by Hawk, Nate
Then Stan Lubensky spoke up.
“I’ve noticed something over here. The wood is worn right here in the wardrobe. Right here,” he showed the others. “Anyone have any idea how to open this compartment here?” the man asked, tapping on the hollow area and looking intensely through his glasses.
“I’ll get it,” Stan offered. “My grandmother had one of those wardrobes. She was always ranting about the bandits in Mexico. She died; all her stuff was squirreled away inside of heavy furniture.”
Stan laughed out loud as he eyed Angelo. He knew Angelo was more than capable of keeping the laughter going once he got in his groove.
“Yeah,” he continued. “Right now, my inheritance is probably sitting in a wardrobe somewhere, unbeknownst to me or its new owner!”
Angelo’s comments attracted more laughter.
Owen spoke up, “I’m going to check out the books over here.”
The next five or ten minutes went like that. Laura kept chasing secret keys around, generally feeling as if she was treading water. Which she was. Stan and Angelo were trying to disassemble an area in the wardrobe and Owen was busy looking for clues on the bookshelves. He made a mental note of all the books that he saw. Every single one was classic literature. Well, every single book with one exception.
He saw works from Charles Dickens, Shakespeare, J.D. Salinger and Mark Twain. On and on it went. He’d read most of them over the years but he found that he preferred a good thriller to a classic. Lately though, it had seemed like he had not had any time to get his reading fix. Still, there was one book that just didn’t fit. Streets and Sewers of Dallas. What the hell is that book doing in here? Owen wondered. He removed it from the shelf and began to flip through it. He half expected it to be one of those books that someone hollowed out and hid something in. It wasn’t. Maybe it was a hint though. Maybe it wasn’t. Owen began looking through the book more carefully.
Laura had put the key search on the back burner and was looking through the codebook. It seemed to be a reference book for choosing and applying the proper cypher. Surely, there wouldn’t be any significance to such an obvious object. Yet no one had eliminated that book from the search either, so she continued on.
Stan and Angelo were having more luck. They eventually found a knob that when twisted the proper way came right off into Angelo’s hand. Not so much in a spinning fashion like most knobs, this one just needed a slight twist to release it. On the backside of it there was what seemed to be a key. Hidden behind the hanging coats was, what looked like at first glance, a recessed nail hole. Upon further inspection, Angelo noticed there was a mini lock that had the same shape as the back of the knob. He put the keyed side in and twisted in a counterclockwise rotation, enabling a latch to release inside the wardrobe. As if on cue, the panel they had been working with came loose to reveal a deep but narrow void. Inside was a roll of semi-transparent white papers with blue images covering them. Angelo pulled them out and began analyzing them.
“Down to a half hour,” Laura noted. “Let’s pull it together.”
“I’ve got a misplaced book, Streets and Sewers of Dallas.
“No shit! I just found blueprints of the city streets of Dallas.”
“Someone put it together,” Laura said. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Owen thought about it, his mind working only slightly quicker than his mouth. “Wasn’t there some speculation that the real assassin was shooting from a sniper’s nest inside a storm drain near Dealey Plaza? Flip through those blueprints and see if there is a page for Dealey Plaza.”
Stan quickly located it.
“Yes, right here.”
Is there a number on that page, Owen didn’t ask out loud. He wanted to take this one himself. Owen walked over and eyed the papers. At the top right there was a four-digit number: 1295. Owen leaned over to the box that they had seen earlier. He rolled the wheels and put in the corresponding numbers. 1295.
It opened and inside was a piece of paper with an additional four-digit code. Owen was sure that the code would open the exit door, where the business owner awaited. It had been interesting to take part in a real-life, room-escape, role-playing game. Owen had never even heard of such a place. He wondered if Rick Quinn was crazy like a fox or just plain crazy, since Quinn was presumably the one who had envisioned this corny situation. It was like one of those video games where you have to search for clues to get to the next level. The big difference that day was that it was done as a team in the real world. It had taken them about thirty-five minutes to complete the challenge. The point obviously being that if they could get the storm-drain Intel out into the field in time, Kennedy may have been saved. All the people in the room figured there were other clues that would have shown them the whole picture. Did it matter how they had figured it out? They did have the code, after all. Before they opened up the door, Owen Tucker had a few things to say. Go big or go home, right?
“Good job, folks. Clearly I am looking at my new PAG team here. Kinda corny to set up the meet-and-greet this way but the nostalgic value is priceless.”
The three of them looked serious and offered no indication that they understood. Laura Banks produced a mystified look. She pretended as if she had no idea what this man was talking about and she did it well with an unrevealing manner.
“I’m just here for the intellectual challenge,” she insisted. “I had a friend recommend this place to me.”
Owen knew better. He was good at analyzing data and he was sure he was right.
“Whose your friend, Rick? I know the three of you know each other. It seems you work well together. I would have pegged you as a group of analysts though, before guessing that you’re PAG assets.”
“Say we know what you’re referring to,” Angelo said. “How did you figure it out?”
