VECTOR

Chapter 15 Growing Pains

CHAPTER 15

Growing Pains

Claire was still seething as she opened the door to her apartment. With fierce anger, she tossed aside her things and went to change. A jog was precisely what she needed, something to burn off the energy that came from being involved in something over which she had no control. It was insane. She was nothing more than a messenger, the conduit, not the source. Crazy, crazy, crazy.

Dressed in jogging clothes, she settled before her computer and let her fingers convey her anger to Jasmine. Jasmine needed to know just what kind of hell she had started. Claire wanted to be the one to give the Pakistani woman a good tongue lashing. Jasmine deserved it. During the afternoon, Claire had met Oliver again, and Oliver had outlined what was happening. While the CIA was working to certify the information, the FBI was ramping up the domestic response. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't simple, and it wasn't cheap.

And it was all because of Jasmine. How in the world had Claire ever struck up a relationship with such an unstable woman? That was the bottom line. Jasmine was bat-s**t crazy. Claire didn’t say that in her message, but she did tell Jasmine that Ravi was in the U.S., and that the authorities were after him. Claire said nothing more. If Jasmine was going to stew, then let her stew.

The sun was low on the horizon as Claire began her favorite jog. It would be a nice run tonight, nothing like it could be. She hoped more than anything that the run would get rid of all the anger running through her veins.

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Arif finished browsing his email and stood. He glanced in the direction of his bedroom and wondered when his guest would rise. Arif had not anticipated having the man all day. Since Arif had supplied a car, a weapon, and a cabin, he expected the man to be gone by now. Instead, the man had slept the day away. Arif considered waking the man, but that seemed unwise. Arif supposed that the man knew exactly what he was doing. If he wanted to sleep, Arif would let him sleep. After all, the man had flown all the way from Pakistan. If the man were like Arif, sleep would be scarce in the air. Arif hated flying. Cramped, locked into place, he knew he was breathing the germs and recycled air from hundreds of people, some of them sick. Every time he flew, he expected to come down with some ailment. It was like being among a bunch of petri dishes.

He moved to the window and looked into the parking lot. The car he had stolen was sitting there, and that bothered him. He wondered how long it could sit there without someone noticing. He glanced to the end of the lot where a camera pointed down at the entire length of asphalt. While he had parked the car at night and made an effort to hide his face, he was reasonably sure that the police would recognize him. Not that he had any kind of record. He had avoided arrest, so his prints were not on file. But there was no doubt his passport photo was stored somewhere. Didn't the NSA have databases that included half the people on the planet? Not just faces but phone calls, email, voicemail, and online chats. The NSA was rumored to tape even the President of the United States. Arif held no illusions about his chances of avoiding discovery. If the man did something bad, and the police found the car…Arif wondered if he could out of the country.

Not likely.

Should he wake the man?

Before Arif could answer his own question, the man came out of the bedroom, and to Arif, the man didn't look as if he had slept for almost ten hours.

“What time is it?” the man asked.

“Almost seven,” Arif answered.

“I've slept the entire day?”

Arif nodded. “Jet lag.”

The man shook his head. “I am not myself. I must have caught something on the plane. Do you have any cold medicine?”

Arif nodded. “I have several over-the-counter drugs. Are you feverish?”

“Perhaps. If you don't mind, I would like to try something.”

Arif went to the bathroom, opened the cabinet and chose several boxes. Some of the drugs would cause drowsiness, and that wouldn't be good if the man had to drive.

“Do you need to leave soon?” Arif asked as he handed over the boxes.

The man shook his head and examined the boxes. “I have missed my opportunity today. Tomorrow must now work for me.”

“Are you hungry? I can go get something.”

“I am not hungry, but I should eat.”

“Pizza?”

“Fine. I do not care.”

Arif grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

“And beer,” the man said. “I would like some beer.”

“Of course.”

Coming out the door, Arif automatically turned away from the camera. For some reason, he feared that his guest was going to commit a crime. That would be a bad thing. Arif did not wish to go to prison or leave the country. America was a very fine place to live. As he climbed behind wheel of his car, he reminded himself to buy some extra beer. He had the feeling he would need it.

Ravi studied the boxes. Each one promised to relieve all the symptoms he experienced. If each one did the same thing, why did anyone need more than one? To Ravi, it seemed insane and a waste of money. How could any country survive when they wasted money like this? It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it?

He shook two pills into his hand and found a glass in a cabinet. Taking the pills, he wondered why he felt so bad. He had felt fine when he left Pakistan, and he experienced just some fatigue when he landed in America. Now, he ached all over. His mouth was dry. He knew he had a fever. If he were home, Jasmine would care of him. She would know what he needed. She would hand him the pills that would cure him. That was her job. Here he was on his own. While his host could find a cabin, a car, and a gun, Ravi doubted that the boy was good for much else. If there was heavy lifting to do, the boy would run away like a scalded dog.

