THIRTY-SIX
John Hopkins University
Travis Marlon was way beyond his comfort zone. He had reluctantly taken the unexpected assignment from Richard Kilmer to fly directly to Maryland to locate one Sela Coscarelli, a research fellow at Johns Hopkins University.
“Can it, mate,” Kilmer had said. “Yer not doing bugger. The Livermore op launches t’night. Cripes, how tough can it be to case a Sheila? Scope her out, and gimme the deal on pinchin’ her. It’s simple. Now belt up ‘til I spell ya.” All of which meant: do it and shut up.
Holloway had ordered that Dr. Sela Coscarelli be put under immediate surveillance for reasons unclear to Marlon, but she was apparently essential to force the willing cooperation of Jarrod Conrad. There had been another setback with the antigravity machine, and Conrad was now central to making it operational. Because all of Kilmer’s available men were committed to Livermore, Marlon was the only suitable man for the job. True, Stuart Farley was available, but he came with predictable consequences, which Kilmer was eager to avoid. Besides, the volatile Farley was already staked out at Conrad’s place in Stanford. So even though it was not his forte, Marlon grudgingly agreed to handle the task and report his findings.
He shook his head, remembering the earlier discussion he’d had on the matter. I must be losing it, he thought. He was feeling ill-prepared, lacking the necessary expertise to tail a person, but forged ahead despite his misgivings.
Marlon had been following the slender, dark-haired woman since his arrival, trying not to be spotted as a tail. Even with his rudimentary skills, he had learned a great deal about Dr. Coscarelli in a short time. Primarily she was of woman of simple tastes, and didn’t appear to have any complications in her life that would make kidnapping her difficult. He briefly questioned Jordan Blair, her research assistant, and discovered Coscarelli was normally in class weekday afternoons, but spent the bulk of her time in lab with graduate students; her research and teaching endeavors were clearly her highest priority. But Ms. Blair had also volunteered that she was the oldest daughter of Senator Alfonse Coscarelli, a significant and obvious complication, but one that was not his concern. He was merely to investigate and report; Dr. Coscarelli’s kinship to one of the most powerful men in the country was somebody else’s problem.
While Sela Coscarelli seemed very affable and outgoing, it didn’t appear she had a love interest, or even many close friends. From what he could gather, she lived alone except for a Siamese cat. Marlon was able to identify this little tidbit through a careful examination of her home a few blocks from the edge of the campus. By happenstance, he’d discovered an open window that allowed his entry. A cursory inspection yielded nothing more than the cat, a few family pictures, and stacks of scientific papers confirming her academic passion. How odd that such an attractive woman lives alone, he mused.
After watching his subject perform a ho-hum routine, Marlon had finally reported his findings to Kilmer. Remembering their conversation still bothered him.
“Richard…Marlon here.”
“Bonzer there, Trav. I trust yer in Maryland,” Kilmer had answered tersely. “What’a’ya found out about Coscarelli?”
“All things considered, she’s pretty low-key and would be easily abducted. But I suggest we steer clear of this woman. She’s the daughter of U.S. Senator Alfonse Coscarelli of New Mexico. Kidnapping her will unleash a shit-storm of heat. An army of police will be searching for her, and the media will rip into this story like a pack of hyenas. This isn’t a good idea.”
“Good or not, it’s what Holloway wants,” Kilmer replied. “More to the good…yer teein’ up the transport. Sully’ll meet ya after Livermore. With yer intel, he’ll make the pinch, and yer to brin’ her in.”
“Whoa…just a second, Richard. We discussed this. I don’t kidnap people. I’m a freaking pilot, for chrissakes,” Marlon remembered saying, hardly believing his ears.
“We ain’t hagglin’, Travis…everythin’s wonky. Ya just give Sully everythin’ ya got on the woman. He’ll be the heavy; yer goin’ to a safe house. I’ll give ya the spot later. Just keep under wraps ’til we figure the next move. I’m mad as a cut snake, but that’s the deal… ya good?”
“Got it,” Travis had said, wishing he could worm out of the assignment, but he knew his fate was already sealed. “Sully and me will take care of this…” he said, ending the call.
The hits just keep on coming, Travis reflected. I’m going to help kidnap the daughter of Senator Coscarelli… Brilliant, just brilliant! How did I get myself into this mess? Better yet, how do I get myself out?
THIRTY-SEVEN
Baltimore, Maryland
07:00 HOURS
Sully Metusack had barely slept in the past seventy-two hours. With preparing for the Livermore job, dealing with the aftermath of the mission, and then immediately boarding JetBlue for the red-eye to Maryland, he was feeling drained, his energy level at low ebb. Flying coast to coast made his situation worse, the effects of jetlag further complicating his lethargy.
There were psychological effects to bear as well. The entire team was reeling from the devastating reality of losing Weaver, and although Sully wasn’t a stranger to losing close teammates in combat, it was never an easy thing to face. He actually felt fortunate to have something on which to focus his attention, keeping his mind off the loss, knowing at some point he’d have to process his anger to keep from repressing the emotional trauma of Weaver’s death.
Travis Marlon pulled to the curb at the JetBlue baggage terminal only moments after Sully arrived. He had been alerted by Tooz to stand by as soon as the flight attendant cleared the passengers for cell phone usage. Sully opened the back door, threw his duffle bag into the car, and slid into the passenger seat beside Marlon.
“Hey, Trav, how’s it hangin’?” Sully said, pulling the seatbelt across his chest. “I’m famished. You don’t mind, do you?” he asked intending to eat the cinnamon roll he’s purchased on his way through the airport.
“Not at all,” Marlon replied, looking carefully over his shoulder as he merged into the hectic traffic at the terminal.
“Thanks. I haven’t eaten in God knows.”
There was a moment of silence as Marlon concentrated on selecting the right lane for the freeway entrance toward Maryland. Satisfied he was on course, he said, “I’m not thrilled with this latest job, but we’ll get through it, I guess. How’d it go in Livermore?”
“It all went haywire. We lost Dallas last night,” he said, pausing briefly to swallow. “We got the goods, but paid a heavy price. Krilenko’s out too…for keeps.”
“Whew…” Marlon replied, whistling softly through his teeth upon hearing the news that Dallas Weaver was killed in action. “Damn, I’m sorry to hear it went so badly. I’ll bet Richard’s pissed.”
“It’s not just Boss who’s pissed…we’re all upset. Dallas was shot in the face. It could’ve been prevented,” Sully said, and for the next few minutes he recounted the grim details of the Livermore job.
“I’ll tell you another thing: Richard’s already talked to Holloway and he knows the name of the chicken-shit who set us up. I’ll lay odds he doesn’t last out the morning.”
“Wow! Now that surprises me. Is that for certain? It’s not Richard’s style to take these things personally.”
“Personally? Hell, Trav…this bastard’s incompetence got one of us killed. I’m glad he’s taking it personally. We should all take it personally. I think it sends the right message myself,” Sully replied, crossing his arms across his chest. The tone of his voice was unmistakable-the subject was closed to further discussion.
“So, what’s the deal with this Coscarelli woman…any complications?” he asked, quickly changing the subject. Even though always good-natured, he was in no mood for Marlon’s griping and didn’t want to discuss Weaver’s death any further.
“Christ…I don’t know, Sully. This ain’t my bag,” Marlon replied with a scowl. “From what I can determine,
