knew that he would have the last laugh, and Parker would be nothing more than an insignificant pawn in the overall scheme of things.
How could I have been so careless though?
Moriah maintains an army of informants, contacts, spies, and snitches throughout the country who keep him abreast of every situation that needs monitoring, but more often than not, he scolds himself, he should be using intermediaries. His primary concern, however, with using intermediaries is that a crucial fact or vital piece of intelligence may become lost in the transmission. Moriah prefers to hear it, as the saying goes, from the horse’s mouth, without a third party filtering the information to him. Of course, this lends itself to problems from time to time, as evidenced by his most recent phone call.
While Moriah debated for far too long, unaware that his indecisiveness was assisting the Department of Justice in their search, he weighed the options of severing communication lines with his various contacts, especially during this most crucial of times, or being located by Parker and his merry band of do-gooders. Finally, he makes his decision.
He places the phone on the floor of the cabin and uses the bottom of the plane’s fire extinguisher to crush the phone into a multitude of pieces. Moriah grounds the pieces into the floor with his foot, not knowing that in this case, he was too late when it came to making a quick, and the most prudent, decision.
TWO
Tamawaca, Michigan
Private Anderson leans against the railing of the balcony on the third story of the Easy Does It and sharply inhales from a Parliament cigarette. He slowly exhales and leans his head back so he is staring into the heavens, thinking about Rushmore and whether the poor bastard is still alive.
He and Rushmore became quite close after both of them started working together at Evans at virtually the same time. They had worked many of the same shifts, and afterwards one of them could usually talk the other into blowing off some steam or unwinding at a local watering hole. Inevitably, after both of them were severely over-served, their life stories were exchanged, along with the many political arguments, philosophical discussions, and other frank talk enlisted men tend to share with someone of the same rank. Anderson and Rushmore became fast friends, had met each other’s girlfriends, and generally hung out during their down time when they were not on duty at Evans.
The image of his friend being carried out of the bar in Chicago like a stumbling drunk is frozen in his mind, to be replayed over and over again, as if someone is constantly hitting the “rewind” button in his brain. Rushmore must have known he was being watched and decided that the best course of action to protect the evidence was to pass it off. Anderson admires how incredibly courageous his friend acted and now, he wonders whether Rushmore sacrificed his life in order to keep the disc’s contents from falling into the wrong hands.
This last thought lingers in his mind as he closes his eyes, allowing a slight breeze from the lake to wash over him, taking a momentary pleasure in its coolness. Anderson leans his head back when suddenly, he hears a faint sound coming from the balcony of the cottage next to him. In Tamawaca, the cottages were built practically on top of each other, and the local joke is that if you need to borrow anything from your neighbor, just reach in through the window.
Anderson hears the sound again, like a burst of air escaping a tire. He stares across at the neighboring balcony, his eyes trying to penetrate the gloom of the cottage. He leans slightly over the railing, intent on determining the origins of the sound.
As he peers over, suddenly a face comes into view and whispers, “Over here.”
Anderson is so startled by the sudden appearance of the face that he nearly topples over the railing. The man was cloaked in the shadows before deciding to reveal himself, scaring the bejesus out of Anderson. The man, startled himself by Anderson’s reaction, returns to the shadows, with only a sliver of his face visible.
Anderson notes that the man’s face is rather plain, and he is practically bald except for small patches of hair on either side of his head. He possesses a look of a man tense with anxiety, paranoia even, as his head darts around, looking for other signs of life.
“Who the hell are you?” Anderson calls out.
The man motions with a finger to his mouth and whispers, probably louder than he wants to, “Shhhhhh.”
Anderson continues staring at the man, thinking what an unusual situation this seems to be. They appear to be the only two people around and yet the man is looking around as if there are demons huddled in the shadows around them, listening and watching.
Not wanting to spook the man any further, Anderson says very softly, “What are you doing up here?”
The man’s eyes finally come to rest on Anderson. He motions for Anderson to come over to the balcony he is standing on.
Anderson looks at the roof as it slopes down from the balcony about six to seven feet, whereupon the adjoining cottage’s balcony is a short jump across a void between the two houses. Although the gap is minimal, Anderson does not like entertaining the idea of leaping across no man’s land and coming up short. He looks at the man, intending to express his displeasure with the situation when the man, sensing his reluctance, pleads with him.
“Please . . . there is no other way,” the man says.
The man’s statement is odd, but Anderson senses an urgency to his voice, a tone of desperation even. He looks at the man and nods his head, catching a glimmer of relief in the man’s eyes.
He hoists a leg over the railing, gripping it with both hands, and pulls the other leg over. He maintains a hold of the railing as he looks over and measures the distance from where he is to the railing on the other balcony. He does a quick calculation in his head where his “launching point” will be, and briefly wonders why in the world he is doing this.
Anderson lets go of the railing and scampers down the roof. He jumps as far as he can, easily clearing the gap between the cottages. Unfortunately though, he lands with his midsection squarely on the railing of the neighboring balcony, his legs dangling over the sides. The blow nearly takes the wind out of him, and he loses his grip for a moment. Then, from out of the shadows, Anderson’s new friend grips his arms and pulls him up. Anderson is surprised at how strong the man is despite such a slight frame. The man seems to lift Anderson like he is nothing more than a paperweight.
Anderson drags himself over the railing and onto the balcony. He brushes himself off and finally, he looks at the mystery man who has beckoned him over.
“My name is Nitchie, Dr. Warren Nitchie,” extending his hand towards Anderson.
“Private James Anderson,” Anderson replies, tentatively shaking the other man’s hand.
Anderson continues to stare at Dr. Nitchie, waiting for an explanation. “Okay, Dr. Nitchie, what’s with the cloak-and-dagger stuff?” he asks.
“Private Anderson-”
“You can call me Jimmy,” Anderson interrupts.
As if he did not even hear him, Nitchie continues, “Private Anderson, there is something very bad going on here.”
The statement is delivered with the gravest of tones, and it chills Anderson’s blood to hear it.
“What do you mean?” Anderson asks.
