G. Moffat - Blindside

‘You ready?’ Cahill asked, holding up his watch and tapping on the face of it. ‘Just gone two.’

Logan looked at his own watch, surprised to see that Cahill was right. He had worked through lunch without noticing.

‘I guess I got caught up in this stuff,’ Logan said, standing to follow Cahill as he left the room.

Hardy was waiting for them back in the War Room, sipping from a bottle of water and watching more news coverage of the crash.

‘Anything new?’ Cahill asked.

‘Nope. Usual talk about recovering the black box and waiting till they know more before reaching any conclusions.’

‘Still no mention of terrorists?’

‘Nothing. Looks like it was an accident from what they’re saying, but who knows what they might be holding back?’

Logan sat beside Hardy and pulled the conference phone towards him.

‘If it’s not terrorists, then why all the secrecy about your friend?’ Logan asked.

Cahill shrugged and sat beside Logan.

‘Let’s call your contact and see what she can tell us.’

Logan picked up the phone handset and punched in the number he had for Susan Jones at the Department of Homeland Security in New York.

‘I’m looking for Susan Jones,’ he said when a man answered.

He was put on hold and pressed a button to activate the conference setting on the phone. A Tom Petty song started playing.

‘Nice hold music,’ Hardy said, tapping a pen on the table in time with the music.

The music stopped and the same man came back on to the line.

‘Sir, who may I say is calling?’

‘Logan Finch.’

Tom Petty was back on. Hardy started humming along.

‘Logan, hi,’ Susan Jones said after a minute. ‘It’s been a while. How are you?’

She sounded incredibly bright and upbeat, which was what Logan remembered about her. That and the killer cheekbones.

‘I’m good. How’s things with you?’

‘Oh, you know. Still trying to keep the world safe from harm.’

She laughed — a high, flutey sound. Logan always thought that it was totally at odds with such a tall, athletic woman.

‘I’ve got you on speakerphone, Susan. Is that okay?’

Letting her know not to talk about anything other than business. Logan glanced at Cahill who winked at him.

‘Sure. Who have you got there? Clients getting roughed up at one of our airports?’

‘Uh, no. I’m not with Kennedy Boyd any more. I mean, I left private practice altogether.’

‘Good for you. I never did like lawyers.’

The laugh again.

‘I’m with a security company. Close protection. I’ve got two of the team here. Alex Cahill and Tom Hardy.’

They both said hello.

‘Fine, upstanding Americans, by the sound of it.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Hardy said.

‘Southern manners,’ she laughed. ‘What’s up?’

‘Have you heard about the crash over in Denver?’ Logan asked.

‘Of course. Awful, isn’t it?’

There was no tell-tale change in her tone.

‘We had a call from someone who thinks that her husband was on the flight…’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘… but the airline has no record of his name on the passenger manifest.’

‘Okay. I’m not sure what this has to do with DHS.’

‘Well, Alex called the airline and they put him on hold and when they came back on it was someone from law enforcement.’

‘FBI, I think,’ Cahill said.

Jones was silent, though they could hear the sound of her fingers tapping on a keyboard.

Cahill hit the mute button.

‘She’s going to cut us off,’ he said to Logan. ‘More cover-up bullshit.’

Logan held up a hand and re-activated the phone.

‘Susan, is there anything you can tell us about that flight?’ Logan asked.

‘I’m checking our systems. Hold on.’

Tap-tap-tap

‘No alerts at our end that I can see. What’s your friend’s name?’

‘Tim Stark,’ Cahill said. ‘Used to be FBI and then Secret Service.’

‘Oh my. Let me check the name and see what I can find. Call you back in five.’

Five stretched to ten, stretched to twenty.

The phone rang. Logan pressed the button to answer and activate the speaker.

‘Logan, it’s Susan.’

‘That was a long five minutes.’ He tried to keep his voice light.

‘I know. There’s a flag on your man Stark.’

Cahill frowned. ‘Why?’ he asked.

‘I can’t tell you that. In fact, I shouldn’t really tell you anything else.’

‘He’s just about the most patriotic guy I know,’ Cahill said. ‘Bleeds red, white and blue. And he has a wife at home who’s tearing her hair out in a panic because nobody will tell her anything about what’s going on.’

‘I’m sorry. I can’t say any more.’

‘Can you tell us if he was on the flight?’ Logan asked.

‘At least that,’ Cahill said. ‘Please.’

She was quiet.

‘Susan…’ Logan said.

‘Tim Stark wasn’t listed on the flight,’ she said. ‘But the manifest shows that John Reece was on it.’

Cahill leaned back in his chair, looked at Hardy and shook his head.

‘Thanks, Susan,’ Cahill said. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘No problem. And I’m sorry.’

She ended the call.

Logan looked from Cahill to Hardy and back again. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘She just told us that Tim was on the flight.’

‘That’s not what she said.’

‘What she said was, he was on the flight using an assumed name.’

‘Which means what?’

Cahill didn’t reply.

‘It means that he’s dead,’ Hardy said.

Cahill stood and stretched.

‘Is that it?’ Logan asked.

‘It’s as much as she can tell us, and she shouldn’t even have said that. We can’t push it with her any further.’

‘So what are you going to do now?’

‘I’m going to make a very difficult phone call to Melanie Stark to tell her that her husband is dead. I need to do it alone.’

Cahill left Logan and Hardy in the War Room and walked to his office at the south-west corner of the building. It was bigger than Logan’s office, but not ostentatious. He had a couch as well as a similar desk and shelving unit. His desk was covered with photographs of his wife and two girls.

He sat at the desk and lifted his phone. After a moment, he dialled Melanie Stark’s number. A man answered.

‘I’m looking for Melanie Stark,’ Cahill said.

‘This is her son. Can I help?’

Cahill thought: your mother will need your help shortly.

‘No, thanks. I need to speak to Melanie.’

‘What’s this about?’ He started to sound tense.

Cahill heard a woman’s voice in the background asking who was on the phone.

‘My name is Alex Cahill and I’m a friend of your dad. Your mom will want to speak to me, son.’

‘Hold on.’

The phone clattered down on a hard surface. Cahill pulled his own phone away from his ear at the noise. He couldn’t blame the boy for being upset — angry even. Cahill felt some of that himself.

‘Alex,’ Melanie Stark said, picking up the phone. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Does the name John Reece mean anything to you?’

Pause. ‘No. I mean, I don’t think so. I never heard it before.’

‘Never seen that name written down anywhere in the house?’

‘Alex, what’s this about? Does this man Reece have anything to do with what Tim’s caught up in?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Alex…’ She knew that he was stalling.

‘Melanie…’

Always the bad news is preceded by the name, spoken softly. Like it helps.

‘No…’

‘I can’t be totally certain, but the information I have makes me believe that Tim was on that flight out of Denver.’