Forced to Kill nm-2

by Andrew Peterson

“You really don’t know?”

  Nathan sighed. “I warned you.” He pulled his Predator and jammed the tip into Montez’s cheek. He applied a gradual increasing pressure, forcing Montez to hold perfectly still or risk a lengthy incision. A rivulet of blood oozed from the small cut. “A few more pounds of pressure and the blade goes through to your cheekbone. I’d really hate to see your face ruined… like mine.”

  Montez said nothing.

  “Well?”

  “I only learned the truth tonight. I thought I was working for Dalton, but he was only a middleman.”

  “A middleman? For whom?”

  “You won’t like the answer.”

  “Try me.”

  “The CIA.”

  Chapter 47

  “Yeah, right.”

  “It’s true.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe you were working for the United States government?”

  “Believe what you want.”

  “Why would the CIA need a worm like you involved with a clean coal negotiation in Hungary? That’s horse crap. You’re lying.”

  “The clean coal thing was only a front.”

  “For what?”

  “Counterterrorism. Holding and transfer of enemy combatants. Rendition.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been interrogating prisoners.”

  Nathan felt his blood pressure rise. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I can prove it. The thumb drive in your pocket? Dalton confessed to everything.”

  “You tortured him. Of course he confessed.”

  “He held out for quite a while, made a heroic stand.”

  Nathan let the knife sink a fraction of an inch into Montez’s cheek. “Spare me your sick musings. You were going to dump Dalton in the ocean. Alive. Like you did to Kramer. You could’ve killed Kramer first. Why drown him like that?”

  “I’d put up with Kramer for years. He was a small, cruel man who lorded every ounce of power he had over those around him.”

  “Sounds like you. So you’re claiming Dalton works for the CIA?”

  “He did. As a contractor. He owned a small, private company called Ironclad Management.”

  “And Kramer’s shell company, Energy Solutions?”

  “Was hired by Ironclad. A subcontractor.”

  “Which dealt directly with you.”

  “Yes. Kramer brought me the interrogation subjects. Terrorists. Captured by your military or CIA, then taken to a safe house in Hungary for safekeeping until it was time for their interrogations on Tobago. The clean coal venture allowed us to use Hungary as a depot. Everything was done with private jets. That’s where I came in. Kramer simply handled the arrivals and disposals.”

  “Then what did Dalton do?”

  “It’s all on the thumb drive.”

  Nathan pushed the knife. “I’m asking you.”

  “I already told you. Dalton was a middleman, reporting to a United States Senator. A member of the mighty Committee on Domestic Terrorism.”

  Nathan literally felt his heart pound. His father would never be party to this.

  He moved his Predator to Montez’s right eye. “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not, I swear.”

  “Which Senator?” He drove the knife’s tip into the lower eyelid and felt the blade pierce skin. “Which one?”

  “Alan Kallstrom.”

  Nathan pulled the steel back, letting himself breathe again, then felt shame. Sudden and deep. How could he have suspected his own father? Familiar hatred began boiling. Hatred for being manipulated. For being paranoid. Hatred of his own nature. What have I become that I would suspect my own father of working with this animal?

  “McBride.…” Montez said slowly. “You’re Senator Stone McBride’s son? And you thought I was referring to him?” He smiled. “Close to your father, are you?”

  Nathan’s voice took on a sudden calmness. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Mr. Montez.”

  Montez looked around in mock curiosity. “We seem to be alone.”

  “We are alone, just the three of us.” He waited, allowing his meaning to sink in. Montez had seen the other. Many times.

  Montez’s expression changed to fear, and he began speaking rapidly. “If you torture or kill me, Dalton’s confession in your pocket will be distributed to every major news network. Your country will be mired in scandal for decades. World opinion of America will plummet to an all-time low.”

  “Like I care.”

  “What about your precious patriotism? You told me many times you’d never betray your country, no matter what I did to you.”

