Titus Ray Thriller Box Set, page 80
part #1 of Titus Ray Series
“Hmmm,” she said, pressing her forefinger to her lips, “I might be willing to access the STS screen, but, in return, you’d have to do something for me.”
“Whatever you want, Sally Jo.”
She smiled sweetly and pulled up the STS screen. In less than a minute, she was able to show me where I could find Mitchell.
I said, “Thanks so much. You’re a jewel in your own right. Now, what can I do for you?”
She looked over at Carlton’s door as if she thought her boss might be listening in on our conversation.
She whispered, “Tell me what’s going on with Olivia McConnell. I heard she was taking some time off.”
Sally Jo’s request shouldn’t have surprised me. Although I’d never heard her gossip about other people, I knew she loved knowing about the lives of her co-workers.
In that respect, she was like everyone else at the Agency.
From the first floor to the seventh floor, from assistants to division heads, knowledge was the currency that kept the power flowing at the Agency.
I gave Sally Jo some of that currency by telling her about Olivia’s upcoming mastectomy.
She said, “Well, I’m so sorry to hear that. Bless her heart.”
“You could have asked Douglas about this. Olivia isn’t keeping her surgery a secret.”
She shrank back in her chair as if I’d just brought up something repugnant. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t be proper. He’s my boss. Ours is a very professional relationship.”
Even though I wasn’t exactly able to follow her line of reasoning, I said, “I understand.”
“No, no,” she said, continuing to shake her head, “I just asked because I was concerned about the type of flowers I should send her. This is the second time Mr. Carlton has asked me to send her some flowers. The first time, she was just ill, but now that I know she’s having surgery, I’ll need to send her something different.”
I wasn’t aware there was a protocol for ordering flowers for the sick, but even so, this was something I knew I’d consign to the deep abyss of my consciousness and never think about again.
On the other hand, Sally Jo’s statement brought up something that definitely required further exploration.
“I’d also like to send Olivia some flowers,” I said, “but I wouldn’t want her to have the same ones again. Do you remember what Carlton sent Olivia the first time?”
She nodded. “It was a big bouquet of yellow daffodils in a woven basket. I’m sure she loved it. She called Mr. Carlton later and thanked him for it.”
I thought back to the big bouquet of yellow flowers on the windowsill in Olivia’s hospital room, the ones I assumed Senator Mitchell had sent her. Now that I knew Carlton had sent her the flowers, I realized their relationship was a lot closer than I realized, and the smile on her face when she’d read the card would certainly seem to suggest such a possibility.
This tidbit of information was not something I would be consigning to the deep abyss of my consciousness and never thinking about again.
* * * *
Mitchell was in the NHB or New Headquarters Building where Support Services was located. I found him in a section of the building known as The Library, where volumes of books on military systems, hardware, and weapons were housed.
He was sitting all alone, pouring over stacks of photographs of chemical weapons canisters. I took a seat across from him.
“Doing your homework?” I asked.
He looked startled. “Why did you sneak up on me like that?”
“It’s normal to be jumpy before your first run as a primary. Don’t let it bother you.”
“I’m not jumpy. I just didn’t hear you come in.”
“Maybe you should have your hearing checked before you leave.”
Mitchell’s shoulders were all hunched up around his ears. He was wound up pretty tight.
“So how’d you find me?” he asked.
“Cartel Carlos told me you were over here.”
“I never told him where I was going.”
“I guess he didn’t tell me then.”
Mitchell shook his head at me and glanced down at the photographs.
He said, “I saw plenty of slides during the briefing, but I wanted something I could hold in my hands.”
He paused for a few seconds, and then he said, “I guess that sounds pretty dumb.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s always smart to go with your instincts, and the more information you have going into an operation, the better off you’ll be.”
“Yeah, right.”
Mitchell seemed a little out of sorts with me. His ill-temper could be the result of his first primary operation being classified as a non-engagement op.
He might also suspect my assignment didn’t have that stipulation attached to it.
I took a look at one of the photographs. “When the containers are offloaded from the ship, you probably won’t get a look at the canisters themselves. They’ll be in crates packed inside shipping containers.”
He nodded. “I was told that at the briefing. Our Special Ops team on the ground in Santiago has already installed cameras inside the warehouse. The moment Hezbollah unpacks the shipping containers, it should be fairly easy to determine if the contents are the actual sarin gas canisters from Syria’s stockpile.”
