TRAVELER, SEASON TWO
EPISODE TWO: THE WARRIOR
(Many thanks to chattypandagurl, who kindly and skillfully beta-ed this chapter for me.)
For every one hundred men you send us,
Ten should not even be here.
Eighty are nothing but targets.
Nine of them are real fighters;
We are lucky to have them, they the battle make.
Ah, but the one. One of them is a warrior.
And he will bring the others back.
- Heraclitus
Jay had thought he'd sleep the day away, but when he checked the bedside clock he saw it was only a little past noon. Light was creeping in around the borders of the drapes, brightening the room so he could see that the other bed was empty.
He moved carefully as he sat up and was relieved to feel only a moderate twinge in his back. Given their situation, there was no way he could have sought medical treatment if the damage had been significant.
After opening the drapes he slipped into his jeans and t-shirt, the sweet smell of detergent a welcome change from days-old sweat. He was glad that Will had suggested using the laundry. He smirked, wondering if "laundry on the run" was taught in Spy Class. It was something he would have asked his friend Will, something they probably would have chuckled over. But there was no such thing as ordinary conversation with Will the stranger. Their current attempts to communicate tended to be stilted and awkward or outright confrontational.
The suite had two bathrooms; he used the one connected to the bedroom before heading into the outer room, where Tyler was sitting at the computer. He glanced up as Jay entered. "I was checking for an update on my dad. There's nothing new, which I guess is good."
"Any mention of Kim?"
"No. But that has to be a good thing. If there was a problem, the TV would be all over the story. They're like leeches when it comes to sensational news."
"Yeah," Jay said, but that didn't stop him from worrying. "Have you been up for long?"
"Fifteen, twenty minutes." Tyler narrowed his eyes and pointed to the door. "Will's gone."
Jay could feel a tightness clamp about his chest. Had Will taken off on his own? Two weeks ago he would have trusted Will with his life; now the first thing to pop into his mind was that Will had abandoned them. Again.
"Did he leave a note?"
"No. But the bulk of the money is still here. So is his pack. It's filled with enough weaponry to invade a small country. So I guess he's coming back."
"Nice of him to tell us," Jay said, recognizing that another reason why they were having communication problems was because, quite often, Will simply chose not to communicate. Either they were working together or they weren't, and that was something that needed to be resolved.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee drew Jay to the pot on the counter. Water was still dripping through the filter, telling him that Tyler had made it–which left no clue as to when Will had left. "No note," he repeated.
"He didn't clear the history. He's been running searches on the names from the Holloway list."
"Or he left a history for us to find," Jay said, recalling Will's duplicity with the stolen cars. Which was nothing compared to the lies and deceit when they were together at Yale. "Do you trust him?"
"Yes. No." Tyler shrugged. "I don't know. Since we met up outside of Fervor, Will hasn't done anything suspicious that I know about. But I hadn't suspected anything for the past two years, either."
"You weren't supposed to."
Jay whirled around to find Will standing in the now open door to the suite. How in the hell had he opened the door without making so much as a whisper of noise?
Will was carrying two large backpacks, one slung over each shoulder. From the way they bulged, both were close to full. He lined them up against the wall near the door and, crouching down, unzipped the green one and pulled out the top package.
When he started across the room with it, Jay blocked his way. "The next time you go out, leave a note."
"To say what? I'm going out. I don't know when I'll be back."
"If that's the truth, yes." Jay grabbed Will's shoulder when he tried to edge around him. "I mean it–no more secrecy."
"It wasn't a secret. You were sleeping."
"Leave a note," Jay repeated before releasing his hold.
"It's only polite," Tyler added in light tone. He pointed to the package that Will was carrying. "What's that?"
Will answered by gently dumping the contents onto the coffee table.
Jay fingered through the items. Thick-rimmed glasses. Wire-rimmed glasses. An assortment of fake facial hair that ranged in color from medium blond to dark brown. Packages that contained items to change the shape of the cheeks and nose. Hair rinses in a variety of shades.
"The best disguises are simple ones," Will explained. He split open one of the packages and stuffed its contents in his mouth. His cheeks went from lean to chubby. When he added the thick-rimmed glasses, Jay wasn't sure he'd have recognized him if he hadn't watched the transformation.
"Let me try," Tyler said.
But Will whisked the items back into the bag. "It's not a game," he said condescendingly. "We save this stuff for when we need it." He nodded to the backpacks. "Let's get them unloaded. I bought another computer, GPS tracking system, clothes...well, you'll see. Jay, you take the blue pack. I'll take the green one. Tyler, order up some food. We eat, then we get to work."
xxx
Jan Marlow walked slowly around her dining table, an oversized coffee cup in her left hand. Her file on the Drexler was spread over the shiny wood surface. As she continued to circle the table, sipping her coffee and looking from scribbled note to printed sheet to picture, she reviewed the case in her mind.
Time after time during the investigation she'd questioned the logic of evidence and events. Some things simply hadn't made sense, such as Burchell and Fog's trip to New Haven to destroy material that was already on the Internet.
Then, in the alley behind Fervor, she'd instinctively known that Fog wouldn't shoot the uniformed cop. There was never a sense of menace from Fog or Burchell, not even when Burchell had phoned in the bomb threat. She wasn't ready to declare them innocent, but she was prepared to reexamine everything from a new perspective, one that presumed they were telling the truth when they said they were the victims of a conspiracy.
Stopping at one corner of the table, she tapped her finger against a grainy black and white print out–it was the only picture they had of Will Traveler. When their initial investigation of Traveler hadn't turned up anything, they had stopped researching the name because they'd decided he didn't exist.
But he was very real; she'd met him. And unlike Fog and Burchell, Traveler had projected a sense of menace.
It's time to find out who and what Will Traveler was.
Pleased to have a focus, Marlow scanned her notes until she found a specific name with two phone numbers next to it. She dialed the second and bullied her way past a secretary to reach her target.
"Mr. Hahn, this is Agent Marlow of the FBI."
"I don't have time to talk. I'm getting ready for an important meeting. Besides, I've already told you everything I know."
"This will only take a minute. I promise. At Yale, did you know a Will Traveler?"
"We didn't run in the same circles, but I met him a few times. He shared a house with Tyler Fog and Jay Burchell."
"So he was a graduate student?"
"I just told you that he lived with them in grad student housing."
"Do you know what he was studying?"
