As independent and confident as she was, Amy also grappled with immense insecurities. Much of it had to do with the attention given to Kyle. Amy felt unloved and neglected and found comfort by using drugs and running with the wrong crowd. Thinking back on those days and overcome with guilt, Reba aggressively shook her head. Fortunately, a caring teacher at Amy's high school had helped her turn her life around. But it was Amy who did the hard work of getting herself off of drugs, going to counseling and forcing herself to refocus. By the time she was enrolled at American University, Amy was a poised, beautiful, and energetic woman ready to take on the world. Reba was so proud of her and found it hard to believe that Amy's life was taken from her just as she was beginning to blossom.
Laying there, still lost in a host of thoughts, Reba reflected on how the night unfolded. When she had spoken with her daughter just an hour or so before the dinner, she sounded happier than ever. Amy even told her mom she might have a surprise for her. Was she talking about her and the professor? If so, how could that lead to Amy being murdered less than two hours later by him? Something did not feel right about the whole thing. Then, on top of it all, she had to find out with those two business bozos, Steve and Bill, at her home. Thinking of them, especially Steve Mills, gave Reba the creeps. Was it a coincidence that they may have been the last ones to see Amy alive? Reba began shaking her head and sobbing.
Rex heard her and rushed back into the bedroom. “Oh, sweetie, I am so sorry.”
“I know, Rex. But, at least I feel I still have a reason to live,” she said, wiping her eyes with her fingers. “We need to find out the full story behind Amy’s death. I am going to get to the truth, I just need you there beside me.”
“Absolutely, my love. We are in this together.”
By 10 am the morning after Amy Duncan's murder, the cable channels had decided that Jackson Lowery had an obsessive, deadly crush on his young student. There was even a nerdy, bespectacled young man who said he took one of Jackson's classes in which Amy was also enrolled. In interview after interview, the young man said that he would frequently catch Jackson leering at Amy. He even thought that he saw him blow her a kiss once. The former prosecutor was being convicted in absentia.
At the same time, Livermore reassembled his team. Impressed by Mason, he went to him directly.
“Mason, any new theories on where Lowery went, assuming he landed at the Potomac Avenue Metro?”
Confidently, Mason stood up and said, “Yes sir, we sure do.” Mason then motioned to a couple of his teammates who began organizing the backup for Mason's response.
“Boss,” he began, “we now know that Jackson Lowery was, in fact, on the 30 south bus that ended at Potomac Avenue. We even have a photo - poor quality - but it is unquestionably him. He was the last person off the bus.”
Mason paused for effect. Livermore waved his hand encouraging Mason to continue.
“Unfortunately, we did not find any good footage of him stepping onto another bus. We then checked all the end points for buses transferring to northeast and southeast D.C. Once again, we did not see him get off any of the buses landing east of the Anacostia River.”
At this point, the excitement felt by Livermore when Mason first began his report, was beginning to wane. “Did you find any sign of him,” he asked.
Here, Mason perked up again. “Maybe. We think so, but here is what we have.” Mason nodded to one of his team members, who clicked the computer mouse so that a giant photo appeared on the screen.
“While we could not find any definitive evidence of Lowery, we examined all of the cameras on the streets with a six block radius of the various bus drop off points. Take a look at this photo from the convenience store on the corner of Minnesota and Benning Road, just a few blocks from the Minnesota Avenue Metro. As you can see, the picture shows a cab at the top of the screen, facing us. The cab is sitting just below the front door to the store, unseen in this photo. No camera gives us that view. Look very carefully. You can see the boot of the man entering the back of the cab.” You could hear a pin drop in the room. Everyone was craning to see the blurry boot image.