I said, “Once the Ops Center has made that determination, you’ll just have to hunker down and keep an eye on the place. With any luck, we’ll know Hezbollah’s timetable before those canisters show up in Washington.”
He busied himself making a pile of the photographs.
“Is discovering Hezbollah’s timetable your assignment?”
“Pretty much.”
“I guess that means you’re headed to Syria, while I’m stuck in Cuba babysitting the warehouse.”
“That’s right, Ben, but don’t discount your role in preventing this attack. If you were fluent in Arabic, you’d be going to Syria with me, but since you’re not, I recommended you for the warehouse assignment instead. I did that because it’s crucial to this operation.”
He appeared to relax a little. At least, the frown lines around his eyes disappeared.
“I didn’t know that.” He sat back in his chair. “You recommended me for the primary slot?”
I nodded. “I also told Douglas they should pull Juliana Lamar out of Argentina and have her run the surveillance with you.”
He looked puzzled. “Juliana has been assigned to this operation?”
“Didn’t C.J. tell you who was on your surveillance team?”
“He gave me a list of names, but I haven’t looked at it yet.”
“You missed an opportunity there. Once a briefing is over, the DDO’s office isn’t likely to make changes. The next time you’re given a list, you should immediately make sure they haven’t assigned you some incompetent. If there’s someone on the list you don’t want, you should protest. However, always have someone else in mind as a replacement before you say anything.”
Mitchell had a faraway look in his eyes, and he responded to my sage advice by saying, “This means I’ll be seeing Juliana in a few hours.”
I immediately began to second-guess myself about the wisdom of putting Mitchell and Juliana together. The reason I’d done so was to take advantage of Juliana’s expertise in surveillance, but I also felt sure her level-headedness would be a good counterpoint to Mitchell’s youthful passion. What I hadn’t counted on was Mitchell’s romantic notions.
When I looked across the table at him, I experienced a momentary flashback of Senator Mitchell standing in front of the window in his office and voicing his concerns about his son’s safety.
My stomach churned and I started getting a very bad feeling about sending Mitchell out on his own. Then, I remembered the advice I’d given the Senator about his son.
If you’re willing to let him go, you won’t lose him.
Suddenly, I decided it was time for me to go.
Mitchell and I both got to our feet at the same time. As we shook hands with each other, he said, “I hope I’m able to live up to the confidence you’ve shown me. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“You have good instincts, Ben. Use those instincts, set aside your emotions, and always have a contingency plan. If you do, you’ll be just fine.”
Several months later, Mitchell told me he wished he’d followed my advice. If he had, things would have turned out much differently.
Chapter 28
I picked up my wallet and some personal items from Support Services, along with the keys to my Range Rover, and pulled out of Agency headquarters around four-thirty. Since it was Sunday, the traffic on the Beltway around Washington was light, and I realized I’d probably be arriving early for my six o’clock dinner engagement.
Because I had the extra time, I thought about taking a slight detour in order to check out WK Photography, owned by Mr. Walid Khouri. At the last minute, I took note of Carlton’s warning and headed west on Interstate 66 instead.
After making a lane change about a mile down the freeway, I considered the possibility I was being followed.
What alerted me wasn’t anything specific.
The feeling was more a vague sense of unease, much like the sensation I used to get before taking the field in a losing football game.
I told myself it was nothing, just a little pre-operations paranoia.
That was understandable, because I was about to embark on a dangerous mission in a volatile country. To make matters worse, the success of the entire operation depended on a Jihadi terrorist who hated Americans. If that wasn’t enough, the primary intelligence officer, Keever Pike, who’d been assigned to lead the operation, carried around a lot of baggage. Unfortunately, he wasn’t shy about unpacking it at the most inopportune times.
As I got near Fairfax, just in case my feelings weren’t simply pre-op paranoia, I executed a few counter-surveillance tactics.
After doing so, the only vehicle that kept reappearing in my rearview mirror was an older model silver Ford Mustang. Since it had fancy chrome wheels and didn’t exactly fit the profile of a standard surveillance vehicle, I gave it low marks for viability.
