The Land of the Free (11 page)

Frank landed in Albany and took a
shuttle to a hotel on Wolf Road, across the highway from the airport.  He tried
to be on guard for anybody watching him, but he didn’t notice the middle-aged
woman in the airport lounge photographing all deplaning passengers.  He was
gone by the time she emailed the pictures, so he didn’t see her agitation when
the phone rang and the party at the other end reacted to the pictures she had
sent.  And he could have no idea that later that day, after the plane had
returned to Chicago, two men dressed as TSA Agents spoke with the flight
attendant, showing her photographs of passengers and asking which one might
have been sitting in seat 15-B.

John landed back in Philadelphia on
a warm and sunny early autumn afternoon, planning to go home to change his
clothes and pack a few items to take with him to Albany.  But as he approached
his house, he saw two cars in his driveway, so he stopped short of his house. 
A man wearing a black windbreaker came out and walked to one of the cars.  As
the man turned to get in, John noticed the big yellow letters on the back.  He
then realized the depth of the situation he was in.

Instead of stopping at his home, he
drove to his bank and withdrew two thousand dollars in cash.  He then drove
straight to Albany and made it by 5:00, in time to meet Frank for dinner.  They
chose a familiar chain restaurant where John filled Frank in on his house being
invaded and that he did not think he was followed from Philadelphia.

“Frank, my house has been
targeted.  There were guys wearing FBI jackets digging around in the house.  If
they’ve managed to involve the FBI, then they’ll be after us for the deaths of
those two goons.  It could just be Morningstar pretending to be FBI, but at
this point we can’t be too careful.  No credit card use, no cell phone use, got
it?”

Frank agreed, but asked, “How do
you propose to find Robbie’s papers?  Did he have any family that might know?  Jessica
maybe?”

John instantly remembered that he
had neglected his promise to keep tabs on Jess, distracted by everything that
had been happening.  He almost pulled out his phone to call her, but realized
that the phone’s security may be compromised.  After dinner, he bought five SIM
cards with prepaid balances, confident they couldn’t easily be traced.  He then
called Jess with his existing phone.  “Jess, it’s John.  I need to see you, in
person.”

“John!” she exclaimed.  “I’ve been
trying to reach you.”

John stopped her abruptly.  “I
can’t talk now.  Are you still in Albany?”

“Yes” she replied.

“Good.  Meet me in an hour at the
place we had dinner the evening of your dad’s funeral.”

“You mean –”

Jess was about to announce the name
of the restaurant, but John cut her off.  “Hang up now, Jess.  Just meet me
there.”

John took the SIM card out of his
phone and tossed it in the trash, replacing it with one of the five he had just
bought.  He then gave one to Frank and had him ditch his old SIM card,
replacing it with the new one.

“I don’t follow,” said Frank.

“These cards are the identity
modules of the phone.  Change the SIM card and the phone might as well not be
yours.  I registered them to fake names, so they won’t be able to easily track
us by our phones.”

The restaurant was close, about
three miles to the south, so John and Frank arrived before Jess and sat down to
wait for her.  Within five minutes, they noticed heads turn as a beautiful
young woman entered the restaurant.   “Ooh la la” whispered Frank.

John glared at him like a father
would who took offense when his own daughter was the subject of a rude
comment.  Frank got the message and kept quiet.

Jess walked over and hugged John,
then sat down. 

“John,” started Jess, but she was
interrupted by John’s motion to be silent.  He only whispered “give me your
phone,” which she promptly did.  He replaced her SIM card with one of his, then
handed her a slip of paper and said “here’s your new phone number.  I was
worried about you, Jess.” 

Jess continued. “John, my place was
broken into the other day.  They ransacked it and ripped everything up, but
nothing was stolen.  I don’t get it.”

“It’s the people who had your
father killed, Jess.  They almost got me and my friend Frank Goworski.  Have
you met?”

Jess held out her hand and they
shook.  “Yes, I remember Mr. Goworski.  It’s been a few years.  Nice to see you
again” she said, somewhat subdued.

“Nice to see you again Jessica,”
said Frank. “And I’m terribly sorry about your father.  He was a good friend.”

“You’re not safe, Jess,” said
John.  “The reason they ransacked your place and mine, and the camp for that
matter, is because they’re looking for something.  They’ll be back to look
again at some point.  It might be no longer than one or two pages, but I think
it documents something very incriminating on the people behind this, and if we
can find it, we may be able to expose them.  There’s a chance they’re plotting
something that may involve nuclear weapons.  Did your dad have any secret
storage places, any safety deposit boxes, or anything of the sort?”

