Damage Control (17 page)

33

T
HE PASSENGERS STUMBLED
from the plane, exhausted, trudging up the gate like herded cattle at the end of a roundup. Dana took her time getting off the plane, in order to watch the people around her depart. The woman in front of her, dressed in shorts, tank top, and flip-flops, crossed her arms as she stepped from the plane and encountered the nearly forty-degree drop in temperature. As Dana ascended the ramp two well-built men stood at the top, dressed in official-looking blue slacks and white short-sleeve shirts. Next to them stood a less muscular man in the same outfit but wearing a blue polyester sport coat. He held a walkie-talkie. Dana’s anxiety increased when he looked at her, then spoke into the radio.

She dropped her purse, spilling its contents, including her in-flight dinner—a wrapped ham sandwich with a mustard pack and a half-eaten Snickers bar. As she bent down, she slipped the earring from her pocket as she retrieved her things. Then she stood and walked forward.

At the top of the ramp, the man in the sport coat stepped forward. “Dana Hill?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Would you mind coming with us, please?”

“Coming with you? Who are you?”

“Airport security,” he said, showing her identification.

She smiled, trying to sound casual. “What do you want with me?”

“Is that your only luggage?” The man pointed to the small carry-on bag hanging from her shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Will you come with us, please?”

“Would you tell me what this is about?” she asked, more forcefully.

The man in the blue jacket remained polite but decidedly firm. “Please.” He motioned with an arm.

She looked at the other two agents and got the distinct impression that the choice was not hers. If she started ranting and raving about being a lawyer, it would only draw more attention and suspicion. “Fine,” she said. She followed the two guards through the terminal, the fluorescent lights making it as bright as day. She felt a cold sweat on her forehead. They led her to an unmarked door. The man in the blue blazer opened it for her and she stepped inside a room with white walls, a wooden table, and two chairs. She sat with legs crossed, still trying to appear calm. She felt her pulse beneath her armpits.

“Could you explain to me what this is about?” she asked again.

The man rubbed a finger over a mustache a shade darker than his salt-and-pepper hair. “May I look inside your bag?”

Dana shrugged and slipped it from her shoulder, handing it to him. He opened it and searched the contents. Then he asked, “And your purse?”

She handed it to him. He pulled out her flight itinerary and driver’s license. Then he pulled out the half-eaten Snickers. “Breakfast of champions,” Dana said, smiling.

The man returned a polite smile then left the room with her driver’s license, itinerary, and the brown bag of tea that William Welles had given her. She looked up at a camera mounted to the ceiling in the corner of the room. She never should have called the police in Maui. She should have waited until she was back on the mainland. Could the news of Welles’s death have spread so quickly that the couple in the jewelry store had called the police and told them of the woman from Seattle who was inquiring about where Welles lived?

The door on the opposite side of the room reopened, and a younger man wearing a better-quality suit walked in carrying her license, itinerary, the brown bag, and a notebook. He had a more professional demeanor. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Hill.”

“That’s all right, but I would like to get home. It was a long flight, and it will be an early morning.”

“I’ll try not to keep you long. I’m Agent Donald Hollas with the DEA.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “You traveled to Maui and back today?”

She chuckled, almost relieved. “Is that what this is about? Do you think I’m some sort of drug courier?” When he didn’t respond, she answered his question. “Yes, I traveled to Maui.”

“For just one day?”

“Yes, for just one day.”

He looked up from his notepad. “Why?”

“I had business there.” She said it nonchalantly.

Hollas nodded. “What type of business?”

“I’m a lawyer,” she said, thinking quickly. “My firm has clients with business interests in the islands. I was looking into the potential legal and tax ramifications for a client purchasing one of those interests.”

Hollas sat back in his chair. “What firm do you work for?”

“Strong and Thurmond. May I?” She reached into her purse, popped open a card carrier, and handed him a business card.

“And what was the name of the company with the business interests?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

Hollas looked up from the card. “And why not?”

“The matter is confidential. The acquisition of the competing company will not be voluntary.”

“Hostile?”

Dana smiled. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me what they do?”

“No.”

