When Death Frees the Devil

by L. J. Hayward

  “No,” Jack agreed. “He simply asked me to ‘keep him happy.’ He didn’t specify how I was to do that.”

  “And Tan wished this because . . .?” Simmons prompted.

  Jack blinked several times so he wouldn’t roll his eyes. This was all normal. “Because he wished to have access to Ethan’s particular skill set.”

  “Did he ever take advantage of them?” Greene asked.

  “No, sir. He did not.”

  “Why not?”

  It was far too early for Jack to be this irritated surely. “You’d have to ask him, sir.”

  Again, Simmons sorted through his papers. “We do have a couple of contracts pertaining to Omega, sorry, Ethan. The one we’re primarily concerned with today says the assassin is to be on retainer for ETA, Sydney.” Simmons held up the thin contract and raised his eyebrows at Jack. “This is what you used to justify spending hundreds of thousands of Meta-State tax payers’ dollars to find your errant boyfriend, Mr. Reardon. This is why we’re here today.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jack dug his fingers into his thigh again. “That contract makes Ethan the responsibility of the Office of Counterterrorism and Intelligence. Like I am. Like DIC Lund and Director Chan. If either of them went missing under suspicious circumstances, no one would question spending the money required to get them back.”

  Lund and Chan both looked like they would say something but Simmons beat them to it.

  “The DIC and director have been loyal assets to not just the Office for many years, but to the Meta-State their entire lives. Ethan Blade has been a violent, disruptive force across the globe for nearly seventeen years, Mr. Reardon. He may have signed this contract but we have no proof he was going to honour it. It may have been he was simply playing for time. Keep the lawful charges we should have brought against him at bay until he could escape cleanly.”

  “Then why did he wait nearly a week to ‘escape,’ sir?” Jack asked. “He could have walked the moment he signed, free and clear, but he didn’t.”

  Simmons actually looked sympathetic as he spoke. “Do you think it was love keeping him here, Mr. Reardon? That he needed to make sure you were well on your way to healing before he left?”

  Yes, Jack wanted to shout. Yes, love kept Ethan here with me. And it would have kept him here forever but for what caused him to leave. Instead, he said, “We have evidence he was coerced.”

  “Please, show us,” Chan said.

  They would have seen it before but Jack still withdrew the data stick and held it up. Greene fetched it and loaded it on his laptop. After a bit of clicking, a section of the wall to Jack’s left split and moved apart, revealing a large screen. The video began to play a moment later, taking Jack right back to that horrible first day without Ethan.

  When Jack awoke he was alone in the huge bed in the Bathurst penthouse. His bed at the Leichhardt apartment was a king, but this one had to be a super king or something. It was massive. Maybe Ethan had bought it so that if they argued, neither would have to sleep on the couch because there was enough room to have a clear demarcation zone down the middle. For some reason, that thought made Jack smile. He stretched luxuriously, feeling the healing wound in his back throb, but it was overridden by the pleasant ache in his arse as he clenched. Best early birthday present ever.

  God. It had been perfect. Ethan on him, in him, all over him. They would definitely be doing that again. Jack would couch it as Ethan needing practice, even though he didn’t. He really didn’t. And why the hell had Jack pissed around for so long not kissing Ethan? Well, he knew why, but thank heavens Ethan had enough balls to get it done.

  Speaking of . . . Jack got up and scrounged up a pair of track pants to wear while he went in search of more kisses. His implant informed him he’d slept well into the morning, which was okay. He was still recuperating and Ethan had thoroughly wiped him out the night before.

  “Ethan?” he called lazily on his way to the bathroom. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  No answer, and Ethan wasn’t in the shower when Jack passed the bathroom on the way to the separate toilet. Maybe he was out getting them something hugely calorific and birthday themed for brunch.

  Relieved, Jack went to the kitchen to get a drink. There, pinned on the front of the fridge with a magnet shaped like a Desert Eagle, was a note in Ethan’s neat hand.

  Back soon, E.

