Furious Jones and the Assassin’s Secret (25 page)

“What kind of unique talent?” Emma asked.

“He made all the deaths look like accidents. Creative, bizarre accidents.”

“Oh, dear god.” The sheriff suddenly realized what had been going on in his town.

“The CIA sent my mom here after Anton was unable to stop the Salvatores.”

“Right,” Daniels agreed, “but Anton killed your mom.”

“Yes.”

“I met that CIA guy that you beat up after your mom was
killed,” the sheriff said. “He seemed like a good enough guy.”

“You beat up a CIA agent?” Emma asked.

“Kind of,” I said. “His name is Director Douglas and he is, or was, the head of organized crime for the CIA.”

“And you beat him up?” Emma asked again.

“Yes,” I said. “Until tonight, I didn't know who to trust.”

“So, tell me again,” Daniels said. “How do you know all of this?”

“My dad,” I said. “My dad is Robert Jones the author. My mom reached out to him for help before she died. He came to Galena to figure out who killed her. He was looking for justice. Or revenge. He put the truth about my mom's murder in his new book.” I didn't mention the fact that all his previous books had also been about my mom's experiences. There was no need to tarnish his reputation now.

“I knew your dad,” Daniels said. “I met him several times. He said he was here researching a book.”

“He was,” I said.

I
spent more than two
hours having my hand stitched up. I needed thirty-two stitches in all. Then a nurse escorted me to a waiting room on the second floor. Sheriff Daniels and Emma were sitting in overstuffed chairs by a window. Emma saw me and stood up.

“How bad was it?”

“Not bad,” I lied.

“Twenty stitches?” Daniels guessed.

“Thirty-two,” I said.

“Yeah, that was a nasty cut,” Daniels said.

“Thirty-two stitches! My god, Furious!” Emma said.

“I'm fine. Any word on the others?”

“Yeah, the doctors were just out here a little bit ago,”
Emma said. “Trish is doing fine. Just a bunch of stitches too. But Mike has some damage to his foot. They're operating now.”

“Trish had fewer stitches than you, Furious,” Daniels said. “You should try getting shot next time.”

“No, thanks. How about Trish's mom?”

Emma sighed. “No word yet. They said it looks like she's in a drug-induced coma, but there are no signs of drugs in her system.”

“I guess that's why Anton was one of the best,” I said. “Any word on Douglas?”

Emma perked up. “Yes. It sounds like he's doing fine. I mean, fine for having been shot several times. Apparently he was wearing a bulletproof vest.”

“Yeah,” Daniels interjected. “Believe me, being shot up close like that is still no picnic. He'll probably have some broken ribs, and depending on the ammo, the bullet may have still gone through the vest.”

“But he'll be okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, he'll be okay,” Emma repeated. “They're actually moving him into a room now. They said he could have visitors soon.”

I sat down and we made small talk while I flipped through several magazines. A nurse came in twenty minutes later and said it was okay to go see Douglas. Sheriff Daniels stood up.

“I'd like to see him too,” I said.

“Sure. I don't have any problem with that.” He looked at Emma. “You can come on in too, darling.”

The nurse led us down the hall to Douglas's room. They had removed the bandages from his face and replaced them with smaller ones. Most of his face was black and blue. It must have taken a lot of restraint for him not to shoot me in that front yard.

“Hey there,” Daniels said as we walked in. “Thank god for Kevlar, eh, Douglas?”

“Zylon,” Douglas said. “The vests are made of Zylon these days, Daniels. If it was Kevlar, I'd be dead.”

“So I should throw out my old Kevlar vest?”

Douglas just shrugged.

“I called your superior,” Daniels said. “What's his name, Hannahan?”

“Callahan,” Douglas replied.

“Yeah, Callahan. He's sending someone out first thing in the morning.”

“Did you tell him I was all right?”

“I said I thought you'd be all right.”

“What about Como?” Douglas asked.

“Dead.”

