His heart is heavy as he travels the public transportation route, staying away from stolen vehicles, and keeping clear of the grid. Through his long journey on elevated trains and buses, he has had time to think about his lovely wife Yulia. He misses the softness of her skin and the welcome embrace of someone who wants to be with him. It has been only a few days since they talked last, but seems like years.
Devlin gets off the bus and makes his way up the street, moving slowly, block by block on his way back to the duplex. His ears are still ringing from all of the flashbangs and gunfire. He clenches his hands into fists, releasing them slowly, and curling them again, trying to find his humanity after taking so many lives in just three days. Finally he lets the tears come forth, beckoning from deep inside his soul. ‘I killed a lot of good men today,’ he thinks to himself, ‘men that would have stood by my side in the heat of battle, and taken a bullet to save my life.’
Devlin starts to jog, realizing he is close to home, enjoying the release of sweat dripping from his brow and the cool air cleaning his lungs. This gives him time to consider whether he is doing the right thing by interfering with the gun control case studies. His mind is filled with conflict, much more than back at the hotel a few days ago, when Gloria was still alive and nobody had died. Devlin realizes that he has to ask himself the hard question now: ‘what does Henri Edwards deserve for his crimes?’ It would be easy to blame all of the death and pain from these past few days on Henri, but his conscience is too bold to let him escape those deeds.
Devlin stops running now, standing in a small parking lot at a corner near his new home. He knows that movement means safety, but realizing how fast this has escalated begins to weigh him down. His body and mind don’t want to move anymore. There is no rewind button or visit to the proverbial priest that can clear this up. He puts his hand on his forehead, thinking about where everything started to come apart. When he tried to carjack the short man, and drew the attention of police; that was when his train went off the rails. From that moment, it has been a trail of death and deception: Ming, the CIA agents, and the counterinsurgency team.
He remembers the screams of the men just a few hours ago, cornered into his trap like cattle, some of them not going home to their families. Devlin looks up at the deep crescent moon, feeling ashamed and wanting to end this as soon as possible.
‘There are only two courses for Henri Edwards now; death or exposure.’ He thinks to himself. ‘What does exposure mean to a United States Congressman? Would anyone believe him if he told the whole story? How could he ever get the chance?’ A half-smile forms on Devlin’s face for the first time in several days. He realizes that catching Henri in the act is the only way to prove to the nation what he has known for several days; the man is twisted and dangerous.
“Shut up, you little shit!” A man cries out from a car just off to Devlin’s left.
Devlin turns his head to see a late-model, brown Cadillac pulled over to the side of the road. Inside, an older black man is yelling from the driver seat at what appears to be a young boy on the passenger side.
“Where’s Mom? I want to go home. I’m hungry.” The young boy complains to the driver, looking at him with tears in his eyes.
“Quiet! Quiet! Quiet!” The man shouts at the boy, raising his hand and smacking him each time he utters the word, knocking the young man’s head back against the door with the third strike.
“Stop hitting that boy!” Devlin orders before he realizes that the words have left his mouth.
“What the fuck did you say to me, white boy!?” The older black man asks with clear disdain. “I am his uncle, and when I tell him to shut the fuck up… He gonna’ shut the fuck up!”
Devlin steps over to the car, clearly not intimidated by the man’s posturing. He kneels down on the passenger side next to the boy, leaning in to take a closer look at the situation. His eyes move to an open bottle of alcohol between the man and the young boy. The driver is wearing a white tank top and shorts with flip flops, indicating he probably left the house in a hurry. He is a balding man in his early fifties, looking unbalanced and somewhat afraid in his cheap car.
“Where’s your mom, son?” Devlin asks compassionately, looking the young boy in the face, as he admires his gentle brown eyes and short, curly hair.
“Oh, this is some bullshit! You mind your business, Sir!” The driver commands with a look of repressed rage.
“Shut the fuck up… This IS MY BUSINESS!” Devlin replies, giving the man a hard look.
“He’s not bad if he isn’t drinking…” The boy says in a quiet manner, turning his head to the side to show a small bloody cut from the brief beating he received.
“Why don’t we let your uncle enjoy his beer and we’ll go get you some dinner and call your mom?” Devlin asks with a confident gaze.
“You ain’t takin’ my nephew nowhere, Sir!” The man says with an obnoxiously loud voice, consistent with too much drinking.
“Come on, get out of the car.” Devlin says immediately, pulling the door open to let the young man out. “I promise I’m a good guy, and I’ll get you back to your mom.”
The young man steps out of the car onto the sidewalk, hesitating with each step, and looking up at Devlin with distrust.
“Get your ass back in the car!” The older man yells, opening his door and getting out of the driver seat, staggering in a bit of shameful protest on the street.
“There are two ways this ends.” Devlin says with a sinister gaze. “Either you leave and see your nephew again when you’re sober, or I whoop your ass, and leave you here to be picked up for a DUI.”
