Code for Everything
Previously: The team visits Seb Podesta, starts squabbling, and then gets a mysterious invitation.
Need to catch up on The Spring? Visit the chapter index here:
7:31 PM - Friday, November 6, 2014
Xavier Prep, Outer Richmond District, San Francisco
Paco looped through Golden Gate Park per Jeannie’s directions, exiting out on Fulton Street in the outer avenues. The evening fog had already settled in, casting a dense overlay that hid rooflines and diffused streetlights. Foghorns from the bay sang off in the distance — Paco realized he hadn’t heard them all week.
Mark stared out the window on the passenger side in silence the entire way; Jeannie pouting in the back seat with her arms folded defensively. Her pretty features hardened and pinched. Paco knew they all needed a proper weekend with time enough to laugh, drink, and sleep. He thought of Imogen and wondered where she was right then; he pictured her bent over her pottery wheel, deep in concentration over form and movement, and then pictured her in their kitchen cooking, and then tucked into the sofa in front of the fire with a book. She could be anywhere and he just wanted to be where she was. Hopefully whatever this latest errand was would end quickly and get them all on their way home. He needed to go home. This thought brought on the fatigue that was swimming below his skin. He yawned deeply, making a gentle roar as he blinked his eyes.
“It’s up ahead on the left, Paco.” Jeannie said quietly from the back seat.
A large, stately school building — actually multiple buildings — seemed to emerge out of the fog, their lean lines all coordinated and similar but in different shapes and sizes.
“It’s the last building at the end.” Jeannie said.
Paco parked at the empty curb, facing against traffic on the left side of the street. Jeannie was out of the back seat, slamming the door almost before the vehicle had fully stopped. He heard Mark huff a sigh next to him.
“You alright, man?” Paco ventured.
“I’m fine.” Mark sounded defeated. “Let’s get whatever this is done.”
Emerging from the SUV, they both joined Jeannie at the curb; she looked impatient and nervous. Jeannie turned rapidly, heading toward the building with the small garden next to it. Paco doubled his stride to get to the door with her.
A small man stood in the glass doorway, seemingly on the lookout for them, eyes widening as they approached. He wore black trousers with a gray zip-up hoodie, a priest’s collar just barely peeking through the neckline.
“Officer Hagen?” The man asked.
“Yes, I’m Jean Hagen. This is Officer Mayfield and Agent Greenberg. Brother Driscoll asked us to be here?” Jeannie spoke quickly, somewhere between politeness and utter impatience.
“Yes - yes. Please follow me, all of you.” The man held the door for them and then pulled it closed behind Mark, locking it with a key. He offered all of them a slight smile before leading them down a long hallway to the left past the receptionist’s desk.
Jeannie walked ahead of them, the man leading them quickly down the length of the building. A burl wood headboard panel ran the length of the hallway from the floor to about waist height, with an array of religious paintings placed every so often. No bleeding, flaming hearts, but more pastoral, storytelling about someone.
A pair of double doors stood on the right, blending into the wood paneling of the hallway. The man in the hoodie knocked twice sharply before opening the door and popping his head in — he told someone inside that the three of them were there and then pushed the door open wide for them to enter.
The room was a large common room — like a large living room with multiple couches and plush chairs. It was inviting and cozy even though at least triple the size of Paco’s living room at home. It was empty except for three people. Two of them, a younger, white man and an older, Latina-looking woman, were huddled together on one of the sofas. The other man was much older, small, slightly balding, and sporting spectacles, a priest’s collar, and a deep blue cardigan sweater on top. He stood with the help of cane, moving slowly. He shuffled forward as the two on the sofa looked up at them warily.
Jeannie approached the older man, sighing slightly. “Dan — what’s going on?”
“You’re in uniform, Jean.” He gave her an appraising look. Jeannie’s face was spent, almost dazed. “I’ve never seen you in uniform. It suits you…in a way.”
“Does it?” Jeannie mumbled, face confused. “Why are we here, Dan?”
“Hello agent Greenberg, good to see you again, and you must be Officer Mayfield.” The Jesuit held out his hand to Paco and shook it with a slight smile. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t know quite what to do. Let’s — let’s just go over here for a moment.” He gestured them back toward the double doors a few paces, voice dropping. “They arrived about an hour ago now, and both are very scared and concerned, but want to help. And know this — I’ll be helping both of them in any way that I can. I want to see to it that both are protected.” He looked up at each of them, eyes flinty.
“Brother Driscoll —” Mark began, a slight rasp in his voice. “We’ve had a very full day. It would be helpful if you could explain exactly what’s happening, please.” Brother Driscoll considered him.
“Allow me, Dan.” It was the young man who’d joined them, his voice was calm, quiet. Something about him was familiar. Jeannie tilted her head as she looked him over. There was something about the pale gray eyes that reminded Paco of someone they’d met.
“Nathan.” Jeannie whispered. “You’re Nathan Hartman.”
“And you’re Judge Hagen’s daughter. You look like him.”
