by Alex Ander
Jack picked up the flash drive and examined it.
Adam slid to the end of the seat and stood. He gestured toward the three empty beer bottles on the table. “This is on you.”
Jack nodded, but said nothing. He studied the flash drive. He was dying to know what was on it.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Adam pointed at the flirtatious waitress. “Either I’m going home with her, or she’s coming home with me.”
“I’ve got one last question.” Jack squinted at the man towering above him. “Why me—why give this to me? Why not take it to the police?”
Adam laughed. “You should know the answer to that question better than me. If you want something done in D.C., you don’t go to the police. You go to the press.”
Chapter 3: Flash Drive
9:21 p.m.
Jack Darling sat on the edge of the black faux leather couch in his living room and leaned forward, moving the mouse attached to his laptop computer. His eyes glued to the screen, he could not believe what he was reading. After his meeting with Adam, Jack had gone straight home. He plugged the flash drive into his computer and pored over the information it contained. Halfway through he realized his hopes and dreams of having one last story that would forever immortalize him as one of the best investigative reporters Washington, D.C., maybe even the nation, has ever seen, was about to come true. He was getting ahead of himself. He had to verify the authenticity of the data on the drive.
Without looking away from the screen, he reached for the glass of whisky to his left, brought the glass to his mouth and tipped it all the way back. When none of the liquid touched his lips, his concentration was broken. He lowered the glass and saw it was empty. Setting the glass on the coffee table, he reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels and started to pour himself another glass, but stopped. He needed his mind to be sharp. He had to formulate a plan to get this story to print.
Jack stood, rolled up his sleeves and walked across the living room to a small table cluttered with sheets of paper, a phone book and several pens. He shuffled through the papers. Not finding what he was looking for, he opened the wide drawer beneath the tabletop. Pushing items out of the way, he found the business card of an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation—Special Agent Raychel E. DelaCruz.
Jack had spoken with her a year ago when he was investigating Congresswoman Hayes, caught in a sex scandal involving one of her male staffers. The staffer was providing her with top-secret information in exchange for a future position in her cabinet, if she won her race for United States Senator. Special Agent DelaCruz had been the lead agent on the case, credited for bringing down Congresswoman Hayes. She had only been an agent for a couple of years, but she impressed Jack. He liked her ten seconds into their conversation. She was extremely professional, and he had a sense she was an honest, no-nonsense kind of person. Jack valued integrity and he had a knack for seeing that quality in others.
Flicking the business card between his fingers, he stared at the pile of papers on the table in front of him, not looking at anything in particular. After almost a minute, he reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. After typing in the numbers from the business card, he put the phone to his ear. Several rings later, he heard the agent’s pre-recorded voicemail message.
“Special Agent DelaCruz, this is Jack Darling. I’m a reporter for the Washington Post. We met a year ago when you were leading the investigation into the case against Congresswoman Hayes. Anyway, I have recently come into the possession of some information I think you’ll find interesting. I’d like us to meet…”
Chapter 4: Peanuts
July 1st, 11:57 a.m.
Jack Darling tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth, while he waited for Special Agent DelaCruz to arrive. They had arranged to meet at noon at a restaurant on ‘H’ Street NW. He loved the establishment’s hot dogs with bacon and cheese. Plus, the restaurant provided free peanuts. Jack checked his watch and saw it was a couple minutes until noon. No sooner had he reached for more peanuts than he looked up and saw a woman enter the restaurant. She scanned the patrons, stopping when her eyes settled on him. If this was Special Agent DelaCruz, then she was even more attractive than he remembered. The woman wore a typical outfit for someone in her position, black slacks and a blazer with a white blouse. As she removed her sunglasses and put them in her blazer pocket, Jack recognized her face. The real giveaway, however, was the badge and gun.
“Mister Darling, I presume.”
Jack stood and extended his hand. “Special Agent DelaCruz, I’m glad you were able to meet with me on such short notice. Please, have a seat.” Jack gestured toward the chair on the other side of the table.
“Thank you.” She shook Jack’s hand and sat. “Please, call me Cruz.”
DelaCruz was her full name, but when she joined the Army, her fellow soldiers eventually dropped the Dela part of her name and called her Cruz. They would joke with her and say it was too long and too difficult to pronounce. To this day, her shortened name had stuck with her.
When she was seated, Jack got the attention of the waitress and said to Cruz, “I know you’re busy, so I took the liberty of ordering you a burger and fries. It should be out soon.”
“Thank you.” She took a couple of deep breaths and settled into her chair.
“If you don’t mind me asking, you seem a little winded. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. The office is not far from here, so I decided to powerwalk it and get some exercise.”
The waitress set two plates of food on the table. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Cruz smiled. “I’ll just have water, please.”
When the woman left, Cruz ate a couple fries. Fast food was not her favorite; however, not wanting to be rude, she felt obligated to eat some of the meal. “I don’t mean to rush you, but I have a long day ahead of me. So, if we could get down to business, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Of course. I understand.” With one hand firmly holding the hot dog he ordered, Jack stuck the other hand into the bag next to him, pulled out a manila folder and handed it to the federal agent.
