Tom quickly summarized the murders of the previous four Petronus employees to the Director as he pulled their incident reports from the folder and tossed them on his desk. He then pulled out a printed copy of one of the Polaroid photos of the man from the letters and laid it on top of the pile.
“Now, I don’t pretend to have your level of expertise in how to deal with matters of international terrorism, Director. But I can only imagine how grateful our government and the international community would be, not to mention one of the world’s largest corporations, if the Department of Homeland Security managed to finish what the CIA started. Or should I say corrected their mistake?” He dropped the entire folder back onto Preston’s desk. “But we don’t have much time.”
Jack Preston studied the obscured image of the man in the photo for a moment before looking up at Tom with a solemn expression. “So where is he now?”
“China,” Tom replied without hesitation. “A coastal city in the north called Dongying. Petronus has a major oil refinery there, as well as a research facility.” He pulled a small notebook from his pocket, flipped to a page, and tossed it onto Preston’s desk. “That’s his last known address.”
The Director glanced at the notepad for a moment before glancing up at Tom. “And the CIA doesn’t have this information?”
“No sir.”
A grin parted Preston’s thin lips as he spoke. “Well then… welcome back to the team, Agent Coleman.”
∞
“I thought you were staying clear of this place for a few days,” Chip said as Jeri strolled through the door of Joe’s Last Stand Saloon.
“I thought you were going to do the same,” Jeri replied as she stepped up to the bar and dropped a sealed envelope onto the counter.
Chip shrugged. “Old habits die hard,” he muttered, pointing at the envelope. “What have you got there?”
Jeri ignored his question and glanced around the bar. “Where’s Joe?”
“He just left to grab some lunch. I told him I’d stay here and tend the bar in the rare event that someone else walked in for a drink at this hour. He’ll be back in a few minutes. Sit down and keep me company.”
Jeri shook her head and smiled softly, her brown eyes hinting sadness. “Maybe another time.”
The older man narrowed his eyes on her suspiciously. “What’s this about, Jeri?”
“This about you winning, Chip,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I’m finally taking your advice. All this time you’ve been telling me I need to move on. Well, I woke up this morning and realized you were right.” She tapped her finger on the envelope. “I know a formal letter of resignation is a little overkill for a bartending job, but I thought Joe deserved it.”
Chip stared at the envelope with shock. “Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered, his face slowly composing into a smile. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as a heart attack,” Jeri replied as she turned and headed for the door.
“Don’t you want to wait for Joe?” Chip asked, watching her leave.
“I think it’s better if he hears it from you. Just make sure he gets my letter.”
“I will. So, Jeri–” Chip said earnestly, forcing her to stop and look back. “When’s your last day?”
“Tomorrow,” Jeri replied. “Just enough time for everyone to say their goodbyes and for Joe to work out the schedule.” She glanced over at the shrine of letters and photos still hanging on the wall and shrugged. “And who knows… maybe he’ll just keep writing letters to the next bartender?” She gave him a quick wave before slipping through the doorway and into the wintry Flagstaff morning.
As he watched her disappear, Chip sipped his beer in the empty saloon and quietly answered her question.
“I don’t think so.”
∞
Jack Preston finished reading the five-page investigation summary Tom had given him and dropped it on his desk. His eyes lingered on it for a long moment before staring dumbfounded at Tom. “This is unbelievable, Agent Coleman,” he said quietly. “I mean un-fucking-believable.”
From his chair across from the Director, Tom smiled and nodded his head.
“Yes, sir… it is unbelievable. But it’s all true.”
Preston picked up the thick stack of supporting documents Tom had included with his summary and absently thumbed through the pages. He flipped past the photocopies of the letters and Polaroid pictures and stopped when he came to a photo of Jeri that Tom had taken at the bar. “So this is her, huh?” he asked as he pulled it out and studied it. “Our pretty little bartender at the center of this mess?”