Pestilence (Jack Randall #2) (35 page)

D
anny pulled into the small parking lot and parked two spots over from the Cadillac. He looked the park over and was not surprised to see it deserted this late on a weeknight. He finally saw the shape of a man sitting on top of a picnic table over by the tree line. It was Jack. He waved him over.

“Hey, Danny, good to see you.” They shook hands.

“You too.”

“Wondering why I got you out here this late on a school night?”

“Well . . . yeah. You’re not gonna get all deep throat on me are you? I’m too young to go to jail.”

“No, nothing like that. I’m afraid I don’t have any hot tips for you tonight. Nothing like that at all really.”

“If this was social we could find a bar with cute waitresses,” Danny pointed out.

“No. I’m afraid that wouldn’t work either. I need you to safeguard something for me. And I can’t tell you what it is or why. Can you do that for me?”

Danny was confused and let it show. “I’m not quite sure I understand. What is it you want me to hold on to for you?”

“These.” Jack reached in his pocket and pulled out the two discs. One was labeled with Danny’s name and work address, the other for Senator Teague at his office. They had FBI security seals on them, the kind that had to be destroyed in order to release the disc. The seals had Jack’s signature on them and the date. Danny examined them without saying anything.

“There are only four of these in existence. One is with me and the other is with Sydney Lewis. You remember her?”

“Yes.”

“Something big is going to happen in the next few days, maybe here in the District, maybe not. It’s a lot worse than it’s going to appear. I can’t really say more than that right now, but the whole story is on those discs and it goes right to the top. I’d like you to hold on to them in case something happens to myself or Sydney. If we should end up dead, I need you to deliver the disc to Senator Teague. What you do with your copy is up to you, but the senator will know what’s best and . . . I would hope you would listen to him. No one can know you have it, Danny. I’m afraid I’m putting you in some danger here, but I don’t have anybody else. You showed some real stones before and I thought you could handle it.”

“Is it because I’m a reporter?”

“Some. Mostly it’s because you’re a good guy.”

“And if you live? You want them back?”

“Yes.”

“Will I get an explanation then?”

“If I can give one, you’re my guy.”

Danny tapped the discs against his leg and thought it out. Just hold on to the discs for a little while. It’s not like it was a kilo of cocaine Jack was asking him to hide. Jack had always played straight with him in the past. He had no reason to believe he wasn’t now.

“Okay, you got a deal. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Next time we meet in a bar. My ass is freezing on this damn table.”

Jack laughed. “Deal.”

•      •      •

The low light setting on the digital camera was just enough for him to get a few shots of the meeting with the help of the streetlight. He had punched in the route from Jack’s home back to the office on the GPS and had decided to do a loose tail on him as far as the city. He was surprised to see he had pulled over into Rock Creek Park. After passing, he had carefully circled around and found a place to park where he could approach on foot. Getting into camera range without being seen was not too hard, thanks to the springtime vegetation, and he settled in just as Danny had arrived. Not knowing who he was he got several shots, including them exchanging the disc. He wasn’t sure what Jack was doing, but the meeting was short and both of them were soon on their way. He waited until he was sure they were gone, and looking for tails of his own, he returned to the rental.

After thinking about it for awhile, he made the decision that DC was not going to work as the exchange site. He needed more familiar ground, something more crowded that he could take advantage of. It would require further thought, but he had an idea.

He crossed the bridge again and left the District, heading for Georgetown University. Somewhere in the area he would find a Kinko’s that was open all night. He quickly had the photos printed off and returning to his car, he selected the best shots. He added them to the items in the box and sealed it before reentering the store and mailing it overnight across the river. The clerk didn’t even question him. He just processed the shipment and added it to the outgoing bin. He returned to studying his textbook before the man had left the store.

Step two was done. Now he just had to get back to the boat without being seen.

•      •      •

“You hungry?” Jack asked as he set the bag down in front of her.

Sydney frowned at the bag but changed her mind when the smell hit her nose.

“Italian? Where did you get Italian this late at night?”

“Debra made chicken Florentine. It’s good. There’s enough for two. Serve it up while I ditch my clothes.”

Jack unpacked his bag and hung up the spare clothes so they wouldn’t wrinkle. Sydney dug into the bag and had it all spread out by the time he returned and was already eating.

“Good?”

“Umm,” Sydney replied through a mouth full of pasta.

Jack smiled as he picked up his fork. Amazingly, the food was still warm. He dug in also. It dawned on him that he should feel at least a little guilty for eating a meal prepared by his wife with his ex-girlfriend. But he was really too tired and hungry to dwell on it.

“No wine?” Sydney asked.

“Quit yur bitchin,” Jack replied.

She just smiled and dug her fork in for another bite. Sydney couldn’t cook like this and she was a little jealous of the fact that Debra could. Not enough to stop eating though.

“I took care of the other thing. Your copy is in my coat.”

Sydney swiped her mouth with a napkin and unconsciously looked through the glass at the people in the outer office before replying.

“Will he play along?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know, Jack? I mean, he
is
a reporter.”

“I know. I just do, I guess. You trust me on this?”

“You know I do.”

Jack sighed. “Just stick close on this one, Syd. I got the feeling it may come down to just you and me at some point. If we fail, we have to trust that Danny will tell them why.”

