Malachi, Ruse Master

by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You’ll have to go to the house next door and check up on the wife. I can’t go in there. Her husband will think I’m having an affair with her. I already went in there once. She chased me off. Luckily, I got another neighbor to take her in to an ER and get stitches.”

  Macie’s eyes got wide. “Stitches?”

  “Yes, broken glass scattered across the kitchen, and a bad gash in her leg. I think he threw it at her.”

  “But what if he’s there?”

  “I have a plan for that, too. I just hope it happens when Henry’s not there. He’ll be there tomorrow, though. Can you come over when you get off work? Just stop by, tell me we were supposed to have dinner. I’ll make a lame excuse about not having a paycheck yet.” I truly hoped this wouldn’t interfere with my upcoming job.

  This plan would have to be a solution. It could get me in steep trouble with Henry, but considering he didn’t even know my new identity, I’d have to be moving out soon.

  “One more thing, Macie. You can’t say my name in front of Henry.”

  “You mean NAMES?” She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

  Chapter 10

  The Suspicious Scientist

  Of all the jobs I worked for Jack, the most interesting and suspicious was the one involving a scientist. No one ever told me that’s what he was, but I figured it out.

  I’m pretty sure his goal was to scope out his competition, and that came down to one man in particular who worked at MIT. I was tasked with pretending to be scientist Milt Braddock’s nephew and taking a visit to MIT as a prospective student. It was all believable, I was the right age and knew some college lingo. In other words, I would know the right questions to ask on a prospective college tour. It turned out we could explore the campus on our own anyway, as there were no official guided tours being led during this holiday break.

  Things became more obvious when most of our touring and visitor activities became centered around the Science Buildings. Poor guy, he had no game. He kept asking me questions about myself, and I wasn’t prepared for that, though I decided it would make us look much more natural to any onlookers.

  At one point, I grew a little testy. “Look, Doc, I didn’t ask you a thing about yourself, why you’re here, or what you’re doing in these handpicked areas of campus.”

  Milt looked taken aback. He evidently had not done anything like this before. He replied, “I’m just here because my nephew can’t decide between Chemistry and Health Sciences.” He winked at me. “Call me Uncle Milt,” he whispered. Score one for Milt. He was learning.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I’ll have to make an appointment with a counselor as soon as I can in January.”

  “Well, if you ask me,” he went on, “there’s more money to be made in the Health Sciences. Even if you decide to be a nurse. You’ll always be employed, always in demand.”

  “Yeah, I guess you wish you’d gone that way, huh?”

  For once, he regarded me with mistrust. “How do you know I didn’t?” he asked.

  I shrugged. It couldn’t hurt anything for him to know I was onto him. I figured it would teach him to be a little more careful next time he wanted to hinder his competition. All in all, he was a nice guy, and the visit to the MIT campus was nothing more than checking out the territory of his main competition. Milt didn’t seem like he was into any hardcore espionage.

  Boy, was I in for a shock. Several months later, we had our next meeting at the airport, as we were about to leave for a flight to Chicago Illinios. Jack had filled me in on the plan. He wasn’t going to be there; it was only me and this Milt guy. Funny thing is, when I saw Milt at the airport, the plan had changed. This dude had some real cajones after all. I knew I had to step up my game as well. I was made for this.

  Milt had given me the description of the man I would be sure we stopped; Milt would be the one to stumble and trip the man. We had to delay him from getting to his destination today. The catch: Milt would be giving himself heart trouble in order to get the man’s attention and explain why we had to stop him. After Milt stumbled, he gave himself a shot, right in front of the man in the plaid blazer; it was Percival Stein; I could tell from the photo Jack had shown me beforehand.

  “Can I be of some help?” the man asked.

  “Please. I didn’t think this would happen. He was doing fine,” I answered. Surreptitiously, I eyed the man’s briefcase. “Hang on, his medicine is in his jacket,” I said, reaching in to the pocket. “This is my Uncle Mack; he has trouble with his heart. He just needs this little shot here.” Finding the syringe, I asked the man, “Can you get him some water?”

