by Nathan Roden
“I’m going to have to leave,” Jack said.
“I’m going to catch a ride with Eckhart. Please apologize to Millie for me and see that she gets home okay.”
Babe looked down at the keys.
“My license expired a couple of years ago.”
“You’ll be okay, Babe. You remember how to drive, right?”
“I’m an excellent driver. And I always drive on Saturday. What’s going on? Anything I can do?”
“No. The agent we have on administrative duty; the shooting incident with the little girl?”
“Yeah?”
“He just ate his gun.”
Sixteen
Apr 18
Just another night of snatch and grab. We want to make sure we don’t get blown away or have our throats cut by grandma while we’re sleeping. It is about one in the morning. They move slower the later it gets— better for everybody that way. Hadji said nothing and got out of the way. Momma won’t shut the fuck up—squealing and crying like a dumb bitch. Then, that kid. Stupid fucking kid; maybe thirteen, fourteen years old. He tries to run. What the fuck for? Are you a fucking terrorist major or something? Stupid shit. We got about the greenest squad in country, a bunch of fucking pussy mamma’s boys, and you don’t want to be freaking them out.
Langtry lit the kid up—half a fucking clip before three guys took him to the floor. Holy shit. We got screaming, crying, alarms, neighbors, all holy hell breaking loose. Somebody yelled defcon something and I kicked down a door. There’s a little girl maybe five years old, gurgling for her two last seconds. Hit in the throat. The round went right through the wall. Her eyes were wide open, looking at me. More of our unit showing up and pulled us outside. Scrambling around, shushing us, and shoving water at us. I started to drink. What the hell? Whiskey. Whiskey makes me puke. So I did. They put us in a room and a Colonel walks in. He says, Men, this is war. Things happen in war. Ugly things. But not tonight. Tonight never happened. Try to forget about it because it never happened. Don’t talk about it because it never happened. People with pay grades that we can’t touch will say it never happened. You are all good men. We have a job to do.
Dec 14
Relax, Morgan said. These are little fish—little fish that give up the big fish to save their asses. Just relax and follow your training. These little fish will shit their pants when they see our windbreakers, let alone our guns. Relax. Right. You should have talked to Vincent instead of me, you arrogant fuck. But he wouldn’t have listened to you. You know why? Because Vincent is such a stupid little fish that he doesn’t even know the first law of drug running, ‘You don’t use the shit you push’. Vincent was lit up like a fucking Christmas tree when he blew your fucking knee off, Morgan! How you like that?
Mazetti threw a flash-bang and all hell broke loose. I know I got one of them. He was running right at me with his fucking eyes closed, for Christ’s sake. After that, who the fuck knows? Six of them threw down their weapons and surrendered, crying like little bitches. We did the perimeter and there she was—older, this time; maybe twelve, thirteen. Hit twice in the chest. But her eyes wide open. Why always the open eyes? What kind of sick joke is that, God? You can’t get that picture out. Never. I never heard if she was one of the druggies’ kids, or a street kid, prostitute, whatever. They won’t ever tell me.
Because they’re going to turn me. Because at least one of those bullets came from my gun. In a life or death. In a flash-bang cloud. No one is making it go away this time. I don’t know why. But no one is. And I don’t have anyone to ask, but I would like to know.
What’s the fucking difference?
What’s the fucking difference?
What’s the fucking difference?
What’s the fucking difference?
What’s the fucking difference?
Merry fucking Christmas
Babe sat with his forearms on his thighs, struggling in vain to stop the shaking that rattled the piece of paper. He looked up. Jack and Jordan were staring out of the bay window in Jordan’s office. Russell Eckhart sat on the sofa at the opposite wall, picking invisible lint from his pants leg.
“This was a note, or a journal, what?” Babe asked.
“Electronic journal from his home PC. He had it backed up on a flash drive, the last backup about a week ago,” Jack said.
He pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket.
“April eighteen, four years ago. And the very last entry, this December fourteen. Both are edited some—especially the last one. Mitch Leland. You remember him?”
”Yeah. Really nice kid— his parents own a restaurant; scholarship for two years at junior college. Four years Army, finished Criminal Justice degree at UMass.”
Eckhart stood and faced Babe.
“Did he mention this Iraq incident to you, Babelton?”
“Goddammit, Eckhart. If it had been mentioned it would have been in his report,” Jack was in Eckhart’s face.
“This isn’t a fucking witch hunt.”
“His journal…we have this pretty fast,” Babe said, getting to his feet.
“The father is locked up tight. They have him at Boston General for shock—he’s on sleepers and anti-depressants. They’re holding him on the Bureau’s tab,“ Jordan said.
“His mother has given us everything. She’s a mess but the poor woman didn’t have a clue about what was going on inside the boy’s head. She’s desperate to find out what happened but her husband is out of it and she doesn’t know who to trust. Jack and I agreed. We need to figure out what happened here and determine what we can tell Leland’s parents without starting a war with the Army.”
