Read Online A Time for War by Michael Savage - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Savage
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The cellar was unique for the streetâthere werenât a lot of basements in earthquake zonesâbut it was small and there was no back entrance. Johnny used the area for storage. Jack was a wine connoisseur and his impression was that it would make an adequate wine cellar but not much more.
Nothing jumped out at Jack. No motive even suggested itself. They went back to the grocery. Maggie was chatting with a young man who looked to be about thirty. He was well dressed and buying an orange juice.
âIâll check with the few friends Iâve got left in law enforcement,â Jack said, âsee what they think. Are you going to be OK here?â
Johnny grinned. âWeâll be fine.â He cocked his head toward the counter. âThatâs one of Maggieâs martial arts school brothers. He stops by every afternoon. Iâm sure that word will spread. They will make certain there are brothers and sisters coming in and out, walking by, available at the other end of the phone.â
âNice,â Jack said. He used to have that kind of camaraderie at the GNT network. His staff, the other hosts, the news anchors and reporters. All he had now was his camera operator, Max. And she was freelance, only around when he needed her.
Johnny and Maggie thanked Jack and they agreed to be in touch as soon as anyone had any information to share. Even though Jack didnât boast the kind of clout or access he once did, Johnny seemed relieved to have connected with someone who knew what to look for and where to look for it.
Jack decided to walk for a while and started down Washington Street toward the Ferry Building. He loved the new marketplace of stores nestled within the brick-and-ceramic arches carefully restored to look like the 1898 originals. The preservation of history kept it from feeling like a mall, and the smells from the bakery, the cheese store, the coffee shop, reconnected him with the city as a whole. San Francisco was a permanent friend and companion to whom unconditional, unwavering love was given and returned. Every street held a memory, every corner the promise of something new. It made him smile when nothing else did. Like now.
Jack found a corner of the marketplace that gave him some privacy but still let him smell the coffee from the coffee shop. He made two phone calls. One was to FBI field director Carl Forsyth, whose very grudging trust Jack had gained after preventing the Golden Gate Bridge from becoming ground zero for a dirty bomb. He didnât mention the grocery in particular, just asked Forsyth if he had received any alerts regarding Chinatown or anyone who might have designs on businesses there, other than the usual thugs and punks. The answer was negative. Forsyth wasnât brusque with Jack; he just had nothing to give him.
The other call was to Detective Sam Jason of the SFPD. Jack had helped him back in 2009 when Jason, who was off duty, tried to apprehend a gang member for fare evasion at a near-deserted San Francisco Municipal Railway stop. The man told the officer he had a gun and tried to flee; Jason killed him with a single bullet to the spine. It turned out the man was unarmed. Jack found out that the dead man had been accused of rape six months earlier and might have participated in a holdup the year before that. His coverage encouraged a witness who had heard the victim say he had a weapon to come forward.
Jason looked up the report on Yu Market from the responding officers.
âTheyâve got a photo of the Chinese guy from the grocery camera,â Jason said. âNo match in any of our databases. They found the SUV abandoned on Marina Green Drive, rented with falsified documents. The labâs got it now.â
âRun-of-the-mill gangsters wouldnât bother with fake IDs,â Jack said.
âNot likely. And they were smart enough to leave it where there were no cameras. Iâll let you know if forensics comes up with
Nothing jumped out at Jack. No motive even suggested itself. They went back to the grocery. Maggie was chatting with a young man who looked to be about thirty. He was well dressed and buying an orange juice.
âIâll check with the few friends Iâve got left in law enforcement,â Jack said, âsee what they think. Are you going to be OK here?â
Johnny grinned. âWeâll be fine.â He cocked his head toward the counter. âThatâs one of Maggieâs martial arts school brothers. He stops by every afternoon. Iâm sure that word will spread. They will make certain there are brothers and sisters coming in and out, walking by, available at the other end of the phone.â
âNice,â Jack said. He used to have that kind of camaraderie at the GNT network. His staff, the other hosts, the news anchors and reporters. All he had now was his camera operator, Max. And she was freelance, only around when he needed her.
Johnny and Maggie thanked Jack and they agreed to be in touch as soon as anyone had any information to share. Even though Jack didnât boast the kind of clout or access he once did, Johnny seemed relieved to have connected with someone who knew what to look for and where to look for it.
Jack decided to walk for a while and started down Washington Street toward the Ferry Building. He loved the new marketplace of stores nestled within the brick-and-ceramic arches carefully restored to look like the 1898 originals. The preservation of history kept it from feeling like a mall, and the smells from the bakery, the cheese store, the coffee shop, reconnected him with the city as a whole. San Francisco was a permanent friend and companion to whom unconditional, unwavering love was given and returned. Every street held a memory, every corner the promise of something new. It made him smile when nothing else did. Like now.
Jack found a corner of the marketplace that gave him some privacy but still let him smell the coffee from the coffee shop. He made two phone calls. One was to FBI field director Carl Forsyth, whose very grudging trust Jack had gained after preventing the Golden Gate Bridge from becoming ground zero for a dirty bomb. He didnât mention the grocery in particular, just asked Forsyth if he had received any alerts regarding Chinatown or anyone who might have designs on businesses there, other than the usual thugs and punks. The answer was negative. Forsyth wasnât brusque with Jack; he just had nothing to give him.
The other call was to Detective Sam Jason of the SFPD. Jack had helped him back in 2009 when Jason, who was off duty, tried to apprehend a gang member for fare evasion at a near-deserted San Francisco Municipal Railway stop. The man told the officer he had a gun and tried to flee; Jason killed him with a single bullet to the spine. It turned out the man was unarmed. Jack found out that the dead man had been accused of rape six months earlier and might have participated in a holdup the year before that. His coverage encouraged a witness who had heard the victim say he had a weapon to come forward.
Jason looked up the report on Yu Market from the responding officers.
âTheyâve got a photo of the Chinese guy from the grocery camera,â Jason said. âNo match in any of our databases. They found the SUV abandoned on Marina Green Drive, rented with falsified documents. The labâs got it now.â
âRun-of-the-mill gangsters wouldnât bother with fake IDs,â Jack said.
âNot likely. And they were smart enough to leave it where there were no cameras. Iâll let you know if forensics comes up with
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