The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel (42 page)

Virginia March 6, 2004

J
ericho called Jon Pruitt from a pay phone.

He called back.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“A friend.”

The woman sounded nervous.

“Do you perhaps have a name?”

“Wesley—”

“Hmm…” Pruitt cut her off. “You don’t sound like a
Wesley
.”

“May I come to your home for a visit?”

Pruitt thought about it for a minute.

“Do you know where it is?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she answered.

“Our place is on the left one half mile after the last church, just before the highway ends.”

“Is tomorrow afternoon okay…maybe fourteen—er…two?”

“That would be fine.”

The Thunderbird’s top folded down. Jericho wrapped the scarf around her neck, turned the radio up, and headed for the interstate.

“Arrest me for speeding!” she screamed to the wind.

No longer having to dress formally, blue jeans and a leather jacket were her chosen uniform
.
An hour later, after she exited the highway, she felt like she was flying above the country road, passing cars whenever she could. The freedom was irresistible!

“Crap!”

Jericho missed the fluttering American flag topped with long white ribbons. She pulled into the next driveway and turned around. Slowing the car to look longer, she held back tears as she entered the lane.

Stopping on the circular driveway near the broad porch steps, she used the rearview mirror to help her fingers tame the red hair.

Jon Pruitt came out the front door; Connie followed several steps behind.

“Hi,” she called, smiling. “I’m Elaine Jericho.”

“Hello.” Pruitt walked down the steps with a hand in his coat pocket. “Could you please tell me more?”

“Sir, I am…” Her hands stayed visible on the wheel. “Well…I was a shipboard intelligence officer for the navy.” There was a grimace. “Then I worked at the NGA…in charge of Middle Eastern Nuclear Recon…then became an assistant director…and…now…Now…I’m former everything…Exiled in four weeks to a navy base in Texas.”

“Good fishing lakes there,” Pruitt said.

“I’ll have to learn.”

Motioning toward the house, he said, “Come in. It’s warmer.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They climbed the steps, stopping on the porch.

“My wife, Cornelia.”

“Ma’am.”

“
Connie,
not
Cornelia
or
ma’am
,” his wife corrected them both.

They entered the house.

“Ms. Jericho…” Connie said.

“
Elaine
…please.”

Connie began again. “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

“Elaine,” said Pruitt, “you look like you could use Scotch.”

“No, sir, but thank you, sir…and thank you, Ms. Pruitt. Tea would be wonderful…if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all. Let me put your jacket on a hanger.” Connie sensed the woman needed a moment. “I believe you’d like to freshen up. Come. I’ll show you the washroom.”

After the women left, Pruitt chuckled. She was typical military, but much more attractive than most.

Jericho returned.

“Come on into my study, Elaine,” said Pruitt, opening the door and motioning her to an upholstered chair with a footstool. Jericho watched as Pruitt pulled a Glock from his tweed coat pocket, opened a desk drawer, and laid it inside.

“Please, take your shoes off and relax.” He led the way by sitting in an adjoining chair and letting his loafers drop to the rug.

The tea arrived a few minutes later.

“Elaine, I didn’t know if you took anything in yours, so I brought some milk and sugar.” Connie served them both and said, “Let me know if there’s anything else you need…and, if he gets talking about orchids, I’ll rescue you.”

Jericho smiled.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Pruitt said to her.

Connie shut the office door.

Noticing her unsteady teacup, Pruitt stayed silent, letting Jericho settle down and relax.

“Blue’s an unusual color for orchids,” she said, looking at a tall terrarium full of them.

“
Cattleya minervas
,” he said, his face showing no emotion. “Wes gave them to my daughter because they matched her eyes.”

“Beautiful,” she said.

“Elaine, I don’t understand yet why you sought me out, but you’re with a friend,” he said. “I assure you, you can speak openly about whatever is on your mind. Once I had all the clearances you’ve had. My respect for their intent has never changed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please…
Jon
.” It was wonderful having a young woman in the house. “Washington’s a hundred miles from here…and you drove out for a reason.”

“Okay.” She was calming down. “Sorry I was obtuse when I called. For so long, I’ve worried about being overheard.”

“I know that feeling,” Pruitt said with a smile. “Our home gets electronically swept every couple of days, and this room in particular was designed to be safe. So…what would you like to tell me?”

“I know people think Wesley Morgan’s dead…”

Pruitt looked at her but made no reply.

“I think he’s alive.”

His face continued to show no emotion.

“What leads you to believe that?” he asked.

“There’s information confirming his presence in Pakistan.”

“Interesting vacation spot.” A droll smile formed.

“I’m sorry, Jon. Forgive me. I’ve been very upset. Normally I don’t think haphazardly. Now that I’m sitting here, I’m beginning to get my composure back.”

“Take your time.”

“Let me start from the beginning,” she said.

The tale required a second pot of tea, sandwiches, small cookies, and another bathroom break. When Jericho returned, she concluded the story.