"It was math, maybe. No, that's not right. It was engineering, chemical engineering."
"Thank you, ." She hung up the phone.
A quick search of the Internet produced a list of phone numbers for the chemical engineering department at Yale. The chairman of the department claimed not to remember a Will Traveler, but two professors did and confirmed that he had taken classes from them during the past two years.
Interesting, she thought. Yale had no records for Traveler. The department chair denied knowledge of him. But his presence had been verified by Eddie Hahn and members of the faculty.
After setting aside the phone, she picked up the picture of Will Traveler. He didn't appear to be anyone special. But someone had removed his transcript from Yale. And someone had persuaded the chairman to forget that he existed.
Whoever Will Traveler was he had powerful associates. Then why was he on the run? And why had he told Burchell and Fog that if they wanted to clear their names, they should go with him?
Marlow crossed her arms and debated her next move. It was still early afternoon; she could rent a car and be in New Haven in less than two hours. The phone might be a more efficient use of her time, but she preferred to do her interviews in person when possible. Expressions and body language were sometimes more revealing than words.
Decision made, she stuffed her notes into a briefcase and raced out the door.
xxx
Will poked his fork into the scrambled eggs that Tyler had ordered for him. The congealed mass of yellow held no appeal. He could only force himself to eat three bites before pushing the plate aside.
Jay and Tyler were managing a bit better with the chew and swallow routine, though neither of them attacked their meals with any enthusiasm. Stress was evident in the lines etching their faces and in the dark shadows framing their eyes. Will was impressed that they'd held up as well as they had; it had been a brutal week for his former house mates.
"Two of the names on the Holloway list work for Fallbrook-Dunn," Will informed them. "Tyler, I need you to research the firm. See if you can find connections to anyone else on the list."
"I can do that," Tyler said. "I'll cross reference John Ellington as well. We know he was involved."
"Jay, see what you-"
Before Will could say more, Jay stood, shaking his head. "I can't do anything until I know Kim is okay. I should never have used her to lure Marlow to the club."
"I'm going to The Strand this afternoon," Will said. "They're holding two books on John Trumbull for me. I'll check on Kim while I'm out."
"I'd rather do it myself."
"That's not safe. Your face is all over the newspapers and television."
"Your picture will be joining ours soon," said Jay. "That FBI agent, Marlow, said they caught you on video."
"That won't make the news." Will was certain that the organization behind the Drexler would suppress all images of Will Traveler. That was how it worked in the spy business. Identities were created then dissolved. If you made an identity public, then it was likely that other identities would be exposed and questions would be raised.
The type of questions that Will, himself, maybe should have asked long before he'd joined the ranks of professional spies.
Ten years earlier...
David Fancher studied his young nephew with the same intent a jeweler would use when inspecting a precious gem for flaws. Stephen held steady under the sharp gaze. Fancher was a harsh taskmaster and would punish any show of weakness.
Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Fancher nodded and said, "I've enrolled you in a new school, St. Felipe's Academy. You start next week."
"The private high school in Powder Creek? I've heard it has top notch labs, even an electron microscope."
"It's twenty miles from home," Uncle David said, meaning twenty miles from the condo he'd recently purchased for Stephen and his mother.
"I can ride my bike." Anything to get out of the Ralston school system.
"I had something else in mind." Uncle David tossed him a set of keys.
"I don't understand. These are car keys."
"They are. There's a not-quite-new Nissan pickup that goes with them out front."
"A truck? For me?" Stephen was thirteen years old, not even eligible for a learner's permit. It must be some kind of test. His uncle was always testing him.
"You don't believe me." Uncle David sent another object spinning through the air.
Stephen caught it with his left hand. It was a wallet. He opened it and found himself staring at a driver's license with his picture on it, but the name and birth date were fabrications.
"Your name is Jason McKenna," Uncle David said. "You're sixteen years old. You'll be a junior at St. Felipe's."
As easily as that, Stephen had become Jason.
He had never asked how his uncle had obtained false identification.
It wasn't as if the question hadn't occurred to him; he'd merely quelled it. Does the king ask the goose how it lays golden eggs? No. He simply savors the bounty
By quelling the question of "how," Stephen had never progressed to the more important question of "why." Why the name change to Jason, not to mention the many name changes that came later?
"They aren't going to circulate my picture," Will repeated. "And Jay, I'll find Kim while I'm out. I'll make sure she's okay. I promise."
xxx
The first thing Carlton Fog became aware of was pain. It felt as if a spider had encased his chest in a steel net and was pulling it tight about his torso. Next, sound kicked in, beeps and chirps and an occasional whooshing. Last was light as he cracked open his eyes. At first everything was a blur. Then, gradually, objects came into focus: a gray ceiling, banks of equipment, a window with closed blinds, and a figure in khaki sitting stiff and upright in a chair.
He recognized the young man in the chair and leaned toward him. "Gabriel," his lips formed the word but he couldn't squeak out so much as a whisper.
"Dad, it's okay." Gabriel popped to his feet and put a gentle hand on Carleton's arm. "You'll be fine."
Fine? Then everything made sense: the pain, the noise, the equipment, the room decor. He was in a hospital.
"You were shot outside your club."
That was a tactful way to describe his arrest by the FBI.
"How?" Carlton asked, wanting to know how Gabriel had managed to be at his side when he was supposed to be stationed halfway around the world.
"They don't know who did it," Gabriel answered, misunderstanding the question. "But you're not to worry. I took the precaution of hiring a private security firm to guard your room."
It was typical of Gabriel to take charge. He was a good son, a strong son. Carleton tried to smile his approval and must have managed at least a close approximation because Gabriel smiled back.
"It's good to see you, Dad, though I wish it could have been under better circumstances."
Carleton gave the slightest of nods in reply. His body was lethargic, and his eyelids were drooping, shutting out the view of his younger son standing straight and tall in his military uniform. On that thought, he slipped back into oblivion.
xxx
Will closed his eyes and leaned against the inside wall of the phone booth while his mind replayed the conversation he'd just had with Mr. Doherty. Will had expected it to be difficult to pry information from the man, but the exact opposite had happened. After identifying himself as Special Agent Seth Watkins, Will had simply sat back and listened to Doherty's enraged tirade.