Nodding to his team member again, Mason says, “Now look at the CVS photo of Jackson, which is far clearer.” Mason nods again. “Now, look at the enhanced CVS photo showing the same boot.” One more nod. “Here are both enhanced boot pictures side by side. The Minnesota Avenue quality is not good, but we feel there is a good chance that this is the same boot worn by the same man, Jackson Lowery. As you can see, though we cannot see any images inside, the cabbie's D.C. tag number is clearly visible. If you all agree, we think that cab driver can tell us where he dropped off Jackson Lowery. We have posted the cabbie's name and address on the screen.” Having finished with a flourish, Mason sat down. A couple of the techs started to clap, but quickly stopped when Livermore jerked his head in their direction. Still, this was big news. They had a lead.
In part looking to put the focus back on himself, Livermore did not waste time deciding on next steps. “That is superior work by you and your team, Mason.” Glancing snidely at a couple of his ground team, Livermore said, “You think you boys can take it from here, with no mistakes?”
Four of his men, two who had happened to serve with him at Desert Storm, quickly stood up. “Yes, sir!” they said in unison.
“Well, we shall see. Keep in mind the big plan. The world thinks this black college professor is a nut case. None of us can pull the trigger. Once we identify where he is, law enforcement will make sure that our friends are among those who arrive on the scene. Lowery will go out in a blaze of glory. R.J., you have the gun?”
“Sure do, boss,” R.J. replied, referring to the handgun that he had wrapped Jackson's hands around while he was unconscious.
Smiling for the first time in ten hours, Livermore raised both hands and said, “Well, happy hunting, boys!”
THREE
Jackson had followed Ronnie's instructions and easily found the dangling cord hanging near the passenger side window of the Volvo. He got out of the car, walked around to where the cord was hanging and gave it a firm tug. Right in front of him, an automatic door opener began to open a mechanical door. The opening door was not wide enough for a car to pass through. Leaving the car out front, Jackson walked in, entering into a big, open room. The smell of fresh coffee hit him like manna from heaven. He realized that he had not eaten anything or had anything to drink since yesterday. He hadn't even thought about it. It felt at that moment that he had been running for weeks. He was tired, thirsty, hungry, and emotionally spent.
On the right side of the room was a large sofa and a couple of side chairs. They were facing a wall that had a large seventy-two inch television flanked by six thirty-two inch televisions, three positioned on either side of the big one. Just right of the stack of televisions was a long work table. On it were what looked to be a couple of hard drives, computer screens, and other technology pieces. Security, Jackson thought.
To the left, was a kitchen area, which included a kitchen table set up for four. Straight ahead was a long hallway with doors to other rooms on both sides. Way down at the far end of the hall was still a larger, heavier door. Jackson surmised that Ronnie would return through that door.
Jackson saw a red button next to the door he had just entered and pushed it, which led to the automatic opener closing the door behind him.
Jackson walked to the kitchen, grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Ronnie had left two cups on the kitchen counter along with some cream. Jackson liked a touch of cream in his coffee, while Ronnie liked his black. Of course, Ronnie would remember that.
Jackson grabbed his cup of coffee, took a satisfying sip and headed for the sofa. He could feel his body relaxing, which for some reason scared him. He still did not feel totally safe. There was an end table on the right side of the sofa. Several remote controls were on top of the table. Since he was not completely sure which was which, he started to turn them all on,
one by one, and sat on the sofa. As the seven television screens came to life, he quickly noticed that his image was on four of the screens. A fifth screen showed the distraught Senator Duncan in front of his home. Jackson thought he was going to be sick. He decided that he was not ready for the news coverage on his life. He turned off all of the TV's.
He sat drinking his coffee, trying hard to relax and clear his mind. He and Ronnie had a lot to talk about. Jackson stretched out of the sofa and reached into his pocket, grabbing the New Yorker article Ronnie had given him. Before long, he was fast asleep.
__________
Rutherford Sims had been driving a cab in D.C. for nearly forty years. Things sure have changed during that time. Fights with the politicians at the D.C. Taxicab Commission, the battle over meter versus zone rates, and probably the biggest of all: Uber and Lyft. With the new amateurs taking over, most of his customers were the reliable seniors he regularly picked up for doctor appointments, senior luncheons, and grocery runs. “Well, that's life,” he said to himself.
