A/N: I'm going to start posting on Fridays from here on out. I might have multiple chapters posted or just one. But it will be every Friday. Thank you to the one person who reviewed so far, appreciate it.
Chapter 5: The Code
Will Tippin's Apartment
He stared down at the letter in his hand and the invitation to the ceremonial banquet. A Caplan, he thought in amazement. He'd won a Caplan Award for the Luis Maroma story. It'd been voted by the readers as one of the ten most inspirational stories of 2001.
"Will? Will!"
Snapping his head up, he stared at his sister. Amy was wearing all black and her natural blond hair was spiked all around her head. "How'd the audition go?"
"They passed," she said in defeat and leaned against the door jam. "What about you?"
He held up the letter and said, "Caplan Award."
She rolled her eyes but then smiled as she entered his bedroom. Sitting down next to him, she took it from him and read it over. "Black Tie. You're going to need a tux."
"I have an old one from-"
"Your high school graduation?"
Will pushed her as he stood and went to his closet. Opening it up, he stared at the tux hanging in the back and said, "You know what. I think you're right." It was old and too small for him now. The last thing he wanted to do was shop for a tuxedo.
"You doing okay?"
He shut the closet door and turned to face his sister. Shrugging, he said, "Why'd you ask?"
Amy always had a way of reading him. Maybe it was a girl thing, or a sister thing, but whenever he had something pressing on his mind, she knew. Sighing, he walked back over to the bed and sat down. He didn't know what he needed to talk about, instead he turned to her and asked, "How's Ethan?"
"Evan," she said in disbelief.
"How's Evan?" he asked. Will realized he hadn't been paying her any attention lately. Not that she needed it from him, but was her big brother. He should want to know how she was doing. What her boyfriend was like. Whether she was happy. "How're you?"
She smile and leaned on his shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Let's see. I've been on forty auditions and not a single call back. I lost my job at the restaurant because I was going to forty auditions. And, I think I'm in love."
"Seriously?" he said and he couldn't help the smile on his face. Should he be smiling? Wasn't there a sibling code that stated that brothers were supposed to hunt down their sister's boyfriends and threaten their lives if they did anything to hurt them. All he could feel was happiness that she was happy.
"Seriously. Now, what about you?"
His smile faded slightly as he thought about everything. He wanted to tell her about Jack, but it was too soon. Even though he told Francie and Sydney, they were used to his flight's of relationship headaches and heartaches. He didn't want Amy to get excited only to be crushed when he got crushed again. Plus, if he learned anything about spending the weekend with Jack it was that he was a private man. He didn't think he would appreciate him talking to his sister about their time together.
But, she was his sister. She wouldn't stop hounding him until he spilled. "I met someone."
Amy sat up and looked at him. Will nearly regretted saying anything as she looked at him with anticipation and excitement in her eyes. "Man? Woman?"
"A guy. Amy, don't."
"Don't what? Be happy for you! Will, it's been what, a year-"
"Two years."
"-since David? I'm excited that you're finally able to move on. All these women you've been dating have been one disaster after another."
"And you think it's because they're women?" he asked as he stared over at her. "Believe me, gender doesn't matter. It's me. I'm the problem."
She glared at him like he'd just said the stupiest thing ever. "You are not the problem. Will, I'm not just saying this as your sister, but you're one of the sweetest, nicest, down-to-earth guys I've ever known."
"Who is worthless in relationships. I fall hard and too fast and for the all the wrong people-"
"God, why couldn't I have been dating Evan two years ago. He would've tracked that bastard down and beat the hell out of him for what he did to you."
Will snapped his mouth shut as he stared at the floor. He knew she was talking about his last ex-boyfriend, David Anderson. He'd been in love. Stupid, puppy dog love that made no sense. He wanted to make things work but he kept messing it up. He hadn't been enough. David told him as much. Nothing he did was right. It was stupid. He was stupid.
He knew he shouldn't have told Amy. Jack would get tired of him, like David had, and when he realized he wasn't worth it, she would be the one on the war path while he took it, again.
"C'mon, Will, what's he like? Is he cute?"
"Gorgeous," he said without thinking. "A real gentleman."
She was smiling and he finally smiled back. "Yeah?"
He nodded as he said, "Yeah."
"Then maybe he can help you pick out a new tuxedo."
That actually sounded like a good idea. "You know my friend Francie? She has her own restaurant. If you need a job, I'll put in a good word."
"You'd do that for me?" she asked but he saw the tensing look in her eyes. "How sweet. I actually already called Francie. Interview's today at noon. She said it's a formality. The job's mine if I want it." She was quiet a moment and then said, "I've been thinking about going back to school."
