Chapter 20

Lydia looked to the sky, blinking at the light rain falling. 'Why's the weather always so gloomy at funerals?' She tightened the scarf about her head, 'And why I ever do my hair before one of these things... ' She let the thought trail as she looked over at the parents of Rob and Dave.

She remembered Rob as being the quieter of the two, but the first to give a helping hand. He enjoyed watching his friends pull pranks on each other. Dave was very spirited, often getting into trouble when he opened his mouth. Many of those pranks that Rob enjoyed watching were pulled on Dave. But the young blond good-naturedly accepted the jokes. No one ever saw him without a smile.

Her eyes drifted to where a male nurse, standing beside a wheel chair, held a large umbrella over his patient. Even though Rob had just come through major surgery a few days earlier, he insisted on being at Dave's funeral. He looked pale; the grey day sucking the last drop of color from his face. Even his signature mop of unruly brown hair failed to give life to his emotionally drained features. Walt tried to make him stay in the hospital, but Rob wouldn't hear of it. So he was picked up by helicopter then transferred to the limo for transportation first to the funeral home then to the cemetery with the rest of the family and friends. As soon as the service was over, he would be whisked back to the hospital.

Although the turnout was tremendous, the only sounds came from the occasional raindrop tapping on an umbrella and the mournful droning from the priest. As he wrapped up his prayer, " ... ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." minds that had wandered through private thoughts focused back on him. A lone soloist sang Amazing Grace, while Walt presented the jumpsuit and flight helmet to Dave's parents. With the closing Amen, the procession started, first with the family, then coworkers, followed by old friends. One by one, they placed a rose on his casket bidding the final farewell to a young man snatched away in the prime of life.

Virgil headed straight to the gym after the funeral. Pent up anger and frustration needed venting. Dressed in only a tee and gym shorts, he laid on a bench pressing weights. Sweat streamed down his face as he groaned with each effort. He tried to convince himself that the tears were from the perspiration getting in his eyes.

The more iron he pumped the more his mind worked to solve the mystery. Authorities believed the guy who had been going after them died in the fire. But the more he thought about it, the more his mind bounced back to the face in the hospital. He knew he knew that face.

"VIRGIL! What the fuck are you doing?!"

Startled, he about dropped the weights on his chest losing his momentum and train of thought. Arms quivering, he struggled to place the 300 lb. weights back up on the supports.

Sonny grabbed the barbell and guided it to the brackets. "Are you out of your goddamn mind lifting that kinda weight without a spotter?!"

Virgil sat up. "I was doing just fine 'til you broke my concentration."

"Why didya do such a stupid thing?" But Sonny knew the answer before he finished the question.

"I needed to let off steam. What? Do I gotta come to you now for permission to exercise?"

Sonny sat beside his brother, his tone softening. "Nah. In fact I came here to do the same thing."

Virgil smirked, "Without a spotter?"

A long stretch of silence passed before Virgil spoke again, "I think I'm the reason Dave's dead."

"What? Where did that come from?"

"The face I saw in the hospital? I know it from somewhere. It's a gut feeling that I've tangled with him before."

"Maybe on a rescue?"

"We've done so many. I can't place the face at a specific one."

Sonny's eyebrow lifted. "Do you think he's behind all the attacks? Not just the last one?"

Virgil nodded.

"Impossible. All the other times the evidence pointed to that Silverman fella."

Virgil shook his head. "I can't explain it. And it's gonna drive me nuts until I can place where I saw him before."

"Didya tell the cops?"

"No. What's to tell? I tried to clear my head." He nodded towards the weights. "It'll come to me. I just hope sooner instead of later."

On his layover stop from another Russian trip, Bret's attention was only half on the airport TV screens. He almost missed the blurb about a funeral in Arizona. The New York station had a five second clip before moving on to other national news. Bret sat bolt upright in his seat. "Hey, where's the rest of that story?" Ignoring all the stares from his outburst, he pulled out his cellphone and dialed Cassie. When the called didn't go through, he stared at his phone. "Dammit, battery's dead." He stood up and looked around for a payphone. When his search failed he went to the nearest lounge and grabbed the bartender. "You gotta payphone around here?"

"Yeah..."

Before he could get the information he needed, his flight was announced. Frantic to know about the story, and if Cassie got film, he looked to the departure gate, then back at the bartender, then in frustration, he ran out the door to catch his plane.

A week after the shooting, a meeting was called in the cafeteria, which doubled as a large auditorium. Walt didn't know what the meeting was about, but could bet it had something to do with the attack. Tapping the microphone he got everyone's attention and introduced the Sr. VP, Mr. Fitzpatrick.

Emil Fitzpatrick, with his bright Irish crop of red hair, was easy to spot from the back of the room. He looked over the hushed crowd and they knew it was serious. He talked about the tragedy that befell their brethren and spoke of all the good the people sitting in front of him accomplished. After a half an hour of executive fluff, he came down to the point of the meeting, "The founder of this company has decided to shut down operations for an indeterminate amount of time. He doesn't want anymore of you to die at the hands of a madman. Your salary will continue until a decision has been made regarding the future of GRNI. He will also help any of you find jobs if you're interested in leaving now. I just want..." A howling upsurge from the audience assaulted him. He expected a few complaints, sighs of relief, even a murmuring wave through the crowd in front of him. Instead everyone was up on their feet yelling, "NO!"

The four senior supervisors, Walt, Ginny, Therese and Mick huddled to the side deep in discussion while the VP tried to hush the assembly. Walt broke from the group first and called his boss over. "We know the CEO's shutting us down to protect us and he means well by it. But I think since it's our welfare he's looking after, shouldn't we have a say it this matter?"

Emil took his queue from the crowd. "As you wish. Discuss it among yourselves and report back. But remember the big boss still has the final say."

Walt took the microphone and silence fell over the crowd. "We'll meet in our individual teams and discuss this. Come back here tomorrow and we'll take a vote."

A voice from the back came out loud and clear, "I don't need to sleep on it, I know what I want."

Another voice joined in, "I agree."

The roar increased again, until Walt motioned for quiet. "Does anyone want to wait?"

No one made a sound.

"Then we vote now. All those in favor of remaining open and taking a chance with the sniper, say 'aye'."

The roar of 'ayes' hit a pinnacle pitch. Walt quieted the throng.

"All those in favor of doing as the CEO requests and closing down, say 'aye'."