Tallahassee, Florida
By Monday morning Sabrina’s accident had become an annoying inconvenience rather than a dramatic brush with death. Her shoulder ached and her knee looked like a miniature Jackson Pollock painting—splashes of purple and blue with streaks of red. It had taken two frozen bags of peas and one bag of okra to take down the swelling and to get her through the night. Otherwise all she was left with was the inconvenience of having her car and wallet torched.
She tried to call the lab to let them know she’d be late. No one answered the lab’s main line and instead her call kept getting bounced to Dwight Lansik’s voice-messaging service. She left a message, but after finding Lansik’s duffel bag in his closet and his car still in EchoEnergy’s parking lot, she wasn’t hopeful that he would be picking up his messages.
Thank goodness the rental car agency had her driver’s license on file, one of the perks of online membership. It didn’t, however, seem to make a difference when choosing a car. They had already delivered a subcompact when she specifically had requested a four-door sedan. Her mother’s accident had left Sabrina with an irrational phobia of traveling in anything smaller than a four-door, but the agency’s representative said this was it, if she wanted a car before noon. That was just one of her problems.
Since she hadn’t gotten her driver’s license switched yet from Illinois to Florida, the local Department of Motor Vehicles couldn’t help her with a replacement.
“This move was supposed to be temporary,” Sabrina tried to explain to the clerk over the phone.
“And I’m sure the state of Illinois can help you get a temporary replacement.”
She called the Cook County DMV for the city of Chicago. Of course they could issue a replacement driver’s license. All Sabrina needed to do was present a birth certificate and one other form of identification at any one of their county offices.
“There’s no way it can be done over the Internet or by mail?” But even as Sabrina asked, she knew it was a ridiculous question. Before the woman finished her string of disgusted sighs, Sabrina tried to redeem herself. “Okay, what about getting a new license in Florida? I’ve been a resident for almost a year.”
“Usually you can present your license and simply apply to the new state according to their rules and regulations.” The woman sounded like a recording only not as friendly. “But in your case, where you don’t have your current license to surrender…” She went on to explain a long-drawn-out process that included letters of request and verification that would take weeks.
Sabrina was beginning to think it would be faster to fly up to Chicago, but then how could she do that without a driver’s license and a credit card for identification?
Damn! She hadn’t even thought about the credit card. She had only one and used it for everything. The credit card doubled as her ATM card.
However, the credit card company renewed Sabrina’s faith in the world of technology. After about a half hour of transfers and verifications that included her mother’s maiden name, Mrs. Jones, the company representative, assured Sabrina a new card would be on its way within twenty-four hours and express delivered to her Florida home.
By now Sabrina was pulling into EchoEnergy’s park, thankful she had forgotten her badge on her lab coat and her security key card in the pocket. At least there were two items she wouldn’t need to replace. She punched in her pass code at the guard hut. Before she found parking for the small tin can of a rental car, she drove to the back lot closest to the river. Sabrina made two trips around and through the aisles of cars, but there was no mistake. Dwight Lansik’s white Crown Victoria was gone. She hoped Lansik was back and had simply moved his car.
Sabrina had missed most of the morning, but her colleagues worked independently of each other. She expected them to hardly notice her absence. After all, they hadn’t noticed their boss had been missing since Thursday. And yet when Sabrina walked into the lab she seemed to surprise all three of them, catching them huddled together as if they were waiting.
“There she come,” Pasha said in a tone that registered somewhere between urgency and relief.
“Your message said something about an accident?” O’Hearn said.
Anna came out from behind the table the three were gathered around. She put her hands on her hips and looked Sabrina over. She couldn’t help thinking Anna could at least try to hide her disappointment that Sabrina was okay. In fact, Anna sounded a tad too smug when she announced, “Here she is, Mr. Sidel.”
William Sidel came out of Dwight Lansik’s office with his cell phone pressed to his ear. The others had looked surprised to see Sabrina, but Sidel did a double take. His eyes met hers, but it wasn’t surprise as much as astonishment. He clicked off the phone without saying goodbye. His boyish, ruddy face turned a bit pasty. If she didn’t know better, Sabrina would have said that William Sidel looked at her like he was seeing a ghost.
Tallahassee, Florida
By Monday morning Sabrina’s accident had become an annoying inconvenience rather than a dramatic brush with death. Her shoulder ached and her knee looked like a miniature Jackson Pollock painting—splashes of purple and blue with streaks of red. It had taken two frozen bags of peas and one bag of okra to take down the swelling and to get her through the night. Otherwise all she was left with was the inconvenience of having her car and wallet torched.
