Free Countdown to Mecca by Michael Savage

asked.
    â€œWell—sure,” Ric said. “I mean, look what happened today. Who wants to get shot at?”
    â€œDon’t you? Isn’t that your job?”
    â€œYes, but that’s part of the job description, ” he said.
    â€œBoth of these ladies are working their way through college,” Ana said. “They chose this life. Perhaps we can talk to the girls about having a greater goal than filling a crack pipe.”
    â€œThat’s it, that’s what I’m talking about,” Ric said.
    â€œI could contribute something to career week,” Sammy said, feeling left out. “I could teach them how to do magic tricks and make balloon animals.”
    â€œActually, your brother phoned with a job for both you and Ana,” Ric said.
    Miwa and Ritu agreed to Ric’s plan and he teamed them with the appropriate staff members. When that was done, he motioned Sammy and Ana to a table with a pair of laptops.
    â€œWe got our tech guy setting up a digital rogues gallery of possible hit men to see if you recognize them,” Ric said. “It will help to see if they’re from our talent pool or the military.”
    â€œYou people have a tech guy?” Sammy marveled.
    â€œI’m good, he’s better,” Ric said. “What do you think, we’re living in the Stone Age?” Ric gestured for Sammy to take one chair. “Meanwhile, we’ve got a dossier of high-ranking military men who live in the area for Ana. If we can pin those boys down, that may help lead us to the gunmen.”
    He gestured toward another chair and the two got to work.

 
    9
    Sol and Doc had left the safe house before the others woke to buy video equipment and take Jack to the police station. When he was finished there they drove to his personal “safe house,” an apartment he kept secret from everyone. During the run of his TV show he had used it when he wanted privacy or secrecy or both. Upon arriving, Sol drove around the block twice. None of them saw anyone watching from a car, from the street, or from a doorway. No one was following them. Parking in the vast three-story basement garage of the building, Jack took them to his apartment building through the elevator. They went up a flight of stairs and walked swiftly to the elevator. Punching the button, Jack stepped back to look at the street through the long, narrow glass window in the hallway, but got barely a glimpse before the elevator arrived. Inside, he slipped his key into the panel. The car started up almost immediately, taking them to the twentieth floor of the twenty-two-story building in the heart of downtown San Francisco.
    Sol took a moment to admire the place, which was filled with mementoes from Jack’s life, including his hobby: repairing watches. Vintage timepieces were everywhere.
    Jack pointed to a large clock on top of a freestanding wardrobe. It was made of brass and shaped like a ship’s wheel. “In case you’re wondering, that’s where I hid the surveillance camera.”
    Sol appreciated the unsentimental repurposing of the antique.
    The trio crowded around Jack’s desk, where his editing equipment was set up. He clicked on the video he had been working on before Firebird had crashed into his life. The piece cited the case of several companies that had ended contracts with Iran. They watched a sequence showing stock footage of Der Warheit Unternehmen’s varied interests before zeroing in on how the firm was continuing to help Iran. Jack had made an interesting graphic that showed just how the company’s money flowed while his recorded voice chronicled the company’s attempts to mitigate the publicity damage, culminating in the CEO’s visit to San Francisco. That set up the final sequence, which would have been Herr Helmut running from Jack’s questions.
    â€œBoy, you really have it in for them,” Sol said.
    â€œYes, but that’s small