Echoes of Rain

by Ben Follows

  Will shrugged. "I don't know. I can be better."

  Frankie looked at him. "Prove to me you're still the confident and strong-willed person I married, and maybe it will work out."

  She walked to the dresser and grabbed some clothes.

  She changed without looking back at Will, then walked out.

  She didn't have time for a shower, so she walked into the bathroom, splashed her face, and put on some deodorant.

  When she walked into the bedroom, Will was sitting at the bottom of their bed. He was still wearing the tuxedo, which she had to admit was a great touch.

  "I can try," he said, looking up and meeting her eyes.

  "Okay," said Frankie. She walked up to him, kissed him on the cheek, then walked to her car.

  Chapter 46

  Debra Coleman stretched to get a stiffness out of her neck. She looked up at the building she in front of her. This was where Lauren Mavis had worked before everything had gone south.

  She took off her sunglasses. The building wasn't much to look at, but she could tell from the cars surrounding the building that it was a tech company. There was a stench of hipsters and Starbucks in the air, and the entire area seemed to be excessively environmentally conscious. There were garbage and recycling bins everywhere, and there were chargers for electric cars in the parking lot.

  She turned and walked up to one of the people exiting the building. He was a young man with a laptop bag thrown over his shoulder. He was the one Debra was looking for.

  She couldn't believe the FBI had fallen for her trick so easily. She had hired a personal security team to watch her apartment, who had then helped her sneak out the back door. They had hidden her in the trunk of a car to get her two towns over, then let her out.

  The FBI still believed she was at her apartment, although she had taken the liberty of covering her tracks and changing her appearance. She now had short dirty blonde hair and a leather jacket.

  "Hello," she said, walking up to the man. "Are you Brent?"

  The man looked at her. "Who are you?"

  She pulled out a fake FBI identification and held it up. "I'm FBI Agent Madison Peters. I have a few questions."

  "What is this about?" said Brent.

  "Lauren Mavis."

  "Oh God," said Brent. "I knew I should be worried when that story was on the news, and she ran out. Is she in jail or something?"

  "Not exactly," said Debra. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

  "Sure," said Brent. "My office inside is pretty private. Can you walk with me?"

  "That will work," said Debra.

  Brent turned and walked back inside. Debra followed a few steps behind.

  This was just the first step in Debra's plan.

  She was going to track down the people who had killed the closest thing she had to a family, and she was going to kill them all. Her gun was sitting at her waist, and she had enough bullets to deal with anything.

  They walked back to the office. Brent led her to a back room and closed the door. It was a room that was used for presentations, with a long round table in the center of the room and a projection screen on the wall.

  Brent took a seat and gestured for Debra to sit.

  "So," he said, "Agent Peters. What can I help you with?"

  Debra sighed. "Have you heard about the shootout on the highway?"

  Brent frowned. "You mean that thing at the rest stop?"

  "Yeah," said Debra. She took a brief pause then sighed. "Lauren was one of the fatalities."

  Brent stared at her for a long second, as though he was waiting for her to tell him she was joking.

  "Oh God," said Brent when he realized it wasn't a joke. "What happened?"

  "She was one of the hostages," said Debra. "She got shot."

  "Oh God," said Brent, putting his head in his hands. "What do you want me for?"

  "Lauren was involved in something," said Debra. "She wasn't at that rest stop for no reason."

  "Why was she there?" said Brent.

  "That's what I need you for," said Debra. "I need someone to get into Lauren's computer and figure out where she was moving some money."

  "Will that help find her killer?"

  "It will help with trying to figure out what happened."

  Brent looked away, pulling his lips into a thin line.

  "I don't know," he said. "It doesn't seem like the ethical thing to do. I don't think I could go through her things like that. Don't you have some like FBI techs that could do that?"

  Debra slowly pulled her gun out of its holster at her waist. She held the gun under the table, outside Brent's view.

  "Of course we do," she said with a smile, "but you knew her, and we think you would be able to get into her files much faster."

  "I don't know," said Brent, looking away.

  Debra slowly lifted her gun above the desk.

  "You know what?" said Brent, turning back to her. "I think you're right. I should help Lauren with this. She would do the same for me. I can help catch her killer."

  "Excellent, " said Debra, returning the gun to its holster.

  "It shouldn't be too hard," he said. "We have a central system. If she was moving any kind of sizable sum, she probably used our servers. I manage those, so I can probably get access to it. Give me a few hours."

  "That would be great, thanks."

  She holstered the gun at her waist and made sure that it was still unclipped.

  She wanted to be ready to take him out at a moments notice.

  She had never really felt a responsibility as Gillian’s godmother. She had always assumed it would never become relevant.

  Now, however, she was ready to act as a Godmother should.

  She was going to save her Goddaughter, no matter what it took.

  Chapter 47

  Frankie was sitting in the passenger seat of a truck heading toward the Eaton Estate. Mason was driving the truck, and a dozen FBI agents were sitting in the back of the truck.