The older man weighs out his options for a moment, then waves at Devlin dismissively, slamming the door as he gets back into the car and starts the engine.
“Don’t you come back, boy; your momma can’t take care of ya’ anyhow!” The man shouts as the noisy, unkempt car merges quickly into traffic.
“No worries,” Devlin says with a wink, “we’ll get you some food and call your mom. I promise.”
The twelve-year-old is short for his age. He looks up at Devlin with a streetwise fear, but seems calm enough to walk beside him. They make good progress walking side by side as Devlin keeps him talking, asking him about school, his mother, and what he wants to be when he grows up.
When they reach the duplex, Devlin opens the door, turns on the light, and gestures for the young man to step inside. He stands at the entrance of the small home like a wild creature looking into a deep, dark cave. The young man is wearing a blue Levi jacket, black and yellow striped shirt, and a pair of white cargo pants. His feet look small in the youth basketball shoes as they tread softly over the carpet of the duplex, and he makes his way into the living room.
“It’s not the greatest place.” Devlin admits as he closes the door behind them, feeling genuinely embarrassed. “But it’s home for now.”
He looks down at his young friend with a pleasant smirk, watching him take in the new surroundings and wondering where this place falls on his scale of decent to trashy. The young man glances at the television for a few seconds, then at the coffee table, and finally leans over a bit to see into the kitchen.
“Why don’t we clean up that cut on your face and give your mom a call?” Devlin asks as he kneels down to look the boy in the face.
As the two lock eyes, the young man reaches out and wraps his arms around Devlin’s neck, seeming desperate for affection. Devlin smiles and hugs the young man in return, patting him on the back to let him know that everything is going to be okay. After this short embrace, Devlin stands up tall again and gestures toward the hallway where a door leads to the small bathroom. The boy walks pensively across the carpet, dragging his feet a bit as he goes.
Once they reach the bathroom, Devlin flips on the light and points toward the toilet.
“Go ahead and have a seat.” Devlin says as he begins to look through the medicine cabinet for rubbing alcohol and some cotton balls. “Do you have your mom’s pho
ne number?”
“Yes, Sir. She works late, but she might answer…” The young man replies nervously, taking a seat on the closed lid of the toilet.
“No need to be nervous…” Devlin says, feeling suddenly dizzy; his heart pounding with thunderous energy as if he were sprinting at top speed. “I don’t feel so great…” He says slowly, falling to his left against the bathroom sink, taking a bottle of cologne and other toiletries to the floor with him.
Devlin lands sideways on the bathroom tiles, feeling the cold flooring beneath him as his heart rate continues to increase. He stares at the obscure patterns in the wood of the bathroom cabinets for a moment, waiting for his life to end. After a few seconds, his heart rate slows down, and he forces himself to his feet, but then falls immediately to the floor again. His face just misses the young man’s shoes as his body drops to the tile; this time on his right side.
“What the fuck did you give me?” Devlin asks breathlessly, reaching up under his long blonde hair to find a microdot on the back of his neck.
“I don’t know, dude. These people showed up while we was playin’ basketball and offered my uncle two grand. They said you shot up a mall today, or somethin’… and needed my help to catch you.” The young man says as he pulls out a stun gun from his pocket, bearing a face of paranoia, and steps carefully into the tub at his left.
“I’m not the bad guy…” Devlin mutters as his heart begins to pound again and his vision fades.
The OBDAT – Chicago
“Just under an hour of prep work and Voila.” Lorabell says with a smile, listening to the transmission from the young man’s earpiece.
“Impressive.” Henri says with a relieved expression. “How did we get the uncle to play the part?”
“They weren’t acting.” Lorabell replies caustically. “There was no mother. The boy and uncle live alone in a shitty little shack near downtown. Agent Chavez spotted them at a basketball court. The uncle was drunk in his car, parked by the side of the road, yelling at the boy like he always does.”
“No acting? I like it! Are we compromised?” Henri asks with a satisfied grin.
“Nope,” Lorabell answers with a reassuring expression, “Chavez gave the boy a headset and some instructions on how to hug someone, and to place the microdot. Then Razor gave the uncle driving directions, and continued to relay instructions through headsets. We ran the op completely through radio, and now… You’ve got your big fish.”
“Thank you, Cardigan.” Henri beams with confidence. “Now we can work in peace, which is good because I am not partial to chloramine poisoning… Don’t tell Mason that we have Devlin in custody. I’ll deal with him my own way.”
“Sir, about Julia Welheim…” Lorabell begins with a guilty expression and flat tone. “I didn’t mean for her to die… We could have stopped the suicide if Devlin hadn’t attacked us.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweet lady.” Henri says with kind eyes, putting his right hand on her left shoulder. “Just focus on the mission at hand, and stop thinking about things that are outside of your control. We need to get those numbers for The President. You’re doing a great thing for this country!”