"What about singing?"
"I can always find time to sing," she said as she stood. "Maybe I should be a masseuse, y'know, massage therapist."
Will stood and followed her out of his room as he said, "As long as I don't have to pay for your schooling, go right ahead."
They entered the kitchen and she grabbed an orange juice out fo the refrigerator and tossed it to him before grabbing one for herself. Leaning on the counter, she studied him a moment before breaching the subject. "I was thinking about using some of the money from the life insurance money."
Will stilled as he swallowed down the juice. They had agreed not to touch their parents life insurance money. That they would hold onto it for their future instead of blowing it all.
"I know what you're going to say," Amy said, "that it's for the future. But, Will, why can't I use some of it for school so that I'll have a future?"
"What if you change your mind again," he said as he stared over at her. "Last year, you wanted to follow me into journalism. Then you wanted to be a singer in the punk band, now a massage therapist. Next month it'll be something else. Each time you change your mind, that's more money gone that we can't get back. There are other ways for you to pay for sch-"
"But I don't have to find another way, Will! We have the money! What are you so afraid of?" she snapped back at him as she got angry.
Will knew he crossed a line, but it was the truth. Amy had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She had no direction. And every time she fell, he was the one that had to catch her. They shared a home not because he needed a roommate. He did it so she would have a place to stay.
"You know what I'm afraid of," he said as he stared over at his sister. It was what he's always been afraid of. Being broke and alone and miserable. Going through his life with nothing to fall back on if everything went to shit and not having a single person there to catch him. Amy had him, but he felt he had no one.
Even Sydney and Francie didn't settle his mind and ease his fears. One day they might be gone too. Accidents happened. People died all the time.
Amy stared over at him; her anger and hurt written all over her face. "You know what, Will, go to Hell," she suddenly snapped as the tears slipped from her eyes. She grabbed her jacket and left, slamming the door behind her.
Will watched her leave and dropped his head. He was such a dick.
Francine's Townhouse
"What'd you think?" he asked. "Am I right?" Will had basically unloaded the entire argument and his built-up frustrations with his sister to Sydney. He didn't know why other than he needed to vent to someone who might be able to give him some good sound advice.
"I'm not the one to ask," she said. "I don't have any siblings. This is something the two of you have to work out together."
Will sighed and looked away, over to Francie.
She was getting ready to leave for work. "Don't look at me. I'm hiring her as my new hostess. I can try and talk to her, see where her head's at, but that's the best I can do. Whether she stays and listens to me is up to her."
"Thank you by the way," he told her as she grabbed her keys.
"My pleasure," Francie said as she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Have a good day everyone."
"You too," Sydney called out as Francie left. Turning back to Will, she said, "How much would it cost for her to get her Massage Therapy license?"
"It all depends," he said as he rubbed his head at the costs he'd researched already. "It could be anywhere from five thousand to thirty thousand. If she gets the bare minimum, it's less. She goes all in for the degree-"
"I'd give it to her."
He stared over at her as he said, "Just like that. I should fork over thousands of dollars and hope next month she doesn't change her mind. She'd end up using the money to buy thousands of dollars worth of Prada or Gucci purses and shoes."
"Or," she said as she leaned on the counter, "she'll use it to get another degree."
"There's alway financial aid-"
"-She'll have student loan debt-"
"Which she will then be able to pay off with the life insurance money," he countered.
"Why is it that you can't just loan her the money?" she asked as she stared at him.
"As my dad would say, "If you really wanted something, you can work for it"," Will said as he stood and grabbed his empty cup. He needed more coffee.
"Wow, you must've had a lot of chores as a child."
He laughed as he poured himself another cup of coffee. "In fact, I did."
Syndey's pager went off. It must've been her work. They really didn't understand the words "paid leave". For christ's sake, her mother just died and they couldn't get along without her?
Will took a sip of the coffee as he continued telling her, "I worked for everything, had to. And you know what, when I finally got it, I appreciated it more. If I started working for something, and the desire I had for it went away, I knew it wasn't worth it. Work helps to weed out the unimportant from the truly important."
Sydney stared at him for a long moment before saying, "In a weird way, I envy your childhood. In another, not in a million years, Tippin."
"Of course you would say that, your father gives you everything you want. All you have to do is ask."
"And pout my bottom lip and bat my eyes," she said, only half teasing as she grabbed up her keys and purse.
