Date: Sat, 7 Jan 2012 10:11:11 +0100
From: Micheal Mikey <michealwitluv@gmail.com>
Subject: The Game He Lost 2

The Meeting

     Abe flicked another glance at his watch as he dug his keys out of his
pocket. The traffic had been worse than usual. Every direct route to his
apartment building had been blocked by stalled cars or minivans. Why
couldn't everyone simply follow their vehicles manufacturer's recommended
maintenance schedule? He always did and he hadn't had any problems with his
car yet. Still, it was odd that the car trouble seemed limited to his
neighborhood. It was almost as if there was some grand conspiracy out there
to delay him from reaching home.

     He shook his head at the ridiculous thought. Washington was
undoubtedly full of enough conspiracies, but they wouldn't be targeting
him. No, he was about as ordinary and law-abiding as a person could get. He
understood the value of structure: maintenance schedules, school timetables
and to-do lists. These gave a solid framework on which to build a life.

     Of course, sometimes timetables did require adjustments. He'd have to
pencil in thirty-five as his next target date for the husband, family and
home in the suburbs.

     "Oh, for heaven's sake," he muttered, fitting the key into the
lock. "Get over it. Thirty is only a number."

     The phone was ringing when he opened the door. He bolted the door
behind him and flicked on a light just as the answering machine picked up.

     "Hi, dear." It was his mother's voice. "I hope everything is all
right. I thought you would be home by now."

     Abe hurried through the short entrance hall to his living room, dodged
around the avocado plant and reached past the fig tree to grab the
telephone. "Hi, Mom."

     "Oh, you are there. How was your day, Abe?"

     "Great. The kids loved the museum." he started to shrug off his
jacket, belatedly realizing he was still holding on to the backpack he had
picked up. He had meant to leave it in the car so he could take it in to
school tomorrow, but in his rush to get home, he must have brought it
upstairs to his apartment without thinking. He was getting as absentminded
as his students.

     On the other hand, wasn't forgetfulness a sign of advancing age?

     He grimaced, dropped the pack and his bag beside the fig tree and sank
into a chair. "How are you, Mom?"

     "Just fine." There was a spurt of conversation in the background that
was quickly muffled. "Are you still going to come over tonight? You haven't
forgotten, have you?"

     "No, of course I didn't forget. I was late getting in because traffic
was horrible. If I hadn't used all my shortcuts, I'd still be sitting in
it."

     "Well, I hope it clears up before you set out for our place." The
sound of a doorbell came over the line.

     "I'll be over as soon as I can. Is someone at your door, Mom?"

    "Oh, that's nothing. It's just your dad fidgeting with the bell again."

     "Mmm." Abe was sure he heard more muffled conversations in the
background. It sounded like his older sister's voice. "Are you sure you are
not expecting visitors?"

     "Now, why would we be expecting anyone but you, dear?"

     "I don't know. Are you making fried chicken?"

     "Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you guess?"

     Fried chicken, potato salad and egg sandwiches without crusts. Just
like every year. The surprise party was on, "I could smell it from here,
Mom."

     "Oh, you." She laughed. "We'll see you in a little while, then. Drive
safely, dear."

     Abe put the phone down and leaned his head against the back of the
chair. He had to try to think positively about this birthday, he thought as
he studied the ceiling. Apart from a different digit at the start of his
age, it was the same as all the others.

