THIRTY-ONE
• • •
Murphy stumbled back, lost his balance, and tumbled to the floor. The guards jumped into action, drew their sidearms, and pointed them at Jed.
Jed stepped back a few feet but did not lift his hands in surrender. He stared at Murphy, now clumsily climbing to his feet. Murphy rose to his full height, adjusted his shirt, and smoothed his hair back against his head. The left side of his jaw was red and had already begun to swell. He lifted a hand and motioned to the guards. “Easy, guys. It’s okay.”
The men lowered their weapons but did not holster them.
Murphy rubbed his jaw and winced. “I didn’t deserve that, Patrick.”
Jed decided to take the direct route. “Were you behind this? The guy on the plane? He was one of your men.”
Murphy put his hands in his pockets and frowned. “No.”
“No? That’s it?”
“There isn’t any more to say.”
“Do you know who was behind it?”
“Connelly.”
“How did that guy get on the plane? Don’t you screen your men?”
“Of course we do.”
“Well, maybe you should do a better job of it. He could have brought the whole plane down.”
“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know how he infiltrated our ranks.”
“He was trying to kill me.” Jed’s pulse tapped out a staccato rhythm in his neck.
“I know all about it. Believe me, we’re looking into it. We have him in custody and will interrogate him as soon as he’s ready.”
Jed glanced at the guards, who were still in alert mode. They stood with slightly flexed knees, wide stances, sidearms gripped with both hands. “Ready for what?”
“You broke his arm, Patrick; knocked him unconscious. We have to wait until he’s alert enough to undergo interrogation.”
Jed paced the room.
“Are you having second thoughts about the mission?” Murphy asked.
Jed stopped. “Do I have a choice? You’re holding my daughter hostage.”
Murphy shook his head. “Not hostage. Don’t look at it that way. Remember, we’re on the same side, Patrick. We’re on the side of the American life we grew up with, the America we love. Connelly is a threat to that way of life, to the greatness of this country. He will bring us all to our knees. I’m keeping Lilly with me for insurance, that’s all. You have to admit you have a reputation now.”
Murphy tilted his head to the side so he could look Jed in the eyes. “Patrick, you have a reputation for letting your conscience interfere with your mission. I needed to protect our interests against that reputation.”
He was right. Jed hated it, but it was true. With Lilly being held as insurance, he would go through with the assignment, no matter what it was. His daughter’s life was more important than anything else.
Again, Jed eyed the guards. “What’s the plan, Murphy? How does this play out?”
“We’ll go over the details when we get to Kill Devil. For now just know you’re doing the right thing. And . . .” He paused and glanced at Karen. “Understand that Karen will be with you throughout the entire mission. She won’t ever leave your side.”
Jed shifted his eyes to Karen, who smiled at him and nervously chewed her bottom lip.
• • •
Tiffany pulled up in Ed’s Toyota at quarter to four in the morning. She’d filled the tank for him and would make sure it was filled again whenever she returned the car.
The condo was located in a small town called Secretary and situated along the Warwick River. It was one of seven homes in the unit, three stories, with a small front porch. Jack sat on the porch. He smiled as she approached. “So I see you found a way.”
“I’m smart, remember.”
“I do. Where’d you get the car?”
“It’s Ed Worley’s.”
“Ah, so you’re not just smart; you’re persuasive. But I bet it didn’t take a lot of persuasion to get Ed to loan you his wheels.”
A twinge of guilt pricked at Tiffany’s conscience. She’d taken advantage of Ed’s interest in her, the same interest she’d deflected countless times. She’d used Ed and now felt bad about it. But this wasn’t the time to feel guilty. She’d have an opportunity later to apologize and make things right with Ed. She scanned the parking lot, illuminated by one sodium lamp bulb that cast a yellowish light across the asphalt. On one end of the lot sat a large fish market with multiple docks that jutted out into the slow-moving river. On the other end of the lot were single-family homes, each with its own dock and fishing boat.
“So how do we get in?” she asked Jack.
He held up a key.
“Is that ten years old too?”
“Nope. Thirty-six.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes.
Jack stood and opened the front door. “Cousin Fred never changed the hiding place of the emergency key.”
“And you remembered where it was after all these years?”
“Some memories never leave you.”
“That’s just weird.”
He walked inside to a foyer, keeping the lights out until the front door was completely closed, then turned on a lamp that sat on a dark wood sofa table. The interior of the home was decorated in a distinctly oceanic and boating theme. Framed prints of sea vessels and waterfowl covered the walls. Looking beyond the foyer, she saw the dining room and living room furnished with dark wood pieces and rustic colors. A bookshelf, stuffed with hardback novels, reference books, and duck decoys, stood along the far wall next to a gas fireplace.
“This is nice,” Tiffany said.
Jack entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a can of soda and popped the tab. “Hasn’t changed much. From what I remember.”
“Isn’t this kind of like breaking and entering?”
Jack took a long swig of the soda, then wiped his mouth. “First, there was no breaking. I used the key. And it’s not illegal to enter if you have permission.”
“So what? The fact that you last talked to Fred four decades ago gives you permission?”
“It was 3.6 decades ago and I talked to him more recently than that.”
She squinted her eyes. “Like how recent?”
Jack looked at his watch. “Last night. I called him, told him I was in town on business, and asked if I could crash at the condo. He said sure. It was nice to talk to him again.”
“How did you get his number?”
“The Internet. I stopped at the Hampton Inn in Easton and used their Internet and phone.”
So he couldn’t be tracked. Smart.
“And you don’t think they’ll find Cousin Fred and question him?”
“Not likely. As far as they know, we haven’t had contact in thirty-six years and him being such a distant cousin . . . it won’t be a problem.”
Jack walked to the living room and sat on the sofa. Tiffany followed and took an overstuffed chair by the fireplace. “So what do we do now?”
“We wait a couple days, lay low.”
“You always have a plan, don’t you?”
“I try to.”
“You still think Patrick is going to take a shot at Connelly?”
Jack shrugged. “I have no reason to think otherwise.”
“Okay. So when?”
“Connelly is slated to speak at the Wright Brothers Memorial in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. I’ve been there; it’s elevated; he’ll be exposed. It’s the only shot Patrick will get.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”