The Senator: A Blake Jordan Thriller (20 page)

I started walking west on Pearson. I didn’t have to go far. The city streets were still wet from the heavy downpour earlier in the day. In the many years I lived in Chicago, I had never seen downtown like this. There were no residents driving cars on the road. It was rush hour and the streets were absolutely quiet.

9405 McCarthy Road, Palos Park
, I kept repeating in my mind so I wouldn’t forget the address.

After I jogged back across the street, I found a silver Chevy Tahoe parked just outside of the Ritz-Carlton. It was an older model and looked pretty beat up. I wondered who the owner was and how they could afford to stay at the Ritz. I thought that maybe they weren’t staying at the hotel and the owner just wasn’t able to find a parking spot anywhere else because of the curfew and every car needing to be off the road.

When I got to the SUV, I leaned back against the driver’s door, closed my eyes, and collected my thoughts. I wondered if Jami was going to be okay and what she would find when she got to Derek Murphy’s place.
Was he dead? Was he kidnapped? Or was there another explanation for Murphy not answering his cell?

I thought about the FBI and how much time I might have until they figured out that I wasn’t with Jami. I had broken the only condition I was given when put back in charge of leading this mission on behalf of the FBI – to not keep them in the dark. It wasn’t too late. I could go back inside, back to Anita’s, and start looking through Marco’s office. I could come clean.

But I knew that wasn’t really an option anymore. We were running out of time with less than an hour before my friend and mentor and the man that half of America wanted to become president would die.

Was I really about to do this? What kind of man was I becoming?
I thought.
The kind of man that keeps his promises and doesn’t leave a fellow SEAL behind
, I reasoned with myself as I peered inside the vehicle to make sure nobody was inside. I tried the door but it was locked. The car’s windows were tinted so I took out a small Maglite that I carried with me and put it up against the window so I could see inside.

It was empty. I saw that the car had navigation and that’s all I really needed right now, that and enough fuel to get me to Palos Park. I hoped that it had enough to do the job. I turned around and once again leaned against the truck and closed my eyes while I thought through what my next steps would be.

I was concentrating so hard that I didn’t even hear the footsteps of someone approaching me.

“Hello again,” I heard and turned to my left. I saw the concierge from the hotel that Jami and I had spoken with earlier. His voice startled me and broke my concentration. “Find what you were looking for?”

“I did,” I said as I slid the Maglite back into my pocket and reached for my Magnum Special Forces tactical knife. The man was surprised and started backing away slowly until he was about ten feet away from me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked as I lifted the knife and held it tightly in my right hand.

“Are you going to hurt me? I thought you told me that you’re FBI?” he said and his voice trembled.

“I need you to go back inside,” I demanded, feeling my heart start to race. My stab wound began to throb again and I looked down and noticed that my shirt was starting to get damp. I was overdoing it and bleeding through the dressing that the medic had applied to the wound. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
This was it. There would be no turning back after this
, thought.

As I stayed against the car, I brought my hand to my left shoulder and quickly turned my body, hitting the driver’s side window as hard as I could with the glass breaker at the end of the knife while looking away. The glass shattered and shards landed everywhere. The man ran and disappeared inside of the hotel.

The piercing sound of glass shattering echoed on the empty street. I reached inside to unlock the door. After I got it opened, I removed my jacket and used it to remove the broken glass from the driver’s seat. Once I got it cleared out, I climbed inside to try to get it started.

I inserted the tip of my knife into the ignition and tried to turn it over. While the trick worked sometimes, it did no good on the Tahoe. I cursed when I realized that this was going to take longer than I had time for.

I pulled the knife out and used it to remove the plastic cover on the steering column. The light from the Ritz was barely enough for me to see what I was doing. I found a bundle of electrical wires underneath and set my knife down and grabbed my Maglite to look for the right bundle that led to the battery, starter and ignition. When I found it, I pulled it aside. I’d use it in a few seconds as the primary power supply for the ignition switch. I looked at all of the different colored wires and a memory came back to me.

