Work had been spotty recently, till Hanley called him out of the blue a couple of months earlier and asked him to move to Glen St. Mary and begin clandestinely watching over a cantankerous old man named James Ray Gentry, for reasons of national security that had never been adequately explained by the former deputy director.
An airplane flew overhead now, getting out of the area before the storm, Echols guessed.
“Skip,” Hanley replied. “How close are you to Mr. Gentry right now?”
“I’m standing in his backyard, as a matter of fact. Just dropped in for coffee.”
“Anything out of the ordinary going on?”
“Not a damn thing. Some storms on the way, but other than that, nothing that I’ve seen. Something I need to know?”
“Nothing at all,” Hanley said. Then, “Skip…I need you to clear out of there. ASAP.”
“Uh, okay. Why?”
“No emergency, but someone’s coming that you don’t need to meet.”
“Ah…this would be the son? The guy in the CIA.”
“Shit,” Hanley said. “Gentry told you that?”
“He said he had suspicions about his oldest boy being a spook. I played dumb, sure didn’t tell him the former DDO himself sent me to watch over him.”
“Thanks for that. Anyway, the son is coming to take his dad back home with him for a few weeks or so, and it’s better if you’re not around when he does it.”
“Why?”
“He’s shy.”
Echols laughed. “Fuckin’ spooks. No offense, Matt. You need me to stand off close by in case of trouble?”
“No. Gentry is going to be leaving Florida today, so you’re relieved of duty. You’re paid up for the month. I’ll call you if I need you again.”
“Fair enough. I’m just going to go back inside and make an excuse to—”
“Skip,” Hanley said. “My guy is inbound, ETA five mikes. You need to be outbound in two. Understand?”
“Okay,” Echols said, not hiding his disappointment. “I’ll come on my own time when Jim gets back home.”
—
The elder Gentry sat at the table, doom-scrolling an alternative news site on his phone, but then he was surprised to hear Skip’s truck start out front. He’d just made it to the kitchen window when it drove off to the east, back in the direction of Skip’s house.
It passed a Range Rover that was coming this way, and the Range Rover pulled straight up into Gentry’s gravel drive.
Jim put his coffee down on the counter, walked through the living room and over to his door, and opened it with a slightly quivering hand.
Standing there on the tiny porch of his little house, the American flag on the pole out next to him whipping in the wind, Jim put his hands on his hips and faced the SUV.
A bearded man in a raincoat climbed out of the Range Rover and walked straight towards him, and their eyes locked. Ten feet away the man stopped, then looked around, left and right.
Finally, the man turned back Jim’s way. “Hey, Dad.”
“Courtland.”
The two looked at each other for a while, and then Court said, “You don’t seem all that surprised to see me.”
“Well, I figured it was you that sent Skip here to watch over me. He never said that, but I’m pretty sharp, still. Nice guy, Skip. I’m guessing I won’t be seeing him again.”
