Wednesday night, after a frozen TV dinner Jake only picked at, he made a decision. Certain his phone lines were tapped, he drove to the Peapack Village Inn to use a pay phone.
In the coffee shop, he ordered a hamburger, just to make his trip believable, then used the phone while he waited for his order to arrive. The number he carried in his wallet was three years old. He hadn’t spoken to Daniel Gage since 1985 when the brawny Irishman had called him in Charleston, just a friendly call at the time. By then, Daniel had been retired from the CIA for five years.
The phone rang several times before Jake reached the disconnect recording. He cursed beneath his breath. Daniel Gage was the only man alive he could trust with his problem. He and Daniel had been friends since Jake had arrived in the States, remained friends even after the FBI took over the duties of the CIA inside U.S. boundaries.
Jake dropped another quarter into the slot, the pay phone chimed, and he heard a new dial tone. His tiny address book had another number listed, an old night number that rang through to Daniel’s inner office at the CIA. Maybe someone there could put him in touch.
Three short rings, and a business-like female voice came on the line.
“My name is Jake Sullivan. I know it’s after hours, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me.”
“How did you get this number?”
“It used to belong to Daniel Gage. He’s a friend of mine. His other number has been disconnected. I was wondering if you might have a number where I could reach him.”
“Give me your number and I’ll see what I can do.”
Jake read the numbers on the faded information card above the phone and prayed he was making out them out correctly. Then he hung up the phone and waited impatiently for the woman’s call.
“Your order’s up, fella,” the waitress called to him over her shoulder as she walked past the hall where Jake stood next to the phone. “Don’t blame me if it gets cold.”
“Would you mind wrapping it up? I think I’ll take it with me.”
She grunted. “Shoulda’ ordered it to go, if that’s what you wanted.”
The phone rang as the woman walked away. Jake lifted the receiver on the first ring. “Sullivan.”
“Jake? That you?”
He released a slow, relieved breath at the sound of Daniel’s voice. “That was fast. Thank God you were home.”
“I’m not home. I’m in my office. Two doors down from where you called.”
“You’re back at the agency?” Jake’s pulse began to hammer. Daniel’s involvement with the bureau was a circumstance he hadn’t expected. Maybe he was doing the wrong thing.
“I’ve been back almost three years. Started right after Marie died. Only way I could handle it.”
“Damn, I’m sorry, Dan. I hadn’t heard.”
“I’m used to it now, at least for the most part. But enough about me. You don’t sound good. What’s going on?”
For a moment Jake didn’t answer. He’d have to be cautious, but it was too late to back out now. “I got a phone call from an old acquaintance. First one eight months ago. One lasts Sunday. Nikolai Popov.” Jake let the words sink in.
“I knew he was in the country. He’s on staff with the Russian Embassy, Chief of Security.”
“It may be a front for something more. I’d like to meet you in person, but I’m being watched.”
“What does he want with you?” Daniel asked, the timbre of his voice changing, betraying his concern, and the old authority and confidence Jake recalled.
“He hasn’t told me what he wants, but he’s threatened my family in Moscow.”
“Christ,” Daniel growled. “That puts you in a helluva position. You’ll have to play along until we can find out what he’s up to. If the Soviets are behind the move, we’ve got big trouble.”
“He may be acting alone. It seems my leaving the country caused him no small amount of trouble. He may be after some sort of revenge.”
“We’d better hope so. If the government’s behind him, there’s not a whole lot we can do to protect your family.”
“I know.”
