TRAVELER, SEASON TWO
Episode 6: The Thorn, Part 2
(I want to thank chattypandagurl for her invaluable assistance and insight. She's a terrific beta-reader.)
The thorn from the bush one has planted, nourished and pruned pricks more deeply and draws more blood. Maya Angelou
Except for minimal seasonal variations, the view from the large picture window in Conrad Mailer's home gym remained the same. Most mornings he never even noticed the stark foothills displayed before him while the belt of the treadmill rolled beneath his feet. He was already focused on the demands of the day ahead, his attention turned inward, with the methodical pace of his mind mirroring the cadence of the machine as he executed his daily three miles. While the rest of his exercise routine varied, the walk remained the same. Over the course of a decade it had become as commonplace as brushing his teeth.
Some days, like today, the three miles went by in a flash. Without ever having noticed the change in tempo, he found he had completed the programmed cool-down period that ended the workout. It was time to switch off the treadmill. As he stepped off the machine, the muted sound of padded feet alerted him to the arrival of visitors. He turned toward the door as Mischa, his Russian Wolfhound, trotted into the room followed by the tall, chiseled figure of David Fancher. His trusted associate had a grim expression on his face.
Mailer didn't have to be a mind reader to decipher the reason behind his associate's mood. "You've not found him," he said as Mischa dropped to his haunches beside him. "Damn it to hell. We have sufficient resources to find a needle in a haystack the size of Wyoming, but we can't locate one man."
"Will is eminently resourceful," David said.
"Stephen," Mailer growled, his hand going to Mischa's head to quiet him before the Borzoi had time to react to the gruff tone. "His name is Stephen."
Anyone else would have cowered at the rebuke, but Fancher stood his ground. It was one of the reasons Mailer valued him.
Fancher's response was immediate. "Over the years it was essential that past identities were totally discarded to avoid the potential for confusion as new ones were put into place. That couldn't have happened if I hadn't embraced each change without reservation. To me, he's Will Traveler."
"I know." Mailer said, his mood swinging from angry to resigned. Crouching down, he intertwined his fingers through Mischa's soft, silken hair, finding solace in the familiar tactile sensation. "It's a difficult situation." He was used to being in total control, and while he wouldn't admit it to David, he was frustrated that this problem was taking so long to resolve.
"We'll find him," Fancher said, his voice hearty and confident.
"Or he'll find us," Mailer murmured, wondering what he was stirring up in his attempt to reach out to the man David knew as Will Traveler. He couldn't shake a feeling that suggested the mission had as much potential for disaster as triumph.
xxx
A thunderous clattering rattled Will's eardrums, drawing him from the depths of an exhausted slumber. His reorientation process was atypically sluggish, as if his brain was operating in slow motion. It took seven precious seconds for him to remember where he was –a front-facing bedroom in Tyler's grandmother's house– then five more seconds to identify the clatter as someone pounding up the stairs.
He barely had time to free the gun from the holster and release the safety before a tall, lanky figure burst through the door.
Jay.
Jay's hands darted into the air. "Hey," he called, stumbling slightly as he came to an abrupt halt.
Will probed behind and beyond him, but saw nothing, heard nothing that might explain Jay's explosive charge. "What's the matter?" He scooted up in the bed, pressing the pillow he'd been using into the headboard.
Jay seemed confused by the query, then, finally, answered. "Nothing."
"Nothing? So why the rush?"
"I... because…" Jay's eyes tracked the gun as Will slid it back into his shoulder holster. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything."
Will's eyebrows rose, but he didn't challenge Jay's explanation. He simply waited for the Boy Scout in Jay to surface.
Jay's mouth opened and closed several times before the words rattled off his tongue.
"Tyler took off–he left this." Jay unfolded his right fist, revealing a crushed slip of paper. He tossed it to Will, who snatched it from the air.
Will uncrumpled the paper and held it toward the faint light flowing through the window. The message was brief and surprisingly not a surprise. He should have anticipated the possibility and done something to prevent it.
Five hours earlier...
"What's going on, Will?" Tyler's soft voice drifted into the confines of the small bathroom.
Will spat out the water he'd been swishing around his mouth before turning to Tyler. "It's the middle of the night. This is not a good time for twenty questions. Could you be more specific?"
"This is at least the second time you've puked in three hours."
"I didn't know anyone was keeping count."
"It was that or sheep."
"What's the point of this?"
Tyler's eyes narrowed into stubborn slits. "You need a doctor. There's a small hospital about four miles from here. We--"
"No." He brushed past Tyler and crossed the hall to his room.
"Will!"
"I said no."
"It hadn't seemed as if I slept much," Jay was saying, maybe as much to himself as to Will. "But I didn't hear him leave. What about you? Weren't you keeping watch? Why didn't you stop him?"
Will shook his head. Pain, fever, and intermittent bouts of nausea had made the night feel a thousand years long. It was difficult to recall anything beyond the long stretch of misery. But he'd have heard the car, unless...
Near dawn –when his stomach had finally stopped heaving and he'd decided that the Porter was no longer a worry –he'd stumbled into the shower and stood under an icy rush of water for at least fifteen minutes. The water had felt like needle points against his wounds, but it had cooled him to the point where he could doze off.
"He must have left when I was in the shower." The mournful bellow of a foghorn drew Will's attention to the open window to his right. "You should leave, too."
"What? Why?"
He wasn't sure where to begin. A shudder of pain distracted him as he sent his hand to his side, shifting until he found a slightly more comfortable position. "It's like this," he said, "when...if Tyler gets caught, he's going to tell them where we are."
"He wouldn't do that."
"He won't have a choice. They'll trick him, torture him, threaten someone he loves, someone like his brother. You might not have much time. Walk into town. Steal a car. Get as far away as possible."
Jay hand chopped through the air in a dismissive gesture. "It's bad enough that Tyler's gone. Now you want us to split up? It's not going to happen. Even if I was inclined to take off, I wouldn't leave you here alone when you're all banged up. You're my friend."
The muscles in Will's jaw contracted, twisting his mouth into a sharp sneer. "You don't even know me."