Douglas turned toward me. “How did you stop Como? Did you break his nose too?”

“No. I'm sorry about that.” I motioned to his nose. “I wasn't sure what was going on. Didn't know who to trust.”

“That makes two of us, kid.”

“The girl, Trish—she knifed the attorney general,” Daniels said.

Douglas murmured something.

“Are you up for giving a statement now?” Daniels asked.

“Can we do it tomorrow? Been kind of a long day.”

“No sweat.” Daniels stood up and looked at Emma and me. “Well, I guess I'll give you two a ride back to Galena.”

“I'd like a minute with the kid,” Douglas said, motioning to me.

“Okay. I'll be in the waiting room.” Daniels walked out, but Emma and I didn't move.

“Who's your friend?” Douglas asked.

“A journalism friend of mine from Chicago. She came to help me,” I said. “To tell the story of my dad's book and everything.”

“Is that okay?” Emma asked.

“You're kind of young to be a reporter,” Douglas said, wincing in pain.

“I'm a student journalist,” Emma said, “but I'm good.”

“Just do me a favor and leave Furious out of the story,” Douglas said.

“Why?” I asked.

“ 'Cause the world thinks you're dead,” Douglas said, “and that's probably for the best.”

“But what about me? How does a dead guy live?”

Douglas didn't answer. He just stared at me.

“Witness protection?” I asked. “In my experience, witness protection doesn't offer so much protection.”

Douglas looked at Emma and said, “Will you please excuse us? I need to talk to Furious alone.”

Emma looked at me, and I nodded that it was okay.

Emma left the room and Douglas said, “I was very fond of your mother, Furious. She was a wonderful woman and a wonderful agent.”

I said nothing.

Douglas continued, “And you remind me a lot of her. A lot. Except you were able to do something that neither your mom nor your dad could do.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“You stopped Anton.”

“Actually, Como stopped Anton,” I said.

“But you put the pieces together and came to Galena to get justice,” Douglas said. “Against all odds.”

“I had nothing left to lose. My entire family is gone.”

Douglas quietly nodded his head.

“I know I'm a stranger to you, Furious. But I've known you your entire life. I cared about your mom, and I care about you.”

I wasn't sure what to say to that. Here was a complete stranger who was saying he cared. “Thank you,” I said.

“Join us, Furious.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “I'm only twelve.”

“That doesn't matter. Join us and I'll train you. I'll take care of you. Believe it or not, we sometimes recruit agents as young as you. They all do it. The Russians. The Brits. There are special projects that require certain attributes and skills.”

“Are you serious?” I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Me, a spy for the CIA? “I have no skills.”

“You have more skills than you realize, and I can teach you the rest. I'm forming a new team, and you would be perfect on it.”

“Who else is on this team?” I asked, but Douglas just stared at me. “Ah, top secret, right?”

Douglas gave a little nod and winced in pain again.

“Will you be going after the Salvatores? The people that destroyed my family?”

“Yes,” Douglas said. “And I hope to get them. But we could use your help.”

A nurse walked in and asked Douglas how he felt.

“Like I went through a meat grinder,” he said.

“Don't say ‘meat grinder.' ” I laughed.

“Look, kid, I'm going to get a little rest. Let's continue this conversation in a little bit.”

E
mma got a ride from
Sheriff Daniels and headed back to Chicago to write the story, and I fell asleep in the waiting room and slept until almost eight o'clock. There were several families in the room when I woke up.

I walked out into the hall and asked a nurse if I could see Mike and Trish.

“I think that would be okay. But let me check.” She disappeared into a room down the hall and reappeared several minutes later. “Sure, sweetie. Go on in.”

I pushed the door open. Trish's mom was in the bed. The room was dark. I waved to Trish who was sitting in a chair next to her mom. Mike was on a small couch with his foot elevated in a cast.

“Hey, man,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I'm fine. How about you?” I motioned to his foot.

“I'm fine, considering I was shot and all.”

“And your mom?”