Jon Miller was a buddy of mine that I was stationed with while in the Navy. He was a car guy and loved to figure out how to fix his old beat up car himself whenever he had problems. Once, Jon had a problem with the starter and couldn’t get it to turn over. He played around with the wires until he figured out how to get it started. I thought Jon was going to get electrocuted, but he laughed and said, “Just don’t connect the wrong wire.” I tried to remember the steps he took and I grabbed my knife again.

Stripping an inch of insulation from the ignition and battery wires was quick. I dropped the knife again and twisted the wires together. As soon as I did, the dashboard illuminated and the radio came on. I was relieved to see the aftermarket navigation system that the owner had installed power on as well.

Now I needed to spark the starter wire.

I found it and stripped about half an inch of insulation from it and grabbed the other two combined wires. As soon as the wires touched, the truck started and I sat up in the seat and revved the engine so it wouldn’t stall out. I put it in gear and started to drive before realizing that the steering wheel was locked.

“Damn,” I said, realizing that I had forgotten this final step that Jon had showed me many years ago. With all of my strength, I cranked the steering wheel to the left, then to the right. It didn’t work and I felt a sharp pain coming from my stab wound. It was becoming unbearable, but I had come too far to stop now.

I once again cranked the wheel left then right again with all of my strength and I felt the steering while pop. That did it. The steering lock had been broken and the wheel could now move freely for me.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure the street was still clear. I was making a lot of noise and imagined the concierge showing up with the owner of the Tahoe or calling CPD to report a car theft. The last thing I needed right now was a delay. The darkening sky was a constant reminder that I had just a few more minutes to take action and save the senator’s life.

My foot rested on the brake as I accessed the navigation system. I tried to remember the address, but I had forgotten to repeat it to myself in the chaos of the last five minutes. I remembered that it was in Palos Park and that the street was McCarthy. The stress was getting the better of me and I struggled with the house number. I started driving just to get moving and stopped when I got to Michigan Avenue.

I punched McCarthy Road into the system and it suggested a few addresses in Palos Park. I scrolled through the short list of options and found it – 9405. I tapped on the address and the system calculated the route, distance, and time of arrival. It told me that I was just over twenty-six miles away and it would take half an hour to get there. I’d have to hurry. It was twenty minutes until sundown.

I headed south on Michigan, trying to avoid one of the city’s many checkpoints that I knew had been set up. Jami and I had driven through one on our way to the condos on Pearson. I had just slowed down and flashed my badge and I knew that the FBI was following us and we wouldn’t have any trouble getting through. But, now I was driving an old beat up truck and I had no way of knowing how far I’d get before the FBI would figure out that I had gone rogue again. Maybe they already knew.

Maribel Lopez’s address was southwest of downtown. Based on the information that the GPS had given me, I knew that Lopez lived in the Forty Acres Woods area and I knew exactly where that was. Although I had never been to the area on assignment with DDC, I had visited with Maria to hike the Sag Valley Trail.

Maria was an avid hiker. Me, not so much. But, I didn’t mind doing the things she thought were fun. She enjoyed the rolling hills, but her favorite part was the seclusion on the nine-mile trail. Maria loved getting away from the busyness of the city and the suburbs.
It cleared her mind
, she’d tell me. I used to joke with her and ask if she was taking me out there to kill me because it was such a secluded, heavily wooded area.

I thought about how many times I had used that line with her and what the chances were that this is actually what was going to be happening in just a few minutes, killing the senator out here in the woods. It was the perfect spot, I thought, and snapped out of it when the GPS told me to turn right at Ontario.

I wished I could reach out to Morgan and ask for some intel on the home. I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about his loyalty to me and how he was holding the FBI hostage. I wondered how much longer he could keep it up. Surely, he’d try to reach back out to us when Mallory wanted an update.

What would he do when he couldn’t get a hold of me?
I wondered to myself.

When I got to the turn to get on the onramp, I started to slow down. The road curved left and it was impossible to see up ahead until I got there. And that’s why it was the perfect place for a checkpoint.

I realized that I was screwed as soon as I made the turn to get on I-90. A barricade was set up and two Chicago PD cruisers were blocking the ramp. I turned the truck so that the right of my vehicle was facing one of the approaching officers who had gotten out of his car while the other stayed inside of his.