Will grabbed a to-go cup and dumped the remaining coffee inside it before following her out. They said their goodbye's at her car as she got in and headed off to work. He watched her leave before walking to his truck. One in the driver's seat, he sat there, staring down the street. Up the block and parked by the stop sign facing the wrong direction, sat a black BMW M5.
Thinking back to last night when he'd received that odd phone call, he had seen the same make and model of car parked along the street. The windows weren't transparent so he couldn't see who was inside, if anyone, but he suddenly felt like he was being watched. Starting the truck, he headed toward the car and as he passed by he took a glance at the license plate using the passenger side mirror.
Grabbing a pen out of the console, he quickly wrote it down on the notebook on the passenger seat. NL2553. Call him paranoid, but it wasn't exactly like it had been a regular phone conversation.
"Mr. Tippin, I have a job for you."
He looked around again and didn't see anyone out of the ordinary. It wasn't like the person would suddenly stand up and wave. Cars drove by out on the street, passing by parked cars and trucks. He took them all in. A Chevy truck, a Nissian, a Ford Mustang, a BMW, another Chevy, and a Mercades Benz. He could see through all the windows except one, the BMW.
"Who is this? Are you the one who sent me-"
"Rule number one, Mr. Tippin, never volunteer information. You always want to have the other person confirm who they are by what they know, not by what you tell them."
He felt his breathing getting shallow as his heart pounded in his chest. His mind was racing on what to say and how to say it. He made his living asking questions and getting his questions answered and hunches confirmed. He wasn't trying to trick anyone into spilling their guts. Honesty and persistance was how he operated.
"Okay. I received something today. Where did I receive it and what was it?"
"You received a packaged envelope at your place of employment, The Los Angeles Register. It contained a single flashdrive."
The guy knew it'd been a flashdrive and it'd been delivered to his work. That was good enough for him. "What'd you want? Who are you?"
"As for what I want, I told you that I have a job for you. Who I am is none of your concern."
"Why me then?"
"You're an investigative reporter with a keen mind. I know your work."
Will wanted to laugh at that. "Listen, I don't know what you want from me, but I'm not the guy-"
"What have you uncovered so far in your investigation?"
He feigned ignorance; it was the only way to see if "Deep Throat" had been following him. "What if I told you I didn't find anything?"
"Then I would say you were lying. Rule number two is to never lie to me, Mr. Tippin."
That sounded like a threat. Definitely a threat. "Your confidence in my abilities are misplaced. I'm a staff writer for a reason. I'm not on the crime desk. This isn't what I do."
The line was silent once again and he was certain this guy would hang up and move on to someone else. Why did he choose him? Had he been spotted at the club, was that why?
"This is exactly what you do. I'll be in touch."
The line went dead and he turned the phone off and dropped it in the middle console, coverd his face, and took a deep breath. What just happened?
Will drove around, bypassing the route he normally took to work, and instead headed toward Anicetus Security.
SD-6
Jack entered his office and sat down at the desk. He could've used Sloane's office since he was still out but he wanted the privacy and use of this own equipment. Opening a drawer in his desk, he pulled out a cassette player and noise cancelling headphones. He could've given the cassettes he'd found in Lafayette's car to Carrie to analyze, but since the investigation he was conducting was mostly on his own, he decided to do the analysis of everything himself.
There were five TDK C90 cassette tapes in all, each with containing 45 minutes-per side-of audio. That was 450 minutes in total of audio. Seven and a half hours it would take to listen to it all straight through. Thank God for fast-forward. Picking one up, he inserted it into the cassette player, put on the headphones, and pressed the 'play' button.
He glanced out the window and spotted Vaughn talking with Sark. Gauging from both of their expresssions, neither one of them was enjoying the conversation. After a couple of minutes, they broke apart and went their separate ways. Vaughn glanced over to Sloane's office and then toward his. When their eyes met, he looked away and sat down at his desk.
Going back to concentrating on the audio, he went through the tedious task of alternating between the fast-forward and play buttons on the cassette player.
U.S. Joint Intelligence Task Force
Undisclosed Location
Sydney spotted Dixon the moment she entered the task force command center. He was on the phone and smiled and waved as she entered. Heading to Kendall's office, she gave a knock and entered.
Kendall waved her in as he spoke into the phone, "-and if it's all the same to you, go pound sand." He hung up the phone and turned to her and said, "My wife's lawyer."
"Divorce?"
"Oh, God, no, we share bank accounts. I heard you made an impression yesterday."
She sat in confusion; not only because she didn't know how she made an impression, but the shared bank accounts comment. Had it been a joke? She had no idea. "I did?"
Kendall knew she had no idea what he was talking about. Leaning on the desk, hands clasped together, he told her, "I had someone watching you at the consulate."
