Iron Triangle: A Jackson Pike Novel (Book One of The Iron Triangle Series) (5 page)

8:00 AM- Saturday,
September 9
^th

Sumner, VA

The customers pushed through the glass double doors
relentlessly. The line only seemed to get longer as the morning progressed.

Julie Page exhaled loudly, and flicked her long brown hair
from her face as she set a steaming paper coffee cup down on the wooden counter
of the coffee shop much too harshly. The contents sloshed from the plastic lid
and landed on the soft skin of her right hand.

"Shit." She said under her breath, before calling
the name she had printed messily on the cardboard beverage cup.
"Stacy," she called out loudly, "tall non-fat white mocha."

Almost thoughtlessly, she licked the spilled coffee from her
hand before she rinsed it in the cool water of the nearby sink. She turned
around, only to be facing another customer.

Her eyes shifted to the video camera that panned across the
lanes of the drive through. As she expected, there were no less than three
vehicles awaiting service.

Her morning just kept getting worse. Not only was the coffee
shop busier than ever, but the other barista hadn't shown up yet, leaving her
to deal with the onslaught of caffeine starved customers all alone.

She couldn't believe that Leigh hadn't made it to work yet.

Saying she was pissed at her colleague would have been an
understatement. Julie was livid. Leigh knew how busy the coffee shop tended to
get on the weekends, and she hadn't even called to tell Julie that she was
running late.

Julie held up a finger to the customer waiting in front of
the cash register and turned to peer out of the drive through window.

"Grande black coffee, that'll be 2.37." She passed
the impatient looking man in a black truck his coffee as he handed her a five
dollar bill. She quickly made change and handed it to him through the sliding
glass window.

He didn't leave a tip.

As she turned back to the customer waiting at the counter,
Julie dialed Leigh's phone number for the fourth time this morning. It rang
five times before going to voicemail. She sighed heavily and pressed end on her
phone before walking to the counter.

This wasn't like Leigh.

Julie tucked her phone into her pocket and took the order of
the gentleman who stood in front of her. Lucky for her, he only wanted a black
coffee and a pastry, a quick order which she could fill before making her next
phone call.

If Leigh wasn't seriously ill, Julie was going to be even
more pissed. But right now, she was starting to get worried.

While Leigh wasn't known for her punctuality, she always
called when she was going to be late.

Julie took a step back from the counter and dialed 9-1-1 on
her cell phone. She paused for a moment before pressing send. If Leigh was just
taking a mental health day, she was going to kill her, she thought to herself
as the dispatcher answered "9-1-1. What's your emergency?"

8:15 AM- Saturday,
September 9
^th

Sumner, VA

Jackson was sure he had locked the door. Even at his most
wasted, he always locked the front door of his home. So when Jackson reached
the heavy wooden door and found it unlocked, he suspected something was amiss.

Stepping through the door, Jackson was sure of it.

His house was never what one would call orderly, at least
not since he split from Leigh. But stepping into the ransacked home, Jackson
wished his house was only as filthy as normal. Papers were strewn everywhere,
and not a drawer sat unopened.

His first thought was that his home had been searched by the
authorities. After ending up in the hospital with a splitting headache and no
memory of the night before, Jackson could certainly acknowledge that to be a
possibility.

He peeked out the front window. There were no police cars in
the street, nor was there a warrant posted anywhere on the property.

As these thoughts passed through Jackson's mind, he heard a
crash from down the hall. It sounded like it had come from bedroom. Jackson's
breath caught in his lungs as he took a tentative step towards the hallway.

Jackson was still disoriented from his recent head injury,
and the Vicodin he had swallowed in the cab were continuing to numb his senses.
But despite his confusion, Jackson had the presence of mind to kick off his
loosely tied steel toed boots.

He crouched low, his ears tracing the intruder to his
bedroom. Jackson's bare feet made no sound on the wooden floor as he crept down
the hallway leading to his ransacked bedroom.

The twenty-odd steps down this hallway had never been longer
than they were now, thought Jackson as he crept close to silently down the
empty hallway. His heart pounded in his chest, but his breathing was controlled
as he tiptoed towards the intruder in his bedroom.

Jackson reached the door to his room after what seemed like
an eternity, but was likely less than a minute. When he reached the door,
Jackson saw him. A tan, dark haired man in a pin striped business suit and
black leather gloves stood with his back to the door, searching Jackson's cheap
chest of drawers.

Jackson knew he would not get another chance like this. From
his crouched position, Jackson sprung forward as his thick muscular legs
covered the distance between him and the intruder.

