by Paul Heatley
“No, listen, I’m explaining – I’m not with him every night, just every other night. And when I have to be there, I don’t ask about what he’s been up to, what the Right Arm is doing – I don’t wanna know. I asked about that pregnant girl on the road because I had to. I had to know about that. And he fuckin’ swore to me –”
“I heard you the first time,” Tom says, cutting her short. “You told me already. Don’t repeat yourself.”
“Okay, okay. The point I was trying to make is, I don’t see him every night. I was supposed to be at his place last night, but he wasn’t there. I waited, but he didn’t come home.”
“You call him?”
“Yeah, but his phone was off.”
“He tell you where he was going?”
“No, but that isn’t uncommon.”
“Do you know where he’s gone?”
“No.”
“I need you to think, Beth,” Tom says. “I need you to think long and hard about places Harry might have gone, places he and his buddies might hang out. Anywhere you know about.”
She does as he says. She thinks, tries to remember. It doesn’t take her long to come up with somewhere. “Michael has a cabin in the woods outside town,” she says. “They go hunting there, the council, some of the other guys.”
“And you think that’s where they’ve gone?”
“Could be.”
“Anywhere else?”
“If they ain’t at Michael’s place, and they can’t go to the bar anymore, I’d reckon that’s where they’ll be.”
“Tell me where it is.”
She does so, giving directions as best she is able. “I’ve never been,” she says. “I just know vaguely where it is.”
“All right. I need you to take a seat now, Beth.”
There’s one already pulled out ready, waiting for her. Tom had the room set up before she arrived.
“Why?” Beth says. “What’re you going to do to me?”
Tom makes her sit down. He ties her to the chair with electrical cord. “I’m grateful for the information you’ve given me,” he says while he works, “and I believe everything you’ve told me. I believe you’re not overly fond of Harry or how he lives his life. I believe you, Beth, but I can’t take a risk that you’re not lying to me, that you won’t try to warn them I’m coming.”
“I won’t tell them anything, I promise you, I swear it,” Beth says.
“I’m sure you do,” Tom says. “But that’s not good enough.”
“What are you going to do to them?”
“You already know what I’m going to do to them, Beth,” he says. “You already know what I’ve been doing. You shouldn’t worry too much, you should feel hopeful, because if you truly dislike being around Harry as much as you say you do, you won’t have to suffer that life for much longer.”
He finishes tying her up, checks the binds. They’re tight enough she can’t escape, not so tight they’re going to cut off her circulation. “I’m going to have to leave you like this,” he says. “But I’ll be back. Once I’m done.”
“What if they kill you?” Beth says.
“You’d best hope they don’t.” He puts a gag in her mouth to stop her from screaming, then gives her a reassuring wink. “Housekeeping comes round every morning, don’t they? Relax. One way or another, you won’t be here longer than a day.” He leaves the room, locks the door, pockets the key. With Beth’s directions in mind, he goes to his car, sets off.
55
It’s late evening when Senator Seth Goldberg gets back to Dallas. He’s been in Washington all week, pushing through his bill. Taking calls, meetings, answering questions, enduring verbal assaults. He’s tired.
The girls are already in bed by the time he gets home, but Abigail is waiting by the door as he steps through it. She embraces him, holds him tight. “How was it?” she says, the side of her face against his chest.
Seth sighs. “Rough,” he says.
“Mm, I saw some of the news reports,” Abigail says. “I thought you did well. You handled yourself. You didn’t let anyone shoot you down.”
They break the hug, move through to the sitting room. “Thanks,” Seth says. “I feel like we’re getting somewhere. We’re moving forward. I guess the more they push back, the more they’re scared of us, right? They’re scared of what we’re doing, all that we’ve accomplished, and how close we’re getting to finishing the job.”
Abigail nods along.
“How was your week?” Seth says. “How are the girls?”
“We’re … we’re fine,” Abigail says. “It’s been fine.”
