LURING

by Blake Pierce

  But then the seconds seemed to drag out. She found it hard to believe that a whole minute hadn’t already passed.

  Was Glick tricking her about the time?

  Riley was finding it harder and harder to pull her tired body upright.

  Finally she heard the whistle signaling her minute was up.

  She collapsed on her back and saw the instructor glaring down at her.

  “Only 32,” he grumbled. “The required number is 35.”

  Riley fought down a sigh of despair as Glick turned away, ready to time the next NAT.

  After the last of the group finished the sit-ups, Glick called them into formation again.

  “A lot of you did pretty damned poorly,” he said. “Only a handful did really well. You’re lucky I don’t get to make the rules around here. If I had my way, those of you who failed today would be out of the Academy right now, for good. Whipping you NATs into shape is going to take time away from classes and training. I hate to see that happen.”

  He read out the names of the group, saying who had passed and who had failed.

  Riley had failed.

  With her spirits crushed and her body aching from head to toe, she slunk away to the locker room for a hot shower.

  While she changed out of her gym clothes, Frankie Dow came up to her and said …

  “Don’t let it get you down. When you retake the test, you’ll do just fine.”

  Riley sighed and said, “That’s easy for you to say. I watched you breeze through with no trouble at all.”

  Frankie laughed and said, “Maybe it looked like that, but I didn’t breeze through anything. That was one long, tough workout.”

  Riley and Frankie sat down together on a locker room bench.

  Riley shook her head miserably said, “I had no idea I was so out of shape.”

  Frankie patted Riley on the back and said …

  “You’re not out of shape. I watched you go at it, and I’m sure you’re at least as fit as I am. I know, you told me you’ve been working out all summer. But some of us do have an advantage. We’ve been training specifically to pass this test.”

  Riley’s mouth dropped open.

  “You’ve been training for this?” she said. “Like, you knew exactly what to expect?”

  Frankie shrugged and said, “Maybe an unfair advantage. I know some people who’ve gotten through the Academy. They’ve told me all the tricks and secrets for surviving here.”

  “Including how to do sit-ups?” Riley said.

  “That’s right,” Frankie said. “And believe me, it’s not just a matter of strength.”

  “So what did I do wrong?” Riley asked.

  “You started off fast to try to get in as many sit-ups as possible, right off the bat,” Frankie said. “That doesn’t work for sit-ups. You were wasting all your energy in just a few seconds, and you lost your momentum. Instead of rushing into it, you’ve got to pace yourself. If you do just one sit-up maybe every second and a half, you can keep that going and get through the whole exercise without wearing out. Once you get into the rhythm of it, you’ll be surprised at how easy it is.”

  “Tell me more,” Riley said.

  But at that moment, Marty Glick came into the locker room and called everybody together for their first class. Frankie promised Riley to share everything she knew as soon as they got a chance.

  *

  The rest of the day was both exciting and daunting with brief introductory sessions in a wide range of topics—including law, ethics, and behavioral science. In a workshop on operational training, Riley learned some basics in handcuffing, searching, and disarming suspects.

  Probably the most interesting session for Riley was the introduction to firearms. The only times she’d ever handled a gun were when she’d hunted with her father near the cabin where he lived in the Virginia mountains. He’d let her hunt squirrels and do some target practice, but only with a .22 caliber rifle.

  The whole session was devoted to loading, cleaning, and taking care of a .40 caliber Glock semiautomatic pistol—an entirely new experience for Riley. The first actual target practice was going to be in the next couple of days. Riley wondered how well she would do on that.

  Throughout the day, Riley stayed close to Frankie. Like many of the other NATs, her roommate already had experience in law enforcement, so some of what they were learning was already familiar to her. When they got back to their room after dinner, Frankie gave Riley a lengthy rundown of dos and don’ts and miscellaneous tips that could help with the coming 18 weeks of Academy life. Then they both headed on over to the rec room to catch the evening news on TV.

  Tonight, there was nothing really new about the recent gruesome murders in West Virginia. The anchorwoman said only that the killer was still at large and definitely dangerous.

  Then they replayed part of a tape from the previous night.

  In last night’s news segment, Crivaro had told the reporter several times …

  “We don’t have sufficient information to share at this time.”

  That reporter had seemed awfully pushy to Riley.

  Finally, Crivaro seemed to have had enough of his badgering, and he knocked the reporter to the ground …

  Or at least he’d appeared to. And of course the local station was playing that footage over and over again tonight.

  Looking at it again, Riley found it hard to tell just how bad the incident had really been. Riley knew that Crivaro could be brusque and even temperamental, but she’d never known him to be physically aggressive. She suspected that the reporter had overdramatized the seriousness of his fall.

  But the reporter and the anchorwoman had both made a big deal of the incident—even bigger, really, than the murder case itself.

  Poor Agent Crivaro, Riley thought.

  When she got to bed later that night, Riley found it hard to sleep. Her thoughts kept returning to Crivaro. She wondered how things were going with the case.

