Pieces of the Puzzle (3 page)

Sarah paused to turn the lights back to full and to look Glen directly in the eye. “I think it’s just cause to continue our
preliminary investigation. I think we can get another six months with this. Hell, I know we can. They arrive by private jet,
only at night, leave early when it’s still dark, and never go outside the whole time they are there. Something’s going on.”

Glen turned to Sarah. “All the same, you did turn in your files and everything else for this case, didn’t you? You know it’s
my ass now if you didn’t.”

Sarah shot back at him, “Everything’s where it’s supposed to be. Don’t screw with my data system. We didn’t miss a damn thing.
Grant the extension and disposition your ass!”

Glen winked at her and decided right then, he wouldn’t miss her at all. Before he hadn’t been sure, but now he was. She would
be the last, he told himself.

“What about the voice and data taps?”

Sarah turned to John. He was the wire man, always. John said, “I wish I could say otherwise, but I didn’t find anything new.”

“Who had wireless?”

The newbie said, “Me, sir. Todd Banovich.”

“Any success in the descrambling effort?”

“His system is the best I’ve ever seen. I’ve cracked codes before, but this is something else. All incoming and outgoing wireless
is scrambled using keys I’ve never seen anywhere else. Six months wasn’t enough time.”

Glen eyed Tom. “You were on the inside. Don’t tell me you don’t know anything new.”

Tom shrugged. “I never got close enough. Wellmen never lets any of the staff into his level of the ranch. Mr. Kim handles
everything down there.”

Glen tossed a manila envelope onto the table, and then walked around the table until he was standing behind Tom. He put his
hands on Tom’s shoulders. “You know, in our line of work it’s not entirely uncommon to have a secret bank account hidden away
somewhere for a rainy day. You never know when it’ll come in handy to make a quick getaway. But Tom here has an account with
a hundred million dollars in it.”

Tom tried to jump out of the chair. Glen held him in it. “Tell me,” Glen whispered into Tom’s ear, “Did you not find anything
because you couldn’t or because you were paid not to?”

Glen didn’t wait for an answer. Blood was racing in his ears. The hand of God was on his shoulder. He shot Tom in the back
of the head without a second thought.

The room became so quiet that to Glen it seemed he could hear the tension rippling in the air. He wiped the blood spatter
from his cheek with a handkerchief from his pocket. He imagined the thoughts racing through their minds. He knew they were
afraid to say a word, John especially. He’d been there before when things had gone sour. Human Intelligence wasn’t work for
someone with a weak stomach.

Glen walked over to Todd. Todd was shaking violently. “What’s the matter, Todd? Worried? Your guilty conscience eating at
you?”

Todd started whimpering. Glen was sure the newbie had just shit his pants. The smell was stomach-churning.

“Two bad eggs out of four. Dirty shame.” Glen stuck the muzzle of the gun against the back of Todd’s head and pulled the trigger
despite Todd’s shrill pleas.

Sarah shouted, “I don’t want any part in this. I’m out!”

At the same time, John jumped out of his chair, put his hands up defensively. “I didn’t take a bribe! If you’re going to kill
me, you’re going to have to work for it.”

Glen changed his mind about shooting Sarah last. “Okay,” he said, “you’re out.” He pointed the gun, one shot to the head.
He never missed. Sarah never expected it. He could see it in her eyes.

She still loved him and thought he loved her.

John ducked for cover, reached for his cell phone.

Glen walked around the table. “You should have taken the bribe. Janet would’ve made good use of the money.”

John was screaming, “Hello, hello, hello!” into the cell phone but couldn’t get a signal. As Glen came into range, John lunged
from under the table.

Glen moved back to get out of the way, age robbing just enough of his speed so John’s hands caught his legs. Smiling as he
fell, Glen said, “You know, I’m screwing her. Janet’s a real screamer.”

John lunged, kicked. His face filled with rage and his foot came within an inch of Glen’s head. Glen hesitated no more. He
pulled the trigger, was surprised when the gun misfired and taken aback when John’s next kick caught him in the side of the
head.

As Glen got to his feet, John tackled him again.

“Who gave the order?” John shouted, his fists doing a one-two number on Glen’s ribs.

