The Auctioneer

by D. J. Williams

  Jolts of electricity punched him squarely in the chest. He lost all control of his body as he slumped heavily to the tarred roof. Dazed, his heart beat rapidly the harder he attempted to yank out the electrode projectiles. As he struggled, the woman from the alley stood over him and reached out a hand.

  “Commander, your country needs you, sir.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  SAN DIEGO, CA — DOWNTOWN

  In a corner booth of a hole-in-the-wall diner, Laney and Vaughn watched one of the SEAL’s most-decorated commanders dig into a plate of eggs, greasy bacon and sausage, as well as a stack of pancakes. He drizzled syrup over the top of the plate and chugged a mug of black sludge. A waitress passed by and topped off another cup of fuel. Wilkins swiped a piece of toast across the plate, sopping up the leftover yolk.

  He mumbled, “Sorry about earlier.”

  “I’m just glad you didn’t pull the trigger,” Vaughn replied, touching his tender cheekbone. “You’re not in any trouble. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

  “I never thought it’d be the Feds who’d come knocking.”

  Laney asked, “Who were you expecting, Commander?”

  “Name is Brian — I’m not a SEAL anymore.” Wilkins set his fork down. His cloudy eyes locked on them for a long moment. “Not since I lost my leg.”

  “You’re still listed as being on active duty,” Vaughn pointed out.

  Laney picked up on where Vaughn was headed. “Medal of Honor. Four Silver Stars. A Purple Heart. I’d say your reputation will stand for years to come. You’ll always be a SEAL.”

  “I’ll never lead another mission,” Wilkins rebutted soberly. “So, how’d you find me?”

  “Ran you through the database, tracked your wife down. She told us you’d been in the VA Hospital but checked out a few months ago. She didn’t know where you’d disappeared to, so she gave us a copy of the registration to your truck.” Vaughn skipped over their trek to Silver Strand and conversation with Reggie Swanson. “The SDPD was already looking for you, but we were lucky enough to find you first.”

  “Sarah’s better off without me,” Wilkins said solemnly. “I’m not who she married.” His jaw clenched. Hands balled into fists. “Not anymore.”

  “You served your country,” Vaughn said, “and made great sacrifices.”

  “And now I don’t remember most days,” Wilkins blurted. “Maybe you can tell me what it was all for — I didn’t think so.”

  “Your wife and daughter have been worried about you,” Laney said, unsure of whether Wilkins was too far gone. “I’m sure they’ll be relieved to see you.”

  Wilkins glanced down at the empty plate, as if his mind was lost in another world. Behind the scraggly beard, worn clothes, body odor, and a prosthetic leg was a soldier who defended his country with honor and distinction. Laney couldn’t help but wonder how someone with skills like Wilkins became a casualty of government bureaucracy. Even though he was listed as being on active duty, which didn’t make sense considering he’d been living on the streets, the system failed him. She meant what she said to Sarah. Before they headed north to LA, they’d make sure he was reunited with his family.

  “You led a team who captured and killed Abu Haji Fatima,” Vaughn said. “Can you tell us what you remember about that mission?”

  “It’s classified — and the fact you’re sitting here with me means neither of you have clearance.” Wilkins glanced over his shoulder, eyed the entrance, then downed a second mug before asking the waitress for more toast. “I was trained to defend my country — that’s exactly what I did.”

  “You’re right, we don’t have clearance.” Laney knew they needed to build a bridge, quick. “We’re investigating a terrorist attack in LA, and we believe there’s a connection between your operation in Mosul and one of the men we have in custody.”

  Wilkins eyes flared as if a soldier buried in the past momentarily resurrected.

  Vaughn and Laney kept the focus of their attention fixed on him, trying not to push too hard, even though they were pressed for time. All hope rested on Wilkins who seemed to be on the verge of opening the floodgates.

  “I followed orders,” Wilkins said flatly. “It didn’t matter whether it felt right or wrong. We were trained to go wherever our country needed us, even if it meant fighting our own demons.”

  “What were your orders in Mosul?” Laney asked.