The tall stranger must have sensed Jackson's rapid movement,
or else he heard a rush of breath as he was rushed from behind. Either way, he
reacted nearly as fast as Jackson had.

Just before Jackson could tackle the dark haired stranger,
the man spun around. The abrupt maneuver caused Jackson to miss his intended
strike point and deal a glancing blow to the intruder. Both men tumbled to the
ground, their arms and legs flailing violently at one another.

The two men's bodies were a tangle of appendages on the
floor as both attempted to get the upper hand. The intruder was strong, much
stronger than he looked, Jackson noted, as the man was able to break free of
Jackson's headlock.

The man rolled onto his back and drew a sinister looking
black Ka-Bar knife from a belt holster.

Both men struggled to their feet. While Jackson's original
goal may have been to detain or disable the intruder, the appearance of a knife
in the dark haired stranger's hand left Jackson very few options. Jackson had
trained for years in small arms and close quarters combat. The man in the dark,
pinstripe suit would prove to be no match for the highly trained SEAL, despite
the advantage of a knife.

The stranger slashed at Jackson violently with the cold
steel of the Ka-Bar, narrowly missing his neck. But Jackson moved quickly and
judiciously out of the way of the deadly weapon while he awaited his
opportunity to respond with lethal force.

Overconfident, the dark haired intruder quickly stabbed at
Jackson again, but he overextended himself as the knife sought blood. This
mistake would prove to be Jackson's opportunity and the assassin's downfall.

Jackson grabbed the knife wielding arm of the off balance
assailant. He pulled the man towards him, disorienting the dark skinned
stranger. The man was off balance now, and fell towards Jackson.

Almost automatically, the former SEAL's finger's curled, his
hand forming a flat surface which struck at the soft cartilage of the
intruder's nose quickly and with lethal accuracy. The strength of Jackson's
blow drove shards of bone and cartilage into his brain, quickly ending the
man's life.

Jackson was strangely calm. He stepped over the now still
body of his assailant in search of his phone. He needed to call the police.

The prepaid cellular telephone sat on Jackson's bedside
table where he had left it the day before. He made for the device, but when he
was halfway to the bedside table, he stopped.

Things kept getting stranger with every passing moment.

A Beretta 9mm handgun was sitting on the edge of his unmade
bed. Next to the black firearm sat a note written on a yellow legal pad that
Jackson normally kept in his kitchen. Confused, Jackson picked up the yellow
pad of paper and began to read.

As his eyes scanned the pages of the yellow legal pad,
Jackson's heart rate increased for the first time, his calloused and bloody
hands beginning to sweat as he read the lines of the page. The note read:

Leigh
and Clementine,

I'm
sorry. Life has become burdensome in these difficult times and I can no longer
continue. It is my own selfishness and shame that compelled me to take you with
me. I hope that you will forgive me in this life or the next.

Love, Jackson

Jackson held the yellow paper in his trembling hands,
confused. Despite waking up with no memory of the night before, Jackson knew
that he hadn't written the note.

The handwriting was close to Jackson's own, but it was not
an exact match. And the signature was off.

Jackson glanced at the dead man still lying on the floor,
wondering how he was involved.

Jackson picked up his cell phone, dialing a number that he
hadn't called in months. The hollow sound of the ringer echoed in Jackson's
ears five times before the call went to voice mail.

Even on voicemail, hearing his ex-wife's voice caused a
painful longing in Jackson's lonely heart as he began to worry in earnest.

He had to get to Leigh and Clementine's apartment.

Jackson searched the pin striped suit of the dead intruder.
As he searched the dead man, he found a Glock 17 pistol with a silencer and the
Ka-Bar knife that the assailant had attempted to use on Jackson. Along with the
weapons, Jackson found close to $500 in cash, but no wallet or identification.

Jackson tucked the weapons and cash in the pockets of his
leather motorcycle jacket as he checked one last pocket of the man's tailor
made suit. Inside the jacket pocket of the dark skinned intruder's suit,
Jackson found his paycheck.

Jackson had no idea how this man had gotten his paycheck,
but looking at the check made Jackson's blood as cold as ice as his mind began
to race.

The address on the check was not 714 Halsey Drive, where
Jackson lived. Rather, the address printed in fading black ink on the pay check
was Jackson's ex-wife's address; 2100 Marywood Circle, Apartment 113.

Jackson shivered. Months ago, he had asked human resources
to send every other paycheck to his ex-wife in the form of child support for
Clementine. This must have been one of those weeks.

He stared at the check momentarily, but his rumination was
interrupted by soft voices coming from the front of his home.

"Shit." He said as he turned towards the sliding
glass door of his bedroom.

