I hear the front door open and the scraping of shoes on the deck of the small covered porch. He can’t see me from my spot near the garage door about thirty feet away. The garage juts out from the front wall of the house by at least fifteen feet, giving me a good, sharp corner to hide behind. Unless he suspects something is amiss, I’ll be able to get the jump on him.
The alarm deactivates with the typical chirping sound. I strain to listen over the sound of the pouring rain beating on the roof of the car. I need to hear him turn and walk back to the door. After not hearing anything for ten seconds, I hazard a peek just in time to see him turn back towards the door. I spring into action.
It only takes a second or two to cover the distance to the front porch, the sound of the rain covering the telltale footfalls that warn of impending danger. He’s crossing the threshold when I bound onto the door and jam my gun into the back of his ribs before he can react.
“What the―”
“Easy, Colby. Walk inside.” I jab the gun into the side of his back a little harder, just in case he didn’t get the point.
Colby complies and we enter the house. I use my free hand to close the door behind me and quickly survey my surroundings. He’s alone. I give him a shove into the room and back off to a safe distance, my gun still trained at his chest.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he informs me in a calm and even voice. It’s a little too calm when you consider the circumstances.
“I guess that’s just one more mystery solved tonight. You’re pretty calm for a man who thought I might be coming.”
“You’re desperate, Eugene. Desperate men do desperate things. I didn’t think you’d get the jump on me like that. So, what’s this all about? Do you think I’m the guy who got your team killed, is that it? That I’m the mole you are looking for?”
“I know you are,” I grumble through clenched teeth. I hate being called Eugene.
“If that were true, I’d be dead right now and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You would have shot me the moment we walked through the door.”
“Don’t play me, Colby.”
“You’ve been played all along. By Garrett who used you to get my job, by the FBI who need an arrest over these leaks, by everyone. You’re just too dumb and naïve to realize you’ve been nothing but a pawn in a much larger game.” He turns and points toward the back of the living room. “There’s a fine cognac over on the credenza against the back wall. I’m going to walk over there slowly and pour myself one. Would you like to join me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? It’s a Louis the Thirteenth. One of the best cognacs ever distilled on this planet.”
“I said no, and if you make one wrong move, I’ll drop you where you stand,” I warn as I slide two steps to my left and closer to the kitchen so I have a better angle on him.
“You’ve seen too many Liam Neeson movies. Suit yourself,” he concludes before moving to the credenza in the dimly lit room. He opens the bottle and pours himself a drink.
“Those dreams I’ve been having? They’re actually memories. Other people’s memories. I saw you. I know you’re the traitor.”
“You interpreted what you thought you saw and made the facts fit,” Colby responds, taking a sip from his snifter. “You’re mistaken in those assumptions. You couldn’t have seen me as the traitor because I’m not him.”
“Liar!” I shout, unable to control my anger after his smug response.
I move swiftly, grabbing Colby by the throat and forcing him into an overstuffed chair. The snifter of cognac he was holding crashes to the floor and shatters as I tighten the grip, causing him to gasp for air. He grabs at my wrist with his hands to try to free the hold on him when I jam the muzzle of my weapon into his cheek. His resistance wisely ceases and I loosen my grip, allowing him to breathe.
“You wanted me out of the way! You were on the phone with Garrett when he died! One last conversation before you killed him! Go ahead, deny it. I dare you!”
“Yeah,” he gasps, still struggling to make up for lost oxygen. “I was on the phone with him … when he died. It doesn’t mean … I killed him.”
“I saw you plant explosives on his car. I experienced your memory of when you did it.”
“You may have seen someone do it, but it wasn’t me. I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me, Colby!”
“I’m not, damn it! Am I crying that the son of a bitch is dead? Hell no. I wanted him out of the way so I could get my job back, sure. But I swear I had nothing to do with his death.”
“You want your job back so you can keep leaking information to our enemies.”
“What?” he screeches in a high-pitched, exasperated tone.
“You heard me. All along, you were the bastard who sold me out in Iraq.”
“You’re not thinking straight. If that was true, why the hell would I hire you?” I don’t have to think to answer that one.
“To keep an eye on me. To make sure you knew when I was close to finding the truth, just like I am now.”
“You’ve lost your mind!”
He pushes at me as he tries to get out of the chair. I plant my knee into his groin and shove him back into it. I cock the hammer back on my nine millimeter for effect more than functionality as I press it into his temple.
“Don’t try that again.”
“Let me up!”
“Not a chance. Not until you start telling the truth.”
“The truth? It is the truth. You really want to know why I want my job back? It’s because it’s my life. It’s all I have ever done. It’s all I have. So yeah, I’m going to fight for it, but I’m not willing to kill for it any more than I’m willing to sell out this country.”
“You sound like a politician. But I’m not as gullible as the typical American voter. You’ll have to do much better than that,” I warn him.
“Look around this room,” Colby instructs me. “Go ahead, look. It will tell you everything you need to know about me.”