Seth knows she’s keeping information from him. No doubt they’ve had a tough time, too. He doesn’t press it, though. If Abigail wants to share details with him, then she will do so. He reaches out, strokes her cheek, squeezes her shoulder. “It’ll get better,” he says. “I promise. It won’t be like this forever.”
She takes his hand, kisses his knuckles. “I know,” she says. “I know. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat?”
“I’m starving,” Seth says. “But what I really want is a shower. Then we’ll eat. Then we’ll sleep. In that order. I know it’s still pretty early, but I’m exhausted.”
“Are we going to synagogue in the morning?” Abigail says.
“Of course,” Seth says. He takes a deep breath. “It’ll be good for us. We need it.”
56
Tom has found the cabin. He’s in the woods, dirt smeared across his face to hide him amongst the underbrush. It was light when he got here. It’s getting dark now. He’s been watching through his binoculars. He’s seen Harry and Michael and Linda. They stay indoors. There are other members of the group here, too. Only four of them. Tom wonders if this is all they have left.
A phone buzzes in the bag next to him. It’s the one he gave the number for to Ben. Tom answers. “I can’t talk,” Tom says. He edges back, away from the tree line, deeper into the woods.
“I need you in Dallas,” Ben says. “I know what’s planned. I know what’s going to happen.”
“From the laptop?”
“Yes.”
Tom watches the cabin through the branches. It’s lit inside, but the lighting is dim, almost like it’s with candles. The four men guarding it outside are heavily armed. “When?” he says.
“Tomorrow. Early. But I need you here now.”
“I’m wrapping up in Harrow. I have them right where I want them. I’m going to take this chance.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Do you understand how big this is?”
“No, I don’t, because you haven’t told me yet. Are you going to do that over the phone?”
Ben sighs hard down the line. “I need you here. You’re the only one I can trust.”
“And I’ll be there.”
Ben is silent. He knows Tom won’t be swayed. He has a mission he needs to carry out, a task that needs to be accomplished. He won’t be deterred, no matter what. “Fast,” he says. “As soon as possible. I need to brief you.”
“Sure,” Tom says, still watching the cabin. “How bad is it?”
“It’s really fucking bad,” Ben says. “The rumors I heard about it, comparing it to Oklahoma City, they’re gonna be true. It’s gonna be worse than that.”
“Shit.”
“Shit, yeah, exactly.”
“I won’t be long,” Tom says.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Tom hangs up the phone, puts it back into the bag. This accelerates his plans somewhat. He’d planned on waiting at the cabin longer, making sure all the people present are the only ones going to be here. Making sure they haven’t set a trap for him. Ben’s call cuts down on his time. He won’t be able to watch for as long as he would have liked.
Tom crawls forward again, back to the edge of the forest. It’s too dark for the binoculars now. His eyes have adjusted. He watches. Just a little longer, then he makes his move.
57
Michael knows there’
s a chance that Steve told Tom about this place. About the cabin. He’d have been aware of it, because of his brother. Peter came out here often enough, with the rest of the council.
They’re ready for him, though. They’re waiting for him. They’ve got the cabin as fortified as they can get it. They’re expecting him.
Linda is getting antsy. She paces the floors, watches out the windows. “How long we gotta be here for?” she says.
“You know exactly how long, Linda,” Michael says. “As long as it takes.”
“Yeah, but that ain’t exactly an answer, is it?”
“I don’t have an exact answer. We’re here until we kill this son of a bitch, and we ain’t gonna get a chance to kill him until he turns up.”
Linda stops pacing. Her body is turned toward the door, her arms folded, like she expects Tom Rollins to come bursting through at any second. “He could’ve been lying, y’know,” she says. “Steve. He could’ve been lying about it just being one guy. You really believe one guy could’ve done all this?”
