If only he could once again return to that bygone time, shedding the hardships both his girls had experienced since leaving his protective care. He worried about Sarah more than he was willing to admit. She was more vulnerable than Sel, and the emotional torment Ryan put her through was unseemly and unforgivable. It was all he could do at times to resist his fatherly urge to kill the son-of-a-bitch. In the old days of vendettas, the bastard would be long since dead for all the hurt he caused Sarah. But he knew this was wasted effort and decided not to spend another minute thinking of ways to remedy the trouble that his ex-son-in-law had caused. There would be time enough for that in the future.
His immediate concern was for Jeremiah. He couldn’t stress strongly enough to Sarah how important it was to keep his grandson under control. He, too, recognized that Jer did, in fact, have some of the same irrational tendencies as Ryan. While Ryan’s unmanageable behavior was localized to hating Jarrod Conrad, Jer was contemptuous of anyone who confronted him. Alfonse often thought that Jeremiah would have made a perfect Mafia Don: He was cold, ruthless, calculating, and completely lacking in remorse once he drew battle lines. Once his mind was made up or he perceived a disloyalty, there was no turning back. Jer charging after his father spelled certain disaster.
“Ben, could I see you a moment…alone?” the senator asked, pressing the speaker button connecting him to the office antechamber. It was just a moment before Ben Dare reentered the senator’s inner office.
“Yes, sir, Senator, how can I help?”
“Ben, I need your advice on a personal matter,” Senator Coscarelli began. “I trust you implicitly, but what I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. I need your word that none of this will be repeated.”
“Sir, I assure you that nothing will be repeated unless you direct me otherwise,” Ben replied, feeling uneasy. In all the years he had worked with the senator, never once had he been asked to pledge an oath of secrecy. It was understood among all chiefs of staff on the Hill that allegiance to their congressional member was inviolable, unless otherwise ordered by the court. This was a very peculiar beginning to the discussion.
“Good, I knew I could count on you. Here’s the issue,” he began and for the next ten minutes he relayed the entire story of Sarah’s predicament, quickly outlining the unsavory events that had occurred between Ryan and Jarrod Conrad, and his deep concern for Jeremiah.
“So, what are my options? I know a Secret Service detail is out of the question, but you and I both know there are Secret Service agents and then there are ‘ cleaners ’…at least that’s the term I’ve heard concerning these covert specialists. What can you tell me? Is this something we could use?”
The senator’s chief of staff sat quietly throughout the length of the story. All things considered, he wasn’t nearly as shocked as he originally feared. No one was murdered, yet; there didn’t appear any imminent threat of public embarrassment — nothing that he could perceive the news wire picking up. In the scheme of things, it really didn’t amount to much at all. The most startling revelation was the senator’s question about the cleaners. This was not a good sign, for sure.
“Well, sir…first let me express my disappointment to hear that Sarah is struggling again. Please convey my concern,” Ben said, looking pensive as he leaned over the coffee table.
“There are several options to consider here, Senator, but I really need to know what lengths you want to go, and what resources you’re willing to commit,” he said. “If you merely want your grandson tailed, I would suggest a private detective. We can recommend several competent PIs that can be dispatched to keep an eye on him, and they would only intercede if he were in imminent danger.”
He hesitated and shifted nervously in his seat. “As for a cleaner… this is a highly specialized covert agent disavowed by all branches of government security. They are not associated with CIA, DEA, FBI, ATF, the military, or any other recognized American security force. They are independent, covert, and usually have Special Forces training. This is an extreme measure, Senator. If there’s some other detail you haven’t told me, I’ll need to know.”
“I’ve got nothing sinister in mind, Ben. I’m merely looking for options. My grandson’s a hothead…just like his father, and it may take a strong hand to keep him under control is all. If you recommend a PI, that’s good enough for me. Let’s get this going ASAP. I want someone standing by in Bernalillo if he decides to traipse after his father. I don’t want him alone for a moment. But I also don’t want this PI to make contact with Jer unless he sees an immediate danger. And for God’s sake, let’s be discreet…I’m counting on you, Ben.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll make a few calls. We’ll get someone out to Bernalillo right away,” he said, moving toward the door and thinking he had dodged a bullet on the subject of cleaners.
“Oh, and forget about cleaners, or whatever they’re called,” the senator said before Ben could exit the room. “It doesn’t appear they’re a realistic solution. Someday, though, I’d like to submit a confidential memo to my committee on this group. I’m bothered by the existence of a clandestine organization operating without government oversight. That strikes me as particularly un-American.”
“You got it, Senator,” Ben Dare said, exiting the room. His feeling of dodging a bullet now felt like he was hit squarely in the back. A memo on the cleaners would not be easily written. Only the president and a select number of joint chiefs knew the full extent of the cleaners’ activities.
Come to think of it…I don’t, either, he thought, feeling like he’d just been fingered for taking home classified documents. Jesus…this could become a nightmare if it leaks out. What the hell is going on?
AUGUST FIFTH
TWENTY-FOUR
Stanford
10:00 HOURS
Ryan Marshall patiently studied the surroundings from the seclusion of his rented SUV. He was parked in the farthest corner of the Quantum parking lot, designated for students and visitors. He watched intently as students and faculty were entering and exiting the building, hoping to spot his cousin. He was sipping coffee and eating a pastry, both of which he bought from the corner deli about three blocks from the entrance to the Stanford campus. He was restless, having slept badly following his lengthy drive from Pueblo. After an hour of watching, he decided to take a more direct route and desert the plan to casually await Jarrod’s arrival.
Ryan pondered his next move, considering that Jarrod might not be coming back to his lab at all. There was no way to determine his state of mind, but he was certainly plotting revenge. No way would he accept present circumstances without retaliation. Jarrod would be trying to even the score after learning that Ryan was considered the prime suspect in the burglary of his lab. This would provoke yet another round in their endless feud.
This was fine by Ryan; he had his own score to settle with Jarrod. Of all the vile deeds Jarrod had committed through the years, vandalizing the crane at the gorge was by far the worst. Even in his wildest imagination, Ryan couldn’t have conceived of anything worse than the prostitute Jarrod had concocted in New York City. But tampering with the crane could have easily killed at least half a dozen men if the side-loaded guy wire had not been discovered. Ryan shook his head in contempt of his cousin’s actions.
Ryan grew impatient. He decided to locate his cousin’s house in a more forthright manner. Instead of waiting for him to appear and tailing him home, he’d risk asking the students if they knew the whereabouts of Professor Conrad. He sensed that this was not the ideal option; students might have heard about a family member involved in the break-in, which would expose his identity. Unfortunately, asking for help was the quickest method to determine Jarrod’s whereabouts, and he felt it was worth the risk.