I take my eyes off him and crane my neck to survey the walls. If his collection of awards and accolades in his DIA office were impressive, what he has in his house blows them away. There are pictures with presidents, heads of state, and political leaders, all accompanying countless commendations. It is his life, but it doesn’t mean―
The blow knocks the weapon from my hand. Before I can even react, he shoves me and plants a heel kick against my chest that sends me flailing across the room. I regain my balance as he launches himself towards the credenza he poured his drink from. I dive across the floor to retrieve my gun, but when I turn and can bring it to bear on him, he’s staring back at me down the barrel of a .44 Smith & Wesson.
“Drop it, Eugene.”
“Not a liar, huh?” I ask him, as I place my weapon on the ground beside me.
“No, I’m not. But you didn’t come here to hear that. You want a scapegoat. You want me to say something that matches what you’re seeing and won’t settle for less.”
“Are you going to shoot me now?” I ask, trying to determine his intentions, more than a little pissed at myself for letting him get the advantage on me.
“No, I’m going to call the police and let them deal with you. I wanted you out of the way, Boston. You’re a distraction I can no longer afford to have around, and you just handed me the perfect reason to ensure that happens. The mole is dead and you are in captivity. It’s perfect.”
“What do you mean ‘the mole is dead’?” I ask, as he edges towards the cordless phone on the end table next to the couch.
“Garrett was the mole, Boston. He had the clearance, the opportunity, and the motive. He was manipulating me against you because he wanted to embarrass me and take my job. As director, he could pass along better intel to the enemy. He had you followed and the doctor’s notes stolen to embarrass the both of us. When he realized what you were seeing in your dreams, he panicked. He ordered you hunted down, knowing you would likely be killed in the
process. He knew how close you were to uncovering his secret, only you evaded capture for too long. His handler wanted to cover his tracks and killed him to tie up the loose ends and framed you for the deed. That’s how it happened.”
I’m dumfounded. It’s a crazy thought, but at the same time, it has just the kind of logic that the bureaucrats in this town will believe. Could I be wrong about all this? Will I ever get the chance to find out?
“It can’t be true. It makes no sense,” I tell him, slowly moving my hand to my belt.
“It makes perfect sense, and it will be the exact story I ensure gets told.”
“You’re lying.”
“You keep saying that like you’re willing it to be true. You never did understand the politics behind where we work. You see, everyone thinks you’re the leak … the FBI, the brass in the DIA … everyone. After a while, they’ll figure out it wasn’t you. I’m going to provide the answers to the questions that people will be asking when that day comes. That’s it. Now, don’t move.”
He reaches for the phone and I make my move. I jerk the pin on the flash bang free and roll to my right as I start counting in my head. One. Colby fires a round where I was just a moment ago. Two. I toss the grenade toward Colby’s direction and roll once more, landing on my stomach, clenching my eyes shut, and covering my ears. Three.
The sound is deafening and the brilliant flash makes my vision full of stars, despite my precautions. I know I’m faring better than he is, so I pop to my knees and scamper back across the floor. I’m just getting to my gun when the next shots ring out.
He is firing blindly, afraid I’m coming at him in his incapacitated condition. At seven feet away, he is still missing me, but they are close enough to cause me to retreat back through the living room towards the kitchen.
I pull the pin on the smoke grenade and toss it on the area rug next to the couch as I move to the entryway to the kitchen. The smoke grenade sparks and starts billowing white smoke throughout the room. I fire twice where I knew Colby was once standing, but the return fire lets me know I missed.
“If you kill me, all you’ll be doing is sealing your own fate!” I hear Colby yell from the back of the living room. “You’ll be adding murder to the charges against you.”
“You shot at me first.”
“You put a gun to my head. You have gone off the deep end, Hollinger. I am just protecting myself,” he shouts over the hissing sound of the smoke grenade which is only now beginning to subside.”
“You’re the mole!” I shout, starting to lose a grip on my emotions.
“That isn’t true, and deep down I think you are beginning to realize it! But if you still think I am, we’ll just wait and tell it to the authorities when they get here. I just dialed 9-1-1 and the police are on the way. You’re a wanted fugitive who held me at gunpoint in my house, Hollinger. What do you think is going to happen when they get here?”
He’s right. I’m in a bad situation. Even if he’s the mole, I’m the one who’s wanted. He may be bluffing about calling the police, but even if he isn’t, someone is bound to respond. I need to get out of here. I silently curse myself for not taking Louisiana’s advice. He wanted me to bring two flash bangs and two smoke grenades. I settled for one of each. I should have listened to him.
I peek back around the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Sparks have ignited the couch and the flames are starting to grow. The smoke from the fire is adding to the one from the grenade. I have an opportunity here. He won’t be able to stay in there long.
“I’m not going anywhere until I get the answers I came here for. I have friends outside the front door, and you need to come through me to get out the back. Give it up, Colby!”
“Not a chance,” he says before coughing. “If you think I’m the mole who got your teammates killed, you’ll put a bullet into me without hesitation. I’m not going to let that happen.”
The fire is spreading up the walls and along the ceiling into the kitchen and up the stairs to the second level. A dense layer of smoke hangs in the air, cutting the visibility in the house to only ten feet. The heat and smoke forces me to retreat further into the kitchen and take up a position near the kitchen island.