"You're wrong about that." Jay's voice held a conviction that would serve him well in some future courtroom. "It doesn't matter that you lied to us or that you were pretending to be someone you weren't. I... we connected. That was real."
"People who think I'm someone I'm not tend to get hurt."
"We've been that route, and it damn well hurt. But that has nothing to do with now."
"It has every--"
"Whatever, Will," Jay cut him off. "I'm not going to waste time arguing with you. I'm going to try to figure out where Tyler went. You're both my friends, whether you like it or not." Having completed his closing argument, he spun about and headed toward the door.
A tight knot formed in Will's chest. It wasn't quite as painful as getting shot in the side, but it came close. Jay should know better. If the Drexler hadn't been lesson enough, he knew what had happened to someone else who had misjudged Will Traveler.
Twenty-six months earlier...
While he'd walked or biked by Maya's store many times during the two weeks he'd been living at her house in Deer Harbor, he'd never had reason to go inside. Until now. As he slipped through the glass-paned door, the gentle tinkle of a bell announced his entrance. At first no one responded, then Maya's voice sounded from deep within the store, "I'll be right with you."
As his eyes roamed the room, he could feel a smile spread across face. It was like walking into someone's personal library. Books with spines that had been worn smooth by loving hands filled open shelves and assorted bookcases. There were mismatched lamps, plastic shapes dangling from curtain rods, walls covered with eclectic oddities and even a winged gargoyle. Nothing appeared to go with anything else. But when viewed as a whole, it was an engaging, intimate setting that encouraged browsing.
An enticing array of olfactory sensations added to the charm. The aroma of old books and spicy potpourri mingled with the scent of fresh-cut roses. Three blood-red blossoms spilled out of a glass bowl on the counter. They were from the bush in Maya's backyard, a bush he'd watched her water and prune, dust and feed.
"It's you," Maya said as she entered the room. When she hadn't known who was in the store, her voice had been welcoming; now it was wary. While she'd been cooperative in terms of the assignment, it was clear that she didn't like having him around. Now he'd invaded the one place she'd been free of him. "What do you want?"
"I brought you something." He swung the canvas backpack off his shoulders and set it gently on the floor. After undoing the buckles, he pulled back the flap in one swift motion. A whirling ball of black burst out of the knapsack and darted into the far room.
"Mr. Mudge!" Maya's cry was joyful. "But why –how...?"
"I heard you calling him this morning."
"He didn't come to eat. He never misses breakfast." She paused and swallowed. "There were wolf sightings in the area and I was afraid…afraid something had happened."
"He was caught in the window well on the east side of your house." Will rushed out the words, uncomfortably aware that Maya's emotions were close to spilling out in the form of tears.
"In the window well." Maya swiped her sleeve over her eyes. "I called and called. He never so much as mewed in response. I could have helped him."
"From what I've seen, Mudge likes to solve his own problems."
A quick smile spread over her face. "He does. He's too independent for his own good. When I first saw him, he was a smudge of undernourished skin and bones lurking under the lilac bush. But he wouldn't eat the food I set out until I moved it to the far back of the yard. It took a year of sliding the bowl closer and closer to get him to the patio. He still won't let me touch him." She canted her head to the side. "Speaking of which, how did you get him out?"
"It wasn't easy." He rolled up his sleeve to display the scratches on his right arm. "But I had a few pounds on him."
She said softly, "He hurt you. I'll get the first-aid--"
He held out his hand to stop her. "That's not necessary. He didn't even break the skin." He nodded to the far room. "I better fetch the furball before he decides to tear your store apart. I just brought him by so you'd know he was okay."
Before he could move, she reached for his wrist, brushing her fingers over it so lightly he wasn't sure she'd actually made contact. But for that instant, it was as if she was gripping him with a hand made of steel. He found himself locked to the floor as she touched his arm a second time and said, "You're a good man, Daniel Taft."
Good man.
Friend.
Will shook off Maya's and Jay's words and everything they implied. He prompted his body to move and inched sideways until he reached the edge of the bed.
Tyler was gone. Jay was staying. That didn't leave him with many options.
With resolute determination, he swung his legs off the bed.
xxx
Marlow paced her small apartment, a coffee mug in one hand, a bagel with cream cheese in the other. She'd picked them up at the corner deli, hoping the short walk would reboot her brain. It hadn't, and she simply couldn't bear the thought of spending another day going back and forth between road atlases and her computer, trying to make something out of nothing.
Stewart's sighting of Nightingale, which had seemed a promising lead the day before, hadn't panned out. Maybe she should pursue a different line of research. But her gut instinct wouldn't let go of the image of Fog, Burchell and Traveler standing beside a car on the berm of route 95. Why? Why was that seemingly more important than something else, such as following up on Joseph Langdon or Fallbrook-Dunn?
Then it came to her. She knew why she couldn't set aside Stewart's report.
Every time Fog or Burchell had been spotted, she'd set off like a bloodhound in pursuit: upstate New York, New Haven, Boston. She'd been to each of those places, and it had helped her connect to their thinking processes. Each trip had provided a degree of insight she couldn't have achieved from the confines of her office.
Cramming the rest of the bagel into her mouth, she grabbed her briefcase and purse and hurried out of the apartment. If she didn't hit traffic delays, she could be at the designated exit close to the time they'd been seen the day before, which made it likely that the same shifts would be on duty at nearby gas stations, restaurants, and convenience stores. Maybe someone would remember them. She'd pass around pictures –well, maybe not the one of Traveler she wasn't supposed to have– and keep her fingers crossed.
xxx
Jay was pouring a fresh cup of coffee when the squeak of floor boards in the hallway told him that Will had followed him downstairs. He waited until Will entered the kitchen to point to the pot and ask, "Would you like some?"
"No." Will filled a glass at the sink and took two sips before asking, "Do you know if Tyler found wetsuits?"
"Two. They're in the laundry room." He nodded to the door on the east side of the kitchen that led to a laundry area and a lavatory.
While Will went to check out the suits, Jay retrieved his wheat toast and slathered a thick layer of chunky peanut butter on top of both pieces.
