Forced to Kill

by Andrew Peterson

  The dispatcher came back immediately. “Unit with last transmission, please repeat. All other units stay off the air.”

  He didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. Every unit on that frequency had just heard the officer-down call and would be screaming to this location.

  Wincing from the sting of his feet, he hustled over to the prone security guard and rolled him over. Dead.

  Precious seconds were ripping by with no sign of Grangeland. He had no choice. He returned to the cruiser, used the officer’s cuffs to secure Montez’s hands behind his back, jammed him into the backseat, and slammed the door shut. Montez stirred to consciousness but had nowhere to go. Designed for prisoners, the cruiser’s rear compartment would afford Montez no means of escape.

  He retrieved the officer’s weapon and holstered it for him. He didn’t like abandoning a defenseless cop or taking his cruiser, but he had to clear the area. Either that or yield control to the SDPD. They’d both be taken into custody, where Montez would be given a chance to lawyer-up. Not an option.

  Once in the cruiser, he turned off the light bar and headlights, and sped toward the south entrance to the parking lot. A glance to his left confirmed his suspicion. Three police units were racing along West Mission Bay Boulevard toward Belmont Park, probably from Harv’s location. He figured he slipped away with less than thirty seconds to spare.

  “Do you really think you’ll get away with shooting a police officer and stealing his vehicle?” said Montez from the backseat.

  “I’ll be asking the questions from now on.”

  “You sound pleased with yourself.”

  “Would you like to be gagged again?”

  Montez didn’t answer.

  A thought came to Nathan. Grangeland. She’d be driving into a gauntlet of SDPD’s finest. He used the recent call feature on his phone and hit send.

  “Nathan?”

  “Change of plans. Keep going south on Mission Boulevard past Belmont Park. Make a right at the very end and find me. I’ve still got Montez. He killed a security guard. Look for a parked SDPD cruiser. Where are you?”

  “Westbound on Sea World Drive. Seems like every cop in the city is converging to your location. I’ve been passed by two code-three cruisers doing over a hundred.”

  “Call if you have any trouble finding me.”

  He estimated he had four minutes before she arrived. Probably the same for an SDPD helicopter. By now, Dalton’s yacht would be on its way back to the marina. He hoped Dalton would survive his wounds. The man had surrendered himself to this sadistic madman to save his family. Whoever Dalton was, he couldn’t be all bad.

  At the end of Mission Boulevard, he turned right, drove several hundred yards, and pulled into an isolated parking stall facing the channel.

  Why not use this time productively?

  Pistol in hand, he climbed out. His feet still stung, but not as badly now. He stepped gingerly around the cruiser and got into the backseat next to Montez, making sure to leave the door open. He didn’t want to lock himself in. The dome light stayed dark.

  “Well, Colonel Montez, you really look like shit.”

  “Tell me something, McBride. Why didn’t you give me your name down there? What harm would it have caused? Why not just do it and avoid the pain?”

  “Because it was all I had left,” Nathan whispered, almost to himself. He shook his head, marveling at how smoothly Montez had taken the initiative from him. “If you go off-topic again, Monty, I’m going to hurt you badly. Do you understand? Let’s get right to it. Who are you working for and what’s Dalton’s role?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  Nathan sighed. “I warned you.” He pulled his Predator and jammed the tip into Montez’s cheek. He applied a gradual increasing pressure, forcing Montez to hold perfectly still or risk a lengthy incision. A rivulet of blood oozed from the small cut. “A few more pounds of pressure and the blade goes through to your cheekbone. I’d really hate to see your face ruined… like mine.”

  Montez said nothing.

  “Well?”

  “I only learned the truth tonight. I thought I was working for Dalton, but he was only a middleman.”

  “A middleman? For whom?”

  “You won’t like the answer.”

  “Try me.”

  “The CIA.”

  Chapter 47

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe you were working for the United States government?”

  “Believe what you want.”

  “Why would the CIA need a worm like you involved with a clean coal negotiation in Hungary? That’s horse crap. You’re lying.”

  “The clean coal thing was only a front.”

  “For what?”

  “Counterterrorism. Holding and transfer of enemy combatants. Rendition.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been interrogating prisoners.”

  Nathan felt his blood pressure rise. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can prove it. The thumb drive in your pocket? Dalton confessed to everything.”

  “You tortured him. Of course he confessed.”

  “He held out for quite a while, made a heroic stand.”

  Nathan let the knife sink a fraction of an inch into Montez’s cheek. “Spare me your sick musings. You were going to dump Dalton in the ocean. Alive. Like you did to Kramer. You could’ve killed Kramer first. Why drown him like that?”

  “I’d put up with Kramer for years. He was a small, cruel man who lorded every ounce of power he had over those around him.”

  “Sounds like you. So you’re claiming Dalton works for the CIA?”

  “He did. As a contractor. He owned a small, private company called Ironclad Management.”

  “And Kramer’s shell company, Energy Solutions?”

  “Was hired by Ironclad. A subcontractor.”

  “Which dealt directly with you.”