     He looked at his watch and did a quick calculation of how much time he
would need to drive to his parents' house if the traffic didn't improve,
and then pushed to his feet and hurried toward the shower. He had better
get moving or he was going to be late for his own party. He just hoped he
would be able to act surprised. It was going to be tough. He had never
liked surprises.

~~~~~~~~~~

     "Twenty-nine years old," Sandra said. "No, make that thirty. Birthday
is today. Single. He has worked at Cherry Hill School for the past seven
years. Four hundred and sixty one dollars in his savings account, seven
thousand dollars in government bonds. Want his credit card balances?"

     Finn buckled on the electrician's tool belt as he swung around another
turn in the stairwell. Sandra was on the radio, feeding him information
about Abraham Locke as it came in. he was thinking on his feet now, making
up the action plan as he went along; so, any fact, even a date of birth
might prove to be useful. "Does he have a debt problem?"

     "No, he has a good a credit rating. No debts apart from a car
loan. He's a nonsmoker, according to his insurance records," Sandra
continued. "No outstanding traffic fines. He has three library books on
loan. The books are possibly history texts, judging by the titles."

     Finn wasn't surprised at the depth of detail Sandra could obtain on
such short notice – all it took was a little know-how and nothing that
had ever been entered into a computer was secret. If the public became
aware of how easily the privacy of a private citizen could be breached, the
conspiracy theorists would have a field day.

     One detail that hadn't shown up on Abraham's records though was the
fact that Abraham could drive a like New York City cabbie. If Finn hadn't
seen it for himself, he never would have believed what he could make that
little beige Firefly do. He had gotten past every one of the obstacles they
had set up. It was a good thing he had been on his bike, or he would have
lost him back at Sandra's "stalled" van.

     Finn clipped a fake power company ID card to his shirt pocket. "What
about girlfriends?"

     "No data about that so far. He doesn't use his Facebook account often
and has even less information there than he does on his file at the
school. He could be gay for all we know. But I could dig deeper and find
out more about that."

     "No." Finn said immediately. He didn't know why, but he didn't like
the idea of Intelligence digging quite that deeply into Abraham's life. "I
only wanted to know whether he might have company with him at his
apartment."

     "Sorry. Records online won't help you there. He has his mother; Clara
Locke listed as his next of kin. Parents live in Maryland. One older sister
named Martha, a younger one named Eleanor, both married with kids." Sandra
paused. "Abraham's sisters are named after first ladies, and he himself is
named after a president. It seems like he's not the only history buff in
the family."

     Finn reached the next landing just as the lights were out. The power
failure didn't startle him – evidently Specialist Blake Gonzalez had
located the main breakers in the basement and had done his job right on
schedule. This was the reason Finn was using the stairs to get to the
seventeenth floor instead of the elevator. He waited where he was until the
emergency light clicked on, and then continued climbing.

     "Ibru just received word from Boko Haram." Ghost's voice replaced
Sandra's. His words were even lower and more clipped than they were earlier
– definitely a very bad sign. "They claim they were double crossed, that
he never left the ransom as he had agreed."

     "What did he tell them?" Finn asked.

     "Ibru said that he left the money, but it was picked up by a
schoolteacher."

     Finn increased his pace, taking the stairs three at a time. Great. If
the terrorists hadn't followed Abraham home from the museum, they would be
able to find him for sure, anyway, now that Ibru had told them the ransom
was picked up by a schoolteacher. They wouldn't need the of resources the
Nighthawks to be able to trace which school had field trips at the museum
today, all they would need would be a telephone. It was only a matter of
time before they narrowed it down and decided to come after Abraham and the
money themselves.

     "Wasn't anyone with him when he took the call?" Finn
muttered. "Couldn't they have stopped him from talking?"

     "He was advised not to say anything but Boko Haram put his son on the
line and then struck the child. When Ibru heard his son scream, he
disregarded our instructions."

     Finn felt a surge of adrenaline. Boko Haram had abused a helpless
child. They would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. They wouldn't
care how many innocent people were hurt or how much collateral damage they
did in the process.

   Mr. Abraham Locke, who turned thirty today, with his three library books
and his little beige car, was a sitting duck. He had to get the money away
from Abraham; – or get him away from the ransom; – as soon as
possible.

     "Is the kid all right?" Finn asked.

     "We have no way of knowing," Ghost replied. "All we know is that he
was alive and conscious ten minutes ago."

     "How long do you estimate I have before Boko Haram gets here?"

     "We are keeping our units in place to gridlock the traffic in the
immediate area, so best-case scenario, you'll have thirty minutes."

     Finn didn't need to ask what the worst case scenario was.

     He stopped when he thought he heard footsteps in the stairwell below
him. He waited until he could be sure the footsteps were retreating –
probably one of the building tenants, nervous about the power failure. He
placed his hand on the door to the seventeenth floor. "What's the latest
from the electronics in the pack?"

     "The pack is stationary, somewhere in Abraham's apartment."

     "Has he opened it?"

     "Unlikely. The mike didn't pick up any sound to indicate the buckle
was being unfastened."

     "Did it pick up anything?"

     "Only a phone call from his mother. They are expecting him for
dinner."

     "Maybe I should wait until he goes out."

     "Boko Haram won't wait if they find him first."

     "Right. What is he doing now?"

     "There is nothing on the mike except some shuffling sound. He is
probably trying to find his way around in the dark."

     "Okay. Keep me posted, I'm going in."

~~~~~~~~~~

     Abe balanced on one foot to put on his trousers as he peered through
the peephole in the door. He tried to make out the features of the man who
stood there, but the beam from the emergency light at the end of the
corridor didn't reach this far. All he could see was a tall, broad
shouldered figure with some kind of tool belt strapped around his hips.