  She had spent the morning looking for any other possible explanation for the disappearance of Jason Wilson's Daughter, Gillian. If Gillian had disappeared in some way that could be explained, then they could move on.

  They had discovered that Jason had been raising Gillian by himself for almost a decade, and he had gone into her school on Monday morning and told the principal he was taking Gillian on a trip for three weeks to Europe to see a sick relative. He had even given them an email address where they could send any of Gillian's schoolwork which she could do on the trip.

  Since then, there had been no indication that either had been anywhere except the locations where Jason had committed his murders. There had been no activity on Gillian’s Facebook page either. Frankie thought she was much too young to have a Facebook page, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was that they needed to find her.

  They turned a corner, and in the distance Frankie saw the Eaton estate. It was an immense house which towered over the other houses.

  "Ma'am?" said Mason from the driver's seat.

  "Yes?" said Frankie.

  "Remind me how the hell these people got so much money."

  "We're not entirely sure," said Frankie. "A huge amount of their company is classified. It's impossible to get an accurate read on how much revenue they have on an annual basis."

  "Damn," said Mason. "You couldn't even get it?"

  "Johnson is trying to make a deal with the military to get the information released to us, but I don't think we're going to get it."

  "And you think that little Wilson girl is being held in this house?"

  "That's what our information seems to indicate," said Frankie. "It's odd that the military didn't step in at all during the previous murders of their former soldiers, although perhaps the story that Coleman told us that they were forgotten by their superiors has some truth to it."

  "Perhaps," said Mason. "From the briefing, it made sense to me."

  "Yeah," said Frankie. "That's what I don't like about it."
<
br />   "What do you mean?"

  "It seems too clean. I feel like we're missing something."

  "Maybe it's just the right answer."

  "Maybe."

  They arrived at the house and pulled up to the front gate. There were armed guards on either side of the gate who walked up to the window of the driver and talked to him. He presented them a warrant and explained the situation. They agreed to call their superiors and admit them to the estate.

  Frankie felt her mind drifting to Curtis. He was still at the hospital, with his daughter. She wondered what Curtis was thinking. She was sure that he would have loved to be here, but he couldn't be. She made a silent promise that she would find the girl, no matter what.

  The gate slid open, and the trucks drove down the long driveway, between trees and buildings on either side. It seemed more like a small town than an estate. There was an entire community built on this immense property. It was bigger and had more people than many major hotels.

  They drove down the long driveway between the trees and into the large roundabout in front of the house. There was an immense fountain with a Roman soldier on a horse in the center of the roundabout.

  Frankie climbed out of the truck.

  A group of people stood in front of the house. They were almost all older men except for a woman in glasses and a younger man who stepped forward and held out a hand to Frankie.

  "Hello, Agent," he said in a serious tone, "My name is Raymond Eaton. I'm in charge of Eaton Enterprises. This is my assistant Meredith, and these are the generals who run my operation."

  "Thank you for your time, Mr. Eaton," said Frankie, being as respectable as she could. "I'm FBI Special Agent Frankie Lassiter. I believe you were called ahead and briefed about our purpose."

  "I was," said Eaton. "Director Johnson and I had a pleasant conversation. He was very well spoken, although his reputation precedes him."

  "Yes," said Frankie. "We would like your cooperation as we move through the property and make sure there isn't anything connected to our investigation. With your cooperation, we shouldn't be more than a few hours."

  She looked past Raymond. A few of the generals shifted uncomfortably, but it didn't seem like any of them were worried.

  "Of course," said Raymond. "I should advise you that there are certain areas of the property where your agents will need to be escorted. We have many confidential government contracts."

  "That's fine."

  "Come with me, agent," he said. "I'll take you through the house. I'll leave the generals in charge of coordinating the rest of your search and investigation."

  Frankie nodded to Mason, who nodded in understanding and began coordinating the other agents.

  She and Raymond walked into the house through the immense entranceway which seemed to stretch up to infinity. Frankie couldn't help but look up at the high ceilings and the chandeliers.

  "Impressive, isn't it?" said Raymond, laughing. "I've lived here almost my entire life, and sometimes I forget that people don't take it for granted like I do."

  "It's beautiful," said Frankie, awestruck. She focused and cleared her throat.

  "You're here for the Henry Mavis case," said Raymond. "You believe he and his friends were skimming money from us and we were trying to get back at them."

  "Something like that," said Frankie. "What are your thoughts on that?"

  Raymond stopped in the doorway into the next room. "Let me be perfectly honest with you, Agent. We've looked into those robberies extensively. At the absolute most, those people stole about thirty million dollars. This company makes that roughly every four days. That isn't something we would risk our existence over."

  "Well," said Frankie, "we still need to check everywhere. It's about Jason Wilson's missing daughter."

  "Of course," said Raymond. "Follow me."

