J.T. Prescott -- Author

It was after ten o’clock in the evening when Reed Logan pulled into the parking lot behind the small restaurant that fronted on US Route 1 in Hyattsville, Maryland. It was closed for business on Mondays, which made it a safe place to meet in the mind of the man that called the meeting.

Logan left his car and slid into the driver’s side of a nondescript sedan.

“Well this is a change,” Logan said to lighten the moment, which he felt was going to become quite stressful.

The driver turned in his seat to look at him. “We have problems,” General Larkin said.

“What happened?”

“I got a call from that little shit, Dixon, this afternoon. He wants a full report on Grace and details about his death and his assistant’s death.”

Logan didn’t see the problem. “Well, we can give them plenty of information.”

“He knows about the poisoning, and he wants to put me under oath!” Larkin slammed the palm of his hand down on the dashboard.

Logan was stunned. “Can he do that?”

“When all is said and done, yes. He also said that they are going to do an audit of my budget and everything that I have input into. They want it all.”

“Jesus!”

“He also asked me if I or anyone associated with me has dealt with anyone outside the safety belt.”

“I don’t understand. What’s the safety belt?” Logan was confused and very worried.

“The safety belt encircles everyone that is legitimate. Outside the belt are questionable organizations–criminals.”

Logan felt the blood drain from his face. Larkin could see it even in the dim light of the restaurant signage.

“You’d better tell me if we have anything to be worried about,” Larkin said in an ominous tone.

Logan squirmed in his seat. “I talk with the underworld. You know that,” he said. He felt a tightening in his chest.

“I do, and you know I’m not talking about that.” Larkin was watching him with probing eyes.

“I … ran into a group that was also looking for Grace.”

“What group?” Larkin’s tone dripped with a controlled anger.

“They said that they were government sanctioned, and they were willing … to share what they had with me.”

“And?”

“They had access that only the government, our government, could give them. But, eventually I identified their employer. He’s an underworld figure that goes by the name Black Jack. I don’t know who he is, but up to now he was just a myth as far as I was concerned.”

“Did you share information with these people?

“Yes, but only basic stuff to find out––”

“Did you pay them money?” Larkin interrupted. He was a man possessed, and this was a problem.

“No, not directly.”

“What the hell does that mean!” Larkin erupted.

Logan took a breath. “I paid a contractor that they recommended to research the people that we identified in the Delaware Valley as a possible connection to Dr. Grace.” Logan was contrite.

“Is there any connection back to this Jack piece of shit?” Larkin could feel his blood pressure rising. His face was growing redder by the second.

“We have to assume there is. I can insulate you.”

“They won’t differentiate you from me. Get the tracks buried and cut off any communication. Am I clear?”

“Yes.” Logan truly respected Larkin and deeply regretted his unavoidable decision as the silenced weapon discharged a twenty-two-caliber bullet that penetrated the general’s brain.

With his latex-gloved hands, Logan planted damning evidence on Larkin’s cell phone that implicated him in the commission of murder and treason.

He left the vehicle as a cold rain began to fall and pressed a speed dial on his phone. “It’s done,” he said.

“Good. Get under the radar and stay there,” the man said.

“Will do.”