“Nothing he ever told me about.”

“That may be why you’re still
alive,” said John.  “They’ve been eliminating people over this.  They might be
able to use your phone as a tracking device, because of the integrated GPS
unit.  They might even know we’re here, so we can’t stay long.  But we need to
find this memo.  How about a lawyer?  Could he have left things with a family
attorney?”

“Lionel Ferguson was the family
attorney in the past.  He did a few real estate deals, and of course the
divorce.  But he’s largely retired now.  His son Lyle Jr. is running the
office.  He’s handling the estate settlement for me.  You don’t think they’ll
come after him, do you?”

Frank interrupted.  “I’d say it’s a
good bet they’ll check him out, but I don’t know how much danger he’s in.”

“Ferguson is in Kingston?” asked
John.

“Yes,” replied Jess.

“Good.  In the morning we go to
Kingston.”

Jess called Ferguson’s law office
to verify that Lyle was in, then packed a bag and waited for John and Frank. 
After checking out of their motel and picking up Jess, they got on the turnpike
south to Kingston, less than an hour’s drive.  Jess led them into Ferguson’s
office.  Lyle was in the reception area, and looked over when they came in.  He
stopped what he was doing to welcome them.  He led them into his office which
had obviously been ransacked.  Sofa cushions had been cut open and piles of
books were on the floor. 
Lyle had been trying to make some
sense out of the mess, attempting to sort through the books
before they could go back on their shelves.

“Come in, come in,” he said.  “
I have to apologize for the state of my office, but I’m
sure you can tell that someone broke in. 
This happened earlier
this week and it’s going to take us a while to recover fully.”

“Who did this Lyle?” asked Jess,
quietly admiring the tall, handsome man she was addressing.

“I don’t know who, but I have an
idea why,” replied Lyle.

“And I have an idea who.  I’m John
Corson, and I was a friend of Robbie Linssman.  I met your father once.”

“I’m Frank Goworski, and I too was
a friend of Robbie.”

“Well, I think I owe you all some
explanation,” said Lyle.  “But not here in this mess.  Let’s go out and get
some lunch.”

As they walked down the street
towards the water, John told Lyle the details of Robbie’s death and his and
Frank’s run-ins with the killers in Chicago.

Jess had been waiting patiently for
John to finish, then asked, “Lyle, did my dad have any recent dealings with you?”

“Officially, no,” he replied.  “But
the break-in was definitely related to your dad.  The only materials missing
were his official files and our computer backup tapes.  But there was no
information in either the files or on the tapes that was newer than the divorce
case.”

“So unofficially, what was the deal
between you and Robbie?” asked Frank, as they came to the Catskill House and
sat at a table off in the corner.

There was a self-conscious silence
until the waitress finished taking their orders and left them again.  “Lyle,
give me your phone,” said John.  Lyle handed over his cell phone and John
turned the power off and handed Lyle his last new SIM card.  “I’m just going to
assume that anybody on their radar has had their phone hacked.  Use this SIM
card if you need to call any of us.  Let’s exchange numbers.”

They all exchanged phone numbers
then John said, “Go ahead, Lyle, what was the deal with Robbie?”

“Well, Mr. Linssman came to see me
a few weeks ago, sure that his life was in danger.  I checked with my dad who
assured me that Mr. Linssman was levelheaded, so I took it seriously.  He’d
discovered some plot and I helped him contact the FBI.”

“Your contact was compromised,
Lyle” said John.  “That contact cost him his life.  Did Robbie give you any
papers that you would
not
have put in his file?”

“Yes,” was the simple answer.  Lyle
was visibly shaken by the thought that his help may have led Robbie to his
death.

“Well, where are they?” asked John.

“I don’t have the papers.  But
neither do the people behind all this, so far as I can tell,” said Lyle.  He
looked confused and near panic.

“Okay, calm down, Lyle.  Nobody’s
blaming you.  You only did what you thought to be the right thing.”

“I think Mr. Linssman feared this
happening,” said Lyle, trying to regain his composure.  “His plan was perfectly
designed to avoid the papers falling into the wrong hands.  Have all your
houses been broken into by now?”

“Yes,” was the emphatic answer from
Jess, while John and Frank nodded.

“He knew it would happen and that
my office would likely be targeted also, so we set up a hiding strategy.  He
gave me an envelope already sealed and addressed from me to an attorney in
Chicago.  In the event that I was contacted to execute his estate, I was to
mail the envelope.  I don’t know what was in it, but it included a couple of
smaller envelopes inside.”

“Did you mail it?” asked Frank.

