NO GOOD DEED (31 page)

On the top of the legal pad, he’d written Cracker Jack, then listed questions he wanted answered. Timing, location and target. He closed the memos and opened another file with older memos. Maybe there was something in them that didn’t mean anything at the time he’d read them, but might point to something now. He pulled up the notes from current investigations. A gun dealer in the suburbs had reported a couple of men trying to buy ammunition for automatic weapons. When told that wasn’t possible, they’d asked if the owner knew how they could get it. He’d declined to help them. Security tapes had provided pictures of the men, but without names, it didn’t help much.

“Damn it.” He rolled his chair away from the desk and put his hands behind his head, elbows out as he searched his mind. If he were a terrorist, what would be an inviting target? It would have to be somewhere with lots of people, so that they could instill terror. That’s where the terror in terrorist originated. Blowing up a government warehouse out in the desert didn’t strike fear into the heart of the average person. Terrorists’ goal was to create fear in hopes that citizens of a country would blame their own government for whatever policies that the terrorist groups had issues with.

Grabbing his pencil, he scooted up to the desk again. It was July but past the fourth, which would have been a likely date. He clicked through his calendar to see if anything stood out. Nothing major until the air show in mid August. That was still a few weeks away. The Taste of Chicago had already passed. There were always music festivals and concerts. Other likely targets included important buildings, but measures taken in the last few years had made it more difficult to destroy them. Jim hoped that the newer security rules at airports and around likely targets made them less desirable. Trains and subways had been targets in the past, and hard to secure. The possibilities were endless. He glanced at his watch. Almost noon. He’d been in the office since seven, and had worked sixteen hours a day for the two weeks. His team had done the same. To show his gratitude, he’d bought tickets to tonight’s Cub game for all of them. They all needed a little break to clear their heads.

“Excuse me, Jim?”

He glanced at the door to his office. “Yes, Beth?”

His administrative assistant leaned into the room. “There’s a guy on line two who’s called a few times for you while you were at your meeting earlier. I offered to transfer him to another analyst, but he insisted on talking to you. He wouldn’t leave a message or a number. Said he was calling from a pay-phone.”

Curious, Jim nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He reached for the phone. “Sheridan speaking.”

He could hear someone breathing rather hard and he almost made a smart comment about how unwise it was to prank phone call the FBI. He decided to give them the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps the person hadn’t heard him answer, so he tried again. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The person on the other end cleared their throat. “Uh, yeah, I’m here.”

The voice tugged at his memory but he couldn’t place it. “Who am I speaking with?” He put his hand over his other ear to block out the noise from some colleagues trooping past his door.

“It’s…it’s Mark Taylor.”

Jim’s grip on the phone slipped as the shock hit him. He recovered quickly. “Taylor. What can I do for you?”

“I have to talk to you, Sir. It’s urgent.”

“I’m listening, so talk.”

“Not on the phone. It’s gotta be in person.”

Suspicion piqued but so did his curiosity. “Why can’t you tell me now?”

“I can’t take the chance. I know this call is probably recorded.”

Taylor didn’t have to say anything more about recorded phone calls. Jim remembered that detail as the lynch-pin of their case against him. “Okay. Fine. I’ll meet you, but it has to be somewhere public.” It wouldn’t be wise to meet the guy in a back alley; that was for sure. Taylor probably wanted nothing more than to stick a blade in him.

“Yeah, okay. You know where O’Leary’s Pub is. Can you meet me there in an hour?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how Taylor was sure that he knew where that pub was, but then he recalled seeing Jessie Bishop at the establishment. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. It might not be a bad idea to request her presence at the meeting. “I’ll talk with you on the condition that Detective Bishop is present. I think she’s someone we both trust.” He hadn’t thought of it before, but he did trust her. She was a straight shooter.

Taylor didn’t answer for a moment and Jim wondered if the guy even knew that he and Jessie Bishop had met last summer. It had only been a couple of months since he’d seen Bishop at that pub. At that time, she hadn’t seen Taylor yet.

“I’ll ask her. I can’t promise though. She’s working.”

“Okay, well, if I walk in and don’t see her, I’ll just turn around.”