  “Yes. Kramer brought me the interrogation subjects. Terrorists. Captured by your military or CIA, then taken to a safe house in Hungary for safekeeping until it was time for their interrogations on Tobago. The clean coal venture allowed us to use Hungary as a depot. Everything was done with private jets. That’s where I came in. Kramer simply handled the arrivals and disposals.”

  “Then what did Dalton do?”

  “It’s all on the thumb drive.”

  Nathan pushed the knife. “I’m asking you.”

  “I already told you. Dalton was a middleman, reporting to a United States Senator. A member of the mighty Committee on Domestic Terrorism.”

  Nathan literally felt his heart pound. His father would never be party to this.

  He moved his Predator to Montez’s right eye. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not, I swear.”

  “Which Senator?” He drove the knife’s tip into the lower eyelid and felt the blade pierce skin. “Which one?”

  “Alan Kallstrom.”

  Nathan pulled the steel back, letting himself breathe again, then felt shame. Sudden and deep. How could he have suspected his own father? Familiar hatred began boiling. Hatred for being manipulated. For being paranoid. Hatred of his own nature. What have I become that I would suspect my own father of working with this animal?

  “McBride.…” Montez said slowly. “You’re Senator Stone McBride’s son? And you thought I was referring to him?” He smiled. “Close to your father, are you?”

  Nathan’s voice took on a sudden calmness. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Mr. Montez.”

  Montez looked around in mock curiosity. “We seem to be alone.”

  “We are alone, just the three of us.” He waited, allowing his meaning to sink in. Montez had seen the other. Many times.

  Montez’s expression changed to fear, and he began speaking rapidly. “If you torture or kill me, Dalton’s confession in your pocket will be distributed to every major news network. Your country will be mired
in scandal for decades. World opinion of America will plummet to an all-time low.”

  “Like I care.”

  “What about your precious patriotism? You told me many times you’d never betray your country, no matter what I did to you.”

  “A lot can change over the years,” he lied.

  “I don’t believe you. I heard what you said to the police officer. You still fancy yourself as an honorable man.”

  “Believe what you want. You can contemplate it while screaming in agony.”

  “You won’t kill me. You won’t risk it.”

  “You’re right, I won’t kill you… right away.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, McBride.”

  He leaned forward. “You will be.” He let that soak in for a few seconds. “You’re forgetting how well I know you. You told me many times you didn’t trust anyone but yourself. I’m betting this is the only copy.”

  “One week ago, your government tried to kill me and sweep my operation under the rug. I’ve been preparing for this betrayal for years.”

  Nathan smiled. “It’s much worse than that.”

  Montez squinted, looked confused.

  “My government wants you alive.”

  Montez’s entire body tensed.

  “That’s right. Alive and kicking. Once the CIA’s finished with you, you’ll be in diapers, drooling in a mental ward and listening to elevator music.”

  Montez’s face changed, took on resolve. “I enjoyed seeing you suffer, McBride. Do you remember when you broke down and cried like a little boy?”

  “I warned you what would happen if you went off-topic.” Nathan grabbed him by the ponytail and forced his head back against the seat. Starting at the top of Montez’s right temple, he drew his Predator down his cheek and stopped at his chin. The incision began oozing blood.

  Montez hissed in protest, but held still.

  “Did you enjoy that?”

  “It changes nothing.”

  “Oh, I disagree. I’m already feeling better. Shall we make it a matched set?”

  Montez said nothing.

  “It’s a little cramped in here. Let’s step outside where we have more room to work.” He sheathed the knife, grabbed Montez by the collar, and yanked him across the seat. “I should’ve brought rubber gloves. Lord only knows what diseases you’ve got.” He hauled the man clear of the cruiser and dragged him over the curb toward the riprap-lined harbor channel.

  He heard it then, the distant thumping of a helicopter’s main rotor tearing through the air. He looked toward Lindbergh Field. How much time did he have? Two minutes? Less?

  To his surprise, he didn’t care.

  “You tortured me in front of women and children. What kind of a sick fuck does that?”

  “You should know.”

  “We’re nothing alike.”

  “I should’ve let my man bullwhip you to death. Twenty or thirty more lashes would’ve done the trick.”

  “You had a nice head of hair, Monty. Until now.” With his left hand, he snapped the rubber band securing Montez’s ponytail and grabbed a handful of hair just above his brows. With his right hand, he positioned his Predator on the left side of Montez’s forehead and forced the knife across, cutting a deep channel, five inches long. Montez moaned as blood began oozing down his face.

  “Professional question,” he growled in Montez’s ear. “Have you ever scalped anyone?”

  Headlights appeared. From the left.

  Nathan looked up as a sedan bore down on him.

  A police cruiser? No, it didn’t have a light bar. Grangeland. Her timing couldn’t have been worse.

  It came to a stop behind the cruiser he’d stolen. He heard two car doors open and close. Two doors? Maybe it wasn’t Grangeland. An undercover SDPD unit? He shrugged off any concern and turned his attention back to his prisoner.

  ***

  “Nathan. Don’t do it.”

  Holly?

  How could that be Holly? She’s in Sacramento.

  Silhouetted against the headlights, she and Grangeland approached the curb, but stopped short. “Nathan, don’t do it.”

  “Holly. How— What are you doing here?”