     "Who is it?" he called through the door.

    "I'm with the power company, Mister."

     He adjusted his trousers and checked with the light he could use to
see if he was showing the bulge down there. The hot shower had left him
feeling hot...and needing, but he was thankful that he had finished his
shower before the light had gone out, which would have been impossible if
he had taken time to minister to his needs. The bathroom had no windows, so
it had been pitch dark, but at least there had been enough light from the
dusk filtering through the other windows for him to find his
trousers. "That was fast," he said.

     "There is a problem with the wiring in the building. We have traced it
to a circuit in your apartment. I need to check it out."

     Water dripped from his chest down his stomach. "What?'

     "Do you mind letting me in?"

     He opened the door to the limit of the security bar. "Do you have any
identification?"

     There was a rustle of fabric as the man in his doorway reached for
something on his chest. "Here's my I.D. card."

     Abe squirted at the card, but all he could make out was a pale
rectangular blur. "Sorry, I can't..."

     "Hang on." Finn took a flashlight from his belt, clicked it on and
directed it toward the card. "This should help."

     The suddenly bright beam made Abe blink. He looked at the printing on
the card. Finn O'Brian. Sure enough he was an employee of the power
company. He glanced at the small color photo in the corner. His grip on the
door tightened.

     Who had ID photos that turned out like that? Even the stark head-on
flash couldn't hurt that square jaw and those high cheekbones. A picture
like that should be gracing an ad for designer cologne, not an
identification card for the electric company. He raised his gaze to Finn's
face.

     The photo wasn't that good after all. He looked far better in the
flesh.

     Good Lord, but he was gorgeous. Not in a pretty, cover boy way, but
like a man. All attractive. Those deep-set thick eye lashed blue eyes
gleamed with quiet male confidence. His nose was bold and straight, his
lips framed by twin lines that etched their way down from the hollows of
his cheeks. His hair was black, curling over the tips of his ears and the
back of his collar in a way that invited a tousling. In his plaid flannel
shirt and his snug-fitting jeans, he looked rugged but approachable, a
natural born heartbreaker.

     Abe wanted to slam the door on his face.

     "Mister? Would you like to call my supervisor? He'll verify my ID for
you."

     "No, I..." he cleared his throat, thankful for the lack of lighting so
he might not notice how he was staring. On the other hand, a man who looked
like that would be accustomed to attracting plenty of male and female
attention. Yes, he probably reveled in it, drawing women like mindless
doomed moths to flame.

     It was a good thing he was immune to men like that. That was the
advantage of being infected before – it served as a vaccination against
future bouts of the same affliction. "Are you sure the problem is in my
apartment? I haven't had any trouble with the electricity until now."

     Finn took a slim, rectangular device from his pocket of his jeans and
held it toward Abe. "The readings I'm getting on this gauge pinpoint your
place."

     Abe made a show of studying the numbers that were flickering across
the screen of the instrument, but it could have been a pocket calculator
for all he knew. "I see."

     Finn hesitated for a moment, and the n he lowered his voice and bent
his head toward Abe. "Please, man. I'd like to get this job finished and
get home. You see, it's my birthday."

     The door wobbled as Abe jerked. More water dripped from his hair to
his shoulder and trickled down to his trousers. "Your birthday?"

     "Uh-huh."

     "You are not serious."

     "I'm afraid so. I hit the big three-oh today."

     "That's...odd."

     "Sure is, according to my folks. They claimed I'd never make it this
far."

     "That's not what I meant."

     "They are expecting me for dinner tonight, but I have to finish this
job before I can leave so if you don't mind..."

     Abe gritted his teeth and forced himself to return his gaze to Finn's
face. He was smiling; a hopeful tilt at the corners of his lips. Abe could
almost hear moth wings sizzling. "I meant I can't believe that it's your
birthday today. It's mine too."

     Finn's eyebrows rose. "Really?"

     "Yes."

"Now that's a coincidence." The lines beside his mouth curved as two
dimples appeared in his cheeks. "What are the odds?"

     Yes, indeed. What are the odds? Having a man who looked like Finn
O'Brian show up on his doorstep was unlikely enough, but sharing something
as personal as a birthday with him was beyond strange. It bordered on
bizarre.

     Was this some kind of cosmic joke? he wondered. Was this fate's way of
pointing out the road he had almost taken, the very thing he used his
schedules and his timetables to guard against? Just as he was about to
adjust the best before dates on the plans for his life; instead of
Mr. Right, Mr. Finn O'Brian shows up at his door with his blue eyes and his
dimples like some karmic birthday present.