“I knew immediately. You didn’t really introduce yourselves to each other. You don’t seem shy so I gathered that you’ve met. Every time Stan leans over, his pistol grip prints against his clothes. Laura, you’re too unreadable to be just a bookworm. I’m guessing you’re the brains behind the operation,” he paused, chuckling. “Angelo, your handshake gave you away. I’ve got you pegged as an ex-Marine. Maybe a communications guy.”
“Damn, not bad,” Angelo said. “You’re wrong though,” he said.
Owen looked at him as he thought about the group. It was a rag-tag crew with an unassuming look. Wrong? Owen wondered as he gave Angelo a corresponding look.
“Yeah. There’s no such thing as an ex-Marine!”
Both men chuckled.
“Semper Fi,” Owen said as he punched in the code for the door. “I was Delta Force in the Army.”
The man behind the counter was wearing spy regalia that included a well-aged mustache and a grey fedora. Owen thought surely the man should have done something different with his life. Different strokes for different folks, he contemplated to himself.
“Record time, thirty-seven minutes,” he boasted for them. “Wow! Remind me to take your picture before you leave. What did you think about the game?”
Stan spoke up, “It was a real good time. It’s like the four of us have known each other for ages.”
He laughed at his own joke.
They talked for a while about the Kennedy assassination. Of course, like everyone really interested in the topic, the German had his own theories about the murder. As the five of them chatted, some exaggerated. Others outright lied. When it was time to go, nobody reminded the man to take a picture of the four newly acquainted record holders. Owen could almost hear Rick Quinn laughing at his own ironic brilliance. Spies playing a spy game.
***
Chapter 29
Since the attack, Kelly had been a patient at Beth Israel Deaconess for nearly a month. His progress had been consistent throughout his stay and he’d begun finding his personality again. He had a good laugh with the medical staff when he asked if he would still be there come census time. He was beginning to wonder if the doctors
had forgotten to discharge him. He knew it wasn’t likely though as they did visit his room regularly to perform evaluations and to mark up his chart.
The staff was taking great care of him and Kelly admitted that it was probably still a little too soon for him to be pursuing Niko. Nurse Megan hadn’t forgotten him. She was there most days through the week and occasionally she’d work on the weekends for extra hours. As Kelly continued healing, she realized that she was seeing something familiar in her patient. He never complained about what had happened. She knew it was part of patient psychology to feel like a victim but Kelly refused to feel that way. He just went on doing everything he could to ensure a full rehabilitation. It was as if he was determined to complete some unfinished business. Which both of them knew he was.
Kelly reminded her a lot of her husband before he had been killed. She had learned to accept his death but she had never understood it. With Kelly, she noticed something else, too. She wasn’t trying to relive her marriage through him. That wasn’t it at all. This “something else” that she had noticed was a Platonic quality. It was simple. Kelly had an unbreakable spirit. He was the type to go into danger with a smile on his face, even knowing he may not come away from the danger alive. It was like all that mattered to him was his conscience. If he was doing the right things then he could deal with any undesirable effects that came his way. Plus, he was determined to do it with a positive attitude. It was that same stubborn pride and inclination to fairness that Nurse Megan had commonly seen in southern men throughout her life.
There was one thing that seemed strange to Kelly. He suspected that schedules were very important for the nursing staff but Megan’s was all over the place. There would occasionally be a stretch of a few days where she would not be seen at the hospital. It wasn’t just weekends or anything like that. She would be there and then suddenly she wouldn’t be. He’d have a different nurse for a few days while she was gone and then, eventually, she would come back as if she had been there all along. Kelly couldn’t put his finger on it but it was as if something with a higher priority would come up at the last minute, keeping her away. As he became more aware of the inner workings of the hospital, it became more obvious to him. Where did she go? Why would she not be seen for several days at a time? Kelly didn’t want to think too much about it knowing everyone takes personal days. Plus, he had too many other, more important things on his mind. He knew it wasn’t any of his business but the situation still caught his interest. Maybe he would eventually figure it out.
Kelly’s head had healed back together as expected and his foot had made significant progress. His Lieutenant, Randy Cross, had been informed that Kelly would soon be discharged. Cross had decided it was time for a celebration so he had stopped by for another visit. In tow was a ten-year-old bottle of bourbon and some high-grade Dominican cigars, as a welcome-back-to-the-world gift. Cross had insisted that Kelly keep it all for himself. After the events of the last month, Kelly understood why Lt. Cross was attracted to heavy drinking. Sometimes the damn job was just too intense. So, although the cigars would have to wait, Kelly had been persuasive enough that the two of them had shared a couple of drinks each, before the Lieutenant had left.
Word was that since Kelly had been in the hospital, he hadn’t missed much on the street. Apparently the FBI had shown up on nearly every run where the Boston Bomb Squad had been called out. Cross had been told it was part of the ongoing federal investigation. Who was Cross to tell the Feds to piss off? He had surely thought about it a time or two, though.