Whether the voices belonged to law enforcement or associates
of the man who had just tried to kill him, Jackson wasn't sure. But he wasn't
sticking around to find out.

He had to get to Leigh's apartment.

8:30 AM- Saturday,
September 9
^th

Sumner, VA

Officer James "Jimmy" Howe hated these calls.

It seemed that invariably, he would knock on the door to
someone's home and the "missing person" would answer. For that
reason, the department had a rule that they wouldn't normally conduct a search
for a missing person until at least twenty-four hours had elapsed.

On slow days, however, the Chief was a strong advocate of
best serving the public's interest.

Unfortunately for the men under his command, in Sumner,
there seemed to be a lot of slow days. The men and women of the department had
become exhausted of responding to every single call, no matter how seemingly
innocuous.

Apparently, the woman who had called in regarding this
"missing" resident, one Leigh Adams, formerly Leigh Pike, had
convinced the dispatcher that something was seriously amiss.

So, based on the report of a Ms. Julie Page of West Sumner,
Jimmy had been dispatched to her residence.

Jimmy cursed the slow morning under his breath as the police
cruiser approached the apartment complex that sat at 2100 Marywood Circle.

He exhaled loudly as he found himself hoping for a
legitimate call. In his experience, these "check in" visits were a
waste of time.

Officer Howe drove his blue and white police cruiser down
the secluded access road to the beige colored apartment complex, his radio
turned up to maximum volume as he hoped for a new set of orders or an emergency
call to a higher profile case.

It didn't come.

He pulled his cruiser up to the gate and pressed the call
button. The heavy wrought iron gate swung open as he keyed the handheld radio
transmitter on his encrypted law enforcement radio.

"Unit 420 reporting arrival at 2100 Marywood
Circle," he said simply as he drove his car towards Building 1.

He pulled his police cruiser into the first available spot
and shut the vehicle down. He unfastened his seatbelt and took a long drink
from his coffee thermos before stepping from the police interceptor.

How shrugged his shoulders to ease the tension of the drive
as he stepped from the vehicle.

Officer Howe was an imposing figure. Though soft through the
middle, Howe stood at over six foot four inches, and weighed in at upwards of
two hundred and seventy five pounds. His skin was prematurely wrinkled from the
elements and the stress of twenty years in law enforcement, but his salt and
pepper hair was thick and coarse.

Jimmy took a breath before stepping heavily up the
pristinely manicured walkway that led to Building 1 and through the breezeway
that led to the front door of Leigh Adams' apartment.

The door to the apartment was a simple aluminum type door
with a single deadbolt. Jimmy tried the handle. It seemed to be locked
securely. There were no signs that anything was amiss from the outside of the
dark brown door.

He balled up his heavy fist and rapped loudly on the door.

He waited, but there was no response.

He balled up his fist more tightly. He pounded on the door
now. "Ms. Adams," he said loudly his voice booming through the
breezeway of the apartment complex; "this is the Sumner Police
Department."

There continued to be no answer at the door.

As Jimmy stood pondering his next move, a door opened behind
him. A small, frail old woman stood with her door barely open was peering at
Jimmy's back. "Officer," said the weak voice, "Can I help
you?"

Jimmy turned and faced the elderly woman whose curly white
hair only came to the center of Officer Howe's chest. "I'm looking for Ms.
Adams. Have you seen her?"

"Not since yesterday," replied the elderly woman,
her eyes closed in deep thought. "She got home around the normal time and
I haven't seen her since."

Jimmy sighed. Leigh Adams was probably just taking a
personal day.

Jimmy's reply was curt but gracious. "Thank you,
ma'am" he said simply.

The elderly neighbor's stature and advanced years belied her
mental sharpness. "Officer, I'm somewhat concerned that Leigh hasn't
answered the door. Lord knows you were bellowing loud enough to wake the
dead."

Jimmy shook his head. "Are you saying that her vehicle
is still here?"

"Well of course," replied the elderly neighbor,
pointing to the parking lot. "It's the minivan there."

Jimmy was beginning to wonder whether any of this
constituted probable cause when the feisty little woman pulled a key from a
chain which was hanging from a peg board to the side of her front door. She
bustled through the door and pushed the almost three hundred pound officer out
of the way.

The small metal key jangled on the elderly woman's long
keychain as she pushed it into the lock of the simple aluminum door. The door
opened, and the white haired lady pushed her way into the apartment, knocking
loudly as she called Leigh's name.

Seconds later, Jimmy heard a high pitched shriek erupt from
the apartment.

If his "bellowing" hadn't woken the dead, the tiny
neighbor's blood curdling scream would have.