Once Quiet (Jack Widow Book 5)

by Scott Blade

“What makes you think that I had something to do with your account? Aren’t you still out there living the life? Aren’t you still bouncing around like a vagabond?”

  “You know I am.”

  “That kind of life sounds expensive. How can you possibly survive out there unless you were spending your money fast?”

  Widow said nothing.

  “Maybe you should get a financial advisor.”

  “What’s going on, Cameron?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The company that took my money, that authorized a transfer, was called Anymouse.”

  Cameron paused a second and asked, “Like one of those lockboxes for slipping in suggestions or complaints on ships?”

  “Yes. Like those.”

  “You know no one uses those anymore? We’ve gone digital decades ago.”

  “They’re still out there. A lot of people don’t trust computers.”

  “And they’re right not to. Seriously, now we give the sailors an anonymous survey to fill out. And they do it. Don’t they know we see their IP addresses?”

  Widow didn’t respond to that. He asked, “What’s going on?”

  Cameron asked, “You alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m in a little town. North Montana.”

  “Where are you exactly?”

  “I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Whose kitchen?”

  “I’m at a local ranch. Staying here because someone authorized all of my money to be transferred out of my account.”

  Cameron said, “Sorry for that.”

  “Did you track me by my bank card transactions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I supposed to be in Eureka, Montana?”

  “Yes.”

  “What for?”

  “Where are you? And don’t say the kitchen.”

  “I’m on a ranch owned by a very nice family.”

  “What’s their name?”

  “Sossaman.”

  Cameron asked, “Recognize it?”

  “The name? No.”

  “Widow. Did you see him?”

  “Who?”

  “The husband?”

  “No.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Not much. He’s got a great family. And the poor guy’s in a coma.”

  “Is he there? In the house?”

  Widow looked back at the doorway. He said, “Could be. I haven’t seen the whole place.”

  “Check it out, would ya?”

  “Then what?”

  “Call me back.”

  CHAPTER 39

  CHECKING OUT ANOTHER PERSON’S HOUSE was easier said than done.

  Widow had started with what he knew. He walked down the hall with the one step and turned at the hall opposite the backdoor. There he came to the same big family library or den or whatever. Then he went to the panic room. He studied the entrance.

  Eventually he found the door, but it was locked. Not that that surprised him. It probably opened with a hidden key or maybe a hidden switch. He couldn’t remember how Casey had gotten in there. He didn’t spend much time on it. He had seen the inside of the panic room already and he didn’t recall anything in there of interest to him, unless it was on the terminal. In which case, it wouldn’t matter because he wasn’t getting in there without a password anyway.

  Widow looked over the library. Nothing there but old, unused books.

  He looked at the doorway in case someone was standing there. No one was there.

  He checked the desk. It was an ancient wooden desk. It looked more like it belonged in the Oval Office and not some random rancher’s house.

  Widow opened the drawers. He found plenty of official documents and legal papers. He found a pile of notebooks, some with medical jargon and long file numbers scribbled across the front, and one with a detailed business plan for a company called Sossaman Medical Technology.

  There were charts and tables explaining everything from hierarchy of the corporate ladder to notes about where to build the headquarters.

  Everything was complicated and intricate and professional, all things that were interesting to be found in a house of a rancher family, but nothing suspicious.

  He returned everything to where he had found it. Then he heard footsteps, cowboy boots worn by someone light-footed.

  Widow moved away from the desk and over to the bookshelves. He pulled out the nearest book and started flipping the pages.

  Crispin walked in and flipped on the light, which Widow hadn’t even noticed was off. The room filled with a dim glow, like the lights were preset to the preferred reading light.

  She stopped four feet into the room, her legs blocked from his view by a leather reading chair.

  She asked, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m just looking though the books.”

  She walked closer into the room and asked, “You like medical books?”

  “Sure. Of course, I’m interested in a lot of subjects.”

  Crispin tilted her head to read the title of the book he was holding. She said, “A Patient’s Guide to Preventing Medical Errors?”

  He said, “It’s practical.”

  Crispin dismissed it and said, “Listen, I’m going to town. Miranda can’t take me. I need her to stay here with Carson.”

  Widow closed the book, put it back on its spot on the shelf.

  “Would you like to escort me into town?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I made my call.”

  “That’s good. Did they fix your problem?”

  He shook his head and said, “They’re working on it. May take some more time.”

  “Then you can take me to town?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, I’m ready. Unless you want to stay here and read more of your very important book?”

  Widow smiled and said, “No way.”

  Crispin turned and led the way. She left the light on. Widow looked back into the room one last time. He thought about what might be in that panic room that he had missed.

  CHAPTER 40

  ACROSS THE RIVER the youngest two watchers were on their shift. The youngest brother was at the scope of the M40 sniper rifle and the son sat on a cheap, green folding chair with his number two pencil, that was comprised only of the bottom half, and his worn-out notebook.