  Not the most eloquent of missives, but it was enough. Over the past ten days, Ethan had occasionally vanished for a couple of hours at a time, leaving similar notes if Jack wasn’t awake or around when he needed to escape. The first couple of times it had happened, Jack had worried that Ethan had decided he couldn’t do this anymore. Live with him, live within the law, live in one place, any or all of them. He’d worked out quickly that being alone was part of Ethan’s grieving process, returning to Jack in either a pensive or lightened mood, but more settled than he had been before going. Jack was just grateful he was coming back without mysterious bruises.

  After a quick breakfast and shower, and no reappearance of Ethan, Jack scratched out the E on the note, added a J and headed out to get a few ingredients he knew they didn’t have for butter chicken. It was his birthday, yeah, but he wanted to do something nice for Ethan, too.

  When he got back, bags in both hands, his shouted “Ethan” was quickly swallowed up by the emptiness of the penthouse. A quick check showed no further changes to the note on the fridge.

  Okay, this was getting annoying. What could keep Ethan away for so long? Especially after last night? Especially on Jack’s birthday?

  Jack went to the control panel for the security system in the main bedroom. According to the electronic logs, Ethan had left at two twenty-six a.m. Playing the feeds from all the cameras, Jack watched as Ethan left the penthouse, got in the lift, and vanished. Nowhere could Jack find him leaving the building. Which wasn’t unusual. For Ethan to feel safe here, he would have to have several ingress and egress points, most of them very well hidden.

  Jack made the call to Ethan’s implant automatically. Ethan didn’t answer and the connection switched through several new lines until finally, an electronic voice asked him to leave a message.

  The last time Ethan hadn’t answered one of Jack’s calls, he’d been hunting down his “brother,” Two, a psychopathic assassin who’d decided Jack had to be punished for corrupting Ethan.

  “Shit.” Jack crouched in the back corner of the bedroom and triggered the hidden catch so a small section of floorboards slid to the side. Under it was a keypad and fingerprint scanner, which he cycled through as quickly as he could, opening the floor safe. Ethan had several around the penthouse, along with a dozen concealed weapons in various compartments. No matter where anyone was, they would be no more than a couple of feet from a gun or knife or stun grenade. This safe held their personal weapons, Ethan’s fake passports and a large amount of money in different currencies. The passports were all there but the money was gone, along with Ethan’s twin Desert Eagles.

  That didn’t bode well.

  Grabbing his H&K USP, Jack headed for the front door once again. At the sideboard, about to snatch his keys out of the bowel, he stopped. If he found Ethan and he was hurt, piling his stupid arse onto the Ninja wouldn’t be his best option. But even as he picked up Victoria’s keys he hesitated. The last time he’d gone looking for Ethan, he’d had to admit he had no idea where to look for him and apparently that hadn’t changed. The one thing Jack thought he might have been doing—racing to sooth his anxieties—was ruled out because his car was still here.

  “Goddamn crazy bastard,” Jack muttered and grabbed the car keys. There was one other place he could check, but after that, Jack would have to pull out the big guns.

  Sending Ethan a message he hoped would generate a response—I’m coming to drag you home, you crazy bastard. And I’m doing it in Victoria—Jack backed the sleek car out of her spot, got her pointed for the door and roared out. Swinging into traffic, a dark, nasty thought slunk into J
ack’s head.

  What if Ethan hadn’t gone under his own volition? What if it had been the Cabal?

  It was all too easy to remember Ethan shutting down when he talked about his childhood with Two inside the Cabal. Far too easy to remember the chills that had wracked him when Ethan showed him his scared foot, explaining that Two’s mutilation had happened because he, Ethan, had been weak in the eyes of those he’d coldly referred to as “carers.”

  These days, Jack’s first instinct was to protect Ethan, even from the traumas of his past, so it was hard knowing some of the things he’d suffered back then. Even harder knowing there was very little he could do now to help him.

