Without Measure (Jack Widow Book 4), page 5
I took a sip from the coffee. It was okay—not good, not bad, but serviceable.
Kelly walked over to the opposite wall next to the mirror and leaned against it to one side. This was a move I’d seen before. He was leaning near the mirror so that when he asked me questions, I’d stare in that direction. It was so the camera and the suits on the other side of the mirror could get a clear view of my face. Everything is about tactics—a Marine’s life.
Finally, I repeated, “I don’t know Turik.”
Romey cleared her throat and opened the file. She said, “Captain James Muhammad Turik was a decorated officer in the United States Marine Corps. He was a lifer. Nearly twenty years of flawless service with only one citation in his record for misconduct, and that was over five years ago.”
She paused and looked up at me like I was supposed to add something more to her story.
She continued, “Captain Turik was born in Houston, Texas, in 1971 to Ali and Medina Turik, who were a pair of refugees from Turkey but originally from Iran. They migrated to the US when they were children. Turik had three sisters, no brothers. Two sisters are married and living in Texas. The youngest changed her name but is unmarried. She is a teacher and, ironically, a well-known advocate against Islam. She works at UC Berkeley. We looked her up because the changing of her name was interesting. She’s got quite the story.
“She’s got five hundred thirteen thousand hits on Google. She’s even got a detailed Wikipedia page. But not as her real name, which is Ayaan Turik. She changed it to Maya Harris; we don’t know why.
“Turik’s parents are old now, but the father is still the patriarch of the family, and we spoke to him on the phone already. They were cooperative but didn’t deny anything that happened.”
I said, “What happened?”
Kelly said, “No, they didn’t. In fact, they seemed damn proud of what he did.”
Romey stared at Kelly and said, “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“What? They’re hardcore Muslims.”
Romey said, “So?”
“They didn’t seem surprised. That’s all I’m saying.”
I repeated, “What happened?”
Romey ignored me and said, “By all accounts, Turik was a good soldier and a good officer too.”
Kelly said, “On all accounts, but the two asterisks against him.”
I stayed quiet.
Kelly said, “Do you want to know what the two asterisks are?”
I didn’t respond.
Romey read from the file. Turning the page, she said, “The first was the citation. A black mark against him.”
“Six years ago, he had an affair,” Kelly interrupted. He paused a beat, looked at me. Waiting for my reaction, I guess.
Romey said nothing.
I took another swig of the coffee, swallowed, and asked, “How did he die?”
Kelly asked, “How do you know he’s dead?”
“Simple. An E1 could see that. You referred to him in the past tense multiple times. You said, ‘He was’ or ‘Turik was.’ You dragged me out of my hotel. He must’ve been killed. And you told me he had an affair—just blurted it out. Turik was an officer. You can’t share his records freely unless it doesn’t matter. Therefore, he’s dead. Simple observation.”
She stayed quiet. I said, “Yeah, I saw him this morning at a diner. I saw him for a whole thirty minutes. If that. He was alive and well. He must’ve died afterward. And I can tell you I have an alibi for where I was. The hotel clerk will vouch for that. And you can check the keycard reader on the door, which probably records the times I entered and will show that I didn’t leave.”
Romey said, “You think that we hauled you in here because we suspect that you murdered him?”
“Why else would I be in here?”
Romey took my passport out from her pocket and handed it over to Kelly. He took it. She said, “Go check it out.”
Kelly nodded, left us again, and took my passport with him.
Romey said, “Jack, Turik is dead, but we didn’t bring you here because we suspect you killed him.”
“Then why the hell am I here?”
“You’re here because three hours ago, you were seen talking to Turik by several witnesses in that diner.”
“So what?”
“So a decorated officer with a purple heart and a silver star walked into a diner in Hamber, as he does three mornings a week, and a total stranger, a guy that no one has ever seen before, sits with him. You guys are seen talking. Then Captain Turik exits the premises, and fifteen minutes later, he enters the base as usual. He parks in his designated space. He enters the CO’s office. He draws his service weapon and discharges it, killing three officers and two enlisted Marines.”
9
Romey said, “Captain Turik shot and murdered five Marines for no apparent reason. Then he walked out of the command office and shot himself in the head, right in the yard.”
I stayed quiet.
“I’ve got questions for you.”
I nodded and said, “I doubt I’ll have answers. I told you I’m nobody. Just a guy passing through.”
She ignored me and took out a department-issued smartphone. She swiped through it with her fingers and must’ve found a voice recording app, because she turned it on and faced the phone toward me. She also had a legal pad out in front of her.
She said, “State your name, please.”
“Don’t I get a lawyer?”
“Name, please?”
I stayed quiet. I felt at odds because I was a big believer in civil rights and civil liberties, but at the same time, I’m not involved with Turik. I’ve got nothing to hide. I shrugged again and said, “Jack Widow. You want me to list my life history, pedigree, and all that?”
