June 30th, 8:11 p.m.; Washington D.C.
Jack Darling took another long drag on his cigarette before tapping it on the ashtray in front of him. As his fingers spun the glass of straight Scotch whisky on the counter, he adjusted his weight on the barstool. He checked his watch again. He did not like waiting. He saw himself as a busy man and every minute he wasted waiting on someone else was a minute lost in his constant pursuit of the next big story.
As an investigative reporter for The Washington Post, Jack Darling had spent the past twenty years building his reputation in journalism on integrity, making sure his sources were legit before any story went to publication. His attention to detail was next to paramount. His perfection caused him to work long hours, tracking down leads and verifying sources for each story.
Jack loved journalism, but he had been thinking about a career change for some time. He was almost fifty-years-old; however, the eighteen-hour days made it seem as if he was approaching, if not beyond, retirement. He wanted one last big story before he put away his pen and paper. He wanted to go out on top, remembered as the reporter who broke that big story wide open. Maybe, he was dreaming. Maybe, he was already over the hill. He glanced at his watch. The man he was supposed to meet tonight was late—probably would not even show.
A waste of time, Jack thought, downing the rest of his Scotch before motioning for the bartender to get him another drink. Jack loved to drink and smoke. With the hours he put in at his job, these two guilty pleasures helped him relax. He always knew his limit though and never crossed the line, especially when he was working a lead. After mashing his cigarette butt in the ashtray, he reached for the half-full pack of cancer sticks, popped one out and stuck it between his lips. He thumbed his cigarette lighter twice. Before he could get a flame, his antiquated flip phone rang—the number was blocked. He thumbed open the device and pushed a button. “Jack Darling,” he said, the unlit cigarette flopping up and down when he spoke.
“Are you alone?”
“What? Who’s this?”
The voice repeated the question, louder the second time. “Are you alone?”
Jack thought he recognized the speech pattern. “Adam?” The man Jack was meeting at the bar only identified himself as Adam. “Where the hell are you? You’re late. I’ve been waiting here for fifteen minutes.”
“I know. I’ve been here for forty-five minutes. Now, are…you…alone?”
Jack sat straight and whipped his head back and forth, trying to find the man. “Of course, I’m alone. Where are you?”
“Have the bartender send your second drink to the table in the back corner.”
Jack started to speak, but stopped when the line went dead. He told the bartender to send his drink to the back corner and slid off the barstool. He did not like games. Games fell under the umbrella of wasting time. The frown on Jack’s face transitioned into a scowl. Adam had been in the bar for forty minutes and never made contact. This guy has some serious trust issues. Jack had had two conversations with the man. Both times, he was cocky and rude. There was also an underlying nervousness in his voice.
As Jack approached the booth in the back corner, the man’s features became visible. He had short, dark hair, parted on the side. His dark-colored eyes were darting back and forth as if he was searching for someone. He wore a blue sport coat over a white shirt, his tie was loosened a bit and the first button of his shirt was undone. The man seemed to be in his mid-twenties. Even though he appeared to be physically fit and quite attractive, the first word that came to Jack’s mind was ‘nerd.’ When Jack stopped at the booth, the man stood and extended his hand. The man was well over six-feet tall, but slim. Jack shook the hand and they sat.
Jack was the first to break the initial silence. “So, why all the cloak and dagger stuff and what do I call you?”
“Adam is just fine. I don’t want my real name associated with any of this, not—” he stopped talking when the waitress appeared.
Not acknowledging Jack, she placed his drink on the table and stared at Adam. “Can I get you another?” She was not trying to hide her interest in him.
“No, thanks, I’m fine for now.”
After she left, Jack put a small tape recorder on the table and pressed ‘play.’ Not wanting to waste any more time, he started the interview. “Adam, it is. So, Adam, why am I here? What do you have for me?”
Adam shook his head. “No tape recorders. In fact, I want your word I will be left out of your story.”
Jack pushed the ‘stop’ button and retrieved a note pad and pen from his pocket. He motioned with the items in his hands and looked at Adam. “Is it all right if I take a few notes?”
Adam nodded and spied the people in the bar as if someone was listening to their conversation.
Jack opened the note pad to a blank page. “You look scared.”
“You would be, too, if you’d seen what I’ve seen. So, where do you want me to begin?”
“Let’s start at the top.” Jack straightened and leaned forward, clicking the pen and scribbling to verify it worked.
Adam squirmed in his seat and took a last glance around the bar before telling his story.
Adam was a low-level information analyst at The Tucker Group, a company providing security for high-ranking officials of large multi-national corporations and Chief Executive Officers, travelling outside of the United States.
A week ago, Adam discovered he had computer access to information way above his security clearance. He did not know why, but being a techie and curious by nature, he snooped around some of the files. He found the information so vast that he grabbed a flash drive and downloaded the information. Halfway through the download, the data transfer stopped and his security clearance returned to level one. He tossed the drive into his bag and turned his attention to his workload.
When he arrived at work the next day, two men in suits met him at the front door and escorted him to the top floor, where he waited in a conference room. Fifteen minutes later, a man came into the room and proceeded to ask Adam questions regarding the information he had viewed the previous day. Knowing they had caught him, he admitted to viewing the information, but told them he did not know what it was and continued working on his projects. The man questioned Adam for two hours before dismissing him.
At noon, Adam’s boss, accompanied by the same two men, who met him at the front door in the morning, showed up at his cubicle. The man handed Adam an envelope and told him his services were no longer needed. Adam gathered his personal belongings and the two men in suits escorted him out of the building.
Jack flipped a page in his notebook. “What was in the envelope?”
Adam took a long drink of his beer, raised his eyebrows and swallowed. “There was termination paperwork, a paycheck for the remainder of the week and another check…for ten…thousand…dollars.”
Jack stopped writing. “They gave you ten thousand dollars after firing you?”
Adam nodded before bringing the beer bottle to his lips.
“For what?”
Adam shrugged his shoulders and tipped the bottle back.
“Is it standard policy for the company to give such large checks to employees that have been terminated?”
Adam shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”
Jack licked his finger and flipped back several pages. “Did you tell the man in the conference room you had downloaded information to the flash drive?”
“Are you nuts? I was already in a deep hole. I wasn’t about to give him a shovel too.” He checked his watch and peeked at their waitress. She had stolen several glimpses of him.
“So, what was on the flash drive?”
Adam reached into his pocket and produced a small USB flash drive. He placed it on the table and pushed it toward Jack, making a big show of the motion. “I started going through it when I got home that afternoon. There’s some serious messed up—” he stopped and waved his hands in front of his face. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”
Jack picked up the flash drive and examined it.
Adam slid to the end of the seat and stood. He gestured toward the three empty beer bottles on the table. “This is on you.”
Jack nodded, but said nothing. He studied the flash drive. He was dying to know what was on it.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Adam pointed at the flirtatious waitress. “Either I’m going home with her, or she’s coming home with me.”
“I’ve got one last question.” Jack squinted at the man towering above him. “Why me—why give this to me? Why not take it to the police?”
Adam laughed. “You should know the answer to that question better than me. If you want something done in D.C., you don’t go to the police. You go to the press.”