James Mohs - The Fed Man

The eldest of five children raised in a small, central-Minnesota community, James Mohs holds a BS in Biology from St. Johns University in Collegeville, where he played baseball for four years, and an MD from the University of Minnesotas Medical School.

He was named the Outstanding Family Physician in Minnesota in 1997 by the Minnesota Academy of Family Physicians. He retired in 2006 and now focuses on reading, writing, playing golf, and spending as much time as possible with his wife, children, and grandchildren. This is his first novel.

Before he even got out of bed, Nube Lawson knew he would hate this day. A year ago today his young, loving wife and their unborn child had died in a car accident. Ellie had driven to New York City from their home in Washington, D.C., to visit her best friend and old college roommate, who was Ellies maid of honor and was going to be their first childs godmother. Ellies small Cavalier was run off the road by a passing van and into a bridge abutment. Her car exploded and she, and their unborn baby, died instantly. On that day, a part of Nube died as well.

Nube and Ellie had met at Georgetown University, where he was completing his undergraduate degree in criminal justice and she was finishing a sociology degree. They dated all through Nubes law school days at Georgetown. A contentious aspect of their relationship was Nubes dream to join the FBI and, hopefully, become a profiler.

Against her better judgment, Ellie reluctantly consented and agreed to postpone their wedding until Nube had completed his twenty weeks of intensive training at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia.

Shortly after his graduation from the Academy and becoming an official Special Agent, they were married and settled into an apartment close to the campus. He had always thought it was quite fortuitous he had been assigned to the Washington, D.C., office where he was working in the criminal investigative department. The night before the fateful trip, they had celebrated the completion of his third year with the FBI and were anxiously waiting to learn where he would be reassigned.

He didnt recall much of the events immediately following the accident. He did recall vividly, however, being at the cemetery for the graveside services. He remembered that when he emerged from his car and began to follow the procession leading to his beloved Ellies final resting place that he was suddenly overwhelmed by the stark contrast of life and death that was before him. He became acutely aware of the morning suns intense brightness and how it streamed through gaps in the canopy of majestic white oaks, trying to evaporate the final drops of dew on the grass. He remembered staring at the sun and thinking how it represented new life as well as everlasting life.

Then his eyes had settled on Ellies casket and he remembered deaths darkness. His body shuddered and tears snaked down his steeled face. He recalled a line from Tennyson he had memorized years before: But oh for the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still!

The service had ended and most of his friends and family had left. He took one last long look at the shiny oak coffin, and as he turned to leave he felt someone grip his left arm. Lawson.

The voice froze him as it had on numerous occasions over the past three years. He turned, knowing that he would see his boss, Supervisory Special Agent Allessandra Corrales. An eighteen-year veteran of the Bureau, she stood five foot three with shoes and tipped the scales at 105 pounds, wearing her Sig 9mm. She was clad in her usual workday attire: a charcoal gray pantsuit with a plain white blouse. No frills, just like her. Her jet black eyes and hair both spoke to her Puerto Rican ancestry. The expression on her face always read the same: Stand at attention, pay attention, dont screw with me, and dont screw up. But if you do, admit it. Diminutive in stature, she was a mountain in persona. Today her voice sounded perhaps just a bit softer and there was even a hint of a remorseful smile on her face.

His response matched her address for brevity. Maam. Extending his right hand and attempting a small smile, he continued, Thanks for coming. It means a lot to me.

She released her grip on his forearm and accepted his hand with a firm, no-nonsense grip. Im so sorry for your loss, Nube. Everyone in the office and the whole Bureau is sorry. Listen, spend the day with your family, but I would like you to meet me in my office tomorrow at 0900. Okay?

Thanks. Sure, Ill be there.

With that she released her grip and left. Nube watched her walk away. Then he continued his sorrowful stroll to the car where his parents were waiting.

WHEN HE ENTERED his apartment later that day, he was struck by a cold, empty feeling that almost took his breath away. He tossed his car keys into a bowl that Ellie had set on a small table in their foyer. Loosening the knot on his tie, he took his suit coat off and tossed it over a kitchen chair. He saw the blinking red light on their answering machine and reflexively hit the play button. He immediately recognized the voice of his old friend and boyhood boss.

Nube, this is Steve Smithson. Geez, Nube, I just heard the news and am so very, very sorry for you. If theres anything I can do for you, please let me know. Anything at all.

Im living in Oak Ridge, Minnesota, now, where Im the superintendent at a private golf club called Burnt Wood. Its really a beautiful place, very quiet and serene.

The message continued, sounding as if the voice didnt know how to stop rambling. Look, Nube, if you need a place to go to collect yourself, get your feet back on the ground, you can certainly come and stay with me for a while. I might even be able to get you some work if you want. Just let me know. Again, Nube, Im so sorry for your loss. Call me.

Hed heard the speech a million times. He thought he even had it memorized. Corrales would come out of her office slamming the door behind her. Shed stride out to the center of the maze of desks where her agents were working, select a centrally located desk, slam her fist, and then place both hands on it. Before beginning, she would lean forward just enough to strike an intimidating pose, glaring at them individually and then collectively.

Appointments, she started. Children, how many times must I go through this with you? If I say 0900, I mean 0900. Not 0905 and certainly not 0845. If youre late, you are irresponsible. If youre early, it means one of three things: one, you have nothing to do; two, you dont know how to use your time; or three, you are a boot-licking, butt-kissing, patronizing idiot. For emphasis she always hit the desk again before continuing, her voice rising, And I hate idiots! Am I clear, children? She would then reemploy the individual and then the collective stare. Standing straight, she would adjust her suit coat before finishing: Now back to work.

Thats why this morning Nube knocked only once on her glass office door at precisely 0858. After hearing Enter, he opened the door, quietly stepped in, closed the door behind him, and stood at attention. Corrales was seated on the edge of her chair and turned slightly to her left, offering a hint of a profile. She was staring so intently at her computer monitor that Nube thought she was likely to burn a hole in the screen. At precisely 0900 she turned to face him. With the hint of an administrative smile, she knitted her fingers before placing her hands on her desk.