“Listen, I know you hate my guts, and I feel the same about you, but what I have to say has nothing to do with either of us. That’s all I can tell you now.”

He could picture the other man’s face flushing with anger. Against his better judgment, he gave in. “Okay. One hour.”

* * *

Jessie sounded stressed. “I’ll be there. I’ve been going crazy knowing what’s going to happen. I’ve tried to get more security at the game, but without something concrete, the brass won’t go for it.”

“I know the feeling.” Mark circled the heel of his hand against his forehead, grimacing at the dull ache behind his eyes. He sat in his boss’s office and glanced out to the store when the bell above the door jingled. “Look, I gotta go, a customer just came in. See ya in a little bit.” For the next thirty minutes, he tried to remain patient as he showed the customer several of the digital cameras. Gary had said he’d be back from lunch by one o’clock, but it was already twenty after. O’Leary’s wasn’t far, but he’d have to leave soon to make it on time. He rang up the camera, amazed that the guy bought it in spite of Mark’s distracted sales pitch.

The bell sounded again and Mark heaved a sigh of relief when Gary entered.

“Sorry, Mark. I started talking to this hot waitress. I got her number and everything.” He grinned and didn’t look the least bit sorry about being late.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Mark shrugged. “That’s great, but listen, I’m going to have to run, I have an errand I wanted to do on my lunch hour. I just sold a Nikon. I didn’t get a chance to file the paperwork.”

Gary bounced behind the counter. “No problem. I got it.”

Before leaving, he retrieved the brown paper bag containing his camera and the prints of the horrific attack from the back room. This time, he had proof.

Mark jogged the four blocks to the pub and stopped at the entrance to catch his breath. His shirt clung to him and he cursed Gary for being late and forcing him to run. He already felt his stomach knotting at the prospect of seeing Jim. Last thing he wanted to do was look as nervous as he felt, and having sweat dripping didn’t make for a calm appearance.

The interior was dim after the bright sunshine, and he paused to scan the room. Tugging his shirt away from his chest, he was grateful for the blast of air conditioning from the vent above the entrance. Sheridan and Jessie at a table in the corner. Damn. He’d hoped to get here first and get the upper hand, have some control. Jim sat with his back to the corner and had a view of the whole room. Their eyes met and Mark had to fight the impulse to flee. The door opened behind him as a group of women entered. The flash of sunlight reminded him that he wasn’t trapped anymore. He could leave whenever he wanted. That thought propelled him forward.

Jim gave a short nod, but Mark ignored it as he wound his way past other tables and customers. He couldn’t help noticing that Jessie didn’t look at all uncomfortable with the guy. She even smiled at something he said. A trace of a smile lurked around Jim’s mouth. Were they talking about him? Jessie turned and the smile slipped from her face when she saw him. Her brows knit as she glanced at the bag in his hand.

He was about to tell her what it contained when Jim jumped to his feet and shot around the table. “Hold on. What’s in the bag, Taylor?”

Mark halted. As much as he wanted to push past Jim without answering, he couldn’t. A year of conditioning to obey the man’s orders had left their mark. He dropped his gaze. “It’s just a camera.” It took everything in him, but he raised his head and said, “The one I told you about. Over and over.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed and he held out his hand. Mark gripped the rolled top of the bag tighter for a second, the muscles in his arm rigid. The tension grew with Jim’s eyes never leaving Mark’s, his hand still waiting expectantly. Finally, Mark shoved the bag at Jim, but couldn’t keep from balling his hands into fists as rage boiled inside of him.

Jessie stood and took Mark’s elbow with one hand, the other going to his back. The reassurance she offered with her touch and smile helped. “Come on and have a seat. We ordered a pizza already.”

Mark acquiesced, but looked at her blankly, his mind still on the camera in the bag. Pizza? Did she think that they were actually going to sit and eat like they were old friends? He pulled his arm from her grasp and ground out, “I’m not hungry.”

It had been his plan to simply divulge the pictures, relate the details that he recalled from his dream, and get the hell out of there. Socializing hadn’t played a part in it. The crinkle of the bag drew his attention back to Jim. The man had returned to his seat and without asking, opened the bag and withdrew the contents.

