Chapter 17

Sitting alone in the living room of the apartment, Brendan couldn't stop himself from looking at his watch every few minutes. Jacinta and Hugo had gone to work and he had the television to keep him occupied for the moment. The sounds of the weekday morning buses rumbling and kids making their way to school could be heard through the closed window.

The president of the United States was visiting Newark that day to belie the claim that the urban centers of the country were spinning out of control. The television showed the president meeting the secretary of Homeland Security and a host of state and local dignitaries. They were all standing in front of the partially rebuilt Federal Detention Center with great fanfare and thick security. The cameras were not panning the assembled crowd, which made Brendan wonder if there were any people there besides the media.

The president was waving. He had a broad smile under his shock of grey hair. His secretary of Homeland Security, a rotund man with glasses, stood a step back from his left elbow with a benign smile that seemed to say "all is well." The other people behind the president were not smiling much at all. The governor had a sickly half grin pasted on his face as if he had gastric distress. The rest of his entourage was decidedly neutral.

The early spring day had everyone in trench coats or jackets, but all of them were unzipped and open. Blue suits with white shirts and red ties were the preferred uniforms for the men while the women wore business suits in the same blue color with splashes of red, such as scarves, giving a burst of accent. The entire media event looked completely scripted down to the matching clothes on the dignitaries.

Watching with distaste, Brendan was all the more sure of his decision. His weeks of baiting the feds with his whereabouts and feeding their fears with his supposed potential to do violence were about to come to a head. His task had been to draw as many federal operatives to him as possible. Little did they realize that he wasn't the plan; he was the plan within the plan.

Later that day, the president and his secretary would make their way north to the staid township of Allendale for a political fundraiser at the Archer New Baptist Church. Known mostly for its hosting of quarterly professional bridge tournaments in its cavernous Fellowship Hall, the church was apparently a safe bastion of presidential political support.

Allendale was a leafy, middle class suburb of single homes, far removed from the cramped environs of Secaucus. As such, it was infinitely more accessible and vulnerable. After a morning in Newark, the president and his security would be relieved to be in safer, friendlier territory.

His watch finally read 11:00. Brendan stood and grabbed his light jacket. Surveying the room one last time, he softly said, "Viva la Revolution" and closed the front door firmly behind him. Downstairs he waited for a few minutes for Paulie to drive up in an unfamiliar car. Brendan slid into the passenger seat.

"Nice car."

"It's a piece of shit and a cesspool when it comes to repairs," Paul said. "This is an American car that makes me embarrassed to be American, even if I making a living from fixing them. I've got to run it for 24 hours to see if the check engine light comes on again."

"Drive on, McGuff," Brendan said.

"You sure you want to do this?" Paul said. "You can still back out."

"The only way to go is forward, Paul. They've made life hell for you and for the rest of family. Today, it ends. They will leave you alone when I surrender," Brendan said.

"Danny, there has got to be another way," Paul said without conviction.

"Nope. Take Route 3 west to 17 north. We're going to Allendale," Brendan said.

"We can't exit at Allendale, Danny," Paul said. "The president is there today and they've closed down that part of the route."

"Get off at Ho-Ho-Kus and cut through the back streets. We're going to the center of town and the president is going to be somewhere east of there, closer to the highway," Brendan said.

"Why Allendale and why today?" Paul asked.

"If I'm going to surrender, I'm going to do it in a very public place where I can't just be made to disappear. There will be witnesses and street cams watching."

They drove on in silence. Brendan had so much he wanted to say but he was sworn to secrecy. If questioned, Paul would know nothing. The sex with Jacinta at dawn had been an act of quiet desperation. He still felt the pressing of her fingertips on his shoulder blades as they slowly fucked. They both knew that this could be their last act of love together but neither would speak of it. He had never thought that sex could be sad.

The car turned onto the sharp exit ramp and entered a long line of detoured traffic.

"Why couldn't the dickhead stay in Washington and leave us alone?" Paul said, complaining for no particular reason.

Despite the traffic, the two brothers reached Allendale many hours before Brendan was supposed to give himself up to a task force comprised of the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security. The government agencies had been more cooperative than he had expected as he negotiated his surrender, even though he forced the terms. He directed Paul into a back alley behind the shops on the main drag by the Jersey Transit railroad station.

"I guess I'm not Brendan anymore," he said. "I'm just Danny from Secaucus. I always was no matter what I believed."

"Brendan was an asshole," Paul said.

"I'm so scared, Paulie," Danny said. "What the hell am I doing?"

"You can always back out," Paul said with conviction this time.

"No, Paul, I can't. I'd be no better than Eddie in the end, hiding from everything. I'm going forward. I love you," Danny said, and he leaned over to give his brother a hug. "I'll call you as soon as I'm able."

Danny got out of the car and waved to Paul as he drove off. When Paul had disappeared around the corner, Danny walked up to one of the delivery doors and knocked. He was admitted without questions.

The Gaslight Café was a typical urban restaurant with small tables that were too close together. The décor was dark and altogether fake. Even the fern in the vase next to the cash register up front was plastic.

Sitting at a table across from the window, Danny could look out over West Allendale Avenue and watch the people go past without them seeing him. He nibbled on a Danish and sipped coffee. After the lunch crowd departed, the waitress left him alone to his solitary thoughts.

He had already identified one car of field agents who had claimed a parking spot on the street. He wondered if they thought they were incognito as they sat in their vehicle, passing a bag of snacks and drinking from Styrofoam coffee cups. Seeing those three, Danny assumed there were more agents further down the street in the opposite direction, beyond his view.

It was 15:00 when Danny brushed the crumbs off of his face and clothes for the tenth time. The phone call should come at any moment. Ten minutes later his cell phone rang.

"Hello?" Danny said.

"Ah, wrong number. Please to forgive," the male voice said and he hung up. Having gotten the code, Danny stood up and took his check to the register. He handed the woman a ten-dollar bill and his cell phone. The bill went in the cash drawer of the register and the phone went into the coat pocket of her pants suit. Neither said a word.

Straightening his shoulders and feeling like a Knight Templar of old, Danny stepped out of the restaurant and walked to the corner where he had informed Homeland Security he would surrender himself. The sidewalk was relatively empty because it was still mid-afternoon. The drivers, idling by in their cars, barely gave him a glance. He leaned against the back of a newspaper bin with his arms crossed. He watched agents in two cars on the avenue get out and walk towards him. Above him along the roof lines, he saw a couple of sharpshooters. Looking behind him, he saw another three agents coming up from the side street. Nine agents were on the street with another group probably stashed in a command center van somewhere near. He was impressed.