Lang: Details

Chapter 13

Ava Lang’s mind raced. Her private investigator had seen her husband Greg going in and out of that hotel for three days straight. The same hotel his so-called client Jamie Rosen just said she was staying.

Ava rationalized and excused herself from the table for a moment as Greg sat back down. She had no reason to believe that Greg’s visits to Jamie’s hotel that week weren’t legitimate. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was a little off. Why wouldn’t they have their business discussions in his office?

First, she needed to be sure that the woman the investigator saw was, in fact, Jamie Rosen.

Ava walked to her bedroom and grabbed her cell phone off the night stand. She headed into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She dialed the private investigator’s number.

“Novak,” he answered.

“Don, it’s Ava.”

“Hi, Ava,” Novak said. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any new information for you.”

“No, I just have to ask you something about the woman you saw with Greg at the hotel,” Ava told him. “Can you describe her?”

Novak’s description of the woman was a perfect match to Jamie.

“Oh, by the way,” Novak continued. “I need to clear up something I told you this afternoon. I said I hadn’t seen the two kiss. Ava, I’m sorry but when I reviewed the video footage I had taken, I saw they had kissed. It was unmistakable. I must have looked away for a moment.”

Ava was silent. “Ava, are you there?” Novak said. “I know this is difficult to hear. I’m working another job right now. Call me later if you need to talk.”

Ava opened the door and was startled to see Greg standing there.

“Is everything all right?” Greg asked.

“Of course. Why did you leave Jamie out there by herself?”

“I didn’t, she had to leave quickly. She got a call from her husband; one of their children is at the emergency room. She’s taking the next flight back home.”

“Oh no. That’s awful.”

“Yeah. Let’s go clean up out there.”

Greg walked out of the room in front of Ava. As she stepped out of her bedroom she felt a sudden blow to the back of her head. She was out cold on the floor.

Ava woke up hours later. She didn’t recognize her surroundings at first but soon realized she was in a hospital. She looked around for a doctor. She started pressing buttons on the side of her bed. One triggered a nurse to walk in.

“You’re awake,” said the nurse. “We weren’t sure if you’d—”

“Where am I?” Ava asked.

“You’re at Cook County General. You sustained a head wound but now that you’ve woken up, you should recover just fine.”

“How did I get here?”

“Um, I don’t really know,” the nurse said with a puzzled look. “Let me go get the doctor who admitted you.”

A few minutes later, a man wearing a white coat walked in the room. “Hi, I’m Dr. Townsend. Do you remember what you were hit in the head by?”

”I don’t remember being hit in the head,” Ava said.

“Hmm. Well, do you remember—”

“The nurse, excuse me, the nurse said you could tell me how I got here.”

Townsend stared at Ava and raised his head. “Ma’am, you were left here. Outside. Witnesses say a couple dragged you out of the backseat of a car, left you on a bench outside the hospital and drove off. I was admitting people at the time and you had a pretty bad head wound.”

“Who left me?”

“No one knows. What’s your name?”

Ava sat there a moment. Trying to remember. Everything seemed like a blur in her mind. She started to panic. She couldn’t even remember her own name. She couldn’t remember anything.

“I don't know.”

Hale: One Print

Chapter 12

William Hale thumbed through the mail as he walked up the driveway to his house. One envelope made his heart sink. It was addressed to Lynette. She was the wife he’d made a home with for 20 years. William couldn’t believe she was still getting mail 10 years after her death.

He came across a letter from the AARP. Black and white proof of an elderly status that was quickly catching up with him. He stepped back in the house.

William went back to the envelope addressed to his wife. He couldn’t find a return address so he roughly tore it open. He skimmed the letter that was inside.

“Jesus,” he said not realizing he was audible. His jaw couldn’t have hung any lower. “This must be a mistake.”

William dialed the phone number he saw at the bottom of the letter. There was no indication whose number this was, but needed to speak with someone. It rang three times.

“Joey’s Pizza,” a voice responded.

“Hello, my name is William Hale. You sent a letter to my wife.” He paused a moment awaiting a response. “Hello? Are you there? Lynette’s been dead for 10 years. Who is this?”

The line went dead a dial tone was all William heard. He wrinkled his brow and set the phone down. He picked up the letter and redialed the number. He thought perhaps he had dialed it wrong the first time. Again, it rang three times.

“Hang up the phone William, and burn the letter,” a gruff voice said.

William was stunned and perplexed. “What?! How do you know my—”

“Burn the letter now.” Dead line. Dial tone.

William switched into detective mode. His curiosity was more than piqued. He needed to know why someone sent his dead wife a letter with a phone number and who it was that answered and how they knew his name.