A thin smile creased his lips. “Also confidential?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea what it is they do, exactly. They are a subsidiary of a subsidiary, and I think that may just be the first layer. That’s why I was there. The documentation alone to name the proper entity will be a pile high. But I have no idea what the subsidiary does. I’m an associate at the firm, Agent Hollas. I’m afraid that means I get the grunt work.”

“This business took just one day?”

“It’s really all I could spare. I anticipate several late nights as it is. There will be long telephone conversations and, if the takeover is successful, more trips to complete the matter.”

Hollas sat back, tapping the itinerary on the table. “And yet you purchased a one-way ticket. Why would you do that if you were intending to return today?”

Dana had not thought it through, but she had always been good on her feet. “I had no idea how long the business would take. I was fortunate to get done what I needed to do today. My husband is also a lawyer. He’s in a three-week trial in Chicago. As I said, this trip was unexpected. We have a three-year-old daughter. I don’t like to leave her when my husband is also gone.”

Hollas slid her itinerary across the table. “My kids are four and five. I know the feeling.” He held up the brown bag, opened it, and brought it to his nose.

“It’s tea.”

Hollas shook the bag and removed a pinch of the dried leaves. “So it is.” He stood and handed it to her. “I apologize for delaying you. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Dana took the brown bag and put it in her purse. “So, I’m free to go?” she asked, trying to make light of the situation.

Hollas nodded. “Free to go.” He reached for the Snickers bar. “I can throw that out for you.”

“No.” Dana caught herself. “I mean… I haven’t eaten since lunch, and I doubt there will be much open this time of night.”

Hollas handed it back to her. “Okay.”

O
UTSIDE THE ROOM
, Dana wanted to break into a gallop but resisted the urge. Despite her best efforts, she could not fight her spreading sense of paranoia, certain now that she was being watched. The janitor pushing a wheeled garbage can through the terminal diverted his eyes when she looked at him. The skycap in the rolling cart smiled and nodded as he passed. The man on the telephone watched, then turned to speak into the receiver. Halfway down the corridor, she saw the universal sign for a women’s bathroom. Feeling light-headed and short of breath, she turned in to the blue-tiled room and rushed into a stall, locking the door. She leaned against the wall, struggling to catch her breath, waiting for her heart to stop racing. An overhead vent in the ceiling tiles blew cold air at her.

Thump-ack.

Dana started.

Thump-ack
.

The sound came from her right—someone shoving open the stall doors, making his or her way down the row.

Thump-ack
.

She sat on the toilet and braced her feet against the inside of the door.

Thump-ack
.

The stall door next to her shoved open. She felt pressure against her feet. The lock of her door rattled. Dana caught her breath. “It’s in use.”

She heard a squeaking sound. A yellow bucket rolled beneath the stall door.

It’s just the janitor
. She waited a beat, then slid the lock on the door and exited quickly. The janitor’s apology trailed her out of the room.

She hurried through the terminal to a down escalator, looking back up as she went.? At the bottom, the airport train that would take her to baggage claim and the parking garage had already arrived, its doors open. She hurried off the escalator and stepped inside as the sliding glass doors closed. To her right, she saw a man do the same, entering one door down, a suitcase in hand. He stood holding the handrail. At the first stop, no additional passengers stepped onto the train. The man did not get off. As the train started again, Dana moved toward the doors. A moment later, when the train stopped, she stepped off quickly, following the signs to baggage claim. She looked behind her. The man in the suit followed, luggage rolling behind him. She ascended another escalator, then a flight of stairs to the enclosed catwalk, and walked across the road to the parking structure. Behind her, the man ascended the escalator, his head coming into view first, then his body. In the garage, she paid her parking fee at one of the machines. The man walked across the catwalk. She took her ticket and walked to the elevator, one eye watching the lights above the six elevators in the bank, the other watching as the man stopped to pay his parking fee. She heard a car door close, an engine start, and the squeal of tires on the slick pavement. The elevator bell on the left rang. The man at the ticket machine bent to retrieve his ticket. The elevator doors slid open. No one got off. Dana stepped inside and hit the button for the third floor. When the door didn’t immediately close, she pressed the close button repeatedly, then stepped back, relieved, as the doors slid together.