  He led her through the house one room at a time, waiting patiently while she checked every nook and cranny. When they were at windows, she was able to look outside and see other agents moving through the gardens and the other buildings, methodically looking for anything suspicious. They would be interviewing a number of the people who worked on the property, although Frankie was becoming more and more confident they wouldn't find anything.

  Raymond seemed too calm and collected.

  Raymond took her through all the upper floors, including the room where there were doctors and nurses taking care of his sick father.

  Parts of the house seemed empty and vacant, but that wasn't enough to be considered evidence.

  Frankie walked back to the main entrance without much, if anything, to show. Basically, all she was able to confirm was that it was indeed an immense manor that was being used as the headquarters for a mercenary operation.

  She walked outside, where the rest of the FBI agents were finishing their rounds. She looked around and tried to see if there was anything she was missing. It was such an immense property that it would take weeks to adequately search every inch, and even then, they might miss something.

  They were already trying the patience of a mercenary operation with extensive government contracts, so Frankie made the snap decision to call off the rest of the search.

  "Thank you for your understanding," said Frankie to Raymond, turning back to him. "If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch. We would appreciate it if you sent us any information relating to the stolen money."

  "Of course," said Raymond, shaking her hand. "I'm more than happy to help in any way I can. Now, I need to get back to work."

  Frankie released his hand and watched him as he walked back to the house. The generals and the woman followed him inside, leaving Frankie standing alone in front of the house. She turned and walked back to the car, where the driver was waiting.

  "Nothing?" said Mason, dejected.

  Frankie shook her head.

  Once they pulled away and were headed back down the long driveway, she sent a text to Curtis.

  She had to imagine he would be less than happy with this development.

  Chapter 48

  The moment they were certain everyone from the FBI was gone, Raymond lost it.

  He yelled for Meredith to follow him immediately. The generals looked on, all of them looking at him with that same look of disapproval that seemed to say, "He will never be as good as his father."

  Once the door to the adjacent room closed, Raymond took a deep breath and looked back at Meredith, standing behind him.

  "Get in contact with some of our military contacts," he said. "Make sure the FBI doesn't come back here ever again."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What was that story you were telling me about?" said Raymond. "The one in the New York Times this morning?"

  "The story about Curtis Mackley?"

  "Yes," said Raymond, pacing back and forth. "The woman who wrote it has a source who knows about these two, right? About Curtis Mackley and Frankie Lassiter?"

  "She claims to," said Meredith.

  Raymond stopped pacing and smiled. "What was her name?"

  Meredith checked her notes. "Natasha Nolowinski."

  "Get her here," said Raymond, "as fast as you can." He turned on his heel. "And find Debra Coleman. I'm sick of these fucking loose ends."

  He turned and walked away.

  Meredith shouted after him. "What do you want to be done with the Wilson girl?"

  Raymond stopped and thought for a moment. "Leave her where she is. They didn't find her. The cottage works."

  "I'm sure the Generals will want to talk to you."

  "You can handle it," said Raymond. "I trust you."

  "What are you going to do?" said Meredith, a trace of worry in her voice.

  "I'm going to go see my father."

  Raymond didn't look back as he walked to the second floor, to his father's room.

  He walked into the room. A nurse was standing beside the bed, checking his vitals. She looked up at him then lowered her eyes.

  "Do you mind if I speak with my father?"
said Raymond.

  "Of course," said the nurse. Her head still bowed, she walked into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her.

  Raymond sat beside the bed and looked down at his father. He looked frail and weak, a shadow of the man he had once been. Where once he had been broad-shouldered and muscular, now his skin hung off his bones.

  "Hi Dad," he said.

  Raymond Sr. looked up at him. His eyes took a few seconds to focus. He was weak and conversing was difficult.

  "Ray?" he said, smiling. "Did the FBI find anything?"

  "No," said Raymond. "We used the cottage."

  "That's good," said Ray Sr. "I used that spot more than a few times to hide things."

  "I have a problem," said Raymond, pulling his chair closer to the bed.

  "What's that?"

  "I need the generals to respect me. I need them to know I'm in charge. I can't have them thinking you can come back and take back control."

  Raymond Sr. frowned. "What are you saying, Ray?"

  "This is what you would have done."

  Raymond stood. He reached over his father and grabbed a pillow.

  "Ray?" said his father, his voice straining. "What are you doing?"

  "I need them to know I'm thier only option."

  Raymond took a deep breath. His father's eyes opened wide as the pillow came down on his face.

  His father struggled a bit as Raymond pushed the pillow down over his face, but he was too weak to put up any defense.

  With a few desperate spasms, Raymond Sr. went still.

  Raymond removed the pillow from his father's face and wiped some sweat some his forehead.

  He took a deep breath and returned the pillow to the bed. He fluffed the pillow a bit to make it look natural.

  He took a breath, then shouted, "Nurse! Something's wrong!"

  The nurse came into the room.

  "My God," she said, running to the side of the bed. She checked his pulse. "I don't understand. He was getting better. He was recovering."