Kim's father had been frantic with worry. Kim was missing. She hadn't been home since she left for Fervor. The FBI agent in charge of the Drexler case, Fred Chambers, had admitted to questioning her, but swore that she'd been released the following day. Doherty's worst fear was that Kim was on the run with Jay. Will didn't try to reassure him on that point, because it wouldn't change the fact that Kim was quite possibly in very serious trouble.
A tendril of memory slithered unbidden into Will's mind-a voice. Maya's voice, calling for him. Pleading. Crying out in pain.
He hadn't told Jay and Tyler that Maya had been tortured before she'd been killed. That was his own private hell, knowing the dark oasis of terror and depravity that had filled Maya's final moments.
Now Kim was missing. And if the same people had her...
Will didn't allow the thought to complete itself. Instead, he took a deep breath and let his training take over. Almost immediately, what felt like a cool current washed all emotion from his mind; he was a weapon, as detached and precise as a computerized missile system.
Kim was missing. When he spoke to Mr. Doherty, Chambers had claimed to have released her. But the FBI shouldn't have let her go. Kim had aided and abetted a suspected terrorist, a man who had been involved in the deaths of FBI agents. There had been every reason to press charges against her and none to let her go.
Something was wrong, and he had to find out what. He'd promised Jay. And the place to start was with her last known contact.
Opening his eyes, Will scanned his surroundings. Almost immediately he spotted what he wanted: a coffee shop with Internet access halfway down the block on the other side of the street. During his time with Hometown he'd learned a trick or three about obtaining information over the Internet. It shouldn't take long to track down particulars on Special Agent in Charge Fred Chambers.
xxx
Jan Marlow clicked open the lock on her rental car and slid into the driver's seat. Short on sleep to begin with, racing around campus for three hours had left her mentally and physically exhausted. But the trip had been necessary, if only to confirm that Will Traveler had been a graduate student at the school for the past two years.
In retrospect she'd learned more than that. She'd spoken with one of Will's professors, the president of the student chemical engineering society, and two other graduate students, one of whom had been Traveler's lab partner in a class the year before. They all confirmed that Will Traveler had been a graduate student at the university and talked about him in a way that suggested he was remarkably unremarkable. His grades placed him in the middle of his peers. His work was good but not outstanding. He was polite and congenial, but didn't socialize with his fellow engineers. Furthermore, not one of them could remember if his eyes were blue or brown, if he parted his hair on the left, right, or not all, where he'd done his undergraduate work or the name of his hometown.
It painted a picture of a man who was adept at flying under the radar. Will Traveler had known that he was going to disappear, and he'd behaved in a manner that made it less likely that anyone would remember him.
She picked up her pen and began adding to her notes. Professional. Faded into the background without apparent effort. Not at Yale to get an education. At Yale to get involved with Burchell and Fog.
Two years. Traveler was at Yale for two years, to set up Burchell and Fog to take the fall for the Drexler. Which meant that the Drexler had been something much more than a random act of terrorism.
The FBI is involved.
What did that mean? It sounded like a screwball notion put forth by a conspiracy theorist, to suggest that the Federal government was behind the bombing of a New York Museum. That just didn't happen except in the twisted minds of people who believed that the Royal Family had killed Princess Di or that Israel was behind 9/11.
Which was why Marlow couldn't share her suspicions with anyone until she had more proof, more facts–they'd all think she was crazy.
Sighing, she set her notebook aside and started the car. She had to get back to New York; more specifically, she needed to drive straight to Brooklyn, to pay her respects to Borjes' family.
xxx
Late for a meeting with her advisor, Jess Chambers wasn't finding it easy to navigate Columbia University's College Walk. The day was unseasonably warm and students were enjoying the outdoors. They filled the path, some ambling slowly while others gathered in unmoving clusters, jabbering away about this subject or that. It completely disrupted the normal flow of pedestrian traffic and thus hampered Jess' progress.
"Excuse me. Excuse me," Jess continued to repeat the words as she squirmed left then right, darting around other students as she hurried along. She'd almost worked her way to the main quadrangle when a young man, walking as quickly as she was but in the opposite direction, appeared out of nowhere. Before she could skid to a halt, they'd collided. The carryall that was slung over her right shoulder slipped off, tipping in the process. She watched with dismay as the contents spilled onto the herringbone brick walkway.
"Sorry," he said, dropping into a crouch at her feet. He retrieved her pack, then began to cram the scattered items back into it.
"It was probably my fault as much as yours," Jess admitted. "I was in a hurry." She looked down at the young man, who was so diligently gathering her belongings. From this angle she could only see the baseball cap that was perched on top of his head. "Let me do that. I don't want to keep you."
"It's done. Here's your pack." He thrust it sideways into her hands while regaining his feet.
"Uh, thank you," she said, but he'd already ducked into the crowd and disappeared from sight.
xxx
Tyler's eyes were bleary from staring at the computer. "That's it." He stood and stretched. "I don't even know what I'm looking for any more and my hand is cramped from taking notes."
"We need a printer," Jay said.
"We've got money; let's go out and buy one."
"Will told us to stay here."
"Since when is he in charge?"
Jay rubbed a hand over his chin. "He's not, but I didn't like it when he left without telling us first."
"And where do you think he is right now?" Tyler tapped at his watch. "He's been gone for more than three hours. To go to The Strand? He could have crawled there and back by now."
"Okay, you have a point."
"I know I do. Will is off doing his own thing. Let's do ours." Tyler walked to where Jay was slouched on the sofa. He took the laptop out of Jay's unresisting hands and set it on the coffee table. Stooping down so he could look his friend in the eyes, Tyler said, "You're worried about Kim. I want to see Gabe. I say we kill two birds with one stone."
"What are you suggesting?"
"We know the FBI is going to come down hard on Kim for helping you. She needs the power of Fog behind her."
"Oh, no." Jay shook his head from left to right and back again. "The last thing she needs is a John Ellington in her life."
"I'm not talking about Ellington or Fallbrook-Dunn or anything like that. You choose a law firm to defend Kim and Gabriel will supply the money."
"I don't think you should call your brother again. Any line Gabriel might use is going to be tapped by now."
"I wasn't going to call him." Tyler reached across the coffee table to Will's bag of disguises and pulled out the thick-rimmed glasses. "I'm going to see him. He won't be at the hospital all day. If I know Gabe, he'll go to the penthouse for dinner."
"Glasses aren't going to fool the FBI, and you have to bet they have someone watching the building."