A hand knifed between them, slapping the rubberized edge.

34

T
HE ELEVATOR SHUDDERED,
the doors stubborn and at first unwilling to concede to the hand. Then they split and pulled apart. The man from the train smiled a sheepish grin and stepped on.

“Sorry. I’ve been a step late all day,” he said. The doors closed. He pulled down the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

Dana looked at the panel of illuminated lights. He had not pushed a button for an exit floor.

“Cold,” he said, turning toward her. “I’d hoped that we’d left winter behind, but I guess we have a few more months to go.”

She nodded, wishing she’d kept the canister of mace in her handbag, but that was not possible after September 11 and all the security precautions at airports. The elevator descended to the third floor. When the doors opened, the man looked up at the illuminated three. Then he stepped back and motioned for Dana to go ahead of him. She stepped out, forgot for a moment where she had parked, then remembered writing the row letter on her flight itinerary. She pulled it from her purse and walked down an aisle of columns marked “E.” Behind her, she heard the wheels of the man’s suitcase rolling on the pavement. It sounded like the low hum of a small engine. She continued down the row, the sound of the rolling suitcase fading, and with it, her immediate anxiety. As she approached the Explorer, she fumbled through her purse for her keys and hit the button for the automatic lock. When she reached the driver’s side, she pulled the door handle. It remained locked. She hit the button again. The car did not chirp. She pressed the button again. Nothing happened. Puzzled, she used the key to manually unlock the door and pulled it open. The alarm did not sound. She took a quick look over her shoulder, saw no one, and climbed behind the wheel, throwing her bag on the passenger seat. She shut the door and locked it, then sat back against the leather seat and closed her eyes, telling herself to relax. She would drive to her mother’s house and call Logan. She exhaled, sat forward, put the key in the ignition, and turned the key.

The engine whimpered like a beaten dog. Then it died.

She pumped the gas pedal and tried again. The engine groaned. She pumped the gas pedal repeatedly, her father’s voice admonishing her from the recesses of her mind.
Don’t flood the engine. Don’t flood the engine.

She turned the key again and again, urging the engine to kick over. Each time it failed. Then there was only the clicking of a dead battery.

“No. Goddammit!” She slapped the steering wheel, threw herself back against the seat, and saw the man standing outside the window of her car.

35

T
HE MAN RAISED
his arms as if under arrest, a pained expression on his face. Dana reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the canister of mace.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke through the glass. “I didn’t mean to startle you again. I heard your car struggling.” Dana tried to appear in control but fought a bile taste in her mouth, as if her stomach were close to emptying its contents on the floorboards. “It sounds like a dead battery. I have jumper cables. Would you like a jump?”

She scanned the parking lot, a strange yellow-orange from the encapsulated lights. She saw no one. She had her cell phone in her purse but knew that at this hour, road service could take an hour or longer. She could call the police and tell them… tell them what? That a man was asking her if she needed assistance jump-starting her car?

He waited patiently. His eyes were bloodshot and tired.

He’s trying to help. Your imagination is making you paranoid. The events of the day have worn you thin. You have a dead battery. He’s just being kind.

Maybe. She kept the Mace in her hand and opened the car door.

“I understand if you’re nervous.” The man reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and removed a business card. “My name is Fred Jeffries. I’m an attorney, though I wouldn’t want you to hold that against me.” He smiled. “Here’s my card.”

Dana recognized the business as a large insurance defense firm with a downtown office. She knew several lawyers there. She wanted to laugh but could not bring herself to do so.

“I don’t mean to keep startling you,” Jeffries said, continuing to flog himself.

“You just surprised me,” she said. “I’m wound a bit tight tonight.”

“I don’t blame you.” She could see, with his suit jacket off, that Jeffries had a belly. He looked anything but menacing. “I have a wife and two teenage daughters who I wish were a bit more careful. In this day and age, you can’t be too cautious; you really don’t know who you can trust.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Listen to me. I’m probably scaring you even more.”

“No. I’m fine now.”

He turned his attention to her car. “Mind if I give it a try? It sounds like you have a dead battery.”

