That, of course, was dependent on a couple of factors. Would the kid be open to it? Really open to it? And even if he were, would Durrie have the patience to see it through?
The survival part of him was pushing for the kid to be turned over to Peter if Durrie wasn’t going to finish the job himself. While the rest was saying, “Isn’t this why you brought him here in the first place?”
So, what’s it going to be?
• • •
Jake was visited twice more by Durrie before he fell asleep again, but never to talk, only to bring in meals. It wasn’t that Jake didn’t try to engage him, but no matter what he said, Durrie never replied.
When he awoke the next morning—or what he assumed was the next morning—Durrie was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, staring at the bed. Behind him, the door was open.
Jake sat up quickly, startled.
“Tell me about the marks in the sand,” Durrie said.
“What?”
“The marks in the sand, outside the barn. Describe them.”
Jake took a second to realize what he was talking about, then thought back to the night of the fire. “Which ones? By the tank, or in between the tank and the building?”
“Start with the tank.”
“Okay. The dirt was disturbed.”
“All the dirt was loose in that area. How could you tell it was disturbed?”
“The patterns. There was a portion of the dirt that looked like it was moving in the same direction, but askew to the pattern of the dirt around it. I guess it looked like it had been pushed there.”
Durrie nodded for a moment. “I was in a hurry. If I’d taken more time, you would have never seen it.”
Jake stared at him. This was the first direct confirmation that his theory of the men being involved with the Goodman Ranch Road murder was correct. “You were there.”
“Don’t get all excited,” Durrie said. “I’m not the one who pulled the trigger.”
“But one of your friends did.”
“They aren’t my friends.”
“One of the men you were with, then.”
“Tell me about what you found between the tank and the building.”
Jake said nothing for a moment, then, “All right. It was less than an inch long, a kind of rounded cradle in the sand that might have been created by a rope or a thick wire.”
“A cable,” Durrie said.
Jake looked at him, his brow creased. “For what?”
“Video monitoring.”
“Of…what was going on in the barn?”
“How did you find it?” Durrie asked, ignoring the question.
“I…uh, found traces of more disturbed dirt, followed it, and found the mark. I guess it was a spot you missed.”
“I guess it was. That’s what happens when you work with fools and are forced into a hurry-up situation that should have never occurred.”
As much as Jake liked getting answers to questions he’d had for nearly a month, he wasn’t sure Durrie’s openness was a good thing or not. But he couldn’t help himself and asked, “When you say work, you mean murder, don’t you?”
For a moment, it didn’t look like Durrie was going to respond, then he said, “We call it termination.”
“Termination? Like a hit?” Jake asked. That would actually make sense, he realized. If this really had been drug-related, a hit was exactly what it must have been.
Then, as if reading his mind, Durrie said, “This isn’t The Sopranos. And I don’t work for organized crime, at least not in the way you define it.”
“Then who do you work for?”
Durrie stood, picked up his chair, and started for the door. “Depends on the week.”
“The night on Goodman Ranch Road?”
Durrie stopped in the threshold. “Uncle Sam.”
He stepped out and shut the door.
Jake immediately dismissed the answer as just something to confuse him.
But it didn’t really matter what Durrie said now. The man had admitted to being involved in the murder. If Jake could get free, he would report what he’d found out. He didn’t think it would be enough to get him back on the force, but it would prove to the assholes who had kicked him out that he’d been right.
Uncle Sam. Right.
• • •
There were three more sessions that day. This time Durrie questioned Oliver about the back-trail search he’d done on Timmons and Larson, what he’d found at the coffee shop, and what had happened when he’d presented the information to his superiors.
The kid was playing it really smart. Cooperating completely, while Durrie knew on the inside he was trying to come up with a plan for escape. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be worth the time Durrie was putting in.
When the idea had first come to him several weeks before—that Oliver might be a useful asset in the future—he had been thinking about starting him as a courier somewhere, with the possibility that he’d work his way into a frontline ops position. But the kid’s eye for detail was extraordinary. And that meant one thing to Durrie.
Cleaner.
To do the job Durrie did took a special mindset and the ability to see everything. Though he wasn’t sure if Oliver had the mindset yet, the former cop certainly had the missing-nothing foundation required. He also had the smarts to make intuitive leaps that others wouldn’t even consider.
Still, there was a lot more work to do if that was going to happen.
26
Over the next two days, Durrie had Oliver run through everything again, this time concentrating on tangential items, such as the makes and colors of the cars parked outside the barn the day Jake found the matchbook, and the descriptions of the lobby décor of the Lawrence Hotel when he’d gone there. His memory wasn’t one hundred percent perfect, but damn close.
One subject Durrie avoided was Berit Davies. Oliver only casually mentioned her a few times, playing down her role in the events. It was obvious he was trying to shield her from any harm that might come if her true involvement were revealed. Of course Oliver didn’t realize, thanks to Larson, it was too late for that.