Harry reclines in the corner of the room, letting them talk. He’s armed, has a rifle resting across his lap. His head turns from the two of them to the window, keeping an eye out. He looks surprisingly relaxed. Michael wishes he felt how Harry looks.
“Frankly, no,” Michael says. “I don’t. I don’t believe that one guy alone could take down Peter Reid and all his buddies. But Steve wasn’t lying. If Rollins has friends, he’s kept them secret, kept them hidden from Steve. Steve didn’t know about them.”
“And you’re sure about that?” Linda says, looking at him now.
“Oh, we’re sure,” Harry says from behind her. “We’re very, very sure.”
She chews her lip, rocks back and forth on her heels.
Michael stands, goes to her, holds her by the elbows. “Try to calm down,” he says. “You walking up the walls like this ain’t helping anything. It’s just putting me on edge. Take a seat.”
Linda nods, does as he says. She goes to the table where, in the past, the victorious hunters have eaten their roasted kills. Michael can hear the laughter still, resounding through the room, victorious men celebrating after a successful hunt.
He goes to Harry. “I’d feel better if we had more men here,” he says.
Harry grunts agreement.
“Four ain’t any kind of number.”
“It’ll be enough,” Harry says. “These are good men. Plus, there’s us. He shows up, the first sign of him, we’ll blow his fuckin’ head off.”
“A lot of guys didn’t even respond when I put the message out.”
Harry nods. “They were freaked out about their friends being picked off so easily, being killed,” he says. “They’re scared, I reckon. Rollins knew what he was doing, taking out Peter first. Sent a message, and a lot of our boys heard that message loud and clear. We’re here feeling the consequences of that. Well, ain’t nothin’ we can do about it now.”
Michael sucks his teeth. “We’ll deal with them later,” he says. “The treacherous, cowardly sons of bitches. Right now, we gotta deal with this bastard.”
Harry nods along. Together, the two of them look out the window, into the woods, searching for the man they know is coming for them.
58
Gerry didn’t stay home for long.
Ben dropped him off, stared him long and hard in the eyes, impressed upon him once again the urgency and importance of what they were doing, made him swear to secrecy once more, then went off.
Gerry sat in the dark for ten minutes, thinking, deliberating, sweating and breathing hard.
It was no good. He couldn’t just leave it at that. Couldn’t leave Ben alone to go off half-cocked on a mission he had no hope of accomplishing alone. He was putting himself in too much danger and, more than that, he was putting the lives of thousands of other people in danger, too. If Ben were to get himself killed, which was very likely, and everything went ahead as it was planned on Carly’s laptop, Gerry would be complicit.
He couldn’t have all those lives on his conscience.
So now he’s back on the bus, heading back to the office, because despite swearing to Ben he will keep silent, support him in this way, Gerry can’t simply sit at home and do nothing.
Returned, he goes straight to the office of Supervisory Special Agent Jake Lofton. He tells him everything.
“It’s ridiculous,” Gerry says, wrapping up, “and it’s dangerous, and he’s putting more people than just himself at risk. I don’t know what he’s thinking, going off on a one-man mission. I don’t know if he’s got visions of glory in his head or what, but he’s going to get himself and a lot of other people killed.”
Jake listens to the story in silence, one hand cupped around his chin. He watches Gerry unblinkingly, taking it all in. When Gerry finishes, he raises his eyebrows. “That was a lot to take in,” he says.
“I understand that, sir,” Gerry says. “I apologize for the info dump, but I didn’t want to take a risk of forgetting anything.”
“I need to clarify a few things,” Jake says. “Agent Carly Hogan was the mole? She leaked the information on our informants and our undercovers to the various white supremacist groups?”
“That’s right, sir.” Gerry nods.
“And where is she now? Have you seen her?”
“No, sir. And, to be quite frank, the way Ben was acting, I have a bad feeling she’s either being held captive somewhere, or she’s dead.”
“And Ben has sworn you to secrecy regarding all of this? He’s going to try to deal with it himself?”
