When Joshua heard the start of his son’s voicemail message he thought about leaving a message. But bad news was best delivered person-to-person.
He decided to hang up and try him again in a few minutes.
Joshua thought back to the call he had just received from Rocky Bridger, a man whose fortitude was usually chiseled out of granite. But when Joshua had picked up his telephone call, his voice sounded different.
Rocky started by saying, “Josh, Rocky. Oh man…” His voice wavered.
There was a long pause. Then a sound. Rocky’s voice was breaking with emotion.
“What is it?” Joshua asked.
“Roger, my son-in-law…murdered…Joshua…my God, he’s gone.”
When Rocky collected himself, he shared the slight information he had. The police were playing cloak-and-danger with this. But the horrible bottom line was that Roger French was murdered in his office in downtown Philadelphia. The local police were being extremely tight-lipped about the details, though they’d mentioned that the FBI had some interest in the case. But his son-in-law was gone, the victim of a brutal crime, and now Rocky was with his daughter, who was in shock and was inconsolable.
Joshua tried his best to comfort his friend and mentor. But he felt stupid and useless and clumsy.
He had immediately called Abby. He’d always been impressed with her sense of compassion, but this time her willingness to drop everything to go to Philadelphia to help the family was particularly heartwarming.
Then something struck Joshua like a meteor. Rocky just lost his son-in-law. To a senseless murder. Your life changes in a heartbeat. You can lose them…so quickly. When was the last time I told Cal that I loved him? Debbie and I don’t have that issue. She’s so up-front with everything. But Cal and I…things have always been uptight. Strained. And the clock keeps ticking. And nothing gets resolved. What if something happened to me? And I didn’t get a chance to smooth things out with Cal beforehand?
That’s when Joshua felt the overpowering need to call his son.
He tried again, and after a few nervous seconds, Cal picked up the call.
“Josh, this is Dad.”
“Hi.”
“How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“Good. Look…I just heard some really bad news from a friend of mine. You know Rocky Bridger?”
Cal fell silent.
Joshua added, “The General from the Pentagon. Longtime friend of mine from the Air Force?”
“Oh, yeah…”
“Well, his son-in-law was murdered a couple of nights ago in Philadelphia. Rocky didn’t have any details—why would anyone want to kill Roger?”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Dad. You and Mom mention Roger a lot. But I didn’t know him well…”
“Well…I got to thinking, and I just needed to call you.”
“Okay.”
“And…”
“Yeah?”
“Just tell you…”
There was a pause.
“I love you.”
Joshua wanted to elaborate somehow, but ended it there instead.
Taken off guard, Cal could only mumble, “Thanks, Dad.”
“Sometime we need to talk, you and I.”
“Okay.”
“Man-to-man.”
“All right.”
Cal was thinking to himself, What is this all about? But asking that was too risky.
“I mean,” Joshua added, “about what happened in New York. The day the missiles came. With you still being in the city…”
Cal was thinking, You mean so you can drill me about how I didn’t tell you the truth about staying behind in Manhattan with my girlfriend, Karen Hester, who you don’t approve of? You mean we need to talk about that? I already admitted all of that to Mom. Can’t you just let it go?
That is when the conversation started drifting away like a rudderless sailboat.
Finally, Joshua was the one who ended it.
“Okay, Son. Just wanted to call. So…good-bye.”
Cal was the last one to speak.
And all he said was, “Good-bye.”
Then he clicked off his Allfone.
Some students who had just been in his government class when he took on Jeff Hitchney passed him by and called out his name and gave him the thumbs-up sign.
Cal smiled weakly and acknowledged them.
But inside, he was in turmoil.
FORTY
The owner of the hardware and mining-supply store in West Virginia was gingerly holding onto the box of explosives. He set it down cautiously on the counter. Then he pointed to the contents, so his customer could look inside.
The customer standing in front of him was a man in a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. He was wearing blue jeans and boots.
The jeans looked new.
He didn’t recognize the customer.
“Which mining operation did you say you are working at?”
“Wyler Coal,” Atta Zimler said, concocting the name instantly and doing a good imitation of a slow drawl. “It’s a small mine. It’s family owned. Just opened up.”
“Okay,” the hardware man said. “So anyway, these are the solid-pack Bridgewater-type blasting caps. They detonate from an electric spark…”
“Good,” Zimler said. “That’s what I’m looking for.”
“What are you using as your primary explosive?”
Zimler grinned. He had no intention of telling him the truth. His primary was military grade plastic explosives he had already obtained on the black market for a pretty penny at a drop spot outside of Pittsburgh. All he needed now was a detonator. Blasting caps set off by an electric charge would be perfect. He had already purchased the remote switches from an electronics shop. Rigging those up with cell phones to send the charge would be child’s play for him.
“Primary explosives?” Zimler replied. “Oh, the usual. Now these caps, they won’t detonate by accident with static electricity in the air, right?”
“Nope.”
“Stray cell phone signals, that kind of thing won’t do it?”
“No. You have to send the electric charge directly to the cap for it to blow.”