He clutched the letter and took it to his study. He pulled out an old-fashioned fingerprinting kit. He laid out all the pieces then spilled a bunch of black powder onto the letter. He curled the paper and drained the powder back into its original jar. He tapped it twice.

He brushed away the extra powder from the bottom right corner. A clear fingerprint began to emerge. He opened his desk drawer and removed a digital camera. He snapped an image of the print and attached the camera to his computer.

William picked up the phone and dialed an old friend who still worked at his precinct. If anyone could help him, he knew it was Jack Hamilton.

“Hamilton.”

“Jackie, it’s Bill, I need a favor.”

“Everything all right?”

William realized his voice sounded strained and tense. He calmed himself.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said. “I need you to run a print for me. I’m e-mailing it to you now.”

“All right,” Hamilton said. “Give me just a minute.” He paused a moment. “I have it. Which databases?”

“Everything.”

“No problem,” Hamilton told him. “While it’s running, you mind telling me what all this is about, man?”

William stammered a moment. “I got a strange letter in the mail today. It was addressed to Lynette. There was a phone number and something strange happened when I called. I just want to know who sent the letter.”

“Okay,” Hamilton said. “I have a match, but— wait, this is unusual.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a 96% match with an FBI agent.”

Brock: History

Chapter 11

Adrian Brock stared out the window of his Gulfstream, gazing at the clouds surrounding the plane. He was stuck in his head working up ideas. He didn’t know how long he had to find The Seven, but for sure he had less and less time every day.

The plane was bound for Baltimore, Maryland. Adrian’s team had decoded the time one of the people they were searching for would be at a certain location. They had a limited window to find her.

A few weeks earlier the team had discovered the whereabouts of Dr. Porter Levitt. According to the documents the crew found in Greece, Levitt was one of The Seven. And so was a nun named Grace Weathers.

Levitt had slipped through the cracks again but Adrian was sure his team would be able to pick up Weathers. The plane touched down at Martin State Airport just after 9:00 P.M. Adrian gave final preparation instructions to his team and the operation was underway.

Adrian got in a car and paged Harris, who had been undercover at the bar where Weathers worked for several weeks. He told the agent to drive to St. Paul’s while he waited for Harris to call back.

Sean Harris was Adrian’s second in command at the DSR task force they ran. Adrian did not trust many people. Harris was one of the few who made the cut.

They did their CIA training together and Harris was on the fast track to becoming an agency director. Adrian had become fascinated with the work he had done for Special Research and was granted his request for a transfer to Las Vegas. For three years he did research and analysis.

Meanwhile, Langley sent Harris in to take over as Deputy General Director of the Department of Special Research. Adrian knew Harris was not particularly thrilled about the promotion, though no agent could turn down a job like that. Ungratefulness ranked with incompetence in the minds of the higher-ups. Not only that, but Harris knew the position would give him more freedoms.

Adrian never complained, however. Harris was his friend and some things mattered more than his career. But more than that, Adrian enjoyed the field work he was doing. He was not ready to move up the ladder quite yet.

Adrian and Harris renewed their friendship while working together at the DSR and were assigned on many operations together. A unique bond formed between them. They discussed their career aspirations often.

Harris preferred field operations to desk work while Adrian had more of an interest in the big picture as opposed to individual assignments. So when DSR General Director Tom Shalek initiated the task force to find The Seven, Adrian was appointed director of it so that he could oversee the entire project. Things were falling into place for everyone.

When Harris called in, he told Adrian that he was in pursuit of Weathers and she was driving erratically. Adrian was surprised to hear Harris’ level of agitation rose during the conversation from the car. Harris was calmer than anyone.

Adrian heard screeching tires on the other end of the phone and a second later the call was disconnected.

“Step on it, Robby!” Adrian shouted to the agent driving.

Weathers: Returns, Part II

Chapter 10

Grace sped out and the man sprinted to a red car in the parking lot. He pulled back his coat and unhooked a crowbar from his belt. He smashed in the window of the car and had the motor running in seconds.

It was sprinkling earlier in the evening but now the rain was pouring heavily. Grace windshield wipers were going full speed. She drove to nowhere in particular. She did not want to go home in case the man was still following her.

She could hardly see where she was going and never used her blinkers when she turned. She was scared but she had to be sure to lose him.

Suddenly a red car with no headlights bumped her from behind. Her heart raced. She laid on the gas pedal. She barely kept her car on the road. Grace prayed no one was in front of her. She prayed.

She kept driving. Every time she thought she lost him, she turned. Moments later he bumped her again. A pair of headlights came at her from the front. She swerved right and slid down a 20-foot embankment. At the bottom was a paved road. She regained control of the car and kept driving.

