Chapter 23: A Dark turn

This was not good.

Standing in my kitchen staring down at the Queen of Spades was so not how I pictured this day unfolding. There was no doubt in my mind who had sent it; the question was, "Why?" Staring at the three items, I found myself being drawn back to the newspaper and realized that the date had been circled: Viernes Octubre 13.

One of the earliest lessons you get in any foreign language class was the days of the week and months in the year. Friday, October 13.

"Holy shit!" Jamie exclaimed. "Oh my God, Jimmy, we have to get this translated."

"No we don't," I said. "I'm sure it will help, but it's pretty obvious what she's trying to say."

"You need to call Rod, or Rebecca ... you need..."

"What I need," I interrupted, "is for you to calm down for a second and help me look at this – all of it – and try and make some sense out of it."

I checked the clock; eight-thirty – four thirty in Hawaii – Allison would still be in bed. I locked the door and laid down on the couch. Moments later I found Allison sitting in Lizzy's bean-bag chair in the cabana, reading a textbook.

"Hey handsome," she said, setting the book aside and standing up. "What's up?"

"I'm not sure," I said, "hang on a second." I turned away and called, "Mom?"

She popped in a few feet away, wearing an apron and holding a large spoon.

"Already planning Thanksgiving dinner?" I asked, smiling.

"Jimmy! Hi! What brings you... ? Oh, what am I saying? Yes, I've been thinking about how different it's going to be with just the three of us for dinner this year. It's just going to be so strange without the Davises, and you ... I was talking to your father the other day about maybe just going out somewhere. So what's up? Is everything alright?"

"Something's come up that I need to talk to Allison about. I don't know how long it will take, but in case she's not back in time for school, I didn't want you to worry. If she's not up in time, could you call her out sick?"

"Of course, dear. Should I be worried?"

It was an honest question and spoke clearly that we had moved to a new level – beyond simply being mother and son – and part of the new relationship was that we trusted each other to not only tell the truth, but to accept the truth.

"Not yet," I said. "That's why I need to borrow Allison, to try and figure it out. Depending on what we discover, she may or may not be able to tell you about it later. If she doesn't, then it's not something you need to be worried about, okay?"

"I understand," she said. "If she doesn't tell me, then I won't ask."

I stepped in to hug her and kiss her cheek. "Thanks mom; I hate to kiss and run, but..."

"I understand," she said with a smile. "I'll see you when you have time, and I'll tell your father you said hello and not to bang on Allison's door if she's not up in time for school."

Banging on the door wouldn't do any good anyway. I wasn't the least bit worried that they might wake her up before we were through. Much more important was that they not open the door, which I knew they wouldn't do as long as they knew she was alright. Opening the door and finding her missing would have caused all kinds of problems.

All of this had alerted Allison that this was no social call as well.

"Jimmy, what's going on?" she asked.

"I need you. You may want to get dressed."

Her eyes got wide. "You're taking me to Vegas?"

"Yes."

"Shit! Jimmy, what's wrong?"

Before I could answer, Jamie stepped out and said, "We can show her here and then decide."

"Show me what?" Allison asked.

"This for starters," Jamie said, handing her the card with the post-it note covering the face.

Allison took a second to read the message and then lifted the note to see what was underneath. As soon as she saw the face of the card she dropped it like it was on fire, and her eyes flashed to mine.

"Omigod! Is that real?" she demanded. "Where did it come from?"

"It was in an overnight letter – Doreen found it on the front porch this morning when she went out after the paper – along with this..." Jamie handed her the newspaper.

"What about it?" Allison asked, after looking at it for a few seconds. "I can't read Spanish."

"Look at the date," I said.

"Jimmy, I just said I can't read ... Oh ... my ... God! Does that say October 13^th?"

"Yeah," I said, "Viernes, is Spanish for Friday; Octubre is pretty obvious."

"So what she's trying to say is that..."

"Is that it wasn't her that kidnapped you guys and killed those agents," I said, finishing for her.

"Shit!" she said, dropping the paper and starting to pace. The paper disappeared before it hit the floor, the card was gone as well. "Double shit! Jimmy, if it wasn't her ... shit! This is bad." She stopped and took a couple of quick, deep breaths, then started pacing again. "Okay. Let's look at what we have so far. This doesn't mean that it wasn't her; only that she's trying to say it wasn't – and I'm sorry, but at this point I'm not giving her the benefit of the doubt. And even it if wasn't her this time, we already know it was her that was after you before, so no, not cutting her any slack."

