The Perfect Teacher Read online

  She looked up. "You mean like, why did you murder six people tonight?"

  Preacher nodded. "That's it. But you're asking the wrong question."

  "The wrong question? I was there. I saw you do it, all of it."

  "There, again. You are seeing it wrong. The who."

  Abbie's face squinched up. Her procerus muscle under the skin across the bridge of her nose did its job, tugging eyebrows and flaring nostrils. "Who? What the hell are you talking about?"

  "We'll come back to that." Preacher brought his feet down from the desk to the floor and leaned toward the bed, resting his forearms on his thighs. "There, right there. This moment. The first time you're upset."

  "What?"

  "Been watching you for three hours and you stayed calm during it all. When I shot five men in front of you, you never screamed, never lost it. When I handed you a loaded gun, you took it without hesitation. When I told you to enter the room on my rear and focus on the right side of the room, you did it."

  She shook her head.

  "And when one of them pulled his gun on you, you did what was necessary."

  "I killed a man." She blurted out.

  "He would have killed you without hesitation."

  "It's not that simple. I murdered that man."

  Preacher threw his hands up and shook his head. "No way, uh-uh. You hastened his death. He had two rounds in him already. He was either going to bleed out or sepsis was going to set in. Dude was a goner in 20 minutes max."

  She just shook her head.

  "And if you want to know, that guy you killed was a murderer of men, women and children. He was the worst kind of human and the world is better off without him sucking in oxygen that good and decent people should be breathing."

  "How do you know that?" She raised her head slightly.

  "You were solid during the whole thing, the entire time." He didn't answer the question.

  "And how did you see me, see what I was thinking, what I was doing? You didn't look at me till it was over when you came back out of the bedroom." Complete calm returned to Abbie's face.

  Preacher kept his focus on her. He had to keep from glancing at the floating dude up in the corner of the room. He couldn't keep that guy from talking though. "Yeah, how did you see her when you were looking at everyone else in the hallway, in the hotel room and the bedroom?"

  Preacher ignored him. Just one more thing to ignore. He was working hard not to tap his feet or fingers to the beats of the Depeche Mode and Blue Oyster Cult songs playing simultaneously in his internal jukebox. It was the one about having one's own Jesus and the one about not fearing the bringer of death.

  And that was just the tip of the swirling iceberg below the surface. At last count, about 17 seconds ago, he had a running list of 124 items he was thinking through while sitting here conversing with Abbie. They ranged from glacier ice melt in Tibet to salmon migration in the Pacific to the presidential election in Peru to the train car scenes in Dr. Zhivago, to list just a few.

  "You're crazy. Like crazy, crazy; not the funny kind. You're insane. Just deal with it." Lance shook his head at him from up in the corner.

  "I watched you, the whole time. You never cracked, never hesitated." Preacher interrupted Lance. That was rude.

  "I was in shock." Abbie shot back.

  "Nope. You weren't. Not for a moment."

  "What did you mean a minute ago that I was asking the wrong question?" Abbie released the hug she had on her bent legs and switched to sitting cross-legged. Looked a bit like a yoga pose.

  Preacher smiled at her comfort and calm. She misread the smile and was about to explode so he raised his hands in surrender.

  "You're not going to like this part."

  "This part? I don't like any of it. Don't want to be a part of any of it, whatever this is." She shook her head.

  Preacher just nodded and pursed his lips.

  "Wait. That's it?"

  He continued to nod; urging her on.

  "Damn." She dropped her head and brought her hands up to rub her face. She ran fingers through her wet hair. "I am a part of it." Abbie lay back on a little pillow wall. She rolled over onto her side into something of a fetal position. "Obvious."

  Lance, watching from above, cracked up again that she brought her favorite comfy t-shirt, ratty sweatshirt and sweatpants. He liked it. She was probably a nervous wreck getting packed and unpacked and re-packed and all over again in the days leading up to the trip. But she still packed her most comfortable knock around the house clothes.

  "Jesus. Why?" she sighed.