Grace came to a familiar building and stopped. She no longer felt like she was being followed. An inexplicable feeling of comfort came over her. The rain continued to fall heavily on her as she stepped out of her car. She looked all around her. Not a single person or other vehicle was anywhere in sight.

She was at St. Paul’s. The cathedral was massive. Fate or something had brought her back. She hesitated before walking up the steps. The doors were unlocked. She walked inside and it was pitch black. No light.

That was the last thing she remembered before waking up alone in a hotel room, still wearing her wet clothes. She was groggy but she looked around the room. Out the window, she could see the sun peeking over the horizon.

Then she was startled when someone knocked on her door. Still trying to make sense of her surroundings, she debated in her head whether or not to answer it.

She heard a click, the door unlocked and began to open. She reached for the bottle of champagne on the table. She held it behind her back ready to swing.

“Ms. Weathers?” asked a male voice as he entered the room. “I’m Agent Brock and I’d like to explain all of this to you.”

Grace lowered the bottle as Brock walked in the room. She felt relieved to see him though she didn’t know why. She didn’t know him yet she felt comfortable.

Brock sat down in the large chair on the other side of the room. Grace slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.

“We left dry clothes for you in the bathroom if you’d like to change,” Brock told her.

“After you explain what’s going on,” Grace said.

Weathers: Returns, Part I

Chapter 9

Grace Weathers topped off another round across the bar. She turned up the volume on the TV behind her at the request of a burly, unshaven man.

Cassandra came from the back room and told Grace that she could go home. Grace glanced at her watch. It was just past 2 A.M. But she didn’t want to go home. There was nothing there. It was so empty and cold.

Grace stood outside the bar facing the highway. She watched the cars pass by for a few minutes before pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. She lit one and took a deep breath.

She thought about her life. She was doing that a lot these days. It’s why she didn’t want to go home. Her house only reminded her of her family.

Whenever they would visit, her father would raid the refrigerator and reprogram her TiVo to record the Ravens game, then never come back to watch it. Her mother would nervously and unknowingly pick at the fabric of Grace’s favorite chair with her fingernails. Later visits would always bring complaints about how Grace needed new furniture.

Then there was Jake. Born with autism, he was unable to live on his own. He was a burden to his aging parents but the didn’t love him any less. For the last five years, he had a cocker spaniel to keep him company. He named him after the president’s dog.

When Jake was old enough to understand, Richard Nixon was President, and from that point on he referred to every president as Nixon. It was one of his many quirks.

Grace had been taking care of Checkers for the last six months, though at the moment all he had was some cheap dog food and old copies of the Baltimore Sun. She had had the dog since her family died in a plane crash over the Atlantic en route to London to see a doctor for Jake. After it happened, Grace became depressed and lost her faith.

She left the church where she had spent 15 years of her life and resisted pleas from her friends to return. She decided she needed to find herself. Instead she found the back of a bar, serving drinks until the late hours of the night.

Grace tossed her cigarette to the ground and pressed it out with her toe. Then she went back inside to get her tips from Cassandra. She walked out to her car and caught a glimpse of someone following her. It was the burly man who had asked her to change the channel earlier. He was a regular at the bar as of late and usually did not leave until closing time.

Grace got in her car and started the engine. The man was walking toward her car now. It was a dark and thunder warned of a coming storm. The windows were slightly tinted so the man could not see Grace looking at him. He slid a knife out of his coat and flipped it open and kept walking toward her.

To be continued…

Taking A Break

While I'm on vacation this week, I won't be posting new chapters. New chapters will begin Sunday, May 15. In the meantime, catch up on the previous eight chapters and prepare yourself for a huge two-part story from the perspective of Grace Weathers.

Washington: A Good Deed

Chapter 8

Robin Washington held the small cup of pills while her husband sipped from a tall glass of water.

“How many more?” Sal’s voice boomed quietly.

“Just these two.”

Robin handed her husband the last two pills and watched him gulp them down. She took the glass to the sink, rinsed it, dried it and put it back up in the cabinet. She placed the empty cup on the mat next to the sink. She filled it with the next day’s pills and pressed the cap on tightly.

Suddenly, Robin was jolted by a thud from behind her. She turned and saw Sal lying on the floor in an awkward position. Blood seeped from underneath his head. She shrieked and ran to the telephone. But it disintegrated in her hands. She shrieked again. Then woke up.

Robin groggily gazed around the dark room. She awoke to a cold sweat and flailed around searching for her blanket. She figured she must have tossed them to the floor and weighed waking herself up at 4 A.M. against going back to sleep still cold.