Gerry pauses. “He said he had a friend,” he says, remembering. “Someone who could help him out, from outside the bureau. Someone he thinks he can trust.”
Jake’s eyes narrow. “He give a name?”
“No, sir. And to be honest, it all happened in such a blur, I was so stunned by everything I was hearing, I don’t recall if I even asked.”
“Okay. Well, Gerry, you did the right thing bringing this to me.”
Gerry looks relieved. Like a weight that has been crushing him has finally been removed. He sits up a little straighter.
“For now, go back to your department,” Jake says. “Do not say a word to anyone about what you have told me here. I’ll deal with this. The situation is well in hand, now. You’ve done the right thing.”
Gerry nods, getting to his feet. “Thank you, sir,” he says. “Thank you. Please, I’m sure Ben thinks he’s doing the right thing. I just think he’s doing it the wrong way.”
“I understand,” Jake says. “And you’re right. And it breaks my heart that he didn’t think he could trust me enough to come direct to me himself.”
Gerry nods again, smiles with relief, then leaves the office.
Jake watches the door after he has gone. He rests his hands flat on his desk and counts to ten in his head. When he’s sure Gerry will be gone, will have strode off to his office with an extra spring in his step, he reaches into his top drawer, pulls out a phone. He dials a number.
It’s answered by Senior Special Agent Eric Thompson.
“We have a problem,” Jake says.
59
Ben is in the basement. His gun cabinet is kept here, under lock and key. He brings out an assault rifle, ammunition, body armor.
Tomorrow, early, he is going to war. As soon as Tom arrives, he will tell him what is happening, and then they will move. From what Ben knows Tom has been doing in Harrow, he assumes he is already prepared for battle.
In the center of the basement there is a small table directly below the one hanging light bulb. There is one chair. Ben places his weapons here. The assault rifle, his handgun. He strips them both down, cleans them, loads them back up.
His mind is empty while he works, distracted. He’s glad for the calm. Before this, his thoughts were racing. He doesn’t know how he is going to explain what he has found out, the unofficial – and illegal – paths he has taken to get this information. That doesn’t matter righ
t now, though. It can be dealt with after. His career pales in significance to what is being planned.
Another part of him believes the FBI will not fire him. They can’t. They’ll need to get to the bottom of who else within the department is dirty. After this, the only person they’ll be able to trust is him. They’ll need him. Him and Gerry. They’ll have to clean out the ranks.
Prior to cleaning the guns, Ben did his research. The sight of what they found planned on Carly’s laptop is burned into his brain. He checked locations, routes. He has it all committed to memory. He knows exactly where he needs to go first. If that fails, he knows where he needs to go next, and so on. He has mapped out every possibility in his head.
What cleaning the guns distracts him from most, however, is Carly herself.
He feels a mix of emotions. Mostly, sadness and betrayal. Occasional flashes of anger.
When he’s done, Ben leaves everything on the table. He sits back, looks over the weaponry he has cleaned and prepared. Thinks about holding it tomorrow. About using it.
He realizes he can’t taste blood. He’s not chewing his cheek.
He takes a deep breath and leaves the basement, goes upstairs. Now he has to wait for Tom. This will be the hardest part. He doesn’t know how long he will be. Hours yet. Ben will have to try to pass the time. It will be torturous.
As he reaches the top of the basement steps, the doorbell rings.
Ben freezes. Doesn’t move. The basement comes out into his hallway. He’s not far from the door. He peers around the corner of the wall, watching.
There’s a knock; then the doorbell rings again.
Ben goes to the door, checks through the spy hole. It’s Jake Lofton. He’s looking right back at the spy hole. He’ll have seen it darken, know that Ben is looking through it.
Ben’s heart races. Jake has never come to his home before. His thoughts go immediately to Gerry, wondering if he’s said something.
“I know you’re there, Ben,” Jake says. “You gonna leave me standing out here all night?”