  "Close your eyes."

  "Go to hell."

  Preacher inched his chair a little closer to the bed. "No, really. Close your eyes and I'll tell you why. I'll show you."

  "I don't want to close my eyes. Just tell me."

  "It doesn't work unless you close your eyes."

  "If I close my eyes, you'll tell me everything?" Abbie got up on her elbow. "You'll tell me that you are... him." The last part was a statement, not a question.

  Preacher closed his eyes and sat back. Lance closed his and switched to a lying position. "Close em'."

  Abbie laid her head back on the pillow, rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. "Okay."

  Preacher let the seconds tick by in silence.

  Chapter 23

  "On the train, seven hours and 14 minutes ago, what do you see? Concentrate."

  Abbie stayed quiet for a few seconds, pursed her lips and then relaxed.

  "I see the woman sitting across the aisle. She wore a green coat. It was dark outside so I couldn't see much of the scenery passing by unless there were lights."

  "Do you see the guy three rows ahead? He is wearing a grey fedora."

  "No. I don't see him. What about him makes him special?"

  "Nothing. I just really dig that hat. Really thinking about getting one just like it."

  Abbie opened her eyes. Couldn't help but smile. "C'mon. What am I supposed to see?"

  Preacher didn't open his. "Close your eyes. Concentrate."

  "I'm concentrating."

  "Are they closed?" Preacher didn't want to freak Abbie out too much and describe every single human in the train car with them last evening. The car they were in was for Washington D.C to New York passengers. So unlike other cars, people didn't get on and off at the stops. If he wanted to, he could describe what every person wore, their shoes, the color of their lipstick or tie or teeth or soda preference or eye color or whatever. She didn't need to know about the photographic memory. Later.

  "Closed." She rolled over onto her back with her head facing the ceiling. Eyes closed.

  "Good. Tell me what I am wearing. On the train."

  "Jacket, ball cap, sweater, jeans, loafers. Did I miss anything?"

  "The most important things."

  Abbie concentrated. She looked Neil up and down in her memory from the train. She didn't see anything else. "I can't see the color of your socks or if you're wearing boxers or briefs. Nothing else."

  "I'm not going to give it to you."

  Abbie shook her head to clear it. Images of bloody bodies and holes in foreheads and the backs of heads exploding kept butting in. She returned to the train and sitting beside Neil. Dang, how did she miss this before. Must have been because he had a habit of wearing them. "Gloves."

  "Bingo." He replied. In rapid fire, Preacher saw Neil wearing gloves with Abbie almost every time they were together. "And what is the benefit of wearing gloves, besides warmth, of course?"

  "Ah, fingerprints. No fingerprints." Abbie shook her head again. "You wear gloves all the time. I guess I just got used to them." And Abbie shot up in bed. "Jesus, that's it. That's why there is no evidence of you anywhere. My god, it's the gloves. So simple."

  Preacher kept his eyes closed. No reaction. "In the ballroom, can you see the table in the corner on the opposite wall?"

  Abbie reluctantly dropped back down to the pillow. She reached and pulled the white sheets and blanket u
p to her neck and closed her eyes again. She returned to the chaotic ballroom with hundreds of costumed partygoers dancing and drinking and debauching. She concentrated on the room. She recalled looking around at it all. Yes. She stopped. In the corner, at the table were two women on either side of a man. And she didn't notice it before, but two men stood a few feet beside the booth on either side. "I see it, the table with a man and two women. The guards." She looked around the dark room with lights flashing and smoke swirling and people gyrating to the music played by the band on stage. "Where are the other guards?"

  "Look." Preacher replied.

  Abbie looked around the large room. She can't see the other three men. "They're not here, not there."

  "The door." He whispered.

  She returned to the booth and surveyed the room. Aha. Standing beside the main entrance to the ballroom are two of the guards. She recalled seeing them when she stepped out to go to the bathroom. She thought they were with the hotel. "Two by the door. That leaves one more." Abbie didn't want to admit anything and she was still shocked and pissed and scared, but this little exercise was kind of fun.