"You don't trust me," she suddenly blurted out before she could stop herself. It was the most logical leap to take. Yesterday she learned that her dad could be associated with SD-6, an international criminal organization. Today she found out that the head of the SD-6 combined C.I.A and F.B.I. taskforce, Assistant Director Kendall, tasked someone to keep an eye on her.
"Can you blame me?" he asked but then let it go as quickly as he said it because the next thing he said was, "You did good. Our sketch artist was able to come up with a viable suspect to who Mr. Henri Thomas might actually be." He opened the file that was on his desk and presented her a photograph.
She took it and immediately recognized the man. "That's him. Henri Thomas."
"Actually," he said as he took the photo back, "that's Michael Vaughn. He's an agent with SD-6. What'd you know about him?"
"Is that another accusation?" she asked as she stared over at her new boss. "I don't like all these accusations. Had I recognized him as Michael Vaughn, I would have told you it was Michael Vaughn. I wouldn't have gone through the frustrations of trying to describe him to our sketch artist."
Kendall let her vent. He seemed patient enough as he sat there, listening to her. Once she was done, he gave a simple nod. That was it. A nod. "Are you done?"
She sighed and didn't know whether to hit him or get up and leave. Or laugh. Sydney chose to stay seated as she told him, "His French was decent."
"Should've been exceptional. He's of French descent and has a Master's in French Literature."
Sydney was surprised by that. Thinking back to their conversation yesterday, she realized his fondness for philologist might not have been an act. He could have really felt that way. "That explains it."
"Explains it?"
"His fascination in my cover of Kate Jones. It was as if he really appreciated the work I, she, did."
"Like I said," Kendall said as he put the photograph back into the file and shut it, "you made an impression. How'd you feel about continuing your cover as Kate Jones?"
Sydney had never been asked that before. Staring at him, she voiced as much, "I get a say?"
He actually laughed a little. He hadn't been expecting that. "In this matter, yes. This isn't our only option, but it's our best option. I could order you-"
"I can do it. And to be certain of what you're asking, you want me to go undercover as Kate Jones to initiate a relationship with Michael Vaughn?"
Kendall stood and put the file away in a file cabinet. "I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to do. You don't have to be intimate. All we really need is for you to become a confidant. A friend."
"I know him as Henri Thomas. He won't break his cover for Kate Jones."
"He might," Kendall said as he sat back down and leaned on the table once again. "But he doesn't have to. He still might talk to you, invite you into his home where you can plant a bug. Leave that up to him to decide what he wants to do, but put pressure on him. Not too much, you don't want to scare him away."
"Me?" she smiled. "No man has ever ran away from me."
Kendall smiled and said, "Then that's that. I trust in your ability to figure out your next move."
Sydney gave it a moments thought then asked, "Do we have a home address?"
SD-6
Jack rubbed his eyes as he heard the "click" as the tape ended. Taking it out, he flipped it over and re-inserted it into the player. As he went to press play, the door to his office opened. He took off the headphones and heard as Seth stuck his head in.
"Mr. Donahue. The front desk called. A Mr. Tippin is here to see you."
He stared at Seth a moment before dropping the headphones to the desk as he stood. Jack didn't know why Will had come to his place of business, but whatever it was for, he was glad for the interruption. He needed the break. Checking his watch, he saw it was nearly eleven o'clock. If he wanted, he could get an early lunch.
As he passed by Vaughn's desk, he took a glance at what he was working on. He was sorting through the information they'd gotten from the French Consulate. Stopping, he asked, "Find anything of importance, Agent?"
Vaughn shook his head, keeping his eyes on the computer screen in front of him. "Nothing so far. There was a lot on the hard drive."
"I saw you speaking with Sark."
He looked up at him then. A deep scrowl on his face. He was annoyed. "Catching him up to speed on the Qatar mission. We're having a difference of opinion on how to proceed."
"That's not your concern. It's his. Let him handle it." He didn't give him time to respond. It wasn't a suggestion, but an order. Jack didn't look back as he headed toward the elevator.
When he got to the lobby, he spotted Will standing in the lobby waiting. He had yet to realize he was there, so Jack took a moment to size him up. He was certain Will had never been to a dry cleaners a day in his life. His shirt was wrinkled under the corduroy jacket he wore. Will's eyes were timid, and nervous, as they darted around the lobby. He'd only known Will for a few days, but what he'd learned about him during that short amount of time was everything.
