Prologue
Washington, DC
Early Tuesday Morning
The young man stepped out of the taxi on J Street. It had been raining, but all that remained now was a light mist.
“Wait for me,” he said to the cabbie, leaving his suitcase on the backseat. Directly across from the cab was the J Street Coffee Shop, a twenty-four hour joint; the designated meeting place. He looked down the street, realizing that he couldn’t see any of the large government buildings from this part of town. It was just as well, he thought, with the mist and slight fog, they probably weren’t visible from many places this morning.
He crossed the street, carrying a small leather briefcase, while observing that the traffic was light in this part of the city, but he reasoned, it was early on a Tuesday morning in the nation’s capital.
As he entered the building he began looking around for his contact, Mr. Steven Clarence Cole. He had never met the man nor seen any pictures of him, so he wouldn’t recognize the man by sight, but had been told that he would be wearing a blue blazer with gray pants and a blue striped tie. There were just a few people in the place, so his first task was a simple one. He sized up the man seated at a corner table. He appeared to be in his sixties with whitening hair and was wearing wire rimmed glasses and the man was dressed according to the information he had been given.
He approached the man and introduced himself, as he took a seat at the table across from him, setting his case on the floor. “Mr. Cole? You are Mr. Cole aren’t you?”
“Yes, that’s who I am,” the older man answered.
“I understand you have something for me,” the younger man stated.
“Yes sir, I do, but first may I see some identification?”
Pulling out his billfold, he removed a driver’s license and pushed it across the table. The man, Mr. Cole, picked up the document and studied it for a moment or two before returning it. “And may I see your passport?”
He looked strangely at the older man sitting across from him. “I wasn’t told I would need that.” He eyed the man suspiciously. They sat staring across the table for a long moment.
Finally the young man reached down and picked up the leather case, and after opening it, removed the second requested document.
The older man studied the passport, slowly leafing through all the pages, one at a time. “It would appear that you’ve done a good bit of traveling,” the man observed as he closed the document.
“Yes sir, that’s what I do; now, can we get on with the business at hand?” the younger man questioned.
The older of the two slid the passport back across the table as he looked intently at the young man seated opposite him. “How old are you?” he suddenly asked.
“You just saw my driver’s license and my passport, so you already know that.”
“How old are you,” the man repeated.
He stared back at the man on the opposite side of the table for a moment, but finally relented. “I’m twenty-seven.”
Mr. Cole continued his stare before observing, “You couriers are getting younger and younger.”
He paused as he continued looking across the table at the young man. Finally he reached down and picked up his own briefcase from the floor and set it on the table.
As he removed two items he said, “I know that you’ve been doing this kind of work long enough to realize that the documents you transport are extremely important… well, this is more important than most.” He held up a green folder wrapped with tape. “It’s vital that this gets to its destination. A lot of lives could depend on you getting this to the man whose name is on the cover.” He slid the folder across the table, then produced a manila envelope.
The young man glanced briefly at the envelope, noticing the name on the outside. “This is the man that gets this?” he questioned, recognizing the name, “I know who this guy is.”
“Yes, nearly everyone does, but he’s been out of the public eye for quite some time. And in here are your instructions and an airline ticket,” referring to the envelope in his other hand. “You’re scheduled to leave out of Reagan National at ten forty-five this morning for Phoenix and then a short hop to Tucson. It’s all there in the instructions. You should have plenty of time to make the flight,” he added, glancing down at his watch. “As usual, my people are the only ones who know about you and your trip. It’s safer that way if we limit the leaks, and I can assure you, in this operation, there better not be any. The man you see will have instructions for you about the return trip as well as an airline ticket.”
There was an ominous silence between the two men before Mr. Cole added, “There is one other part of this assignment which is vital. You must keep the recipient’s name a total secret. No one, and I can’t emphasize that enough; no one is to know where this package is going and to whom it is being delivered; and I do mean no one. Is that understood?”
“Of course, but why…?”
“That’s one question you don’t need to know the answer to. Just do your job and everything will work out quite well…and I would suggest that you put together some kind of a cover story, as you couriers usually do; a reason for your travel, in case anyone around, or anyone you might be traveling with ask you questions about why you’re taking this trip.”
The courier sat silently for just a moment before saying, “It’ll get there,” referring to the documents in the green folder, “don’t worry.” He stood up and picking up the small leather briefcase, now containing the documents, the young man, without a parting word, retraced his steps and returned to the taxi. He slid into the back seat with a simple command for the driver: “Reagan National.”
“What airline?” the cabbie questioned.
“American,” the young man answered as he settled down for the twenty-five minute ride.