The Journalist (25 page)

Zack thumped the wheel with his fist. “Jimbo,
this is real journalism.”

“Maybe I should have gone to law school.” He
slugged the Glenlivet again.

“Take it easy on that bottle, we have to
think straight tonight.”

“Zackary, I couldn’t get drunk tonight if I
drank two gallons of this stuff.”

“There isn’t two gallons, so take it
easy.”

They shot over another swell. Jim braced
himself.

“This can’t be true.”

“That is precisely why we are on this
journey, friend, to find the truth.”

Jim gagged. “There’s an easier way.”

“Like what?”

“Make a few calls, talk, ask a few questions.
Anything but this.”

“I’m not sure we weren’t being watched. If
this thing has gone as far as it appears, they know what is going
on everywhere.”

“They

” Jim shook his
head. “If there is a they, then they know we’re here and they are
going to blow our asses out of the water. Zackary, who is
‘they?’”

“I have a hunch.”

“And you can’t tell your death-mate?”

“Benny.”

“You really are sick. I feel sick.”

“Take another drink. Settles the inner
ear.”

Jim drank then wiped a spray of saltwater
from his face. “And I could have gone to law school.”

“Think about it this way. If you were a rich
lawyer you’d be in some swank hotel suite, eating eggs
Benedict

”

“Don’t say that

”

“What?”

“That food word.”

“every morning, drinking Johnny Walker Blue
every day, and unhappy every night.”

“You think?”

“I know. But this is more important, this
now, what you are doing, this time we are in. Journey of the
Hero

Joe Campbell

”

“Oh, nooo.”

“We’re on a voyage to slay the dragon, free
the truth.”

Jim threw up over the side.

Zack studied the storm, raging now not so far
off, more east than south. Over the din of the engines, he called,
“You know, Jimbo, the President and his capitalist cronies, Senator
Beno and her socialist movement, have and have-nots—the two ideas
are clashing like never before. Something has to snap.”

“You already have.”

Zack took the bottle. “And what group, mostly
male, wears snappy uniforms and hats with lots of little pins on
them, is very frustrated these past few years with people like Beno
threatening to take their toys away.”

“The Boy Scouts.”

“Benny’s pals—the generals.”

Zack took a quick swig. Jim gagged over the
side.

“Kinda like a movie, isn’t it?”

Top Gun
bounced off a sudden two-foot
whitecap, became airborne then landed with a loud smack.

“What was that?” Jim said.

“Little chop. Nothing to worry about.” Zack
saw a flash of light on the horizon and swung the wheel starboard,
heading southeast.

“What are you doing

You’re going directly toward that storm

”

“That storm is fifty miles away. Relax.”

“You said that a few minutes ago. Why are we
turning?”

“Somebody up there where they shouldn’t be.
Maybe one of ours.”

“That’s funny.”

A large wave jolted them to starboard.

“What was that?”

“Not to worry, Jimbo, probably a great
white.”

“Oh, that’s funny, real funny. Gimme that
bottle back.”

“Relax, it was just a little swell.” Zack
handed him the bottle, checked the heading and turned to
east-southeast. “We’ll turn north in a few minutes, should be
seeing the lights of Alice Town very soon. Keep an eye out.”

“Zackary, I knew you’d figure out a way to
get out on a boat this weekend, but this is insane.”

Chapter Forty

Sunday, 12:30 a.m.
EST

With fifteen-knot winds buffeting the shore,
the smell of a tropical storm filled the air. Slowed to five knots,
Zack reversed the engines and
Top Gun
’s bow struck a Brown’s
Marina dock with a bump.

“Nice,” Jim said.

“You do it next time.”

Out of nowhere two barefoot ladies dressed in
purple T-shirts, white shorts and black baseball hats with “3.14”
on the front appeared. They quickly tied the craft off.

Spirited past a custom agent who seemed to be
asleep, Jim said, “So much for passports, “ and he and Zack were
ushered to an ancient and rusted pickup truck where they were
invited to set in the truck’s open bed.

Climbing in, looking at her hat, Zack said to
the five-foot, ten-inch lady, “Three-point-one-four—that’s pi,
isn’t it?”