Dana stepped back to allow Jeffries to squeeze between the door and the adjacent car. He lifted a leg up into the cab and held the steering wheel to climb into the driver’s seat, sitting at the edge to reach the pedals.

“I tried not to flood it,” Dana said, trying to sound knowledgeable.

He waved her off. “Forget flooding it. These all have electric ignitions and fuel injection. Don’t need to even hit the gas pedal.” He turned the key. The engine clicked. “That’s a battery, all right.” He shut off the key and sat back, his hands apart as he examined the dash. “Here’s your problem.” Dana leaned inside, and Jeffries sat back to show her. “You left the lights on.”

Dana felt like an idiot. “They encourage you to drive with your lights on now.” She shook her head. “I was in a hurry this morning, getting to the airport.”

“It happens all the time.” Jeffries climbed down from the seat. “Actually, that’s good news. It means there’s nothing wrong with the battery. It’s just drained, but it should hold a charge. I have jumper cables. Road service can take hours this time of the night. I know. I’ve been through this.” He pointed. “I’m parked just a couple of stalls down this same row.”

“I’d really appreciate it.”

He looked around the front of her car. “You lucked out. You have an open space in front of you. Let me pull my car around. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”

Dana reached inside the car for her travel bag and pulled out her cell phone, suddenly curious to see if Grant had called. She watched Fred Jeffries hurry down the aisle and disappear from view as he lowered himself into his car. A moment later, she heard an engine and watched a blue BMW back from a stall and drive around the end of the aisle. Linda had left her three messages: In the last, Marvin Crocket demanded she call him. Jeffries drove up the aisle one over and pulled into the stall in front of the Explorer. Dana directed him with hand signals until his bumper was just inches from a waist-high concrete barrier separating the row of cars. He bounced out of his car, now fully enveloped in his knight-in-shining-armor role. He left the engine of the BMW running and waved to indicate that everything was going to be okay. Then he opened the trunk and reappeared carrying black and red jumper cables.

“Do you think they’ll reach?” Dana asked. She listened to the final message, her mother confirming she had picked up Molly. There was no call from Grant. She contemplated calling his hotel room again, just to unnerve him.

Jeffries squeezed through a small gap between the concrete barrier and a concrete pillar. “We’ll make it work. Hopefully, our batteries are on the same side,” he said, as if talking about kidneys.

Dana shut off her phone and put it back in her travel bag. She had no doubt this was not the first time Fred Jeffries had played the Good Samaritan. “I really have to thank you for doing this.”

Jeffries dismissed it. He stood at the front of her car, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “The latch for the hood should be on the left, under the dash.” He pointed to the cab of her car.

Dana reached inside and pulled the knob under the dash toward her, hearing the hood pop open. “I hope you’ll let me take you to lunch,” she said, emerging. “You’ve been so kind.”

“I’m always interested in going to lunch, though I wouldn’t allow you to pay. I just like the company of nice people, especially after days like today.” Jeffries opened the hood of the Explorer. He studied the battery for a moment. “You wouldn’t happen to have a flashlight, would you?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He stood on his toes. “These things are pretty standard. Red is positive. Black is negative.” He continued studying the battery. “Huh. You seem to have an extra cable. Never seen that before.”

“Is it going to be a problem?”

Jeffries shook his head. “Shouldn’t. It’s probably a ground of some sort. They’re all overloaded with power locks and windows and air-conditioning. Can’t even find the spark plugs anymore. The main thing is you want to get a good set on the connection. Your battery looks almost new; we should have you out of here in a minute.” He connected the jumper cables to both batteries, then brushed his hands. “You might have to get in my car and rev the engine a bit. You don’t want to floor it, but sometimes you have to give it some juice.”

The concrete barrier gave her little room. She walked through the gap and stood on the other side. Jeffries climbed into the seat and held up two crossed fingers. The battery kicked and whined, but the engine did not start. Jeffries leaned out the side of her car. “Okay, rev the engine a bit,” he said, indicating the BMW.

She nodded, walking behind the concrete pillar as Jeffries turned the key. She heard the engine whine, gain momentum, and kick over with a deafening roar.