"It's better than I expected," Will said on his return. "We've got full suits, masks, snorkels, and fins. That will give us an out if we need it."
He circled the kitchen, rummaging through drawers, cabinets and cupboards, pulling out items here and there and setting them on the counter by the stove. After he'd inspected every nook and cranny, he began to organize his acquisitions. He made two piles of granola bars, candy and raisins and tucked them into zip lock bags. "Supplies," he explained, adding books of matches to the bags. "If we have to make a quick exit, we'll want to keep a low profile until we're out of the area, which means no food stops, and we might want to build a fire to dry off." He glanced briefly at Jay. "I bought flashlights and batteries when I was at the grocery. Do you know where they are?"
"Over there. We never unpacked them." Jay retrieved the bag from the bench by the sliding glass door, but he didn't hand it over. He was tired of Will dictating their every course of action.
Jay braced himself, throwing his shoulders back and raising his head a little higher. "We need to find Tyler."
Will paused and favored him with an exasperated frown. "How, Jay? Should we pin a map to the wall and throw magic darts at it? Look," he said, his face softening slightly, "finding Tyler would be great. But it's a luxury. It can't be our number one priority."
"What is our priority?"
"Survival," Will said simply. "We need to be ready to take off in a hurry. That means gathering gear and supplies and stowing them on the beach." He took the bag from Jay and began to transfer the contents to more zippered bags.
Jay hovered at his shoulder. "I'm not blind, Will. You're the one with skewed logic. You aren't in any shape to make a getaway by sea."
"Until someone is shoveling dirt on top of me, I'll do whatever–" His voice cut off as he bent forward and braced his hands on the counter.
"That's exactly what I mean," Jay said. "Where are your pain pills?"
"I can't...take them." Gradually, Will's face lost its tortured look. He released air from his lungs, then twisted around so he was leaning against the counter. "My stomach doesn't like the diet of chemical cocktails I've been feeding it, so I have to lay off meds and concentrate on keeping water down. Pain doesn't kill; dehydration does. Like I said, it's all about priorities."
"All right," Jay said, stepping away and giving Will space to continue his methodical preparations. His movements were so smooth and efficient –never taking an unnecessary step, or so it appeared to Jay– that he might have been performing a choreographed dance, a dance designed to enhance survival.
Will disappeared for a few minutes and returned with bundles of clothes for each of them. Anything that fit in gallon bags was zip locked closed. The other items were put into white trash bags sealed with rubber bands. Eventually, everything was packed in plastic and tucked into two medium-size backpacks. Will put the packs in large garbage bags and carried them into the laundry, returning some five minutes later with two bulging black bags. As he half dragged, half carried them to the patio door, Jay stepped in front of him and took them from his hands.
"I'll get them to the beach," Jay said.
"The steps are going to be tricky in the fog."
"I can manage."
Will nodded. "I'll get rope. You'll need to secure the bags to the stair posts, and maybe put some heavy rocks on them. We don't want them carried away by an unexpectedly high tide."
"I'll be careful. Where's the rope?"
"I saw some in the storage bin on the deck."
"I'll take care of it."
"Okay," Will said, "okay."
He didn't seem to be entirely comfortable with leaving the job to someone else, but Jay didn't think it was because he didn't trust him to do it right. It was something more basic, maybe an inability to delegate and share responsibility, or lack of experience with the same. It wasn't much, but it was some insight into how the real Will's mind worked. Jay wondered if that was going to be the only ray of promise in what was otherwise turning out to be a dark and gloomy day.
xxx
As the large clock on the wall ticked away Fred Chambers began to second guess himself. He shouldn't have let Rosalind Freed bully him into sending Kim Doherty out of the country. Not because Doherty deserved gentle treatment, but because of how Traveler might react. If he'd threatened Jessie when Kim had been merely missing, what would he do now? What might he already be doing?
Fred Chambers thumped his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the coffee mug sitting in front of him. It was already fifteen minutes past the time he'd asked Jessie to meet him for breakfast. He knew her first class wasn't until eleven, so where was she? He'd texted the request last night. She'd had plenty of time to respond if she couldn't make it.
Glancing to his left, Chambers nodded nervously to the man in the blue jacket, who was nursing his own cup of coffee while leaning on the counter that looked out onto the street. The man brushed his hand Chambers' way to acknowledge he wouldn't be going anywhere until the assignment was completed, or Chambers gave him new orders.
Gary Rutherford was in his mid-thirties, though his prematurely gray hair tended to give the impression of someone older. He was a former FBI agent who had been recruited to Hometown soon after its conception and kept on a private payroll to do covert work for Jack Freed after it was disbanded.
Rutherford and three others, two of whom were also well known to Chambers, would watch over Jessie as soon as they found her. She'd left the dorm before they got there at dawn. Now the plan was to start surveillance after this morning's breakfast.
After another check of the time told him that five more minutes had passed, Chambers closed his eyes and swore under his breath. "Dammit."
"Hey, Dad, what's with the language?" a familiar voice asked. Seconds later, Jessie pecked a kiss to his cheek before sliding into the far side of the booth.
"You weren't supposed to hear that." Worry evaporated and a wide smile spread across his face. The sight of his beautiful, bright, talented daughter was enough to chase the fiercest storm clouds from his mind. So what if the Drexler had turned into a monumental migraine? Jessie was here, her hand reaching across the table to smooth over his fingers.
"That's more like it," she said, responding to his smile. "I'm sorry I didn't take your calls yesterday and I'm sorry I'm late. I know how much you worry about me. I just wish you wouldn't."
"Impossible." He twisted his hand so that he could take hold of hers. "You are the heart and soul of my existence. Without you, life would have no meaning."
Her green eyes flashed disapproval. "Don't say that. It frightens me. What if I do something wrong? What if I disappoint you?"
"Maybe I exaggerated." He released her hand, picked up his mug and held it in the air. "Coffee –good coffee, that's the true essence of life."