Glen blocked but didn’t go on the offensive. He’d been through worse. “It came from the top, John. It’s only personal because
of Janet. You should’ve been more careful and made more friends than enemies.”

John didn’t let up, his fists flying fast and frantic. “When I leave this room, I’m going to become a ghost.”

“You’re already walking dead. You just don’t know it.”

“Look who’s talking.” John grabbed Glen by the throat. “Very dramatic, I particularly liked the envelope. Tell me, what’s
in it?”

Glen choked out the words. “Yesterday’s paper. I figured at least one in four of you had to be dirty.”

“It’s time to make amends, Glen. You ready to meet God?”

“God’s already here with me. You just don’t know he’s on my side and not yours.”

John shook his head and laughed. He held Glen with one hand while he untied and unlaced his boots with the other. Glen squirmed,
tried to break free but couldn’t. “Had these made special,” he said as he bound Glen’s wrists and ankles. “Struggle and you’ll
release the cyanide straight into your bloodstream. Don’t struggle and your sweat will do the same in a few hours. Night,
night.”

Glen smiled. “Don’t ever close your eyes, John. When you do, I’ll be there. You can count on it.”

Glen was about to say something else but everything became dark when John’s fist connected with his skull. When he awoke sometime
later with a pounding headache, he knew talk of cyanide was a bluff. He struggled then, squirming on the floor, knocking over
a chair as he went. He was angry when he found he couldn’t break free but he didn’t give up.

There was a phone on the conference table. He grabbed the phone cord in his mouth and rolled until he heard the phone fall
onto the floor. He rolled over to the phone; the receiver was off the hook. He looked for a way to dial.

He didn’t see anything at first, but as he turned his head, he saw the pointer Sarah had used during the presentation. He
struggled to get over to it, picked it up with his teeth, rolled back over to the phone.

Holding the pointer in his mouth, he used it to dial security, shouting into the mouthpiece, “Red alert, agents down, shots
fired! Conference Room 18-C. Hurry, this is not a drill!” Then he waited, satisfied, knowing things had turned out better
than he had expected. John Tippton had done what he had hoped, and now he had his patsy. He’d get even in time, but for now
he had other things to worry about.

Baltimore, Maryland
Wednesday,

29 December

Inside the house, Cynthia was slowly coming down the long spiral stairs from the second floor. She made her way to the den
despite herself. Soon she imagined she could hear her voice reading the headlines from the
Washington Post
. Scott always used her voice to read the
Post
. If it were a Sunday he’d still be scanning the papers. “Catching up with the world,” he called it. She called it a contemptible
habit.

She’d bought him the computer last Christmas. It had lifetime NewsNet access and a remote viewer so he could “catch up with
the world” from his easy chair. It had seemed such a deal. She had also hoped that he would no longer leave mountains of paper
all over the den. But he preferred hard copy, had to have hard copy. The only thing he used the computer for was to read the
headlines to him until he found an article he wanted, and then he would tell the computer to print it.

“Has to feel like a newspaper,” Scott told her when she fussed at him. The newspaper was like the ritualistic Sunday dinners
that always had to come from the outdoor grill. Routines. Order, clear and simple. But that was one of the reasons she loved
him. With Scott, life was a clear path. He didn’t play mind games with her. He loved her; he showed her every day—when he
was there.

She paused to look at her hair in the mirror at the end of the hall. The phone rang.

“Scott,” she called out, “you going to answer that?” The butler, Edward, said, “Madam, I’ll be happy to answer it.”

Cynthia didn’t say a word. Even without seeing Scott, she knew he was looking at his watch.

“Stop,” Scott would tell the computer, then he’d say to her, “After twelve already, I’m reading the
Post
now, almost finished.

After that, I’ll do whatever you want. I promise.”

The phone rang again. Cynthia walked to the door of the den. Her face flushed. Her toes tingled. Her jaw quivered. She peered
into the dark and silent room.

The computer started to answer the call. Cynthia ran to pick up the phone. “Hello… Daddy, where are you? I’ve been trying
to reach you since Monday. I kept getting your answering service. They wouldn’t even tell me where you were. I’m worried about
Scott.”