“Good,” Zimler said. “My attitude is, when you blast, you want to make sure that your target gets the full force. And only when you want it to go off. Timing is everything. Right?”
Something hit the store clerk strange about the conversation, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. “Yeah, I guess so…,” he replied.
Pulling out a wad of bills, Zimler paid cash.
Before the store owner handed over the box of blasting caps, however, he grabbed a clipboard and slapped it on the counter. “We’re supposed to get this from everyone who wants explosives. Got to put your John Hancock right here…”
Zimler smiled and acted like he understood the phrase. But he hesitated for just an instant.
He looked at the clipboard and noticed the signatures on it.
“You want me to sign here?”
“That’s the general idea.”
Zimler signed a fake name. The shop owner handed over the box.
“Y’all be safe now,” he said to Zimler.
“Of course,” Zimler said as he took the bag with the box of blasting caps in it and then left the store. He had taken a long detour to pick them up, but it was worth it.
At one point in time, when Zimler had been on his way to West Virginia to secure the blasting caps, he had been going east on the Pennsylvania turnpike. That was before he had turned south toward the West Virginia border. At that precise moment Zimler was less than fifty miles away from Special Agent John Gallagher’s location.
The FBI agent was still stuck in Philadelphia before returning for New York. He had one more stop to make. But it was a crucial one. He knew he had to face Miles Zadernack at FBI headquarters. But hours before he was due at the airport, he had received a call from the Philly police detectives. Surprisingly, the lead detective was g
ood to his word and was calling him with some additional information about their investigation into the murder of Roger French.
“Agent Gallagher, we’ve got something you might find interesting.”
“I’m all ears.”
“A video surveillance tape.”
“From where exactly?”
“Taken from the video camera in the lobby of the building where Roger French’s insurance company had their offices.”
“Oh, yeah, I do love lobby surveillance video,” Gallagher said with a bounce in his voice.
There was a pause on the other end. The detective didn’t know exactly how to respond to this wise-cracking FBI agent.
Finally he said, “Come on over. We’re in the viewing room.”
When Gallagher hung up he suddenly felt as if he was seeing the light breaking in the distance. With any luck Zimler would be ID’d on the tape. And if that happened, then Miles Zadernack would have to listen to him.
Things were looking up.
FORTY-ONE
In the lobby of Jordan Technologies, Inc., the secretary had the deer-in-the-headlights look. Joshua had warned her that it could happen. But she still hadn’t been prepared to come face-to-face with a U.S. marshal holding a subpoena in his hand.
“Madam, do you hear me? I’m a United States marshal. This is a legal document. I have to deliver it to Mr. Joshua Jordan. Immediately.”
She glanced down at it. She caught the caption at the top of the document:
BY THE AUTHORITY OF THE SENATE OF THE CONGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA TO: MR. JOSHUA JORDAN
YOU ARE HEREBY COMMANDED TO APPEAR…
The secretary raised her eyes to the marshal and said, “He’s not here, sir.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“When is he coming back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Young lady, you are coming very close to obstructing a federal marshal in the course of his official duties. Do you realize that?”
She swallowed hard before she answered.
“Look, like I said, Mr. Jordan had an emergency, had me cancel his appointments, and left. I don’t know what else to tell you.”
The U.S. marshal dropped his card on the desk.
“Here’s my number. Call me the moment he gets in.”
The minute the marshal left the office, she called Joshua. He was in his limo heading down the Boulevard of the Americas in Manhattan.
Joshua was on the line with Harry Smythe when the call came in.
He put Harry on hold.
“Mr. Jordan,” the secretary said breathlessly, “a U.S. marshal just came in with those papers.”
“And?”
“I said exactly what you told me to say. Every bit.”
“Very good.”
“I was a little nervous though.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you did just fine.”
Joshua said good-bye and then clicked back to Harry.
“Well, just like you predicted, Harry, they were over at my office trying to serve me with the subpoena.”
“I think we need to just face up to this, Josh. Admit service. I’ll accept service of the subpoena on your behalf at my office. Then I’ll see what can be done legally.”
“Harry, I want Abby’s input on this.”
“Is she there with you?”
“No. She’s up in Pennsylvania. She’s helping out a family friend of ours. They had a personal tragedy.”
“Same old Abby.”
Joshua asked Harry to standby while he conferenced her in.
When Abigail’s Allfone rang, she was doing the dishes in the French house, while newly widowed Peg French was resting in her bedroom. Rocky Bridger was quietly playing with her and Roger’s daughter.
“Abby, honey, it’s me,” Joshua said. “How are things going?”
“Peg’s finally resting. Josh, this is so terrible.”
“Have they got any more details?”
“Not much. They just said they have several theories. The police are being very secretive for some reason. But they did say one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That he wasn’t just murdered. He was tortured before he was killed.”
“Tortured?”
“Yes.”
“Who would have wanted to do that to Roger French? I can’t think he would have been mixed up in anything sordid—he was a solid guy.”
“No one can figure that out.”