  “I never left. I asked your father and Harvey not to tell you.”

  Montez grinned through a face covered in blood from his cheek and scalp wounds. “So this is Holly. Julio mentioned you, from the Clairemont house. Quite a looker. And good with a gun, I hear.”

  Nathan voice held venom. “Shut up, Montez.”

  “Tell me, McBride. Is she a tiger in the sack? I’ll bet she could handle an entire NBA basketball team, plus that cane.”

  “Nathan, don’t. It’s what he wants.”

  In two labored motions, he cut deep parallel channels along the top of Montez’s head that connected to the slit across his forehead. He could now tear a huge rectangular piece of Montez’s scalp back.

  Grangeland took a step a forward. “I don’t blame you for wanting to hurt him, but let us prosecute him for murder.”

  “This doesn’t concern the FBI.”

  “Is that all I am to you now? The FBI?”

  “Grangeland, no, I— I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Holly softened her tone. “She’s right, Nathan.”

  “Don’t—”

  “Don’t what? Deny you your revenge?”

  “This isn’t about revenge. It’s about justice.”

  “You’ve never lied to me. Are you going to start now?”

  He squinted, but said nothing. The truth? Was it absolute? Black or white? Where did it blur?

  “So that’s it,” she continued. “I’m too late. You made up your mind a week ago. Then, go ahead. I won’t stop you. But you’ll have to kill him in front of me and Grangeland.”

  He clenched his teeth.

  “Go ahead. I want to see it. All of it. I want to see you tear his scalp back. I want to see you cut his throat. Listen to the gurgling of his lungs. Everything. I want to see the real Nathan McBride in action. I guess the man I thought I knew doesn’t exist.”

  “Holly, don’t—”

  “Don’t what? Tell you the truth?”

  “What do you know about the truth?” he yelled.

  Her voice softened. “I know that giving into hatred won’t heal you. Just the opposite.”

  “You know what he did to me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  The temptation to tear Montez’s scalp back and slit his throat overpowered all else. It raged like a thirst, a thirst he knew well. He would’ve sold his soul for a drink of water during his crucifixion. With every crack of the whip, every jolt of electricity, and every slice of his flesh, he’d sworn to get revenge some day. He’d dreamed of this moment thousands of times. That day had arrived. Montez must die. And why shouldn’t he? After what he’d done to Kramer. The Dalton family. The bastard tried to kill Harv. Shot him when he was defenseless. Human life had no value to Montez. None.

  He gripped the knife tighter.

  It would be so easy. So satisfying.

  But what about Holly and the life they’d started together? Was he going to throw that away? Was killing Montez worth sacrificing that future? Her future?

  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Nathan, love is stronger than hate.”

  Conflicting emotions assaulted him again. His desire to kill Montez had never burned so strongly. How could they blame him? How could anyone on the planet blame him? He thought back to Director Cantrell’s visit to his hospital room. She’d asked him to consider the bigger picture when and if the time ever came. He owned Montez’s life. Was it satisfying enough to know he could kill him? Was having the power of life and death over this monster enough? It didn’t feel like enough, not by a long shot.

  He could almost hear Harvey telling him this wasn’t a CIA sanctioned mission and he didn’t have a green light to take out the target. Thorny would say the same thing.

  And what if Montez wasn’t lying about the thumb d
rive? About having other copies? Killing him could cause serious harm to the country. Did his lust for revenge overshadow all else? How many good people would be destroyed by killing one bad person?

  The fork in the road branched in two directions.

  One toward light.

  The other toward darkness.

  With clenched teeth, he tilted his head up, closed his eyes.…

  And asked God for help.

  He saw them then, in his mind’s eye. Autumn colored leaves. Descending like harbingers of truth. The leaves fell by the hundreds. Then by the thousands. Surrounding him in random but beautiful patterns. They brushed his skin, healing savaged flesh from a past that no longer controlled him, no longer held his fate.

  He loosened his grip on the knife.

  Love is stronger than hate.

  A lot stronger. He’d been so misguided all these years. Bitterness? Hatred? Revenge? Deep down, where only the truth lived, he knew they weren’t just words. They’d become prison bars. He thought about the words inscribed on the FBI seal—words that Holly honored. Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. And they weren’t merely words. They were tenets of the truth, a truth he’d lost sight of. He could never face Holly again if he gave into his dark nature. Hatred and rage might be permanent parts of his soul, but they didn’t have to control him.

  He slammed the door on the other and threw the knife aside.

  “You’re a coward, McBride.”

  Grangeland stepped forward, brushing Nathan aside with her body, and delivered a solid haymaker to Montez’s bloody jaw. “And you’re unconscious.”

  Nathan backed away, allowing Grangeland to take over.

  Holly hugged him. “It’s over, Nathan,” she whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to fear him anymore.”

  “I didn’t mean the things I said. I’m sorry.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  Her words echoed again. You don’t have to fear him anymore. He held her, unsure if she meant Montez or the vicious thing inside him. Perhaps they were the same, cut from the same dark cloth. It didn’t matter.

  Holding Holly, he sensed something he hadn’t felt in a long time.…

  He felt safe.

  Chapter 48