After I made three right-handed turns, and the Mustang didn’t follow me, I blamed my uneasiness on mission jitters and forced myself to ignore the yellow caution lights dancing around the outer perimeter of my cerebral cortex.
* * * *
It was five-thirty when I pulled up to The Waterwheel, a restaurant overlooking an old gristmill on the outskirts of Fairfax. Since Nikki’s car wasn’t in the parking lot, I decided I’d wait for her in the Range Rover.
Also, I wanted to see if the occupant of a certain Ford Mustang had chosen to dine near the old gristmill on a summer’s eve.
Five minutes later, my iPhone rang.
“Hi, Titus, it’s Carla. I can’t believe you actually picked up.”
This wasn’t the first time my sister had expressed frustration at the difficulty of getting in touch with me.
More often than not, whenever she called my personal number, she was rerouted to the Agency’s communications hub—although she didn’t know that. From there, she heard my own voice telling her to leave a message on my voice mail. Depending on my circumstances, it might be several days before Communication Services could actually deliver the message she’d left me.
“You caught me at a good time. I’m not working tonight.”
“I should hope not. It’s Sunday evening.”
“Well, my employer can be a slave driver at times. How’s everybody there? Did Brian tell you I talked to him a few days ago?”
“We’re all fine. Kayla has a new boyfriend, so she’s on cloud nine right now, and Eddie just wrapped up a successful two-day training conference with his marketing team. Yes, Brian mentioned he’d talked to you. That’s why I’m calling. I wanted to thank you for trying to help him with his internship.”
I watched as two cars pulled into The Waterwheel parking lot. Neither one of them was a silver Mustang.
“I wish I could have gotten him the recommendation he needed.”
“I’m sure you tried your best. He didn’t think you’d be able to help him in the first place, but now that he’s been given the chance to work with Senator Mitchell, none of that matters. I can’t tell you how excited he is to be in the same office as such a great man.”
When Carla launched into a long explanation of how the Senator’s assistant had paired Brian up with another intern who was looking for a roommate, my eyes wandered over to the access road off to my left, the one leading from the highway over to the restaurant’s parking lot. What caught my attention was the line of cars waiting at the traffic light, particularly one vehicle, a silver Ford Mustang with chrome wheels.
Even though the Mustang wasn’t in the turn lane for the access road leading to The Waterwheel, its reappearance bothered me.
I made a quick decision and decided to get back on the highway and follow it.
However, as soon as I inserted my key in the ignition, I saw Nikki’s SUV pull up to the restaurant, and, at the same time, I suddenly realized Carla had asked me a question.
“Do you think we could see you then?”
“See me when?”
“When we come to D.C. to visit with Brian. Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Of course, I was.”
“It doesn’t sound that way.”
“Okay, I got a little distracted because I’m meeting Nikki Saxon for dinner, and I just saw her car pull in the parking lot here at the restaurant.”
“Now that’s exciting. Is she in town for a visit?”
Carla remained in a perpetual state of distress about my marital status, and now, having recently met Nikki at my mother’s funeral, she was certain wedding bells were in my future.
“No, she’s in the area for some training with the FBI. What were you telling me about coming to D.C.?”
“I said Eddie has some time off in July, and we thought we’d come to Washington and see Brian then. I was also thinking we could see you at the same time.”
“You’re coming to Washington?”
My mind suddenly conjured up a scene from an old Agency training video showing the effects of a chemical weapons attack. This time, though, instead of seeing the horrifying faces of a bunch of strangers, I saw my sister’s family staring back at me. Then, as I watched Nikki emerge from her Buick Enclave, I suddenly realized that scene could include her as well.
“Yes, Titus, I’m talking about coming to Washington, D.C. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to refocus. “You’ll love Washington, and if I’m in town, I’d be happy to show you the sights.”
“We’ll enjoy that. If Nikki’s still there, you could ask her to join us.”
“We’ll discuss that later. I need to go now.”
“Okay. I’ll call you back when Eddie and I have firmed up the date. Give Nikki a hug for me.”
“I promise I will.”
I had no problem keeping that promise.
* * * *
I met Nikki at the front door of The Waterwheel, and, while I was delivering the promised hug from Carla, I took one last look around the parking lot.
Nothing.
No Ford Mustang on the access road either.
Nikki said, “What a lovely setting for a restaurant.” She pointed over to a wooden building on her right. “Is that the original gristmill?”