"Oh, Daddy," she said, causing his heart to just about stop beating. She hardly ever called him Daddy anymore, and each rare occurrence was as valuable as a priceless gem. "Now you're just being silly. Did I ever tell you that you're the best stand-up comedian father in town?"
"You haven't, but it's a title I'll wear with pride."
"So, other than food," she said, flipping through the menu, "why are we having breakfast on a work day?"
"Because I needed a break from this case. It's become an obsession, and that isn't good. I can't see the bigger picture for the trees. A change of scenery was in order."
"Well, there's not much to see here." Her voice was teasing as she went through the motions of looking around the restaurant that was small even by New York standards. There was a niche where you placed orders, three booths, and the stand-along counter against the front wall. "How did you pick this place?"
"O'Malley said the blueberry pancakes are to die for."
"Blueberry pancakes." Jessie faked a groan. "That's cruel and unusual even by your standards. You know that's the one indulgence I can never resist. You may as well place a double order for me, and get a side of whipped cream."
xxx
Jay sat at the table in the corner and stared out at the fog-covered deck. Two feet past the window, the faint outline of a recliner was just beginning to take shape. It was more than he'd been able to see a half hour earlier, but the mist was still a thick shroud that left him feeling isolated from the rest of the world.
That wasn't an entirely bad thing when you didn't want to be found. But it wasn't a good thing when you were intent on finding.
"Where would Tyler go for help?" Jay asked, raising his voice so the question would carry to where Will was sprawled on an oversized chair with matching ottoman. Jay had found him there when he returned from the beach.
"His father. His brother."
"Well, his father is out, and I think he knows they'll be keeping a close eye on Gabe." Jay tapped his pencil on the tablet in front of him. "Not back to Nell's. Can you think of any other women he dated for longer than two weeks?"
"Not while we were at Yale." Will stretched out his arm and picked up the glass from the side table. He was working his way through the glass of water slowly but diligently. "There was someone he mentioned a couple of times. Jane, Jan, something like that."
"Jan Carlisle. He dated her, off and on, during high school and college. But she got married. I remember when he got the invitation."
Will folded his arms over his stomach, his hands rubbing his forearms as if to distract his body from an area of discomfort. "Did you write down Otis Whaley?"
"Yes." Jay had been taking notes as Will came up with lists of people, facts, events, and places that might help them track the Fourth Branch. "You saw him at the park; he was part of Hometown."
"That's right."
"Do you need anything?"
"No." Will's eyes fluttered open. "It's not that bad, Jay –stop worrying. Tyler panicked; you know how he'd work himself into a frenzy. Like with Nell. He formed an opinion and never gave her a chance to defend herself."
"That's it!"
"You just said he wouldn't go to Nell, that you'd already been there, that the FBI was questioning her."
"Not Nell. While we were at school, whenever Tyler had problems or gripes or was feeling down, where did he go to vent?"
"At Yale?" Will thought about it, then shrugged. "The Castle. But he knows better than to go there."
"It wasn't The Castle." Jay rose slowly to his feet, smiling. "It wasn't the building that provided a sympathetic shoulder. He brought his problems to us. We said it all the time –we were closer than brothers. Whatever is going on with Tyler, he wouldn't run out on us. He's coming back. I know he is."
xxx
Tyler's plan was sketchy and not without risk, but he didn't feel he had time to come up with something better. He hadn't been able to stand by while Jay had been taken into FBI custody behind Club Fervor, and he couldn't stand by and watch Will get sicker by the hour.
It was easy enough to execute the first part of his plan: put distance between himself and the cottage. He'd driven north-northeast for approximately two hours before cruising around a mid-sized town until he'd spotted a pay phone in the parking lot of a convenience store. He sat in the car for five minutes before he got up the nerve to leave the security of the SUV.
Keeping his back to the parking lot and street, he dialed a number from memory. It rang three times before the line clicked open. There was a stretch of silence, then the familiar voice of the Porter said, "Yes?"
"This is Tyler Fog."
"Fog... I'm glad to hear from you. Where are you?"
"No way," Tyler said. "I'm going to give you a chance to back up your words. We could use some help. Are you interested?"
"Tell me what you want."
"Drugs. We need drugs," Tyler rattled out. "Antibiotics. Something that doesn't upset stomachs. He has pills, but he's not keeping them down."
"Slow down. Start at the beginning. Is someone ill?"
"He was shot," Tyler said, switching the phone to his right hand when it threatened to slip out of his sweaty left one. "The wound's infected. I don't know what to do."
"I have connections. I can get you medical help: a doctor, a private hospital. Just tell me where you are."
"No. If you have connections, then you should be able to get the drugs. Take them to my brother, Gabriel Fog. He's either at the hospital with our dad or at the penthouse."
"I can find him, but--"
"Get them to him by noon. And don't even think about planting one of your tracking devices in the package or you'll never hear from us again."
"Listen, Fog. You need a doctor. You can trust me."
Tyler barked out a laugh. "Trust you? The guy who used us to find Will? No way. You want our trust, you earn it. You want something from Will, then you better get those drugs."
Tyler cut the connection and sank onto the small seat. His arms were shaking, his legs were limp, but he'd done it. He'd completed step one of his plan to help Will. Now, as much as he didn't want to involve Gabe, he didn't feel he had a choice. While driving around in search of a phone, he'd spotted a coffee shop that offered Internet access. That would be his next stop.
xxx
"Good boy," Mailer said as Mischa caught the stick he'd thrown. "Bring it here."
Seated near him on the patio, David uncrossed his legs. "Borzoi tend to be stupid. You've done a good job with him."
Mailer took hold of the stick, arced his arm back and tossed it far out into the yard. Mischa yelped and set off after it, sliding under it just before it hit the ground. Drool spilled from his mouth as he pounded back to his owner.
"It's simply a matter of training," Mailer said. He gestured for Mischa to drop the stick at his feet. Mischa's eyes darkened with disappointment –he knew that meant playtime was over– but he obeyed without hesitation. "If you provide –" He cut off as his cell phone twittered; it was a programmed ring that Mailer immediately identified.
"It's Jon." Two swift steps took him to where the phone rested on a stone table. He activated the speaker function as he answered. "Yes?"