  The man agreed and left to get some water, gripping his briefcase the whole way. I wondered if there was anything important in that briefcase. “You okay, Milt? By the way, the man thinks my name is Brent.”

  Percival walked back, and Milt looked at him with recognition in his eyes. Please, don’t give that away, Milt, I thought. After introducing himself as Dr. Percival Stein and inquiring about Milt’s medicine, Percival asked Milt’s name.

  “Joseph McDonald, but call me Mack,” he answered.

  I let out a sigh of relief. At least his mind and his memory were intact. Suddenly, I had an idea. “Do you mind sitting with him while I go and make a call?”

  “Yes, I think I have time. No problem.” Dr. Stein sat down next to Milt, making small talk about visiting family here in Chicago. Evidently, I wasn’t the only one good at white lies.

  Since Stein hadn’t tripped and fallen as planned, I had to find another way to seriously delay him. I went to the luggage carousel for Dr. Stein’s flight, Number 57. I stood at the starting end to see each piece of luggage as it came out, checking the name tags.

  Finally, an expensive piece of Samsonite luggage came out bearing Stein’s name. I grabbed it quickly and took off the tag, walking toward the nearest restroom.

  I stood before the mirror pretending to take an eyelash out of my eye, until the other two people cleared out. The lock was easy to break using my innate skills, so I threw it in the trash, then took the suitcase into a stall with me. I piled the clothes up on the back of the toilet, opened up a medicine bottle and emptied its contents into the toilet without thinking. Of course, he could get replacements; it just might delay him getting to his meeting. That was the point, right? I flushed the toilet, placing the suitcase on the top of the commode and the stack of shirts and slacks. It felt strange. Sure enough, there was a hidden compartment. I opened it up and saw files full of paper. One by one, I tore them in half. One of them had an interesting contraption on it, with words like “temporal threshold” and “quantum passage” on it. I was mesmerized. It was just one sheet of paper. I knew Milt would be proud of me for destroying the suitcase contents, but I folded this particular piece of paper and put it in my back pocket. Looking back, I know it was wrong, but I was too curious. I figured I’d save it until a later day when I could feel more knowledgeable about what we were dealing with. Could it one day be worth some money? That was possible, too. I didn’t even know what my motives were. I placed the majority of the torn-up papers and in the trash can outside the stall, wetting and wadding up several paper towels and covering them. They wouldn’t be easily found. I closed and carried the suitcase with me, walking toward an airport gift shop. I tried to act as if it were heavy, picking out a rugged backpack and going to the counter to purchase it. “I’ve gotta balance out the load,” I said to the cashier, gingerly setting the Samsonite suitcase down.

  “Smart fellow. You wouldn’t believe the damage a heavy suitcase could do to your back.” She knowingly nodded her head.

  “Thanks. Now, I’m gonna find the next sandwich shop and move this stuff around while I wait to grab a bite.”

  “Okay, sweetie. Take care.” She snapped her gum and went back to arranging the mints on top of the counter.

  I stopped at the next gift shop I saw, where a young lady stood talking to another at the counter.
I stealthily placed the Samsonite behind a rack of neck pillows. They still didn’t notice me. I went on about my business.

  When I got back, both men were talking and everything appeared normal. I handed another water to Mack.

  “Sorry, guys. I hope I didn’t take too long, sir, Dr. Stein, I mean. This backpack was on sale.”

  Dr. Stein was looking at his watch. “No worries. The luggage is probably out by now, but I better not dally anymore. But Mack, you really should not be driving when your nephew flies out.” Stein stood up.

  “Oh, I’m postponing my flight,” I replied, right off the cuff.

  “Well, it’s been nice meeting you both, despite the circumstances. Please do call your doctor as soon as possible,” Stein said to Milt.

  Milt just nodded.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t let him drive,” I said, as if on cue.

  Dr. Stein nodded his head and was gone.

  “You sure you’re alright?” I asked Milt.