“According to the restaurant’s website it is.”
She laughed. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”
I held the door opened for her. “No, but the other day, when I was driving out to The Meadows, I saw a billboard advertising this place as one of the area’s most romantic dining establishments. For some reason, that made me think of you.”
Nikki smiled, but before she had a chance to respond, the hostess said, “Welcome to The Waterwheel. There’s a thirty-minute wait this evening, but if you’ll give me your name, I’ll get you seated as soon as possible.”
I said, “I called ahead and made a reservation. It should be listed under the name of Douglas Carlton.”
The hostess quickly found my reservation, and a few seconds later, she led us over to a secluded table in a corner of the room.
Once we were seated, Nikki leaned across the table and whispered, “Should I call you Douglas while we’re here?”
“Only if you want to irritate me.”
She picked up her menu. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I quickly picked out an entrée, and then I gave Nikki my full attention.
She was wearing a sleeveless black and white dress with a pair of black sandals, and her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face, revealing a pair of black and silver earrings.
“Did I pass your inspection?” she asked, laying aside her menu.
“Forgive me for staring, but you are an incredibly beautiful woman.”
She looked surprised by my words—I was a little surprised by them myself.
“Thank you, Titus,” she said, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand.
I held onto her hand until the waitress came to take our orders. Once she’d left, Nikki asked, “Okay, seriously. Who’s Douglas Carlton?”
“You asked me earlier about the owner of The Meadows. That would be Douglas. He’s more or less an absentee owner.”
“Does he know you’re boarding your dog at his house and impersonating him around town?”
“Douglas doesn’t know about Stormy yet, but I suspect he’s aware I sometimes use his name when making a reservation. He’s never appreciated his name being bandied about, and that’s the reason I do it.”
She nodded, and I could tell by the look on her face she was trying to work through my scant details about Carlton to reach some kind of conclusion about him.
I said, “Look, Detective, don’t tax that pretty brain of yours tonight. Save that for your classes at Quantico tomorrow.”
She sighed and sat back in her chair. “If those classes turn out to be anything like the instruction manuals they gave us at orientation yesterday, I’ll need every bit of this gray matter just to pass this course.”
“Whatever you want, Sally Jo.”
She smiled sweetly and pulled up the STS screen. In less than a minute, she was able to show me where I could find Mitchell.
I said, “Thanks so much. You’re a jewel in your own right. Now, what can I do for you?”
She looked over at Carlton’s door as if she thought her boss might be listening in on our conversation.
She whispered, “Tell me what’s going on with Olivia McConnell. I heard she was taking some time off.”
Sally Jo’s request shouldn’t have surprised me. Although I’d never heard her gossip about other people, I knew she loved knowing about the lives of her co-workers.
In that respect, she was like everyone else at the Agency.
From the first floor to the seventh floor, from assistants to division heads, knowledge was the currency that kept the power flowing at the Agency.
I gave Sally Jo some of that currency by telling her about Olivia’s upcoming mastectomy.
She said, “Well, I’m so sorry to hear that. Bless her heart.”
“You could have asked Douglas about this. Olivia isn’t keeping her surgery a secret.”
She shrank back in her chair as if I’d just brought up something repugnant. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t be proper. He’s my boss. Ours is a very professional relationship.”
Even though I wasn’t exactly able to follow her line of reasoning, I said, “I understand.”
“No, no,” she said, continuing to shake her head, “I just asked because I was concerned about the type of flowers I should send her. This is the second time Mr. Carlton has asked me to send her some flowers. The first time, she was just ill, but now that I know she’s having surgery, I’ll need to send her something different.”
I wasn’t aware there was a protocol for ordering flowers for the sick, but even so, this was something I knew I’d consign to the deep abyss of my consciousness and never think about again.
On the other hand, Sally Jo’s statement brought up something that definitely required further exploration.
“I’d also like to send Olivia some flowers,” I said, “but I wouldn’t want her to have the same ones again. Do you remember what Carlton sent Olivia the first time?”
She nodded. “It was a big bouquet of yellow daffodils in a woven basket. I’m sure she loved it. She called Mr. Carlton later and thanked him for it.”
