Private Rogue

Chapter 75

“Goodnight, sir,” the guard at the desk said, before pressing the button that opened the outer door to the Rotary Entrance.

A blast of cold air hit Rick Ferguson as he left the Pentagon and headed for the parking lot. He hurried along the raised walkway and down the stone steps that led to the premier tier of spaces, where the senior brass parked. He was a rung down the ladder, which meant he had to walk through the lot, braving the bitter night. He jogged across North Rotary Road, his breath rising in little clouds before dissipating into the clear sky. The stars shimmered brightly in the frozen air. Rick clapped his gloved hands and picked up his pace. This was not a night for tarrying. He passed a few more senior staff cars and finally made it to his spot beneath one of the street lamps.

He opened the driver’s door, grabbed his scraper and removed an inch of crusted snow from the windshield of his late-model Range Rover Sport. He brushed loose snow off his gloves, replaced the scraper in the side pocket and climbed into the driver’s seat. He’d had the car a little over six months and it still gave him a buzz of pleasure to see it parked in the driveway in the morning. He’d told nosy Nancys and Normans at work that Ellie’s mother had gifted them some money, but the truth was a little more complicated.

He settled back in his cream leather seat and reversed out of his space, then drove toward the gate. The guard in the gatehouse checked his license plate and ran an ID check on him before lowering the cheese-wedge barrier that was designed to keep out intruders. Rick gave a friendly nod and wave to the guard, before driving on. He turned left onto Washington Boulevard and headed for the Memorial Highway.

“Call home,” he said.

“Calling home,” his in-car assistant said, and a moment later Ellie came on the line.

“Hello?”

“Hey, hon, it’s me.”

“How was your day?” she asked.

The most banal of all questions, asked by billions of spouses every single day. Rick had complained once and regretted it.

“What are our lives worth to each other if we don’t share them?” Ellie had asked, along with other emotive comments in that vein.

So he knew it was easier to just answer with his now habitual, “Oh, you know, same old, same old.”

“I hear you,” Ellie replied.

It was vacuous and a total waste of oxygen, but it gave her comfort for some reason.

“Tara gave me nothing but trouble today, and when I...” she began to drone.

“Honey, I’m about to hit the black spot,” Rick said.

There was no black spot. It was a convenient invention that spared him from listening to the mundanities of her day.

“I just wanted to know if you wanted me to pick anything up?”

“No, we’re good,” she replied. “I made spaghetti and meatballs.”

He endured Ellie’s meatballs at least once a week and was getting tired of them. They were bland and dry, but if he ever told her that, they’d need to have another “chat,” so it was easier to play nice.

“Yum,” he lied. “And you can tell me all about what Tara did when I get home.”

And I have a stiff drink in my hand, he thought.

“I will,” she replied. “Drive safely. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Rick said before hanging up.

He wasn’t sure if he believed the words anymore. He had once, or at least he thought he had, but maybe he’d never felt love, just the thrill of chase and conquest. At least Ellie wasn’t offensive. She came from a good family, and her father had excellent political connections. She was convenient. If he ever grew tired of her, she was too well bred to give him much trouble. He would have to budget a moderate amount for any divorce, but she’d never be able to get at the real money.

He switched on the stereo and flipped through his playlists to his favorite album of the moment, which was Alice Coltrane’s Journey in Satchidananda, a trippy, soothing cascade of jazz. He shifted in his comfy seat and settled back for the opening bars.

Thirty minutes of classic harp, double bass and piano later, he was heading up Birch Lane, a couple minutes from his beautiful home, passing all the other big houses set back from the road and nestled in their perfect wintry gardens. He was daydreaming about being on vacation in Catalina with someone more adventurous than Ellie, so he didn’t notice the shadow to his right.

The collision came out of nowhere. A truck tore out of Spring Valley Drive and smashed into his beautiful Range Rover. The car was a sudden mess of airbags and silicate dust, but Rick still managed to hit his head on the side window. The world swam. As his mind floated, he saw an SUV pull up in front of the Range Rover and a group of masked figures jumped out.

This can’t be happening, Rick thought, before he blacked out.