I tried not to panic. I reached for my Glock and lowered the passenger window.

In a split second, I aimed and fired three shots at the tires on both patrol cars. I blew out both on the car with the officer sitting inside of it and hit the rim of the vehicle belonging to the man approaching me.

So much for being a good shot
, I thought to myself. He ducked and drew his gun and fired back and I gunned it, heading south and driving onto the exit ramp from the highway. I was glad that there wasn’t traffic on the street or this maneuver wouldn’t have been possible. I drove the truck through a few small bushes and up over the median and came out on the onramp behind the cruiser with the blown out tires.

I sped off, knowing that the officers would come after me. I wondered how long I’d have before additional units would be deployed further down the highway to try to stop me.
Whoever I was
.

I floored it, knowing that if I could get out fast enough, they might not know if I went north or south. I was glad to see no other checkpoints and two miles later, I got on I-55 and took it to 45 South.

Agent Davis was relieved when she arrived at Derek Murphy’s home. She had been the first to get there, even before the agents that the FBI deployed to check things out and make sure that he was okay. She parked the SUV the FBI had issued Blake in front of the house and got out.

A street lamp right above the truck turned on and Jami looked up and felt anxious. She didn’t want to leave Blake so late in the day with such little time to spare, but there was more going on with Derek and she just had to make sure he was okay. The thought of Marco doing something to her ex made her feel sick to her stomach. Her plan was to make sure that Derek was safe and get back to Blake as soon as possible.

Jami looked down both sides of the street and saw no other cars on the road. She walked across the grass to Derek’s front door and knocked. Jami waited a few seconds and knocked again and rang the doorbell.

“Come on Derek, open up,” she whispered to herself, getting frustrated and more worried by the second.

When her ex didn’t answer, Jami reached inside her jacket and fumbled around, finally pulling out her keys. After finding the right one, Jami inserted it into the lock, turned, and slowly opened the door.

Once inside, Jami became overwhelmed with the familiar house that she thought she and Derek would make their home. She thought about the many conversations they had about their future together. Jami looked at the dining room table where their last few conversations had boiled over into arguments. Jami looked inside Derek’s home office and saw the Italian rug that they had bought together. Memories began to flood her thoughts until she tripped on something, not noticing the cluttered floor before now.

“Derek? Are you here?” Jami asked, stepping slowly and hearing the wood floor make noise as she walked. That’s when Jami started to realize that something was wrong. She flipped on the kitchen light and saw that the house was a disaster. Dirty dishes were piled up high, stacks of unopened mail sat on the counter.

Jami looked around the room and smelled a familiar scent – it was marijuana. She started looking around and found a bag filled with a white powdery substance behind a stack of papers. Jami stuck a finger inside to scoop a small amount and placed it on her tongue. The taste was bitter and her tongue became numb.

Damn you, Derek
, she thought to herself. He had gone back to his destructive ways, another reason why she wanted to check on him, hoping not to find him drugged out on the couch like he had been a few nights when Jami would get home late near the end of their relationship. What she didn’t tell Blake was that besides worrying about Marco, she also worried that Derek might not have answered his phone because he had overdosed.

Jami was still walking through the kitchen when she heard the sound of car doors closing.

She grabbed the bag and ran to the bathroom and dumped the entire thing into the toilet and flushed. Derek was on the wrong path and needed help, but she didn’t want to see him arrested. When Jami stepped outside of the bathroom, she made her way to the front door to meet the agents when she heard a sound coming from upstairs. She drew her gun and pointed it at the top step and saw a woman appear.

“Who the hell are you?” the disheveled woman said.

“Federal agent, put your hands up!” Jami yelled just as the FBI walked inside and saw what was going on.

“Derek’s not here, sweetie,” the ragged woman said with a smoker’s laugh as she walked downstairs.

“Where is he?”

“I haven’t seen him since morning. He’s probably somewhere trying to forget about you,” the woman said.

“Stay right there,” one of the two FBI agents said to Jami as he climbed the stairs to look for Derek.