“Just the basics. We can pull up all of your records ourselves. If you’ve got records.”
“My name’s Jack Widow. I was born thirty-one years ago in Mississippi. I’m six four. White. Scorpio. And I like long walks on the beach.”
Even though she was recording, she wrote the first parts down on the legal pad, and then she stopped, looked at me, and said, “This isn’t a joke. Six people are dead.”
I nodded and said, “Sorry. But you got the wrong guy. Wrong idea. I don’t know anything about Turik.”
Then I thought, Except I thought he was suspicious earlier. Maybe I should’ve done something. A man who plays neutral is just as guilty. Right?
“Okay, Mr. Widow. Tell me what you talked about. How do you know Captain Turik?”
“I told you. I didn’t. I came into town with a trucker. I wanted to grab breakfast, coffee, and sleep. I saw Turik sitting at a table alone. I joined him. We talked about nothing. He barely said anything.”
“Why did you join him if you didn’t know him?”
I stared at her. I had a problem answering this question because I didn’t want to be involved, but if I told her the truth, then certainly they’d involve me. I’d look suspicious. Then again, lying in these proceedings was like lying under oath. And I tried not to lie to people—general policy.
She looked me up and down, then she added, “Were you begging for money?”
I said, “No. I joined him because he looked suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“Yeah, he looked like something was off. Wrong. You know? Like peculiar.”
“Explain?”
“Look. I came into the diner. I had coffee. Turik came in. He was suspicious. I sat with him. Tried to feel him out. See if I could figure out what was wrong about him. He barely spoke. He left. I got a hotel room. And then I was fast asleep for a couple of hours until you knocked on my door. That’s all I know.”
I thought about that giant guy that came in after him. I wasn’t sure if I should mention him just yet.
“You said he was suspicious. What made you pick up on that?”
“Old cop habits.”
“You a cop? Where?”
I shook my head and said, “Past life.”
She didn’t press me on that issue. Maybe she was putting a pin in it to return to it at a later time. She said, “Okay. Tell me specifically what about him was suspicious?”
“He was quiet. Stared into space. But ultimately, it was his uniform.”
“His uniform?”
“Yeah. He wore his BDUs in public. That’s a big illegal taboo for Marines. And an officer wouldn’t dare break that rule.”
She nodded and asked, “How’d you know that? You ex-military too?”
I nodded and said, “Former military. Long ago.”
“Where? Which branch?”
“I was a sailor.”
Romey nodded and said, “Navy.”
“I’ve been all over.”
“That’s vague.”
I stayed silent.
She said, “If you were Navy, why did you know about his uniform? He’s a Marine.”
“I know a thing or two about the Corps.”
“Okay. What else happened?”
I shrugged and said, “Like I said. I noticed he was acting strange. I tried to be nice. He didn’t want to talk, and he left the diner. I never saw him before that, and I’ll never see him again. That’s it.”
She sat back, put her pen down.
Just then, the door opened, and Kelly walked in. He carried a tablet with him, like an iPad, only it wasn’t an iPad. I didn’t know what it was. Instead of a name or recognizable symbol, it had an unrecognizable symbol on the back, and I couldn’t see the front. I did notice that Kelly wasn’t carrying my passport, which was a bad sign. That meant that he had secured it somewhere, and that somewhere was most likely where they put things for safekeeping, which had the word keep in it, which led me to believe that they weren’t planning on letting me go anytime soon.
Kelly said, “Look at this.” Only he had a sardonic tone with an apex on the end of it, like he’d found something interesting and was also patting himself on the back like he knew it all along. It was a vocal "I told you so," only without the words.
Romey took the tablet and stared at the screen. She swiped right and read the information that she had found. Then she tried to swipe right again. Only nothing was happening, I presume, because she was swiping right again and again. Then she set the tablet down on the tabletop and began typing on it. A short phrase. Six letters and two numbers.
She typed it and then was stunned to see a rejection onscreen. She was typing in a password, and whatever she was looking at was denying her.
She said, “What the hell?”
Kelly said, “How is that possible?”
They were quiet and stared at the screen, and then they stared directly at me.
I said, “I would’ve never guessed that you were from Massachusetts.”
Romey looked at me. She asked, “What?”
“You don’t have an accent. I never met someone from Boston who didn’t have one. At least, I never knew that I had met one. If I had.”
“How the hell do you know where I’m from?”
I said, “Your password. It’s Boston81. I suspect that means you are from Boston and probably about thirty-five years old.”
She looked down at the tablet screen, then back at me. She asked, “You can’t see the screen from there. How did you know the passcode?”
“I didn’t. You just confirmed it. I only guessed.”
Kelly said nothing, but I could see that he wanted to. What he wanted to say I had no idea.
But Romey said, “Explain.”
“It’s not hard—the way you typed. I just watched your fingers. You’re right-handed; I can see that from your gun. It’s on your right side. And you drove the car earlier using your right hand. Low down in your lap. Therefore, you’re right-handed.”
