There were two types of agents within the FBI. Early risers, and night owls. She was a night owl, while many of her peers worked better in the morning. On the hunch that one of them was now at work, she called the main switchboard, and tried different extensions.
On her first five attempts, she struck out. Number six was the charm.
“This is Special Agent McDonald,” a female voice said. “May I help you?”
“Karen, this is Beth Daniels,” she said. “I’m down in Florida working a case, and need to get ahold of J. T. He isn’t answering his phone, and I’m worried about him. Do you know how I can reach him?”
“Hey, Beth, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but J. T. collapsed this morning and was rushed to the hospital. They think he had a stroke.”
“Oh my God. Do you know his condition?”
“He’s critical. J. T.’s been under a lot of stress lately.”
McDonald’s voice trembled. Daniels wanted to console her, but stifled the urge. They were soldiers in a war, and were expected to deal with adversity without flinching. It was hard when one of their own went down during the fight, but those were the breaks. “Would you shoot me a text when you get an update?” Daniels asked.
“I’d be happy to. Should I use this number?” McDonald said.
“Please. Keep the faith.”
“I will. I said a prayer for J. T. earlier. It felt like the least I could do.”
Daniels didn’t believe in God, but she feared him greatly. She ended the connection and said a prayer for her boss as well.
A hot shower helped clear her head. As she was toweling off, she had an unsettling thought. If J. T. didn’t pull through, she might never learn the meaning behind his text messages.
She took her time dressing. Whoever fought monsters often paid the price for their service. Insomnia, weight loss, and depression were not uncommon among people in law enforcement whose daily jobs brought them face-to-face with evil. Alcohol abuse was rampant, and so were broken marriages. Evil was corrosive, not only for the criminals, whose souls it burned away, but also for agents of the law whose psyches became singed each time they were forced to stare into the abyss of human depravity.
J. T. had paid the price. Over the course of his career, he’d apprehended his share of serial killers and mass murderers, and seen more bad things than most soldiers on the battlefield. It had worn him down. He drank more than was healthy and still smoked. His home life was no picnic either. After his kids had gone to college, he and his wife had divorced, then reconciled, and tried to piece things together. He’d joked to Daniels that a six-month sabbatical would have saved his marriage the first time, only the bureau wasn’t in the habit of giving those.
And now he’d had a stroke. Everyone had seen it coming, but they were powerless to do anything about it. They were trapped in a war without end, and the only way out was to retire, or to be felled by one’s own health.
Next to the front desk was an alcove that sold cold drinks and snacks. If a customer didn’t see what they needed, they could leave a list with the manager on duty, and it would be there in the morning.
“Daniels, room 237. I put an order in last night,” she said.
The manager handed her a paper bag. She crossed the lobby to be out of range of the TV, and ate her breakfast of grapefruit juice, a banana, and plain yogurt sprinkled with granola. As she finished, her cell phone rang. She took it from her purse, hoping it was McDonald with news about J. T. To her surprise, it was her niece, Nicki. They hadn’t spoken in a while, and she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to talk about teenage girl stuff. Better to wait until the weekend to engage in that kind of conversation.
Then she had a thought. Nicki and her classmates were doing sleuthing for Jon, trying to help him break the case. Maybe Nicki was calling to share their findings. Daniels needed all the help she could get, and decided to take her niece’s call.
“Good morning. How’s my favorite niece?” she said.
“I’m okay. I know you’re working a case, but I had to call,” Nicki said.
Her niece was breathing hard, betraying her anxiety.
“Is something wrong?” Daniels asked.
“I guess that depends on what your definition of wrong is.”
“Come again?”
“Something tells me you haven’t seen the video that was posted on YouTube last night. It’s already gotten three hundred thousand views.”
Daniels sat up straight in her chair. Was this what J. T. had been referring to when he’d texted Daniels, and asked her if she’d seen the news? The timing was right, and the video had obviously caused a sensation to generate that many views.
“No, I haven’t seen the video,” Daniels said. “But something tells me you have. What’s on it?”
“Jon takes on a gang of bikers,” Nicki said. “It’s epic.”
Chapter 26
Lancaster’s cell phone had also woken him up early in the morning. Not many people had his number, and as a result, he didn’t get many calls, so he rarely muted the volume before hitting the sack.
His cell phone was plugged in on the other side of his hotel room. By the time he’d switched on the night light and climbed out of bed, the ringing had stopped.
He checked the call directory. The last call had a 305 area code, which was Dade and Monroe County, but otherwise was unfamiliar, and he chalked it up to a wrong number.
Although he’d slept only a few hours, he felt rested. The Hawker had touched down at the Sarasota Airport at two a.m., and he’d checked out the pilot’s credentials before allowing Echo and her baby to board. He’d heard stories of victims disappearing while in transit because they’d mistakenly gotten on the wrong plane, and he’d vowed that would never happen on his watch.
It was the right pilot, so everything was good. But then a bad thing had happened. Echo had experienced a meltdown, and began hysterically crying while standing on the tarmac, which had caused her son to also cry. She was going to a strange place with strange people, and the thought terrified her.
He couldn’t let Echo leave in such a bad state. So he’d led her into a building that had restrooms and vending machines, and asked her to sit in a stiff plastic chair. He sat down beside her, and showed her a short video stored on his cell phone of the farm that he’d taken during his last visit. It was a slice of heaven, and he’d turned up the volume so she could hear the birds singing in the background, and the content voices of the people living on the farm as they groomed horses as they stood in cross ties. When the video was over, she’d asked to see it again. After the second viewing, she took a deep breath and visibly relaxed.
“My new home,” she whispered.
“Yes, your new home,” he’d said.
They went back outside, and this time, she boarded without crying. But before she did, she hugged him so fiercely that he thought his rib cage might break. As the Hawker took off, he stood on the tarmac and watched it ascend into the heavens, not willing to leave until the private jet had disappeared from view.
While he was brushing his teeth, his phone pinged, indicating his caller had left a message. Intrigued, he went into voice mail and keyed in his password. The raucous laughter of his friend Beecher Martin, who he was supposed to be partying with in the Keys, came out of the phone.
“Hey, Jon, it’s your old buddy Beech. Like a dumb shit, I dropped a bag with all our cell phones in the water, so I have to call you from a pay phone at the motel we’re staying at. Clive and Ray also say hello.”
Clive’s and Ray’s drunken voices chorused in the background.