"I just got a call from Tyler Fog."
"Where is he?"
"He wouldn't say, but the number appeared on my phone. I was able to track it to a pay phone in a small town in east central Massachusetts. But he'll leave the area before we can get there; he's adapting to life on the run."
"Are you sure?" Mailer nodded to David. "You wouldn't have to check it out. I could have a team there –"
"There's something we have to take care of first," Jon said. "Fog wants drugs, antibiotics. The FBI thought one of them was hurt..."
"I remember." Mailer dropped into a chair next to the table, knowing what was coming next.
"One of them was shot. I can't be positive –Fog might have been deliberately misleading me– but it sounds like it was Traveler."
"Massachusetts..." Mailer floundered as his brain went uncharacteristically blank.
"Williams," David cut in. "The clinic in Springfield."
"Thank you. Jon, did you hear that? He can get treatment in Springfield."
"Yes, sir. I knew you'd have a medical resource, but Fog refused the offer. He just wants antibiotics. I thought about it while I called you. We should give him more than that, whatever your medical contact thinks might be of help. And include a number they can call."
"David?" Mailer turned to his associate.
"He's right. We can't force them to bring him in. But, Jon, we'll want you to follow Fog when you make the transfer."
"I assumed as much. I'm to deliver the drugs to his brother by noon."
Mailer took a deep breath and found his command of the situation returning. "Jon, you're still in New York, I presume."
"Yes, sir."
"Then we'll use Brandon Morris. He's an internist with an office on Park Avenue. I'll have David text you the address and phone. I'll let Morris know to expect you, and I'll tell him to err on the side of excess."
After disconnecting the call Mailer got his feet, wondering, "Maybe I need to bring in more help."
"Additional personnel will clutter the landscape," David said. "We've already talked about this. When it comes to covert assignments, Anselmo's the best. The proof is evident. He tracked Will, which even the FBI with all of its resources failed to do." David took the time to intertwine his fingers before continuing. "There's another consideration: Rosalind Freed."
"You're right. If we expand the operation, Rosalind is bound to get wind of it. That puts the organization at risk as well as my personal plans." Mailer started toward the open French doors. "Let's go to my office; I've been so consumed with this dilemma that I've been neglecting other projects."
"You never did return Callahan's call. He phoned about a delayed lumber delivery a week ago. I think you might want to visit the site in person."
"Check my schedule," Mailer said, as he mentally reviewed the shopping center project in his mind. "There was also some question about easement in regard to the parking garage. I don't know if that was ever resolved. You get the file while I call Morris."
xxx
Rosalind Freed held her hands to the light, admiring the French tips that adorned her nails. Her manicurist never failed to please, but she'd excelled her own high standard this morning. The polish job was flawless.
Tapping the intercom open, she told her assistant, "Double the tip."
"Yes, ma'am. You have a call. I was just about to buzz you. It's Mr. Rutherford."
"Put it through."
"Mrs. Freed, this is Gary Rutherford. I just wanted to let you know that we've initiated surveillance. But I have one question."
"Yes?"
"If any of the subjects turn up...well, we might have to choose between protecting Miss Chambers and getting them."
"Do you remember what my instructions were when I gave you this assignment?"
"Yes. We're to... er, to take care of Traveler, Fog, and Burchell."
"Then that should be your only concern. Bait is merely a means to catch fish. Are you clear on that?"
"Yes, Mrs. Freed."
xxx
After heaving himself from the soft chair that the hospital staff had brought to his father's room earlier that morning, Gabriel Fog stretched his arms in the air. His body was stiff from hours of sitting. With his father heavily sedated most hours of the day, Gabe found himself growing increasingly bored and restless.
One of the reasons he'd gone to West Point was because a sedentary lifestyle didn't appeal to him. It hadn't when he was seventeen, and it didn't now. At least he had a late lunch scheduled with Jess to break the monotony. She was saving his sanity during these mad times.
The walls closed in on him as he paced the small room from south to north and back again. He needed to get outside, if only for a short break. It would give him a chance to check email and phone messages.
Even here, deep in the city, the crisp, clean feel of autumn was in the air. Gabe sat on a bench in the small park across from the hospital and watched the clouds drift overhead. If his Blackberry hadn't whirred with an incoming message alert, he might have forgotten the excuse he'd come up with to justify this escape.
Activating his email, he frowned over the address on the newest message. Youboy at a generic email provider. He was about to delete it unread when a memory clicked in his mind. "You, boy." That was how Carlton addressed Tyler when he was upset with him. The subject line was a second jolt from the past: Neverland. He and Tyler had built a fort on a small island in a Minnesota lake the summer they'd spent with their mother several years after the divorce. It was the last time they'd been with her for any significant amount of time. He and Tyler had called the island Neverland.
Tyler!
Gabe clicked open the email. To an unknowing eye, it would be nothing but gossipy nonsense. But it was their old code, the first letter of the first word and every third word after that spelled out the true message. Parker went to Arizona with Allie, the message began. It took less than a minute to decipher the entire thing. Package to you before noon. Take it to Gram. Use stealth.
Before noon... Noon was less two hours away. It was lucky he had decided to check his email. Who was delivering the package? How would they know where to find him? He could only assume Tyler had worked that out based on the expectation that he'd be here, at the hospital, with their father.
Deliver it to Gram... She was in a private care facility half way between New York City and New Haven.
Use stealth... That was easier said than done. The agent had all but announced "I'm FBI and I'm tailing you," when he'd shown up at Carlton's room this morning. Gabe was sure there were other, less obvious, agents backing him up. He was being closely watched, as might be expected after Tyler's visit.
But Tyler needed him, needed something. He wasn't going to let him down.
xxx
Kim huddled in a corner of the small, low-ceilinged hut, trying to shrink herself into as small a target as possible. With her knees to her chest, and her arms wrapped around her legs, she felt slightly less exposed, slightly less vulnerable. She wasn't sure how many creatures shared her dirt-floor prison; insects, flying and crawling, continuously assaulted her. Something larger–a mouse, she hoped, but possibly a rat–had run over her left foot shortly after she'd been shoved into the room. Rustling in the far corner suggested it was still around.