  “Kill or capture.” Wilkins shifted uncomfortably, rubbed his thigh, then rested his hands on the table. “CIA had a way to get us a location on the Prodigal — something about recovering artifacts stolen after the Baghdad invasion. It’d been years since Iraqi Freedom, so we had an idea there was more to the story.”

  Vaughn interrupted, “Did you question it with anyone?”

  “No, sir. We only asked what we needed to complete the mission.”

  Laney countered, “Do you remember Chase Hardeman?”

  “He was our way in — a tracker.”

  “Tracker?” Vaughn asked.

  “Hardeman worked the Middle East as a smuggler, which gained him access into places that’d smell an American operative a mile away. The Agency said he was so convincing he gained the trust of the Prodigal’s inner circle. I don’t remember his sidekick though…”

  “Dexter Thompson,” Vaughn stated.

  “Right — Thompson.” Wilkins’ body tensed. His hands shook, so he shoved them under the table. He turned his gaze toward Laney as if the fog of war cleared. “Hardeman had a contact who was close to the Prodigal and had access to the compound. The plan was once they were inside, they’d get a positive ID and give us the signal. We’d breach the wall, secure the target, and retrieve any intel we thought might be useful. In and out in less than fifteen minutes. Minimal footprint.”

  “Do you remember the contact’s name?”

  “Hardeman never gave it up — at least not in the briefings.” Wilkins ran his fingers through his oily hair. “We watched in the brush as they were dropped off. Night vision was too grainy to get a definite description. Hardeman and Thompson walked up to the gate while their contact drove away. A few minutes later, Hardeman said the code word — exile — and we were on the move. Took us less than sixty seconds to blow the gate, neutralize exterior threats, and enter the house.” His eyes shifted between Laney and Vaughn. “But you know all this already.”

  “Most of it so far,” Vaughn admitted. “Off the record, we’ve seen intelligence footage of your team breaching the compound.”

  “I was in command, and my number two led a second unit. Our asses were on the line to get the Prodigal.” Wilkins pushed his plate aside and set his elbows on the table. “If you’ve seen the footage, then what else do you want to know?”

  “The feed cut out shortly after you reached the roof.” Laney leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Did Chase Hardeman kill Abu Haji Fatima?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Wilkins sobered even more. “And he killed Fatima’s two boys.”

  “What occurred after the feed cut out?” Vaughn pressed.

  “Fatima had entry wounds to his upper shoulder, left leg, and a shot to his neck. Four more rounds were lodged in a bulletproof vest. No heartbeat by the time I got to him. Hardeman emptied his clip with pinpoint accuracy. Nothing prepares you for the first time — so one look in his eyes and I knew he’d done it before. I told him to get what he came for and haul ass.”

  Laney weighed his words with the Chase she knew. “Were you able to revive Fatima?”

  “Intracardiac injection,” Wilkins confessed. “He lost a lot of blood, but after we hit him with the injection, and shocked him a few more times with the AED, there was a pulse.”

  “Where did you take him?” Vaughn chimed in again.

  “We left the women, children, and dead behind. We were ordered to deliver Fatima to a black ops site outside of Baghdad, along with any intel we recovered.” Wilkins glanced down at his prosthetic leg. “On our way to the extraction, our transport was hit by a su
rface-to-air missile. Two weeks later I woke up at the med facility in Coronado.”

  Laney asked, “Were you ever debriefed about Fatima?”

  “No ma’am, not officially. But seeing the looks in your eyes, I’m guessing I should’ve put a bullet in his skull.” Wilkins leaned back in the booth. “I’d say it’s time you told me what all this has to do with why you’re here.”

  “We believe Hardeman’s contact in Baghdad was Akram Kasim, who was part of Fatima’s inner circle. He’s also one of the terrorists who attacked a nightclub in LA.” Laney slid her cell across the table, allowing Wilkins to swipe through the photos. When his cloudy eyes didn’t react, she continued. “We’re guessing Hardeman was the target at the club, but we’re trying to determine if there are more possible attacks.”