  Working with him to hunt and stop two vicious killers had sometimes been scary and upsetting—but it had been thrilling as well.

  She was surprised to realize …

  I wish I was there.

  Of course, that was out of the question.

  It had only been by chance that Riley had been on those cases at all. She was here at Quantico to become the kind of agent who could legitimately partner with someone like Jake Crivaro.

  Or at least so she hoped.

  But she knew it was going to be a long, steep climb.

  Flunking the physical exam had been a real blow to Riley’s confidence. And the rest of the day’s activities and classes had made her realize how much she still had to learn.

  And now she couldn’t help but wonder …

  Am I really up to it?

  What if I fail?

  As she started to drift off to sleep, a procession of monochrome, gray and white faces began to pass through her mind. It took her a few moments to realize who those faces were.

  They were the martyred agents whose pictures were displayed on the Hall of honor.

  She could hear them whispering to her …

  “Don’t let us down.”

  Riley wanted to reply …

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  But how could she promise them that?

  And if she failed, how was she going to live with herself?

  Soon those faces and voices began to swirl around her, and Riley’s nightmares began.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Jake walked into Erik Lehl’s office the next morning, he knew right away that the Special Agent in Charge was in a darker mood than usual. The tall, gangly man could be formidable when he was angry.

  “Sit,” Lehl said.

  Jake obeyed uneasily. He was sure he was about to get a dressing-down from the chief.

  Lehl swiveled in his chair for a moment, his long legs propelling him vigorously from side to side.

  Then he stopped his rotations, stared directly at Jake, and said, “T
ell me what happened.”

  Jake knew without being told exactly what his boss was asking. He wanted to know about Jake’s altercation with the news reporter. The local TV station had been running that video footage over and over again, focusing on the frames that made it look like Jake had knocked the man down. Lehl had good reason to hate that kind of publicity.

  Jake suppressed a discouraged sigh. He hated making excuses for himself, even when the excuses were true. Maybe he could just swallow his pride and accept the blame and be done with it …

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Jake said. “It won’t happen again.”

  Lehl scowled at him and repeated, “Tell me.”

  Jake took a long, slow breath as he wondered …

  Will he even believe the truth?

  Finally Jake said …

  “Sir, I didn’t attack that reporter. He was badgering me with questions, which was OK, I’m used to it, and he was just doing his job. But when I tried to walk away, he stepped right in my path, and I couldn’t help bumping into him. The camera made it look worse than it was. I’m sure I didn’t knock him down. That was play-acting on his part.”

  Lehl steepled his long fingers and said …

  “I see.”

  He paused and added, “I don’t care whose fault it was. It can’t happen again.”

  Jake gulped and said, “It won’t, sir.”

  He hoped he could keep his word about that.

  Lehl said, “Now, about what we discussed when we last met—don’t you think you’d better look for a partner? Someone who could help keep you out of trouble, at the very least? And who might speed things up on this case? I don’t much like the way you’re going it pretty much alone right now.”

  Jake stammered a little, “I—I’ll give it serious thought before I go leave Quantico.”

  “You’d better do more than that,” Lehl said.

  Jake he knew that Lehl was right. He was spinning his wheels right now with nobody around except a handful of forensics guys. But who could he get to work with him on such short notice? Who was available that he could actually work with?

  Jake cringed inside as he remembered what Lehl had said to him the day before yesterday …

  “It’s about time for you to learn to play nice with others.”

  Jake hated to admit it, but it was true.

  Then Lehl said, “Now tell me about how the case is going.”

  Jake filled Lehl in on his activities so far. He described his visits to the two crime scenes, and related the autopsy results on the victims’ bodies—which hadn’t produced any real surprises. The county medical examiner had found traces of chloroform in their lungs, so it looked as though they had been rendered unconscious, but only briefly. After that they had died slowly, and no doubt painfully.

  He also described the various interviews he’d conducted so far in Dighton and Hyland, including with Philip Cardin in his jail cell and Mayor Nelson in his expensive home. He also told him about Philip Cardin’s missing brother, Harvey, and how the Quantico technicians had so far failed to locate him.

  Lehl asked him, “Do you think Harvey Cardin’s a viable suspect?”

  “I wish I knew,” Jake said.

  Jake wasn’t surprised that Lehl frowned again …

  Those are the last words he wants to hear right now.

  Lehl fell silent for several long moments.

  Then he said, “Tell me about the barbed wire.”

  Jake said, “The forensics team has analyzed it as well as they could. It’s somewhat rusted, so they’re sure it’s been used, probably on an outdoor fence, and it’s at least a decade or so old, and…”

  Lehl interrupted, “What type of barbed wire is it?”

  Jake was surprised by the specificity of the question.

  He replied, “It’s zinc-coated steel wire. The zinc has deteriorated, which explains the rust and gives the forensics guys an idea of how old it is.”

  Lehl asked, “Which class is it—1, 2, or 3?”

  Jake’s surprise grew a little.

  “Class 1, I believe,” he said.

