Every Good Plan Page 7

  “Tough life,” Adam commented. “So, he’s still a janitor?”

  “If only. Now’s where we get to the interesting part. It turns out the guy is a real piece of work. Smart as a tack. He did a little trading of his own.”

  “Drugs.”

  “Nope. That would have been too easy for this guy. He’s wheeling and dealing in trade secrets.”

  “Trade secrets, like corporate espionage?”

  “And some! This guy’s been suspected of financial fraud, money laundering, conspiracy to defraud the United States, Theft of trade secret technology for the Chinese government, Russia, you name it. He’s in deep. Real deep.”

  Adam went quiet.

  “You still there?”

  “Uh-huh”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Adam?”

  “I have to, Gabriel. He’s got Carrie. I gave Grayson my word.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “Why?”

  “It seems he makes use of some unorthodox ways to communicate. We’re talking secret coded message exchanges. Old-school style. And well, I can’t think of anyone better equipped to handle this job than you. MIS has been after this guy for years. The files were classified—highest clearance. I don’t want to bring my team in on this. Not yet. Who knows how far his influence stretches? I think the smartest decision would be to keep this as small as we can at this stage. Strictly me and you with a small covert team consisting of a handful of my best guys. We’re going to need eyes in the backs of our heads.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ve made arrangements for you at a small motel on Peachtree. I’ll send you the details. You can trust Tanisha. You’ll find a gun in the safe and some cash. Also, I’ve left a secure mobile phone with tracking. Anything else you need, just shout.”

  “No guns. I don’t want any guns.”

  “I understand. But, Adam, this guy is a slimy snake. Cool as a cucumber on the outside, but seriously messed up on the inside. There’s no telling how far he will go. And once he starts suspecting you’re with us, he’ll need no excuse to kill you. The gun is just for backup. I’ll leave it there in case you change your mind. Once you arrive at the motel, I’ll have eyes and ears on you at all times. See what you can get out of the girl and we’ll meet up afterward. And make sure you connect the ear piece before you leave the room. At all times. Clear?”

  “Got it.”

  “And, Adam, God be with you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Carrie’s head throbbed as she peeled her body off the floor. She propped herself up into a half-seated position. Suddenly overwhelmed with dizziness and nausea she paused for a moment. Her skin still stung where his hand had struck her cheek. The burning sensation had her thinking about her mother. And that night.

  There was nothing but pitch black darkness around her. Sobs threatened to overwhelm her, but she held them back. She needed to stay calm. Her mind ran over what had happened. She recalled the man in the alley’s face and how he had accosted her. Why her? What did he want? She had no idea who he was or what he was planning to do with her, but it scared her.

  She had tried to avoid being captured. Kicked and fought him off as best she could. But he was too strong. Thinking back, she’d had no chance against him. And bargaining with him had had no effect either. He had declined her watch and phone when she told him he could take them. Not even a large sum of money interested him. All she could conclude was that someone who had it in for Grayson had kidnapped her.

  She found herself quickly thanking God that he took her instead of Maribelle. Had it not been for Adam inventing her role as an angel, her daughter would have been with her in that alley. The thought left her even more grateful to God for being in control.

  She dried her eyes with the forearm part of her coat’s sleeve and strained her eyes in an effort to see through the pitch-black darkness. It was dead silent. By way of habit, she moved to take off her gloves, pausing as she realized she had lost one. With both hands bare she slid them across the floor to feel her way through the darkness. There was nothing but space. The floor she’d been lying on was carpeted. Not plush carpets. More like those rough stick-on squares they use in cheap office buildings. She blinked several times when black patches blurred her vision.

  “Hello?” she called out in a quivering voice.

  Nothing. Again her emotions threatened to get the better of her. To the point where her entire body trembled. Lord keep me calm!

  She inhaled, held it for a second or two then slowly exhaled. Her mind took her to a conversation she’d once had with one of the visually impaired children at the hospital during a charity event in Charleston. The boy had told her that his other senses compensated for his loss of sight. Being blind sharpened them. She shut her eyes tight and allowed her senses to adjust. Almost instantly she heard a whirring sound coming from somewhere behind her. She turned an ear toward it. It sounded like a ceiling fan. She remained still, listening, honing her senses. A faint knocking sound drew her attention to the opposite end of the room. She recognized it. It sounded like a tilt wand knocking against the slats of a Venetian blind. The metal ones. A window!

  The prospect of escaping excited her and she instantly moved onto her hands and knees. Gently crawling on all fours she made her way toward the slow tapping sound. It didn’t take long before her shoulder hit something hard and she winced. Whatever it was moved with the impact. Her hands followed the shape and settled on the flat surface above her head. It was a table. She sat back on her knees and stretched her hands across the tabletop, knocking something to the floor in the process. It made a small thudding sound on the floor and stopped next to her knees. She reached for it, determining the shape of a coffee mug. Her heart pounded excitedly against her chest. It’s a desk. I’m in an office. She opened her eyes again for the first time but quickly shut them again when the black patches returned. As she traced the outlines of the desk she pulled herself up against it and carefully glided her hands across the multitude of papers that lay scattered all over the desk. There was a cup with pens, a stapler, and a clipboard of sorts. She was hoping, praying, for a desk lamp. Soon after her prayers were answered. When she found a sticky metal lamp in the corner on the far end of the wooden desk her fingers clumsily followed the cord to find the switch. As she lay hands on it she drew in a sharp breath in anticipation. She flipped the switch. Nothing. She flipped it again, on and off, still nothing. A faint whimper escaped from her lips but she swiftly refocused her mind. Her hands followed the cord down to the floor and she crawled alongside it to where it eventually stopped.