Cruz opened the folder and perused the contents. Taking small bites of her burger, she chewed and read.
Jack gave her time to process the information.
Minutes later, she put down her burger. “Have you verified any of this?”
Jack wiped his mouth with a napkin and swallowed his last bite of food. “I’m in the process of doing that now, but I wanted to bring you in on it as soon as possible. I was hoping you could use the resources at your disposal to check on those areas to which I would not have access.
Cruz nodded her head. “I can do that.” She closed the folder. “Is this all of it?”
“That’s only about half of what was given to me.” Jack motioned toward the folder. “I made copies. You can keep that.”
“What about your source?” Cruz grabbed a few more fries.
“He wants nothing to do with it. He worked for a private security company called…” Jack retrieved his notepad and flipped through a few pages, “The Tucker Group before they fired him.” Jack leaned closer to her. “Get this—the day they fired him, they gave him his regular paycheck along with a $10,000 bonus.”
Cruz tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve never heard of a bonus for getting canned, either.”
Cruz checked her cell phone—it was 12:30. “Do you have anything else I should see, Mr. Darling?”
“I have plenty more for you, but I need to check into it first. So, what do you say? Are you in?”
Cruz stood. She held up the folder. “If this checks out…yes, I’m in.”
“Great,” said Jack, standing and shaking the agent’s hand. “You have my number.” He watched Cruz pull a ten-dollar bill from her pocket. “The bill’s already been paid.” He smiled. “You can get the next one.”
She returned the gesture. “Thank you. I’m sorry to h
ave to eat and run, but now that you’ve given me more work to do, I really must be going.”
Jack laughed. “I understand.”
She hesitated and stared at the folder. “If you don’t mind me asking, why did you contact me about this, Mr. Darling?”
“I like your looks.” Jack realized the implications of his words when he saw Cruz’s body stiffen and her eyes narrow. He quickly raised a hand. “Let me clarify. You looked like a person I could trust. I was impressed with how you handled the case against Congresswoman Hayes and something told me I should contact you.”
Cruz’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch, Mr. Darling. Have a good day.”
Chapter 5: Ole Town Tavern
8:46 p.m.
Aaron Hardy walked down 41st Street, admiring the Federal Reserve Building on his left. It was good to be back on American soil, taking in the sights of Washington D.C. He was on his way to the restaurant to meet his entire team for drinks. In a few hours, Hardy would turn thirty and his team was determined to celebrate this birthday milestone. After the mission in Nigeria, everyone was excited to get out and blow off a little steam. The restaurant of choice was The Ole Town Tavern, a small well-known tavern in the Downtown District of D.C. Its roots went back to the turn of the twentieth century. Arguably, the restaurant had the best-fried shrimp on the East Coast.
Hardy tugged on the handle of the heavy glass door and stepped inside. The noise of a raucous crowd greeted him. He was immersed in the atmosphere of patrons mixing food, alcohol and sports. The place was packed with people cheering for their favorite team and downing a few too many beers. Hardy sidestepped servers and squeezed between tables, heading for the back of the building, where his team had reserved a small room.
Hardy entered and an ovation of applause erupted from his men. He saw several empty beer bottles on the table. They had a head start on him. He took off his jacket and placed it on the back of an open chair. After listening to several good-natured comments about his age and being told the next round of drinks was on him, he left to find the men’s room. Halfway down a narrow and dimly lit hallway, he stepped aside and let two young women pass. He nodded his head and both women gave him a flirtatious smile. His cell phone rang. Connecting the call, he watched the women, who had cranked their heads around for another glance.
“Hello, this is Hardy. Hello?” The voice on the line was barely audible. Something happened with the game on the television and the people clapped and screamed. “Hold on a second.” He found a nearby door at the back of the restaurant and slipped outside. As the door was shutting behind him, he went back to the caller. “Okay, this is Hardy. Who’s—” Hardy never finished his sentence. The restaurant behind him blew apart, sending fragments of glass and brick flying through the air. The force of the explosion threw open the closing door, which slammed into his back. His head rocked backwards and bounced off the door before his body was thrown more than ten feet, landing near a metal dumpster. Rolling onto his side, he saw flames shooting out of the upper windows. The heat from the fire singed the hairs on his arms. He crawled behind the dumpster, which gave him some protection. Lying on his back, the last thing he saw was the night sky and a full moon before a secondary explosion pushed the dumpster—and Hardy—further away from the building.
Chapter 6: Shower
8:49 p.m.
Special Agent Cruz stood in the shower. As the hot water pelted her head and cascaded down her back, her mind wandered. She had put in a long day at work. Since her meeting with the reporter, she had worked another eight hours and was physically and emotionally tired. All she wanted to do was unwind and get some sleep.