  “A lot can change over the years,” he lied.

  “I don’t believe you. I heard what you said to the police officer. You still fancy yourself as an honorable man.”

  “Believe what you want. You can contemplate it while screaming in agony.”

  “You won’t kill me. You won’t risk it.”

  “You’re right, I won’t kill you… right away.”

  “I’m not afraid of you, McBride.”

  He leaned forward. “You will be.” He let that soak in for a few seconds. “You’re forgetting how well I know you. You told me many times you didn’t trust anyone but yourself. I’m betting this is the only copy.”

  “One week ago, your government tried to kill me and sweep my operation under the rug. I’ve been preparing for this betrayal for years.”

  Nathan smiled. “It’s much worse than that.”

  Montez squinted, looked confused.

  “My government wants you alive.”

  Montez’s entire body tensed.

  “That’s right. Alive and kicking. Once the CIA’s finished with you, you’ll be in diapers, drooling in a mental ward and listening to elevator music.”

  Montez’s face changed, took on resolve. “I enjoyed seeing you suffer, McBride. Do you remember when you broke down and cried like a little boy?”

  “I warned you what would happen if you went off-topic.” Nathan grabbed him by the ponytail and forced his head back against the seat. Starting at the top of Montez’s right temple, he drew his Predator down his cheek and stopped at his chin. The incision began oozing blood.

  Montez hissed in protest, but held still.

  “Did you enjoy that?”

  “It changes nothing.”

  “Oh, I disagree. I’m already feeling better. Shall we make it a matched set?”

  Montez said nothing.

  “It’s a little cramped in here. Let’s step outside where we have more room to work.” He sheathed the knife, grabbed Montez by the collar, and yanked him across the seat. “I should’ve brought rubber gloves. Lord only knows what diseases you’ve got.” He hauled the man clear of the cruiser and dragged him over the curb toward the riprap-lined harbor channel.

  He heard it then, the distant thumping of a helicopter’s main rotor tearing through the air. He looked toward Lindbergh Field. How much time did he have? Two minutes? Less?

  To his surprise, he didn’t care.

  “You tortured me in front of women and children. What kind of a sick fuck does that?”

  “You should know.”

  “We’re nothing alike.”

  “I should’ve let my man bullwhip you to death. Twenty or thirty more lashes would’ve done the trick.”

  “You had a nice head of hair, Monty. Until now.” With his left hand, he snapped the rubber band securing Montez’s ponytail and grabbed a handful of hair just above his brows. With his right hand, he positioned his Predator on the left side of Montez’s forehead and forced the knife across, cutting a deep channel, five inches long. Montez moaned as blood began oozing down his face.

  “Professional question,” he growled in Montez’s ear. “Have you ever scalped anyone?”

  Headlights appeared. From the left.

  Nathan looked up as a sedan bore down on him.

  A police cruiser? No, it didn’t have a light bar. Grangeland. Her timing coul
dn’t have been worse.

  It came to a stop behind the cruiser he’d stolen. He heard two car doors open and close. Two doors? Maybe it wasn’t Grangeland. An undercover SDPD unit? He shrugged off any concern and turned his attention back to his prisoner.

  “Nathan. Don’t do it.”

  Holly?

  How could that be Holly? She’s in Sacramento.

  Silhouetted against the headlights, she and Grangeland approached the curb, but stopped short. “Nathan, don’t do it.”

  “Holly. How- What are you doing here?”

  “I never left. I asked your father and Harvey not to tell you.”

  Montez grinned through a face covered in blood from his cheek and scalp wounds. “So this is Holly. Julio mentioned you, from the Clairemont house. Quite a looker. And good with a gun, I hear.”

  Nathan voice held venom. “Shut up, Montez.”

  “Tell me, McBride. Is she a tiger in the sack? I’ll bet she could handle an entire NBA basketball team, plus that cane.”

  “Nathan, don’t. It’s what he wants.”