“Then you’re going to burn to death in there. C’mon Colby, it’s over!”
Nothing is happening. He only has two escape options, and if he tries the front door, I should see it open and can get him from a distance. It’d be suicide to try coming through me to the back. I tighten the grip on my weapon as a figure emerges in the entryway, a cloth tied around the bottom of his face and a gun aimed right at me. I didn’t expect the aggressive move. I dive behind the island just in time to dodge the hail of gunfire.
.
~ chapter 60 ~
FBI Agent zach bruhte
“I have you on speaker,” Grimman announces into his cell phone from the front seat.
“There was a 9-1-1 call made from Colby Washington’s residence a couple of minutes ago,” the agent on the other side of the phone informs us.
“For what?”
“The dispatcher didn’t talk to anyone but reports hearing gunfire.”
“Gunfire?” Grimman asks in surprise.
“Flip the lights on and floor it,” I direct Remsen in the driver’s seat.
Even driving the speed limit in this weather is a white knuckled experience. The deluge of rain is causing water to pool in the road and reducing visibility to only a few feet. The fact that this Suburban has the agility of an armored personnel carrier isn’t helping matters any as Remsen struggles to keep it on the road.
“We would get there faster in a boat,” he says, as he fights to keep control after hitting a puddle the size of Lake Erie.
“We’ll be there in about a minute,” Grimman announces as I hand him a set of body armor, pass one to the agent next to me, and don my own.
Remsen makes a quick left onto a four-lane road and then a right onto Colby’s street. It wasn’t hard to pick out which place is his. Smoke is billowing from almost every window in the house.
The vehicle is barely in park when the four of us climb out and hear the staccato of gunfire. The three of us race to the front door while Remsen climbs into his own vest. We stack up tactically at the entrance and wait a moment for him to join us. Set, Grimman gives the signal, and Remsen opens the door and ducks out of the way. My heart pounding, I barge into the smoke-filled house.
“FBI!” I scream as a figure with a covered face wheels around and fires his weapon. The bullet strikes the wall high and to the right, but it was too close for comfort. I tuck my shoulder and roll away from what is sure to be another shot coming in my direction.
I assume a firing stance but am already too late. Remsen is standing in the doorway and fires his weapon twice into the man, causing him to collapse to the ground. There’s almost no visibility in the house as flames have engulfed the couch and wall and are growing by the second. I can’t see a damn thing as I crawl over to the man clutching his chest.
“Oh, shit!” Remsen exclaims when he joins me after kicking the assailant’s weapon away and pulling off the rag on his face.
“Get him out of here and make sure the fire department is on the way!” I tell my partner.
“Hollinger! This is the FBI!” Agent Grimman shouts into at the air. “Drop your weapon and come out where we can see you.” Nothing happens.
Grimman taps me on the shoulder and we move towards the kitchen. I can’t see anything. I move through the smoke and feel my way into the kitchen. This room is filling up as well, but I notice the back door is open.
“He’s on foot! Get back to the vehicle and stay on the radio!” I scream over the din to Grimman.
Not wanting to waste any more time, I charge through the kitchen and out the back door. The rain hasn’t let up any, but I catch a glimpse of a figure before he disappears into the woods behind the house. Gotcha.
I sprint through the backyard in pursuit, fighting to keep
my balance as my feet slip on the wet grass. I jump into the tree line after him, briars and shrubs pulling at my trousers as I enter the thicket. As the underbrush thins out, the traction gets worse as the ground becomes muddier.
I’m about two hundred feet into the woods when I see a figure ahead of me drop to the ground and struggle to get back up. At least I’m not the only one having a hard time keeping my footing. Time to end this now.
“Freeze, Hollinger!” He doesn’t comply. I move a little closer, my heart pounding in my chest, and stop. I take up a good Weaver stance and squeeze off a round. It slams into a tree a few feet from him as he disappears again.
I pull the radio off my vest and press the transmit button. “Suspect heading back toward the road just west of the turn off. Bring the car around.”
“Roger,” I hear Grimman acknowledge.
Another two hundred feet of sprinting and I’ve lost sight of him. I slow to a walk, trying to regain my breath and listen for rustling noises when suddenly a figure appears twenty feet in front of me. I hear the pop-pop and dive on the ground to my right. The shots went high and I return fire from the ground. Nothing.
I struggle to get back onto my feet and press forward. The road has to be close now. The woods between the house and the road are not that vast. I pick up the pace as I see the road ahead. It is raised up about eight feet in height from the woods to prevent flooding and is separated by another dense set of briars and shrubs. I’m full steam ahead and try to hurdle the growth. Bad move.
My foot catches something and I tumble to the ground, losing my radio and weapon in the process as my hands try to break my fall. The landing is hard, but I ignore the pain and start searching for them frantically. I hear a snap to my left. When I turn, I see Hollinger standing there with a gun pointed at my head.
“Don’t try it,” he warns me.
“You don’t want to do this,” I tell him, slowly standing and raising my hands to shoulder level.
“You’re right, I don’t.” It wasn’t the response I was expecting.
The Eyes of Others Page 26