The Prophecy

43

Once they were a few blocks from the apartment complex, Payne called Randy Raskin at the Pentagon and briefed him on their situation. ‘I’ve got some good news and some bad news.’

Raskin leaned back in his chair. ‘What’s the good news?’

‘Whoever bulletproofed the Suburban did a wonderful job.’

Raskin rubbed his eyes, trying to massage away the migraine that was starting to form. ‘Please tell me you’re joking. A senator reserved that vehicle for tomorrow!’

‘No problem. He can pick it up at a parking garage near the Penn campus.’

‘And what’s the bad news?’

‘He can pick up the rest of it along a half-mile stretch of Spruce Street.’

Raskin growled softly. ‘I can’t believe you guys. Every time I help out, I always end up paying for it.’

‘Gosh, I hope not, because the repair bill is gonna be ridiculous.’

He growled louder. ‘What happened this time?’

Payne told him the basics about the shootout, including the murdered cop. For Raskin, the death of an officer always struck an emotional chord. Over the years, he had met a lot of people who later died fighting for their country or had lost someone who had. Somehow it helped him keep things in perspective. Even though he worked gruelling hours in the Pentagon basement, he never faced the threats that field operatives did on a daily basis. And because of that, he was more than willing to help Payne and Jones whenever he could — even if it meant risking his job by circumventing rules and regulations on occasion.

‘How can I help?’ Raskin asked.

Payne explained. ‘There was a cop at the scene named Paul Giada. As a favour to us, he let us leave before the cavalry arrived. In return, I promised him that someone from the Pentagon would explain who we were and the mission we were on. Obviously there isn’t an actual mission, but if you could make it sound good, it will keep our names out of the newspapers.’

‘Consider it done.’

‘We also need a lift back to Willow Grove, preferably an armed escort. There are some things we need to sort out, and I’d feel a lot safer if we were at a military airfield.’

‘I hope you realize it’s not a secure facility.’

Payne nodded. ‘Secure or not, it has to be safer than the closest Starbucks.’

‘Definitely. Four bucks for a cup of coffee is highway robbery.’

Two hours later, Payne was shown into a cramped back office at NASJRB Willow Grove. It was a windowless room lined with cinderblocks that had been painted white ten years earlier. A musty scent filled the air. Inside was a cheap desk, three chairs, a phone, and a dry-erase board — all the things Payne had requested. He thanked the guardsman and asked him to retrieve Jones and Megan, who were finishing their lunches in the small cafeteria down the hall. Years in the field had taught Payne and Jones one of the basic keys to surviving a mission: eat whenever you had a chance because your next meal might be days away.

Payne took his spot behind the desk and waited for the others to arrive. The last forty-eight hours had included three attempts on his life by three different gunmen. The first one had been a Belgian soldier. According to Nick Dial, the second one was an American. Unfortunately, because of Payne’s hasty retreat from the apartment complex, he hadn’t had time to get prints from the most recent shooter. Not that he actually needed to. Since an officer had been killed, the Philadelphia police would make the case top priority. The moment they discovered the gunman’s identity, Raskin would get him the information.

Jones walked into the office, carrying the envelope he had taken from Ashley’s storage locker. Jones had taken it from Megan as soon as they were inside the Suburban. Not only for the letter’s protection, but because he didn’t want Megan to see what he had discovered.

It was something he wanted to spring on her when the time was right.

And that time was now.

Megan sat across the desk from Payne, and Jones sat on her right.

‘How are you holding up?’ Payne asked.

‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a horrible headache, but other than that I’m fine.’

Payne nodded knowingly. ‘Probably from the excess adrenaline. It’s tough to get used to. Thankfully, the food you ate should help. So would a shot of bourbon.’

She grimaced. ‘The only thing bourbon would help is the odds of me puking.’

Jones scrunched his face. ‘Now that’s a pretty image.’

She shrugged. ‘Sorry, I’m just being honest.’

Payne smiled at the segue. ‘Speaking of honesty, we were hoping you could explain something for us.’

‘I’ll certainly try.’

‘When we first arrived at the airfield, DJ pulled me aside and showed me something that confused the heck out of me. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to come up with a rational explanation for it, but I’ve been unsuccessful. In fact, both of us have failed.’

She arched her eyebrow. ‘What are you talking about?’

Jones replied. ‘When I was in the storage unit, I found the mysterious letter that compelled Ashley to track us down in Pittsburgh.’

‘I know. You gave it to me when the police arrived.’

‘Did you look at it?’

She shook her head. ‘There wasn’t time. I stuffed it in my shirt like you told me to, and I gave it back to you once we’d left the building. Why? Did I damage it? If I did, I’m sorry. I kind of forgot about it while I was running—’

Payne interrupted her. ‘Megan, relax. You didn’t damage the letter. Then again, even if you had destroyed it, we wouldn’t have the right to complain.’

She looked confused. ‘Why not?’

Jones handed the envelope to her. ‘Because it was addressed to you.’

Megan blinked a few times, then focused on the centre of the manila envelope. Shockingly, she saw her name and mailing address, penned in fancy calligraphy. ‘Is this a joke?’

Payne stared at her from across the desk. ‘Do we look like we’re joking?’

‘No, but…’

‘But, what?’ Jones demanded. ‘Isn’t that the envelope I gave you?’

‘I think so, but I can’t explain this.’

Jones grunted. ‘That’s too bad because we can’t explain it, either.’

A few days earlier, Payne would have considered himself a great judge of character, but after the whole ordeal with Ashley, he was slightly less confident in his ability to detect a con artist. However, based on the bewilderment on Megan’s face, he was pretty damn certain she was being honest with them. She had no idea why the letter had been sent to her.

‘Let me ask you something else,’ Payne said. ‘When you first knocked on Ashley’s door, you said you were expecting some kind of package. What were you expecting?’

‘I wasn’t expecting anything.’

Payne leaned back in his chair, annoyed. ‘See, I find that hard to believe. You asked me about the package several times. It had to be important to you.’

She shook her head. ‘I asked because I was curious. Not because it was important.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Megan pulled out her cell phone. ‘May I show you something?’

Payne and Jones nodded their heads.

She touched a button and started scrolling through her messages. ‘When I was in New Orleans, I worked from sunup to sundown, so my phone was never with me. But on one of the nights — Wednesday, I think — I got a strange text message. Here, take a look at this.’

She handed the phone to Jones, who studied the screen, trying to make sense of the cryptic message. Unlike the mysterious letter, the entire text had been written in English.