Will Tippin was an open book. He didn't hide any of himself from anyone. There was a lot a person could learn from examining how a person writes and what information they presented. He really did read the paper twice, and Tippin's articles a few times. None of Mr. Tippin's stories had ever been lack luster or uninformative. If anything, they held too much information. He had to associate that to the fact that Will always went above and beyond for his stories.
The fact that he seemed startled that anyone would read the articles he's written had startled him. It also made Will more enduring. He wasn't just humble, it seemed that Will didn't understand his true potential. He had no confidence in his abilities. Persistence would only get him so far. When it got down to it, when the time came to truly do something worthwhile and risky, he wondered if Will would take it or run away. Only time would tell. In his mind, Will was his "ace in the hole" and he wouldn't put him in play until the opportune time. And only if he was needed.
It wasn't lost on him the similiarities between what his ex-wife had done to him and what he was doing with Will. He was using him to play a game. However, even though he could justify it as being the life of a spy, he didn't want to justify it. After he found out what Irina had done, how she had used him, he felt like a fool. He wanted to make sure Will felt no such thing. If anything, he could give Will what Irina had never given him in the end: the truth and an option.
"Mr. Tippin," he said ad he approached, catching Will's attention. He glanced over to the recepionist and saw her watching them. Not everyone in the company was SD-6, but she was. "I wasn't expecting you today."
Will seemed to realize that now, in the lobby, was no place to talk openly. He wasn't sure if it was due to his presence or his own intution, either way, it was a good sign. The man knew how to be discreet. "I apologize. I should've made an appointment," he said as he reached out and shook his hand. "Thank you for seeing me."
Jack shook his hand and then looked around the lobby. "I was heading out to grab lunch. Join me?"
Will's eyes suddenly lit up as he said, "I could eat."
That was another thing he'd learned about Mr. Tippin, he always had an appetite. He led Will out of the building and down the street to the farmer's market where there were booths, shops, and restaurants offering a variety of food.
Once they were seated at a table, Will told him, "I'm sorry for showing up at your work. I hadn't planned on it."
"It's okay," he said as cut his club sub sandwich in half. "I needed a break. What can I help you with?" Jack had told Will to call him, and instead, he showed up to his job. There had to be a reason.
Will ate a couple bites of his food, an italian sub sandwich. It seemed an deliberate act. He was hesitating, working up his nerve about whatever it was he was there to talk to him about. He didn't mind, it gave him time to eat. Suddenly, he asked, "What'd you know about shaking a tail?"
Jack hadn't expected that question. "Are you being followed?" he asked and immediately knew the answer even though Will shrugged.
"I don't know. How can I tell? I mean, I know being a reporter sounds dull compared to what you do, and it can be. But there have been times when I've inadvertently stuck my nose where it didn't belong. And, I've, y'know, I've always wondered how to do it. Just in case."
Jack didn't know who it was that was tailing Will, but if it was SD-6 then he had an idea. After taking a drink, he told him, "Circle the block."
Will grabbed a pen and notepad from his breast pocket and flipped it open. "Circle the block?"
"It's the easiest way to find out if someone is following you. Who makes three right turns?"
"I see. That's smart," he said as he wrote that down. "Oh, and also, if they realize what I'm doing, then they might back off, right?"
Jack felt himself want to smile but he kept it back as he gave a nod. "Very good assessment. Do that every 3 miles."
Will smiled at him as he asked, "What else?"
"Don't use your blinkers. You don't want to give anything away."
"Yeah, but I'll get flipped off," he said as he wrote that down. Jack did laugh then and tried to cover it with another drink but Will had seen it. Smiling at him, Will commented, "You laugh at the most random things, you know that?"
He knew. Jack tried not too, but there were times when something unexpected was said and he couldn't help it. Will had the tendency to say a lot of things unexpectedly. "Avoid the inner lanes."
"Inner lanes?" Will took a moment to think about it before saying, "Quick exiting off the freeway, ability to make a turn if needed, and not being trapped in?"
Jack smiled then as he stared over at him. Yet, Will would still doubt himself. "Are you sure you're in the right profession? We have openings."
Will actually blushed as he asked, "Anything else?"
"No, that's it." Jack regarded Will as he went back to eating and decided to take a chance and initiate the real reason Will had interrupted him at work. "Will," once he had his attention, he told him, "I know you didn't come all this way to ask me how to avoid being followed. Also, you could've called."
"What if I wanted to have lunch with you?"
Jack hadn't even considered the possibility that this was all a setup to get him on a date. Usually, he could factor in all the possible reasons, and contingences, but that actually threw him. Was that why Will was there? For a date? "Then, I would say, that...I'm flattered." And at a complete loss for words.
