“This isn’t Claney!” Frank shouted behind him. He’d already recognized the corpse.
He felt a total wreck. He could barely move, the bullet wound in his shoulder hurt like hell, his ribs ached so much that he had difficulty breathing. He couldn’t catch up with the captain.
“Who is it, then?” Jessup reached the body first and turned it over toward him.
Frank stopped next to him, gasping.
“This guy is a cab driver,” he collapsed onto the grass. “You see this scar? He gave me a lift. I remember him…”
More shots rang out, this time inside the plane. Three of them, then all went quiet.
“What cab driver?” Jessup looked up clutching the revolver.
“From La Guardia. This was Dickens’ plan A. He killed Kathleen in my apartment, and his people had to kidnap me from the airport… exactly what he planned to do after that, I don’t know.”
A soldier stuck his head out of the hatch.
“Clear!” he reported and jumped out onto the grass.
“What about Claney?” the captain asked.
The team pushed the handcuffed Congressman out of the plane, then jumped out themselves. One of them had his helmet split, his bulletproof vest dented, but he stood up with confidence.
“No casualties on our side,” the leader reported.
Sirens wailed from the airfield. Everybody turned their heads to the sound. Frank scrambled to his feet. Several army Jeeps sped to the plane followed by patrol cars, their lights flashing.
“That’s Archer,” the captain grinned. He looked at Frank and explained, “The Federal agent who took your case from me.”
“Do you trust him?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much choice under the circumstances. I had to show him the tape you got from Memoria and then lost in the camp.”
They turned to Claney. Frank stepped toward him and was stopped in his tracks by his disdainful glare.
“One of these days you’ll be the next one,” Claney smirked.
Frank looked into his face, silent. He didn’t have enough strength to continue the exchange. He turned away and shuffled off to the chopper on the strip. Behind his back, Jessup started reading Claney his rights.
Epilogue. The Lull Before the Storm
The day promised to be warm. By midday, thick clouds hung over the city. Frank wished he’d brought a raincoat with him. He stood on the granite steps in front of the police department building and looked up at the gloomy sky thinking of everything that had happened three weeks earlier.
It didn’t sound like a long time, but despite all the offices involved in the investigation, too many questions remained unanswered. Possibly, for good.
Passersby streamed toward the pedestrian crossing opposite the building, some in a hurry overtaking the rest. Cars bustled and honked. The wailing of an ambulance or a police car resounded from a neighboring block, on their way to help someone. Or could it be the fire brigade? Frank glanced at his watch. Barney was taking his time.
He shifted from one foot to the other, about to start up the stairs, when a cab pulled up by the pedestrian crossing. A young dark driver jumped out of the car, ran around it and opened the door, helping his passenger out.
Barney hadn’t lost any muscle. His face, though, was hard to recognize. Blood blisters still showed in a couple of places, but they were nothing, as were the bruises and grazes. The veteran had gone completely bald. His massive forehead glistened in the sun that’s forced its way through the clouds. His skull was unnaturally smooth. Nothing suggested the thick head of dark hair he once used to boast.
“Thanks,” Barney grumbled. “I’ll manage.”
He leaned on his stick and hobbled heavily through the crowd toward the steps, gloomy as a cloud and large as a bear.
Frank hurried toward him.
“I’ll manage,” without looking up, Barney stepped onto the staircase and stopped. “Have you been waiting here long?” He glanced at the street. For some reason, he avoided Frank’s gaze.
“Everything all right?” Frank looked in the same direction but saw nothing but houses, cars and passersby crossing the street at the green light. Nothing special.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Barney said without changing his posture.
Frank smiled weakly,
“Nervous, sir?”
“Fuck you!” Barney turned his broad face to him. “Since when do you call me sir?”
Frank looked at him without saying a word.
“You’ll be calling me Mr. Douggan next. What are you smiling at?” Barney was obviously in a mood. But at least he was the same old Barney, strong, stern and focused. “You think I don’t know Maggie ran off to see you?”
Frank’s smile faded. He squinted at the sidewalk and rubbed his chin not knowing how to answer.
“All right,” Barney rattled and coughed into his fist. “Let’s go. Help me up.”
His strong arm lay over Frank’s shoulder. Together, they took the steps to the doors.
In the department, they were met by Lieutenant Salem who took them to the elevators. Together they went up one floor. Salem led them through the pool to the Captain’s office and left without saying a word.
“Take a seat,” Jessup left his desk, shook their hands and pointed to the chairs. “Coffee?”
“Water,” the veteran mumbled. Groaning, he lowered himself into a chair and stretched out his leg wounded during the taking of Memoria.
“I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” Frank nodded, “no sugar.”
The captain buzzed the secretary through the intercom, asked her to bring up some drinks and returned to his place.
“So?” he rested his hands on his desk looking at Barney. “How’s health? How’s the leg?”
“It’s okay,” Barney shifted in his chair for a more comfortable position.
The secretary appeared in the doorway. She nodded to the visitors, placed the tray on the desk and left.
“Help yourselves,” the captain sighed and sat back.
Barney poured the water down his broad mouth. Frank took a sip of his coffee and placed the cup back on its saucer.
“Let’s get down to business, Cap,” the veteran said. “We’ve made statements at just about every office in the country,” he looked at Frank and turned back to Jessup. “That’s not why you’ve asked us to come, is it?”
“It’s not.”
A tense silence set in. You could feel that Barney was still mad although the reason was now different: he didn’t like being there. That was probably why he was late, deciding whether to come or let Frank go without him.
“You do know, don’t you,” Jessup clasped his fingers together, “that the Memoria case is a Federal one?”
“Why are we here?” Barney asked.
The Captain splayed his shoulders and rose. The visitors looked up at him.
“I wanted to say good-bye. And thank you.” He buttoned up his jacket and smoothed his gray hair. “I’ve been transferred to DC. Thank you all,” he extended his hand to Barney.
“Is that it?” he chuckled. Leaning on his stick, he got up. “You should have said so from the start.”
Frank shook his head, speechless.
“Congratulations,” Barney grumbled and added over his shoulder, “I’ll wait for you by the elevator.”
Frank gave Jessup a guilty look but didn’t dare stop Barney, for fear of one of his angry outbursts when the veteran could explode like an overheated boiler.
The veteran left. Jessup eased himself back into his chair.
“Forgive him, sir,” Frank hurried to smooth over the embarrassment. “Barney has an awful temper.”
“I’ve noticed,” Jessup’s face remained detached. “It’s all right.”
“Where are they transferring you to?” Frank asked.
“What? Ah, that,” The captain perked up. “To the Justice Department.”