I thought back to the big bouquet of yellow flowers on the windowsill in Olivia’s hospital room, the ones I assumed Senator Mitchell had sent her. Now that I knew Carlton had sent her the flowers, I realized their relationship was a lot closer than I realized, and the smile on her face when she’d read the card would certainly seem to suggest such a possibility.
This tidbit of information was not something I would be consigning to the deep abyss of my consciousness and never thinking about again.
* * * *
Mitchell was in the NHB or New Headquarters Building where Support Services was located. I found him in a section of the building known as The Library, where volumes of books on military systems, hardware, and weapons were housed.
He was sitting all alone, pouring over stacks of photographs of chemical weapons canisters. I took a seat across from him.
“Doing your homework?” I asked.
He looked startled. “Why did you sneak up on me like that?”
“It’s normal to be jumpy before your first run as a primary. Don’t let it bother you.”
“I’m not jumpy. I just didn’t hear you come in.”
“Maybe you should have your hearing checked before you leave.”
Mitchell’s shoulders were all hunched up around his ears. He was wound up pretty tight.
“So how’d you find me?” he asked.
“Cartel Carlos told me you were over here.”
“I never told him where I was going.”
“I guess he didn’t tell me then.”
Mitchell shook his head at me and glanced down at the photographs.
He said, “I saw plenty of slides during the briefing, but I wanted something I could hold in my hands.”
He paused for a few seconds, and then he said, “I guess that sounds pretty dumb.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s always smart to go with your instincts, and the more information you have going into an operation, the better off you’ll be.”
“Yeah, right.”
Mitchell seemed a little out of sorts with me. His ill-temper could be the result of his first primary operation being classified as a non-engagement op.
He might also suspect my assignment didn’t have that stipulation attached to it.
I took a look at one of the photographs. “When the containers are offloaded from the ship, you probably won’t get a look at the canisters themselves. They’ll be in crates packed inside shipping containers.”
He nodded. “I was told that at the briefing. Our Special Ops team on the ground in Santiago has already installed cameras inside the warehouse. The moment Hezbollah unpacks the shipping containers, it should be fairly easy to determine if the contents are the actual sarin gas canisters from Syria’s stockpile.”
I said, “Once the Ops Center has made that determination, you’ll just have to hunker down and keep an eye on the place. With any luck, we’ll know Hezbollah’s timetable before those canisters show up in Washington.”
He busied himself making a pile of the photographs.
“Is discovering Hezbollah’s timetable your assignment?”
“Pretty much.”
“I guess that means you’re headed to Syria, while I’m stuck in Cuba babysitting the warehouse.”
“That’s right, Ben, but don’t discount your role in preventing this attack. If you were fluent in Arabic, you’d be going to Syria with me, but since you’re not, I recommended you for the warehouse assignment instead. I did that because it’s crucial to this operation.”
He appeared to relax a little. At least, the frown lines around his eyes disappeared.
“I didn’t know that.” He sat back in his chair. “You recommended me for the primary slot?”
I nodded. “I also told Douglas they should pull Juliana Lamar out of Argentina and have her run the surveillance with you.”
He looked puzzled. “Juliana has been assigned to this operation?”
“Didn’t C.J. tell you who was on your surveillance team?”
“He gave me a list of names, but I haven’t looked at it yet.”
“You missed an opportunity there. Once a briefing is over, the DDO’s office isn’t likely to make changes. The next time you’re given a list, you should immediately make sure they haven’t assigned you some incompetent. If there’s someone on the list you don’t want, you should protest. However, always have someone else in mind as a replacement before you say anything.”
Mitchell had a faraway look in his eyes, and he responded to my sage advice by saying, “This means I’ll be seeing Juliana in a few hours.”
I immediately began to second-guess myself about the wisdom of putting Mitchell and Juliana together. The reason I’d done so was to take advantage of Juliana’s expertise in surveillance, but I also felt sure her level-headedness would be a good counterpoint to Mitchell’s youthful passion. What I hadn’t counted on was Mitchell’s romantic notions.
When I looked across the table at him, I experienced a momentary flashback of Senator Mitchell standing in front of the window in his office and voicing his concerns about his son’s safety.
My stomach churned and I started getting a very bad feeling about sending Mitchell out on his own. Then, I remembered the advice I’d given the Senator about his son.
If you’re willing to let him go, you won’t lose him.
Suddenly, I decided it was time for me to go.
