“We found your card in his personal effects. We have to make sure that we are not dealing with a potential security incident or secret envoy.”
“No. He met with me recently, but it was not in any way connected to my job at the White House.” As soon as he said it, Bill’s mind started to race.
“There was a notation made on the back.” Frank turned and addressed an embassy staffer. “Can we put that under the camera?” On the left monitor, large fingers swiped away the license and replaced it with the back of the card. The words “Prof. Ensiling” were scrawled across the width. “Do any of these references mean anything to you?”
“I believe the professor was a friend of his who died recently. That’s what he came to see me about.”
“We know of this professor. Why was the deceased seeing you about him?”
“Peter Remo was a bit of a conspiracy… lover.” Bill couldn’t bring himself to use the word “nut” in relation to his dead friend. “I had my department’s investigator find out if there was any foul play.”
“And what did you find?”
“That the professor died of natural causes.”
Even through the video screen, Bill saw the slightest of hints of “really” emanating from Frank Randall’s face. It immediately bothered him, but he thought not to go down that road at this time.
“Is there anything else we should know, Mr. Hiccock?”
Bill was about to correct him to his proper bona fide title of Professor Hiccock, but decided it wasn’t worth bringing another Ph.D. into the mix. “No, nothing else I can think of.”
“Well then, thank you sir. Sorry you lost your friend.”
“Thank you. How did he die?”
“That’s a little murky right now, but it appears he was murdered.”
“Murdered? By who?”
“All we know was that it was at a nightclub. We are waiting for the police to finish their investigation.”
“Can you keep my office informed as well? I would appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
Bill got home and saw the pamphlets on baby care on the kitchen table. He opened the fridge, considered the potato salad, but just grabbed a Dos Equis instead. He screwed off the top and tossed it into the kitchen basket. He took a long draw, then did the lip-smack thing.
Upstairs in the bedroom, Janice was coming out of the bathroom a towel turbaned around her freshly washed hair. “I thought you’d be later.”
“No, it was quick. But I got some bad news.”
“Oh dear, what?”
“Peter Remo was found dead in Paris last night.”
“I’m sorry, Bill. How did it happen?”
“They said he was murdered.”
“How horrible.”
“It could have been just a fight in a club… or maybe something more. Listen to me, I’m starting to sound like Peter.”
Bill started to laugh.
“Your friend is dead; what’s so funny?”
“It’s not funny; it’s ironic. They found my card in his wallet and had to check that he wasn’t working for the government. Peter was a conspiracy theorist who spent most of his days trying to prove the government was behind everything bad that ever happened. In the end, he comes under suspicion of working for that same government. You couldn’t make this stuff up.”
“Well, God rest his soul. You coming to bed?”
“Yeah, I’m beat.”
“Did you shut the lights downstairs?”
“Yes, dear.”
Two hours later Janice got up to use the bathroom. She found Bill wide awake looking at the ceiling.
“I know why I’m up. Don’t tell me it’s sympathy peeing for you.” She nestled under his arm.
“Peter came to me and I just wrote him off, like he was a nut. Now he’s dead. What if I had listened? Maybe something was up with him?”
“How could you have possibly known?”
“He hadn’t bothered to reach out to me in decades. Suddenly he does and then gets killed. I just hope I didn’t miss something.”
“Billy, if he was murdered, it was something that he got involved with that has nothing to do with you.”
“He said he was afraid that he was going to be next and it just rolled off my back like he said he thought he was getting a cold. When did I get so cavalier about life?”
“Stop it now. If he had shown you any of the traditional signs of stress or impending doom, your reaction would have been totally different. The fact that he did not broadcast imminent danger to you means he was just positioning or posturing or testing your level of gullibility and was in no real danger that he perceived.”
“Is that the behavioral head doctor talking?”
“One of the best in the field, so believe her and get some sleep.” Janice kissed him and snuggled in even more.
?§?
Rodney had been waiting for this phone call since 2001. He had just missed the previous endeavor. Bad Luck. A flat tire on the way to the airport. Now, another chance. Sitting in the Wal-Mart parking lot in Canoga Park, California, he let his mind fantasize about what this adventure might mean. There was a possibility that recent events in the news could have played a role, but more likely, since he had been out of the loop, it was probably something else. No matter. Whatever it was, it would be what would be.
A tan Escalade pulled up next to his car, very close on the passenger side. As a woman and two kids emerged, one of the kids slammed the door into his car. The driver, obviously the father, called out to his son, “Careful Roshy!” As the wife and kids walked towards the store, the man got out and came around to Rodney’s driver-side window. Looking down at the scratch in the rear door, he apologized. “I am sorry, although it’s just a scratch really. Here, take my insurance information. Have a good night.” And he was off in the direction of the store.
Rodney opened the envelope; in it were directions to a meeting place, two airline tickets, and 10,000 dollars in hundred-dollar bills. For the first time in public and outside his inner prayer room, Ali Rashid, a.k.a. Rodney Albert, dared mutter a phrase under his breath.
“Allah Be Praised!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“So, La Grande Fromage, what was the call from France all about?” Joey asked as he popped into Bill’s office at 7:25 a.m.
“Hey, if I am the big cheese, where’s my coffee?” He tossed the State Department’s preliminary report on Peter’s death to Joey.
“Sorry, I thought you’d have yours already.” Joey scanned the summary. “Wow, that call last night was about Johnny No’s big brother, Peter Remo?” Joey plopped in the chair across from Bill’s desk. “Poor guy.”
Both sat quietly for a moment.
“Hey, you ever think about it?” Joey said, coming out of it.
“About what?”
“About all the guys who are dead now.”
