Indigo Man

by M. J. Carlson

  Goode straightened up in the seat. “Is there a place to park within our needs?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. Just inside. There’s some mail boxes—”

  “Then please enter the complex and park,” she said in a calm voice.

  He found a space on the quiet entrance road, close to a small bank of mailboxes and did as she requested. They stepped out in unison. As they walked away, the car’s auto-lock mechanism engaged, arming the alarm. Although she seemed steadier on her feet, Goode still had a glassy look in her eyes and the handkerchief pressed against her forehead was turning red. A few more strands of blond hair had worked loose from the topknot on her head.

  “Is that the new alarm system?” Goode asked, her tone casual.

  “Yeah, it was still in beta stage when I bought the car, but it’s great. The fob is a miniature sending unit that locks and unlocks the car and boots the onboard from hibernation at fifteen feet. There’s a DNA reader in it, so the system only activates for me. I have to be inside the car for the drive train to unlock, and if anyone tampers with the onboard, it sends a distress call to the police.” Zach realized he was babbling, and stopped talking.

  Goode nodded. “Sounds cool.” She stopped. “Which one is Dr. Thomas’s house, sir?”

  A row of large houses with manicured lawns lined the broad, curved street where they walked. He pointed to the next intersection. “Left up there, and it’s the fifth house down.”

  Goode surveyed the scene with a cautious eye. “That alley go past Dr. Thomas’s house?” She indicated a narrow lane between the lots, just past the intersection.

  “Yeah, it goes past the rear of the houses on both streets for recycling pick up, and utility access, and what-have-you. His is the wood fence on the left. But I don’t…”

  Goode turned into the alley with Zach right behind. As they crunched softly on the fine gravel, she straightened her suit jacket and brushed away the last of the airbag powder. When they reached the gate through the wooden fence leading into Laz’s back yard, she turned to him. “Can you open the lock on the gate, Dr. Marshall?”

  “Yeah, sure, but shouldn’t we—”

  “Then, please do so.” Goode stood, waiting, next to the gate.

  “Okay.” He took a spare ring from his pocket, found a small brass key, and turned the lock on the gate.

  “Please be as quiet as possible, Dr. Marshall.” Goode whispered. “It’s important we not alert anyone who could be listening.”

  He nodded, afraid to ask who she thought might be listening. His hand shook as he removed the key from the lock.

  “Dr. Thomas trusts you.” Goode commented in a low tone, as they stepped through the gate. She grabbed his arm, held it tight and scanned the yard.

  “We’ve known each other since college.” He tried to match her whisper. His voice shook as he fumbled the key into a pocket. “He let me stay here while I was having my house renovated last year.”

  “Sounds like a good friend.” Goode’s eyes moved constantly. “Please take some slow, deep breaths, Dr. Marshall, you’ll feel better.”

  “Yeah, he is.” He did as she suggested and the shaking in his hands began to calm. “A good friend, I mean.”

  Goode started for the rear of the house, gestured for him to follow. The house was dark. Zach checked his watch. Laz never went to bed this early, and if he was out, he always left a small light on in the kitchen. He caught up with her half way across the yard and touched a finger to her sleeve.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Something’s not right,” he whispered. “There should be a light on somewhere in the house, even if he’s not here. Laz has a thing about walking into a dark house.”

  Goode nodded. “Smart man.”

  “He grew up in Chicago,” Zach said, as if that explained everything.

  They reached the concrete patio behind Laz’s back door, and Goode held up a hand. “Stay here and be quiet, please.” As he watched, she circled the house, checking each window. After a few minutes, she returned to where Zach waited.

  “He have a blue Toyota?” she whispered.

  He nodded. “A Quark.”

  “He’s home.”

  “Listen, I should try to link him,” he held his earpiece up. “He may not be alone. You know how it is.”

  Goode’s lips formed a thin line. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Go ahead.”

