“I’ll allow that, Timmy. First though, explain why I didn’t receive a warning, especially about Didricson. Make your answers concise, truthful, and to the point. You know I’ll find out if I get fed bullshit. If you take that path, then let the games begin.”
“We couldn’t do shit to Didricson,” Grace admitted. “Thanks to your info, we had him cold on espionage. What we didn’t know when the FBI took him into custody is that he had gathered incriminating evidence concerning the DOJ, and the FBI’s handling of over a dozen terrorist cases. All the convictions would have been thrown out if Didricson’s blackmail file was revealed. The bastard even worked it so he gets an office, and although no classified information ever crosses his desk, he draws a six figure salary.”
“And I was not told about this why?”
“We were ordered not to speak of Didricson to you under any circumstances. If we did, we were warned we’d be fired, and arrested for revealing classified information, which was exactly what we were trying to charge Didricson for,” Tim answered. “We never dreamed anything like the Formsby scenario would surface. Grace and I would have quit rather than put Rachel and Jean’s lives in jeopardy. Before we go on with this, let Grace and I investigate how and if Sadun actually did get involved in this.”
“You could have trusted me to help with this problem, kids. I don’t just think outside the box, I am outside the box completely.”
“It’s too late to say we’re sorry, Nick,” Grace replied. “We’ll go find every thread, and call you back.”
“Until then.” Nick disconnected. He saw Rachel staring at him. The concern in her features reassured him Rachel had no illusions he had magically transformed into the Easter Bunny.
“How’d it go?”
“Pretty well, Rach.” Nick accepted a fresh Irish coffee from John. “They’re going to trace down connections between the imprisoned Uthman Sadun, Formsby, and the Los Alamos guy, Pence Didricson.”
Nick explained the complications, and why they left him out of the loop. “The way I figure it, no one asked Pence in the correct manner. Once he understands the severity of what he’s done, I’m certain he’ll help us in any way he can.”
“Sucks to be him,” Gus said.
“Luckily, I did my homework on Didricson before I lost common sense, logic, and apparently my survival instinct. Pence is quite the social guy. He keeps his Facebook current, and Twitters everywhere he goes as if he’s a Kardashian, and someone cares. In this instance, someone does care. Pence frequents The Ghostrider’s Tavern three or four times a week. I know he owns a late model BMW. I’ll hack the entry code, and get a key. Los Alamos is too tricky an interrogation site. I’ll drive his BMW to Carmel Valley, where I’ll have more time to find out all about the blackmail file scaring the crap out of the DOJ.”
“If you don’t need me on this one, I think I’ll go to bed early,” Dan said.
“I agree,” Nick replied, while checking the Twitter feed on his phone. “We’ve been burning your candle with a flame thrower lately. This is a long drive there, and back. We might miss our window of opportunity too, but I’m feeling lucky today. Pence hasn’t missed a Monday night at the Ghostrider’s Tavern in over a month. He never went home earlier than eleven on any Monday night he’s been there.”
“Do you want Jean and me in the safe-room?”
“Absolutely. Pence is only the first loose end. I’ll need to involve Tim and Grace in my next loose end adjustment. He doesn’t know it yet, but Uthman Sadun will be receiving a transfer into US Marshal custody as an advisor on a cold case. I’m afraid he won’t make it to his destination. That’s in the near future. For tonight, anyone interested in a ride along with me, pack a bag. I’ll need either Payaso or Kabong to drive my car home. I’ll stick with the Uthman’s BMW.”
“I will go,” John said.
“Count me in,” Gus added.
Rachel sighed, leaning back in her chair, looking peacefully at the clearing sky. “It’s a good thing I stopped at Walmart. We were running low on the big black plastic garbage bags and duct tape.”
Her shopping restock statement drew appreciative laughter from Gus and John.
“You’re getting to be quite the comedian, Rach,” Nick commented. “I’m sure you recall how our supply of duct tape got low.”
Rachel straightened again, pointing warningly at Nick. “You’d best not be contemplating any repeats of my being duct taped into bed, Muerto. It won’t go well for you.”
“Of course not, my dear. I have put such childish things behind me.”
“No Jello ever again either.”
Silence, except for the snorting amusement of Gus and John.
“Muerto!”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Nick mumbled. “What’s in it for me?”
“I’ll forget I heard anything about ‘pressure point baby deliveries’.
“Deal.”
Chapter Five
Loose Ends