The alarm clock was deafening at the crack of dawn. Robin struggled to pull herself out of bed. It had been seven years since Sal died, but still every morning she looked for that lump on the other side of the bed. It made her sad every time.

Robin looked in the mirror and straightened the name tag she wore over her blue apron. She left a bowl of water for her cat. Flicked the lights off. Locked up her apartment. And headed to work.

As Robin waited at a red light, she recalled the dream she’d had the night before. They were always so vivid. And always the same. It was the most horrifying scene of her life and it kept playing over and over. She felt responsible for what happened to Sal, but the rest of the world did not agree.

Robin parked and made her way through the back of the grocery store so she could clock in. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of a young girl slipping something beneath her sweater.

She punched her time card and stood at her register. Robin saw the girl nonchalantly toss a loaf of bread underneath the cart of a woman passing by. She ignored it and rang up her next customer.

The next man in the line caught Robin off guard. He bore a striking resemblance to her late husband. She almost called him Sal when asking for his preferred customer card.

“Having a good morning Robin?” the man asked as he handed her his card.

“How do you know my name?”

“Your name tag.”

Robin felt silly for a moment and waited for the man’s receipt to print.

“Take the girl,” the man uttered eerily. She stared at him, confused. “Take her, Robin. She needs you.”

“Who?”

“Move the line along, now.”

The man left the store and walked to the parking lot as Robin caught a glimpse of the young girl snatching the bread from underneath the woman’s cart in the parking lot. Robin shouted for a manager and dialed 911 on her cell phone.

LaRoe: Brothers

Chapter 7

Jonah LaRoe studied the small handgun placed on the table before him. He refused to touch it. He stared at it, fear swelling within him.

“Jonah, take it,” Messer demanded. “Pick up the gun.”

“Derek, when you said you needed a f-favor,” Jonah stuttered, “I thought you meant a procedure or an operation.”

“Take the fucking gun Jonah!”

Jonah felt helpless. He was the first black Chief of Thoracic Surgery at Clark Hospital. For years, he rose through the ranks to become one of the premier surgeons in Atlanta. Now he felt helpless.

“I’ve spent my life saving people’s lives—”

“I won’t say it again!” Messer shouted. He waited and watched Jonah, who wouldn’t budge. Messer snatched the gun from the table and pressed it against Jonah’s forehead.

”Wait!”

“It’s you or him!”

“Okay… okay,” Jonah surrendered.

Jonah put his hand out and Messer placed it in his hand. Jonah stared at it again but couldn’t fathom pulling the trigger. He moved on from all of that. As a teenager growing up in Chicago, Jonah was sucked into the criminal life. But being a member of a gang gave him a sense of pride. A sense of belonging. A sense he no longer needed. He was a prominent member of the Atlanta medical community today. Who would he be tomorrow?

“Derek, he’s your brother.”

“Just do it, Jonah,” Messer said angrily. “You wanted in. We let you in. You took a break to make a career for yourself. That’s respectable. But you don’t get to just walk away from us. Donnie was my brother. But he turned against all of us.”

Messer left. Jonah dropped his head into his hands. He rubbed his eyes but he wasn’t dreaming. He wished it had been a nightmare.

The hours passed slowly. When it got late, Messer returned. He told Jonah that his brother would be along soon. And to prepare himself. Jonah felt sick to his stomach. He thought the feeling might kill him. That would be the easy way out.

There was a knock at the door. Jonah’s 43-year-old body felt like it was 97. He couldn’t make his legs stand up. Messer waited in the kitchen. Jonah didn’t want him to shout again so he summoned the strength to stand. He let Donnie in. They walked to the kitchen.

Donnie walked over and greeted his brother. He got an icy reception. It pained Jonah to watch.

“You said we had business to discuss,” Donnie said to his brother.

“Yeah,” Messer replied. “But you’ll be dealing with Jonah, here.”

“That’s fine.”

Messer looked Jonah in the eye and growled, “do it!”

Jonah brandished the gun from the back of his Dockers and pointed it at Donnie, whose eyes suddenly looked as if they would pop out of his head.

“What the f—”

“Pull the goddamn trigger, Jonah!”

Bang! Bang!

Donnie dropped to the floor. Messer was stunned. Jonah’s eyes filled with fear. Donnie peeked over his shoulder. Messer fell to his knees and grabbed his chest. Blood trickled between his fingers from the two holes beneath his heart. It stopped beating. He plunged face-first into the tile floor.

Donnie looked at Jonah. In Donnie’s eyes was the gratitude for his spared life. He watched the pool of blood expand around his brother’s body.