"And if it really wasn't her?" I asked.

She stopped and looked me in the eye. "Then we are in deep, deep, shit. Is there any way to confirm any of this?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," I said. "There was also... ," I held up the bag with the thumb drive in it, " ... this."

"What's on it?"

"I don't know; I haven't looked yet; I wanted to catch you before you woke up."

"Why the bag?" she asked.

"They were all bagged separately," Jamie said. "Don't worry, we haven't touched anything. He put gloves on as soon as we realized what was in the envelope. We didn't even touch the card with the gloves; it was folded inside a piece of copy paper, and we lifted the post-it with a kitchen knife."

"Shit! That means she left fingerprints for verification," Allison said, shaking her head. "Damn it! Jimmy, someone knows. Who they are and how much they know we can't be sure, but someone knows way more than they should. They know who you really are and that you're connected to us, and that alone is ... shit!"

She stopped pacing again and said, "Okay, I'm going back to bed. Give me a couple minutes to get dressed and come get me. While you're waiting, call mom back and tell her I'm not going to school."

Ten minutes later Allison was coming back out of my bathroom. Since she had been 'asleep' at home, she hadn't had a chance to go when she got up. I started to hand her a pair of gloves, but she waved me off.

"No, I don't want to touch anything, even with gloves. If something needs to be handled, you can do it. Jamie, I think this will be easier if you come to me, Jimmy can still talk to you and hear you that way, but I can't if you're in him. We'll be fine just as long as everybody remembers where you are and doesn't do anything stupid. Okay, I think the first thing we need to do is verify what that paper says. Do you have any idea where it's from?"

"Well, it's the Santiago Times," I said, "So, my first guess would be Chile."

"Okay, let's start there," she said. "It's a South American capital, so if something was big enough to make the front page, chances are other papers ran the same story – hopefully with the same picture. Let's see if we can find an English version somewhere. How are you feeling?"

"What do you mean?"

"Jimmy, you just moved me three thousand miles; the last time you did that you woke up in a hospital; how do you feel?"

"I'm okay. I mean, it's hard to tell without Lizzy here to look, but I feel okay. I think what happened before had a lot to do with everything we had been doing before that, and ... other things."

"What other things?" she asked.

"Like the fact that when we woke up in the hospital, he looked like Mark," Jamie said.

"You what?" Allison demanded.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was going to tell you, but, you know, there was a lot going on, and I guess it just slipped my mind."

"It slipped your mind that you changed your physical appearance?" she demanded.

"That's not the half of it," Jamie said. "Changing back almost put him back in the hospital."

"Damn it, Jimmy! Did it ever occur to you that maybe..."

"Allison Ann!" I said in a warning tone. The only person to ever call her that was our mom – usually when she was mad or they were arguing about something – and it had the effect I was hoping for: Her mouth fell open, and her head jerked back like I'd just slapped her. "I know you're upset over all of this, but taking it out on me isn't going to help. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but like I said, it was a busy time."

"And there was nothing stopping you from telling her," I growled at Jamie, "so knock it off!"

Even though she was inside Allison, I could feel Jamie's reaction. She was just as shocked by my reaction as Allison had been.

By now my laptop was up and running, so rather than waiting for a reply, I said a quick prayer of thanks for Rebecca's friend Dillon who had put the thing together for me, and opened up a browser window. It seems the Santiago Times puts out both Spanish and English versions of their paper, so it took no time at all to find the story: A high-ranking government official, suspected to have ties to organized crime, had been assassinated on Friday, the 13^th of October, and all of the evidence pointed to it being a very professional hit.

"Jimmy, I'm sorry," Jamie said, "for both of us. I don't know if she was picking up on my bad mood, or I was picking up hers, but either way, I was out of line, and I'm sorry. It's pretty clear that Henslith is trying to say it wasn't her that went after them, but this doesn't prove that it was her that did this hit. Only that someone did, and that it took place on the same day."