"I'm not proposing we walk in the front door. There's a way into the penthouse that they won't be watching: the trash chute that runs into the basement."
"A trash chute. Are you crazy? Isn't your dad's place on the tenth floor."
"Eleventh," Tyler admitted. "The chute is square and plenty big enough. When they renovated the building, Dad had it made larger because bags kept getting stuck in the old one." He held his hands apart so that the space between them approximated the dimensions of the chute. "You put your back against one side, your feet against the other and shimmy up."
"You sound like you've tried this before."
"Only once. When I was eleven or twelve. Gabe dared me." Tyler remembered the long climb down the chute. Going up couldn't be much harder. "We're bigger than I was then. And stronger. That should make it easier."
"I can't believe I'm even considering this," Jay said.
Tyler sat silently, allowing Jay to reach a decision on his own. He wasn't surprised when, half a minute later, Jay raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, I'm in. Kim risked everything for me. I have to find some way to help her."
xxx
Chambers looked at the fuzzy picture on the display screen. There were three figures standing by a phone booth on the corner opposite The Citizen. The image was so blurred he couldn't tell if they were men or women. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked. "You can't enhance it?"
"That is enhanced," said Agent Ted Burns, the department's graphic imaging expert. "The camera was half a block away-too far to pick up a clear picture. Someone knew what he was doing. He spotted the cameras and made sure they were never in a position to get decent shots."
Traveler! Chambers swore to himself.
"Don't give up yet," Burns said. "I've requested every security tape within a one mile radius of the explosion." The tall, lanky agent shrugged. "Maybe they got careless going to or from. We'll know when I get the tapes."
"Okay Keep at it and let me know-"
"Boss!" Ron Farrell, who had taken over as point man for the Drexler operation, ran into the office. "I've got a lead. We just got a call from a man who claims to have spotted Fog, Burchell and an unknown third man breaking into a boarded-up building on Canal."
"Canal. That's close to where police found that stolen car, the one that went missing not far from the crime scene." Maybe this was the break they needed. "What time did he see them?"
"He wasn't sure. Between ten and midnight."
"Last night! And he just called to report it?"
"Afraid so. He hung up before I could ask what took him so long."
"Dammit, can't anything go right?" Chambers pointed at Farrell. "Call NYPD and tell them to seal off the building. Then get our team together. We're going down there. Now."
xxx
Traffic was light and the sidewalks relatively empty in the upscale residential neighborhood between the hotel and the Fog penthouse. Even when there wasn't anyone in sight, Jay kept his face tilted down so that it was hidden under the brim of his baseball cap. You never knew when someone might look out their window. And to his mind, the slicked back hair, glasses and sports coat that Tyler had chosen for a disguise left him too exposed.
"How are we going to get into the basement?" he asked. "We can't walk in the front door."
"All of the basements on that block connect. I heard my father talking about it with his insurance agent. It meant he had to pay a higher premium. We'll go in through the Algonquin at the other end of the street. We're probably going to have to break a few locks between buildings." Tyler reached around and tapped the small pack on his back. "Which is why I brought along Will's tools."
With the sun going down, the temperature was dropping fast. Jay stuck his hands in his jacket pockets as he followed along, half a step behind Tyler. "How do you know your brother will help Kim?" he asked.
"Because Gabe is the best. He doesn't pass a beggar without handing over a few bucks. He isn't like my Dad: we can trust him."
The possibility of another betrayal hadn't even crossed Jay's mind. But if Will could frame them, if Carlton could sacrifice Tyler... "Are you sure we can trust Gabriel?"
"He's my little brother. Of course I'm sure."
xxx
The dour face on the police officer alerted Chambers to bad news before the man opened his mouth. "The building was empty," he reported. "The door was forced opened. A toilet had been flushed. The dust on the floor was disturbed. There was a crumpled fast food bag in one of the rooms."
"But nothing to connect the break and enter with my guys."
"No so far. We're checking for fingerprints and anything else our first sweep might have missed."
"If it was them, you won't find anything," Chambers predicted. "Call me when you're finished."
"Will do."
As he walked slowly back to where he'd left his car, Chambers pulled the cell phone out of his coat pocket and punched in a number.
"Whaley," said a voice on the other end of the phone.
"There was a possible sighting last night. I'll text you the address. They'll be long gone by now, but I want you to keep a record of where they've been. Maybe there's some kind of pattern that will tell us where they're headed."
"Traveler isn't going to be predictable or easy to track," Whaley said with certainty, "but I'll take a look, after I finish what I'm doing. We've got movement from Gabriel Fog. He left the hospital, caught a cab and appears to be headed uptown, maybe to the Fog penthouse. But in case he's arranged a meeting with his brother, I'm going to join the tail and keep watch for a bit."
Chambers paused in the act of opening his car door. "If there's any chance of contact, I want to know that you have enough people to do the job. Call Benson and Davenport."
"They're useless."
"Call them!"
What next? Chambers slid into the driver's seat and pounded the steering wheel.
"Feeling a little frustrated, Fred?"
Not even his training could prevent Chambers from stiffening in response to the soft voice that floated out of his backseat. "Who's there?"
"No, don't turn around. Put your hands on top of the steering wheel where I can see them. Keep your eyes facing forward. I have something I want to show you."
An arm reached around and showed him an open wallet with the driver's license displayed in a see-through inner pocket. Jessie!
"You bastard," Chambers swore and attempted to turn around, but the arm locked around his throat to prevent it.
"Calm down and listen, because it's not just you at risk. Your daughter is a beautiful young woman."
"Where is she? What have you done to Jessica?"
"Nothing-yet. And I won't have to do anything if you cooperate. Now are you ready to listen?"
"Yes."
"Good. First I want you to use your left hand to remove the gun from your shoulder holster. Hold it with your pinkie finger and pass it back to me."
Chambers could recognize a fellow professional. He transferred the gun as ordered. "Who are you?"
"You can call me Will."
"Traveler!"
"That's right."
Chambers bit back his anger. "What do you want?"
"Kim Doherty. People are worried about her."
"We let her go. I don't know where she is," Chambers said, playing for time, playing for a way to get the best of the bastard in the backseat, playing for anything that would keep his daughter safe.
"Then our conversation is over." The voice was frigid and uncompromising.
The click of the latch release sent Chambers into a panic. "Wait, wait. What are you going to do?"
"Something I'd rather wasn't necessary. But I have no choice, unless you take me to Kim. Now."
