by L. C. Shaw
“What are you looking at, weirdo?”
A lady came over and whispered something to her. The stupid girl got up and followed her. Good. Now he could sit.
The lady turned back around. “May I help you, sir?”
He spat out the line he had rehearsed. “I’m waiting for my girlfriend.”
She smiled and turned back around again.
He checked his watch: 10:24. Time to get up! He walked over to the bathroom door and stood, watch in hand, and waited. When the numbers changed again, he pushed the door open and walked in. Unzipping the briefcase, he pulled out the heavy box and pushed it in the trash can. It didn’t go in all the way. There was too much paper in there. He shoved with all his might. The top closed. Good. He picked up the briefcase and went outside to wait.
He didn’t see a policeman. He hoped they would come soon. He wanted Dakota to pick him up. After a while, he looked at his watch again: 10:31. He was trying to decide whether to walk down the street and look for her when he heard a loud boom. He crouched down and covered his ears. Why were all these people screaming? And the building was on fire. It was so loud. Smoke. Smoke. Evoke. Provoke. All he had done was put a package down. Why was everything on fire?
Nathan was scared. Where was she? When was he going to get to go home? People were running past him, and he looked for the policeman. Where was the policeman? Now there were lots of them, running up the steps.
“Stop!” He jumped in front of one of the policemen. “Take this.” He shoved the envelope at him and the policeman grabbed it and gave him a funny look. He opened it and read it. Then he put a silver bracelet on Nathan. “Where are you taking me?” he wailed.
The policeman pushed him hard toward the car. He put his hand on Nathan’s head and pushed him hard again. Nathan landed with a thump on the seat. The policeman stuck his head in the car and gave Nathan an angry look.
“To jail, where I hope you rot forever,” he said.
Nathan looked at him bewildered. “No! I have to leave. Cleave. Retrieve. Where is she? She said I was helping babies.” His voice rose with each syllable until he was bellowing like an injured animal.
“Shut up!” a second policeman yelled.
Nathan started to cry. He looked out the window as the car pulled away. He didn’t want to go back to the hospital, especially now that she wasn’t there. She would come for him. She had promised.
Chapter Fifty-Four
THE DOCTOR HAD CLEARED TAYLOR, TELLING HER ALL HER bloodwork looked good. She was relieved and almost able to believe that this pregnancy might turn out differently than the others. They had all just finished breakfast and had turned on the news while they waited for the DNA results. Taylor looked up when she saw the commotion being covered.
“Can you turn that up?” She pointed to the remote next to Jack.
“This is Sally Mason reporting for Newsline. Late this afternoon, a family clinic in Kingston, New York, was bombed,” the anchorwoman said. “So far, there are nine confirmed deaths and numerous injuries. The alleged bomber has been arrested but not yet identified. All police are able to tell us is that he handed them a note from the group claiming responsibility for the bombing. They are called the Voice of the Victims and claim to be Christians bringing God’s wrath down on those who, and I quote, ‘are responsible for the massacre of God’s children.’”
Smoke and screams filled the screen as cameras captured the horror of the attack. First responders were shown coming out of the ruins carrying stretchers. There was a close-up of a stretcher carrying a body covered by a white sheet. A woman with blood running down her face stumbled from the front door and fell into the street. A crowd had gathered outside the clinic, and the horrified onlookers watched as more victims were brought outside.
The male anchor shook his head. “I’ll never understand what would drive anyone to do something like this.”
Sally Mason cast a steely look at the camera. “We’ll bring you more news as soon as we have it.”
“What the . . . how do these people expect their cause to be taken seriously when they do horrible things like this?” Jack felt the fury fill him. “It’s disgusting.”
“It may not be what you think,” Jeremy said.
Jack jumped up from his chair, his face red. “What are you talking about? Please don’t tell me you’ve turned into some religious nut who thinks these kinds of tactics are acceptable.” He’d met enough of those freaks to last a lifetime.
Jeremy didn’t appear rattled. Without raising his voice, he said, “Of course not. What I’m saying is that the perpetrators might not be who you think they are. My father hires people to commit atrocities and then blames them on groups whose reputations he wants to damage.”
“What?” both he and Taylor said at the same time.
Jack was aghast. “Please explain. Because I know for sure that there have been plenty of occasions when these insane groups have done things like this. I’ve done stories on them.”
Jeremy nodded. “Yes, that’s true. I’m not saying they’re all fakes. I’m just telling you that I’ve seen him frame groups for things they haven’t done. Anything he can do to give Christians a bad name, he does. Do you remember the story a few years back about the prostitution ring being run out of a local church?”
“Of course,” Taylor said. “It made national news.”
“That was Crosse’s doing.”
Jack was skeptical. “Come on, Jeremy. There were lots of girls involved. Are you telling me they all lied? You can’t do something like that without someone leaking it.”
“There was no way for that pastor to prove he hadn’t done something, because they were using the facility, but he didn’t know anything about it. People are falsely accused every day,” Jeremy said.