  “Yes, I’ll be okay. But you can do the driving. I’m tired.”

  I moved closer and whispered, “I made his suitcase disappear. He’s sure to be delayed now!”

  “That’s my boy!” Milt patted me on the back as if he was a father made proud. It did feel good. I helped him drag himself back out to the car as we tried to avoid being recognized for the health incident he had just encountered.

  We got back to town and went our separate ways. I forgot about the paper with the labeled drawing until I got ready for bed that night. I unfolded it and studied it, laughing. This is the stuff science fiction is made of. I put it in my top dresser drawer underneath the socks for safe-keeping. I had no idea what I was looking at. I never thought to look at it again for a long time. Months passed, jobs were given me, money came into and flew out of my hands, and I still hadn’t pulled it out to look at it. I was a little afraid to touch it.

  This was also one of the most rewarding jobs I had ever received for Jack. When it was over, he tried assigning me to escort a young woman who had just had a bad breakup and was being harassed by the guy. Her mom was either convinced the harassment would stop when she had a new boyfriend, the part of which I was supposed to play, or that I’d be able to protect the young lady from her harasser. It just didn’t sit well with me, like a bad stew that should have been thrown out two days before.

  “I’m not sure it’s something I should do. I mean, I am allowed to turn down a job if I don’t feel I can do it right?”

  Jack sighed. “Yes, but—”

  “I mean, I still want this job, but what you’re describing sounds like I’d be a male escort. And if the harasser wants to come after me, well, I think I need that handgun training. If I take the job.”

  “It pays quite well.”

  I twiddled my thumbs and leaned forward. “Which makes me feel more like a male prostitute.”

  Jack threw up his hands. “Okay. Yes, you are allowed to have boundaries. You don’t have to take this particular assignment. I know you just got a big payday from one successful job, but it could be months before you get another great gig like this. I can hire on one more person as a temporary or an on-call for the agency. And I’ve always got Marvin.”

  Temporary? Wasn’t that kind of what I was? I weighed my options. Marvin, a six-foot tall, muscular African-American who had formally served in the Army, was certainly a heavy-hitter and did most of his jobs better than I could, so I doubted he wanted any piddly jobs like this. I just wasn’t hungry enough at the moment. “I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t do this one.”

  “Okay.” Jack thumbed through his Roledex. “Then we’re done here for now. You’ll hear from me in a few weeks to a month. If you don’t, look for other work.”

  “I’m not done with this job, honest. Let me get myself psyched up. If another assignment like this comes up again, I’ll be ready for it next time.”

  Luckily, I heard from him within two weeks about another job serving divorce papers. After the job with Milt the scientist, I thought it would be a pretty quiet year. Boy, was I wrong.

  Chapter 11

  9/11/01

  Things were different that morning. I was walking to my favorite coffee shop, the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and people were gathered around a store that had TVs in the window. I ignored it. Others were staring down at their cell phones, hurrying along. There was a sense of disconnectedness; everyone was quite preoccupied. I heard a woman cry out, “No!” Something was going on, but I didn’t bother myself with it. It could have been a hostage crisis; these have happened before. I had no one who would call me and notify me if the sky was falling; I’d likely just have to observe it for myself, no warning. Obviously, the sky wasn’t falling, so I kept walking. I could catch up with the news later.

  I had been hard at work with Jack for almost two years now. It had its ups and downs, but time was certainly passing quickly, and I even had a working car now. Still, I didn’t mind walking to the coffee shop at all. On opening the door, I saw people clustered around one guy’s cell phone, and the owner had a radio on.

  “Hey there, Shaun. What’s going on?” I asked. I knew some people were news junkies, and I certainly wasn’t. I hated the spectator sport our news was becoming. Never did I need to get word first, because normally it was corrected and changed several times afterward.

  I heard a customer, an older man, say in an awed, horrified voice, “Terrorism.” His pale blue eyes bored into me.

  Shaun’s face was drawn and somber as he answered, “Two planes crashed into the World Trade Center. Now another is headed for the Pentagon. That’s it guys, I’m closin’ down. Go home!”