  In two labored motions, he cut deep parallel channels along the top of Montez’s head that connected to the slit across his forehead. He could now tear a huge rectangular piece of Montez’s scalp back.

  Grangeland took a step a forward. “I don’t blame you for wanting to hurt him, but let us prosecute him for murder.”

  “This doesn’t concern the FBI.”

  “Is that all I am to you now? The FBI?”

  “Grangeland, no, I–I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Holly softened her tone. “She’s right, Nathan.”

  “Don’t-”

  “Don’t what? Deny you your revenge?”

  “This isn’t about revenge. It’s about justice.”

  “You’ve never lied to me. Are you going to start now?”

  He squinted, but said nothing. The truth? Was it absolute? Black or white? Where did it blur?

  “So that’s it,” she continued. “I’m too late. You made up your mind a week ago. Then, go ahead. I won’t stop you. But you’ll have to kill him in front of me and Grangeland.”

  He clenched his teeth.

  “Go ahead. I want to see it. All of it. I want to see you tear his scalp back. I want to see you cut his throat. Listen to the gurgling of his lungs. Everything. I want to see the real Nathan McBride in action. I guess the man I thought I knew doesn’t exist.”

  “Holly, don’t-”

  “Don’t what? Tell you the truth?”

  “What do you know about the truth?” he yelled.

  Her voice softened. “I know that giving into hatred won’t heal you. Just the opposite.”

  “You know what he did to me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  The temptation to tear Montez’s scalp back and slit his throat overpowered all else. It raged like a thirst, a thirst he knew well. He would’ve sold his soul for a drink of water during his crucifixion. With every crack of the whip, every jolt of electricity, and every slice of his flesh, he’d sworn to get revenge some day. He’d dreamed of this moment thousands of times. That day had arrived. Montez must die. And why shouldn’t he? After what he’d done to Kramer. The Dalton family. The bastard tried to kill Harv. Shot him when he was defenseless. Human life had no value to Montez. None.

  He gripped the knife tighter.

  It would be so easy. So satisfying.

  But what about Holly and the life they’d started together? Was he going to throw that away? Was killing Montez worth sacrificing that future? Her future?

  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Nathan, love is stronger than hate.”

  Conflicting emotions assaulted him again. His desire to kill Montez had never burned so strongly. How could they blame him? How could anyone on the planet blame him? He thought back to Director Cantrell’s visit to his hospital room. She’d asked him to consider the bigger picture when and if the time ever came. He owned Montez’s life. Was it satisfying enough to know he could kill him? Was having the power of life and death over this monster enough? It didn’t feel like enough, not by a long shot.

  He could almost hear Harvey telling him this wasn’t a CIA sanctioned mission and he didn’t have a green light to take out the target. Thorny would say the same thing.

  And what if Montez wasn’t lying about the thumb drive? About having other copies? Killing him could cause serious harm to the country. Did his lust for revenge overshadow all else? How many good people would be destroyed by killing one bad person?

  The fork in the road branched in two directions.

  One toward light.

  The other toward darkness.

  With clenched teeth, he tilted his head up, closed his eyes.…

  And asked God for help.

  He saw them then, in his mind’s eye. Autumn colored leaves. Descending like harbingers of truth. The leaves fell by the hundreds. Then by the thousands. Surrounding him in random but beautiful patterns. They brushed his skin, healing savaged flesh from a past that no longer controlled him, no longer held his fate.

  He loosened his grip on the knife.

  Love is stronger than hate.

  A lot stronger. He’d been so misguided all these years. Bitterness? Hatred? Revenge? Deep down, where only the truth lived, he knew they weren’t just words. They’d become prison bars. He thought about the words inscribed on the FBI seal-words that Holly honored. Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. And they weren’t merely words. They were tenets of the truth, a truth he’d lost sight of. He could never face Holly again if he gave into his dark nature. Hatred and rage might be permanent parts of his soul, but they didn’t have to control him.