  "Good. You won't find the fifth guard, the one who greeted us just off the elevator. He must have stayed up on 26."

  "I have a question."

  "Go ahead."

  "If I look closely, I'm pretty sure I see the man from the corner table dancing with both women on the dance floor. If your mission was to kill him, why didn't you just do it on the dance floor? Wouldn't it have been easy to get out in the chaos after? And maybe you wouldn't have had to kill the guards?"

  "He never danced."

  "Huh. So why not just walk over to his table and do it there?"

  "Considered that. Couldn't guarantee I could get you out and keep your identity hidden. Your mask and wig could have come off in the process and you would have been picked up by one of the cameras."

  Abbie brought balled up fists up to her mouth. "My god cameras. They're everywhere now. Oh my god, the elevator, the lobby, the front door. They have video cameras capturing everything."

  "Exactly." Preacher took a deep breath and continued, "What did they capture?"

  Abbie closed her eyes one more time and shook away the fear, the dread. "Sigmund Freud and Jackie Kennedy."

  "Behind masks." Preacher added. "Under wigs."

  "Yes, masks." Abbie exhaled in relief. Some relief at least.

  "And on the way out?"

  Abbie smiled at that. "Ghosts. Cheap ass ghosts under five dollar white sheets." She inhaled deeply and exhaled it all. A cleansing breath. "Hey, were there video cameras on the 26th floor?"

  "No. Not allowed. The rich and famous and powerful and elected don't want anything up there caught on tape. No one can afford that."

  "Dang, they missed the best part. You know, where you shot all those people in the head?"

  "We."

  She shook her head. "Wait."

  "Yes?"

  "There was one more."

  "How's that?" He leaned back and brought his hands behind his head where he laced his fingers.

  "When we got off the elevator. A man got on. He definitely looked like a guard." Abbie sat up. "Why did he do that?"

  "Don't know." Preacher's eyes remained closed.

  "Wait. He got on at the same time that we got off. Squeezed in the door right beside you." Abbie closed her eyes and rewatched the scene in her head. "I didn't really notice it when it happened. Why was he in such as rush to get on the elevator?"

  No response from Preacher.

  "What am I missing?" Her eyes opened.

  "You tell me." He replied. Giving nothing.

  "I, I don't have photographic memory, evidently like you do. I can't see every piece of the puzzle." She huffed.

  Eyes still closed and hands still locked behind his head, Preacher smiled. "Wrong. Every human has photographic memory. You just need to recall the images. They're in the hard drive. Every one. Look. What did you see?"

  Abbie lowered her head and closed her eyes again. She went back to the elevator. His masked face close to hers; too close. Whispering in her ear. The gun placed in her hand. Him turning back to face the doors. They open.

  The man is there. A brief, almost imperceptible flash of something -- not recognition. No. It was a nod; a knowing nod. The guy steps in as Neil steps out. Their shoulders rub against each other. And then Abbie steps out.

  "Damn. What am I missing?" She sighs.

  "Okay, okay." Preacher opens his eyes. "You did well. You saw something. Most people would have missed it; thought nothing of a rude guy getting on the elevator before others get off. But you saw something more. Good."

  "What? What did I see?"

  "You missed him slipping a room key into my left hand. Your vision was blocked from that." He smiled and waited.

  It took a couple of seconds before she got it. "Oh, man. He was working for you. He handed you the room key and left before the shooting started."

  "Yep."

  "You had an inside person. A member of the guard team."

  "Not just a member. He led the team. Gave the orders." Preacher nodded.

  "My god. How did you get him inside? Has he been a guard for that dead guy for awhile?"

  "Nope. He was put in charge of the team two weeks ago. The security team was assembled just for this New York trip."

  Abbie's turn to nod her head. "I see. Wonder how that happened."

  "I believe the primary conduit for running high-roller Middle Eastern security operations in New York City committed suicide a couple of weeks ago."

  "Hmm. Suicide."

  "Tragic."