  “No, no, no!” she cried softly when her hands felt the familiar outlines of the power plug that lay free on the floor. Tears threatened behind her closed eyelids.

  Find the outlet, Carrie. Don’t give up.

  As she crawled across the floor, one hand outstretched, reaching forward in search of the wall, she felt nothing but emptiness. She sat up on her knees, her legs folded beneath her. Again she listened. Should she abandon the search for the power outlet and go back to finding the window? She brushed her hair from her face and decided to try once more—three feet in each direction. Excitement rushed through her when her fingers finally hit the wall. With one hand she held onto the plug and cord while the other scrabbled along the wall until she found the outlet. It took several attempts to line the pins up with the holes in the socket. She tried to stay calm but the will to have her sight back became more urgent by the second, leaving her hands to anxiously fumble with the task. When she finally got it right she worked her way up the cord toward the desk again.

  Until her fingers finally flipped the switch and a soft glow surrounded her.

  * * *

  She swung around to take in the room. It was small; rectangular in shape, with wood-paneled walls all round. The desk stood in the middle of the floor at one end of the room. It was an office, a construction site office—if she had to take a guess. She made for the door, pres
sing her ear against it first. It was quiet outside. Her heart pounded hard in her ears. Could it be this easy to escape?

  She turned the filthy brass knob. The door was locked. Her heart dropped. She tried again, this time with more vigor while she gently shoved her shoulder against it. The result was the same. There was an empty keyhole. Her eyes scanned the walls on either side of the door for a key, then the desk. But she didn’t find anything. On the opposite end, the whirring sound she’d heard earlier was from an air vent—the square box kind that sat inside the wall. She moved to the window and slowly separated two dusty slats with her thumb and forefinger. It was dark outside and there wasn’t a single light in sight anywhere. Twisting the wand to open the slats, she peered out into the darkness. There didn’t appear to be anyone on guard, not even a dog. Deciding to risk it she pulled the blinds up and pushed the window latch. It didn’t move. Upon closer inspection she saw that it had been welded together, intentionally shut. She dashed back to the desk in search of something to break the window with. Apart from the lamp and a derelict office chair, there was nothing else. Deciding it was her only option, she picked up the chair and lifted it onto her hip. It was heavy and she felt clumsy and weak. The first thrust against the window pane made no impact at all. The chair dropped noisily to the floor. Out of breath, she went for it again, swinging it this time like one would when playing baseball. It took every ounce of muscle power in her weak body. But it worked.

  Glass shattered noisily to the floor. The chair’s legs wedged between the glass and the frame of the window. She yanked it out, nearly falling back onto her rear, then propped it beneath the window. She needed to be quick now—just in case someone had heard the racket. From her position on top of the chair, she swung her legs over and out the window, one by one, then thumped the six feet down to the ground below.

  Her body ached all over and blood gushed from one of her hands where the glass had sliced her palm open. She pushed her palm down onto her other arm, using the fabric of her coat to absorb the blood. The night air was icy cold, the ground beneath her wet and muddy. She pushed herself up and started running. Where to, she had no idea. She just ran. The moon was full but partly hidden behind stormy clouds. It cast dark shadows in front of her. She wanted to cry—out of fear or joy, she wasn’t sure. Beneath her unsteady feet, the earth gave way in places where the rain had left potholes. She fell and nearly broke her ankle. The situation forced her to pause and take a look at her surroundings. In places where the clouds had allowed for the area to be illuminated, she could tell it was a construction site of some kind. A few large construction vehicles were parked between large mounds of dirt and boulders—as if they’d been switched off midway between loads—as was also the case with the two diggers behind them. She thought of using one of the trucks to escape but quickly dismissed the farfetched idea that she’d have the sense to know how to drive one.

  Once again back on her feet, she decided to keep running. And it wasn’t long before she saw them. Train tracks.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The roadside hotel was unassuming and falling apart in places. Situated on the lower end of Peachtree Road, it was just after sunrise when they pulled into the small parking area. It had started to rain hard. Large drops pelted down on the car’s windows. Lenny was still asleep.

  “Hey, Lenny, wake up. We’re here.”

  “I’m up, I’m up!” he said, startled into an upright position.

  “Wait here.”

