Sigma Division

Chapter 22

The night was short and Spicer was just as tired when he woke up at sunrise. Conversely, adrenaline rushed through his veins because he knew the end was in sight. Even though he had an 12-hour drive ahead of him, he was about to get some answers and that alone gave him energy.

He took a quick shower, started getting dressed, and used his burner phone to make a call. He paced through Esther’s living room while he waited for an answer.

“Hello?”

“Martha, how’s is going? Is Doug still there? I need to talk to him.”

The woman’s voice broke. “Oh Gene. It’s terrible.”

Spicer stopped moving. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s terrible, Gene,” she repeated, choking up.

“What’s going on, Martha? Talk to me.”

“He’s dead. He’s gone, Gene.”

Although he was shocked by the news and wasn’t sure he could even understand what she was saying, Spicer forced himself to calm down. He knew from experience that when someone was about to be hysterical, the other person had to be stoic.

“What happened?” he asked calmly.

“I don’t know, there was a burglar, and then there was something about a wrong pizza delivery. I miss him so much.”

The pizza delivery diversion tactic. That told him everything he needed to know about who had killed his friend.

“Hang in there, Martha. I’ll see you in a few days.”

That was nothing else he could tell her. His muscles tensing up, his face morphed into anger and sadness at the same time. He could have thrown the phone against the wall but that wasn’t his style. No, he had to keep his rage bottled up, he had to focus it toward the correct people.

“Fucking bastards,” he mumbled as he coarsely wiped his eyes.

He hadn’t cried in over 20 years and he wasn’t about to start now. He had to finish this. One way or another people were going to die.

He finished getting dressed, wrath giving him determination, and he left the apartment. He headed to his place to pack up a few things but then as he reached the front door something occurred to him.

Sigma Division was cleaning house.

First, the professor, then Kilmer. Who else was causing trouble that they would want to get rid of? The answer was crystal clear as he put his hand on the doorknob. He glanced around but the hallway was empty. Still, something wasn’t right.

He was aware that he looked stupid standing in front of his door holding his keys and yet remaining immobile. His instincts told him he had to be on his guard and double-check everything.

He pocketed his keys and kneeled down to look under the door. Unfortunately, the weather stripping kept him from seeing inside the apartment. Nevertheless, he detected something out of the ordinary. It was a smell, something that just didn’t fit.

He got back up and rushed to Esther’s apartment. He returned inside and this time she was up and about, bringing her coffee to the kitchen table.

“Hey, what’s going on? I thought you’d be gone by now.”

He paid her no attention and went to the balcony. He unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped outside. He didn’t even bother closing the door again.

The air was freezing and he barely felt it. He stared at his own balcony which was hanging next door after a four-foot gap. Without hesitation, he climbed on top of the brick railing and leaped to the other balcony.

“Oh Jesus,” Esther yelped as she witnessed the stunt.

When he was in his own backyard, he pressed his face against the glass door, using his hands to shield his eyes from the light. He scanned the interior of his apartment, which wasn’t particularly easy because of the vertical blinds. They weren’t closed but they hindered his view all the same.

At first sight, nothing seemed out of place. His stuff was just as he’d left it in the living room. The TV was off, so was the lamp. There was a sweater on the floor next to his recliner, that was normal.

Then he saw it.

In the kitchen, the range had been dragged forward about a foot and a half.

“Christ…”

Gripped by fury, he jumped back to the other balcony, the 60-foot potential drop barely registering. He went back into Esther’s apartment and she was sporting a bewildered look.

“What’s going on, Gene?”

He grabbed his jacket which he’d left behind and put it on.

“I’m leaving right now and you’re coming with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not safe here,” he barked. “My apartment’s about to blow up. And I need you to drive me.”

Explosion-by-natural-gas was always a nifty assassination method. It was messy, did a great deal of collateral damage, but it was effective. He figured the door had been rigged with an ignition mechanism and the second he would have entered his apartment the whole floor would have blown up. He gathered all his notes and evidence and stuffed everything into his red gym bag.

Esther was shaking her head. “I can’t leave, the election is tomorrow. I’ve got too much work to do.”

Spicer stopped and faced her.

“Look, my best friend just got killed because of what I involved him in. How long until they do the same to you? You stay with me, you improve your odds.”

“By how much?”

“Ten to one. Bring an overnight bag. We’ll buy whatever else we need.”

He went back to his bag to finish packing up.

Esther was at the wheel of her Audi and she left the parking garage like a racecar driver, clearing the bump and merging into traffic in one fell swoop. Spicer waited two blocks before raising himself from his concealed position down on the floorboards. He’d figured it someone was watching the building he was clear by now.

He allowed himself to breathe easier when they got onto the southbound 395 which was thankfully pretty much against traffic. He wasn’t exactly relaxed but he figured he had 10 hours before anyone tried to kill him again.

“That’s a nice car,” he said. “It’ll come in handy if we need to sell it.”

That concerned her. “We’re not gonna be using my credit cards, are we?”

“You wouldn’t want to get me assassinated, would you?” He chuckled at her sudden fright. “We’ll try to get by with cash only, as much as we can anyway. It won’t be long before they realize you’re with me and they’ll use the credit cards to track us. We’ll try to avoid that.”

She nodded with rule. Meanwhile, he lowered his seat and reclined into it.

“When we hit I-95, call the building super and tell him to turn off the gas ‘cause there’s a leak in 708. Wake me up in three hours and I’ll drive.”

She agreed to do it and cranked up the speed to 75.