“What you’re talking about is borderline illegal,” Eckhart said. “This situation is unfortunate, but not without precedent. The FBI is not in a position to dole out information to parties as we see fit. This office is an experiment, not a back alley pool hall where you subvert the protocol of the FBI or sidestep the Constitution, for Pete’s sake.”
“Nobody is suggesting that, Russell,” Jack said. “We have this poor woman’s cooperation only because she is trusting in us. We’ve promised her that we speak with her before anything goes public or before anything becomes available to the press. If we hadn’t made this arrangement with her—if we scared her off, any lawyer with his picture on the back of the fucking phone book could lock this shit up for years, and you know it. These poor people will get nothing but sensationalized bullshit.”
The phone rang on Jordan’s desk.
“Yes, Millie?”
“Send her in.”
Millie opened the door and Molly Leland entered the office carrying a cardboard box. She sat the box down on the corner of Jordan’s desk and clutched her handbag, nervously. Jack shook Molly’s hand with both of his and Jordan did the same. Jordan introduced Molly to Babe and then to Eckhart.
“Russell, Babe, I believe that‘s all we have for today. Thank you for coming. If you will excuse us?” Jack said, sweeping his hand toward the door. Babe was more than happy to exit this pressure cooker but he knew that Russell Eckhart was furious. Eckhart was second in command, but Jack had not hidden the fact that he was putting Eckhart in his place. Babe knew that this power struggle was far, far from over.
“Hello?”
“Hello, Babe. You have a few minutes?”
“Sure, Jack. No problem. Just getting ready to let Mr. Pendleton walk me again.”
“Okay. The reason I’m calling is that Mrs. Leland left us a stack of videotapes—recordings that her husband made. Mr. Leland is one of those videoholics and always had the latest and greatest video gear. He records birthdays, Christmases, weddings, everything. At the Bureau we never make fun of these people because they’re often great sources of evidence.”
“These are unchartered waters, Babe. I can’t keep Eckhart out of the loop. There is going to be an investigation into Leland’s suicide and it’s going to come from Washington. All we have in our favor right now is the time of year. Once the New
Year gets here we’ll be standing naked with our shorts around our ankles. RCI will be looked at hard and Jordan’s leaving will work against us.”
“Jack, I hope you’re not freaking over this because of me. I think we have a good thing here but I’m going to be okay, whatever happens.”
“This isn’t just about us. This is about parents that don’t know why their boy took his own life. Goddammit, Babe. I’m not going to sit around while more good people lose their kids with nobody to help them find out why.”
“Okay, Jack. What do you want from me?”
“I had our best media man duplicate and enhance the tapes. They’ve been blown up with four zoom levels. We’re not going to have these to ourselves for long; maybe a couple of weeks. This was your client so you have more background to start with. If you can find anything before we lose control of this, maybe we can spare these people some grief.”
Jack invited Babe and Mr. Pendleton to spend Christmas Eve with him at his home in Beacon Hill. Babe was grateful for the invitation and had no other plans. He was sure that Mr. Pendleton would be ecstatic to get out of the house since early December snows had put his walks on hiatus.
Babe got the Leland’s videotapes from Jack and took them home. The videos were assembled on a portable hard drive.
Babe made his way through the videos, moving quickly through those where Mitch Leland was younger than military age. The videos followed the large extended family through the years. Babe watched the Leland family at Easter egg hunts, at birthday parties, weddings, receptions, and a fiftieth anniversary party for Mitch’s maternal grandparents.
As Babe watched Mitch grow up, he noted that Mitch Leland was a favorite of the younger children. He gave piggy-back rides and participated in water gun fights. The kids would gang up on Mitch, anxious to watch him pretend to die in an elaborately choreographed fashion while the children squealed with delight. He taught the kids how to fill up water balloons and organized them into teams for epic water balloon battles. Mr. Leland spent a great deal of his time following the kids and their ring leader Mitch. There were a few event videos in which Mitch was absent and in these the younger kids were much more subdued.
Babe worked through the videotapes until he came across one from a large birthday party at a public park. He sat up and paid closer attention after he spotted Mitch wearing a fresh military haircut. Mitch walked quietly around the edges of the group, occasionally squatting to speak to a child or tousle one’s hair. He frequently disappeared from the camera’s view. When the crowd assembled to sing Happy Birthday, Babe saw Mitch step into the frame’s background.
He stopped the video and referenced the time marker. He located a zoomed copy of the same video and matched the times. As the oblivious crowd sang Happy Birthday, a little girl of about four crawled up into Mitchell Leland’s lap as he sat in the background—alone at a picnic table. And there Mitch sat—rocking the little girl back and forth. And sobbing.
Seventeen
“Mr. Babelton?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Please have a seat. Mr. Englemann will be with you shortly.”
Babe observed the beehive of activity around him and silently gave thanks that he wasn’t forced to work in this kind of atmosphere. The tension and even the pace that people walked in this building were exhausting. The only person made for this place was—
“MG! You know, sometimes I forget this is your home base,” Babe said.
MG was on her way across the room and made a one hundred thirty five degree turn when she heard her name. Her running shoes squealed on the tiles.