  So, Jack hadn’t asked him about the Cabal. Hadn’t wanted to make Ethan hurt more than he already was. The man was grieving, in his own silent way, for the woman Jack had known as Eve Garrotte, whom Ethan called Nine and sister, and had watched die right in front of him, killed by their brother. Jack had waited for Ethan to speak up, or for him to talk to the Office psychiatrist about it. His first appointment had been scheduled for tomorrow. Jack prayed he made it. Prayed that it was simply restlessness, or grief, that had driven Ethan out of the penthouse at a ridiculous time of the night.

  Clutching at those hopes, Jack drove to the one place he thought Ethan might be if that were the case.

  Middle Head had once been one of Jack’s favourite places to visit. He’d loved the old military ruins as a kid. Had cherished the time he’d spent there with his father, talking about history, feeling it viscerally in the crumbling cement walls and rusted gun emplacements. Then Dad had fallen victim to early dementia and Jack had brought him to Middle Head, hoping to restore some of his memories. The visit hadn’t gone well and now the place was a mix of recalled joy and pain. Perhaps that was how Ethan saw it, too.

  From the carpark, Jack walked out to the main emplacement. There were a few groups of people enjoying the fresh air. This close to Christmas, summer was in full swing and the temperatures could easily soar. The shade of plentiful trees and the ocean breeze made the park pleasant for its visitors though. Would that still be the case if they knew what had happened here barely two weeks ago?

  All signs of Two’s presence had been cleared away. His body, Jack’s blood, the mess left by Adam’s imprisonment in the tiger cages, all gone. Yet it still lingered for Jack, a shiver down his spine and spike of remembered pain where Two had stabbed him. He didn’t doubt that Ethan felt the same way.

  Jack found the spot he’d been looking for. Right here was where it had happened. Where Ethan had spoken about maybe not surviving the night, about how he knew why Jack hadn’t kissed him, and then kissed him anyway.

  “Just so you know,” he’d whispered afterward.

  Such a big fucking declaration and two weeks later, he was gone again.

  Frustration whirling around with his worry, Jack stalked back to the car, dictating another message to his absent lover. “Come on, Ethan. Where are you? I’m getting really worried.”

  Back in Victoria, with no reply to any of his messages or calls, there was only one place Jack could go.

  He’d always tried to keep his work and personal lives as separate as they could be when his best friends were also work colleagues. Lines had seriously blurred once Ethan blasted his way into Jack’s work life, and a year later, into his personal life as well. For a while, Jack had managed to keep them apart, then Two had arrived to stalk Jack professionally for what he’d done personally. On the same day Jack had confessed his relationship with Ethan to Lewis—and Lydia by proxy—he’d also had to come clean about it to his director—and the Office by proxy. Donna McIntosh, his immediate superior, wasn’t happy with Jack’s life choices, but since the Office had deemed it acceptable for their own reasons, she had to lump it. Jack’s main concern, however, was how his friends had reacted.

  After an initial outburst of anger and confusion, Lewis had settled down and seemed very accepting of the fact his mate was sleeping with an assassin who’d once thought of Jack as a target. Lydia hadn’t said anything outright, but Jack could feel her simmering dislike of it whenever they chatted. Lewis assured him it was because Jack hadn’t told her himself and that she would get over it soon. Jack hoped he was right because he needed Lydia as a friend.

  To get any balls rolling as quickly as possible, Jack called Lewis.

  “Hey, mate,” Lewis answered on the first ring. “Happy birthday! I was going to call you later, see if you and Eth wanted to come out for drinks at the No One’s Inn. My shout.”

  “Jesus,” Jack muttered aloud so he didn’t have to focus his thoughts while driving. “I hope you never call Ethan Eth to his face. He’ll have you in a sleeper hold before you can even pretend like you were going to add the an.”

  Lewis laughed. “Yeah, probably. So, is it a date? Do I get to give Lyds the ‘be nice or I’m cutting you off from the splendour that is moi’ speech?”

  Despite his grim suspicions, Jack laughed. “Hold off on pissing her off just yet, okay.” Amusement falling away, he said seriously, “There might not be anything to celebrate. Ethan’s missing.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the connection, then just as grimly, Lewis asked, “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Jack admitted. “Except that I woke up this morning and he was gone. Everything was good last night and now he’s gone. Something happened while I was asleep to make him leave.”