  “Hardeman still alive?” Laney nodded, her eyes never left Wilkins as he continued. “Unofficially…members of my team told me that Fatima was delivered to the black ops site shortly after the crash. All of them said it didn’t feel right, but figured the spooks would keep him alive long enough to get what they needed. Then he’d disappear in the Gulf.” Wilkins stared hard at the photos as if there were more secrets hidden beneath his confession. “I can’t say for sure if this is the guy who dropped them off that night, but now you know why I’m still on active duty.”

  Vaughn answered before Wilkins interrupted. “As long as you’re a SEAL…”

  “All of us are sworn to secrecy.”

  “Your secret is safe with us.” Laney caught Vaughn’s look to get moving, and retrieved her cell from Wilkins. “Commander, it’s time we take you home.”

  Wilkins’ voice shook. “I need to stop by my truck.”

  The three of them left the diner and drove a few blocks to where Wilkins’ truck was parked on a side street. He climbed from the SUV and hobbled over to the back hatch of the truck. Vaughn and Laney watched through the windshield.

  Vaughn broke the silence. “We need to know what the Agency…”

  BOOM!

  An explosion ripped through the truck with enough force to rock the SUV twenty feet away. With her ears ringing, Laney reached for her sidearm and exited the vehicle. Vaughn did the same and darted toward the rear of the SUV. He retrieved a fire extinguisher and caught up to Laney as they moved closer with weapons raised.

  Flames engulfed the truck as Vaughn pulled the pin and released the retardant, spraying it over Wilkins’ body. With her head on a swivel, Laney stood over the charred remains.

  Rest in peace, Commander.

  THIRTY-THREE

  In a perfect world, bringing the evidence to the black site in LA was ideal, but time was ticking. Yasmin flying down to oversee the evidence, alongside the Bureau’s San Diego office, was the best move. Debris from the burned truck was spread across folding tables. Every piece from bumper to bumper was scrutinized, tagged, and bagged. A melted watch. Charred photos of Wilkins, his wife and daughter, and a few more of his SEAL team were laid out in front of Laney. But at the moment, her attention was drawn to a torn piece of clothing, and remnants from an IED — improvised explosive device.

  “You need to control your boy,” Vaughn barked as he approached. “He stole a forty-million-dollar Bugatti — and Elena Vihkrov helped him do it. Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  She was pissed Chase went rogue without a heads up. “Russell, I swear I had no idea.”

  “We’ve got security footage from our storage facility in Sun Valley. He didn’t even try to avoid the cameras — which tells me he wasn’t afraid of being caught.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “After causing a pile up on the 5 Freeway, they vanished.” Vaughn’s eyes flared. She’d seen that look before and knew what was coming next. “It’s time to bring him in. He either cooperates or we lock him up.”

  Laney answered, “We can’t do that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Not only does he have immunity — but Dexter Thompson and the Vihkrovs do as well.”

  Vaughn crossed his arms. His jaw tensed. “That was your deal with the devil.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d respond.” Laney picked up a plastic bag with a piece of melted metal inside. “We need to know whether Wilkins flipped the switch or if it was triggered remotely.”

  Vaughn shook his head, clearly bothered by her lack of condemnation. “Laney, what about Chase?”

  “I’ll rein him in, but for now let him run loose.”

  Her response to Vaughn was weak, and she knew it. From what Wilkins told them about that night in Mosul, she realized there was a darker side to Chase she’d never seen before. But she’d made a deal with him and needed to give him enough room to work.

  “I gotta say, Wilkins’ story doesn’t exactly add up,” Vaughn said, taking a step back from their ongoing squabble about Chase. “I mean, why haven’t any of the others from his team stepped forward to confirm that Fatima survived?”

  “You heard what he said — sworn to secrecy.” Laney picked up a piece of clothing with a gloved hand and eyed it closely. “He was wearing everything he owned except for this jacket. If Swanson was right, and Wilkins was willing to do anything for his family, then no way he’d commit suicide.”