With it nearing noon, Rutherford decided to grab some lunch. Since he had skipped breakfast and was, as usual, near the Minnesota Avenue/Benning Road corridor, he decided to go to the Denny's near the Shrimp Boat, an old D.C. landmark. Sims had been sitting there for ten minutes when two white cops, one younger and one older came over to his booth and sat across from him. Both were smiling that “I am your cop friend” smile.
Still wanting to enjoy his eggs while they were hot, Sims broke off a piece with his fork and put it in his mouth.
“How can I help you officers?” he said, savoring his omelet.
“Howdy, Mr. Sims,” said the older cop, who was actually R.J., Livermore's second in command. R.J. had come personally on this assignment to make sure that this critical lead was not lost. “Sorry to interrupt your lunch. Oh, and we are not cops, but we are here on a matter of national security,” R.J. said with a smile.
Sims looked them up and down as he chewed on his white toast. Yes, the white toast he promised his wife he would stop eating. “How much does it pay,” he said, smiling back at R.J.
Already anxious to be involved in the conversation, John, who Sims viewed as the young cop, could not contain himself. “Look here, sir, this is not some minor matter in which you are going to get some payoff. This is a matter of national security. Lives are at stake and this matter rises all the way up to the President of the United States.”
John's voice rose at the end, prompting the other patrons at nearby tables to look in his direction.
Sims was now emboldened. “You saying President Coleman's involved?” He was getting loud now, loving the fact that he knew the packed restaurant was on his side. “Sheettt! Y'all can arrest me right now, I ain't doing a mother fucking thing for Barry Coleman!”
Some of the patrons started to clap. Others issued a few 'Amens'. The inexperienced John had made the wrong move.
R.J. looked sharply at him and saved the day. In order to gain Sims' trust back, R.J. had to embarrass the kid in front of everyone. The kid wouldn’t understand at first, but this would be a coachable moment for him.
“John, that is not the way to talk to Mr. Sims. Take your butt back to the car and wait for me there. Right now!”
Looking confused and uncertain, the young cop stood up and walked toward the restaurant door. On the way out, he was heckled a bit, but most people just let him off the hook. Through it all, Sims was finishing up his eggs and now slurping on some coffee, feeling pretty good about making a cop give him respect -- especially in front of so many people. Word got out quick in this neighborhood and Sims knew he would be able to embellish the story without refute.
Looking at Sims, R.J. saw that his ruse was working. He added to it.
“Mr. Sims, fuck the kid. He is young, arrogant and doesn't know his ass from a hole in the wall, but I have a job to do and you can help me. Around 11:30 pm last night, you picked up a fare from the convenience store on Minnesota Avenue and Benning Road. The man you picked up is a wanted man. A very bad man. He has hurt a lot of people. I need to find him before he hurts someone else.”
While R.J. was talking, Sims was weighing his options, all while keeping a poker face. First, he conveyed a look like he was trying to remember the man, then a look as if he was trying to remember the drop off. From the time the cop started talking, however, Sims knew exactly who he was talking about. He distinctly remembered the man in the convenience store offering $100 to the first man who could give him a ride. Sims had hop-skipped past his friend Jimbo and grabbed the honeybee. First, the man said to take him to Baltimore. Then the New Carrollton Metro. Then, finally, the man had him drop him off on Sheriff Road in a residential area. By the time R.J. had finished, Sims knew exactly how to play it.
Nodding his head as if he had made a decision, Sims said, “Look, man. I don't know you or your partner and I sure don't want to know you. I also don't believe that bullshit about national security. But, yeah, I remember the man. Remember him well. At first, he acted like he could not pay all the fare, but he came up with it. I don't like the hustlers out here getting in my cab and chiseling me out of my money. Got no loyalty to the likes of that.” Sims then leaned forward, looked around and spoke in a whisper. As is the natural thing to do, R.J. leaned forward as well, listening closely to Sims' every word.