     Abe ran his hand through his short hair and then wiped his hands on
his boxers. "Did you say that your parents were expecting you for dinner?"

     Finn's budding smile disappeared. "Hey, that I'm thirty and spending
my birthday with my parents is no big deal."

     Abe's conscience twanged. Finn couldn't help how he looked, he
repeated to himself. He had learned the hard way not to trust handsome men
– or to put it more accurately, not to trust his reaction to handsome
men – but he really shouldn't be letting his personal prejudices color
his judgment. Who knew? If Finn actually did plan to visit his parents,
maybe there were a few ounce of human decency behind that pretty face,
after all.

     Not that he would be willing to bet money on it.

     This man's character had no bearing at all on the current situation,
he reminded himself firmly. "Excuse me, I didn't mean to imply there was
anything wrong with that. I was getting ready to go over to my parents'
place for dinner myself when the power went off."

      Finn was silent for a moment, then shook his head and chuckled. "Go
figure. Guess you are in as much a hurry as I am, then."

     "Yes, I believe I am."

     Finn clipped his ID back on his shirt pocket and gestured toward the
door. "Well, the sooner I get started, the sooner both of us can leave."

     Abe hesitated. The logical side of his brain waged a big battle with
the dark little corner where he kept his instincts. As usual, though, logic
won. He had to get organized and get out of here within the next thirty
minutes or he was going to disappoint his family. He eased the door shut to
unlatch the security bar, and then stepped aside to let him come in.

     It would be all right. He was just letting the man into his apartment,
not his life.

     Finn kept his light aimed at the floor as he walked into Abraham's
apartment. Abe pressed himself against the wall giving Finn as much room as
possible; – but still somehow their bodies touched as Finn entered; -
and then closed the door behind him.

     Abraham Locke was a cautious man, Finn thought. It was a good thing he
had hit on the idea of making up the story about today being his birthday.

     Finn was good at saying what people wanted to hear be. It was a useful
talent to have in his business – talking his way out of a situation was
often preferable to using force. In spots like this, people called it quick
thinking. When it was off duty, people called it charm.

     The technical word for it was lying.

     But it wouldn't have accomplished his objective if he told Abraham
that he had celebrated his thirtieth birthday more than two years ago. And
it sure as hell hadn't been with his parents. He had been six years old the
last time he had seen his mother and as far as he knew, his father was
somewhere in Brazil with his wife number four.

     "What exactly are you looking for?" Abraham asked.

     Finn glanced over his shoulder. Rather than staying at the door, Abe
had followed him into the living room after grabbing on a pair of pants
that were lying somewhere along the way from the door to the living room –
obviously the one he intended to wear to the dinner. There was more light
here than in the hall, but still the place was too dim to see more than
dark shapes and outlines.

     Abe's outline was worth seeing. Compact and ripped in all the right
places. He must have been fresh from the shower when he had answered the
door. Finn had caught a whiff of fruit scented soap – apple or
strawberry, he'd guess. His short hair was wet and plastered flat to his
head. Finn's eyes ran downwards where drops of water trailed to Abe's
boxer. Abe probably hadn't realized that drips of water had been turning
his boxer transparent and had somehow made the clothing cling to
his...body.

     Finn kept his flashlight aimed at the floor. "Like I said, I traced
the short to your apartment, but that's about as specific as the gauge
gets. I need to test each one of your electrical outlets until I find the
source of the problem."

     "But wouldn't each apartment be on a separate circuit? I still don't
understand how a problem here could black out the entire building."

     "Seems the wiring in this building wasn't done to the standards
specified in the electrical code," he improvised. He had to distract Abe
before he realized how flimsy his story was. "Wow, I still can't believe
that we share birthdays."

     "Me, neither."

     "And that we will both be spending it with our parents."

     "Mmm. Yes." Abe said as he put his shirt.

     "Are you close to your folks, then?"

     "Yes, you could say that."

     Finn heard the caution in Abe's voice go down another notch. He
decided to play up on the family angle. "So am I. A lot of people would
call it old fashioned, but there's nothing like family."

     "Especially on birthdays."

     "You got that right." He paused, trying to think of the most likely
spot for Abe to have dropped that backpack. "Kids make it the most fun
though. I've got two nephews who can't wait to blow out my candles."

     "Do you like children?"

     "Love them," he said figuring that would be what a schoolteacher would
want to hear.

     A sigh whispered through the darkness. "So do I."

     Finn used the flashlight to scratch his elbow as he moved toward the
outline of the living room window.

