Chapter Sixteen
DAWN JENNINGS FOUND out the hard way that, on occasion, the best place to hide for a well-known politician-in-training is in full view of the public. When Ben had allowed her to campaign to him, before the spectacle of her party’s table collapsing in a heap of mess, she had no idea who he was or what he was doing there. She just assumed he was another anonymous individual roaming the Plaza, and rightfully so because she would end up talking to several dozen more voters that afternoon.
Still, when he walked Dawn back to the Gator Party booth, he shocked her by casually talking with Nicola Jackson, the presidential candidate. “What?” Nicola has responded, “You don’t know who this guy is? He’s a current senator supporting us,”
It was perhaps that scene, more than any other, which crystallized things for Ben. Despite his best efforts, and occasional press attention, he was still a virtual unknown on campus. In some ways, knowing that was comforting to Ben; in others, it was a disheartening reminder of the futility in being involved in Student Government…
IT HAD BEEN more than three weeks since the episode began, and Mike was getting frustrated. His best lead in the investigation, his list of possibly disgruntled former colleagues, had been exhausted with no clear suspect, or even solid clues to build upon. He was now less than a week away from his high school reunion with the cloud of doom lurking behind every corner. At a standstill and spending more time in Gainesville, he even relented to a duo of FBI agents keeping a guard on him as the official investigation also ran into dead-ends. While this involved giving up his disguise and coming out of hiding, at least he could take comfort in knowing there were professionals present to prevent bodily harm to happen to him.
What really kept Mike up at night was not this failure to identify who it was that was after him. Rather, he was uneasy about the lack of any new threats or incidents since the dramatic explosion that took Bennita’s apartment from her. Between them, Adam and Mike ensured that she had a place in which to recover and – more importantly – file her insurance claim. After that, nothing else had happened to give them any clues as to “whodunit”, as the old board game put it. Not knowing what would happen next bothered him more than the immediacy the threat had imposed on him earlier.
So, he did his best to stay calm within the safety of his apartment. When that failed, and it did on a daily basis, he would travel over to the University campus for some fresh air and hopefully some relaxation.
He would occasionally be spotted at a picnic bench, hunched over a number of legal pads and his trusty tablet computer. Fans would interrupt him politely for an autograph – anywhere would be good enough for some, although others would reach into their backpacks and grab anything from the recent Time magazine article to a promotional poster for the movie.
This particular day was like any other. He sat at a picnic bench on the north lawn, underneath a large oak tree that certainly was older than most of the buildings on campus. This weekend venture was actually quite peaceful; none of the usual fans to disturb him. Nonetheless, the slightest bit of unusual sound distracted him.
In fact, he almost had a panic attack when he heard the loud, low hum of a jet airplane drifting overhead on a routine flight. His fears were justified, of course. The surveillance equipment Adam installed across the street from Bennita’s apartment (something he also did at Mike’s house) revealed the use of a sniper rifle. Unfortunately, the footage was unable to capture the identity of the assailant, or even provide positive proof that it was one of those well-publicized high-tech weapons recently stolen from an armory near D.C., as Mike and Bennita suspected.
I wish this guy would show himself already, Mike said frustratingly as he struggled to put the finishing touches on his reunion speech.
Being out in the open of a deserted urban meadow was too much for Mike, so he decided to move indoors. For good measure, he headed up to the fourth floor of the Student Union, which was the sight of some of the most exclusive dining rooms on campus. He always liked the gourmet buffet, and luckily the restaurant had changed little in twenty years.
It wasn’t the pleasant atmosphere or the constantly busy customers, or even the food, that Mike loved the most. The restaurant offered a rare balcony that revealed one of the most visually stunning vantage points in northern Florida. After being shown to his table, and having ordered his beverage, he stepped out onto that balcony.
From there, he was able to catch a proverbial bird’s eye view of campus’s high points, including the Century Tower in the middle of campus to the stadium on its northern side and Shands Hospital on its southern side. Even some high-rise dormitories made it into view. He took a deep breath of genuine relaxation before heading back inside.
He picked up the plate left at his table and made a straight shot toward the northwest corner of the restaurant (from the point of view of the balcony), where the buffet stood. His determined steps, apparently, were much too fast for this southern culture, because he immediately crashed into a short blonde, sending her to the floor. She went spinning as she fell, leaving her face to the ground while laying at his feet, only a few inches away from the shattered remnants of his plate.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking!” he tried to explain, as he helped lift her off the ground through her one out-stretched hand. She flipped her mop of hair to one side, revealing her identity.
