He walked over to Bentley, who had already removed his coat and draped it over his arm. Glancing back at Beth’s room he could see Beth’s father moving toward her bed. The room was nothing more than a glass-walled cubicle, offering no privacy except on those rare occasions when the curtains were drawn closed.
“Admiral.” Jake stuck out his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
Bentley gave him a firm handshake. “Yes, Jake, it has. I’m truly sorry this happened to your fiancée.”
Bentley motioned down the hall and they both walked slowly, yet deliberately, toward an unknown destination, catching up on each others’ lives through small talk.
They ended up in the cafeteria, sitting at a table after ordering a round of coffee. The cafeteria was empty with the exception of one couple sitting in the corner.
The evening shift was wiping tables in preparation for closing.
Jake shifted his sling around on his arm. He winced at the pain. The doctor had told him it was a mild shoulder sprain and should heal quickly after the cortisone injection.
Jake spoke first. “Admiral, you could have just returned my call. You didn’t have to come all the way down here to see me in person.”
He looked Bentley in the eyes. “But you didn’t come here to check up on Beth, or me either for that matter, did you, Admiral?”
Bentley nodded.
Jake continued, “You know, I’m kind of surprised Nurse Nazi up there even let you in the room. Hell, it took an act of Congress just to get me in there.”
“I just flashed my pearly whites and she waved me right through. Of course, the ID badge helped a little too.” Bentley chuckled. “Jake, after I saw your message and heard the news report I knew this visit needed to be face to face.
“I believe I know why you called. Maybe it was in desperation, maybe not. I have quite a few questions myself, which will probably lead us to the true purpose of your call.”
Bentley placed his briefcase on the table, unzipped the main compartment and slid out two folders with CLASSIFIED stamped on the outside of each in red ink.
“Jake, you held a much higher security clearance when you worked for me, and your NTSB personnel folder shows you currently holding only a ‘Secret’ clearance. I’m raising that now. Do you still remember what that entails?”
Jake nodded. “Yes, sir, I remember well.”
“Good.”
He opened the first folder. Inside the folder were several pictures of Laurence O’Rourke taken over a period of many years.
Bentley spun the folder around and laid it on the table in front of Jake. “You recognize him, of course. We’ll get to him in just a minute.”
He opened the second folder, turned it around and placed it directly on top of the first one. There was no photograph, just an image of a green shamrock with a bullet hole in the center — some CIA analyst’s idea of a joke, no doubt. One word was stamped on the top of each page. SHAMROCK.
“Notice something, Jake? Or rather the lack of something? This file belongs to an assassin who calls himself Shamrock. We’ve confirmed only two contract kills in the United States, but we’ve confirmed dozens in Europe, Africa, the Middle East,one in New Zealand and even a couple in Japan. He never leaves any witnesses alive to give a description. We have no idea what he looks like. We can only recognize him by his calling card—”
Jake interrupted, “Wait, let me guess, a shamrock?”
“That’s right. We can also recognize him by his MO. It’s like his murder fingerprint. He has a very distinctive style of killing. It’s like a ‘tell’ in poker. We don’t really need him to leave a shamrock any more in order for us to know who did it.
“We have his fingerprints and his DNA, he’s never been shy about leaving either or both on his victims. I’ve ordered the fingerprints from the FBI here in Savannah and likewise in Dallas. I’m convinced they will match those we have on file for Shamrock.”
“O’Rourke called Collins “Shamrock” right before all hell broke loose yesterday.”
“I’m sure the fingerprints will confirm all that,” said Bentley.
“And you want a physical description from me?”
Bentley nodded.
Jake slumped his shoulders — not what he was expecting from Bentley. He had hoped the Admiral had come for a different reason. He wasn’t certain what he had hoped for when he placed the call to Bentley’s office. Maybe some answers, maybe an idea to exact revenge. But certainly more than just to give a witness statement and description. He could have just given that to the FBI.
“Yes, from you and from that air traffic controller who got shot. Did you know he used to be Special Forces?”
“I did. We discussed it during the controller interview portion of the investigation. He was the controller working the airplane when the bomb went off.”
“I know it’s no consolation, but nice work on that investigation.” “Thank you, Admiral. I’ll be happy to help out any way I can.” “Do you mean that, Jake? Will you help out any way you can?” “Yes, sir, of course I will.”
Bentley closed the Shamrock folder and slid it underneath the O’Rourke folder.
“What about him, Jake? Will you help me nail O’Rourke?” “Admiral, O’Rourke is the bastard who shot Beth. If I could I would kill him. I’d really like to be the one to take him down.” Bentley slammed the folder closed, placed both folders back in his portfolio briefcase, and then stood up.
“Jake, that’s all I needed to hear. How about you and I take a little trip?”
CHAPTER 60
The next day, the CIA photographer set a backdrop behind Jake.
“Mr. Pendleton, would you stand over here please. This will only take a moment.”
He snapped several digital photos of Jake, plugged them into a laptop computer and began processing them. The Security chief took a digital scan of his fingerprints and downloaded them into the same computer. Jake was then given a retinal scan, which was also downloaded into the computer.
Jake had anguished over leaving Beth in Savannah while she was still on life support and barely clinging to life. Her parents took the news of his leaving Savannah with mixed emotions. Rebecca McAllister didn’t understand it at all and felt Jake should stay at Beth’s side. Mike McAllister’s response was quite the opposite.
Jake told McAllister that he was going to Virginia with Bentley to assist in locating and apprehending O’Rourke and the assassin. McAllister’s reaction was simple. He wanted revenge for his daughter. He only said one thing to Jake before he returned to Beth’s side: “Jake, if you get the chance, promise me you’ll kill that bastard.”
Jake sat in the briefing room adjacent to Bentley’s office. He had been rushed into the briefing room, where he was met by a CIA photographer, the head of Security, Bentley’s executive assistant Jean McCullough, and a CIA analyst who handled the O’Rourke file and the Shamrock file.
Within forty-five minutes, Jake was outfitted with a new CIA badge, a new passport under a new name along with the supporting credentials, and granted limited access to several areas at the Headquarters via thumbprint and retinal scan by the CIA’s central computer — unheard of for an outsider — but ordered by Bentley.
Jake couldn’t help but see it as overkill for an operation that would keep him at the CIA facility for less than three days, but Bentley had insisted.
Bentley cleared the room except for Jake and an analyst named George Fontaine, a man in his early fifties with a crooked nose and a muted Jay Leno chin. It was only then that Jake learned Bentley’s true intentions for him.