It's only a rodent, she told herself, trying to recall her childhood friend Allison's pet gerbils. They'd been adorable, running on their stationary wheel and scuttling through the tunnels of their elaborate, multistoried habitat. A mouse, even a rat, was just another small animal.
So why was she shaking? Because she had more to fear than a small intruder. Someone had kidnapped her and brought her far from home. The hot air, heavy with humidity, told her she was wasn't anywhere near New York, where cooling fall temperatures prevailed.
She couldn't begin to guess where she was. Florida? Guantanamo Bay?
No that had to be wrong. She'd been drugged. Her mind wasn't working right. She was still in Manhattan. Someone would find her.
Will? He'd rescued her before, but he'd also had blood on his shirt. And even if he was physically up to the task, she didn't feel she could count on him. He'd already betrayed them once; she didn't trust that he wouldn't do it again.
It wasn't fair. She'd tried to talk Jay into turning himself in, which had led to him contacting the FBI. If that had only worked out, this nightmare would be over. But Tyler had called and everything had gone horribly wrong.
Her shoulders began to shake harder as a new welling of moisture spilled from her eyes. She squeezed them shut and forced the tears to stop. She couldn't succumb to self pity. She couldn't.
At least morning had relieved the total darkness that had made her prison feel like a tomb. While the building didn't have any windows, there were small gaps between some of the boards that allowed tiny speckles of light to filter through.
Flipping over onto hands and knees, she began to crawl around the circumference of she shed. The walls were made of some kind of rough wood. She touched them with care, aware of the jagged splinters protruding from the boards. After passing another corner, she came to the door, which seemed to be the same material as the rest of the building. She stood and explored it more thoroughly. The hinges were on the outside. That was a disappointment. She'd seen a movie once, where a man had managed to remove the hinges to get out of a locked room. She continued along the wall until she contacted something low to the floor. Crouching down, she found two buckets. One was empty; the other held some kind of liquid.
She was so thirsty. She hadn't let herself think about it, but now…she swirled her hand in the tepid liquid. There didn't seem to be anything else in the bucket. She leaned over it and inhaled deeply. No smell, foul or otherwise, was detectable.
With a small cry that was part relief and part desperation, she picked up the bucket and tipped it to her lips.
xxx
The fire burning inside of him seemed to be getting brighter. Whenever Will closed his eyes, the heat manifested itself as a golden orb that swayed, to and fro, on the inside of his eyelids. It was accompanied by a soft, soothing voice that sounded a lot like his uncle. But his uncle wasn't here. Will didn't know where he was. He hadn't seen him since that day in Baghdad, when they'd met at a restaurant in the Green Zone. They'd shared a small, outdoor table that was shaded by a bright awning.
Three years earlier...
"This is for you." Uncle David handed him an airline ticket. It was for a flight out that evening, connecting through Amsterdam and ending up at Dulles. It was issued to Brian Jennings, which was the name on the passport in the breast pocket of his uniform.
"I don't understand." The days and weeks had begun to run together months earlier. As he'd transferred from unit to unit, he'd begun to think he'd spend the rest of his life in this dusty, dry, war-torn country. "We haven't won."
"I have a more important assignment for you," David said. "We need you in Washington. Your country needs you." Will listened carefully, while sipping the hot, local tea that he'd come to appreciate even when the air temperature was close to boiling. "You're going home."
He wanted to say that he didn't have a home; didn't know if he had ever had a home. But his uncle had little patience for irrelevancy. "What will I be doing?"
"This man," David said, passing him a business card, "will explain everything."
He read the name on the card. It was familiar, very familiar, but it still took him a minute to place it. "He's FBI."
"Not anymore." Fancher climbed to his feet and stuck out his hand. "I've recommended you for a new organization he's heading. I know you won't let me, or your country, down." Walking away, he melted into the crowd with surprising ease for someone who typically stood head and shoulders above everyone around him.
"Fancher," Will said. "Put David Fancher on the list." When Jay didn't answer, he looked around and saw that he was alone in the room.
"Were you calling me?" Jay asked, entering through the wide arched opening that led to the front hall.
"I've got another name for the list. David Fancher."
Jay trotted over to the table and jotted it down. "Who is he?"
"He is... was... he was the person who sent me to work for Jack Freed."
xxx
Gabe slid into the seat across from Jess. "Sorry that I'm late."
"It's okay. I've been tardy myself today."
"Good," he said.
Good? He didn't even hear what I said, Jess realized. She wasn't upset though; she knew he had a lot on his mind. "How's your father?" she asked, fearing the worst.
"Uh... my father. He's... uh... about the same. They said that's good."
"Then what's the matter? You're a million miles away. We don't have to have lunch." She smiled, trying to coax a smile in return, but he simply sat there with the same troubled expression darkening his face. "Gabe?"
"I had to wait for something, a delivery. It was late; that's why I was late. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should..." He half stood up, then sat back down again. "Oh god, Jess, I hate to do this. But I need a favor, a really big one, and I'm not sure who else I can ask. I was going to ask Brenda, our housekeeper, but she's not answering her phone. And it really has to be –"
"Hey," she said, reaching across the table to take his hand. "Of course I'll help. Just tell me what you need."
"But it's something that should be taken care as soon as possible, and I know you probably have classes. And it's a really, really big favor."
"I cut classes all the time. Now what's the big favor?"
"I have something I have to get to my grandmother. She's in a nursing home in Connecticut. I'll give you money to rent a car."
"No problem."
"Really?"
Gabe looked so relieved that Jess couldn't help but tease, "It's not as if you're asking me for a kidney."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "That's true. I just didn't... I don't know. Things are crazy."
"That's what friends are for, to help each other out. Look, let's skip lunch. I'm still stuffed from breakfast. That will give me more time in case I get lost."
"I'll get you a car with a GPS." Gabe whipped his phone out of his pocket. "I'm going to order the car, then I'll have Dad's chauffeur take us to the rental agency. I left the package in the limo. I thought about having Charlie deliver it, but..."
