tonight.”
“Of course, General. I will take care of it.” Both men signed off.
TUESDAY
ONE
In a driver's daze, Jackson tried once again to shift his thoughts to all that had happened earlier that evening. Relishing the memory of Friday night had helped. His head was still hurting, but not as much.
Looking at his clock, Jackson realized that it was nearly 4:30 am. He was nearing Wheeling, West Virginia. He still had about an hour and a half to go. There was something about driving a car late at night that was stabilizing and settling. Jackson had given his situation a lot of thought. As sad and traumatized as he was, he had forced himself to get back into the “lawyer mode” mindset he relied on while practicing law and working a case.
For the first hour or so of the drive, he was consumed with grief, anger, and guilt about Amy, her family, his son, his ex, his students who all will be freaking out about this crazy news, and all the people who had supported him over the years. They say Karma is a bitch. Jackson was hoping that whatever he had done to deserve this Karma was now paid in full. Thinking of his relationship with Amy helped to fuel his energy. It not only removed the blocks from his memory, it fortified him to face whatever he must to stop the madmen who had murdered her.
Jackson went back to thinking about his conversation with Amy in front of the Exorcist steps. Now that he was in a calmer state, he realized that she heard the men talk about more than just killing, they had used the words extermination. As close as he could remember, Amy told him that one of the men had said that they were close to finally being able to exterminate a generation of black and brown babies and that no one would see it coming. Jackson had pressed Amy as to whether or not she was certain of the words. But she was too horrified, too frightened to have heard differently.
Jackson found himself getting excited and anxious as his memory of Amy's words came back to him, especially when the men's names popped into his head. Steve and Bill, he remembered her saying. She thought that Steve's last name was Miller. Jackson also recalled the man saying that Rex Duncan did not need to know about things, but they still needed him. They had acknowledged that he was not a part of their plan.
Extermination. Black and brown babies. Rex Duncan was needed, but not part of the plan. What on earth were these men up to? Jackson had to direct his thinking. For that to happen, he had to keep his emotions in check.
Since he now remembered his conversation last night with Amy, Jackson began to dissect the who, what, when, where, why, and how of his situation. Who was behind all of this? Based on what Amy overheard, this white nationalism stuff extended far beyond anything he had imagined. Jackson was one of those who thought that the true believers were primarily working class, disaffected white men.
Could it be that active participants also included an established group of higher thinking, well-heeled business types? Jackson made a mental note to find out more about who Bill and Steve were. It seemed plausible that it was at their behest that Amy was killed - all while they were having dinner with her parents! Whatever he was dealing with, it was large, and if they were indeed responsible for her death, just plain evil.
The what? Exterminate a generation of black and brown people? Jackson smacked the steering wheel and shook his head over that one. It seemed far too outlandish and sinister for him to wrap his head around. How could someone undertake something so expansive and racially targeted without getting caught? Whoever was behind this was powerful, and he presumed at this level, the government must also somehow be involved.
The when? No
w this was a very important question. Was all of this imminent? Or did certain things need to take place beforehand? Based on Amy's recollections, Steve and Bill need Rex Duncan to be president, even though he had no knowledge of their intentions. Did that mean that several of the 'right' people were already positioned and that they would be gone if Rex were not president? Did any of this have anything to do with his senate committee chairmanship? Again, Jackson made a mental note to table his thinking for further discussion.
The where? Certain cities. Most cities. States. Obviously inner cities. Jackson's head was beginning to hurt.
The why? Probably the easiest question to answer. These perpetrators must have had a deep-rooted belief in white superiority and nationalism. But what about the many people working together to make this happen? For such an undertaking, there must be dozens of people working on the plan. Were others unknowingly supporting the leaders towards the goal? Or were there really that many people out there who were so racist that they would go as far as murder to assert their dominance?