"Right," Allison said, "and we can't just assume this is real either. You can have just about anything printed up in a 'newspaper' if you go to the right novelty shop. Something this elaborate would be pricey, but I don't think she worries about money too much. You know, you really should check that other account Rene mentioned. I can't argue with the website though; I think it's a little extreme to suggest that she may have gone that far to back the story. So whether it was her or not, this... ," she pointed at the bag with the paper in it, " ... is real. Which now begs the question of how – if it wasn't her behind what happened at the safe house – she found out about it. And I'm sorry, too. Jamie's right; we were both way out of line."

"I forgive you both; I'll kiss you later when it's safe. I keep telling myself I need to check that account, but ... So what now? Do we check the flash drive?"

"Do you have a pair of long-nosed pliers or something that we can use to handle it without having to worry about messing up any prints that might be on it?"

"How about if we just take the prints off of it first?" Jamie suggested.

"How?" Allison asked. Then she turned to me, "Was there a fingerprint kit in with the stuff you got from the Princesses?"

"No, I don't think so," I answered. Just thinking of Agents Snow White and Sleeping Beauty did a lot to lighten the mood. It didn't last, but it was nice while it did.

"Okay, then we do the CSI thing: put the card and the thumb drive in big bag with an open tube of superglue and wait for it stick to the prints."

"Does that really work?" Allison asked.

"Beats me," I said, "we could call Rebecca and ask."

"No, she'll want to know what we need it for, and she will freak if you mention Henslith."

"We're going to have to call someone sooner or later," Jamie said. "It's not like we can access a fingerprint database on our own."

"She's got a point," I said.

There was silence for a moment and then Allison said, "The prints are hers, otherwise she wouldn't have bothered to bag everything and protect them. By now she's figured out that you're a lot smarter than she originally gave you credit for. She may even be assuming that you'll have figured that out ... So why go to all the trouble?"

"She wants us to be sure," I said, making the next logical conclusion in her train of thought. "She's obviously trying to gain our trust, but she has to know that we won't believe her. The question still comes back to 'why'?"

"We need to see what's on that flash drive," Allison said. "My guess is it's more information to try and convince us."

"Or it could be a trick," Jamie pointed out. "Remember Mission Impossible? The bad guys booted up the stolen disk, and it led the cops right to them? She could be setting us up."

"Hmm," Allison said. "Jimmy, go to the UPS website and check the shipping status on that envelope."

"Ohh-kay," I said. "Why? Are you trying to see where it was shipped from?"

"Something like that," she said.

I tried twice just to make sure I had the number in right, but the site had no record of any such package.

"Damn," Allison said. "I was afraid of that. She either dropped it off in person, or she had someone else do it. I'll bet you anything she did it herself."

"Then it couldn't be a setup," Jamie said. "She knows where we are; there would be no point to putting tracking software on the drive."

"Ooh!" I said. "Okay, time out. We've overlooked a serious possibility here."

"What?" Allison asked.

"We're assuming that that actually is a thumb drive and not something else made to look like one."

"What? You mean like a bomb? Jimmy, you couldn't pack enough C-4 into that little thing to blow out a birthday candle."

"Well, I don't know about that," Allison said, "but, hello? 'World's Greatest Assassin', if she wanted you dead, you'd be dead already. There has to be something else going on here. So, with that in mind, the only decision we really need to make is: do we have someone verify the prints before or after we look at what's on the chip? I vote we do the chip first because there might be something on there that will affect our decision on getting anyone else involved. All in favor?"

"We can do this without messing up any prints that might be on the drive," I said.

This particular drive had been designed with a sort of flattened loop on the end so you could hang it around your neck on a lanyard. Moving to the desk I cut a thin strip of paper – about three-eighths of an inch wide. I carefully threaded the strip of paper through the loop and then – pinching the strip of paper tightly around the loop – used it as a sort of handle to pick up the chip and insert it into one of the USB slots on my computer. The computer popped up the usual warning about executing unknown programs. I clicked to authorize the program access to the necessary resources, and a new window opened revealing a single icon titled "Hello James". I didn't recognize the icon, so I had no idea what program it was for.

"Great," Jamie said. "Guess that pretty much settles that question."

There was really no need to comment, so I just to opened the file. It took a few seconds to load, and then it opened a program I'd never used before, something called 'Keynote'. Apparently it was the Mac version of Microsoft's Powerpoint software. The first page was a simple document.