Boston, MA
“Yeah, yeah,” Samuel said into the phone.
“Out of all my agents, you’re by far the biggest pain.”
“I do appreciate the compliment.” Samuel glanced behind him through the darkness and changed lanes on Interstate 84. He had a lot of hours of driving ahead of him until he neared Boston. Now if he could convince his handler to get off his case.
“You need to learn what constitutes a compliment.”
“I think I’m pretty clear on that.”
“Just be careful. We have reason to believe al-Sadr will have people in the country within a week. I did you a favor and got you released—don’t make me regret it.”
Samuel had been picked up by the CIA. They’d been concerned about his falling into the hands of al-Sadr because he knew too much. “Hey, you’re the one who gave me the idea for this project.” He poorly imitated his handler’s voice. “Surely, a PI/CIA operative/detective could figure this out.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to wonder if that was wise.”
Then Samuel caught the timing his handler had said. “Where’re you getting your information? I haven’t heard anything for about a week.”
“If you checked in like you’re supposed to, you might know things like this.”
“Okay, okay. Lecture over.” Samuel blew by an eighteen-wheeler. “Tell me what you know.”
“We have an asset inserted in a major oil family in Saudi Arabia with some kind of tie to US immigration. We’re not sure what kind of tie—we just know they’ve been able to get people into the country under the radar. And the asset has gotten us word that the family has been in discussions with al-Sadr. There’s talk of a November twentieth deadline.”
“If they’re sourcing it out, they probably plan on sending more than one person.” Getting one person into the country wasn’t such a large task—send several people to the border in different areas until one gets through. This sounded a lot more strategic.
“That’s what we think. Now, are you going to start doing what I tell you to do?”
“We have such a good thing going. Why ruin it?”
His handler started griping again. He was pushing all the right buttons to keep the phone call going longer to help him stay awake. His mind started to wander.
“You’re just going to have to get used to handling a gun,” Samuel had told Dream.
Finally, Dream had admitted, “They frighten me.”
“Why does he need to handle a gun?” Trudi had come back to the entryway.
“He won’t as long as you’re around.” Samuel smiled at Trudi, while hoping Dream kept his mouth shut. Though Samuel was pretty confident his threats that Dream keep quiet about Samuel’s plans had thoroughly penetrated the fear center of his brain.
Trudi hesitated for half a second. Samuel kept eye contact.
“I’ll keep him safe.” Trudi smiled at Dream.
Dodged a bullet there, Samuel thought. Then he said to Trudi, “Can I talk to you privately for a second?”
She walked back the way she’d come, and he followed her to a room covered in mahogany paneling.
“We shouldn’t leave him alone too long,” Trudi said. “I think he might bolt at any second.”
“He doesn’t have any place else to go. He won’t run.”
“Sometimes I miss that psychic ability of yours,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m sure you do.”
She smirked. “So, what did you want to talk about that we didn’t already cover in the almost six-hour car ride down to Jacksonville?”
“I’m leaving your car in the garage. I have another stashed down there.”
“And you needed me alone to tell me that?”
“I just wanted to tell you thank you. For not destroying the pictures.”
Trudi paused, and her voice was quieter. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m headed back up to Boston, so I won’t see you for a while.”
“I’ll call you if he remembers anything interesting.” He’d given her the number of his burner cell.
He took a step closer. She leaned back. He moved closer, and she looked at him with that warning in her eyes. He kissed her cheek, the first time he’d touched her like that in a very long time. And certainly the last time he would ever touch her.
“Thanks, Tru-Bear.” He turned and walked away, out of the condo.
Samuel came back to himself and sat straighter in the driver’s seat.
“Are you even listening?” his handler asked.
“November twentieth. Everything has to be done by November twentieth.”
“Let me say this again, though I’m sure it’ll fall on deaf ears. You need to go underground now. Right now. Get out of the country, disappear.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Samuel said. “Deaf ears.”
“You’re too valuable an asset to be playing around like this.”
“You mean I know too much to be allowed to fall into terrorist hands.”
“That too.”
“I feel the love,” Samuel said. “We’ve already been through this. I’ll disappear—once my plan is finished.”
“You don’t even have a plan.”
“I have the start of one. I’ll figure the rest out.”
He passed a sign for an upcoming rest stop and changed lanes. He’d needed to use the restroom for the last ten miles. “Question for you: Have you heard of an FBI agent named Tama Uribe?”
“FBI?”
“Yeah. At least that’s what she says.”
“Why would you be asking about an FBI agent? Has she approached you?”
“She’s been trying to get in contact with me. Harassing Trudi. I’d like to figure out what she’s after and make her back off.” He parked and got out of the car.
“Why does she want to talk to you?”
“Don’t know.” He passed a few people while walking up the sidewalk toward the men’s room. He kept his expression open, maybe even a little smile in his eyes, all while watching each person carefully.
A man in jeans and an overcoat stood to the side, lit a cigarette, and looked over at Samuel.
“Evening,” Samuel said. The man looked away.
Into the phone, Samuel said, “Look into her, all right?”
“Why don’t you just reach out to her yourself?”
Samuel paused for a second. Several thoughts skittered through his mind. “You want me lying low, remember?”
“If she’s FBI, I wouldn’t worry.”
“Hang on a second.” Samuel muted the phone while he used the restroom and washed his hands. “All right, I’m back.” He walked out of the restroom and into the cold.
“What is that shouting?” his handler asked.
“Couple of guys about to get into a fight. Ignore what I say for about ten seconds.”
“What?”
Two men were arguing on the sidewalk, with a young girl, maybe twelve, standing to the side, looking scared. Phone still to his ear, Samuel kept walking down the sidewalk.
“You cut me off!” one of the men yelled at the other.
“There are thousands of beige Toyotas on the road,” the other man said. “You’re confused.”
“Don’t try denying it!”
Samuel talked into his phone. “Yeah, I got it. I said I got it.” He bumped shoulders with the larger man. “Whoa, sorry about that.”
“Watch it, buddy.”
Samuel talked into the phone again. “Yes, I got it. Generic peanut butter from Walmart. Nothing else.” He rolled his eyes and covered the mouthpiece. “Women. Can’t live with them, can’t have any fun without them.”
“Just get outta here.”
“Man, I’m getting yelled at from all sides. Not my day.” Samuel walked past them. And then he turned quickly. “Say, can you tell me how to get to”—with his elbow up, still holding his phone, he slammed into the other man—“wow, I’m sorry. You all right?”
That man huffed and walked away.
Samuel turned to the larger man. “Maybe you can tell me how to get to—”
That man walked away as well. The girl, apparently his daughter, followed. She glanced back at Samuel. He smiled and winked, and she grinned.
Samuel continued to his rental car and got in. “Okay, fun’s over.”
“You need to be more careful.”
Samuel started the engine. “Let me ask you something. Someone dropped something that I suspect is going to be very useful in my lap. Anonymously. How do you think that someone could have found out about what I’m trying to get done?”
“If this person, or thing, is useful, use them and get it done.”
“Hey, got another call coming in. Talk to you soon.” He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. That seals it, he thought, trust no one but Trudi from now on.