The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology (21 page)

“Hey, Angela, can you keep an eye on our table?”

“Okay.”

“Joe, can you come with me?”

“Sure, Jake.”

Jake got up and headed into the restaurant, with Joe right behind
him.

-35-

Thursday, December 15, 2011

9:35 p.m.

The White House

Washington, DC

The four union bosses sat around a table in fairly comfortable chairs
in one of the ten cells in the basement, picking at the remnants of
the large plate of cold cuts and buns that had been delivered to them
three hours earlier, along with a plate of cheese cubes and a cooler
of soft drinks, milk and water. A container of hot coffee and a
package of tea bags were also in the cell.

“I still can't believe this shit,” Richard hissed,
throwing the two directives on the table. “Personally fuckin'
liable? Permits? Fees? For demonstrating? This fuckin'
sonofabitch!!”

“On top of taking all our PAC funds,” Andy snarled.

Bob added, “And closing out our insurance scams – I mean
plans. And fuckin' around with the pension plans.”

Lee's two cents: “And making the whole country 'right to
work.' Shit.”

Richard said angrily, “But this is the part that pisses me off
the most. 'Organizers, inciters, communicators and supporters,
direct or indirect, of any activities including, but not limited to,
demonstrations or protests, shall be personally jointly and severally
liable for any damages inflicted on any property, public or private,
by any participant in such activities and for any cleanup and any
extra security costs.' And it goes on to say that each and every
participant will also be personally liable for those damages and/or
costs.”

Andy hissed, “The sonofabitch.”

Bob said, “Who cares about the demonstrators? Fuck 'em. But
to hold us liable? Bastard.”

Lee pointed to another paper. “And this one, 127? Strikers
may be summarily fired? And any interference with scabs is a felony?
What the fuck is that? And more personal liability for us? Shit.”

At that moment, a heavy door outside their cell door slammed open.
All four bosses got up and went to the bars of their cell. They saw
two men pulling and pushing a large arched plexiglass object on
dollies past the cells. The arch was about five feet tall, ten feet
long and four feet wide.

Richard whispered, “What the fuck is that? A half-wheel for
half a giant hamster?”

The door slammed shut.

Andy asked the men, “What's that?”

One of the men answered, “Can't tell you. Classified.”

Bob piped up, “Are you guys union?”

The other man laughed. “Are you kidding? If we were, there'd
be six guys doing this job.”

The first man laughed and said, “Maybe a dozen. Have a nice
few days, guys.”

Another heavy door slid open and the men moved the object on through
it. The door closed behind them with another slam.

Lee said, “That's under the Oval Office, right?”

Richard said, “Yeah, I think so.”

Bob added, “Yup, it is.”

Andy said, “Weird.”

They moved back to their chairs around the table, except for Richard,
who paced the room and then said, “So what the fuck do we do
now?”

“Go to bed, guys,” an electronic voice said. The lights
went out.

-36-

Five Months Earlier

Saturday, July 9, 2011

1:05 p.m.

The Seafood Shack

Bonita Springs, FL

As Jake and Joe hurried through the restaurant, they saw the guy from
the couple that had followed Pam standing by the windows in the front
wall opposite the restrooms. Neither Pam nor the woman were anywhere
to be seen; Jake assumed, which he rarely allowed himself to do, that
they were in the women's restroom.

When Jake and Joe started to go past the man, heading for the men's
room, he backed up against the wall, letting Jake pass by, but when
he saw how closely they were looking at him, one on either side of
him, he blanched and said, “Oh, God. Did my wife hire you?”

Jake said, “No, buddy. We just want to talk to you.”
Joe blocked the narrow hallway with his muscled body.

With no warning, the guy reached behind his back, but both Jake and
Joe moved quickly, Jake getting a solid hold on the guy's hand and
bending the fingers back, while Joe grabbed the semi-automatic pistol
lodged in the guy's waistband under his loose shirt, which he handed
to Jake.

“Well, well, well,” said Jake. “That's some pretty
heavy weaponry there, buddy. Are you that scared of your wife? No,
no, no; quit squirming or I'll break your fingers. Settle down,
now.”

“I got him, Jake,” said Joe, as he put the guy's right
arm into a hammerlock.

Jake knocked on the women's door. “Pam, are you okay?”