Slumping, Chambers said, "She's not far from here."
"Great. Start your car and let's get moving. And, Fred, I know what they taught you at Quantico. In a vehicular hostage situation you're supposed to crash the car. Don't even think about it. Keep it slow and steady. If I detect even a hint of anything suspicious–say, you hit the brakes a little harder than I'd like-I won't hesitate to kill you. And then I'll kill your daughter."
xxx
Marlow shifted the shopping bag from her left hand to her right. It felt like it had grown heavier during the three block walk from where she'd parked her rental car. She hadn't considered the possibility of a long walk when she'd stopped at a delicatessen on her way to Brooklyn. But she should have realized that parking spots would be at a premium. The Borjes' family had a wide circle of friends and relatives.
Not much further, she told herself as she turned onto a tree lined street. The houses were small and old, but they reflected a pride of ownership that would have done a neighborhood of mansions proud. Even under the limited light from the partial moon, she could see that every lawn was well manicured, that every flowerbed was lovingly nourished.
Halfway down the block she turned into a walkway that led to a two-story wood frame house with a wide front porch. She'd been here many times before, a welcome guest for Thanksgiving feasts, family parties, and the best Superbowl bash she'd ever attended. Which made today's visit all the more difficult.
The door opened less than a minute after she put her finger to the bell. "Mr. Borjes," she said, giving the silver-haired man a one-armed hug, "I am so sorry."
"Jan. Come in, come in." He held the door wider. "And let me take that."
"It's food," she said, handing over the bag, "but nothing homemade. You know I don't cook."
Borjes' mother, sister and two brothers surrounded her before she could pass through the foyer. She marveled at their strength and compassion as they tried to comfort her while she offered condolences to them.
She was led into the living room, introduced or re-introduced to uncles and aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews. Borjes had left behind so many people who had loved him. Then it was on to the kitchen where the table was laden with food. She protested that she wasn't hungry, but an aunt shooed aside her objection and filled a plate with enough food for two people.
"Guillermo, this is how he wanted it," the aunt said as she led Marlow to a seat in the dining room. "A gathering of friends and tomorrow's mass. Nothing else." Marlow nodded, unable to speak. She remembered Borjes' telling her how he'd planned his funeral before he'd left for Iraq. He said it would make it easier on his family if anything happened.
The table had been purchased with large family gatherings in mind and could easily seat twenty people. When Marlow entered the room, there were a half dozen empty seats. Most people would have come and gone before she arrived, but still the house felt full. She passed Baird and Ellis from her office, but didn't take the seat next to them. Instead, she gravitated to the far end of table, where six men, including two who wore the uniform of the United States Marine Corps, were clumped together.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked, gesturing to the chair beside the largest man in the group.
On hearing her voice he stood and held out the chair. "Not at all," he said as she took a seat.
"Thanks. I'm Jan Marlow. Borjes and I-"
"You're his partner," the man finished for her. "I'm Pete Hanley." He held out his hand. "I served with Borjes for three years. He talked about you at our gatherings."
"You're the friends he got together with the third Friday of every month?"
The man smiled. "Yeah. Any of the old gang who were in the area would show up. Borjes was a regular. We shot a little pool, drank a few beers. Though for Borjes it was never more than one beer. He was always constant, steady, dependable." Hanley grimaced, hesitating over something, then said, "Look, we don't want to trespass on your grief, but would you join us for a drink later? We can't leave it like this, not without knowing more about how he died."
"I can understand that, and I'll fill you in on what I know. If you don't mind, I have some questions for you as well."
"We'll see what we can do for each other."
xxx
Jay directed the flashlight while Tyler attacked the locked door. It was the third in a series of doors they'd encountered as they'd trekked through dark, damp basements on their way to the building that housed the Fog penthouse.
"This one is harder than the others," Tyler said as he twisted Will's tool left and right.
"I think you need to hold it straighter," Jay said. "Let me try."
He handed Tyler the flashlight and took Will's lock tool. Jay jammed the edge straight into the keyhole and was rewarded with a sharp click as the lock sprung open.
"Not bad," Tyler said. "If your law career doesn't pan out, you have burglary as a fall back option."
Smiling, Jay tugged on the heavy door. It was poorly hung and scraped against the floor, but he finally worked it open to where they could squeeze through. "Only if it pays enough to take care of my loans."
"Only you, Jay, would be concerned about school loans while considering a career in burglary. It's what I love about you."
Taking the lead, Tyler directed his flashlight around the room until the beam found a door. "This way," he said.
"What if we can't get through to your father's building?"
"Then we go back. At least we'd have tried."
"Gabriel might not even be there."
"He'll be there," Tyler insisted as they paused at an intersection. After only a short hesitation, he turned right. "Brenda, my dad's housekeeper, is like a second mother to him. He'll know she'd have hit the kitchen as soon as she heard he was home. He won't disappoint her."
"A housekeeper..." Jay groaned. "How many other people are likely to be there?"
"Hopefully, no one. She's the only live-in." Tyler halted. "This is a dead end. We probably should have turned left back there." He swung around to retrace their route.
Jay stayed close to Tyler's heels. "We should have brought two flashlights."
"Yeah. Next time we'll know better."
"Next time we'll hopefully be able to use the front door," Jay said. He squinted into the gloom ahead of them and saw what appeared to be a heavy door. "Is that another fire door?"
"It is." Tyler walked up and tested the knob. "And would you look here. It's not locked. That's a good omen. It means we're going to get to the penthouse, talk to Gabe and take care of Kim."
Kim. It was why Jay had agreed to this crazy expedition. He shouldn't have gotten her involved. Now he had to make sure she was safe.
"See that copper pipe?" Tyler directed the light to the ceiling above them. That's new, which means this is the Claymore; they redid the plumbing last spring. So my dad's building is next." He gave a short whoop of triumph. "We're almost there."
Jay reached into his back pocket and pulled out the cell phone they'd brought with them. It was one of the phones Will had bought the night before.
"What are you doing?" Tyler asked.
"Turning it off."
"I thought you were going to leave it on vibrate in case Will tried to reach us."
"Do we really want to talk to him if he calls now?"
"Uh...no. Turn it off."
"Done." Jay flipped the phone closed and returned it to his pocket..
"I thought he would have called by now," Tyler said. "He should have been back at the hotel hours ago. Do you think he got caught?"