XIII. Don’t Talk to Strangers
If I live past Thursday, then I will find a way to bring the roof down on their heads. The CIA, NSA, and FBI will all be coming to collect my head, and if I die before the truth comes out, may God forgive me for the things I’ve done. My name is Devlin McConnelly, former counterinsurgency expert, and Colonel in the United States Army, recently recruited by the CIA in the private sector after serving my eight years.
One thing the world needs to know from all this death and deception is that Henri Edwards is an evil man. Although I am not religious, I can swear that I have seen the Devil, and I know his capacity to do terrible things. For the past few months, our teams have been performing a series of exercises to develop case studies for gun violence, tracking the activities of various people, and learning their hot buttons for violent behavior. During these exercises, I saw some disturbing things take place, and I’m sure if I had further details, it would be even more disturbing.
I will be attempting to expose the corporate secrets behind Henri Edwards North America; also known as H.E.N.A. While I do know that the man himself is evil; I still don’t know what his agenda is with these exercises. Mr. Edwards has a direct line to The President. He has dominant support in The House of Congress, and as The Speaker of the House, he has the freedom and power to move mountains within days. If I succeed in my mission to expose this evil house of cards, force them all to show their hand, everyone will be able to breathe easier. I pray for the safety of my wife and family.
Whoever may find this letter after I am gone; please take care of my love, Yulia McConnelly. I love you so much, my dear, and I am sorry for the things that have happened these past few days. Please stay strong, my love. I have stumbled my way into the lion’s den, and now I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. If I die, please do not try to investigate, just move on, and be safe. We’ll meet again, I promise.
Love,
-Devlin McConnelly.
Colonel, United States Army.
“Now that’s a very touching letter; I must admit.” The Congressman says with a look of resentment in his eyes, leaning back a bit. “Do you really need to call me ‘The Devil’ after all this? I mean, hell, we barely know each other.”
Henri rolls his left hand into a tight fist, then gently folds the letter, and returns it to his jacket pocket as he straightens his six-foot, four-inch frame. A wicked smile forms as he releases his hands, letting his fingers dangle lazily down near the hem of his sleek, black designer pants. His face shines with radiance under the expensive lighting of the formal Federal Government office, contrasting heavily with his expensive black suit.
“I’m pleased to have you here tonight, Devlin,” Henri begins with a cold stare from his pale blue eyes, running his fingers gently over his graying hair, “you really are a dog of war, aren’t you? But you’re in my house now, and we’ve have more security in this building than you’ll see anywhere within ten miles. If you want to try the stunt you pulled back at that mall, they’ll have to use an industrial magnet to get all the lead out of your body that these boys can shell out.”
Henri glares down at Devlin as the young man kneels on the floor gasping for breath. His right eye and lip are badly cut from a beating courtesy of Henri’s security team just moments ago. He looks up at Henri from the floor, his soft blue eyes showing that he has the desire to fight, but not the strength.
Devlin is half-slumped over, gasping for breath. He is dressed in a formal white shirt, a blue and peach striped silk tie, and dark gray slacks. The white shirt shows off Devlin’s muscular frame with strands of long, blonde hair hanging halfway down his back over the pristine cotton. He wipes some blood from the side of his mouth as he listens to Henri from his position on the floor, being careful not to smudge the shirtsleeve.
“You’ve left one hell of a trail of carnage; a mess The President will be expecting me to cleanup. I really don’t appreciate how you crucified my agent and left him naked on the break room table either…”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Devlin asks with fiery eyes, staring at the Congressman as though he is a shark out of water. “I didn’t crucify anyone…”
“Bullshit, son, if you’re going to judge me for MY sins, then let’s both be honest about OUR sins!” Henri demands with a passionate and twisted sense of honor. “You took my agent down, bludgeoned him with a mop handle, and crucified his naked body on our break room table by sticking two screwdrivers through his hands. That’s pretty damn sick, Devlin!”
“I took him out,” Devlin begins, shaking his head in disagreement, “but I covered his body in garbage bags and carted it to the break room. Then I just uncovered it and left it on the table for your agents to find... With some decoded messages.”
“So you’re just a white knight in all thi
s?” Henri asks with a discriminate gaze, wanting Devlin to acknowledge that he is just as dirty. “I saw the body, Devlin, no one else in the building would have done that. Why can’t you just admit that you brought back some head trauma from Iraq?”
“I killed the man!” Devlin says with frustration, wiping more blood from the side of his mouth. “But I’ve never crucified anyone in my life. You need to look deeper into that… if it’s true.”
“Are you saying that you didn’t try to poison me and my team with a deadly concoction of ammonia and bleach?” Henri inquires with a troubled expression.
“No, I don’t deny that,” Devlin admits with subdued hatred, “unfortunately it probably killed some people who didn’t deserve to die, and left you… to exploit the world.”
The Congressman looks at Devlin for a moment, half believing that he’s telling the truth. He rubs his fingers hard against his temples as he contemplates this, watching the younger man carefully for any signs falseness.
She Is Risen (She Is Risen: The Gun Control Case Studies) Page 19