“And?”
“No offense, but you’re no millennial.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I just mean that you aren’t a kid. You’re in great shape. I noticed that immediately, like a normal guy would. But you hold the rank of major, which is higher than Kelly’s. Therefore, it’s doubtful that you are younger than thirty. It’s a testament to your skills that you are at this rank now.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that you take care of yourself. And that you’re from a past generation, like me, which means that you use the old QWERTY keyboard. Where the letters are arranged a certain way, which was determined long ago, based on the original telegraphs, the keys were placed a certain way because it worked best for telegraph operators.”
They both stared at me with a look like they were both thinking I was a freak, which I guess wasn’t far from the truth.
Romey said, “That’s stupid. That’s a myth. Everyone uses QWERTY keys.”
I shrugged and said, “It sounded good.”
She eyeballed me in a way that told me she was warming to me. I don’t think that Kelly appreciated it, but he didn’t comment.
I said, “I watched your fingers. Right hand, not left to press the B key, which is near the middle bottom, above the spacebar, and then you returned to the typing position, moved your middle finger up. This was probably the I or the O key.”
Romey interrupted me and said, “Okay. I get it. Now, how the hell did you know that?”
“I told you. I watched you. It’s not rocket science.”
Kelly slammed his hand down on the table, not too hard, just enough to still show that he was playing the part of bad cop. He said, “Where did you learn that?”
“Relax. I learned it for the same reason why you can’t access my file. Which is what you are trying to do, right?”
Romey nodded.
“Your passcode won’t work. Right?”
She shook her head and asked, “Why?”
I said, “‘Cause my file’s classified.”
“I’ve got a security clearance.”
“Not high enough.”
Romey said, “I’m a senior ranking officer investigating a mass homicide and potential terrorist attack on a Marine base. On top of that, I’ve been granted top security clearance.”
“By whom?”
“By the Office of the Marine Commandant, who’s a member of the Joint Chiefs. Which means the Pentagon.”
I shrugged and said, “It may not be high enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You won’t get into my files because they aren’t just military files. They’re sealed by the Department of the Navy, the DOD, and probably a few other places with letters that stand for long titles.”
Romey and Kelly looked at each other.
Romey asked again, “Who the hell are you?”
10
“Look, I want to help,” I said. “I’m not a part of some conspiracy. I don’t know Turik, hand to God. And I never heard of him until today. You guys are barking up the wrong tree. And I can only guess it’s because you’re desperate, which is understandable. You got a mass shooting, and from a decorated officer who happens to be Muslim. It looks bad. But I’m really not involved.”
Kelly said, “We need to confirm who you are.”
“You just did. Why else would my military records be sealed above top secret?”
Romey asked, “I thought you said that they weren’t military records?”
“No, I said that they weren’t only military.”
No one spoke.
“You can’t keep me. I’m a civilian. And I didn’t do anything.”
Romey looked at Kelly. She said, “Step into the hall with me.”
They stood up and went into the hall. I waited there, staring at the tablet and the back of Turik’s file. I looked over at the mirror. If Turik shot and killed the CO for the base, I wondered who was in charge now. I wondered if, whoever he was, he was standing back there now, staring back at me. I wondered if it was Romey. It might’ve been. She might’ve woken up today third or fourth in command, and Turik came in, shot the other two or three above her.
Turik had shot and killed five people, they had said. It must’ve been a couple of hours now since then. The shooting explained the heightened alert at the gate. It explained all the body armor and the guns and the sense of urgency. It explained how they got to me so quickly. They identified Turik easily enough as the shooter. Then they retraced his steps. The waitress told them about me. She knew where I was going. Hamber is a small place. Only one motel in town that I could’ve been at. Plus, she’d given me directions.
They were being thorough, which I understood, but finding out that they were unable to access my records would’ve been enough to tell them I was a guy with a past, which was what they were counting on. Only my past was classified by the military and the government, and it was classified at a higher degree than they were used to. Which meant that my past wasn’t the past they were hoping for. It meant that I had once been one of the good guys and important. It didn’t quite get me off the hook, but it was a major roadblock.
They were hoping to pin this on me, maybe dish out some swift justice. That’s the problem with a lone gunman: they often commit suicide, and then there’s no one left to arrest. These guys wanted someone else to blame, an accomplice. Unfortunately, there wasn’t one.
They came back into the room. Romey asked, “Is there someone we can call to confirm your service record? Whatever it may be?”
I said, “There’s not.”
“Don’t you have a former CO? A friend or something?” Kelly asked.
“My former position doesn’t exist. I can’t hand over contact information. That would be acknowledging the existence of something that doesn’t exist. Understand?”
Romey thought for a moment, and then she said, “If you were a cop, maybe you can help us.”
“How? You want me to work your case for you?”
“I don’t know what kind of cop you were, but all this top secret stuff tells me it was a good one. We could use the extra help.”
“What is it you’re not telling me?”