"You don't have to explain. I'm happy to be of assistance."
xxx
"Help me," Kim moaned, pressing her hands to her lower abdomen. The cramping was getting worse. It must have been the water. She shouldn't have drunk it. The taste was off. It might have been sitting in that bucket for a year. It might have been something other than water. But she'd been so thirsty.
"Please. Someone, help me," she called. "Please."
xxx
Gabriel Fog seemed to be a nice enough young man. However, that and all of the Fog fortune wouldn't get him very far in the espionage business.
He'd had the right idea, getting someone else to deliver the drugs. But he hadn't tried to disguise the brown satchel in any way. So when the girl got out of the limo carrying the bag Jon had sent to Fog via a delivery man, it was easy to figure out what had happened.
Unless Fog was more diabolical than Jon was giving him credit for. He might have removed the drugs and sent the girl off with the satchel as a decoy.
Heads. Tails. Anselmo was counting on heads and the likelihood that Fog was every bit as naive as he believed him to be.
xxx
Marlow had driven to the exit. She'd found faint tire marks that likely belonged to the fugitives' vehicle. Saw scuff marks where their feet had probably contacted the packed dirt. She'd shown pictures of Fog and Burchell at every gas station, restaurant and convenience store for a mile down the road on both sides of the exit. And turned up nothing.
Her hopes had been raised only once, at a small market attached to a gas station. After looking at the pictures, the clerk had temporarily lost his ability to speak. "Th... th... that's."
It was clear that he'd recognized the now notorious faces. "Did you see them?" Chambers had asked, her excitement transferring to her voice.
"Th–those are the Dr... Drexler suspects," he'd finally spit out.
"Did you see them?"
"Sure," he'd answered. "On television. And in the newspaper. Their pictures are everywhere."
Marlow had been so vexed she'd stormed out of the building without so much as a goodbye.
There was nothing to it but to return to Manhattan and painstaking, basic research. But first she needed to appease her empty stomach. With that in mind she looked around. She'd been driving south without paying attention to where she was going, letting her frustration stew and vent while she was on a relatively quiet road. Now she found herself in a quaint town with charming shops that no doubt housed expensive boutiques. It was too close to the water to be anything else.
Spotting a tea room, she almost ruled it out. It wasn't as if she were collecting per diem this trip, and it was probably as pricey as the local stores. But a growl from her stomach changed her mind. She jerked the car into the first available parking slot, fed the meter and headed back to the restaurant.
She entered a claustrophobic nightmare of Victorian excess. Tiny tables covered in chintz and toile filled the small room. And there were more flowers than one might find at the Rose Bowl parade. But not real ones. They were painted on china, printed on fabric napkins, and clumped on the paper on the walls.
She gritted her teeth and continued into the room, waved forward by a woman who had to be the hostess. She was wearing a flowered dress and a flowered apron, after all. "How is this?" the woman asked, pointing to a table.
It was past lunchtime, and the restaurant was almost empty, yet the woman was putting her practically on top of the only other occupied table?
"Sure," she found herself saying. What difference did it make? It was just going to be one of those days.
Marlow studied the menu quickly. She wanted to be ready to order when the waitress appeared. Even if she didn't have a long drive and an evening of work ahead of her, the less time spent in this eye-straining decor, the better.
"Chicken salad on a croissant," she said before the waitress could do more than smile. "And coffee."
"I'm sorry. We don't have coffee." The young woman pointed to the beverage selection on the menu: tea, tea, tea, and...
"I'll have a lemon presse," Marlow said. She didn't know what it was, but its position on the menu suggested it wasn't tea.
Out of habit Marlow retrieved her notebook and pen and set it on the table in front of her. The surface was so small, she'd probably have to return it to her purse when the meal came. How did two people –there was a chair on the other side of the table– eat at the same time? She glanced over her shoulder to see how the ladies behind her were managing. But if they'd eaten, their plates had already been cleared. The only objects in front of them were identical china teacups. They were so small they might almost qualify as "miniature."
She was about to turn back when two words jumped out of their conversation. She replayed the sentence in her mind: "When a young man like Tyler Fog becomes a terrorist, the world is close to coming to an end."
The way she'd said Tyler Fog had suggested a personal connection.
Or I'm hearing what I want to hear, Marlow thought as she turned away from them, moving slowly so as not to attract their attention. She didn't want to interrupt their conversation.
"It almost makes me glad that dear Norah is as she is. It would break her heart."
"He must take after his father. As wild as Claire was, she never crossed the line."
Claire... Marlow knew that was Tyler's mother's name. She lived somewhere in the south of France.
"Never," her companion agreed. "Whereas Carlton was mixed up in that awful scandal."
"I thought both boys were nice. It proves how wrong one can be."
Okay, okay.Marlow forced herself to relax. Don't get your hopes up. This might be another dead end. While taking a deep, calming breath she pulled her wallet out of her purse and flipped it open to her badge.
"I remember the last time they helped with the book sale. They carried all of the boxes and set up the tables. Norah was so proud of –"
"Excuse me, ladies," Marlow moved to stand over them, holding her badge where they could see it, "I'm Agent Jan Marlow of the FBI, and I need to ask you a few questions."
xxx
This was the part of the plan that made Tyler the most nervous. While his grandmother's memory had deteriorated to the point where she didn't always recognize him, he still tried to visit her at least once a month, so he was well known at the Charter Oak facility. With the sprawling building riddled with security cameras that were monitored 24/7, he had to intercept Gabe before he entered the facility. Fortunately for him, Gabe would have to navigate a winding path through a grove of charter oaks that gave the installation its name to get from the parking lot to the building. The path was lined with benches, some of which were set back under the trees. Not sure when to expect his brother, Tyler claimed one of the remote benches shortly before noon and waited.
The weather was on his side. It was cloudy, coolish and dry. Rain would have made him stick out like the proverbial sore thumb, and warmer weather would have prevented him from bundling up in a hooded sweatshirt and a thigh-length windbreaker. It would have been nice to have had one of Will's disguises –a fake mustache or something– but he hadn't thought to grab anything as he snuck out of the house. With the hood pulled over his head he sat in what he hoped was relative anonymity, a book propped in front of him, though his eyes never strayed to the page. He was too busy scanning the path.