  Without voicing his question about what she was referring to, he slipped the receiver into his ear, and whispered instructions. After a long moment, he whispered, “Break link.” He looked at Goode. “Okay, I don’t understand.” He let a little of the frustration he was feeling show in his voice. “I don’t get it, he never ignores his link. Not in the ten years I’ve known him, and tonight, I can’t seem to tag him, no matter what.”

  “Do you have a key to the house?”

  He held up his thumb. “Right here. The lock is a biometric reader. He coded me in last year.”

  She held an index finger across her lips, and whispered, “Okay, but be as quiet as possible.”

  His hand shook as he approached the door with its biometric reader. He stopped. The small LED was a steady green, indicating the lock was disarmed. “This is all wrong,” he said. “Laz never leaves his lock disarmed. It’s a holdover from growing up in Chicago, like I said.” His thoughts focused on Laz as his hand extended toward the doorknob.

  Before he could touch the knob, Goode gripped his arm. “No prints.” She unbuttoned her jacket and using it as a barrier between her hand and the metal, grasped the doorknob and quietly turned it.

  The door swung open without a sound. They stepped inside Laz’s kitchen. When Zach inhaled to call Laz’s name, he caught a faint scent of something he could’t quite place. Goode put a hand over his chest as a gesture for him to be quiet.

  “But—”

  Goode leaned toward him and whispered into his ear. “Wait here.” She started into the dark kitchen in a crouch. Her hand moved under her jacket and withdrew a large, black, semi-automatic pistol.

  As she stepped quietly across the terra cotta tiled floor, Zach followed at a discrete distance. “I think you should tell me what’s going on, right now,” he whispered. In the stillness of the dark house, his whisper sounded like he’d shouted at her across the street.

  She stood up and whirled around to face him, her face as blank as a porcelain mask. She leaned in close and whispered into Zach’s ear, “There may be hostiles in the house, Dr. Marshall. I’m currently trying to ascertain the threat level and secure the premises. After which, I can inform both yourself and Dr. Thomas of the threat to your persons and attempt to map out a strategy to secure your safety.” She stared at him.

  “Okay?” He didn’t know what else to say.

  Goode rolled her eyes and spun back around. She took another silent step.

  “I didn’t think anyone actually talked like that,” he whispered. “Is it an FBI thing?”

  She stopped again, turning to face him more deliberately this time. “We are not the FBI. Until 2003, the Secret Service was under the Department of the Treasury. At that time, it became part of the Department of Homeland Security. It’s a Secret Service thing. It means stay here and be quiet, or we may be killed.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she shifted the handkerchief to the hand holding the gun. She grabbed his jaw with her free thumb and middle finger, her index finger crossing his lips. Her face softened. “Please be quiet, Dr. Marshall, or I may have to shoot you myself.”

  He nodded against her hand, but held up an index finger of his own. She inhaled a controlled breath as her lips formed a thin line. Her grip relaxed. “Zach,” he whispered. “Call me Zach.” He tried to smile at her past her finger over his mouth.

  She released his chin and pointed her index finger at his forehead with her thumb extended, forming the shape of a gun. Slowly shaking her head, she brought her thumb down and poked her index finger against his forehead. She let her hand fa
ll away and turned, resuming her crouch. They entered the dining room, Goode a step ahead. She quickly swept the room with her gun at chest level, and continued to the living room, indicating he should hang back with a sharp, whispered, “Stay.”

  Goode stepped into the dimly-lit living room. Zach started to follow her. He sniffed, his nose wrinkled at a sour scent. What was…? He recognized it. Something was terribly wrong. Goode retreated through the doorway, almost knocking Zach over. She turned, back to the wall, her gun clenched beside her head in a two-handed grip, her eyes wide. “Out!” Her whispered command was a sharp slap. Her head whipped to the right and left, checking back the way they’d come and the direction they’d been heading.