“They still don't know,” Trish said, “but she's stable now.”

I nodded.

“Look at your hair,” Trish said. “Have you been here all night?”

I ran my good hand through my snarled mess. I needed a haircut. “Yeah. I've been waiting to see how you guys are doing.”

“I think she's going to be okay.” Trish quickly added, “She's tough.”

“Like someone else I know,” I said.

No one spoke for several minutes. I sat and listened to the beeps and hums of hospital equipment.

I finally said, “I'm heading out.”

“Okay. Are you going to stop back later?” Mike asked.

“No. I mean—I'm leaving.”

Mike said, “Okay, dude. I'd get up and all, but you know.” He pointed to his foot.

“Yeah, I know—you're lazy.” I smiled, walked over, and shook his hand.

“You'll be in touch, right?” Mike asked.

“You bet,” I said. And who knew? Maybe I would be.

Trish stood up and I walked to her.

“Thank you,” I said. “You saved my life.”

“I think it's the other way around, Amos.”

I gave her a long hug and walked out without looking back.

I
walked outside and sat
on a hospital bench. I had nothing. No family. No home. Nothing but an offer from Douglas. And it was tempting. The Salvatores had destroyed my life and countless others. And the guy who'd killed my grandpa right before my eyes was still out there. If I went with Douglas, maybe I'd have a chance to avenge his death. But maybe it was all BS. A twelve-year-old in the CIA? It seemed crazy. And where would I live? In some sort of government foster care? No, thanks.

I pulled out my wallet. I had two bucks. If I
was
going to leave, I'd have to leave now. Before more CIA showed up. But I'd need money to get away. I searched my phone for a bank. My bank had a Dubuque branch. And it was only a few
blocks from the hospital. I guessed that everything was only a few blocks in Dubuque.

I started walking. Maybe they could give me a replacement card. I had, like, $400 in my account. Maybe it would be enough to get out of the Midwest.

I found the branch on the corner of Main and Third. The manager assured me that cards went missing all the time and he would have me up and running in no time. I showed him my ID and he excused himself and returned a minute later with a new card.

“Okay, just go ahead and swipe the card through the machine and enter your PIN.”

I slid the new card through the machine on his desk and entered my code.

“Perfect, Mr. Jones.” He turned the monitor toward him and began typing. “And which accounts would you like associated with the card?”

“I only have one account,” I said. “It's got, like, four hundred bucks in it.”

“Yes, your primary checking.” He clicked some more keys. “It looks like there are several new accounts listing you as a joint tenant.”

“Joint tenant?” I repeated.

“Yes, accounts you share with Robert Jones?”

“My dad? Go ahead and associate all the accounts,”
I said. My dad must have added me to his accounts before he died. Maybe he knew the Salvatore family would never let him and
Double Crossed
get away with exposing their operation.

“Will do,” the banker said, clicking a few more keys. “There you go, Mr. Jones. It is ready to use any time. Is there anything else I can assist you with today?”

“Is there any way you could raise my daily withdrawal limit to, say, three thousand dollars?” I figured there had to be at least three thousand among all the accounts.

“Sure, no problem. Anything else?”

I stood up. “Yes, does Dubuque have an airport?”

“Oh, yes. You can get most anywhere in the country from Dubuque via Chicago O'Hare.”

“How far away is it?” I asked.

“Oh, just drive right down Highway 61. You can't miss it. It's probably a twenty-minute drive.”

Great
, I thought.
That's, like, a two-hour walk.

“Thanks,” I said.

I stopped at the bank's lobby ATM on my way out. I stuck my card in, entered my code, and punched the balance button. I was presented with three account numbers. I touched the first account and saw a balance of $386. My primary checking. I selected the next account, and the machine said I had more than seventy thousand dollars in that account.
I selected the final account. Wow! This must have been from my dad's estate. Or maybe it was his entire estate. It said I had a lifetime of money.

I took out three thousand dollars and walked back to the manager's desk.