Over-fishing imperils fish in deep waters.
February 19, 2007—The Associated Press
 

—THIRTY—

T
he full moon aided in his navigation and he felt confident enough to push the throttles up a notch. Boat traffic was heavy in the bay and too many captains were distracted by the ever present skyline of Manhattan to watch for other boats. He altered course two degrees to starboard to avoid a large ferry coming from Staten Island. He had been forced to stick closer to shore all the way up from the Chesapeake Bay in order to stay within cell phone range. After working the phones for hours and dropping the right names and dollar amounts he was finally able to secure a berth at the marina he needed. It was for two nights only, but that was all he thought he would need. The plan had been growing in his mind the whole day and he kept refining it as the time went by.

A helicopter buzzed overhead, heading for the terminal just east of Battery Park. He eyeballed it long enough to determine that it was privately owned and not a federal bird. His paranoia would be at its maximum when he entered the city and he would take every precaution he could think of to blend in. New York City held the largest FBI field office in the US and the city crawled with security people. But it had also been home at one time and he knew it well.

He nudged the wheel farther to starboard and pushed the throttles up some more to combat the Hudson current. He stared up at the gap in the skyline where the World Trade Center had been. He had never been a great fan of the twin towers, always thinking they lacked style. They never really had the grace of the Empire State Building or the beauty of the Chrysler Building. But the day they had fallen still burned in his gut. But that was a lifetime ago. He had new battles to fight.

The moon was giving way to the early dawn and he slowed the boat till he had just enough forward momentum to meet the current and steer, keeping the bow aimed upstream long enough for a ferry to depart the marina. Once it was past, he let the starboard engine feather and allowed the current to push the bow to the right until he was aimed at the entrance. A push of the throttles had him through the breakwater and out of the current. The slips were clearly marked and he angled for the one he had reserved. A young man with a radio walked swiftly down the dock to assist him and the Deliveryman left the bridge long enough to throw the line over his head. It landed in his outstretched hands and he quickly had the bow in control as the boat coasted into the slip.

The Deliveryman scanned the dock and surrounding buildings before he shut down the engines. The dock worker quickly had positioned the fenders, tied the stern off, and waited on the deck for him to depart. If the feds were going to make a move, they would make it now. He watched and waited for a full minute before leaving the bridge.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” the boy asked.

He peeled off a couple of hundreds and gave them to the boy.

“I’m just delivering her, son, you don’t have to call me sir. I’ll need the tanks topped off and the fresh water filled. Empty the waste tank also if you would. Hose her down and make her presentable. The owner will be here to take her home in two days.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you add a case of beer to the galley fridge, that would be good, too. Make sure you get a few for yourself, the old man can afford it,” he added with a wink.

“Will do, sir.”

The Deliveryman snagged his backpack and stepped off the deck. He moved quickly out of the marina and into the busy streets of New York. Despite the shadows cast by the surrounding buildings, he kept his sunglasses on and scanned the faces of those around him, looking for that one face that looked too long or too intently. He worked his way into the city, changing direction at every corner, backtracking occasionally and changing speed. He crossed the street through traffic and used the reflection in the building glass to watch for tails. After ten blocks of this he darted down a subway entrance. He bought several passes, and at the last second, jumped on a train heading uptown. He changed cars after a few stops and found a chair in the corner where he could watch everyone. Nobody made eye contact on the car, most pretending to read their papers or magazines, some typing out emails on their cell phones. No one seemed to be interested in him. But he kept an eye out anyway.

Eventually, near the Village, he left the subway car just before the doors closed. He repeated his random walk for several blocks before finally deciding he wasn’t being tailed. He then checked the address he had scribbled on a piece of paper before setting off to find it.

Twenty minutes later found him looking through the glass of a bike shop. Bikes costing several thousand dollars were on display to attract the customer’s attention. Although he could presently afford it, he was not in the market for such a high tech machine. He scanned the crowd behind him in the reflection before entering the store. A man in his fifties looked up from a bike he was working on at a bench in the back of the store. He had the long lean look of a biker or marathon runner. His hands were callused and his hair still had the imprint of the bike helmet he had worn on his ride to work.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I need a new bike. Somebody stole my last one.”

“Sorry to hear that. What kind of riding do you do?”

“Just here in the city. Some of my friends were bike messengers. I try to keep up.”

“Dangerous job. I was dumb enough to do it for a few years, though. Got a price range we can work with?”

“Under a grand?” the Deliveryman asked.

“I can get you on a cheap new one for that much, and I have some decent old ones. How soon you need it?” The man returned to the bench briefly to grab a cloth tape measure. He hung it around his neck so he now looked like a tailor.

“I’d like to ride it home, if I could.”

“Okay. Well let’s measure those legs of yours and see what I got.”

An hour later, and $900 lighter, the Deliveryman pedaled down a path in Central Park, getting his skills back and becoming acquainted with his new purchase. After an hour he ventured out onto the street and worked his way toward downtown. He avoided darting cabs and took an assist from the occasional delivery truck. He soon had a rhythm going and passed the World Trade Center on his right. He turned left and made his way into the financial district, stopping to look around and watch the traffic on Wall Street. He snapped a few photos with the digital before returning it to his backpack. Numerous bike messengers could be seen playing their dangerous game of weaving in and out of traffic. After counting the cars and gauging the flow of traffic, he checked the time and pushed off again. Making his way farther south, he pedaled his way to Battery Park. He stopped and took several more shots, once again checking the time and counting the traffic. He sat on a bench and watched until rush hour started once more and traffic slowed to a crawl. Once this happened, he started his stopwatch function and pedaled into the traffic. He passed car after car and was even able to skip through intersections clogged by traffic. He made it to the financial district again in much faster time. He pedaled into a small alley, stopping briefly before pedaling on, heading for the dock and the boat. He arrived just as the traffic was beginning to thin and checked his watch again.