Duty and Honor

6

For the second morning in a row, Jack awoke before dawn.

He’d slept in fits and starts, glancing at the clock and getting up to stare out the window before lying back down and trying again. He was restless and there was no outlet for it. No action to take. Somebody was hunting him. The first time his survival had depended on mistaken identity; the second, the luck of the roll. Tumbling down that slope with Weber, it could have just as easily been Jack’s head that had smacked into the concrete barrier. Weber would’ve had no trouble finishing him off.

Pure chaos and chance.

Short of waiting for them to try again, Jack had one card left to play, and it was at best a long shot. Assuming the mystery man was Weber’s accomplice, the man would have three options: Leave the area, make another try for Jack, or tidy up and then go to ground. Jack was counting on option three.

They knew he’d survived. They would assume he now knew about both attempts on his life. They would assume Jack had reported this to the Secret Service. They would assume the full investigative might of the federal government was being mustered. With Weber gone and an untraceable John Doe in the morgue, there was only one fragile investigative thread left to pluck: Weber’s belongings at the motel. If anyone was coming to collect these, it would be Weber’s accomplice.

After stocking up on food and water and a few paperback mysteries from his wanna-read shelf, Jack drove back to Springfield and used another item from his rucksack — a fake driver’s license — to check into the Motel 6. Citing a “very special anniversary” with his soon-to-arrive girlfriend, Jack asked for room 144. The vaguely goth, nerdy teenage girl behind the reception desk gave him a sotto voce “Whatever, dude… have fun” and handed him the key card.

Jack drove back to the side exit, parked, and went inside. At the door to room 142 he paused to listen. The PRIVACY PLEASE placard was still in place. Hearing nothing, he swiped the key card and went inside and made a quick inspection. The room was unchanged.

He left and entered the room next door and settled in.

Jack’s gambit depended largely on the accomplice. Why he’d failed to intervene on Weber’s behalf was a mystery. Had he gotten spooked? It was possible. If so, how likely was it that kind of man would show up to collect Weber’s belongings? Maybe, if the decision wasn’t his to make. Jack had found nothing of use in the room; perhaps there was nothing of use to find. Did the accomplice or whoever was pulling his strings know this?

The morning passed slowly. Jack, afraid he’d miss hearing the double beep of Weber’s door lock, had assembled a reading nook of bed pillows on the hallway floor. The maids and their squeaky-wheeled carts slowly but steadily made their rounds, tapping on doors and softly calling “Housekeeping” before either stopping to clean or moving on to the next room. Out of boredom, Jack timed them. They averaged twelve minutes per room. Was this good, bad, or average? he wondered. Finally one of the maids reached his door.

“Housekeeping… Do you need anything? Clean towels or soap?”

Jack didn’t answer. His PRIVACY PLEASE placard was in place. Did management make them ask anyway, just to cover their bases? Maybe the maids got a secret thrill from interrupting the occasional carnal union. The job was probably boring; you took fun where you found it.

After five seconds the maid and her cart continued down the hallway.

By midafternoon he’d finished one novel and started a second. He alternately dozed, snacked on trail mix, and drank bottled water. There was a better-than-average chance he was wasting his time here. But he had nothing else, no other lead. Perhaps it was time to call Gerry, maybe Clark. Bringing his dad — and thereby the FBI and the Secret Service — into the loop would create more problems than it would solve, especially for The Campus.

Sunset came and then faded into night.

Shortly after nine, Jack’s eyes fluttered open. He reached for the Glock beside his leg. He’d heard a double beep. Or had he? From where? He rolled to one side and pressed his ear to the wall in time to hear the door to room 142 click shut.

I’ll be damned.

For a full minute there was only silence — then a voice, male and heavily muffled through the wall. Jack couldn’t make out any words. He crawled into the bathroom, grabbed a glass off the sink, then crawled back. Did this work anywhere outside of the movies? he wondered. He felt idiotic. He pressed the rim against the wall, then his ear to the bottom. The sound was no better. He moved the glass a few inches left, tried again. The voice, though still faint, was clearer.

“… don’t know. Nothing that I can see.” The man sounded agitated, hesitant. “Uh, clothes… toiletries, a suitcase… Yes, okay. I will.”

Something banged against the wall beside Jack’s head. He jerked away, then thought, Closet. It was on the other side of the wall. Collecting Weber’s suitcase? he wondered.

Jack stood up, put on his jacket, grabbed his duffel, then holstered the Glock and slipped out of the room. Which way? Whoever was inside Weber’s room had come in either through the lobby or through the same side entrance Jack had used. Jack flipped a mental coin and chose the latter. Once outside, he headed for his car, scanning the parking spots as he went. In the fifth stall was a white late-model Nissan Altima. As he passed the trunk he ducked into a crouch. He took out his cell phone, snapped a picture of the license plate, then stood up and walked the remaining distance to his car.

Five minutes later a man emerged from the side exit. In the glow of the sconce, Jack caught a glimpse of thinning gray hair and jowls. Jack judged him to be in his mid-fifties. The man was gone, heading toward the Nissan, pulling Weber’s black suitcase behind him.

A minute later the car backed out of the stall, turned, and headed for the lot’s exit. With his headlights off, Jack followed at a distance until the Nissan turned east onto Springfield Boulevard, then sped to the stop sign. He waited until another car had passed, then turned on his headlights and followed.