“Right.”

Zack turned to Jim, who was seated on the
bed’s floor. “See, Jim, transcendental number, infinite
possibilities.”

The other lady—five feet, six inches, olive
complexion, ponytail through the back of her baseball hat–smiling
at Jim and Zack who were crouched in the pickup trucks’ bed, said,
“Hold on, guys.”

Underway, Zack calculated the warm night air
gushing over he and Jim.
Humid, storm about an hour away.
He
turned his back to the wind, struck a match, cupped his hand around
the flame and lit a Camel.

Exhaling, he said, “Wasn’t so bad, was it,
Jimbo?”

“What?”

“Our little voyage to Bimini.”

The truck slowing, Jim said, “Not what?”

“Relax, looks like we’re gonna get a short
ferry ride, must be going to South Island.”

“Great, just great, another boat ride.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Jim glanced at
the moon and wondered if he would live to see the sun rise.

Minutes later, the truck’s tires thumping
over a sand road, Jim, looking through a rusted hole in the truck’s
bed, said, “The little lady better slow this piece of junk down or
we may never get to see mighty guru, Joe Case.”

“Relax, Jimbo, enjoy the ride.”

“Enjoy the ride?”

“Want a cigarette?”

“You know I don’t smoke. You know that.”

“Thought I’d ask.”

“No,” Jim said as they hit a bump, “I think
that lady who gave us the order to hold on is a sister. You see her
eyes?”

“I thought it was more Mediterranean.”

“That was the other one.”

Zack laughed, and as he laughed he wondered
how there could be humor in any of this. He laughed again.

Jim said, “What’s so funny?”

“All of this.”

Jim shook his head. “Why me, God?”

“If anybody is laughing, He has to be.”

“You really believe all this Main Street
U.S.A. goings on is connected to Benny, don’t you?”

“There is no other logical explanation for
any of this nonsense. Think about it.”

They bounced over another rough place in the
road.

“Slow down

” Jim
shouted then turned to Zack. “Zackary, what are we doing here?”

“Looking for the truth.”

“Looking for the truth

”

“Looking for the truth.” Zack felt the driver
downshift the transmission. The vehicle slowed. “I guess we’re
there.”

“Looking for the truth.” Jim closed his eyes
and shook his head.

Chapter Forty One

12:55 a.m.
EST

Zack noticed the pickup turning onto a soft
sandy drive and inch forward. Ahead, lit by moonlight and
headlights, he scanned a small pinkish bungalow silhouetted five
hundred feet back from the road. As the truck got closer, he
surveyed the one-story stucco-and-wood structure. He noted a light
in a small rectangular window in the front. The outline of a
scrawny outbuilding sat fifty feet behind the house, and thick
foliage grew to the left of the driveway. He sniffed the dense
tropical palm_sweet fruity air buffered with humidity. Farther out,
the tropical storm grew nearer.

“Interesting little place,” he said.

“Looks like a chicken coop,” Jim said.

“What were you expecting, the Presidential
Palace?”

“At least.”

Zack sniffed the air again. He could smell a
good cigar a mile away, and there was definitely a good cigar
around.

“Jimbo, we’re very close to a good
cigar.”

“So glad

wonderful

how lucky are
we.”

Ignoring the remark, Zack glanced at his
watch then looked back to the house. “A light is on, somebody must
be waiting for us.”

“Firing squad.”

“Relax.” He crushed his cigarette out and
flipped the butt over the side.

The truck came to a stop, the
olive-complexioned lady stepped out and looked at Zack.

“Okay, this is it, follow me.”

“I guess we move out here, Jimbo.”

“I think I’ll stay in the truck.”

“Come on.”

Escorted around the house to an iron-gate
entrance, Zack wondered if Jim might be right. Seeing another 3.14
baseball hat perched on a stout male with some funny-looking
crystal thing hanging around his neck, his wondering took on a
harder edge.

Zack nodded hello.

The stout male nodded back.

The lady escort motioned for the gate to be
opened.

“I don’t like this,” Jim said under his
breath.

“Looking for the truth,” Zack whispered.

“Like I said, there’s an easier way.”