At some point, the issue would have to be dealt with, and the truth would come out. If this was going to be a successful recruitment, then there could be no secrets. Not that kind of secret anyway.
On the fourth day, it was time to change things up.
• • •
Jake had just finished his breakfast when the door opened. Per the procedure they’d developed, he immediately rose, went over to his bed, and sat down. For the last day and a half, Durrie had not required Jake to chain himself to anything. Jake had taken this as a good sign, a building of trust he could use to his advantage when the time came.
This morning, though, Durrie was once more carrying the set of shackles in addition to the ever-present stun gun. He tossed the restraints onto the bed.
“Pick them up.”
Wondering what he had done to cause the return of the extra security measures, Jake nonetheless started to put them on without complaint.
“No,” Durrie told him. “I said pick them up, not put them on.”
Surprised, Jake removed the cuff he’d started to put around his wrist.
“Follow me,” Durrie said, then walked out the door.
This was new. Until that moment, Jake had not left the room. He passed through the doorway into a dimly lit hallway. There were five doors other than the one he’d come out of. Two were on the same side of the hall his room was on, two were on the other, and the final door was at the far end of the hallway, closing it off.
“How about a shower?” Durrie asked.
“Uh, sure.” A shower sounded great.
“This way.” Durrie walked to one of the doors on the opposite wall, and opened it. “This stays open, and I’ll be right out here.” He raised the modified taser. “I’m pretty sure if this thing hits you in water, it won’t be a good thing.”
“Then I’d appreciate it if
you didn’t shoot me, okay?” Jake said as the walked through the doorway.
The bathroom was utilitarian: a shower stall in the far corner, a toilet, and a stainless steel sink coming out of the wall. There was no mirror. There were also no windows, reinforcing Jake’s growing belief that his cell was underground. On the edge of the sink, he noticed a tube of toothpaste.
“Sorry, no toothbrush or floss,” Durrie said, apparently following his gaze. “Your finger will have to do.”
With a shrug, Jake ran some toothpaste through his mouth, then climbed into the shower. The water felt wonderful as it rinsed away the sweat and stink that had been clinging to his skin for days. He washed his body and his hair twice, then let the water soak him.
“That’s enough,” Durrie said, after what must have been ten minutes.
Reluctantly, Jake turned the shower off and stepped out of the stall.
Durrie tossed Jake a towel. Where he’d found it, Jake didn’t know.
“There are clean clothes out here on the floor.”
Jake dried off, then found the clothes and dressed.
“Cuffs,” Durrie said.
Jake knew it was coming, but he’d been hoping Durrie had forgotten. He put them on. “What now?”
“Down here.” Durrie led him to another door, opened it, and let Jake enter first.
The room was about the same size as Jake’s cell, but there was no bed or toilet. The only piece of furniture was a single chair sitting near the middle of the room. It faced a wall covered with maps and photographs.
“Sit,” Durrie said.
“What are we doing here?”
“Sit and you’ll find out.”
With little other choice, Jake did.
Durrie moved over to the wall.
“Six months ago, someone began selling secret information he had no right to sell. This leak compromised several operations being conducted by the people I’ve been working for. Many good people lost their lives, and important work was interrupted. It took four months to pin down the source.” He pointed at one of the photos. “This man. Nicholas Owens.” He looked back at Jake. “It was determined by those running the organization that Mr. Owens had to be removed. That’s the operation you and your partner came upon that night on Goodman Ranch Road.”
“The body in the barn was this Owens guy?” Jake asked.
“No. Mr. Owens’s body is…elsewhere. The body in the barn was one of his associates. Someone who wrongly thought he could save Mr. Owens.”
Jake frowned. “You’re trying to tell me this was governmental action?”
“I’m not trying to do anything. I’m telling you exactly what happened. It’s up to you whether to believe me or not.”
Durrie then began an extremely detailed account of what had happened at the barn. He talked about the planning, the makeup of the team, the other preparations, and the operation itself. His description was not a glowing report of an efficient mission. Instead, he laid out all the flaws, explained where everything went wrong, and described the less-than-perfect job carried out by the actual gunman.
Jake couldn’t help getting caught up in it. It was like an event from one of the spy thrillers he’d read as a teenager. Yet despite how crazy it seemed, it also sounded surprisingly plausible. In fact, there was nothing in Durrie’s description that contradicted the evidence Jake had uncovered.
“So your job was to…get rid of the body?” Jake asked, not quite sure he had that part right.
“Yes. It’s my specialty.”
“Your specialty? Getting rid of bodies? You’re making that up,” he said. “That’s just something out of a movie. No one does that.”
“I do.”
“Right. Okay, sure. Whatever you say. Why would anyone even choose to do that? It sounds…”
“What? Interesting?”