"No," Jay said with surety. When Will had been captured in Deer Harbor, his former associates had known he'd show up there. They'd had the time and resources to prepare for his arrival. Now Will shouldn't be any easier to find than a needle in a haystack. "But I wish we knew where he was. I don't like it when he disappears."
xxx
Will tucked Chambers' gun into the back of his jeans and pulled his jacket over the bulge. Chambers had said there were three men guarding Kim. As much as the FBI agent was worried about his daughter, Will didn't entirely trust the information he'd provided. There might be three or there might be more; he wouldn't put it past Chambers to lie in the hope that Will would get himself killed while trying to rescue Kim.
Standing in the shadows beside Chambers' car, Will studied the plain facade of the building where Kim was being held prisoner. A single light, mounted some twenty feet above the street, provided the only illumination. There were no windows. He concluded that the only way in was through the unmarked steel door.
Will still didn't know why Kim was being held in this particular location or who was holding her. Was it official or nefarious? Later, he'd interrogate Chambers. There wasn't time to do that now. Any delay might put Kim at risk.
With that in mind, Will approached the building without hesitation and pounded on the door. "Let me in," he called. "Chambers sent me."
A man in a suit, the type that FBI agents typically wore, opened the door. Will could see another man, also in a suit and tie, on the far side of the room. "Chambers sent me," he repeated as he pushed past the first man before he could slam the door in his face. "I'm here to pick up the girl."
Suit Two studied Will with suspicion. "We weren't told she was being moved."
Will shrugged. "Someone forgot to make a call. It happens all the time." He moved to the center of the room, where there was plenty of room to maneuver.
"We can't just hand her over," Suit Two said, walking toward Will.
Will heard footsteps behind him as Suit One approached him from the other side. They wanted him trapped between them until they verified who he was. It was what he'd expected them to do, what he was counting on. He wanted them close to each other, so he could attack them in quick succession. He didn't want to give either of them a chance to pull a weapon. And he didn't want to have to use a gun himself. Gunfire would signal trouble to anyone else in the building.
"So, where's the girl?" he asked.
"I'm going to need verification from Chambers." Suit Two pulled a cell phone from his pocket.
He was little further away than Will would have liked, but it might not get much better. And the distraction of the phone call would help to make up for the distance.
When Will sensed that Suit One was almost on top of him, he spun around and delivered a knee to the man's groin followed by a quick elbow to his face. Will continued turning to his right until he'd come full circle.
Suit Two responded a tad faster than he would have liked. He was on top of Will, throwing a punch toward his midsection before Will could go on the attack. Will leaned away from the blow, so it wasn't a square hit, but it deflected at an angle that brought it in contact with the wound in his side. The explosion of pain caused his breath to catch in his throat, but it also sent a fresh charge of adrenaline shooting through him.
Before Suit Two could follow up on the blow, Will dove in close, slamming his fists into the man's chest one, two, three times, until the man reeled and doubled over.
Will angled to where he could see both men. Suit One was gagging, but he was also reaching into his jacket, probably for a gun. Will head butted him in the chin. There was the cracking sound of bone splintering before the man toppled over, stiff and graceless. He hit the floor with a solid thud.
Before Will could turn back to Suit Two, thick arms wrapped around him, one pulling at his neck and the other at his waist. But Will was on automatic now, his body responding instinctively and without conscious effort. He threw himself backwards, using the other man's momentum against him. They both tumbled to the floor, but Will was faster. He scrambled around and punched Suit Two's face. Blood exploded from his opponent's nose. The pain infuriated Suit Two and he lashed out with arms and legs. While many of the blows connected, they were feeble efforts that were no more annoying than a gnat's sting. They were easy to ignore as Will reached around for the gun tucked in his jeans. He grasped it by the barrel, then swung it in a long arc until it connected with side of Suit Two's head.
Will staggered to his feet while scanning the room with his eyes. There was no sign of anyone else. After confirming that both men in suits were unconscious, he tucked the gun back into his jeans and headed for the short flight of stairs that Chambers had mentioned when describing where to find Kim.
The corridors were as anonymous as the building. The walls were blank. Doors were uniformly open and led into empty rooms. It didn't have the feel of a permanent facility, so Kim likely wouldn't have been kept here for long. Maybe it was a stop on the way to Guantanamo. Will didn't dwell on the myriad of possibilities; it was more important to stay focused on the task at hand.
After what felt like a minute and a half, he turned a corner and spotted a bruiser of a man in sweatshirt and jeans sitting on a chair some six feet down the corridor. There was a closed door to the left of the chair. That had to be where Kim was.
The man was working a crossword puzzle, but not so intently that he didn't sense Will's presence. He glanced up without urgency. Upon spotting Will, his casual expression quickly turned to one of shock and surprise. He released the pencil and paper and jumped to his feet.
"Who are you?"
The moment of hesitation was all that Will needed. He charged down the hall and rammed his shoulder into a hard core of chest muscle. It knocked the guard into the wall. Will grabbed him by the ears and twisted him around. He banged the man's face into the wall until his body went limp. Will released his hold and the man crumpled to the floor.
Three down. Chambers had said there were only three. But in case someone was with Kim, Will freed his gun before releasing the latch that secured the door. This was the point of the operation when a quick kill might be necessary-anyone with professional training would use Kim as a hostage if given half a chance.
xxx
A series of thuds pulled Kim out of a restless sleep. Startled, she sat up, disoriented and only half awake. By the time she remembered where she was, the pounding had stopped, but another sound replaced it. The click of the door lock.
She jumped to her feet just as the door opened.
"Will." Kim found herself backing into a corner at the sight of the familiar, yet not familiar face. The gun in Will's hand and his combative stance suggested someone about to wreak violence. But it was his glacial and threatening eyes that had her quivering with fear. Killer's eyes, she would have said, though seconds ago she couldn't have described what killer's eyes looked like.
She wanted to beg him not to hurt her but was shaking so hard she couldn't get her lips to form words.
"Kim." And just like that the killer was gone. "Are you all right?" he asked while tucking the gun into his jeans. "Did they hurt you?"
They... He'd said they, distancing himself from her captors. "No," she said warily. "I...I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." She felt wobbly and outraged at the same time. "I was so afraid, but Will... Will. How could you? How could you do that to Jay and Tyler?"
"We don't have time for that," he said. "We have to leave."