There was a steady stream of visitors, more than he'd expected in the middle of a work day. It didn't take him long to figure out why. Most of the residents at Charter Oak were elderly, and the people walking the path were most likely their equally getting-up-in-years spouses and friends, who would have been long retired. He supposed the disabled parking that was located closer to the building would be even more active.
As minutes stretched to more than two hours, he wondered if he could have, should have timed the delivery more specifically. After giving the porter a deadline of noon, he might have suggested a rendezvous between three and four to Gabe.
Hindsight. Tyler rued his error and vowed to know better the next time.
Will probably would have provided a near full-proof scheme from beginning to end, if he could have asked him. Of course, if he could have asked him, he wouldn't need to be here. And Will wasn't infallible, as evidenced by the bullet wound that made this quest necessary.
Jay would have made a good ally, with his mix of pragmatism and insight. But Jay might also have insisted on coming with him, and Tyler didn't want to put him at risk.
Which brought him back to Gabe. He had to keep telling himself that Gabe wasn't in any danger. No one wanted him dead. The facility was far from the city. At worst, he wouldn't be able to shake the FBI and they'd arrest him for helping Tyler.
Please let that be true. Gabe wasn't part of this. While the FBI was involved in the Drexler, they had no reason to hurt Gabe.
xxx
"So Norah Fowler is Tyler Fog's maternal grandmother?"
"Well, of course," Beatrice Townsend said with impatience. "We just explained. Norah's daughter Claire married Carleton Fog and bore him two sons, Tyler and Gabriel."
Her luncheon companion, Shirley Wells, clicked her tongue in the manner of a school teacher reprimanding a student after a wrong answer. "For an FBI agent, you aren't terribly well informed."
"Well, ma'am," Marlow responded, "as I've tried to tell you, the FBI works as a team. Another agent drew up the family tree and assigned priorities. From what you've told me about Mrs. Fowler she wouldn't be someone we'd contact. She isn't in a position to aid her grandson or provide information."
"That's not her fault!" Beatrice exclaimed.
Reining in her impatience, Marlow forced a benign smile to her face. "I didn't say it was her fault." She made another attempt to extract relevant information. "Do you know Mrs. Fowler well?"
"She's a dear friend," Shirley said, "and a great philanthropist. Even though she was only a part-time resident of the area, she provided invaluable guidance and generous funding to the local art council."
"For some twenty-odd years, the three of us ran the guild's annual book sale," Beatrice added.
Marlow's brain sorted through the information they'd provided, mixed it with general knowledge and tossed out a likely theory. "I take it she has a summer home nearby."
"Yes," two voices answered as one.
Barely resisting an urge to whoop, Marlow kept her voice calm as she asked, "Do you happen to know the address?"
xxx
Jess Chambers breathed a sigh of relief as she guided the rental car into a space in the empty quadrant of the nursing home's parking lot. Again, she'd forgotten the yawning gap in lifestyles that stretched between her and Gabriel Fog or she would have given him strict instructions about a rental vehicle. He'd reserved an Aston Martin Vantage for her. An Aston Martin! The car probably cost more than a year's tuition. Much more. Fretting over the car's value, she'd been much too nervous to enjoy its superb handling. Hopefully, she'd be calmer on the way home.
Feeling as stressed as a pilot who'd navigated a damaged plane to a successful landing, she retrieved the brown leather satchel from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. Above and between the trees, she saw a sprawling stone building that looked more like an English manor house than a care facility. She could almost imagine a prim and proper Mr. Darcy striding down the serpentine path with his beloved Elizabeth by his side, walking down to bid her welcome.
But there was no one out to greet her. The path was empty all the way to the door. The only person in sight was sitting on a bench on a rise to her right. And he was much too modern American in appearance to remotely resemble a Jane Austen character.
Ohmygod, she thought a moment later. I know that face. Why is he there? Just keep walking. Don't show that you recognize him. He might...
Before she could complete the thought, he was running down the hill like a charging bull. She'd stared too long and he'd realized what that meant. Momentarily stunned, he reached her before she could urge her feet to move.
"Don't hurt me. I'm a friend of your brother's" she squeaked, while he was saying, "I'm not that guy."
"Of course you're Tyler," she argued, her fear falling away as she realized he was even more afraid than she was.
"I'm n–," he started to say, then changed it to, "You know Gabe." His eyes strayed to the brown carrying case. "Did he give that to you?"
"It was for you!"
Fury swept through Jess like a wind-propelled wildfire. She was angry at Gabriel for tricking her into aiding and abetting a fugitive and equally angry with herself for being a fool. He'd been so nervous; she should have known there was more to this favor than an innocent delivery to his grandmother.
She was about to stomp off when she noted that Tyler appeared to be dazed, confused, and frightened. None of those were adjectives she would have used to describe a terrorist. The wicked bruise on his cheek heightened his aura of vulnerability and almost made her feel sorry for him.
"Gabe said you were innocent."
"I need that case," he said, his voice dropping into a low growl that was so obviously an act she had to repress an urge to giggle.
"Well, since I came all this way," she said, starting to dislodge the carry strap from her shoulder, "I suppose –" There was a loud bang followed almost immediately by several more of the same. She was turning toward the parking lot, to see what crazy idiot was setting off fireworks outside a nursing home, when a hand wrapped around her wrist and jerked her in the opposite direction.
"Come on," Tyler Fog yelled as the satchel jumped in Jess's hand.
Bullets! She realized a second later. Someone was shooting at them.
Jess wanted to yell, to identify herself as Fred Chambers' daughter. But what if they didn't hear her?
So, instead, she found herself matching Tyler stride for stride as he raced up the hill toward the stone building while a hail of bullets whistled around them.
-- end of episode six
Note: Sorry for the very long delay. My commitment to the story is as strong as ever, but my ability to transfer my ideas to words doesn't always work as efficiently as I'd like.