Sure, I could play that role, as long as they changed the name of the movie to “Gone in 600 seconds”.
I decided on public transport to get across town to the Weston. Mostly because, as short as the ride would be, I could catch a few moments of sleep. And a good spy always took advantage of any sleep they could get. You never knew when your next opportunity would come. I set my watch alarm for twenty minutes, and settled down in the subway seat to catch a few minutes of rest. I wouldn’t be a good sleep, but it was something. And I would need my wits about me in order to play Robin’s game.
Even asleep, I tried to stay alert, as idiotic as that sounds. I knew George was out there, and he’d be looking for me. At my best, he’d be no match for me, but I was no where near my best. I slept fitfully, my mind still trying to make sense of everything that had happened, trying to fit everything together. But there were still too many pieces missing. I could only hope Robin was leading me to a place with all the answers, and not a trap.
It had occurred to me that, as her final act, instead of redeeming herself, Robin would set a trap for me. There wasn’t any reason for it, other than my natural paranoia, but I resolved to stay on guard and not do my usual, stupid, rushing into things. And that’s why, after getting off the subway and walking the few blocks to the Weston’s garage, I scouted the area thoroughly before going up to the blue Mercedes on the fifth level. I looked over the car carefully, checking under it with a small flashlight, looking for any wires that seemed out of place, any explosives, any transmitting devices. I ran my bug scanner over it and came up with nothing. As far as I could tell, the car was clean. That didn’t mean the door wasn’t packed with C4 and the moment I opened it I’d be shrapnel. But it was a risk I was going to have to take.
After a deep breath, I punched the four-digit code into the door and the locks clicked open. Nothing else happened. I grabbed the door handle and yanked the door open. I was still there, still in one piece. I lowered myself into the car and looked for the GPS unit. It was tucked into the compartment between the seats, and it was fully charged. The little line that appeared on the screen showed the car’s last trip, starting in a section of town I wasn’t very familiar with and ending at this parking garage.
Unfortunately, Robin’s generosity did not extend to leaving the keys anywhere in the car. And Mercedes were notoriously hard to hot-wire. I suppose I could take solace in the fact that she must have had faith in my skills, but it was a hollow victory. Ten minutes, a lot of swearing, and one shock later I finally got the car running. Only to find that it was nearly out of gas.
Calling Robin every vile name I could think of, then feeling guilty because she was dead, I headed to the nearest gas station and put ten buck’s worth of gas in the car. I kept the baseball hat pulled down low and used one of the agency’s dummy credit cards, hoping that if anyone every looked into the security tapes they wouldn’t be able to tell it was me. I wouldn’t pass for Robin, but I might be mistaken for Mike.
I followed the GPS’s commands on a return route, and found myself entering the outskirts of town. Not a lot of people out and about, the construction sites having closed for the day. The GPS led me to a particular site surrounded by a chain-link fence and razor wire. It had obviously been shut down for quite some time, and as I read the placards posted on the fence it jogged my memory. Something about a corrupt land-development agent, some shady deals, and bad permits. The city had come in and shut the site down a few weeks ago. I almost laughed as I remembered one of the restaurants that was going into this particular strip mall. Red Robin. She’d kept it going to the very end.
I searched my fuzzy memory banks for the plan I’d once seen of the development, showing the proposed shop locations. If I recalled correctly, and I wasn’t sure I did, the Red Robin was slated to anchor one end of the strip mall. The North end. I slipped through an opening in the fence and walked across the uneven ground to the place I thought the restaurant should go. Litter covered the ground, and I scrutinized each piece until I found what I was looking for. Half buried in the dirt, and anchored securely with a large rock, was a Red Robin menu. I looked around for a shovel, but the construction site had long been stripped of anything useful. I swore again and made my way back over to the car. I’d left it idling, not wanting to have to deal with getting it started again, and I was gratified to find it still there. Luckily the local hoodlums had moved on after they’d picked this particular construction site clean of anything valuable.
I reached in and popped the trunk, not hoping for much, but maybe, just maybe, Robin had been kind. And in this once instance, she had. There was a shovel, still dusty from use, laying in the trunk. I thanked her and trudged back to the menu to start digging. I didn’t know how far down I’d have to go, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be too close to the surface. She wouldn’t have risked anyone accidentally stumbling on it.
By the time I’d made a hole a good seven feet in diameter and four feet deep, I was ready to give up. I’d run out off unkind things to call Robin, and marveled at her strength and endurance. Of course, she probably hadn’t been doing it while sleep deprived and starving, I reassured myself. And maybe the hole had already been here, and she’d simply filled it in. Or maybe she’d been more of a man than I was. I didn’t care at this point, I just wanted to find whatever it was she’d buried. Then the thought occurred to me. I didn’t know what it was she’d buried. I didn’t know how big it was. I scrambled up and out of the hole, scraping up my arms on the various sharp, pointy rocks. I gritted my teeth and ignored the pain, searching for the glint of metal I’d seen early in my digging. I hadn’t thought anything of it, believing I was digging for a large box or file.
I sifted through the dirt pile, and a few minutes later, I found it. “Son of a bitch!” I swore out loud. It was a locker key, on I recognized as being from the airport. It had been a foot or so directly under the menu, a mere one or two shovels full of dirt. I slumped against the pile of dirt, angry at myself and bone-weary. At least, I thought wryly, I’d gotten in a good workout. You just had to look at the bright side and laugh at yourself sometimes, or you’d go mad.
I took the key and went back to the car, heading out to the airport. It was a short drive, but I had to park in one of the outlying lots and that meant turning the car off. I sighed as I realized it meant another laborious task of re-starting the car, this time in a busy parking lot. Even at night, the airport was a hive of activity, and I couldn’t count on being unobserved for very long.
I took a shuttle into the terminal, getting a lot of not-so-subtle glares because of the dirt I was shedding everywhere. I probably didn’t smell as fresh as a morning daisy, either, but I ignored the looks and tried to act casual. It was easier to ignore the stares of the other passengers, but the looks of the security guards were more troubling. I looked suspicious, and they had every right to question me. I just did not have the time for it, and if they decided to pull me in I might not make it in time to gather all the evidence and bring down Nate before he took a page from George’s book and fled. I snuck a quick look at the arrivals board and saw a delayed flight. I breezed past the board and up to the nearest security officer.
“Excuse me, is there any way to know when the flight from Atlanta is going to be in? The board says delayed. My wife sent me here in hysterics, telling me I was late picking up her sister.” I gestured to my clothing. “Didn’t even give me time to change from my work clothes. If there’s enough time, I’m going to head home.”
The man relaxed at my explanation. I certainly looked like a construction worker. He inquired about the status of the flight using his walkie-talkie, and grimaced as he relayed the information to me. “Sorry, buddy, it’s due in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, then, any place I can wash up a bit and get a bite to eat?” I settled my face into a hang-dog expression. My stomach decided to help me out and chimed in with a loud rumble.
He gave me a sympathetic look and gestured me towards the far end of the concourse, where there were several restrooms, restaurants, and the lockers. With any luck, I could get into the locker and retrieve what was in it before the flight came in, and slip away unnoticed. For now, I was explained away as the harried, hard-working husband sent to pick up his wife’s sister.
No comments:
Post a Comment