“It’s not their job to know where I am,” Mr. Simons said. “I was in New York, but I’m back home now. I didn’t forget your
mother’s birthday, I sent flowers.”

“But that isn’t…” Cynthia began, planning to tell him what she was thinking. Then finally understanding what he was saying,
she replied, “What do you mean you sent flowers? We always go together.”

Mr. Simons replied, “I promise this won’t happen next year.”

She eased her way into Scott’s computer chair. “Business?”

Mr. Simons said, “Pumpkin, you know nothing else would keep me away.”

“I love Scott,” she blurted out. For a long time afterward there was silence on the other end of the line. “Daddy, are you
there?”

“Yes, pumpkin,” Mr. Simons replied.

“I know you’re being forced into retirement, but you still have some power connections, don’t you?” She asked, her voice wavering
at the last few words. “You’re still the Chairman, right?”

“I’ve a few connections, yes.”

“Scott and I want to make a life for ourselves.” Her voice trembled and became very soft, “Daddy, I want Scott to live to
see his son grow up.”

“How is the baby doing? When was your last check-up?” Mr. Simons asked.

“Daddy, I want Scott to live to see his son being born,” Cynthia repeated.

“Are you crying?” Mr. Simons asked. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong. Whatever’s wrong, daddy’ll fix it.

Something to do with Scott, is that it?”

“Daddy, can you come tomorrow?”

Silence on the other end of the phone greeted her for a moment, and then Mr. Simons said, “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.
I’ll be back on Friday. I’ll come straight from the airport.”

A moment ago Cynthia hadn’t been crying, but suddenly the weight of three months’ worth of anxiety became more than she could
hold up under. It was her trembling jaw that brought the first tear to her eye and once the first tear rolled down her cheek,
the others came like water through an open spigot. She whispered, “Just come now.”

It was an hour and forty-five minutes later that the black sedan made its way into the driveway. Scott watched its progress
along the drive, a muscle above his right eye twitching irritably.

Cynthia came out onto the porch. In the soft white of the porch lights she had never looked so radiant. Scott’s heart stopped
as he glimpsed her. She was wearing a maternity dress. Her long brown hair was cast over her left shoulder. Her deep brown
eyes showed clear disappointment. He noted the thick makeup around her eyes, the bright lipstick, and knew it was all meant
to hide the fact she had been crying by diverting attention from the bags under her eyes. Janet, who was with Glen, would
see through this in an instant. Glen wouldn’t.

He’d heard of couples that could finish each other’s sentences. Sometimes, Cynthia could start his. He imagined that if he
walked through the gates right then, she’d greet him by saying, “Traffic was terrible.” It would be a statement, not a question.
She’d open her arms to embrace him. He knew she’d smell the alcohol on his clothes but choose not to say anything about it.
But the booze was gone now, gone along with his career and maybe his life.

Hearing Glen’s and Janet’s footsteps, Scott lurched back to reality. He slipped further into the shadows of the bushes, knowing
his plans for getting in and out of the house easily were gone. He held still and listened to the voices. Cynthia’s voice
in his ears was like a beautiful, sad song.

“For the baby,” Glen said, handing a tiny outfit to Cynthia.

“I picked it out,” Janet said, “I hope you like it.”

Cynthia held the outfit up to the light. “It’s pink?”

“Of course,” Janet said. “What if the baby’s not a boy? You have to have at least one outfit to take her home in.”

Cynthia rubbed her belly. “He’s a boy. I am sure. A mother knows.”

“My purse,” Janet said.

Following her cue, Glen said, “You two go inside. I’ll be right there.”

Janet put her arm in Cynthia’s and escorted her into the house. Glen walked slowly to the car. He wanted to give them enough
time to talk but not delay so long as to be obvious.

He was unlocking the passenger side door when he saw something in the shadows that caught his eye. On his hands and knees,
Glen slithered to the bushes lining the front of the house, the sense of possible danger driving him faster than his age should
have allowed. Glen grabbed the shadow with both hands and thrust it against the house. There was no astonishment in his eyes,
only concern, as he recognized the operative he had sent after Scott. He demanded, “Where is he?”

“Somewhere here, I’m sure of it.”

Scott said from behind Glen, “Somewhere closer than you think.”