Sims continued. “Man, you got your job to do and I got mine. I can tell you exactly where I dropped him off, for $200, non-negotiable.” Sims crossed his arms over his ample belly and leaned back in his chair, staring at R.J.
R.J. thought hard before responding. He wanted to negotiate, but he believed that this old coot was serious. He should dock the money from the kid’s pay. Still, he wanted to get something more in return.
“If I pay you the money, will you show me exactly the spot?”
“Now, man, you done lost your mind. First of all, that is not my offer. I got clients to pick up this afternoon. But, more than that, once I tell you where it is, you won't need me to show you. You can just go there.”
Sighing loudly, R.J. agreed. “Okay, Mr. Sims. We have a deal. He reached in his pocket, pulled out a couple of hundred dollar bills and started to reach across and hand them to Sims, who held out his hand in a stop motion.
“How about a ten as well, for my lunch you boys interrupted?” Sims said with a sly grin.
By now, R.J. wanted to take the money and smash it in the old guy's face. He was beginning to feel that familiar feeling he felt when he wanted to hurt someone; his demons were never too far away. But he stayed on task, smiling sweetly. “Of course, Mr. Sims. Here you are,” giving him the $210.
“Where did you drop him off?”
“That's easy, my friend. I dropped him off at the New Carrollton Metro station. He made sure that I did not take him all the way to the station and had me drop him off a block and half before we got there.”
“Smiling, R.J. stood up and patted Sims on the shoulder. “Thanks so much, sir,” while heading to the door.
Sims held his money in the light and said loudly, “Nice doing business with ya.” Then yelling at his waitress, he said, “Hey, baby, how about a fresh cup of coffee. Also, bring me over the dessert menu.”
__________
Steve Mills and Bill Merchant decided to meet for lunch at the Hay Adams the day after Amy Duncan's murder. There was a decided tone of nervousness in the air as they discussed all that had transpired over the previous eighteen hours.
“So, are we in the middle of a shit-storm or what?” Merchant said, looking around.
“Things are not good, I will give you that, Bill. But, honestly, the way things unfolded, was there any other way to handle things? I didn't think we had any other options under the circumstances. Tell me, what could we have done differently?”
“Do not take this the wrong way, but for one, you did not have to talk so specifically and graphically in the senator's home! You have always been the one urging
discretion, Steve. The timing of your candor got us in a hell of a mess.” It was obvious the pressure was getting to Merchant.
Mills tried to be contrite. “Alright. You made that point last night and I was dead wrong. We still are positioned to get things back on track. I think...”
Merchant cut him off. “Are we, Steve? It has been over fifteen hours and our former navy seals, black op experts have no idea where a non-military college professor could have gone. No frickin' idea! How does that happen? Do you know all the strings we have had to pull to gain access to satellites, local authorities’ data and the like? Yet, today we have a civilian out there somewhere who could destroy something we have been planning for years and Livermore can't tell us where he is. Really, Steve? I know you received some of the same communications that I did from some of the others in the group. Roger is on the move. I can feel it. You know how he is ready to go full-blown militant at any time. The next forty-eight hours are going to be critical. Steve, you and I have helped shape this thing from the beginning. I am telling you as a friend, we have got to find the right way to get things back on track.”
Mills did not immediately respond. He just looked as his friend while rubbing his forefinger on his chin stubble. The honesty of Merchant's words stung, especially the way in which they were delivered. Mills has largely been the more outspoken of the two and Merchant has gladly accepted a quieter role. For Merchant to assert himself now in this way suggested how bad things were. It also suggested that the others in the group were questioning Mills’ leadership. Mills didn’t doubt Merchant’s loyalty to him. But his friend was sending him another subtle and direct message: these folks were not to be played with and friend or not, he would not be able to help him if they started looking for a sacrificial lamb.
The Plan (The Jackson Lowery Trilogy Book 1) Page 6