  He slammed the door on the other and threw the knife aside.

  “You’re a coward, McBride.”

  Grangeland stepped forward, brushing Nathan aside with her body, and delivered a solid haymaker to Montez’s bloody jaw. “And you’re unconscious.”

  Nathan backed away, allowing Grangeland to take over.

  Holly hugged him. “It’s over, Nathan,” she whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to fear him anymore.”

  “I didn’t mean the things I said. I’m sorry.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  Her words echoed again. You don’t have to fear him anymore. He held her, unsure if she meant Montez or the vicious thing inside him. Perhaps they were the same, cut from the same dark cloth. It didn’t matter.

  Holding Holly, he sensed something he hadn’t felt in a long time.…

  He felt safe.

  Chapter 48

  Nichole Dalton heard a voice. A man’s voice.

  For a split second she saw Montez’s grinning face and bloody gloves.

  She remembered being rescued by a tall man with long scars on his face and body.

  Nichole, can you hear me?

  She opened her eyes but couldn’t focus. Her chest and stomach stung. Where was she?

  The plastic surgeon. She’d been taken to a plastic surgeon’s office. She remembered lying on her back and feeling cold, remembered feeling an IV inserted into her arm. There’d been classical music in the background. And some kind of chemical smell, alcohol maybe? She couldn’t remember anything beyond that.

  “Nichole, can you hear me?”

  She turned her head and saw Dr. Reavie.

  He took her hand. “I’ve got a couple of girls who want see their mother.”

  “You found them! They’re safe?” She tried to sit up. Fiery pain made her wince. She didn’t care.

  “Don’t sit up. I’ll elevate the bed for you. You’re recovering from anesthesia. Everything went well. You have more than a thousand sutures, though.”

  “My girls!”

  “They’re right here.”

  Nathan felt insecure in a wheelchair, but it beat the alternative-a pine box. He watched the two girls rush to their mother’s bedside and hug each other. Nichole’s joy overpowered her pain. She closed her eyes to the tears streaming d
own her cheeks and held them.

  And in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.

  Grangeland wiped a tear. So did Holly. No warm-blooded human being could watch this and not feel torn to pieces. He felt Holly take his hand and give it a firm squeeze.

  “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s give them some time alone.”

  He wheeled himself to the door and turned back.

  Nichole Dalton made eye contact and mouthed the words thank you.

  He nodded and slipped out.

  Grangeland insisted on pushing his wheelchair the rest of the way through Reavie’s office and he reluctantly agreed. Holly couldn’t do it. She walked with a cane. A few hours ago, his feet had been numbed, scrubbed clean, and sutured closed. None of the cuts had been especially large or deep, but there’d been a lot of them. The local anesthetic had since worn off and truth be told, he was grateful for the wheelchair. But wrecked feet or not, he wasn’t going to miss this reunion.

  In the parking lot, the cobalt beginning of a new sunrise spread across the horizon.

  He spoke softly, just above a whisper. “Seeing Nichole and her daughters like that? It makes it all worth it.”

  Grangeland stopped pushing and Holly took his hand.

  They were silent for a moment, staring at the eastern sky.

  “I owe you an apology, Grangeland. I didn’t mean what I said.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  “It’s not okay. I really care what you think of me. Both of you.”

  “I feel the same way about you,” Grangeland said.

  “My feet hurt.”

  Holly half laughed. “At least you’re not sporting Grangeland’s pink sweater any more.”

  He’d almost forgotten about that. After cleaning Montez up and hauling the semiconscious man into the sedan, Grangeland had given him the sweater, the only thing she had stretchy enough to fit. He’d worn it into the emergency room.

  He grinned. “I don’t know, I kinda liked the way it felt.”

  “Don’t ever repeat that,” Holly said.

  He looked to Grangeland, as if to invite a dissenting vote.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll have to agree with my SAC on that.”