  Adam pulled the hood of his navy coat over his head and made a run for the reception office. A flickering neon orange sign in the window told him to pull the door open—not push. Once inside he was greeted with a stern look by a woman who reminded him of his history teacher from school. She was African American with short red-brown hair—a wig. In front of each ear from which enormous gold hoop earrings dangled past her chin, her hair smoothed down into two pointy tails. She wore bright peach-colored lipstick that perfectly matched her overly peachy cheeks which in turn also matched her long fingernails. Slightly on the fuller side, her dark green velvet pantsuit seemed to sit far too tight to convince him that she was comfortable in it. As Adam stepped into the building, her huge black eyes peered out from beneath a pair of frameless glasses that balanced on her nose.

  “Wipe your feet.”

  Adam suddenly felt like a child again.

  “Of course, ma’am, sorry.”

  He stepped back to wipe his feet on the large welcome mat. She looked him up and down.

  “Where’s Lenny?”

  “He’s in the car,” Adam answered, surprised that she knew their names. It’s supposed to be covert?

  “It is.”

  “What?”

  “Covert.”

  “How did you—”

  “I’ve been doing this a very long time, honey. There ain’t nothing that slips past Tanisha. Besides, your eyes are an open book. You might want to control that. Here, I was told to give you this.” She handed him a yellow envelope. “Don’t open this until you’re in the room. Then leave it under your mattress when you’re done. Everything else you need is in your room already. It’s the one on the corner at the far end, number sixteen. You can park your car in the space directly in front of it.”

  She handed him the room key, placed one hand on top of the other, and stared at him over the top of her glasses, her eyes telling him to leave—the same scornful look Adam used to get in school when he was late for class.

  He briefly thanked her and dashed back to the car.

  “Why does it look like you’ve just come out of the headmaster’s office?” Lenny commented as Adam dropped into the driver’s seat.

  “Because I feel like I just did. Tanisha’s a tough one. You might want to stay on her good side.”

  “Did she happen to say anything about food? I’m starving.”

  “Nope, and I’m not going back in there to ask her about it either. We’ll freshen up and find something on our way to the girl.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Nearly six.”

  “We’re too early. She only opens her stand around seven. It’s about ten minutes from here.”

  “Timing’s perfect then,” Adam said as he opened the door to their room.

  In total contrast to the motel’s modest exterior, their room was surprisingly spacious and luxurious. There were two comfortable twin beds with fresh white linen, a dark brown leather couch, and a small eating area. To their right was an attached bathroom with fluffy white towels and a few essential toiletries.

  Lenny let out a long breathy whistle of surprise before he flopped down onto one of the beds.

  “Knock me over with a feather. This place is rocking. I might never want to leave,” he said.

  Adam didn’t comment. Deep in thought, he dropped his overnight bag atop his bed and took a seat at the small table. His fingers fumbled with the seal on the back of the yellow envelope. He was nervous. He’d never taken on anything as dangerous as this. He shut his eyes briefly and exhaled slowly, puffing up his cheeks as he did so. He emptied the contents of the envelope on the table in front of him.

  “What’s that?” Lenny asked as he watched him from his bed.

  “Everything they have on your friend, Diaz.”

  “He’s not my friend. And who’s ‘they’?”

  Adam closed the folder and looked up at Lenny to search his face.

  “Are you one of them, Lenny? Can you be trusted?”

  Adam’s question caught Lenny by surprise.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  Adam shook his head, waiting for an answer.

  “No, I’m not! She’s my sister, or have you forgotten that? I don’t want to see her killed any more than you do. What do you take me for, huh?”

  Lenny was visibly upset. His eyes displaying the sincerity and truth Adam was looking for.

  “Fine, I believe you. You strike me as an honest man, Lenny. I don’t know your background, but I’ve been in
the people-business long enough to know you’ve been dealt a rough hand. And so I’m choosing to trust you. Because I think you have a good heart. And you’re searching. The people of Turtle Cove raised me. They took me in after both my parents were killed in a car crash when I was twelve. They’re my family. Grayson, Carrie, all of them. They’re all I’ve got.”

  He briefly looked down at the folder on the table and then continued. The tone of his voice had changed.

  “A few years back, I lost my wife and little girl at the hands of a psychopath. I lost my reason to live, my purpose, my identity. So I set off on a journey to discover the truth about myself and my parents. I’ll spare you the details, but, as it turned out my father was a codebreaker for the military. The US Military Intelligence Service, to be exact. You see, my father had this gift for breaking codes, deciphering cryptic messages that were exchanged between hostile countries. Apparently, he was quite good at it too. Good enough to have paid for it with his life. What I didn’t realize was that during the twelve years they had raised me, my father taught me everything he knew.”

  “So you’re a codebreaker, not a preacher.”

  Adam laughed.

  “No, not quite. I’m still a pastor, but I help them out every now and then. Long story short, as it happens, MIS has been after Diaz for years. He’s a very dangerous man.”

  Lenny swung his legs over his bed and sat down in the chair opposite Adam.

  “So this is Diaz’s file?”

  “Yep, everything they have on him.”

  Adam flipped the folder open. A large color photo stared back at them.

  “That’s him! That’s Diaz,” Lenny yelled out, suddenly looking very anxious.