“You see…it wasn’t until I spoke with Mr. Cotsworth that I put it together. When Caroline…died…Morgan threw in the towel. I don’t believe he’s dead, despite the car bombing. My intuition says he’s too cunning.”

“Intuition?” mused Pruitt. “Is that allowed in the satellite business?”

“Conjecture leads to more research, just not for me anymore, I guess.”

“As you’ve discovered, your employer takes a dim view of such things.”

Pruitt looked at his watch. It was late afternoon.

Jericho saw him. “I’m sorry sir, I should go.”

“Not at all. I was thinking Scotch would taste good right about now. Care to join me?”

“I have to drive back.”

“Perhaps a little?”

“Okay, a little.”

When he headed for the bottles, Jericho looked again at the picture of Morgan and Caroline. Her blue eyes twinkled above a regal smile.

“Caroline is stunning,” she said. Jericho could tell the father imagined his daughter in the present, so she phrased her words that way.

“Takes after her mother, fortunately.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Wesley’s good looking, too.”

“
Wes
…” said Pruitt. “He insists on that name. Thinks
Wesley
is stiff.”

Pruitt handed her a snifter and sat down before raising his glass to toast.

“To your success…which again buttresses the American credo that
no good deed goes unpunished
,” he said. “Ought to be stitched in the flag.”

“Feels that way sometimes,” she agreed.

“Sounds like you’ve had a hectic but interesting few months.”

“I guess,” Jericho said. Unsure, she asked anyway. “What did you do, sir, if I may?”

“Things related to OTDR.”

Optical time domain reflexometry. The process analyzed fiber-optic cable integrity, but Jericho heard what he didn’t say. If Jon Pruitt had devised a process to tap into fiber-optic transmissions without noticeable interruptions, he was wealthy, more likely rich. She knew he’d give away every cent to have his daughter back.

“Timely,” she said, flattered he would share such secret information.

“Yes, it was.” He saw her ring and changed the direction of the conversation. “So you went to Annapolis.”

“Transferred after a rough first year at Madison. Nobody there liked an unabashed patriot.”

“Those lairs can be unwelcoming sometimes,” he agreed.

As the Scotch relaxed her, Pruitt sensed a protected personality revealing itself. Her ankles crossed the other way on the footstool while she unconsciously reached back and took out the clip holding her hair. After a gentle shake, she ran her fingers through it and began to pet some strands.

“Pardon me for asking, but…are you married?” he asked.

“Only to the navy. A poor substitute…That’s obvious now.”

“Another splash?” he asked after a moment.

Jericho agreed, without even thinking.

“My life’s been good, I guess, maybe not as much fun as others. But, Jon, if I may…I have to say, today, it’s just nice to be in your home…with you and Connie, just talking…The way life should be.”

The Scotch continued to work its magic.

“Families are important,” she added. “I visit mine too infrequently, I’m afraid.”

“Elaine, don’t be too hard on yourself,” said Pruitt. “Life offers many paths…and not all are chosen.”

“So true,” she agreed, knowing he was probably thinking about his daughter.

“There are things in this world that we can’t anticipate. Look at Wes. He’s willing to pay the ultimate price because he believes it’s more important than his life. By your behavior, I suspect you’re much the same.”

“How do you mean?”

“Wes is doing what he thinks is right…and…if he survives, I hope he’ll learn to live again.”

“Jon, forgive me…I’m not following you. I said I
believed
Wes was alive, but I have no proof.”

Pruitt stood up, walked to his desk, and placed his glass down on a coaster.

“I’m going to show you something, Elaine…then we’re going to have dinner together and Connie will drive you home. She doesn’t drink much. That’s safer for both of us.”

“Oh, I can’t impose…” Jericho’s protest was weak at best.

“No arguments. Besides, we have a place in the city. Connie will spend the night there and I’ll come to get her in the morning. There’s someone I need to see in the District anyway.”

Pruitt removed a manila file folder from a drawer.

“I received a call from the FBI in Washington maybe ten days ago. They told me Wes had been dead for months…in the car bombing. After Cay’s death, the stress of being told
that
was almost too much for Connie and me to bear. Then”—he handed Jericho a piece of paper from the folder—“this came from Wes’s lawyer last week.”

He smiled doggedly. “Attorney-client privilege is a wonderful failsafe. I was able to get help tracing its point of origin to Mingora.” His grin continued. “I guess I still have some friends.”

Jericho gasped, her fingers trembling as she read the e-mail.

Jon and Connie,

Destiny overcomes darkness. The loss of Cay sealed my fate.

I will succeed or be with her.

With love, your son

She looked at Jon with tears in her eyes.

“Wes really
is
still alive…” Her words were barely audible.

“I’ve never doubted that, Elaine,” said Pruitt.

“He’s going to try to kill him.”

“Yes,” Pruitt said. “I’ve believed that for a while too.” A kind smile carried his next words. “But all I had to rely on was my…intuition.”

“The meeting is Friday near Swat,” she confided.