Will looked away and then said, "I actually hadn't expected lunch. This is a bonus." He put his food down and said, "There is something else. I'm covering a story. The guy who was killed Friday night-"
"You're writing a story about it?" he asked.
"It's in the beginning stages. I don't even know what I have, if anything. It could be nothing, that's the risk I have to take. I can either wait for a story or go out and try to find one-" he stopped himself and looked around, suddenly fearful of the people around him.
Jack glanced around him, making sure he didn't recognize anyone. He didn't. Will pulled out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He unfolded it then handed it over to him. He was confused for a moment as all he saw were dates and times and street addresses. Then he saw it. March 7th at zero-seven hundred was printed next to his work address.
"What am I looking at?"
Will glanced around again as he leaned forward on the table and dropped his voice. "The guy who was killed. His name was Antonio Lafayette." He waited a second, two seconds, as he watched him and then said, "I have a contact at the DMV who helped me out. He gave me his vehicle information that I used to track his car. I found a GPS tracker on it. That printout's from the tracker."
Jack looked at the sheet again and took in all the dates and addresses as he worked that over in his head. Lafayette had come to Anicetus Security two weeks ago. That lined up with what Carrie had told him about Vaughn taking the tracker. Vaughn was able to put the tracker on Lafayette's car because Lafayette had been at SD-6.
"Did you know him?" Will asked. And of course he would ask that question. It was a logical leap to make.
He knew that a satisfactory lie was better than the awful truth, but he told himself that he would never openingly lie to Will. That didn't mean he would offer him more than what he should know. Omitting information wasn't technically a lie. "I've never known Mr. Lafayette to frequent my place of employment," and that was the truth. Until now, he was unaware that Lafayette had ever been to Anicetus Security. In his line of work, you never volunteer information, but to help ease Will's suspicions of him, he told him, "I was out of the country for two weeks. Left Wednesday, March 6th and returned Thursday, March 21st. Shanghai, China. With being a reporter, I know you'll be able to verify-"
"I don't doubt you." Will seemed satisfied with that answer as he let out a breath. He'd been expecting something else. The fact that Will believed him, and took him at his word, was both troubling and appreciated. Taking the sheet of paper back, he said, "It's weird though, right? I mean, it could've been a coincidence. What if it wasn't?"
"What are you suggesting?" Jack asked because he really wanted to know what Will was thinking.
"I'm not suggesting anything. I just..." he sighed heavily and rubbed his head. "What does your company do? Is there anything that might suggest why a Military Attaché assigned to the French Consulate would go there?"
Jack knew all the answers to all of Will's questions. The problem was he couldn't ease his mind in the least. Unfortunately for the both of them, that would be a death sentence. "There are many reasons. We specialize in personal security, however, we also contract out to companies and businesses in all sectors: private, public, even voluntary. He could've had an appointment with anyone from our home security section to wanting to hire us to guard his private jet. If he had a private jet."
"You guard jets?"
"We have," Jack said as he picked up that last bite of his sandwich and ate it. "Anything else?"
Will looked to the table as he shook his head. He picked up his drink to finish it off. Will had tells. Jack knew immediately that Will had lied. He wasn't mad at him for it. In fact, he felt good about it. With some training, Will could lie with the best of them without giving away all these little tells.
Nearly thirty minutes later, he re-entered his office and took a seat at his desk. The abandoned cassette player infront of him as he thought over his lunch "date" with Will Tippin. He had entrusted him with the information he'd found so far; that was a good sign. As he picked up the headphones to continue listening to the tapes, his phone rang.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the tiny Noka cell and answered "Hello?" since he didn't recognize the number.
"Hey, Jack, it's me...Will."
"Decided to finally give me a call," he said as he leaned back in the chair. It meant to be teasing, but as others had pointed out to him over the years, his teasing came off often as sardonic or condescending.
Will seemed to understand that it was meant as a joke as he responded, "I had to work up the courage; at least I didn't wait a week."
Jack allowed himself to relax slightly as he said, "When I asked you if there was anything else, there was, wasn't there?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, there was. I really did have to work up the courage." He was quiet a moment before rattling off without a breath, "I won an award, it's called a Caplan, and the banquet ceremony is next Friday and I realized that I don't have a tuxedo. I mean, why would I need a tuxedo, right, like ever? Then I thought of you, because you wear nice suits. Really nice suits, not cheap knockoffs or rentals, and I thought, hell, if anyone can tell me where to go to get a really good tux, you can. So, I was hoping you would have a suggestion."