     "Oh, watch out for the..."

     Something stiff and dry hit Finn's face. He automatically brought his
forearm up to block the next blow and jumped backward.

     "...avocado plant," Abe finished.

     Finn directed his flashlight upward. A branch thick with long, wavy
leaves hung at head level. He traced the branch to an enormous plant that
grew from a pot besides one wall. "What the...?"

     "It's an avocado plant," Abe repeated. "I started it from a pit. I
know it's in the way but it does best in that spot. Are you all right?"

     "Sure, I managed to fight it off."

     "Don't worry, it's not carnivorous."

     Finn heard a smile in Abe's voice. It reminded him of that private
smile that had so intrigued him before. He swept his flashlight around the
room, this time aiming the beam higher. A pair of monster plants hulked
under the window. No, it was a glass door, not a window. Probably led to a
balcony, but he hadn't been able to see it before because of the
plants. More pots and foliage clustered on the top of the low bookshelf. "I
see you are good at growing things."

     "It's my hobby."

     "I'm a civil war buff," Finn said, remembering what Sandra had said
about Abraham's library books. Maybe he was piling it on a bit too thick,
but he would do whatever it took to keep Abe off guard.

     "I enjoy studying history, too," Abe said. "I believe there are
worthwhile lessons to be learned from the past. As long as a person is
smart enough to remember them," he added.

     Not a good topic, Finn decided hearing the note of thoughtfulness in
Abe's voice. He didn't want him thoughtful. He wanted him of balance. He
chuckled. "Let's not mention history on our birthdays, okay? After the day
I've had, I feel ancient enough today."

     "I know what you mean." Abe sighed and moved toward him. "You'll never
find what you are looking for in this jungle. Better let me help you."

     The flashlight was still high, so when Abe walked into the beam, it
shone directly on his chest. Finn tried not to look, but it was impossible
not to notice the perfectly shaped nipples with a dash of black hair
between them.

     Finn's gaze skid downwards as Abe bent over to move some plant and
Finn suddenly realized that the innocent, house plant loving,
visit-his-folks-on-his-birthday Abraham Locke's underwear had soaked up
quite a bit, plastered to his bum – which was an eye full.

    Finn turned the light aside and scowled. Abe hadn't provided the peep
show deliberately – he must have been a hurry to get dressed when the
lights had gone out.

     But he was supposed to be the one distracting Abe, not the other way
round.

     Abe turned to him, and the look his eyes kind of said, Find what you
are looking for?

     Well, he sure wasn't here to look for a good looking butt without an
underwear, however lush and temptingly displayed it might be. He had to
find that backpack, he reminded himself. A green backpack. In a jungle of
green houseplants.

      Abe touched his arm. "You might as well start in the kitchen. The
outlets are easiest to get to there."

     Abe's touch was soft and hesitant. It was meant impersonally, a
practical way of getting his attention in the dark. He felt Abe's warmth
through his sleeve, through his skin, and right to his bones.

     He couldn't afford to feel anything. He had a job to do. A kid's life
and the political stability of an entire nation were resting on the success
of this mission. He had to stay focused.

     The outlets, Abe had said. Right. He took a screwdriver from his tool
belt, turned around and followed him to the kitchen.

    The receiver in his ear crackled. "Braveheart."

     Finn was careful to betray no reaction to the Commander's voice. The
radio had been silent since he had made face-to-face contact with
Abraham. The commander had been monitoring everything of course, but for
him to risk direct contact, it had to be important.

     "A car passed one of the roadblocks one minute ago," Ghost said. "They
flagged it as suspicious so we ran the plates. It was reported stolen this
morning."

     Okay. Ghost had to let him know about anything suspicious. This could
be coincidence, nothing to do with them.

     "Three black male occupants."

     Three. Boko Haram operated in cells of three.

     "Sandra turned the parabolic mike on the car. It picked up a snatch of
foreign language conversation. He identified it as Ijaw."

     That clinched it. The Ijaw language was one of the languages of the
Niger Delta region; the base of Boko Haram.

     They were about to have company.

     "The stairwell is getting busy with tenants making their way
downstairs," the commander said. "We'll run interference there when our
visitors arrive, but we still can't risk confrontation. I estimate you've
got five minutes tops."

     So much for the half hour he had hoped for.

     "Better wrap things up, Braveheart."

     Sure, find the ransom; get it and Abraham Locke out of this apartment
before the terrorists dropped in without compromising the mission by
blowing his cover.

     Why had he thought he didn't like things easy?


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