“And,” Taylor said, “once the story’s out, if someone comes back later and recants, no one really notices.”
“We need to see what’s in that file,” Jack answered.
* * *
Jeremy walked in with a printout of their DNA results. Now they had to try to break the code in order to open the file.
Jack was hunched over, staring at the computer screen. Taylor’s hand shook as she held the paper with their DNA fingerprints. Now they just had to figure out in what order to input everything to open the file.
“Ready?”
“Go.”
“Should I read yours or mine first?” Taylor asked Jeremy.
“Mine. I’m older. He’s a stickler for order.”
She read the letters aloud as Jack typed.
“Didn’t work. Maybe he only used a part of it.”
“The strand is cut into four pieces. The possibilities are endless,” Taylor commented.
They tried combination after combination for the next three hours with no break.
Jeremy rubbed his eyes. “He would have chosen something meaningful to him, something ironic. Let me think. Try every sixth letter in each one.”
“Still nothing,” Jack said.
“Try only three for each—from the first eighteen letters, and pick the sixth, twelfth, and eighteenth letter. It would represent 666 to him.”
Password successful: Do you wish to proceed?
“Bingo,” Jack said.
Jeremy leaned back in the chair, looked up, and gave Taylor a wide smile. “We did it.”
“Well, let’s see it,” Jack said.
Jeremy shook his head and typed Later. “Let’s not run the clock out. We have to let Taylor’s father open it. It can’t be printed. All Damon’s files have an automatic self-destruct function if they’re printed anywhere but the main computer. Warwick will have to take screenshots with his phone.”
“Can’t we do that?” Taylor asked.
“Sure, but do you really think your father’s going to go to print on a story based on some fuzzy screenshots? Better for him to see for himself.”
“What if there’s nothing on it?” Jack asked.
“There will be. I
t’s the right file. You just have to trust me. There’ll be names and dates, and I’m sure those dates will correspond with bank deposits. When it goes public, the FBI can investigate. But it’s more important now that your father has a chance to look at it so he’ll believe it. Better close it now.”
Taylor shook her head. “I hope there’s enough information for my father to authenticate it.”
Jeremy sighed. “They’ll be enough information to convince him. He’s kept records on Senate votes, inside information he couldn’t make up. We also have the tape he kept of my mother; it could be enough to get a warrant to search the Institute. Just need the papers to make enough stink so whoever he does have in law enforcement can’t cover it up.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “We really need to get into that institute and get our hands on his real files. Do you think he has printouts anywhere?”
Jeremy nodded. “I’m sure he does. He always has a backup. But this is what we have to work with for now.”
“I still think I should go with you,” Taylor said to Jack. She couldn’t stand waiting around like a damsel in distress.
“Once Jack has delivered the file and it goes public, we can leave, but we can’t risk Crosse finding you. It’s better for you to stay here for now.”
Jack exhaled. “I’ll make your father believe me.” He looked at Jeremy. “You take care of your sister until we’re together again.”
Taylor saw a wistfulness come into Jeremy’s eyes, and the full realization of his emotionally barren life broke her heart. Here was this lovely man who had suffered such atrocities, yet he hadn’t allowed them to destroy him. He had found a way to salvage his humanity.
She took his hand in her own. “You are my family, Jeremy. Nothing is ever going to keep us apart ever again. I promise.”
He looked back at her with a solemn expression. “And I will never let anything hurt you or your baby.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
JACK ENJOYED THE HOT WATER BEATING ON HIS BACK while he soaped his body. He scrubbed hard, imagining that he was washing away all the mistakes he had made. He would leave and meet Taylor’s father, and soon everything would be brought into the open. This was the story of a lifetime—but he couldn’t care less about that. All that mattered was that he was going to bring down Crosse, the man who had manipulated all their lives. He got out of the shower and quickly dressed. If he drove straight through the night, he would be in DC by morning.
He wanted to say good-bye to Taylor before taking off. He knocked on her door.
She opened it and smiled at him.
“Well, this is it. I’m heading out.”
Their eyes met.
“Jack, I never thanked you for dropping everything to help me.”
He shrugged. “You don’t owe me any thanks, T. I should’ve been there all along.”
She placed a hand on his cheek. “Oh, Jack.” Her voice broke. “It’s not fair. Both of us, manipulated like puppets. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
He took her hand in his. “Our lives aren’t over. We’ve got a chance to set things right.” They moved closer toward each other at the same time and their lips met. Jack’s insides melted. He wanted to stand there forever and keep kissing her. He tore himself away and took her face in his hands.
“I’ll fix it, Taylor. I promise. This isn’t the end.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek and squared her shoulders.
“I can,” she said.
“Can what?”
“Forgive you. I can forgive you.”
Those were the words he’d been waiting to hear for years now. “Thank you,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. He pulled her to him for another embrace and kissed her again. “See you soon.” He winked and left.
Jeremy was waiting for him in the downstairs hallway.
“Ready?” Jeremy asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Jack said. He tapped the pocket of his jeans where he’d put the flash drive.