Mitchell and I both got to our feet at the same time. As we shook hands with each other, he said, “I hope I’m able to live up to the confidence you’ve shown me. Thanks for the recommendation.”
“You have good instincts, Ben. Use those instincts, set aside your emotions, and always have a contingency plan. If you do, you’ll be just fine.”
Several months later, Mitchell told me he wished he’d followed my advice. If he had, things would have turned out much differently.
Chapter 28
I picked up my wallet and some personal items from Support Services, along with the keys to my Range Rover, and pulled out of Agency headquarters around four-thirty. Since it was Sunday, the traffic on the Beltway around Washington was light, and I realized I’d probably be arriving early for my six o’clock dinner engagement.
Because I had the extra time, I thought about taking a slight detour in order to check out WK Photography, owned by Mr. Walid Khouri. At the last minute, I took note of Carlton’s warning and headed west on Interstate 66 instead.
After making a lane change about a mile down the freeway, I considered the possibility I was being followed.
What alerted me wasn’t anything specific.
The feeling was more a vague sense of unease, much like the sensation I used to get before taking the field in a losing football game.
I told myself it was nothing, just a little pre-operations paranoia.
That was understandable, because I was about to embark on a dangerous mission in a volatile country. To make matters worse, the success of the entire operation depended on a Jihadi terrorist who hated Americans. If that wasn’t enough, the primary intelligence officer, Keever Pike, who’d been assigned to lead the operation, carried around a lot of baggage. Unfortunately, he wasn’t shy about unpacking it at the most inopportune times.
As I got near Fairfax, just in case my feelings weren’t simply pre-op paranoia, I executed a few counter-surveillance tactics.
After doing so, the only vehicle that kept reappearing in my rearview mirror was an older model silver Ford Mustang. Since it had fancy chrome wheels and didn’t exactly fit the profile of a standard surveillance vehicle, I gave it low marks for viability.
After I made three right-handed turns, and the Mustang didn’t follow me, I blamed my uneasiness on mission jitters and forced myself to ignore the yellow caution lights dancing around the outer perimeter of my cerebral cortex.
* * * *
It was five-thirty when I pulled up to The Waterwheel, a restaurant overlooking an old gristmill on the outskirts of Fairfax. Since Nikki’s car wasn’t in the parking lot, I decided I’d wait for her in the Range Rover.
Also, I wanted to see if the occupant of a certain Ford Mustang had chosen to dine near the old gristmill on a summer’s eve.
Five minutes later, my iPhone rang.
“Hi, Titus, it’s Carla. I can’t believe you actually picked up.”
This wasn’t the first time my sister had expressed frustration at the difficulty of getting in touch with me.
More often than not, whenever she called my personal number, she was rerouted to the Agency’s communications hub—although she didn’t know that. From there, she heard my own voice telling her to leave a message on my voice mail. Depending on my circumstances, it might be several days before Communication Services could actually deliver the message she’d left me.
“You caught me at a good time. I’m not working tonight.”
“I should hope not. It’s Sunday evening.”
“Well, my employer can be a slave driver at times. How’s everybody there? Did Brian tell you I talked to him a few days ago?”
“We’re all fine. Kayla has a new boyfriend, so she’s on cloud nine right now, and Eddie just wrapped up a successful two-day training conference with his marketing team. Yes, Brian mentioned he’d talked to you. That’s why I’m calling. I wanted to thank you for trying to help him with his internship.”
I watched as two cars pulled into The Waterwheel parking lot. Neither one of them was a silver Mustang.
“I wish I could have gotten him the recommendation he needed.”
“I’m sure you tried your best. He didn’t think you’d be able to help him in the first place, but now that he’s been given the chance to work with Senator Mitchell, none of that matters. I can’t tell you how excited he is to be in the same office as such a great man.”
When Carla launched into a long explanation of how the Senator’s assistant had paired Brian up with another intern who was looking for a roommate, my eyes wandered over to the access road off to my left, the one leading from the highway over to the restaurant’s parking lot. What caught my attention was the line of cars waiting at the traffic light, particularly one vehicle, a silver Ford Mustang with chrome wheels.
Even though the Mustang wasn’t in the turn lane for the access road leading to The Waterwheel, its reappearance bothered me.
