Don't Order Dog_ 1(157)

“So what did you do?” Jeri asked. She realized the pistol was beginning to feel heavy and shifted it to her other hand.

“You should always hold your gun in the hand you plan to shoot with,” Chip replied matter-of-factly. “You’ll have much better accuracy.”

Jeri impatiently shifted the gun back to her other hand and pointed it at his chest. “Answer my question.”

“We came up with a rather unique idea for getting unwanted attention off of both of us… and it worked. After that, your father and I decided to relocate someplace where no one would be looking for us. Flagstaff seemed as good a choice as any. I used my skills to create new identities for the two of us and we entered the university as graduate students. It didn’t take long for us to blend in and become forgettable. I studied archeology and eventually became a professor, and James Stone the reporter became James Halston the economist and writer. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Jeri looked at him skeptically.

“Okay, but even if you’re telling the truth, you still haven’t explained everything.” She pointed the pistol at the shrine of letters on the wall. “If you’re really just an old NSA agent turned archeologist, what are you doing with a letter-writing terrorist and that giant thug outside? And if my father was so worried about his identity, why did he publish a book under the name James Stone? And most importantly,” Jeri swung the pistol back at Chip. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

Chip took another drink.

“Well, we don’t have much time, so I’ll be brief. The truth is, Jeri, old habits die hard. A few years after settling into our new lives, your father and I were both getting a little bored. Your father missed being an investigative reporter, and I missed being an agent. So we both decided to get back into the game again... at least in some way. Your father decided to prepare for his master’s degree dissertation in macroeconomics by investigating the behaviors of large corporations.

“He spent several years doing what he did best– interviewing sources inside of large multinational companies and learning everything about their inner workings. Your father was a genius at uncovering information and getting people to talk. Eventually all of that work culminated in the writing of his dissertation, and a year later he wrote Predictions in the New Business Ecology.” He smiled and shook his head. “Your father considered his book to be the conclusion and greatest achievement of his ‘former’ life, so he decided to publish it under the name James Stone. I have no doubts that his book would have been a bestseller too if he had printed more than a handful of copies. Luckily, I persuaded him not to do that.”

“Why did you do that?” Jeri asked.

“As I said, your father was brilliant. I don’t think even he realized how prophetic his book was when he first asked me to read it. But I did. I also knew it contained the kind of information that could be very useful in the right hands, and very dangerous in the wrong ones. So I convinced him there were better uses for it than sharing it with the world.”

“Like what?”

Chip looked back at her with a stoic face. “Like using it as the blueprint for a new kind of agency.”

Jeri studied his expression, trying to interpret its meaning.

“And what kind of an agency is that?”

The old man’s lips curled into a smile. “My kind,” he said before throwing back the last of the scotch. He then pointed at his watch. “I’m afraid my time is up.”

A bright shaft of sunlight suddenly stabbed the room as the front door of the saloon groaned open. Jeri turned and pointed the pistol at the door as a hooded man wearing dark sunglasses and a heavy winter jacket appeared in the entryway. He immediately stopped and raised his gloved hands. “It’s okay… I’m not armed.”

Jeri looked at the man warily before waving him towards the bar. “Have a seat.”

The man nodded and walked towards the bar. When he reached the body of Tom Coleman, he dropped to his knees and quickly stripped off his gloves before checking for vital signs.

“He’s dead,” Jeri said flatly to the man as he disappeared from her view.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the man replied tersely.

Chip turned on his bar stool and watched silently as the man worked, an odd look of admiration on his face. Jeri shook her head in frustration.

“Chip, who the hell is–” A violent fit of coughing suddenly echoed through the saloon. Jeri leaned over the counter and stared incredulously at the body of Tom Coleman retching violently on the floor. Hovering over him, the man gently held his shoulder until the coughing subsided. He then produced a small syringe from his pocket and immediately stabbed it into Tom’s shoulder.