The how? Relates closely to nearly all the other questions. Jackson rubbed his eyes. He had been ruminating on these questions for over an hour. He was still on adrenaline and not really tired. More than anything, he was looking forward to having someone who could talk through all of this with him. Jackson passed a sign informing him that Marietta was ten miles away.
Ronnie Thomas knew Jackson Lowery was nearby. He could feel it. Sitting in his Ford truck five miles outside of Marietta, Ronnie was on alert. Twenty minutes later, a dark green Volvo passed by Ronnie. The driver wore glasses along with a funny hat. Jackson Lowery. Nicely done, counselor, Ronnie thought.
Ronnie pulled out from his hiding space, easily caught up with Jackson, and sped up to pass him on Jackson's left. Even with all he had been through, to his credit, Jackson did not panic. He kept looking forward, stoking a sense of pride in Ronnie. When Ronnie pulled beside Jackson, he paused, waiting for Jackson to look in his direction. Once he finally looked and saw who it was, Jackson dropped his head in relief. The two men smiled broadly at each other and Ronnie made a circle with his forefinger and slowed to make a U-Turn. Jackson waited and did the same. No other cars were on the road during the friends' rendezvous. Upon seeing Ronnie, Jackson felt that he had passed the first step to freedom. He followed his friend down the road, noticing that Ronnie had a fishing boat in the back of his truck.
Just a few miles later, Ronnie ended up crossing a bridge that led to West Virginia. After a few more miles, Ronnie turned his truck right onto a dirt road, partially blocked by foliage. It was nearly dawn, but they had not seen a house for miles. A quarter mile down the dirt road, Ronnie stopped his truck and got out. Jackson did the same. The two men embraced, backed away, looked at each other, and embraced again.
“How fucking long has it been, Jack?” Immediately, Jackson remembered why he liked Ronnie so much. He never liked being called Jack, and would correct those who used it, except for Ronnie – who had been calling him Jack as long as they’d known each other.
“Well, it has been about twelve, thirteen years. Man! Time flies. How's my favorite soldier of fortune? Which war you fighting for the good ole red, white and blue these days, my brother?”
Both men laughed. “Look at this gut, man,” Ronnie said, patting his belly. “I probably could not even pass a physical today.”
Both knew Ronnie was exaggerating. He had a little bit of a stomach, but he looked almost the same as he always had to Jackson. Ronnie, a slender build by nature, stood at an even six feet, with close cropped hair and guns that always popped through any shirt he wore. He was black, but very light skinned. In fact, most people who met him took him to be white. That was another by-product of living in the southern Ohio, Kentucky and West Virginia areas. Most of the people looked alike and were probably somehow related down the line, black and white. Once you picked your side of the fence, you placed the generations that followed you on that same side forever.
Ronnie threw it back at Jackson. “Don't talk about me. Look at you, boy. No gut, slim, and you still got hair. You look good, Jackson. You really do.”
“Thanks, man. First, I don't know where to begin to thank you...”
Ronnie cut him off. “Jack, we are going to get to all of that. Let's take things one step at a time. First, I am going to give you a lay of the land. General rules of the road, if you will. All relating to how we need to operate here. As you know by now, this stuff is on a whole different level. By the way, I must commend you on getting here, period. You made it inside of eight hours of our call. I don't know many trained men who could have done a better job.”
Jackson smiled and nodded.
Ronnie kept talking. “We cannot do all of our talking here. Listen to me very carefully. I am going to drive fifty yards down the road, get out of the car and remove some things that I have in place that blocks one of my hideaways. I am telling you this because you won't be able to see me from here. The spot is around the bend. No one is around, but I need you to be on lookout. I usually enter this hideout by boat from the Ohio River, just another fisherman on the water.”
Jackson nodded, fascinated, but not at all surprised by what Ronnie was saying. Ronnie was a marine for nearly twenty years when NSA and the black ops folks snatched him up. He then spent three years undercover trying to bring down a growing white nationalist group in Montana. Yep, that's right. Ronnie Thomas, African American, posed as a white man for three years to snuff out our biggest local terrorist threat. Ronnie's heroism led to forty-five arrests. He also had half a swastika carved in his chest. Fortunately, the FBI raid took place before it could be completed.