  Lehl nodded and said, “Standard low carbon wire. That explains the deterioration. I believe your guys are right about its age. I know the type well.”

  “Sir?” Jake asked.

  Lehl swiveled in his chair again, then said …

  “I guess you didn’t know I grew up on a farm in Nebraska. I spent a whole summer with my father fencing our entire property, digging postholes and stretching miles of barbed wire along the posts. A tough job, especially when it came to corner posts. The wire has to be stretched tighter than a drum.”

  Lehl took a long, slow breath and added …

  “God, I hate barbed wire.”

  Jake was truly startled now. It was almost unheard of for Lehl to express his personal feelings about anything at all.

  Lehl added, “Still, I’ve been kind obsessed with it ever since I got all scratched up helping my dad that summer. I’ve studied its history—and its a damned ugly history. Before it was invented, nobody thought they could tame the Western plains.”

  Jake thought, Maybe that would have been just as well.

  Lehl seemed to think the same …

  “Barbed wire fencing carved up the plains into tidy little squares of land. It led to all kinds of trouble between cattlemen and farmers, even some outright violence. And it was hell for Native Americans, who depended on hunting great herds of buffalo.”

  He squinted thoughtfully and continued …

  “Most people think the buffalo herds disappeared because of too much hunting. That’s true as far as it goes. But barbed wire did more than its share, broke up buffalo grazing grounds so they starved to death.”

  Lehl’s expression darkened as he said …

  “And then came World War I, when barbed wire made trench warfare all the more horrifying. And then came World War II, where it was used in the death camps …”

  Lehl smirked ever so slightly.

  He said, “Back where I come from, folks sometimes call barbed wire ‘the devil’s rope.’ An apt name for it, if you ask me. I guess you could say barbed wire pushes my buttons. I’ve never heard of a murder case involving it. But now that we’ve got one, I’m not surprised. Barbed wire is cruel and violent at its very core. It’s hateful stuff.”

  Lehl paused, then repeated those words …

  “‘The devil’s rope.’”

  Jake gulped and said …

  “I understand, sir.”

  But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he did understand, at least not fully.

  For one thing, he sensed that Lehl was leaving something important unsaid.

  Jake summoned up his courage and asked …

  “Sir, do you know something about this case that you’re not telling me? Something I should know?”

  Lehl was quiet for a few long seconds.

  Then he looked Jake straight in the eye and said …

  “Crivaro, you’ve got to solve this one quickly—and delicately.”

  Jake stared back at him, waiting for him to explain.

  Delicately? he wondered.

  Lehl said, “I’ve been getting some pressure from high places. I’d rather not go into any specifics …”

  Jake gently interrupted, “Sir, I think I need to know.”

  “Very well,” Lehl murmured reluctantly. “But what I’m about to say must never leave this room.”

  Jake’s mind boggled.

  Why would people in “high places” care about two small-town murders in rural West Virginia?

  Jake listened with bated breath as Lehl began to tell him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Vaguely familiar faces swirled all around Riley. Their mouths were moving, calling out to her. She struggled to see who they were and to hear what they were saying.

  Then she realized, these were the faces of past FBI Agents who had been killed in the line of duty.

  Now she could hear what they kept saying �
�

  “Don’t let us down.”

  Again and again, Riley opened her own mouth to reply, but no words came out. She realized that was because she didn’t know what to say.

  Then the faces began to move away from her, but she could still hear their whispers …

  “Don’t let us down.”

  As the faces swirled away into darkness, Riley felt herself getting smaller and younger.

  Soon she was a little girl again, and she found herself in a familiar place …

  It was a candy store, and Mommy was spoiling her by buying her lots and lots of candy.

  Little Riley laughed with joy.

  It was wonderful to see Mommy again …

  But where has she been all these years?

  But what did it matter?

  It was so wonderful to have Mommy back in her life again—and spoiling her with so much candy!

  But then a man stepped toward them—a man with strange, blank-looking features, like a mannequin she might see in a clothing store.

  In a moment, little Riley realized …

  He’s got a stocking over his head.

  And he’s got a gun.

  She felt her whole body go cold with fear.

  The man waved the gun at Mommy and yelled at her …

  “Your purse! Give me your purse!”

  Riley looked up at Mommy, who had turned pale and was shaking all over.

  Riley wondered …

  Why doesn’t Mommy do what he says?

  Didn’t she understand what terrible danger they were in?

  Riley wanted to warn her, but again no words came out of her mouth.

  The man looked awfully frightened himself.

  Mommy staggered a little, as if she wanted to run but couldn’t make her legs move.

  Then came a loud noise and a burst of flame from the gun, and Mommy fell to the ground, and deep red liquid was spurting out of her chest, soaking her blouse and spreading in a puddle on the floor.

  Riley let out a wild shriek of grief and terror.

  She screamed and screamed until she couldn’t scream anymore.

  Then she heard something behind her—a loud, deep crunching sound.

  She turned around—and there was Daddy.