  She just shook her head. She was gaining control, but still on the edge of slipping into hysteria.

  "New York police are undoubtedly in possession of hotel video tapes by now. They will be viewed and analyzed by police, FBI, CIA, Interpol and Saudi secret police."

  "Great. Friggin' great." She replied.

  Abbie fell back and pulled the sheet up over her head. Back to being a ghost. She wished she were a spirit; wished she could just float away, disappear. Everything was different now. No going back to who she was, who she thought she was.

  "Why the hell did you do this to me?" She sobbed from under the sheet.

  "Abbie."

  She waited a few seconds then pulled the sheet down. Tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes as she looked up at him.

  "Let me be clear, I didn't do this to you. I did this for you. You're now awake to the realities of what you've only been reading and listening and dreaming about. The boring audits you've been compiling only tell you a chapter, a page, a paragraph of the full story. You hate me now, but what you experienced and participated in tonight opened your eyes to an entirely new world."

  "We killed people tonight."

  "And when the sun comes up in a few hours, the world will be a better place because of what we did. Hell, it already is."

  More head shaking, more teardrops rolling. Then- "Wait. You said Saudi secret police. Who was that guy you killed in the bedroom?"

  Preacher's turn to smile. Abbie was a quick study, an excellent student. He liked it.

  Lance winked at him from up there. He liked her too.

  "His name was Jamal bin-Sultan. He came from a very wealthy Saudi family connected at the highest level to the royal family. Problem was, along with gambling and women, he liked to spend his money supporting terrorists."

  "You have proof of this?" The auditor asked.

  "Lots. Proof that you will find in bank accounts and fraudulent invoices and thousands of small money transfers that add up to millions of dollars. He provided funds used in both of the embassy bombings."

  "You are sure you can tie him to the bombings, personally?" Abbie had her CIA auditor hat on.

  "That's the easy part. The CIA and Interpol were tracking bin-Sultan for six years. He goes back over a decade with bin-Laden."

  "That's al-Qaeda, right?"

  "Good, you've hear
d of them. Correct. Remember, everything is strategic. No actions are random. A terrorist financial supporter murdered in a New York hotel penthouse cuts off money and sends a very precise and very bloody message to those he supports. That operation conducted tonight removes money from al-Qaeda's kitty. Now we watch and wait for a response; for them to show themselves so we can take more players off the board."

  Abbie sat up. "Then why not arrest him. Take him to trial, put him in prison until he feels like making a deal and telling us about his friends."

  Preacher nodded. "Absolutely a path that could be taken. But what you just described would take years and cost millions and there is no guarantee he would be found guilty. He could go free, especially when Saudi interests aligned with the royal family make their desires known to folks in D.C., or worse, threaten to cut off the oil." He stood and stretched his back. The Depeche Mode and Blue Oyster Cult songs were over and a new song wasn't playing yet. "You've learned something tonight that others haven't yet. We are at war. Those embassy bombings were not random. They were strategic attacks on America. More than 200 people were killed, thousands more injured. And more attacks are coming."

  "That doesn't explain why you brought me here, why you dragged me into your war."

  "Not my war. Our war. You just didn't know you were in it before tonight."

  "I might choose not to enlist."

  "You may think that now, but you'll change your mind." Preacher sat back down and leaned close to her. His next words were whispered. "In your life, you'll have no better chance to truly change the world. You can't see it right now. You're mad, pissed, frightened, confused. Definitely in shock. You saw people die tonight. You killed a man. That changes you. Rearranges your DNA. You'll never be the same again. But that is how this works, how the world really and truly works. This will sound completely hokie and one hundred percent corny, but we do what we do so that others can live their lives in relative peace. It is all an illusion, a lie, but it is a comforting lie we choose to believe. America is built upon this lie we all believe to be true. And now, you are one of the lucky few who get to live the truth. Freedom definitely has a cost."

  Abbie just shook her head.

  "I know. I know. Unbelievable how good of a speech that was, right?" Preacher cracked up. Lance up in the corner was laughing his ghost ass off.