Chapter Twenty-Six

Timmons didn’t seem surprised to hear from Jarvis or by the content of his story.

 

“Yeah, I was pretty sure I’d hear from you. And it’d be after you’d done something I wouldn’t like.” Timmons was comfortable letting dead air fill the connection. So was Jarvis.

 

“The sheets you have with names, the ones with red ticks are the people who’ve already received vials of poison. Maybe you should focus on them, even though I think most have gone underground by now.”

 

Timmons laughed, real humor infusing it. “You’ve made enough noise that they all know they might be compromised, unless maybe the guy in Racine didn’t have enough time to reach them before you popped him.” He paused. “How many on the sheet you have are marked in red?”

 

This caught Jarvis by surprise. Timmons cleared it up for him. “We spoke to Rini. Three sheets, and I’ve only got two.”

 

“You guys are thorough.” He looked down at his sheet. “Two with red, though one is…out of commission. Five others with no checks. I’ll fax a copy.”

 

“Thanks. And come on back. LA misses you.”

 

Jarvis let the silence comfortably creep back in. There wasn’t much he could do that would speed things up for Homeland Security. Getting to everyone on the list would take some time, and what he’d already done may have bought some more time by scaring the do-ers. Martyrs or misguided zealots or ideological morons, whatever they were, they would chill for a while. But it wouldn’t stop there. He thought of the woman’s dying words and Mohan’s connection to Jarvis’s past. Brin lying in a hospital bed. It was too late to find an antidote, at least one nearby. Brin would pull through on his own or Brin would die. The only thing Jarvis could do now was go to the source, to cut off the head.

 

“I’ve got a little vacation time coming.”

 

Timmons thought about that. “Private detectives’ benefits package includes paid time off nowadays?”

 

“I’ve got a trip coming up.”

 

Timmons thought quietly. “You know, Homeland Security only operates within the borders of the United States. We’ve got sister agencies that have, uh, broader reach, but for the most part we’re national only.” It wasn’t a threat or a suggestion. Just a fact.

 

“On an unrelated note, I always travel with my passport.” Jarvis touched his back left pocket and felt the outline of the worn document he hadn’t used much in the last couple years but was always within arm’s reach. He started to do the mental calculations of a ticket, last-minute, for a very long flight. “I’ll give you a ring in a few days.”

 

“You do that. And travel safely.” Timmons hung up and Jarvis headed back to the hotel to make some calls. Commercial flights into Karachi were limited given regional conditions. He needed to be more creative.

 

He hadn’t packed for the desert so he walked a dozen blocks to a part of the Village that sold clothes other than black sweaters and pants and torn jeans. He picked out a few pairs of khakis, some good walking boots, several layers of sweaters, a light jacket to fend off the cool evenings, and several pairs of underwear. No one talked much about the real discomfort of sweating in 110 degree heat in Afghanistan. He found a decent duffel bag at an army surplus store. Walking among the gas masks, portable stoves, and laser sights, he fingered the camouflage outfits. Not a hint of nostalgia.

 

Back at the hotel, he began to make calls. Dozens of “consulting companies” provided security in the region, some acting as semi-legitimate armed forces augmenting US efforts. Others were private armies protecting companies still doing business in Afghanistan or aid agencies trying to help the locals while not being killed themselves. The recruiters reached out to ex-armed forces, offering good salaries, decent living conditions, and fewer rules than re-enlisting. Jarvis had never been tempted, but plenty former colleagues had. And one Colonel he’d served under had left the service a few years earlier and started his own company. He ran it like an arm of the military – boot camp training even for seasoned vets, strict rules of conduct, and zero tolerance for bullshit. Jarvis got him on his cell and didn’t have to spend more than thirty seconds catching up on the six years since they’d last spoken. The Colonel didn’t waste time – only the mission counted.

 

“Lieutenant, good to hear your voice. You looking for some work?”

 

Jarvis looked out his window at the park, dusk starting to settle and giving the city a false sense of calm. “No, sir. It’s a little more complicated than that.”

 

Two minutes later, the Colonel was giving Jarvis a series of telephone numbers and codes. Jarvis hadn’t told him the details, just that he needed to get to Afghanistan and the mission, though private, was important. The Colonel’s voice was clipped, clear, and hard. He’d help get Jarvis in-country. He didn’t say anything more, but Jarvis knew if he needed anything else, he could make a call.

 

“Thank you, sir. I hope we get to cross paths again soon.”

 

“Son, you do what you need to do.” The line went dead.