She tried to call the lab to let them know she’d be late. No one answered the lab’s main line and instead her call kept getting bounced to Dwight Lansik’s voice-messaging service. She left a message, but after finding Lansik’s duffel bag in his closet and his car still in EchoEnergy’s parking lot, she wasn’t hopeful that he would be picking up his messages.
Thank goodness the rental car agency had her driver’s license on file, one of the perks of online membership. It didn’t, however, seem to make a difference when choosing a car. They had already delivered a subcompact when she specifically had requested a four-door sedan. Her mother’s accident had left Sabrina with an irrational phobia of traveling in anything smaller than a four-door, but the agency’s representative said this was it, if she wanted a car before noon. That was just one of her problems.
Since she hadn’t gotten her driver’s license switched yet from Illinois to Florida, the local Department of Motor Vehicles couldn’t help her with a replacement.
“This move was supposed to be temporary,” Sabrina tried to explain to the clerk over the phone.
“And I’m sure the state of Illinois can help you get a temporary replacement.”
She called the Cook County DMV for the city of Chicago. Of course they could issue a replacement driver’s license. All Sabrina needed to do was present a birth certificate and one other form of identification at any one of their county offices.
“There’s no way it can be done over the Internet or by mail?” But even as Sabrina asked, she knew it was a ridiculous question. Before the woman finished her string of disgusted sighs, Sabrina tried to redeem herself. “Okay, what about getting a new license in Florida? I’ve been a resident for almost a year.”
“Usually you can present your license and simply apply to the new state according to their rules and regulations.” The woman sounded like a recording only not as friendly. “But in your case, where you don’t have your current license to surrender…” She went on to explain a long-drawn-out process that included letters of request and verification that would take weeks.
Sabrina was beginning to think it would be faster to fly up to Chicago, but then how could she do that without a driver’s license and a credit card for identification?
Damn! She hadn’t even thought about the credit card. She had only one and used it for everything. The credit card doubled as her ATM card.
However, the credit card company renewed Sabrina’s faith in the world of technology. After about a half hour of transfers and verifications that included her mother’s maiden name, Mrs. Jones, the company representative, assured Sabrina a new card would be on its way within twenty-four hours and express delivered to her Florida home.
By now Sabrina was pulling into EchoEnergy’s park, thankful she had forgotten her badge on her lab coat and her security key card in the pocket. At least there were two items she wouldn’t need to replace. She punched in her pass code at the guard hut. Before she found parking for the small tin can of a rental car, she drove to the back lot closest to the river. Sabrina made two trips around and through the aisles of cars, but there was no mistake. Dwight Lansik’s white Crown Victoria was gone. She hoped Lansik was back and had simply moved his car.
Sabrina had missed most of the morning, but her colleagues worked independently of each other. She expected them to hardly notice her absence. After all, they hadn’t noticed their boss had been missing since Thursday. And yet when Sabrina walked into the lab she seemed to surprise all three of them, catching them huddled together as if they were waiting.
“There she come,” Pasha said in a tone that registered somewhere between urgency and relief.
“Your message said something about an accident?” O’Hearn said.
Anna came out from behind the table the three were gathered around. She put her hands on her hips and looked Sabrina over. She couldn’t help thinking Anna could at least try to hide her disappointment that Sabrina was okay. In fact, Anna sounded a tad too smug when she announced, “Here she is, Mr. Sidel.”
William Sidel came out of Dwight Lansik’s office with his cell phone pressed to his ear. The others had looked surprised to see Sabrina, but Sidel did a double take. His eyes met hers, but it wasn’t surprise as much as astonishment. He clicked off the phone without saying goodbye. His boyish, ruddy face turned a bit pasty. If she didn’t know better, Sabrina would have said that William Sidel looked at her like he was seeing a ghost.
Washington, D.C.
Natalie Richards waved Colin Jernigan into her office from where he hesitated at her door. She shifted the phone into her other hand and pressed it against her opposite ear. She hadn’t been able to get anything done this morning. The phone calls had been relentless, all of them so-called “emergencies” or “urgencies” that supposedly only she could handle. Her assistant handled all the details, but Natalie still had to be the voice—or rather her boss’s voice—of reassurance.