  He asked, “What’re all these notes for?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean if this lady is coming here and we’re just gonna kill them all, then why the notes?”

  The youngest brother moved away from the scope and looked into the sky. He thought about it. He said, “I guess she wants to document it.”

  “Yeah, I get that. That’s the only thing it’s good for, but why? For what purpose?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you wonder?”

  “The youngest brother said, “No. I don’t. Yah know why?”

  The son of the oldest brother stayed quiet.

  “Cause the lady is paying us a lot of money. Dat’s why.”

  The son of the oldest brother remained quiet. He figured that the best guess was that maybe she just wanted to document everything because she wanted the truth to come out about whatever Sossaman did to her.

  Suddenly, the youngest brother had a thought. The son of the oldest brother was sure about it because his uncle had said it out loud.

  The youngest brother had looked back through the scope and then he said, “Maybe she’s writing a telltale.”

  “A tell-all?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know like one of those Hollywood celebrity types. Or those politicians. You know like an ex first lady of what’s his name?”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Yeah, the president that was shot in the head.”

  Just then the youngest watcher starred
through the scope and saw the tall stranger and the beautiful wife together. They were standing there in the back room, in front of the windows, by the kitchen.

  The watcher put his finger into the trigger housing and squeezed his left, unused eye closed. He steadied his aim on the stranger’s head.

  His nephew said, “Lincoln?”

  “No. The other one. The one with the hot wife.”

  “You mean Kennedy?”

  “That’s the one. The one shot in Dallas. His head exploded all over the back of that car. I hear tell that they had to scrape his brains off his pretty wife.”

  “That’s gross.”

  “That’s life, kid. That’s what happens when you’re shot in the head.”

  The son of the oldest brother said, “No, I mean the wife isn’t hot. She’s old.”

  “I don’t mean now. She’s not hot now. But she was quite a piece back then. Some say she was the best-looking first lady ever.”

  The son of the oldest watcher said nothing.

  The youngest brother moved his aim over to the Sossaman wife. He reached up and turned a knob on the scope, adjusting the focus. He adjusted it to zoom in a little low of the Sossaman wife’s face. He took a deep breath and gazed at her chest.

  He said, “That’s a tight shirt she’s wearing.”

  “I don’t think the Kennedy woman is attractive. She’s probably dead by now anyway.”

  The youngest brother ignored him and continued to stare.

  “What are ya seeing?”

  Silence.

  “I wanna see.”

  The youngest brother said, “Here, Junior. Take a look. Better now because soon she’ll be mine and not yours.”

  Junior knelt and took the rifle, stared through the scope at the same place that the youngest brother was looking. He saw the same sight and smiled.

  His uncle said, “You know, they never did solve the Kennedy assassination.”

  Junior mumbled his affirmative.

  “I think the wife had him killed.”

  Junior remained quiet.

  “I think that she hired a kill team and had her husband assassinated right in front of her so that she couldn’t be implicated. You know that guy was having an affair with Marilyn Monroe?”

  “I heard about that.”

  “It’s true. That woman down there. She’s like Marilyn Monroe. She’s deadly. Can’t be trusted.”

  “How you know that?”

  “I can just tell.”

  “She looks like an angel to me.”

  Silence fell between them and then Junior said, “They’re leaving.”

  “You can’t see them no more?”

  “No, I mean they’re leaving the ranch. I saw them move away from the window and now the Explorer is driving away.”

  The youngest brother scooped up the field glasses from off the dirt and stared through them. He saw it. The Ford Explorer was driving down the end of the horseshoe driveway and off into the trees.

  The youngest brother asked, “Where da hell they goin?”

  CHAPTER 41

  IN THE TOWN OF EUREKA, a man leaned back against a pickup that he had purchased at a small car dealership southeast of Kansas City. The truck had sat on the lot for a long time because it was overpriced and the dealer knew it. But when a man that he had never seen before, and never wanted to see again if truth be told, came on his lot and offered to pay a thousand over the asking price, the dealer couldn’t refuse.

  The man had offered a thousand over the sticker price on one condition: that the dealer leave out the paperwork and wait a week and then claim the pickup was stolen.

  The dealer wasn’t in the habit of doing that sort of thing, but he wasn’t against it either. Especially when it came to an extra thousand bucks in his pocket. And that was just off the top because after a week passed and he claimed the truck had been stolen, he could also claim the insurance money for a stolen vehicle.

  The man who leaned against the pickup with Missouri plates was known to many as Qatal.

  Qatal wore a baggy windbreaker, even though it wasn’t cold out. That had been the first thing that Officer Hogan noticed when he stepped out of the tiny police station.

  Qatal was alone. But that was only at the moment. He had a called up three of his guys and told them to join him in Eureka for a little spring-cleaning. He had told them they had unfinished business from the past. Something to clean up.