“And Rocky?
“He’s putting up a brave front. You know him. He’s focusing on Violet, Peg’s daughter.”
“Look, I’m sorry to throw this at you. But I’ve got Harry Smythe on the other line. I want to conference you in. Just as he thought, Senator Straworth is going to the mat on the RTS issue. They’ve issued a subpoena. A U.S. marshal was trying to serve it at my office. But I was out.”
“Fine. Patch me in,” Abigail said. She wiped her hands off with a dishtowel and then found a corner of the dining room where she couldn’t be heard.
After Joshua looped all three of them in, he spelled out the issue. “Abby, Harry says we should let them serve the subpoena, then try to fight it out in court.”
Abigail jumped in immediately. “Harry, I assume you’re going into D.C. federal court with a motion to quash the subpoena?”
“That’s the strategy. I just don’t want my position weakened by any delay in Josh accepting service of the subpoena from the marshals.”
Abigail was silent on the other end. Joshua knew she was digesting it. Then she spoke her mind. “Harry, once Josh is served with the subpoena, the clock starts ticking. You then have to rush into court. What if you get the wrong judge and your motion is thrown out?”
“Well,” Harry said, “then the game’s almost over. Josh either turns over all his RTS documents or he goes to jail. Those have pretty much been the two options all along.”
“You know Josh,” Abigail chimed in. “He won’t turn over those documents to Congress. He believes that our national security is too compromised on Capitol Hill right now. And if he goes to jail, his reputation, all that he’s accomplished will be tarnished and destroyed.”
“The whole thing stinks,” Harry said. “I know that. But I don’t make the rules.”
“Then maybe it’s time,” Abigail said, “to change the game.”
“What are you thinking, baby?” Joshua asked.
Abigail shot back, “Stall this thing. Stretch it out. We only need a few days.”
“Days for what?” Harry said. “Josh, when it comes to political battles like this with Senator Straworth, you’re in my world now. I know something about that. Most of my practice has been representing senators, congressman, even a stint in the White House Counsel’s Office, as you know. Look, I respect you, Abby. You did some great legal work on the Hill when you were practicing law. Cases before the Federal Communications Commission. Other federal agencies. But Josh, you’ve got to listen to me on this. There are some people up there in Congress who want to destroy you. And they will, believe me, if you start playing games like avoiding a subpoena.”
“Harry, you’re talking about enemies who want to destroy me. That sounds like war, and when it comes to military logistics, you’re in my world. I don’t intend to let a bunch of politicians destroy me.”
“Which is why,” Abigail said, “we strike first. We hit back first.”
“With what?” Harry said, his voice now rising with a tinge of professional arrogance. “The only hope is my motion to quash this subpoena—”
“That’s just one strategy,” Abigail said. “And frankly, Harry, I think you’ll lose that motion. The backup strategy, Josh, is that we buy time. Just long enough to make sure that Phil Rankowitz has got the AmeriNews launched.”
“What are you talking about?” Harry said.
“A media project I’m working on,” Joshua said. “Something you can’t have any involvement in. But Abby?
??s right. That’s our offensive.”
Abby said, “If we keep the marshals from serving that subpoena on you, then we keep you out of jail just long enough for the American people to read the first issue of AmeriNews. Once they find out the truth, I’m betting they’ll vent some outrage to their senators. When that happens, I’m betting that Senator Straworth and his buddies will start thinking about withdrawing that subpoena.”
“Josh, really,” Harry blurted out. “I mean talk about a long shot—”
But Joshua cut him off.
“Harry, I’ve made my decision. Here’s the drill. I’m going to avoid being served with that subpoena. Go into hiding if I have to. Harry, can you still try to get a judge to throw it out?”
“By not accepting service you’re putting me in a very uncomfortable position with the court.”
“I’m not asking about your comfort. I’m asking if you can still try that legal maneuver if I’m not served the subpoena.”
After a moment’s pause, Harry Smythe replied, “Yes, I suppose I can.”
“Good. Meanwhile, Abby, you and I need to make sure that AmeriNews gets launched ASAP. We need to get to the American public. That’s our best hope.”
Harry Smythe wasn’t going down without a fight.
“So you’re simply rejecting my approach? My recommendation then?” Harry said coolly.
“What I am doing,” Joshua said, “is going with Abby’s plan instead.”
And then he added something else.
“When it comes to her advice, I’m willing to bank my life on it.”
“You may have to,” Harry punted back in his lawyerly pessimism. “You’ve got the federal government coming after your scalp.”
FORTY-TWO
Somewhere in Hamad Katchi’s brain, all was not well. Even though all around him the azure blue seas of the Mediterranean were calm and sparkling and a gentle four-knot wind was blowing.
Katchi had been on the huge yacht of his partner, Caesar Demas, many times before. This was the first time, though, that Demas had used such a small crew. Only a captain, a first and second mate, neither of whom Katchi recognized, and two other fellows. The last two appeared to be pretty useless. They were thick necked and muscular, looking more like bodybuilders or bouncers than sailors.