Jack was glad he had tried to master the art of self-control, because if he hadn't he was certain everyone in the building would've heard him laughing hysterically, thus, ruining his reputation as the most seriously stern and intimidating spy known to man. He was quite fond of his reputation. It kept people away, and for good reason. The things he found funny was all about context, especially situational context. It was absurd. Maybe it was because he was such a highly logical man that he found the most illogical things to be the funniest things on earth.
How did he get to a place where he was offering advice to a boyfriend on where to buy a tuxedo? He realized Will was waiting so he finally said, "Go see Leslie Cole, he has a store on Broadway between 4th and 5th Street. Tell him I sent you."
"Leslie Cole, got it," Will said before rushing out, "Are you doing anything, uh, this Friday night?"
Jack was thrown for another loop as he shook his head. As far as he was concerned, he had no plans. Since Sloane was off, he was acting Director and wouldn't be going on any out of country assignments anytime soon.
Before he could answer, Will said, "It's just that I wanted to celebrate and I saw that, since we both like Cary Grant, they're showing 'North by Northwest' at the Fairfax. We could get dinner before, or after...It's okay if you can't. I understand."
The fact that he felt himself wanting to smile at the offer brought him back to reality. This was still part of the game, he told himself. He had to be careful, vigilant, and most importantly, unaffected. He also needed to say "yes". So, he did. "What time's the showing?"
"Eight."
"We can get dinner before the movie."
"I'll text you the address to a friend of mine's restaurant. You'll love it. Say, six-thirty?"
"I'll be there."
He could practically hear Will's smile through the phone as he said, "Thank you. I'll see you Friday."
As he hung up he realized that Will actually thanked him for accepting the date. Jack felt a tension in his body, in his heart, as he pocketed the phone. Now wasn't the time to dwell on his emotions to try to figure out what it was exactly that he felt. Getting back to work, he put the headphones on and pressed play.
After a couple of minutes, side A ended and he flipped it over to the B side. The moment he pressed play, he heard silence before a voice. It was a voice speaking in French; Antonio Lafayette's. These messages weren't meant for Lafayette, but for someone else. They were numbers spoken in sets with audible punctuations and then silence between the numbers to illustrate the breaks. Jack quickly stopped the tape, re-wound it, and grabbed a pen and paper.
He pressed play again and started writing.
114; 289 & 286 333; 101
274; 16 & 17 114; 128
98; 3 151; 71
72; 57 115; 13
57; 38 4; 150
124; 57 87; 167 & 174
35; 56, 57, 58 99; 4
It was code. Jack knew instantly that the only way to decode the message he would need the key text. It could be anything, but most likely a book. A book, or ottendorf, cipher would've been the easist and most convenient way to transmit correspondences. It would need to be a book that Antonio Lafayette had been in possession of, either at his work, home, or even in his car.
Jack had found the cassette tapes in his car. If that was where Lafayette listened to the tapes, or where he wanted the receiver of the message to listen to the tape, then the book would be in the car. He didn't find a book when he seached it, meaning someone else had to have taken it. The only other person he could think of was Michael Vaughn. He had put a tracker on Lafayette's car; he must have followed him at some point, maybe even Friday night. He knew if he'd been in Vaughn's position, he would have searched the car.
He didn't want to confront Vaughn so soon about what he knew, but there was no other option. There was no possible way of knowing what the book was and it could be anything. Literally anything. The two most common were the dictionary and Bible, but he highly doubted it was either of the two. Anyone who worked at SD-6 or the C.I.A. would know that information and use both to try to decrypt the code. It had to be something else.
Making a decision, he decided to search Vaughn's car first and then, if he didn't find anything, he would confront the agent. He stood and headed down the hallway. Before he went down to the parking garage, he needed to make a stop in the server room.
U.S. Joint Intelligence Task Force
"I have it," Marshall called out as he waved at her from his desk. "Syd, Dixon, I was able to clean-up the audio from Friday night."
Sydney got up from her desk and hurried over to Marshall. It may not have been his office at the C.I.A. building, but it was just as cluttered with all his gear, gagets, and candy wrappers. Dixon joined her and they were both handed headphones. Putting them on, she heard Marshall.
"You're still going to hear the "thump" "thump" of the bass from the electronia music playing in the background. It'll cause a pulsing against your ears...It actually felt kind-of good, like a bass massage for the lobes..." Marshall smiled slightly and said, "But in the foreground you'll hear what Mr. Sark was saying. It's still soft, but it's audible."
He pressed play and Sydney felt the instant vibrantion of bass against her ears. She pressed her hands into the headphones, thinking that somehow if she got the speakers closer to her eardrums she'd hear the words better.