Kim took a hesitant step forward while wrapping her arms about her chest, trying to return warmth to her shivering body.
Will slipped out of his jacket and went to put it around her shoulders. She snatched it from his hands before he could touch her. "I can do it myself."
"We need to leave," he repeated, firm but gentle.
Kim gulped and nodded. She forced her feet to move, and with each step her gait became less tentative.
Just outside the door to the room they passed the man who had brought her meals. He was slumped on the floor, with blood trails flowing from his nose. He was unconscious or dead. She didn't want to know which.
Will led her through the maze of corridors as easily as if he'd designed the building. He walked at a brisk clip. But the way he kept looking over his shoulder to check on her, she was sure that he'd slow down if she fell behind.
He led her through hallways that all looked alike to her. Then they came to a short flight of stairs that she remembered, and at the bottom was the large, empty room that had both startled and frightened her when they'd brought her here. Halfway down the stairs she saw that the room was no longer empty–there were two more unmoving bodies, both wearing suits and ties.
"Did you do that?" she asked, trying to conceptualize how that could be possible, when both men, as well as the one upstairs, were much larger than Will. It wasn't the gun, because there hadn't been any gunfire. It would have woken her, she was sure.
Instead of answering her question, Will simply said, "Hurry." He maneuvered her around the fallen men and out the door to a dark sedan parked in the alley. Will directed her to its passenger seat, fastened her seat belt when her hands proved too shaky to manage the job, and took off.
As they pulled out of the alley she saw that they were in lower Manhattan, somewhere in the warren of streets that made up Chinatown. It didn't seem possible that she'd been so close to something so familiar. The windowless room had felt like another world.
Will turned left, heading uptown. Traffic was heavy and they were soon blocked on all sides by unmoving vehicles waiting for the light to change.
Will used the lull to pull a cell phone from his pocket. He dialed a ten digit number from memory, finishing just as the car in front of him began to move.
"The consulate general, please." There was a pause while someone on the other end spoke, then Will said, "Daniel Taft."
After that, while Kim could hear Will's side of a long and animated conversation, she didn't understand a single word until the very end. "Do sividaniya." Good-bye.
"I didn't know you spoke Russian."
"Only a little." Will edged the car into the lane to his left.
It had sounded like more than a little to Kim. She recalled the five passports and Joseph saying Your country appreciates it. Which country? "Are you a Russian spy?," she asked. "Is that what this is all about?"
"No." He spared her a quick glance. "I'm trying to help you. You're in danger, more danger than you can possibly realize."
"I realize more than you think. Tyler said the FBI was involved in the Drexler. I was brought from an FBI holding cell to that... that building."
"And they could have done anything with you from there. Taken you out of the country, used you against Jay. The people who planned the Drexler-"
"You planned the Drexler and set up Jay and Tyler to take the blame. I heard the tape, the conversation you had with Joseph."
"I was part of it," Will said, "but I'm not now. My former associates aren't happy about that, and they aren't happy that Jay and Tyler are still alive. For Jay and Tyler's sake, and for your own, you need to be somewhere safe."
The total detachment in Will's voice cut to the core of Kim's being. He admitted to betrayal and talked of life and death matters without any emotion, without any sense of personal involvement. That, more than anything, made his warning all the more frightening. Kim crossed her arms in front of her chest, knowing she had to listen to what he had to say. "I take it you have some place in mind."
"The Russians have agreed to shelter you in their New York consulate."
"Why would they do that? I don't trust you. I trust Jay. I want to be with Jay."
"Even if that puts Jay in danger? If someone gave him a choice between your life and his own, which would he choose?"
There was no question in Kim's mind that Jay would put her safety first. She slumped in her seat, her fingers worrying at the bottom of the borrowed jacket she wore. "How are the Russians involved?"
"They aren't. They owe me a favor. Your parents can't protect you. The police can't protect you–you were snatched from the offices of the FBI. The consulate is like foreign soil. You'll be safe there. It might be the only place you'd be safe."
"How long would I have to stay?"
"I don't know."
With everything that had happened., Kim wanted nothing more than to feel safe and secure again. But she didn't know if that would ever be possible, because safe and secure for her meant that Jay would be at her side and cleared of all charges. In the meantime, it didn't appear as if she had many options. She didn't know if she trusted Will, but he had rescued her from those other men. And while he'd told Joseph that Jay and Tyler would die in the bombing, Jay had told her that Will had asked if they were out before the bomb exploded.
"All right," she finally said. "I'll go to the consulate. For now."
It was a long, slow drive to East 91st Street. Both of them remained silent for the rest of the trip. Kim stared out the window to her right and thought about Jay, about the life they were supposed to share right here in New York. It would never happen now. They could never go back to the bright promise and innocence that would have been the core of their life. Because of Will.
"We're here." Will stopped in the no parking zone in front of the city landmark mansion that housed the Russian Consulate of New York. Illuminated by powerful spotlights, it stood out like a glittering jewel. "I need to clear it with the guard," Will said, slipping out of the car.
The stopped car had immediately drawn the attention of two uniformed sentries. One of them walked out to meet Will before he made it halfway to the wrought iron fence that provided security. Kim could hear the murmur of Russian pass back and forth between them, but the conversation was brief and ended with the guard pointing toward her and nodding in the affirmative.
When Will turned back to the car, he was caught in one of the spotlights. His right arm, that had been draped across his torso, shot up to shield his eyes. Kim's eyes were drawn downward, to an abstract pattern on the lower left portion of Will's light gray t-shirt. It took her half a second to realize the design was actually blood.
Blood on cotton flowed unbidden into her mind, as if she were describing an art medium to a potential customer at the gallery.
Blood.
It hadn't been there earlier. She would have noticed. Little escaped her photographer's eye. As Will drew closer, she could make out the bulge of a bandage under his shirt. So it was an old injury, not one that had occurred during her rescue, but one that had possibly been aggravated during the thumping she had heard.
Kim found her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. If Will was hurt... he'd been with Jay and Tyler. She'd determined that while being questioned by the FBI.
Please, she prayed, let Jay be okay.
Will opened her door. "I'll have Jay call you; he'll want to hear your voice."
Relief washed through Kim. Jay was going to call. He wasn't somewhere bleeding to death, or worse.
But the few minutes when worry had clawed at her increased her fury with Will. After exiting the car, she glared at him with all the rage she could muster. "You've ruined our lives."