The gate swung open and the lady escort said,
“Follow me.”

“My blood is on your hands,” Jim murmured to
Zack.

“Looking for the truth,” Zack whispered.

They walked through the gate and arrived at
an unpainted wooden door. Zack sniffed the stronger odor of cigar
smoke.

“We’re close, Jimbo.”

“That’s what scares me.”

The escort knocked. A familiar voice from
inside called “Entrar.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jim said.

Chapter Forty Two

1:00 a.m.
EST

The escort opened the door and stood aside.
Zack entered but Jim paused. Studying the escort lady’s eyes, he
said, “Say, are you a sister?”

She smiled as Zack tugging Jim’s arm, said,
“Let’s go,” and he and Jim entered a low-ceilinged room. The escort
closed the door and stood inside.

A single light hung from the cracked ceiling.
The bare bulb illuminated the twelve-by-twelve space. The only
furniture was an old wooden table and three folding chairs, two
facing the table, one behind.

Zack sensed that magnetic presence he had
felt so many times before.

After a moment of silence, Joe Case stepped
out of the shadows. Smoking a cigar, he wore green army fatigues
and a black Pi baseball hat. He walked to Zack.

They embraced.

Joe: “How are you, champ? Long time.”

Standing back, Zack said, “Case, how have you
been?”

“Good, good.”

“How’s Kim?”

“Good, good.”

“You look great,” Zack said.

“Yes, you, too.”

Zack indicated the tiny room. “Modest space,
Case. You live here?”

Joe smiled and with his cigar pointed to Jim.
“Do I know this guy?”

“I don’t know.” Zack asked Jim, “You know
Case?”

“Heard of him.”

Case puffed his cigar and studied Jim. “You
look a little green, muchacho. Sea a little rough?” He smiled.

Not liking the muchacho reference, Jim said,
“You look a little green yourself, boy.”

“Atlantic’s like glass tonight,” Zack
said.

Case went behind the table, sat and suggested
the two folding chairs facing him. “Have a seat.”

Zack sat and tugged Jim’s sleeve.

Sitting, Jim whispered, “For the record, this
guy is wacko. Just want you to know

”

“Noted and thank you, massa.”

“Ah, excuse us for the short notice,” Joe
said.

Zack paused for a moment. “Joe, we’ve been
wondering. Just who is ‘us.’”

Joe smiled and held out a humidor. “Habana,
Cubano?”

“Thank you.” Zack took six cigars.

“Think you got enough?” Jim mumbled.

Joe smiled. “Take all you want, plenty where
those came from.”

Zack put five in his pocket, bit the end of
one, lit it and said, “Good cigar.”

“The real thing.” Joe smiled and said, “So,
Zackary, you received my fax.”

“Yes.”

Joe held up a small compact disc. “Zackary,
remember I told you, the Pi people were putting some pieces
together

got a recording.”

Zack studied Joe, “I think I recall your
sentiments, algo está pasando

so what’s
up?”

“I think Benny is making his move,” Joe
said.

Jim nudged Zack and muttered, “I told you
he’s nuts. Let’s get out of here.”

Zack ignored Jim and said to Joe, “Maybe we
should find out why we’re here.”

“Yes, let’s. Listen to this recording. It’s
garbled in places, some static, but with all we now know, the
meaning is clear.” Joe blew cigar smoke toward Jim.

Zack exhaling smoke, “With all we now
know?”

Joe said, “The events of the past few
days

since Friday. The so-called news story
from Miami. That Channel 10 video.”

Jim coughed on the cigar smoke and whispered,
“This is insane.”

Joe put the disc in a small player on the
table, paused, said, “This conversation was recorded aboard the
President’s yacht three months ago, Sunday, May twenty-fifth.
You’ll recognize the three distinct voices—Professor Leo Novak,
General Bill MacCallister and Dr. Barbara Lande.”

Zack: “Cerebrum, Cerebellum, and Medulla
Oblongata.”

Joe: “You nailed it.”

Zack studied Joe’s eyes. “This is the
‘something is up’?”

“Right. With the events of this past Friday
and Saturday the meaning is now unmistakable.”