God, I miss her. I’ve only been gone a few hours — Christ!
I find an article online about the president’s most recent cabinet reshuffle, and it makes me think of Schultz. When I first met the guy, he was secretary of defense. He’d served the country well in that role, and was a distinguished soldier in his day. Within his first two months of office, Cunningham had asked for Schultz’s resignation. It was a minor story at the time, as it’s not uncommon for new presidents to appoint their own people to such positions. But I’m reading a blog online here that’s detailing all the changes made by Cunningham since he was sworn in, and people seem to be noticing he’s almost wiped the entire slate clean, starting over with handpicked people of his choosing — some of whom seem to be questionable at best in terms of suitability and experience.
But as I’ve said, because of everything he’s done for the country, he can pretty much do whatever he wants, and no one will question him. Besides, all is right with the world nowadays, so who cares who sits in the room when the president makes up some more rules?
The flight passes quickly enough, and we’re soon preparing to touch down at JFK. I get my things ready. I’ve never been a big fan of flying, but the takeoff and landing have always been more worrying for me than the flight itself. I’m fine once I’m up there; it’s just the getting up and down bit I don’t like.
We land without incident and taxi to a stop a few minutes later. I look out the window at the illuminated skyline of New York City. I let out a sigh. It’s been a while since I did this kind of work. I’m worried I’m out of practice.
The kind stewardess opens the door for me, and I thank her for her hospitality as I exit the plane. I step out onto the staircase carrying the black holdall and my own shoulder bag, and take a quick look around.
We’re close to the small hangars at the back of one of the runways, set further away from the main hub and the commercial flights. There’s light airport security around, which is standard nowadays, I guess. But it’s reasonably quiet — presumably, because of who owns the plane, and the fact everything had been cleared prior to takeoff.
I make my way down the staircase toward the black Ford MPV that’s waiting for me. The windows are tinted, but as I approach, the side door slides open and Robert Clark steps out.
He smiles as he walks over to me, extending his hand, which I happily shake.
“Adrian, glad to have you with us on this,” he says. “How’ve you been?”
“Good to see you again, Bob,” I say. “I’m here to help in any way I can. I just want these bastards to leave me alone.”
He gestures me into the vehicle and I oblige, sitting down on the leather seat, facing forward. He climbs in after me, sitting opposite me, with his back to the driver. There’s a partition separating the front seats from the back, and Clark taps on it twice as he slides the door closed. We set off.
He looks well, if a little tired. His dark hair still has its side parting, but there are flecks of gray showing around his temples and above his ears now.
“Good trip?” he asks.
I shrug. “It was what it was,” I reply. “The plane was nice.”
He smiles. “A handy little acquisition from some former associates south of the border. It serves its purpose.” He gestures to the black bag and smiles. “I see you got our little care package?”
I nod. “Yeah, thanks. Lots of nice toys to play with. You expecting me to run into much trouble then?”
Clark shakes his head. “Hopefully not, Adrian, but I know how you like to be prepared. I’m hoping you won’t need any of the weapons in there, and the camera and microphone are for our surveillance of the target and location.”
I smile to myself as I try to think of an occasion in the past where a situation has gone exactly to plan, and I’ve not needed a weapon to resolve things… None spring to mind.
I take a quick look out the window as we leave the airport and head out into the city along the Van Wyck expressway.
“So what do you know?” asks Clark.
“Only what Josh and Schultz told me,” I reply.
“Did they show you the photo?”
I fix him with a hard stare. “Yes.”
He nods. “Well, do me a favor — get me Hussein before you go all Charles Bronson on me, okay?”
I can’t help but smile. “I’ll do my best,” I say.
He nods and falls silent for a moment. We carry on past Willow Lake, and come off at Flushing Meadows, heading west alongside the Long Island expressway, all the way to Queens.
“Adrian, I… I heard what these people did to your bar back in Texas. I’m sorry you got dragged into all this, truly I am.”
“Not your fault, Bob,” I say. “But I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll get this guy for you, and hopefully you’ll be able to stop these assholes from doing whatever it is they’re planning to do, before anyone else gets hurt.”
“We’ll do what we can.”
We navigate the traffic for another ten minutes or so, eventually turning onto 55th Avenue in Queens, and coming to a stop outside an anonymous-looking one story house halfway up the right side of the street.
“Here we are,” announces Clark.
I raise an eyebrow and look at him. “Really?”
He smiles. “It’s a safe house — the whole point is you put them where no one will think to look for them,” he replies.
“Oh, I understand the concept, don’t get me wrong. It’s just I figured with your budget you’d have sprung for something a little less run down.”
Clark laughs. “Well, critique aside, this place has served us well over the years, and will do just fine for now. Come on.”
We get out and walk to the front door. I instinctively glance around the neighborhood. The street is quiet, and there are no people around. He produces a key, unlocks the door, opens it and steps inside, and holds it open for me to pass him.
I walk down the hall, which runs centrally through the house, toward the kitchen, which covers the width of the building at the back. There are four rooms in between, two on either side. I check each room in turn, like someone on their holidays arriving at their hotel for the first time. The first door on the left is a modest bedroom, with a single, ready-made bed against the far wall, and a closet on the right opposite the door. Minimal, but functional.
I close the door and turn, opening the one across the hall on the right. Inside is a living room, with two sofas arranged in an L-shape facing away from me, aimed at the TV on its stand in the far corner. Again, aside from a set of small tables in the middle of the room, there is little else in there.
I back out again and walk further down the hall, opening the second door on the right, revealing a bathroom. The toilet is facing the door, with a sink next to it. Against the right wall is a decent-sized shower cubicle. Very basic, but serves its purpose.
Finally, I turn to the left and open the second door, opposite the bathroom. This is another living room, but has a dining table with four chairs around it in the center of the room. I close the door and turn to see Clark, looking at me, smiling.
“Everything to your satisfaction, sir?” he asks, sarcastically.
“Just getting a feel for the place,” I reply, chuckling at the fact his sarcasm is obviously a result of his time spent working with Josh, which I can completely relate to.
“I’ll leave you to acclimatize,” says Clark. “I’m staying in another safe house a mile or so away. My number’s pre-programmed into the burner phone I put in your goody bag, so call me if you need anything.”