Will's face was a blank mask in response. He gestured her forward, staying just behind her during the short walk to the now open gate. "You'll be safe here," he said.
Kim didn't turn to watch him leave. Instead, she stared at the building in front of her. Safe... perhaps she would be safe, but it was still a prison. And it was still separation from Jay.
xxx
Tyler watched as Jay pushed the oversized door open. It moved easily and soundlessly. When they'd upgraded the building, they'd used only the finest materials, even here in the basement.
"This place stinks," Jay said, his right arm going up to cover his nose.
"It's a trash room," Tyler said. "What did you expect?" Pinching his own nose between the thumb and index finger of his left hand, he swirled the flashlight beam along the wall until he found the light switch. He turned it on, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the light. It had taken over thirty minutes to work their way through the connecting basements, with only the single flashlight to guide their way.
Visually, the room was as he remembered it. "These two," he said, pointing to large blue trash bins on his left and right, "serve the other floors. The one straight ahead is what we want."
Jay walked to the where the four-foot high bin rested against the far wall. Leaning over its side, he canted his head up to examine the chute. "It's not as big as I expected."
"But we'll fit," Tyler said, bending his upper body so that he was looking up the black chimney that led to the penthouse. It was dark and he couldn't see very far, not even when he aimed the flashlight up the chute. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be away from the smell," he said.
"How do we get inside?"
Tyler looked around. That hadn't been a consideration when he'd started at the top. "I remember seeing a ladder in the building before this one. We'll have to push the bin out of the way and use it."
It took their combined effort to move the bin, then Tyler sent Jay to get the ladder. Now that they were here, Tyler wasn't at all sure it was a smart idea.. It was a long climb, with no guarantee that Gabe would be at the other end. Then there was the little matter of an exit strategy. Would they have to go back down the chute?
At least they were doing something, he reasoned as Jay returned with the ladder. Besides, Gabriel needed him and Kim needed Jay. They had to make this work.
It only took a few minutes to put the ladder in place and climb inside. The walls of the chute weren't so smooth that Tyler's shoe soles on one side and his jeans on the other couldn't find traction. But it was a tight squeeze, and Tyler's legs were bent to where his knees were almost level with his chin. Slowly, he began to inch his way upward, with Jay just below him doing the same.
xxx
Pete Hanley used the GPS system in his Jeep to find a nearby neighborhood tavern. The bar was crowded when they arrived. But they managed to secure a large round table in the corner when the people who had been sitting there saw that part of their group was in uniform and insisted on turning it over to "the brave men who are serving our country."
Hanley, Stewart, Mendez, Burke, Carson and Carson, Marlow had managed to put names to each face, except for the twins. Dressed in matching outfits, she couldn't tell the Carsons apart. But their comrades apparently could, referring to one as Crazy and the other as Chip. When Stewart called out for drink requests, she made careful note of where each twin was sitting in order to keep them straight.
Twenty minutes later, as Marlow finished telling them what she knew about Borjes' death, she rested her hands on the table and twined her fingers into a mesh of anguish. "I wasn't with him. I'll always regret that. I might have been able to do something."
Hanley nodded that he understood. "Fate twists us in cruel ways. Nobody knew that better than Borjes. He wouldn't want you to fret over what might have been."
"I know." That would help someday, but not quite yet.
"You had something to ask us."
"Yes. I was reviewing Borjes' case notes, and there was something I didn't understand. It was a short reference to Iraq. I wondered if it meant anything to you."
"Go on."
"It was just four words: Will Traveler, Iraq, Nightingale."
"Nightingale!" Stewart exclaimed. "Now that's a name I'll never forget. And neither would Borjes, Burke, Crazy and a couple of others who served with us."
Crazy raised his glass in a silent toast. "None of our patrol would have made it back to base if Nightingale hadn't shown up."
So Nightingale was a person. "Would you tell me the story?"
Burke began the narrative. "We were pinned down in a nasty section of town. We'd responded to a car bombing, but it was a setup. They were waiting for us. We made it to a one-room hovel, dragging Crazy here, who'd taken a bullet in the thigh. My ears were ringing from the rat-a-tat of enemy guns. It sounded as if there were a hundred of them. There weren't, but there were enough.
"Borjes had Bonehead Wilson call for backup, but we didn't know if it would get there in time. The attack was well planned, and we suspected the road was already cut off. Choppers would have done the trick, but wind was whipping the dust around and the birds were grounded."
"I remember the heat," Stewart said. "It was early morning, but it was already choking hot. Sweat was pouring off my body. Meanwhile, the walls of our shelter were being chipped away by small arms. That was bad enough. Then the roof exploded. That's when I began to pray-I knew the next shell would be our end."
Stewart shivered. "But the next shell never came. And gradually the gunfire dwindled until it stopped completely. Then we heard a voice shout out, 'I'm an American. I'm coming in. Don't shoot.' And this kid walked in. He face was all gray-brown from the dust, but he had deep blue eyes and the right uniform. He was an American all right."
"He bent down and began to work on my leg," Crazy said. "I thought he was a medic and that the rest of his group was outside setting up a perimeter."
"But there wasn't anybody else," Stewart added, "except dead insurgents. There were fourteen of them. What was left of them, that is. That kid was a brutal killing machine. And that's when I knew that Nightingale wasn't a tall tale or something concocted by scared grunts to bolster their courage; he was real."
"Nightingale was his name?"
"No. Someone started to call him that because he swooped in like a bird to perform rescues when the situation was grim. Like the one we were in." Burke scratched his head. "The kid who rescued us, his name was Carrington; at least, that was the name on his uniform. But later, talking to others who had benefitted from Nightingale's particular expertise, they swore his name was something else and something else again. We might have thought there was a team of Nightingales except the description was always the same."
"His description." Marlow dug her hand into her purse and pulled out the picture that she'd shown around Yale that afternoon. "Does this man look familiar?"
Burke, Stewart, and Crazy passed the picture from hand to hand.
"Nightingale."
"Nightingale."
"I'd never forget those eyes. They had that same intensity when he patched up my leg. It's him."
"Do you know him?" Burke asked, returning the picture. "Because I'd really like to buy that man a beer or three."
Marlow shook her head. "I can't say that I know him, and I don't know how to contact him. But I'm hoping our paths will cross, and when they do, I'll pass along your invitation."
To Will Traveler.
end of Episode Two