  She slid past him and grabbed the front of his shirt in one fluid movement. Dragging him after her, they moved back to the kitchen. Her head darted side to side, as if expecting someone to jump out of the dark at them any second. Blood trickled down the side of her face. She swiped at it with the back of the hand holding the gun.

  He lifted his hand to where she held his shirt in a surprisingly strong grip, considering she’d walked away from a crash that demolished two cars less than an hour before. He tugged at her fingers to get her to loosen them, but she ignored the gesture. She dragged him across the kitchen, her gaze constantly shifting from side to side, trying to see everywhere at once. Her gun was still next to her head, pointed to the ceiling, but even in the dark, he saw her finger was on the trigger now.

  At the rear door, she stopped suddenly, and he almost ran into her. She turned to face him, the fear plain in her eyes. “Listen closely. We are going to exit the premises and proceed quickly and quietly to the rear gate. We are going to stick to the shadows, and we are not, repeat, not going to speak. If I do this,” she released his shirt, held up her hand and made a fist. “It means stop where you are and do not move. If I do this,” she extended and flexed her fingers twice. “It means follow me. If I do this,” her hand swatted toward the floor, palm down. “It means hit the dirt. If I point, you go the way I point.” Her eyes narrowed. “If we take fire, and I get hit, you run like hell. Do not go home, and do not use a credit card. Nod if you understand.”

  He nodded. His heart hammered in his ears.

  She returned his nod. “Stay close, and stay quiet, and we may get out of this alive. Any questions?”

  “Just one.” He hesitated for a beat. “What’s your middle name, Special Agent? Just in case. I’ve been wondering, and…” He let the question drop, amazed at his own inept timing.

  She rolled her eyes. “If we get out of this alive, I still may have to shoot you on general principles.” She gripped the doorknob, using her jacket again and twisted it. “Ready?”

  He nodded.

  “It’s Elizabeth,” she said. “Sara Elizabeth Goode. Now stay close, and please try not to get us killed, Dr. Marshall.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Goode crouched low and eased the door open. When there was enough space, she edged out onto the concrete slab and moved to the side. After a moment, she motioned for Zach to join her. When he’d made it to the patio, she eased the door closed. Using her jacket again, she turned the knob to allow it to close without the latch clicking.

  Satisfied, she started in the direction of shadows cast on the slatted fence by small citrus trees at the side of the yard. She motioned for him to follow, which he did without a sound.

  Once they were crouched in the shadows under the trees, she held up a fist and he froze. Ahead of him, Goode cocked an ear, listening. The night around them was still. She crept toward the rear of the property with him close behind. The full moon illuminated the rest of the yard and the entire rear fence in bright, ghostly silver light.

  The sky above was mottled in broken shades of gray, allowing the moon to break through here and there. When he turned his attention to Goode, she was staring at him. The blood tracing its way down her face and following her jaw line was black in the moonlight. She wiped the handkerchief over her face again, smearing the blood to a dark smudge across her cheek.

  “Checking for clouds. Sorry,” he whispered.

  She held her index finger over her lips. When he nodded, she slipped ghost-like, along the fence to the edge of the shadows. A moment later, when he moved in beside her, she grabbed his arm and tugged him close. At least one of them was trembling. He inhaled slowly. Under the tension coming off her in waves, he caught the scent of vanilla again.

  She whispered into his ear, “I’ll go first. You’re going to stay here, and stay quiet. When I get to the gate, I’ll open it and you come. I go through the gate first. Don’t let it close until I have a chance to check the alley. Got it?”

  Her breath was warm on his face. He nodded his understanding.

  She let go of him, and ran, still crouched, to the gate. Half way, she stumbled once and went down on one knee. He inhaled a sharp breath and almost called out to her. Regaining her footing, she scrambled for the gate. Once there, she opened it a crack and held it with a foot while she scanned their surroundings. Then, she gestured for him.