For a long moment no one even seemed to breathe. Jeannie’s face went from disbelief to shock.
“I saw the news conference a little while ago.” Nathan began, pushing his pale brown hair to one side. “But Zoo was already at my place, scared out of her mind. She knew she had to bring it to you somehow, but — well, she doesn’t have any papers.” Nate looked to Mark, who looked stunned.
“Zoo?” Mark asked quietly.
“Zoo — well, we always called her Zoo or Zooey. Her real name is Zoila Ramos — she’s my parents’ housekeeper. She showed up at my house last night — late, you know. The suitcase is over there.” He pointed to a medium-sized hard case Rimowa on the other side of the room. “Listen, she’ll help out, but she doesn’t have any papers like I said.” The young man lifted his chin at them. “So, you know, do whatever you have to do but she won’t give you anything unless you get her some protection from immigration.” Mark glanced at the woman huddled on the sofa, her hair starting to gray. She wore skinny jeans with sneakers and a large sweater.
“Immigration?” Mark knew his brain wasn’t connecting appropriately.
“She’ll give you everything, but she needs a visa. I know you can make an S-visa happen, no questions asked, so do it. She won’t testify to anything without it.”
“What’s in the case?” Paco asked quietly. Nathan turned his guarded, pale eyes on him for the first time.
“It’s what you’re looking for.” He whispered. “Call whoever you have to call to get the visa done and it’s yours. She has a statement prepared. She’ll sign it, but we need that visa.”
Jeannie swallowed and looked at Mark whose chest was heaving in quiet breaths.
“Can - can we talk to her?” Jeannie asked quietly. “Paco speaks Spanish.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Nathan said, assessing Paco. “I can translate for you too.” Nate gestured toward the sofa. Paco moved toward the woman slowly, perching on the chair next to her, his large frame barely fitting in the seat. Jeannie and Mark approached, standing near enough to hear them, but not invading. Nate took the seat next to Zoo. “Está bien, ellos van a escuchar. Yo me quedaré contigo aquí todo el tiempo.”
“Hola, señora — soy Guillermo Mayfield.” Paco began. True to form, he had her relaxed and smiling slightly just enough for her to unwind. Jeannie was impressed with Paco’s perfect Spanish, but it made sense; she still hated not knowing what was being said apart from a few words. Paco asked her a few longer questions and Zoo began talking, gesturing at the suitcase across the room. Paco nodded. “Está bien, entiendo. Déjame avisar a mis colegas, ¿de acuerdo?”
Zoo nodded. “Yes, sure, okay.” She whispered in English, looking at Jeannie with a glimmer of hope.
Paco stood, licking his lips. “She says that Hartman gave her the drugs.” He watched Mark’s eyes flare. “He packed this suitcase with the drugs at the house and told her to leave until they called her back. She didn’t want to take it home since she has kids running in and out, so she brought it to Nathan’s. She stayed there last night — his apartment is out near SF State someplace and they’ve been talking all day about what to do.”
“The drugs — “ Mark broke off. “Can you ask if we can open the case? We need to verify —”
“Ai, si si — yes, open.” Zoo said from the sofa. Nathan stood again as Paco rolled the case over to a low coffee table.
“It’s all in there and it’s legit.” Nathan said. “Remember she won’t testify unless you set up the paperwork, okay?” Mark looked at him. “If what you say is in there, then that won’t be a problem.”
“Señora - ¿Conoces el código?” Paco asked over his shoulder, hefting the case onto the table and laying it down. “Wow, that’s heavy.”
“My Dad wouldn’t have told her.” Nathan said. “But she probably knows it. Try 3679 - it’s our code for everything. Garage doors, alarms…” Paco input the code on the lock, a loud pop snapped as he moved the the slider. Looking up at Mark he swung one side of the heavy suitcase open revealing packages of plastic bags layered together tightly. Some held powders, some held pills, some held small vials.
“Oh my God.” Jeannie shivered. “Mark —”
Mark’s head was spinning as he reached for his phone.
“Mark the visa. You have to tell them about the visa before anything.” Jeannie whispered next to his face. He looked at her, feeling nothing but fatigue. He nodded slightly, swallowing hard as he scrolled his caller list before landing on the number he had for Ben Flint at the DEA.
“Greenberg?” Flint answered on the third ring.
“Yeah, hey sorry to call you on a Friday night but I need you to get here.”
Flint chuckled slightly. “Yeah right. You know the kind of day I’ve had. Why would I be going anywhere?” Mark pulled the phone away from his face and snapped a photo of the open suitcase, sending it off to Flint.
“Check the photo I just sent you.”
“You’re not my type Greenberg.”
“Listen man,” his voice terse, as he moved away from the group, “this isn’t some bullshit. It’s Jim Hartman’s missing drugs and you need to get your ass out to the Jesuit residence at Xavier Prep. We need an S-visa for the witness — the one who brought the case — it’s Hartman’s housekeeper. He loaded up a fancy Rimowa and handed it off to her. She’s here and needs a visa or we’ll have nothing.”
Omg!!!