A few moments later, she felt a few tears mixing in with the droplets on her face. Long days like today brought her to the brink of exhaustion and she was too tired to fight her feelings of loneliness. She allowed herself to fantasize about what it would have been like to have someone to come home to, someone she could talk to about her day. At times like these, the solitude that came from living alone seemed to permeate every pore of her body.
At twenty-nine years of age, Cruz was by no means old, but she was approaching thirty, a number that had forced her to think about her life and what she wanted. When she was younger, she focused on her career, telling herself there would be time for a family later. She had dated a few men, but the relationships fizzled. Once they realized that beneath her good looks lay an intelligent and competent person with a strong drive for excellence, they became intimidated and fled. Rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she tried to remember the last time she was on an actual date. Unable to answer her question, she chuckled. Has it really been that long?
Cruz threw the shower handle to the right and stepped out of the tub, her feet landing on a soft floor mat. She yanked a towel off the rack near the shower and patted her hair. She was an extremely attractive woman. Her slim, but well-toned five-foot, eight-inch body was the envy of women ten years younger. Her dark brown hair fell well below her shoulders, paired with an equally beautiful set of dark brown eyes. She had a long face with high cheekbones and a flawless complexion. Having competed in beauty pageants since she was a teenager, winning her state competition and placing second in the Miss America Pageant, she had always taken care of herself.
After drying her body and blow-drying her hair, she took a black satin teddy off the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Raising the slinky garment above her head, she let it slide over her body. As the spaghetti straps touched her shoulders, the hem of the teddy came to rest above the knee. She picked up her hairbrush, shut off the light and shuffled into the bedroom.
Approaching her bed, she ran the brush through the full length of her hair several times before gathering her hair into a ponytail and securing it with a pink elastic ribbon.
Setting the hairbrush on the nightstand, she knelt by her bed, put her elbows on the mattress and folded her hands. She always prayed this way before going to bed. She knew it was childish, but this was how her mother had taught her. Mentally exhausted, she was not able to find the words she wanted. She made the sign of the cross by touching her forehead, chest, left and right shoulder with the fingers of her right hand and prayed, “Our Father, Who art in heaven…” After a few seconds of reciting the prayer in her head, she concluded aloud, “Deliver us from evil. Amen.” Again, she made the sign of the cross and stood.
Throwing back the bed covers, she climbed into bed and slid back against the headboard of the bed. She propped her pillow behind her before reaching to her right for a book on the nightstand—a romance novel.
Cruz’s job required her to be around many tough men. Most of them had military experience. If she wanted their respect, she had to be tough as well, oftentimes going toe to toe with men twice her size. She never wanted her toughness, however, to consume her femininity. When she was on her own time, she could let her hair down, literally and figuratively. Reading romance novels, as cliché as it sounded, allowed her to get away from her life as an FBI agent and get lost in another world, another life. It also allowed her to dream of a life, one day, with a man who saw her true self and loved her for who she was as a person.
Reading only a couple of pages, her eyelids drooped and she found herself re-reading the same sentence two and three times. She placed the book on the nightstand on the other side of her badge and holstered Glock 23 handgun. She pulled the chain on the bedside lamp and the whole room was dark, except for a faint light coming through the window from a full moon outside. Cruz slid her body further under the covers and plopped her head onto the pillow. After a few minutes of watching the moon cast shadows of swaying tree branches on her bedroom wall, she fell asleep.
…………………………
Two hours later, Cruz’s eyes fluttered. In the distance, she heard an intermittent buzzing sound, but could not place the source. She had been in a deep sleep and was not sure if she was dreaming. The buzzing sound stopped. She closed her eyes. Seconds later, the sound returned
. Rotating her head to the right, she located the origin of the noise. She dropped a lazy left arm over her body and fumbled for the phone. Her hand came to rest on the holstered Glock. She slid her hand off the weapon, picked up the phone and swiped a finger across the screen. “This is Cruz.” Her voice was barely audible and slightly raspy.
“Cruz, its Harper. Where are you?” Agent Christopher Harper was five-feet, ten inches tall with an average build and rugged facial features, sporting a nicely trimmed goatee mustache. He was a recent graduate of the FBI Academy at Quantico. The director assigned him to be Cruz’s partner. He was five years younger than she was, but he brought a level of maturity to the partnership that made up for the age difference. They had only been working together for a couple of months, but they had formed a good working relationship. Their skills complemented each other well.
Looking at the clock on her nightstand—11:23—Cruz was going to tell her partner how stupid his question was, but she bit her tongue. Before she could answer, Harper continued.
“There’s been an explosion. Preliminary evidence says it may be terrorism. The director wants all hands on deck on this one.”
Hearing the words ‘explosion’ and ‘terrorism’, Cruz propped herself onto her elbow. “Where was the explosion?” She leaned to her right and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger.
“A restaurant in the Downtown District…Everyone in the place was killed, except for one person. He’s been taken to the hospital. The director wants us there when he wakes up to have him answer some questions.”
“Which hospital,” asked Cruz, throwing the covers off and swinging her legs over the side of the bed?
“Washington…I’m almost to your place. Are you ready?”