Colin stood by the window, leaning against the wall and watching the street below. Natalie watched him as she listened to the rants and ramblings of the person on the phone. She knew the folder tucked under Colin’s arm was the reason he would dare to bother her without an appointment. He was the only one, other than her boss, who got away with a drop-by. This was only the second time he had used the privilege, which meant it wasn’t good news. What the hell more could go wrong?
Finally the man on the phone took a breath and Natalie jumped in. “We are well aware of the concern, but I assure you every detail will be handled.”
“Of course, that is all we ask.”
They exchanged goodbyes and Natalie hung up, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Paranoid bastards,” Natalie said more to herself than to Colin, who stood at the other end of her office. When he raised an eyebrow with interest, she offered, “Another oil sheikh worried about security for landing his private jet.”
“They’re used to having their own airstrips,” he said.
“They’re used to having their own way.” Her hands went to her hips. “If it was my party they wouldn’t even be invited.”
That drew a smile. Satisfied, she was ready to get down to business though she wasn’t quite ready to get to that folder tucked under his arm.
“By the way, how are we situated for all these flights coming in?” she asked as she pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk. She liked being the only one standing in her office while she talked. At five foot three with what she liked to call a generous figure, she knew she didn’t have the physical presence to back up her authority.
“I’m told Tyndall Air Force Base is ready and more than capable.” He sat down, crossed his legs, made himself comfortable or at least pretended to. She knew him well enough to see the tension on his face that he thought he could disguise—the tightness around his mouth, the squint of tired eyes. “Secret Service, of course, is in charge of background checks,” he continued, “along with lining up limos and routes for the VIPs. Homeland Security has its own group, including the Coast Guard taking care of security in, around and on the estate.”
“I don’t know why we didn’t have it here in Washington.” Natalie shook her head. “I don’t like what I don’t know and I don’t know the Gulf Coast of Florida.”
“Believe it or not, from a security point of view, a private estate is less work than a major city. When Bush 43 held his energy summit in Crawford, everybody laughed, but it was probably the smoothest summit I’ve seen.”
“You were around back then?”
He nodded. Maybe someday they’d get around to exchanging stories about their past political lives.
“Then you won’t mind being there for this one,” she said, picking up and waving an envelope, this one bulging. “I’ll need you to be my eyes and ears down there.”
“You don’t want to take a quick trip to sunny Florida?”
“Sweetie, this hair doesn’t do Florida.” She put the envelope back on her desk and crossed her arms over her chest. “Besides, something tells me I’ll be busy here with whatever that problem is you have in your hands.”
He let out a sigh and tapped the folder against his leg, shifting in his seat. He handed it to her as he said, “We weren’t expecting anything like this.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” She searched his eyes, trying to discern how big a problem “this” was. She left the folder dangling in the air for a second or two. Then she snatched and opened it in one swoop like ripping off a Band-Aid to reduce the sting.
At first she didn’t recognize what she was looking at. The form resembled something ancient, poorly printed and filled in with blue ballpoint ink. She could even see the indents in the paper from the pressure of the pen. Her eyes caught phrases: “throat slashed,” “multiple wounds.” That’s when she realized she was holding a police report—the original report, not a copy—for the murder of Zachary Kensor. Stapled to the form was a printout with a set of fingerprints. She recognized this document. All federal employees were required to have their fingerprints on file with the Justice Department. Somewhere there was an exact document with a set of hers.
“So they did find some fingerprints at the crime scene?” she asked, her eyes not able to leave the space that identified the owner. If she dared blink, would it be possible this might all be some bad dream? She needed to sit down. She leaned against the desk instead.
“On the inside cover of the room-service menu,” Colin said, but there was no satisfaction in his voice that he had been right. “Everything else was wiped clean, but it’s easy to miss, to forget the inside pages.”
“And there’s no mistake as to who they belong to?” She wasn’t sure why she even asked. Wishful thinking, perhaps. She tried to correct it before he answered. “I’m just asking how solid is the source they’re matching these up to?” She already knew the answer.
“Justice Department records.”
“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” She eased herself around the desk and dropped into her leather chair. She didn’t let up on the viselike grip she had on the folder and its contents. She met his eyes and she could see he was thinking the same thing. That it was as much a curse as it was a blessing. “How long are they willing to sit on this?”
“I can probably get us a day or two.”
The energy summit started in three days.
“Forty-eight hours,” she told him. “All I need is forty-eight hours.”