Jake was going to say morbid, but, though he wouldn’t admit it, it did sound a little interesting. Creepy and skin-crawling, but interesting. “So that’s it? You take the body and run?”
“That’s not it. If I do my job correctly, the scene of an operation disappears or is not seen for what it really is.”
“You mean the crime scene,” Jake said.
“No,” Durrie said. “I mean the scene of an operation.”
“You’re killing people. That sounds like a crime to me.”
Durrie took a deep breath and said nothing for several seconds. “The loss of a life is not taken lightly. Usually when someone is terminated it is to prevent the deaths of others. It is not something most people can understand. It can be a nasty business, but it is something that must be done. Because, believe me, there are others out there, with the same skills as my colleagues and I, who do not think the same way we do. That’s why what we do is necessary.”
“But it’s still breaking the law.”
“Really? Then try to take me in and arrest me. If you’re not killed first, you’ll soon find that you’re the one in prison, not me.”
Jake thought for a moment, then asked, “Why are you telling me this?”
“Interesting,” Durrie said. “If our roles had been reversed, that would have been my first question.” He paused. “It’s time for you to go back to your room.”
• • •
After Oliver was locked away, Durrie went back upstairs. It was up to the kid to now either accept that Durrie’s information was true, or take the easier route and believe it was all a fabrication. Durrie had left absolutely nothing out, telling Oliver every detail of the job, warts and all. Tomorrow he would go over what had happened after they discovered that Oliver had learned of their presence. But for today, their conversation was done. He wanted Oliver to sit with the story, go over everything himself, and try to poke holes in it.
Durrie headed for the kitchen, intending to start preparing lunch, but when he passed his phone sitting on the kitchen table, he could see he had a message waiting. The phone number indicated it had come from the Office.
He thought about ignoring it. He still had more than two weeks on his deal with Peter, so, as far as he was concerned, they had nothing to discuss. But he knew the message would nag at him until he checked it.
“Durrie, it’s Peter. You need to call me as soon as you get this.”
Bullshit, Durrie thought, about to hang up.
But then Peter’s voice added something. “It’s about Larson.”
Durrie groaned.
Anything to do with that asshole probably wouldn’t be important, either. He tried to think about what it could be, but the only thing he could come up with was that maybe Peter was finally getting around to taking Larson out of circulation, and needed some information from him.
He stood there for a moment, unmoving, a miniature battle going on in his head. Reluctantly, he decided to return the call and get it over with.
“It’s Durrie,” he said when the call was answered.
This time the woman on the other end put him immediately through to Peter.
“I called you over an hour ago,” Peter all but yelled.
“I was tied up.”
“With your project?”
“What do you want, Peter?”
“Larson’s gone rogue.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone leaked that we were planning on removing him.”
“Wonderful,” Durrie said, not meaning it. “But I don’t see how this should concern me.”
“He knows our decision was based on your information. He also knows you have the cop.”
Durrie almost smiled. “Are you trying to tell me he’s coming after me?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not going to find me.”
“Don’t count on that. He may have been a wild card, but he still has connections.”
“I don’t care what he has, he’s not going to find me.”
Peter paused. “Indications are he’s heading for Colorado. If that’s not where you are, then you’re right. But if
it is…”
There was still no reason to believe Larson would find them. It was a big state, after —
Son of a bitch.
There’d been an operation Durrie had worked on years earlier, an operation Larson had played a minor role in. Their employers at the time had been the same people who had set up the cabin Durrie was now using.
“How is he traveling?” Durrie asked, thinking arrangements could be made to meet Larson if he was flying in.
“Driving from Chicago. He knows we can’t watch all the roads.”
“When did he leave?”
“At least twenty-four hours ago.”
Twenty-four hours? Larson could be here already. “Is he alone?”
“We’re not sure.”
Durrie swore to himself again. “What are the chances of my having backup on standby?”
“So you are in Colorado?”
“Peter, answer the question.”
“It could be arranged.”
“Then arrange it.”
27
Jake lay on his bed, thinking about everything Durrie had laid out for him. Truth? A lie? What? It was unbelievable, yet plausible, like a whole different world lying beneath the one Jake knew.
At some point his stomach began to growl and he realized Durrie was late with his lunch. Another hour passed, then two. Soon he wasn’t thinking about the morning discussion, but wondering if Durrie had maybe left him there to die.
Finally, the door opened, and Durrie stepped inside.
“Hungry?” he asked, then tossed Jake a couple of apples and an orange.
“This is it?” Jake asked.
“Sorry. Didn’t have time to make anything.”
Jake frowned, then took a bite of one of the apples.
“Things have changed,” Durrie said,
“What do you mean?”
“I told you about the shooter on the op in Phoenix.”
The shooter, Jake now knew, was the dark-haired man from the Lawrence Hotel who’d gone by the name Mr. Walters. By Durrie’s account, he was a loose cannon who was the root of most of the problems on the mission. “What about him?”
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