Sark was on the screen in front of her, pointing his gun at Lafayette. She couldn't make out everything but she did hear one sentence.
"I know about Server 47. What I don't know is where it's located. Where is it?" Then gunfire, the struggle, and more gunfire.
Pulling the headphones off, she looked at Dixon as he looked over at her. "What's Server 47?" he asked.
Shaking her head, she told him, "I have no idea."
SD-6
Jack looked up at the camera mounted to a pilar and then away at the cars parked inside the secure section of the parking garage. His trip to the server room had been to hack into the cameras and to put them on a two minute interval loop. As long as nothing out of the ordinary happened, no one would notice. Finding Vaughn's car, he waited a moment as he made sure he was alone before breaking into the car.
He checked the front, then the back, and then finally the trunk. Inside it was a briefcase. He opened it and investigated the contents. There was a worn-down paperback on poetry in the briefcase and he stuffed it into his pocket. He then glanced over the redacted C.I.A. file in his hands. It was his file. His real file before he was presumed dead.
There was no possible way for Vaughn to have gotten a hold of this file. Most likely if it had come from Lafayette's car. He thought about what could happen if he let Vaughn keep it. There were a lot of redactions, mostly the classified cases, his family history, and his real name. Really, all it showed was his photograph for the person to know that it was, in fact, his file. Vaughn believed himself to be C.I.A., so he wouldn't understand why SD-6 would consider it important. He honestly didn't know why SD-6 would consider it important.
If Vaughn kept it, he would do his own investigation. He would try to figure it out and that could put him in serious danger. On the other hand, it could help him. Both were risks, he had to pick one. He put the file back into the briefcase and left it in the trunk.
Once back in his office, and after he corrected the surveillance video feed, he sat down at the desk once again and opened the book. He studied the row of numbers and quickly deduced that this was a very simple substitution. The first number indicated what page and the numbers after represented the word, or words, on that page.
On page 114, the 289th word was "prophesy". The 286th word was "of", and on page 333, the 101st word was "five".
Jack wrote the words down and stared at the phrase that to him made no sense what so ever. "Prophesy of five". He continued until his hand stilled over the words. The more he wrote, the more he started to feel his chest ache and stomach twist in his gut. Then his heart nearly stopped completely.
By the time he'd written the last word, he tossed the pen down and read over all the words and phrases.
Prophesy of five
Subject of Christmas
Sidney Phoenix
Mother Laura
Father Jonathan
William The Prometheus
Seek the Thames Prison
Jack sat for a very long time staring at the words and possible meanings. He drew the obvious conclusion that wasn't too hard to figure out. This was about his daughter. It wasn't the correct spelling of her name, but it was her name. Sydney's mother's name was Laura and her father, his name, was Jonathan. There was no other explanation. The "subject of christmas" had to be a reference to Project Christmas, the classified assignment he'd been working on throughout the 70's and early 80's. Phoenix was an uncertainty, other than maybe a code name or a designation. A prophecy? She, Sydney, was the Phoenix?
He still had no clue what "prophesy of five" even meant. Prophesy was a verb, meaning to predict, or speak out a prediction of the future, as a prophet. Where there five prophets? Five subjects of Project Christmas, with his daughter being one of the five?
Who was "William The Prometheus"? He knew his Greek mythology. Prometheus was a Titan, a hero, and a trickster; he was known for his intelligence and was a champion of mankind. An author of the human arts and sciences. He was known to have tricked the gods out of fire and giving it to humanity as civilization, for which he'd been punished. Mary Shelley's 1818 novel Frankenstein was subtitled "The Modern Prometheus" in reference to the theme of the over-reaching of humanity into dangerous areas of knowledge.
Was William someone who was over-reaching into areas of knowledge that was putting him in danger? And was he also a subject of Project Christmas? Sydney the Phoenix and William the Prometheus? Were there three others? And if so, who were they? Both his and his ex-wife's names were mentioned, could they be part of the five? Or were they only mentioned to clarify the "Sidney" in the message to ensure the listener identified the correct person?
Then the last line, "seek the Thames prison". The River Thames in London? He would have to do some research to find out if there was a prison along the river to find out if he was correct. And what was the connection to the prison? Who had to seek it out and for what purpose?
It all made his head hurt. Picking up the piece of paper, he opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out a lighter. He took the trash bin out from under his desk and removed the plastic trash bag. Holding the piece of paper over the bin, he lit it on fire and dropped it inside. As he watched the paper burn, he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over him.
TBC...