  “Hopefully Yasmin will find something in all this that gives us some answers, because right now we’re circling a grave.”

  “Russell, we need to tighten our circle,” Laney suggested.

  “You’re back to a conspiracy theory — a sixth man?”

  “Someone is playing us. We’ve been one step behind this entire time.”

  “And you don’t think Chase or Dexter Thompson are behind it? Wasn’t Chase the one who gave you Wilkins’ name to begin with?”

  Laney’s eyes narrowed as she set the evidence bag down. “You may not agree with his methods, but Chase gave me his word that he will use the Vihkrovs to get the answers we need. If we bring him in now, then we’ve got less than what’s on this table.”

  “Dmitry Vihkrov is not one to expose himself— it’s possible he’s using Chase.”

  “That’s a chance we’ll have to take. But if Chase knows Wilkins is dead, there’s no chance we’ll get anything out of them.”

  “I don’t have to remind you that I put my ass on the line for you.”

  “And I appreciate it. You’ll have to trust me, Russell.”

  “You better consider whether your deal with Chase is in the wind. If you’re not careful, your career will be too. I’ll protect you as much as I can — but there’s only so much I can do.”

  Yasmin interrupted them with burgers and drinks.

  Laney was starving, and anxious to relieve the tension between her and Vaughn.

  Sliding the tablet in front of them, Yasmin magnified images on the screen displaying a black overcoat.

  “Matched the material to the original brand.” Yasmin turned to Laney. “Look familiar?” When Laney didn’t respond, Yasmin pulled up a street-cam video from the night Chase and Laney headed toward the garage near Skid Row. “One hundred percent match to the coat our mystery man was wearing.”

  “You’re saying Wilkins was there?” Laney asked in disbelief.

  “I’m not saying he was there, but it’s highly probable the coat was there.” Yasmin played the video on the tablet showing a man brush past Chase and Laney near the garage. “We don’t have a good angle of his face, but it could be Commander Wilkins. Same height and weight. And we matched a smudge of motor oil on the sleeve to the same brand found on the floor of the garage.”

  “I never looked at him,” Laney said, angered at herself. How could she have missed it? She wasn’t ready to believe that Wilkins had gone rogue. “Why would Wilkins go after him? They fought on the same side.”

  “Wilkins possessed a unique set of skills valuable on the dark web,” Vaughn suggested. “If he was contacted, it’s possible he never met face to face with Kasim. We know that he was MIA for months, so he would�
��ve had opportunity without anyone noticing. And he could’ve tossed the weapon anywhere from LA to San Diego.”

  Laney considered the scenario, one that wasn’t on the radar moments earlier. “We’ve been under the theory that Chase was at the center of this from the beginning. He’s the target. But Wilkins?” She played the video again. “Russell, there has to be a better explanation.”

  “No firearms were found inside the truck,” Yasmin pointed out. “But we did find traces of C4 residue.”

  “We’ve got a laundry list of DNA samples that have no matches,” Vaughn proposed to Yasmin. “Run Wilkins through and see if we get a hit from anything else inside the garage.” He turned to Laney. “We need to bring Dexter Thompson and Chase in for questioning. If Chase refuses to help, then arrest him and Elena Vihkrov for obstruction. We’ll charge both with collusion with Dmitry Vihkrov. And not a word about Wilkins until we see them.”

  Since she was still in charge, Laney’s knee jerk reaction was to push back. So far that had only dug her a deeper hole, but she had to give it one last shot. “We don’t have any solid evidence tying the Vihkrovs to this.”

  “Chase doesn’t know that, does he?”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  I stepped through the mirror away from a reflection of where life headed only days earlier. What Laney and I had — whatever it was — shattered when she betrayed me. Sure, I misstepped with those I loved, but never was my loyalty questioned. It was what bonded Elena and me, yet it was what tore Laney and me apart. Love without loyalty must be buried in a graveyard. Making a choice between them should’ve been more difficult, but it wasn’t. Even if I failed to convince myself that was true, I’d still hold up my end of the deal — on my own terms.