Jim gave the camera a cursory look, but when he shuffled through the photos, his mouth set in a hard line, the only sign that the pictures registered. He went through them twice before he glared at Mark and slapped the prints down on the table. “What did you do this time?”

The accusation in the words hit Mark like a punch and his jaw clenched so hard he thought he’d crack a molar.
The bastard!

Jessie pushed a glass of water towards him. “Here. You look hot from your walk here.” Her eyes flashed a warning to him. While he gulped the cool liquid, she slid the pictures in front of her and flipped through them. “Mark didn’t do anything. He got these pictures the same place I got those ones last year. You were there, Jim. Don’t act surprised.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

Jim shot a look at Jessie. “Come on. That was a set-up and you know it. I still haven’t figured out how you pulled it off, or who the leak was, but I’m not going to fall for it a second time.”

Mark set the glass down, sloshing water over the side and swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. Well, that was that. He reached out, grabbed the bag on the table and swept the camera into it then snatched up the prints. “Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.” He pushed his chair back and stood.

Jessie grabbed his hand and gave a tug. “Mark—”

“You’re not leaving until I find out where the hell you got these photos.” Jim rose, cutting off Jessie’s plea. Eyes hard, he held Mark immobile with his look.

Mark refused to back down as he and Jim glared at each other like two alpha dogs. He was determined to win this time. Jessie had come to stand beside him and said something, but he heard only his own blood pounding in his ears. Without warning, images from last night’s dream shot through his mind, overwhelming him with their intensity. Like a flashback, he was there again, just as vividly as he’d been in his dream. He locked his knees to keep them from buckling, and grit his teeth as he tried to maintain his rage. It was no use. Screams of the children ricocheted through his head. A shudder swept over his body.

His anger died when he realized the truth. This meeting wasn’t about him. It was about saving people-regular folks just out enjoying a game. About saving them from crazed gunmen who thought killing innocents earned them a place of honor in the afterlife. What he had been through in prison paled in comparison to the fate that awaited hundreds of people leaving the ballgame tonight.

Mark had to convince Jim that the pictures were real. Or would be real. It was the only chance anyone in the photos had. If he couldn’t control his anger, he’d fail. Again. It might not have been his fault on September 11th, but it would be today.

To stop this, he needed help and Jim had the resources to get the bad guys. He took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax. “Can we start over?”

Jim blinked. His stance softened and after a beat, he stuck out his hand. “Jim Sheridan.”

He stared at the hand. His plea was meant to erase the last few minutes, not their whole past. Mark wasn’t ready to forget those fifteen months, but he’d go along for now. He’d do whatever it took to fix this if it meant not having another tragedy hanging around his neck. Swallowing hard, he clasped the other man’s hand. “Mark Taylor.”

The handshake introduction did more than calm the waters. With a shake of his hand, Jim gave Mark back something he’d been missing since being arrested. His dignity.

They returned to their chairs as the waitress arrived with their pizza. She paused in puzzlement as if sensing the residual tension in the air. “Um, cheese and sausage, right?”

Eyes burning, Mark avoided eye contact with everyone and covered his emotion by putting the photos back in the bag before the waitress saw them.

Jessie moved the water glasses out of the way so the waitress could put the hot pizza in the center of the table. “Yes, that’s correct. It looks great.”

* * *

What the hell had just happened? One minute Jim was sure Taylor was going to attack him, but the next, anguish flashed in the man’s eyes followed by something else. Resolve? Jim took the spatula and lifted a slice of pizza onto Jessie’s plate. He slid the utensil under another and raised his eyebrows in a silent question as he nodded towards Taylor’s plate. The guy looked wrung out, but he accepted the pizza and poured water for all of them while Jim served up the food.

“This is good pizza.” Jessica dabbed at her mouth.

Taylor glanced at her but didn’t react to the statement. He looked distracted and hardly touched his food.

“Yeah. It is. I’ll have to remember to come here more often. Who’d have thought an Irish pub would have decent pizza?” Jim took a sip of water and wished it was beer.