When MG turned, the tall young Oriental girl following her stride-for-stride reacted a little late and almost sent them both to the floor.
“Jesus, Mom. How about a turn signal?” the girl said as they untangled their limbs.
“Joshua Babelton, I would like to introduce you to the other half of the Comedy Team of Gerard and Gerard. This is my daughter, Rebecca.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Rebecca. Call me ‘Babe’. Everybody does.”
“Mother has told me all about you. The pleasure is mine.”
Babe was caught off guard. This girl looked to be of full blooded Oriental descent. She was tall and her jet black hair was in a ponytail that extended almost to her waist. She had the face of a model, but just enough of a quirky smile to look more friendly than intimidating. Her accent was pure New England. Babe had heard nothing about MG being married before, and only learned that she had a daughter a few years ago after her daughter had gone away to college.
“Mom, I have to meet that cabinet guy for lunch and we’re supposed to tour his shop this afternoon, so I have to run. I might beat you home again. Did you fix everything with the damned security company? Does anybody in that neighborhood ever have guests? If they threaten to have me arrested again I’m going to take one of their little sticks away from them and beat them to death with it.”
“I called them again, sweetie. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Well, look around, Mom. Everybody in here has a big ass gun. There must be a drawer full of them somewhere, so why can’t I have one? I would love to be sitting on the patio with a Glock in a shoulder holster when Deputy Dog Mall Cop shows up.”
Rebecca winked at Babe.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Babe. I hope to see you again.”
“You, me… I, too…Rebecca.”
The three of them laughed at that.
“I looked in on Jack earlier, Babe,” MG said.
“This Leland case is a nightmare. Between the Bureau and the Military… this isn’t going to end well. Jack is pulling his hair out. Is this why you’re here?”
“Yeah. I don’t know if he told you but Mrs. Leland gave us everything she had that belonged to her son. Well, she gave everything to Jordan. We’re trying to help her and her husband, and of course ourselves at the same time. Maybe we can help them before everything gets subpoenaed and we lose control. We don’t want these people learning about their son from the six o’clock news.”
“That sounds like the right thing to do, which doesn’t mean that it will be popular with everyone. Did you find something? Is that why you’re here? Do you want me to shut up?” MG asked.
“No, of course not, MG.”
“Let’s go to my office. I’ll tell Lucy where to find you.”
“I’m going to have Jack look at some sections of videotape,” Babe said, “Mr. Leland videoed hours of family events. There are no real answers in the tapes. The only answers are in his journal. Jack had some of the tapes enhanced for increased resolution, zoom, and all that stuff. You can get a picture of that kid’s life. I don’t know if it’s the kind of thing his parents need to see or not. I’m not even sure I should have Jack watch. It’s…this is way past tear-jerker stuff.”
“I’m sorry, but there are going to be a lot more tears before this is over.”
“Yeah.”
“MG?”
“Yes?”
“Uh, your daughter, she’s—”
“I know. Her hair is darker than mine and she’s taller. It’s baffling, isn’t it?”
Babe raised his eyebrows.
“I was married to Marc for six years, a number of years ago,” MG said. “We met during a mini triathlon. We only dated for a year, but I always said we dated for ten thousand miles because we did all the same triathlons, marathons, whatever ‘thon’ we could get to. We both wanted kids—at least one, but nothing was happening. We went to the clinic together and it turned out that although Marc was an excellent swimmer, he wasn’t making any sperm that knew how. The doctors said that between his nonexistent body fat, his diet, and the seat on his bicycle, they were surprised he could even get a semen stain on his underwear. So, we applied to adopt and the first place we heard from was Hong Kong.”
“And Marc?”
“We were doing a mini-marathon in San Diego; a warm-up event really—a fund raiser for a charity. It was co-ed an
d laid back. I finished ahead of Marc, of course. He could outlast me on the long ones, but I toasted him on the minis. So, I’m hanging out past the finish line and bullshitting with the girls when I saw Marc coast past the finish line. He was walking it off and swinging his arms. He grabbed a cup of water and downed it. Then he bent over like he was going to put his hands on his knees to have a blow. But he tucked his head in and did a somersault, and then stayed down on the grass like a snow angel.
A few people pointed and laughed. I had never seen him do that, either. I went back to talking to the girls until I heard a woman scream—at Marc. He hadn’t made a smooth finish line maneuver after all. He had an aneurysm at the same time that he was bending over, and he was gone before he hit the ground.”
“Holy, shit, MG. My God.”
They sat in silence for a few moments until Babe exhaled loudly. He patted MG’s hand.
Lucy tapped lightly on the door.
Jack stood facing his office window with his left hand on top of his head. His right hand was at his side holding a cordless phone.
He turned and forced a smile with his bangs standing at attention from the combination of nervous hands and perspiration. His eyes were red and blurry. He motioned Babe toward the chair in front of his desk.
“Welcome to Shitstorm Central.”
“That’s what I’ve heard, Jack. And I’m not sure I have anything to help that,” Babe said.
“Well, I’m afraid we’ve lost control of this. I need you to be prepared and there’s no time to get that way,” Jack said.