In so doing, she also figured out who had sent her reeling. His concerned expression turned to surprise when he blurted out, “Ashley? What the hell are you doing here?!?”
She began brushing herself off, and peeling shattered china out of her hair. The two of them then stepped back to Mike’s table to give the waiters an opportunity to clean the mess they just made. His body language once they were seated suggested impatience, so she finally gave in and offered to ameliorate his stress over this encounter.
“Hey, Gainesville grows on you. My editor gave me some time off and I decided to spend it here, since he wants me here to witness your reunion speech next week anyway. It’s not my fault this restaurant is filled to capacity and you don’t watch where you are going before you crash into people,” she said with an attitude clearly justified, in her opinion, by the physical and verbal bruising he seemed destined to inflict on her.
“Let me see if my memory is still clear about this. You first interviewed me shortly before the attacks on my cast began. You then participated in the press conference that preceded the first threatening message. You followed me to Portland despite my best efforts to keep my departure under wraps. You were then in Seattle-”
“Hey! That was completely coincidental. I had no way of knowing you would end up there. As for Portland, I had a job to-”
A raised hand foreshadowed Mike’s decision to interrupt her. “Let me finish, ok?”
“Fine,” she said, lifting her hands in surrender to his wishes.
“I saw you in Seattle, and you happened on the scene of Bennita’s apartment. Now you crash into me here, just days before my reunion speech. How the hell are you managing to end up everywhere I am at when something big happens to me?”
“If it made you happy, I would declare my undying love for you and admit to being a stalker. But that’s just not the case. Believe it or not, Mike, you are the news man of the hour. No one cares about budget surpluses, political polls, or even space flight. Readers are utterly fascinated by your trials and tribulations as you try to out-spin the political establishment of college campuses everywhere. And it’s my job to follow the news, wherever it goes.”
“That sounds awfully convenient, if you ask me.”
“Mike, call me a suspect, I don’t care. I have no motive, and you know it. If you can’t accept it, then I will have to leave,” she said as she rose to her feet. “Now, if you allow me to end this paranoid interrogation prematurely, I have to check in with my editor now.”
His lips parted, but before he could utter another word, she stormed out of the restaurant. Even if she has
a weird ability to keep track of my movements, god damn, she’s hot when she’s angry, Mike thought with a shudder. He rose once more, but this time was more careful about his trek over to the buffet line.
Needless to say, Mike found it extremely difficult to eat after speaking with that spit-fire reporter. He left the restaurant and the Student Union on an empty but disinterested stomach. It took everything in his power to drag his feet (and by extension the rest of his body) across campus to his car in the alumni parking lot.
A fairly modest structure, at 2 stories, the Lombardi Alumni Parking Lot was convenient for most alumni, as it exited across from both major libraries and collection facilities. For this reason, the parking lot was fairly busy, even on (or especially because of it being) the weekend.
When Mike finally reached his car on the second level, it felt like a sight for sore eyes. It quickly became a sore sight for eyes, however. Plastered against the side window to his twin-seat vehicle was another manila envelope.
Unlike previous incidents, he did not get nervous or face a panic attack. He felt a sense of relief. Finally, the bastard shows himself, Mike thought as he reached for the envelope. He pressed the FBI “panic” button, alerting his watchers to step out of their shadows, lest any mysterious figures wished to do him harm. And then he tore the seal and ripped the envelope open. Again, the black letters stood out nicely against the tan backdrop of the stock paper. It read as follows:
NO ONE IS SAFE. NO GATOR, NO RAM, NO ALUMNI OF THE OLD INDEPENDENTS SCHOOL. IT’S TIME FOR SOMEONE NEW ON CAMPUS. HOW’S THAT FOR A LEAD?
All Mike could think about in response was the anger had faded from this guys threats. Now he’s toying with me.
And finally, one of his guards, Brandon Lee came running, with his pistol drawn from its holster. “Mike, you’re not safe here!” he said as he scanned the area for any possible blind spots from which a sniper might fire.
“Why? What’s with the gun, Brandon?”
“Mark,” Brandon tried to explain as he dragged Mike by the arm, “is dead. My partner is dead. We have to get out of here.”
Mike was dumb-founded, but gave in to his guard’s demands. As they ran off, Mike pulled out his tablet and typed a message to Bennita and Adam, one that will certainly get their attention for its brevity and sense of confidence.
“We need to implement plan Adams Beta. There’s one guard down. But I believe I know who the stalker is.”