  The Pentagon? I figured going home was probably a good decision. We were not that far from the Pentagon. We all exited the coffee shop in a flurry. People were scurrying about on the street. Feeling I had no time for the DC Metro, I held out my hand to flag down a cab. It was practically impossible.

  I ran, stopping now and then to wave my arms at a passing cab. Obviously I didn’t look like a person of importance, but they all looked pretty full anyway. Every now and then, a car would stop at a light, and instead of hearing Sugar Ray, Lil’ Bow Wow, or Matchbox Twenty blaring, I heard what sounded like news radio. They seemed to have suspended any regular programming. Several cars just all out ran the red lights in their hurry. I kept right on running. Suddenly, I heard the squeal of brakes. One car had smashed into the rear of another after running a red light. It didn’t stop me from running.

  Radios kept blaring; I couldn’t make out the message, just a word here and there: terrorists, war, deaths, plot, President. A young man in a small Toyota stopped at a red light and looked at me as I stood waiting for a car to turn on the street.

  He reached and rolled down his passenger side window. “Hey,” he called, “Get in. I’ll give you a ride!”

  I slowed, looking him over.

  “Really, come on. Get in! You don’t wanna be out here.” He reached over to open the door.

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks!” I grabbed the door handle and got in, slamming the door. There was no smoke on the streets, but there could be any minute. A plane could miss its target and reach the wrong building. It could burst into flames and land even closer to the streets of D.C. Not that I wanted it to reach the Pentagon, but we all felt like targets.

  “Fasten your seatbelt, I’m going fast.” He accelerated again.

  In his car, the radio was, of course, playing a newscast of the events. “What’s happening?” I asked.

  “Hi, I’m Fred, by the way.” He maneuvered the streets and back roads skillfully. “Where do you need me to drop you off? I just wanna get off these streets, you know.”

  “Thanks, I’m Malachi,” I replied, giving him the address.

  “Well, Malachi, the plane was supposed to be going to California, but it turned, and it’s heading for the Pentagon. The Twin Towers are gone; New York is in shambles. You can’t get through to anyone in New York on the phone lines right now. I feel bad
for anyone who has family there.”

  “Man,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Just turn on the TV as soon as you get home. Trust me, this will start a war.”

  Chills moved down my spine. He was right.

  A cell phone on his dashboard beeped, and he accelerated. “Malachi, I have to let you off here. I’ve gotta get home to my family. The wife’s already worried. Sorry.” He stopped at a stop sign.

  I opened the door and got out. “No problem, thanks. I—”

  He gave an apologetic wave and sped down the street. I couldn’t blame him. Who knew what terror was going through his wife’s mind? Did he have children? Were they, right at that moment, hearing or even watching the newscasts? I ran the rest of the way back to Henry’s house, all the while wondering what the update was, yet glad for a few more moments before I would become embroiled in the situation and entranced by the unbelievable images.

  Henry was out of town, so the house was an unwelcome haven of quiet. Don’s car wasn’t there, not surprising, though. There’d likely be a double shift for him, protecting streets from paranoia and unrest. Hopefully, he’d come home and pass out instead of taking the stress of this day out on Sofia.

  Down in the basement, I sat alone in the dark with the news images imprinting themselves on my mind. The path of Flight 77, smoke from the West wall of the Pentagon, the airplanes flying into the World Trade Center and the collapse of the Twin Towers, panicked faces on the streets. The death toll in New York and at the Pentagon.

  After a couple of hours, I picked up the phone to call Jack and noticed a blinking light on the answering machine. It was Dad.

  “Son, we’re just wondering how you’re doing, you know, with everything going on over on the East Coast today. I’ve been watching the news. We’re thinking about you. Give us a call. Love you.”

  While it was nice to hear from him, I wasn’t in a hurry to return the call. I’d have to lie about school, lie about what I was doing, heck, even my name was a lie in some way. It would feel pretty weird to be called Mike again.