  Two of the guys were on their way and would be there by midnight. The third guy was already engaged with another job and another crew halfway around the world, which was fine. Qatal didn’t anticipate needing any of them. He anticipated that the breadcrumbs he’d left for Escobar would do the trick. He figured that she would move in and kill the Sossamans for him—a manufactured revenge.

  Qatal wore aviator sunglasses, blue jeans, and a button-down shirt, casually with the top two buttons open. He had no tie. And no jewelry except a watch that he wouldn’t consider jewelry. It was just a simple Timex wristwatch. It was the same brand and design that he’d used twenty years earlier when he started out with the SEALs and it was the same version that he’d used all the way through his career. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was built to perform. That was all he cared about.

  On the hood of the pickup was a folded gas station map of the state of Montana. He had drawn over Highway 93 and the adjacent main streets of Eureka. He had circled a couple of locations on the map. The first was the location of the Sossaman Ranch and the second one was the building that he was staring at right then.

  Qatal watched as Hogan walked out of the Eureka Police Station.

  Hogan stepped out of the door and walked down the steps. He walked over to his police cruiser, which Qatal noted as one of the oldest uniform vehicles that he had seen still in active service. And he was including Mexico, where he had done two operations in a row in the last year.

  Hogan had a coffee in hand in a to-go cup, not a Starbucks but something generic.

  Qatal stared at Hogan and didn’t budge from his truck.

  Hogan placed his coffee cup on the roof of his cruiser, next to the old light bar. Then he opened the driver door and pulled an old nightstick from out of his belt and tossed it onto the seat.

  He noticed Qatal from the corner of his eye and stopped getting into the car. Leaving the door open, he started to walk over to the stranger.

  Hogan waited for a car to pass by on the street. The driver waved at him and he returned the gesture. He stepped into the street after the car passed and walked up onto the sidewalk. He walked over to the guy, who was still standing by the pickup.

  Missouri was a state that required two plates on a vehicle. So, there was one on the front. He took note of the sequence of numbers and letters.

  Hogan stopped six feet from the stranger. His hand rested on his nightstick, as it had with Widow the night before.

  He didn’t speak because the stranger spoke first.

  Qatal said, “Nice day, Officer.”

  Hogan nodded and said, “It is.”

  Before Hogan could ask a question, the stranger said, “You know Montana is one of the most beautiful places on the planet?”

  Hogan nodded.

  “I mean do you know? It’s a question.”

  “I never been anywhere else. Not really.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Think I’d remember a thing like that.”

  “Doesn’t the Air Force deploy its servicemen?”

  Hogan felt stunned because he had been in the Air Force, once.

  He asked, “I know you, stranger?”

  “Just making small talk, Sheriff.”

  This guy is weird, Hogan thought. He said, “I’m not a sheriff. We don’t have a sheriff. I’m the law here.”

  “You’re not a sheriff?”

  “No, sir. I’m just a cop.”

  “Then you must be the chief?”

  “No chief either.”

  “What kind of police department doe
sn’t have a chief?”

  Hogan said, “We got one. It’s a county thing. We’ve got a bunch of small towns, too small for separate police departments. We share the chief.”

  The stranger nodded, said nothing.

  “What brings you to our town?”

  “Sightseeing.”

  Hogan nodded and asked, “Missouri doesn’t have sights?”

  “Of course it does. Missouri is beautiful.”

  “But?”

  “Well, like I said, Montana is one of the most beautiful places on the planet. I love it here.”

  Hogan said, “What’s your name, stranger?”

  Qatal paused a beat.

  “So? What is it?”

  “Names aren’t important, Hogan.”

  Hogan cocked his head a fraction of an inch as he wondered how the stranger knew his name. He asked, “You got an ID?”

  “Oh, sure do.”

  Hogan waited for the guy to pull out his wallet. He kept his hand on the hilt of his Glock and wished that he had the holster unsnapped.

  He continued to wait, but the stranger didn’t move. He just kept on leaning against the truck.

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “I can hear you just fine, Hogan. I’m standing right here.”

  “Let me see that ID.”

  The stranger said, “You can’t ask for my ID. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m just a guy standing by his vehicle, which is parked legally on the street.”

  Hogan stayed quiet.

  “Unless you got probable cause or a warrant. Because in that case I’d have to comply with your request.”

  “You gotta show ID whenever an officer of the law requests it.”

  The stranger stayed leaning against his truck and said, “See, that’s where you are wrong. Both the US Constitution and Montana statute one dash five point two state that I do not. Not unless you got probable cause.”

  Hogan said nothing.

  Qatal said, “Or a warrant. You got either of those?”

  Hogan looked with contempt at the stranger. He thought about the statute and the Constitution. Truth was he didn’t know all the State of Montana’s statutes. Who did?

  But he did know the Bill of Rights. He was familiar with the third and fourth amendments to the Constitution. Both protected citizens from officers of the state. Technically, the stranger was right on that front. He’d just never heard anyone cite that before.