Glen spun around, his right hand grasping for Scott’s throat as he swung around. He said clearly, as he tightened his grip,
“You can’t imagine how much is riding on this, Scott. You can’t imagine… and you slinking around your house. Use the damned
front door!”

“Going to strangle me now, is that it?” Scott shot back.

Glen stepped back, regained his composure. “Never let your guard down.”

For a moment Scott was puzzled. Was Glen trying to warn him to watch his back, or show him who was in control? Then Scott
said, “I didn’t. Why was he following me? I thought we were on the same team.”

“Your lead came through. He was trying to get a message to you. An American Airlines flight leaves at 10:45 p.m. for Miami,
be on it. You’re already ticketed, same cover story, just go to the departure gate. Call me when you get there. I’ll give
you the details then.”

“Miami, what happened to Denver—and what the hell happened to you? You look like shit, Glen.”

“Look who’s talking.” Glen dismissed the other agent with a wave of his hand. “The other guy’s a lot worse off, trust me.”

“I didn’t doubt that. You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“So you keep telling me,” Glen said as he started back toward the front door. “Are you going to come in and at least say hello
to your wife? She’s very distraught.”

“Must’ve got the divorce papers then,” Scott said coolly. He started to walk back in the direction he had come from.

Glen grabbed Scott by the collar and spun him around. As he did so, he grabbed the younger man’s hand, twisted and applied
pressure, bringing him to his knees. “She’s the only reason you’re not six feet under. You don’t divorce the Chairman’s daughter.”

Scott looked up, sure of himself. “Break the arm and I’ll be pretty useless. You may as well handle this damn operation yourself.”

“Scott, don’t bite the hand that feeds you. He’s the one who told us to bring you back into the fold. You owe him. You’re
going to do the right thing.”

“The right thing is to stand up, put a bullet in your head and then one in mine.”

“Always the charmer. Well, that charm is going to get you killed. You want your son to grow up without a father?”

Scott pretended that he didn’t hear the voices earlier. “A boy, really?”

“To confirm there needs to be another reading but Cynthia won’t hear of it. She’s certain it’s a boy, doesn’t care about the
anomaly in the reading. That’s good enough for me. If you talked to your wife, maybe you’d know that.”

In the back of Scott’s mind, there was joy but his face showed nothing. His only reaction was to break Glen’s grip and stand.
If he cared, they’d find a way to use that against him and then it wouldn’t matter if Cynthia was the Chairman’s daughter—or
the President’s daughter, for that matter.

Scott looked at his watch. “You said 10:45. I’d better be going. Security can be a nightmare, even with cleared passage.”

Janet called out from the front porch, “Glen, you coming in?”

Scott could hear Cynthia’s voice behind her.

“I think you have a few minutes,” Glen said. “You weren’t there for Christmas. It’s almost New Year’s for crumsakes. You have
my word that Munich is forgotten. Officially, you’ve been classified as on mandatory paid-leave after being ‘recovered’ from
hostile ops. Hell, the Chairman’s even written you a citation.”

“Citation?”

“It’s in the car. That’s what I was getting out of the car, a framed plaque and everything: Scott Madison Evers distinguished
himself on December the 1st during the—”Janet called out. “Are you boys ready?”

“Janet knows?”

“Janet knows and Cynthia has probably guessed by now what the big surprise is, so you can play this as the biggest ass in
history or follow my lead.” Glen stepped out of the shadows, moving to the sidewalk and the car. “On the way. Here comes the
big surprise!”

Scott followed Glen, his eyes catching Cynthia’s and his heart making his mind forget everything as he ran to the steps.

“The big surprise,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “But I’m afraid it’s out of the frying pan and into a—”Cynthia
touched a finger to his lips. “The baby’s a boy,” she whispered in his ear. “He’s healthy and strong—a real kicker.

He’s been waiting for daddy to come home, and so have I.”

Janet and Glen excused themselves. Scott and Cynthia barely noticed.

When the two finally decided to go into the house, Cynthia was the one who picked up the box from the steps. She opened it,
admiring the plaque for a moment before she led Scott away. “Daddy really did come through,” she whispered to herself. “I
never should have doubted.”