  Jack waited for the obvious come back, the “Do you fart in your sleep?” or “Maybe it was your snoring.” However, neither came down the line, nor did any other silly taunts.

  “What do you need me to do?” Lewis asked.

  Worried that some imposter had replaced his friend, Jack sped Victoria through a yellow light. “Are you at work?”

  “Unlike some people on mandatory recuperation leave, I sure am.” His faux cheer restored the world to rights. “Just finished up the final reports on the Judge mess and submitted it all to the PTB so they can complain about how many paperclips I used. My arse already hurts from this one.”

  “Console yourself with the Guinness World Record for longest paperclip chain. In the meantime, I need you to start pulling all CCTV footage from two to four this morning from every camera from Bathurst Street”—having the location of his new secret lair revealed to the Office should teach Ethan not to disappear without a word—“the park and everything for a five-block radius. For a start.”

  Lewis groaned but didn’t outright complain. “I’ll see if I can snag that kid from Ex Mon who helped us with the Judge case. Surely he’s got an algorithm or magic spell that’ll cut through some of the chaff. Are you coming in or are you still bed bound? Oh wait, your boyfriend’s gone, so you can get off your back and come help.”

  “I’ll be there in ten, don’t worry. And Lewis, let’s keep this on the eighth, okay?” Meaning the eighth floor of the Neville Crawley Building where they worked for the Internal Threat Assessment department. Also meaning, don’t let the directors on the tenth floor know.

  “Yeah, sure, of course.” Lewis sounded distracted, which hopefully meant he was starting to get shit organised. “They’re all out of the building at the moment, anyway. Something to do with that rumour about the deputy PM I think.”

  Despite working for a government agency that more often than not dealt with political entities—foreign and domestic—Jack wasn’t very interested in the nitty gritty of government. He wasn’t as intellectually opposed as Ethan was, just tired of being jaded and pissed off about things that would never change, so he didn’t worry about it too much now. Lewis had a better understanding and appreciation of it all on a wide scale, but it was Lydia who minutely monitored every piece of information they had access to. She had probably given Lewis a detailed description of what was going on in the upper echelons of the government and he’d distilled it down to “that rumour about the deputy PM.” Which was still more than Jack really cared about right then.

  “Great. We shou
ld be able to get some real work done before they find out. See you soon.”

  Lewis signed off and Jack concentrated on weaving the car through the late morning traffic, annoyed that he hadn’t started this process sooner. Ethan had already been gone for nine hours. He could be on the other side of the world by now and Jack had no idea why.

  Or if he was even still alive.

  Stuffing that thought into the filing cabinet, knowing it wouldn’t stay there, Jack sent a silent message to Ethan, praying that this time he answered.

  Just let me know you’re okay.

  When he reached the Office, Jack found Lewis and Fabian Haggenhauen in a spare operations room already immersed in the search.

  “Pull up a pew.” Lewis barely looked up from his screen as Jack entered. “Fabes is still sourcing footage, but we can start on the ones he’s already got for us.”

  The External Monitoring asset sent Lewis a glare for shortening his name, his fingers never once faltering on the keys of one of the two laptops in front of him. Fabian was as skinny and harried seeming as he had been when Jack last saw him, after a marathon hacking session to discover where photos vital to the Judge investigation had been originally uploaded to the net. Knobbly wrists poked too far out of the ends of his sleeves and his eyes peered past their dark bags with over-caffeinated twitches. There were already three Redbull cans lined up beside him.

  “Thanks for helping us, Fabian.” Jack took the seat in front of the spare computer, knowing better than to offer a handshake with his gratitude. Fabian didn’t touch and Jack respected that.

  “I’ve already been here for thirty-seven hours,” the Ex Mon wiz muttered sourly, but kept working.

  “In my defence,” Lewis interjected before Jack could protest, “I did ask him to recommend one of his highly talented co-workers, but he just gave me the look”—the how do you even manage to dress yourself? look they’d become very familiar with over the short course of the Judge case—“and insisted he help us out.”