I made a quick decision and decided to get back on the highway and follow it.
However, as soon as I inserted my key in the ignition, I saw Nikki’s SUV pull up to the restaurant, and, at the same time, I suddenly realized Carla had asked me a question.
“Do you think we could see you then?”
“See me when?”
“When we come to D.C. to visit with Brian. Weren’t you listening to me?”
“Of course, I was.”
“It doesn’t sound that way.”
“Okay, I got a little distracted because I’m meeting Nikki Saxon for dinner, and I just saw her car pull in the parking lot here at the restaurant.”
“Now that’s exciting. Is she in town for a visit?”
Carla remained in a perpetual state of distress about my marital status, and now, having recently met Nikki at my mother’s funeral, she was certain wedding bells were in my future.
“No, she’s in the area for some training with the FBI. What were you telling me about coming to D.C.?”
“I said Eddie has some time off in July, and we thought we’d come to Washington and see Brian then. I was also thinking we could see you at the same time.”
“You’re coming to Washington?”
My mind suddenly conjured up a scene from an old Agency training video showing the effects of a chemical weapons attack. This time, though, instead of seeing the horrifying faces of a bunch of strangers, I saw my sister’s family staring back at me. Then, as I watched Nikki emerge from her Buick Enclave, I suddenly realized that scene could include her as well.
“Yes, Titus, I’m talking about coming to Washington, D.C. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, trying to refocus. “You’ll love Washington, and if I’m in town, I’d be happy to show you the sights.”
“We’ll enjoy that. If Nikki’s still there, you could ask her to join us.”
“We’ll discuss that later. I need to go now.”
“Okay. I’ll call you back when Eddie and I have firmed up the date. Give Nikki a hug for me.”
“I promise I will.”
I had no problem keeping that promise.
* * * *
I met Nikki at the front door of The Waterwheel, and, while I was delivering the promised hug from Carla, I took one last look around the parking lot.
Nothing.
No Ford Mustang on the access road either.
Nikki said, “What a lovely setting for a restaurant.” She pointed over to a wooden building on her right. “Is that the original gristmill?”
“According to the restaurant’s website it is.”
She laughed. “You’ve never been here before, have you?”
I held the door opened for her. “No, but the other day, when I was driving out to The Meadows, I saw a billboard advertising this place as one of the area’s most romantic dining establishments. For some reason, that made me think of you.”
Nikki smiled, but before she had a chance to respond, the hostess said, “Welcome to The Waterwheel. There’s a thirty-minute wait this evening, but if you’ll give me your name, I’ll get you seated as soon as possible.”
I said, “I called ahead and made a reservation. It should be listed under the name of Douglas Carlton.”
The hostess quickly found my reservation, and a few seconds later, she led us over to a secluded table in a corner of the room.
Once we were seated, Nikki leaned across the table and whispered, “Should I call you Douglas while we’re here?”
“Only if you want to irritate me.”
She picked up her menu. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I quickly picked out an entrée, and then I gave Nikki my full attention.
She was wearing a sleeveless black and white dress with a pair of black sandals, and her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face, revealing a pair of black and silver earrings.
“Did I pass your inspection?” she asked, laying aside her menu.
“Forgive me for staring, but you are an incredibly beautiful woman.”
She looked surprised by my words—I was a little surprised by them myself.
“Thank you, Titus,” she said, reaching across the table and squeezing my hand.
I held onto her hand until the waitress came to take our orders. Once she’d left, Nikki asked, “Okay, seriously. Who’s Douglas Carlton?”
“You asked me earlier about the owner of The Meadows. That would be Douglas. He’s more or less an absentee owner.”
“Does he know you’re boarding your dog at his house and impersonating him around town?”
“Douglas doesn’t know about Stormy yet, but I suspect he’s aware I sometimes use his name when making a reservation. He’s never appreciated his name being bandied about, and that’s the reason I do it.”
She nodded, and I could tell by the look on her face she was trying to work through my scant details about Carlton to reach some kind of conclusion about him.
I said, “Look, Detective, don’t tax that pretty brain of yours tonight. Save that for your classes at Quantico tomorrow.”
She sighed and sat back in her chair. “If those classes turn out to be anything like the instruction manuals they gave us at orientation yesterday, I’ll need every bit of this gray matter just to pass this course.”