Pam's voice came from the other side of the door. “Yup, I'm
fine, Jake. Do you see a guy out there, hanging around?”

“Yeah. Joe's holding him and I've got his gun.”

The door opened and Pam looked out. “Yup, that's him. Get him
in here, quick.”

Jake stood back as Joe pushed the guy into the room, still keeping
the lock on his arm. Jake followed them in, noticing the woman
sitting on the floor with a bloody nose, her arms around the sink
drainpipe and flex ties on her wrists. Pam was holding a smaller
version of the gun Jake had.

“Okay, Joe, turn him around.” Joe complied and Pam put
flex ties from her bag on his wrists in front of him and pushed him
onto the floor next to the woman, saying, “Sit. Stay. No, no,
don't say anything.” She pulled some paper towels from the
dispenser, gagged them both, then pulled out her cell phone and
speed-dialed.

“This is Pamela Robertson-Brooks, Secret Service, Badge ______.
I need a soft pickup in Bonita Springs ASAP. I'm holding two federal
fugitives in the women's restroom at the Seafood Shack on Bonita
Beach Road, about a mile east of the beach. How soon can you get
some marshals and transport here? No, I can NOT hold. Hello? Shit.

“Jake, get his wallet and ID, would you?” Jake reached
behind the man, pulled his wallet from the pocket of his bermuda
shorts and gave it to Pam. She opened it and pulled out a driver's
license, which she held next to another one, which she'd apparently
gotten from the woman, while keeping the couple covered with the
small gun.

“Well, well, well, Nick and Nora Dunn? Geez, if you're going
to use aliases, why not go all the way and make it Charles?”
She gave the wallet and IDs back to Jake. Jake looked at the IDs
closely.

“Hello? Yes, I'm still here. Oh, Tristan? Yup, it's Pam.
Look, I've got the Fischers … yup, Dylan and Emma … no,
just happened to see 'em at a restaurant … yup, got 'em flex
tied, but I need transport, a soft pickup. How soon can you get some
marshals here? I need 'em ASAP … no, no locals …
five? Guess that'll have to do … right, in the women's
restroom … call me when you're in the parking lot and we'll
get 'em out to you … no, I've got some civilian help …
no, they're cool … okay.” Pam closed the phone and
turned to Jake and Joe.

“Thank you, guys. Five minutes. How did you know?”

Jake shrugged. “Just something hinky about them when you were
snapping pics, and then they followed you. So I asked Joe to help
and we followed them. He's an ex-Marine.”

Joe shook his head, “Not ex. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

“Oh, right; sorry, Joe.

“Anyhow, when he went for his gun, I grabbed his hand and Joe
got his other arm pinned. Then we knocked on the door. That's it.”

Joe said, “I didn't know you could move that fast, Jake, and
that hold you put on him, good one. How'd you know that?”

“Oh, I learned it from a woman on the beach who teaches martial
arts; I thought it might be useful somewhere in the novel. It's got
some Japanese name that I don't remember, but I've got it in my
notes. Guess it was just a response when he reached behind him.

“So, Pam, who are these Fischers?”

“Fugitives, counterfeiters, Number 43 on the Most Wanted List.
I thought that was them as soon as I saw 'em out there, so I faked
that coughing fit and headed to the restroom. Split 'em up so I
could confirm who she was. And it worked. She made a big mistake by
pulling this little gun when I wouldn't give her my phone. I was
about to come out and get him when you knocked. That's it on my
end.”

Pam glanced down at the two sitting on the floor; Dylan was trying to
pull the towels out of his mouth, but Pam shook her head and he
stopped, glaring angrily at her. Emma was whimpering. Pam put
another paper towel in her hands, which she held to her nose to try
to control some of the bleeding, but she, too, glared hatefully at
Pam.

“I think there's a reward for these two, and I can probably
work it so you two can split it.”

Joe's eyes lit up and he said, “Really? Cool.”

But Jake said, “Oh, none for me. Let Joe have it all, if there
is one.”

Pam looked quizzically at Jake. “Really?”

Jake nodded. “Really.”

Joe said, “Jake, are you sure?”

Jake nodded again. “Absolutely, really.”

Pam said, “Well, okay. Jake, got your notebook with you?”