“Yes, but not right away. 
Fortunately I did it before the place was ransacked.

“My dad died trying to bring these
papers to the right eyes,” said Jess.  “Can you give me the name of the other
attorney, the one in Chicago?”

Lyle frowned and looked
uncomfortable.  “I don’t remember right now.  Bernstein, or Bronstein. 
Something like that.  Debbie, my assistant, will probably know.  I treated the
case under the false name of Claude Pitken.  It’s set up as a divorce case, and
so far as Debbie knows, the attorney at the other end is Mrs. Pitken’s lawyer. 
Debbie told me she’d never corresponded with anyone by that name, so I said I
was doing it as a favor for a distant cousin.  I’m sure she’ll recall the name.

“Debbie, could you bring me the
estate files for Mr. Linssman?” said Lyle as they walked back into the office. 
“Oh and also, the name and contact info of the attorney for Mrs. Pitken?  I’ll
need to follow up on that later.”

In a few minutes Debbie walked into
the office where the four sat and gave Lyle a folder with a sticky note on
top.  Lyle picked up the note and saw the name Samuel L. Braunstein, with a
telephone number.  He picked up his phone and dialed the number.  In a moment
he was connected.

“Sam Braunstein” said the voice.

“Lyle Ferguson here, I’m calling
regarding the Pitken case.”

“We’ve done as the instructions
specified,” replied Braunstein.  “I sent the packages to Mrs. Pitken yesterday. 
At her two addresses, as a matter of fact.”

“Can you tell me the addresses?”
asked Lyle.  “I hate not knowing what’s going on.”

“I’m with you there,” said Sam,
“but the note left strict instructions not to divulge to anybody where the
packages went.  We kept no record of it.”

Lyle thanked Braunstein then he
spoke to the group.  “I think we’re done with matters today.  Let me walk you
to your car.”

“I wanted to step out because I’m
not absolutely sure the office isn’t bugged after the break-in,” said Lyle once
they were outside.  “Jess, your dad never told me exactly what he’d planned,
but now I’m getting the picture.  He knew that people would come looking for
those papers after his death.  If they were in any of your hands,” he paused
then looked at the group of them, looked down, and continued, “they’d have been
found and you would have been killed.  Granted, two of you almost were.  But I
think the key here is that he knew that the search would be the most intense
within about two weeks of his death.  So he hid the papers in time, rather than
a specific place.  The envelope I sent Braunstein had another two envelopes
inside.  I knew that, but it also had instructions to wait a period of time
then mail the inside envelopes to Mrs. Pitken at two addresses I don’t have,
but it’s a good bet it’s to one or two of you.  While the envelopes were hiding
in Chicago, we’ve all been broken-into, searched, and found not to have
anything of value.  But that time having passed, we’ll get the information back
now that it’s safer.  We’ll all have to check any P.O. boxes we have for
letters to Mrs. Pitken.”

“Thank you Lyle, you’ve been a
Godsend,” said Jess.  Lyle blushed slightly, not knowing what to say.

“I don’t have a P.O. box,” said
John.

“I do, but it’s affiliated with
Tilbury, in Chicago,” said Frank.  “I hope Robbie was smarter than to send it
there.”

“Jess?”

“I have one in Albany.”

“Then you’re the obvious choice,”
said John, “assuming Robbie knew you had it.”

“Absolutely.  He’s the one who set
it up for me.  He thought student housing is no place to be sending checks and
things.  I kept it after graduating.”

The three were about to get back in
the car for the drive to Albany when Lyle said, “I’m coming too, if you don’t
have any objections.  When Robbie came to me looking for help, I realized he
was up against something he couldn’t beat on his own, something I know a little
about.  I was never going to bill Robbie for this matter.  I feel invested in
this too.  Besides, look at what they did to my office.”

Jess glanced at Lyle and saw him
quickly avert his gaze so he wouldn’t be caught looking at her.  She smiled
warmly in his direction and was pretty sure he noticed.

…

They drove to Albany in two cars,
with Lyle and Jess in one, John and Frank in the other.  “It was Robbie who
involved all of us in this,” said Frank.  “If Jess has the missing memo, then I
think I can say it was his unspoken will that we work together and do the right
thing here.”

“I’m starting to fear that’s true,”
said John.

In an hour they were at the post
office, and Jess popped in, coming out in less than a minute with a small
bundle of mail in one hand.  Her expression suggested disappointment.

“It could still be in the mail,”
said Lyle.  “It hasn’t been that long.  You’ll all need a safe place to stay
while we wait.  My house should be safer than any of yours, let’s go there.”