  When he reached her side, she opened the gate just far enough to get through. She leaned close. Her breath on his ear sent a shiver down his back. “You remember what I said? Don’t let it close until I check the alley.”

  He nodded again and she was through the opening. He counted to three and followed, leaving a finger between the gate and the post. They crouched together in the shadow of the fence while Goode scanned the alley.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Let it close.” When it had, she stood up and started toward where his car was parked. She stumbled on her first step, and he gripped her arm to steady her. She straightened her jacket and motioned for him to follow.

  As they walked, Zach whispered, “Okay, first, I’m sorry I came off so goofy in the house. Sometimes when I get nervous, I say stupid things.”

  She nodded. “Don’t give it a second thought, Dr. Marshall.”

  “You want to tell me what this is all about? What spooked you so badly in Laz’s house? And what was that with the SUV and the two gorillas?”

  She spoke over her shoulder. “Later, Dr. Marshall. First—”

  Zach stopped walking. “Now, Special Agent Goode.”

  “Dr. Thomas is dead, Dr. Marshall.” The words filled the space between them, hitting him full in the face.

  Blood roared in his ears. He blinked at her, half expecting her to tell him she was yanking his chain to repay him for being a dork. His mouth went dry at her silence. “Bullshit.” He turned on his heels and started back the way they’d come.

  “Dr. Marshall.” He barely heard the sound behind him. “Dr. Marshall!” It was a hiss on the breeze, closer this time. A hand grabbed his arm.

  He spun to meet Goode, ripped his arm from her grasp. “Lady, I don’t know who you think you are, or what fucked up game you’re playing, but I’m going back there and look for myself.”

  “Wait a second.” She took a half step toward Zach and stopped him with her raised index finger. He stood for a long moment, glaring at her as she calmly holstered her pistol. When she was less than arm’s distance from him, she straightened. In one quick move, she shifted her weight to her rear foot and struck out with the heel of her palm, contacting his breast bone and sending him sprawling. The force of the impact dumped him onto the ground and knocked the wind out of him in a long grunt. Gravel scraped and jabbed at his back through his shirt as he rolled, trying to catch his breath.

  “No, Dr. Marshall, you are not going back into the dwelling, sir. The area is not secure. You will get up and come with me to a place of safety. At that point, I will explain the entire circumstances to you and you can then decide on your next course of action. I cannot allow you to endanger yourself in this manner, sir.” She stood over Zach with her arms clasped behind her, staring straight ahead, as if he were still standing there.

  “Ow,” he wheezed past the pain in his chest, trying to force the air back into his lungs. “Tha
t hurts.” He rolled onto his side, gasping, and propped himself up on one elbow.

  Goode’s expression was as flat as slate. “Yes, sir, it does. Your breath will come back in a minute or two, but we should leave now, sir.”

  “What’re you trying to do, kill me?” The sound was almost a whimper, even in his own ears.

  A smile flickered over Goode’s face. “No, sir. I can assure you, if I were trying to kill you, the blow would have struck you five centimeters lower on the sternum. The force would have broken the xiphoid off the end and lacerated your liver, resulting in death from hemorrhage within a few hours.”

  “My next course,” he panted, rubbing his chest and sitting up, “will be to contact your superiors.”

  She held a hand out to Zach to help him up. “Unlikely that will help, sir,” she continued. “I currently have no direct superiors at the Secret Service, and it was my former colleagues who perpetrated Dr. Thomas’s murder and the attempted murder of yourself. As yet, I do not know how far up the chain of command this goes.”

  Zach took her hand. “What?”

  Her expression softened. “Please, Dr. Marshall, we don’t have much time. If you will come with me, I promise I’ll explain.”

  He followed her, keeping to the edge of the alley and out of the moonlight as much as possible. When they reached the street, Goode stopped and stepped behind him to brush the dirt off his back.

  “Thank you,” he said, as she started walking to the car.

  “You’re welcome, Dr. Marshall.”