“Of course. And my pen.”

“Joe, if you would, name, address, email and phone number.”

Joe asked, “No Social Security?”

“No need for that now. Once I get it all set up, then we
will.”

“Okay.” Joe wrote in Jake's notebook, ripped out the
page and gave it to Pam; she slid it into her bag and looked at her
watch.

“Two minutes.” She pulled a small knife from her bag,
slit the flex ties on the woman's wrists, pulled her arms from around
the pipe and used new ties to bind her again, hands in front of her
body. The old ones and the knife went into her bag.

“Hey, Pam,” Jake said, “this just gave me an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah; I like the name Dunn that these two used.”

“Not as good as Charles woulda been. Dunn is okay, but …
eh.”

“But Dunn is a lot better name than what I came up with for the
guy that buys the country, O'Hickenfrankenofskiopoulostein.”

“Yeah, I wondered why you'd picked a name like that.”

“Well, I think I'm gonna change it to Dunn now. Just run a
'find and replace' function, and that'll work much better, I think.
Lots more possibilities with that one, too. Of course, I'll have to
take out that multicultural joke that Debbie Jackson made, but that's
no big – hey!”

Pam casually slammed her elbow back into Dylan's face, breaking his
nose, just as he was reaching for her bag and the knife she'd used to
cut his wife's ties.

“Now, now, Dylan, Dylan, did you think I'm so easily
distracted?” She pointed to the back of her head. “Eyes
back here, always. But thanks, Jake. And Emma, don't you get any
ideas now. Here, Dylan.” She gave him a paper towel, which he
held up to his nose.

Jake chuckled. “Now they match.”

Pam held another paper towel out to Jake and said, “Here, Jake.
You're bleeding.” She pointed at his shoulder.

“Damn, I musta pulled the stitches.” He gave Pam the gun
and wallet he'd been holding, which she put in her bag, and then
pressed the towel against his shoulder under his T-shirt. “Ow.
Damn.”

Dunn, still holding his paper towel to his nose, smirked and
chuckled. Pam glared at him, then lightly slapped the side of his
head.

“No Schadenfreude from you, Dylan, you --”

Pam's phone buzzed and she picked it up.

“Robertson-Brooks … oh, good, Tristan. Who? Lydia and
Kirk? Great. Send 'em in and we'll be right out.” She slipped
her phone back in her bag and pulled out two more flex ties.

“They're here. On your feet.” As they stood up, held by
Joe and Jake, Pam ran the new flex ties between the ones on their
wrists, tying the two of them together. She pulled their arms down
to waist level, took another paper towel, dampened it and wiped the
remaining blood from their faces, but she left the towels in their
mouths.

She picked up her bag, opened the door, looked toward the front, then
took the Fischers from Joe and Jake, holding them by the flex ties
between them with one hand and carrying the small gun in the other,
and moved them out into the hallway just as a youngish couple, clad
in beach clothes, came toward them from the front door. Pam walked
her prisoners up to them and the five moved quickly out into the
parking lot to a silver SUV parked close by the front door. Jake and
Joe watched through the windows as Pam spoke briefly with the driver,
handed him the two guns, signed a paper on a clipboard, which he also
signed and kept, and then nodded as the SUV drove slowly up out of
the lot, heading west on Bonita Beach Road.

-37-

Friday, December 16, 2011

9:30 a.m.

The White House

Washington, DC

Donne's chief of staff, Emily, escorted Ex-President Obama and
Ex-Vice President Biden into the Oval Office, where Donne was …

(Author's note: The remainder of this section has been redacted at
the request of certain people who wish to remain anonymous.
Consideration has been provided by them to the author. Sorry; it was
really eye-opening. But it was long; 23 pages. JD)

* * * * * *

1:30 p.m.

Donne's chief of staff, Emily, escorted Ex-President Bush and
Ex-Vice President Cheney into the Oval Office, where Donne was …

(Author's note: The remainder of this section has been redacted at
the request of certain people who wish to remain anonymous.
Consideration has been provided by them to the author. Sorry; it was
really eye-opening. But it was long; 18 pages. JD)

* * * * * *

-38-

Five Months Earlier

Saturday, July 9, 2011

1:25 p.m.

The Seafood Shack

Bonita Springs, FL