He sat at the table and closed his eyes. With any luck, the pills and the beer would ease his headache.

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Matt bit into the cold pizza and wished he had used microwave to warm what tasted like cardboard. He wanted to be thankful for the food and the coke, but it was hard. Staring at camera footage was as boring as it sounded. In fact, it was maddening. He was looking for a particular person amidst all the hustle and bustle of the airport, an airport of Dulles where planes landed every ten minutes and disgorged thousands of passengers who filed past the cameras, and most of them didn’t look into the lens. The only good thing about the footage was that he had a time window. He knew when the plane landed, and he knew which terminal. It should be an easy job. It should be simple. Find the man and track him. Why did cold pizza taste so bad?

The terminal footage yielded nothing. How could the cameras be so lame? Didn't they cover every square inch of the place? It wasn’t as if the man was in disguise. There wasn’t any indication of that. And he had face recognition software. Why wasn't that working? He glanced to the second screen on his desktop. The passport photo was just fine. Why couldn’t he find Ravi?

He switched from inside to outside. Maybe he would get lucky with the outside cameras. The agency had already checked the car rentals. That got them nothing. The target hadn't rented a vehicle. That wasn't good. If they had a car to find, it would be easier. Send the vehicle description to the police and let them track down the car. So, Ravi had ridden a bus, or a train, or been picked up. Other agents were working the taxis, just in case Ravi had hired one of them. So far, they had had no luck. That didn't mean much. Since half the taxi drivers came from a foreign country, cooperation wasn't guaranteed.

That left a contact that picked up Ravi.

From the outside camera footage, he chose the personal vehicle lanes. If Ravi was being picked up, it would be in one of those lanes. On the screen, he spotted a lone man, standing on the walk, waiting for a pickup. Zooming in, he made certain it was Ravi. Yep, that was the guy. MATT didn’t need facial recognition confirmation, but he got it. He waited and watched, and then the camera started to pan.

“No, no, no!” Matt yelled as the camera moved away from the target.

Matt toggled to another camera, and while it was further way, it was safely on the target. Good. That solved one problem. Matt breathed a little easier. As he watched, a Honda Civic pulled to the curb. A young man hopped out, grabbed Ravi’s small bag and placed it in the trunk. As Ravi climbed into the car, the young man jumped behind the wheel and sped away. Matt was happy.

“Got you,” Matt said out loud.

Matt's joy was short-lived. As he cycled through the cameras, he discovered that he no good views of the vehicle. And it was one of the most popular cars in the country. Without a tag number, it would be a hard, long slog, and they didn't have a lot of time. The CIA had shared what they gained from their work in Pakistan. As far as they could tell, the target was not yet infectious. Lucky. Now, they had to find the car. He picked up his phone. The description would go out immediately.

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Arif plumped up the pillow and placed it on the sofa. His bed wouldn’t be the most comfortable one he had ever had, but it would have to do. His guest was accorded the bedroom and the best bed as Arif had been taught. The saving grace for the situation was that his guest had not eaten much. Arif had eaten the lion’s share of the pizza, and he didn't think his guest had lost his appetite. It seemed the trip had left his guest with little desire for food. He did drink some beer. Maybe that would keep him from snoring, but Arif doubted that would happen. At least there was a door between them. And Arif had ear buds which he inserted. A little music would put him to sleep. In the morning, he was reasonably certain that his guest would leave. That would be a blessing. The last thought he had was that he didn’t know why his guest required a gun. And that was a very good thing as far as Arif was concerned.

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Across the city, Claire finished her glass of wine and decided it was time for bed. It was obvious that Oliver wasn't going to call or email to text. He had gone dark, and she didn’t think that was good. While she didn’t consider herself an active member of some team, she thought Oliver would at least give her a heads up or some info—like don't worry too much, we have all we want. That would have been thoughtful. But she didn’t think Oliver would be thoughtful that way. She did think he would inform her if they had Jasmine's husband in custody. Oliver was that thoughtful. Of course, if they had Ravi in custody, all would be well. She couldn't wait to see him inside a hazmat containment cell. That was worth waiting for.

In bed, Claire closed her eyes and let the aches surface. She had been a bit over zealous in her run, and now her body was letting her know. It was always the same. It was only in the lonely dark that the wear and tear gained a voice. She let the pain speak. Pain wasn't a bad thing necessarily. Pain was what humans used to choose between actions. Some pain was good.

Some pain.