Free Final Crossing: A Novel of Suspense by Carter Wilson Page A

‘him’?”
    The comment stopped Jonas for only a beat. “That’s hot.”
    “Pig.”
    “Listen, get a hold of her , or anyone of a decent rank over there. They use a contractor named Anne Deneuve. She’s a medium.”
    V pulled a notepad out of nowhere and began writing. “Medium what?”
    “Like a psychic. Psychic criminologist, I think it’s called.”
    “The FBI uses psychics? I thought that was only on TV.” Jonas ignored the comment. “I need to know if she’s legit.”
    “A legit psychic?”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t you think—”
    “Just do it, please. Okay? She wants to meet with me and
    I’m trying to decide if I should take the time to do it.”
    V spun and kept walking. “Maybe you should just ask the psychic,” she quipped.
    Jonas headed toward his office, knowing V would have good feedback within the hour. That’s what he loved about the people he worked with. Despite all the different personalities and attitudes, everyone did their work to the best of their ability. Senator Sidams had been in the Senate for over twenty years and he did not believe in rewarding mediocrity. Jonas had seen him fire longtime friends and bring on board political rivals. No one who worked for the Senator took his or her job for granted, not even Jonas, who, as Chief of Staff, would be the hardest to replace.
    The Senator paged him the second Jonas’s ass touched his chair. Jonas made a beeline for Sidams’s office.
    Robert Sidams looked up from his desk, which was a massive chunk of cherry built around the time Edison was first toying with filaments. The Senator’s white hair was fully intact, despite the stress of two decades in Washington. His lean, clean-shaven face showed the hint of a tan and a scowl, making him look like a Midwest rancher reluctantly dressed up and shipped to D.C. Behind him was a wall of photos, most of the Senator shaking hands with heads of state from both friendly and belligerent nations. Sidams wore the same smile in every photo. It wasn’t fake, but it certainly didn’t tell you the cards he was holding.
    “You look like shit,” he said to Jonas. “So I’ve heard.”
    “You want to talk about it?”
    “I’m trying to reconcile familial issues and my obsessive need for constant approval.”
    “Seriously, Jonas. I need to know you are at a level of high functionality.”
    Jonas shifted his gaze to the carpet for a second. “My head is still a bit out of whack from the accident. And I...”
    I’m remembering things from the service. Things I had completely blocked out. Now I want to know more.
    “You what?”
    “I’m fine. Ready to roll.”
    Sidams assessed Jonas with eyes that had once stared down Kim Jong Il.
    “Fair enough. I need to see the Denver brief.”
    “Can you give me an hour?”
    “Will it be in better shape than it is now?”
    “Infinitely.”
    “Fine. Have it by then. Make sure to check the wire for anything current. I don’t want to find out Hamas has done something stupid in the last few hours that will screw everything up.”
    “Define ‘stupid’.”
    “Like kidnap more tourists.”
    When Hamas kidnapped a busload of Israeli tourists who were on their way to a weekend of fun in Eilat the previous year, it represented a major shift in tactics for the Palestinian organization. The abduction was done on Israeli soil, not within the Territories. The tourists were blindfolded and whisked away in secret to Gaza, where they were held for six days. Though Israel launched a few rockets in retaliation, no one knew where the hostages were, so open attacks were dangerous. On the sixth day, the hostages were driven back to the open highway and released, unharmed.
    Hamas didn’t want to hurt them. Hamas just wanted to show Israel they could have.
    The brazen act increased already elevated tensions in the region. Sidams had just proposed his bill at the time and the kidnapping had almost torpedoed it. The Denver Peace Accords were just months away. The