At Boston Logan International Airport’s Terminal E, Tom headed for the lower-level arrivals hall, carrying his leather holdall. He felt better for the long sleep he’d had. He didn’t usually sleep well on planes, but he’d been exhausted. He was looking forward to seeing Lester. The guy could put a smile on a rock face. He bought a spare disposable cell and went to a restroom to check underneath the bandage on his neck. The wound had stopped bleeding and it didn’t look too bad, and the fleck from the splinter on his forehead had almost healed. But the bruises on his body still appeared savage.
After he’d walked back into the hall, he saw Lester standing by an advertising board wearing jeans, hiking boots and a dark-blue windbreaker. He looked fit and muscular, his hair shaved. As Tom walked over, he could see Lester register that it was him, and his friend’s slim face broke into a wide grin. They shook hands.
“Man, it’s good to see you, Tom,” he said, taking the holdall.
“You, too, buddy. Appreciate you coming.”
“That was some shit over there. Anything broken?”
“We can talk about it later. I need to get to Cambridge,” Tom said, holding back that he was going to pay a visit to a student called Mahmood at Harvard University.
“Massachusetts or Maryland?”
“Massachusetts.”
“Good, cuz that ain’t far.”
They walked past the hall’s restaurants and gift stores, out into the vapour light of the airport’s exterior. It was an overcast evening, already dark. The lot was directly across from the terminal, where Lester had said his black VW van was parked. After they’d clambered in, Lester drove out of the lot. As they entered the Sumner Tunnel, beneath Boston Harbour, he put on his sat-nav. It was 20:12 and a frail mist hung in the air like gossamer.
“You ready to tell me what happened?” Lester asked.
Tom filled him in on the details he felt it appropriate to disclose, basically recounting what had happened outside the hospital, including the body count, but leaving out everything after the cars had sped away along the alley. The events that had happened afterwards were, he considered, classified. But in truth, he simply hadn’t figured them out in his own head yet. Besides, at this stage, Lester didn’t need to know more. If and when he did, he would tell him.
“As far as you’re concerned, I’m just hiring your services like anyone else.”
“Yeah, but it’s got to do with the secretary, ain’t it?” Lester said, taking a left onto Cambridge Street.
“It has. I got a hunch, Lester, no more than that, and a lead of sorts. You okay to help me out for the next couple days?”
“Hell, yeah.”
“And I need you to put a small team together. But you have to work fast for obvious reasons. Anyone you can spare right away?” Tom asked.
Lester glanced at him. “You got something in mind, brother?”
“Nope. But I want all options available if my lead comes good.”
“All my people are freelance. I just hire them on a need-to basis. It’s cheaper and I don’t have to put up with nobody bitching about the lack of healthcare.”
“How about Johnny Silver?” Tom said, referring to an ex-DS agent he had introduced to Lester a few years back.
“They’re looking to give him a lethal injection up in Nebraska. He popped a cap in an off-duty cop he mistook for an armed robber he was chasing down for some bail bondsman.”
“Goddamnit. Poor Johnny. Anyone else we both know who ain’t in jail?”
Lester pursed his lips. “I see Skip Howard around, but he’s into salad now.”
Tom shot Lester a puzzled look. “Salad? That street talk for drugs?”
“Nah. Lettuce and shit. He loves the earth, or so he says. Calls it his mother, though his mother lives in a trailer park in Idaho. Anyways, he wouldn’t raise his hand to anyone no more. Skip thinks he’s a hippy. I don’t have the heart to tell him he’s fifty years too late.”
Tom grinned, nodding. “Just do what you can, huh? But I only want people with a sound background. No third-rate mercs or amateur adrenalin junkies.” Now he was stateside, he figured he could be picky.
“Talking of which, we got a tail,” Lester said, peering into the rear-view.
“You sure?” Tom asked, checking the side-view.
“Damn right, I’m sure. A big white Lexus SUV. It had blackouts, it’d be a regular pimp wagon. Been following us all the way from Logan. Though he thinks he’s a sneaky mother.”
Tom thought about it. Maybe Crane had put a tail on him, just to be sure.
“Now if we was in DC,” Lester said, “I could lose him no problem. But up here in Disney World for smartasses, I doubt it. That’s why I got Davina giving me directions on the sat-nav.”
“Davina?”
“That ain’t her real name. I made it up,” Lester said.
“You don’t say.”
“And the shadow?”
“Let him stay where he is,” Tom said.
Figuring it was best to find out who it was, why he was following them and what he knew, Tom took out his smartphone. He hadn’t noticed anyone onboard the flight from Kabul who’d looked like a shadow. It was weird, he had to admit. Unnerving, too. He spent a minute looking at satellite imagery, checking for nearby non-residential areas.
“There’s a reservoir and park called Fresh Pond a few miles away. We’ll take him there.” Tom leaned over and programmed Davina.
Fresh Pond was a hundred-and-sixty-acre kettle-hole lake, with a further one hundred and fifty acres of surrounding forest and wetland. It fitted the bill.
“He still following us?”
“He is. At a distance. You strapped?” Lester asked.
“I just got off a schedule flight from Kabul. What do you think?”
“I got our favourites under your seat.”
Tom put his hand underneath the seat, felt a bundle and took out an oily rag. As he unwrapped it he saw a pair of SIG Sauer P229s. He took one out, weighing it in his palm.
“It’s too heavy for a 9mm.”
“.357 SIG,” Lester said.
“Nice. But that’s a bigger kick and muzzle blast.”
“Yeah, but no one’s gonna stay upright, either. Besides, I got suppressors, too. And it’s a DAK. That’s a 6.5lbs trigger pull, not 10lbs. Standard-issue for the Department of Homeland Security.”
“Thanks for telling me. But we ain’t going on a killing spree,” Tom said.
Cutting through Harvard University with the Yard on their left, they headed for Concorde Avenue, which led all the way to Fresh Pond.
“He’s getting closer.”
“Just the one guy?” Tom asked.
“Yep. Unless he’s got a shy friend lying on the back seat. He’s wearing shades with a ball cap pulled down low. Who the hell wears shades in the evening, ‘cept ageing rock stars?”