“Alright, Jack. I know if has been rough, but don't zone out on me. Wait ten minutes. If for some crazy reason, you see or hear someone before that, blow your horn. When the time is up, drive to the bend, take the slight turn right. You will see me holding open what looks like a garage door. Don't stop, just keep driving straight into the space. I will have the lights on inside for you to see. The drive will feel pretty long, so don't panic. After almost seventy-five yards, you will see the road end. Pull all the way to the front, get out of your car and go straight to your right. Hanging down near the passenger's side of your car will be a cord. Pull down hard on it. A door straight ahead will open up. Go inside. Close and bolt the door. Then, my brother, you can relax. No one can find you here.” Jackson was shaking his head.
“Dude, you need to run the CIA.”
“Who says I don't?” said a smiling Ronnie. “I am going to take my car back to my spot, unload my fishing boat and will join you within the hour. Feel free to snack and have a cup of coffee, but don’t eat too much - I am making us breakfast. When I get back, we can catch each other up about family, then talk through getting your life back.”
“Okay. But first I gotta ask, how are Rose and Ronnie, Jr.?”
Ronnie was nodding his head. “Both are fine. Glad you couldn't wait to ask.” Ronnie then went to his truck on the passenger side, opened the door and pulled out what looked like a copy of a news article. He walked back to Jackson and handed it to him.
“Read this. When shit hit the fan with you, I had Rose and Ronnie go stash up in one of my bunkers. One of the first things we need to do is make sure that Eddie and Pam are secure. They are somewhat safe now. It is unlikely that the nut jobs would want them hurt, it would substantiate belief that the senator's daughter was killed for some political reason.”
Jackson had his head down. “Hey, man, about the stuff with Pam and our marriage, I am sorry...”
Ronnie gently squeezed Jackson's shoulder. “Hey, Jack. Stop beating yourself up. I understand. Life is life, man. Everyone has their journey. I know you are a good man, Jack and right now, we don't have time be dealing with anything in the past. You gotta be focused on survival.”
Jackson nodded but did not say anything. He then looked at the article Ronnie had just given him. It was a copy of a New Yorker
magazine article about the bunkers being built by the super rich.
“Just read it. We can talk later. Lastly, for now, take this,” Ronnie said, tossing Jackson a phone. “It's clean. Always look at the color of the light at the top when you turn it on. If the light is green, you are good. If it is red, the phone has been compromised. Toss it immediately. When calling me, always use the same number I gave you all those years ago. Good thing you remembered.” His grin was wide when Ronnie smiled this time.
“No argument from me,” Jackson said, feeling more and more like he could relax.
Ronnie walked back to his truck, turned as he was entering and said, “Remember, ten minutes and don't stop when you drive through the door.”
Jackson was ready, willing and able to follow those orders.
TWO
How does one wake up the morning after your child has been found murdered? That thought kept churning and churning in Reba's head. Her doctor and Rex had made sure that she was well supplied with the right sedatives. But the basic challenge remained. How could she keep living? Lying in her bed, Reba opened her eyes and noticed Rex was not on the other side of it. Trying to get oriented, she heard a sound and could tell that it was coming from the bathroom. The Idaho senator was sniffling. Reba put her hands to her eyes and rubbed as hard as she could, in the hope that it would somehow also help to clear her mind.
Reba found herself drowning in the memories of Amy's life. Even with her eyes closed, she continued to see a kaleidoscope of images of her daughter at all stages of her life. Amy always had an independent streak. As a baby, she did not want any help while she learned to walk. Or, when she was learning to ride a bike. That independence followed her throughout her life.
The Plan (The Jackson Lowery Trilogy Book 1) Page 5