It seemed like every time the Lieutenant turned around he had some FBI guy, going by the name of “Hands” Wheeler, up his ass, suggesting to him how he should run his department. Hands was a good enough guy so he and Cross were apparently developing some kind of a professional toleration of each other. Kelly figured the Lieutenant was downplaying some elements of the conversation for Kelly’s benefit. That is when it occurred to Kelly that he missed working. It was the camaraderie, he thought. It wasn’t quite as good as the camaraderie that he had shared with the 3/5 as a Darkhorse. Working with the BPD was close though and a hell of a lot safer than Fallujah. At least, that is what Kelly would have said before the Boston bombings.
Randy Cross had insisted that Kelly would be back on the force just as soon as he was ready. Kelly indicated that he would be tied up with personal matters for another month after his release. He promised to stay in touch and get back to his detective roll, as soon as he possibly could. Their conversation had ended right along those lines, minutes before, as Cross had to leave in a work-related hurry.
Kelly thought his room was a lot like a network sitcom. As soon as one visitor left there was somebody else coming in to chat him up. On top of that, he felt like a doped up Mr. Rogers. If anything, he thought he was looking forward to the hospital discharge just to have some personal space. On the other hand he knew life could be a lot worse than a busy visitor schedule. At least he didn’t need a nurse to empty his bedpan anymore. Or to do the long list of other humiliating things that his nurses once did for him out of necessity. On cue, just like television, Nurse Megan knocked on the door and entered his room.
“Kelly, it looks like we’ve finally run out of reasons to keep you here,” Megan said.
Kelly closed a manila envelope that was full of Intel. Then he placed the paperwork that he had been studying on the table next to him.
He replied, “That’s too bad. I’ll have to get back to doing my own cooking and laundry.”
He added a smile so she wouldn’t misinterpret his sarcasm.
“It won’t be the same without you, Kelly. Watching you get your strength back has been a highlight of my work for the last month.”
Megan said this sincerely with some disappointment in her voice, realizing how much she would miss Kelly’s spirit and humor.
“You are very good at what you do. Thanks for taking a special interest in me.”
“This is where I usually say that’s just my job,” Megan said, smiling.
“Maybe,” Kelly admitted. “But we both know how good you have been to me. You kept me going when, perhaps, nothing else would have. Especially that first week.”
“I won’t take credit for that. You kept yourself going. My husband had the same type of drive and determination that you have. If I did push you harder, maybe it made me feel like I was helping him. He was so helpless when he died and there was nothing I could do to change that. My work has become my passion since his accident.”
“It sounds like maybe you have an inner drive to balance the universe, too. Doing what I have to do next is the only way that I see to fix what happened.”
Megan understood much more than she had let on to Kelly. There were things that he had no idea about. At the time, he thought she was simply a nurse. He didn’t know how much more to her there actually was. She suspected that he was perceptive enough to figure it out though. Time would tell.
“I’m worried about you, Kelly. When I first saw you, you were in pieces. You’ve come so far and I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
“It’s not going to happen twice,” Kelly promised. “I was blindsided the first time.”
“C’mon, Kelly. We both know how you will settle this. I heard enough of that conversation with your FBI friend. I would hate to see you come this far back from death just to crash and burn. I’m not going to be out there to put you back together.”
“You know I can’t let this group get away with killing more people.”
It was clear that she wouldn’t be able to talk Kelly out of what he had set his mind to do. In many ways, guys like him were always the same and she was certainly qualified to make that assessment. She didn’t blame him for feeling that way though. In fact, she had admired that type of perspective once and it had gotten people killed. She hadn’t been completely forthright with Kelly when she had mentioned her husband. It was more than just a car wreck that had taken his life. It was that same type of mentality t
hat had been responsible for his death.
“What if you get killed? Then it’s all for nothing.”
“I don’t live like that, Megan. If I get killed, then I know I was doing the right thing. Sometimes we’re handed dirty work. Avoiding it doesn’t lead anywhere and besides, I’ve gotten real good at cleaning up messes. If I don’t rid the earth of these guys then next time it will be somebody else’s family. Don’t worry about me. This group won’t be the first that I’ve pursued. I spent years chasing guys like this around the sandbox when I was deployed. Now, it’s come time for the next round.”
Kelly rubbed his open palm over the stubble on his face, happy to feel it growing back.
“I understand duty but I think you have clearly already done yours.”
She paused as she thought about how best to continue. She didn’t want to push him away completely, so she came back his way, a little.
“I can see that you’ve got your mind made up. I realize that you won’t be persuaded.”
The both paused to study each other. The topic and dialogue between them seemed as if it was between two friends that had known each other for years. On the contrary, the familiarity came from a worldly perspective they both shared that had allowed them to communicate somewhere within the overlap of knowledge that they had procured along the way. It added a deeper tone to their conversation that would not have been present if their individual experiences had not.
Kelly’s feelings towards Megan were those of a friend. She was cute, sure, but he was too torn to seek the value of her beauty. He found great appreciation for the friendship, and the trust, that had developed between them.
“Don’t think too much about me. Everyone who has ever gotten close to me in the past has died. Sometimes, I think it is just my destiny to move through the time that I have here, alone. Perhaps dying young is in the cards, too. Either way, I’m still going after this terror group.”
“Well, don’t forget about us back here that care about you,” she said. “Here is my number.”