Jeremy put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Remember, that file is all we’ve got. Tell him to guard it with everything he’s got. Remind him that none of it can be copied or printed out. Once he’s run the story, he can take the file to the FBI and their people can figure out how to secure it.”
“Who would’ve thought a little flash drive could bring down an entire empire?” He grinned at Jeremy, then grew serious. “You’ll take good care of her?”
Jeremy nodded. “Of course.” His eyes met Jack’s. “I love her, too, you know.”
* * *
Jack borrowed a late ’90s Ford Escort from Jeremy, and a few hours into his drive, he saw a convenience store and pulled in at the last second. Walking to the counter, he nodded to the cashier.
“Pack of Lucky Strikes,” he was surprised to hear himself blurt out. What the hell, he thought. If being hunted by killers wasn’t reason enough to fall off the wagon, he didn’t know what was. He took the cigarettes, got back behind the wheel, and lit one up. He took a drag and inhaled deeply. Man. It still felt good. He smoked it fast and leaned his head back to steady the dizziness that washed over him. He crushed the pack in his hand and threw it on the seat next to him. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea after all.
He got back on the highway, thoughts racing as fast as the car, and planned his next move. He’d been given an untraceable smartphone. He would text Taylor’s father when he got into town—no sooner, in case his phones had been tapped—and ask him to meet him at East Potomac Park, a special place for Taylor and her father when she was growing up. Taylor had come up with the message.
“Text—Taylor enai endaxi. Then m’les tipota. Ellas sto topo pou pigainame ta apogévmata tou Sawátou.” Which meant “Taylor is fine. Don’t say anything. Come to the place we used to go on Saturday afternoons.”
Jack had looked at her with confusion. “He knows how to read Greek?”
Taylor nodded. “When he and my mother were first married, they lived in Athens. He was a foreign correspondent. He became fluent, and since my mother had learned Greek as a child, they continued to speak it to keep it alive. They would talk in Greek when they were out to dinner and didn’t want anyone around them to know what they were saying.”
A siren wailed behind him.
He looked into the rearview mirror, then glanced at his speedometer.
“Crap!” He was going almost seventy-five.
The flashing lights got closer.
Chapter Fifty-Six
THE MAN STOOD IN FRONT OF DAMON CROSSE’S DESK, looking pleased with himself.
“We found his hideout.”
Damon flashed a rare smile. “Where is it?”
“Vermont. A camouflaged facility in the Green Mountains.”
“How long ago did you discover it?” Damon asked.
“Our aerial surveillance spotted it just now. I’ve dispatched a team. They’ll arrive within the hour.”
“Remember: treat her with kid gloves. I don’t want one hair on her head harmed. And keep Jeremy alive. I want to talk to him.”
“Yes, sir.”
When the man left, Damon looked at Dakota. “You need to be gone when they bring Taylor here.” She’d done well orchestrating the clinic bombing, but Dakota’s usefulness was beginning to pale in comparison to her elevated opinion of her importance. In fact, he was quite displeased with her attitude of late. She had demanded to be kept apprised of the situation with Jack and Taylor. He had gone along, not wanting to disrupt the clinic plan by upsetting her—it had been in motion for too long, and she was the only one Nathan trusted. Dakota had always been a volatile asset.
She made a face. “As you wish. Imagine, Jack going back to her after he’d had me. I suppose his tastes really are as banal as I thought.”
Damon had no interest in discussing her sex life. She was a loose cannon that needed to be capped. That was the problem with sociopaths—they were incapable of true loyalty and one never knew what they had hidden up their sleeves. It wa
s a pity, really. She was interesting and held a certain fascination for him. But it was time to say good-bye.
He depressed the red button and his men appeared. “Please come collect Ms. Drake.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she gripped the sides of her chair. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Saying adieu.”
He nodded at his men, and they grabbed her and carried her, struggling and screaming, from the office.
He smiled. How he did enjoy tying up loose ends.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
JACK PUT DOWN THE WINDOW AND LOOKED UP AT THE police officer looming above him.
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No, Officer. I’m sorry. I was lost and looking at my GPS instead of paying attention to the speedometer.”
“Then you should have pulled over. It’s dangerous to be distracted while you drive. You were going seventy-two. The speed limit is sixty. License and registration.”
Jack leaned over and pulled the registration from the glove compartment. He fished in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out his license.
“Here you go.”
He took them from Jack and returned to the police car to run them. Jack tapped the steering wheel and watched him in the rearview mirror.
He returned ten minutes later with his ticket pad in hand. He handed Jack a slip of paper.
“I’m only giving you a warning since you have a clean record but make sure you’re more careful in the future, Mr. Morris.”
Jack nodded. “Thank you so much. I certainly will be.”
He waited until the cop had driven away before starting up the car again. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and took a long swallow from the can of Coke next to him. Boy, was he grateful for Jeremy’s foresight. He had been surprised when he was presented with a new name for the trip and the credentials to go along with it. Still, he’d better observe the speed limit the rest of the way.
