by David Rich
“Tell me about Iraq, Ethan.” He was silent. I sat back and put my hands behind my head and crossed my ankles. “You want someone to know. I know you do. Just like I’m glad you watched me.”
“I’m not Ethan.”
“You shot your old man at the graveside in Montana. I can’t blame you. He was pretty awful and he knew you weren’t in the grave. You had visited him, hadn’t you? Before you knew about the money. Before you hooked up with Bannion. Tell me about that, about becoming one of the goons. You fooled them all.”
“The old man couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Never could. He was drunk from the day I knew him. I knew when he saw the body in the grave he’d start blabbing and then people would be looking for me.”
“And you knew I’d think you were looking for the money.”
“Don’t worry. I wasn’t gonna hit you. I’m a damn good shot. Only thing the old man was good for, teaching me to shoot. We’d go hunting. By the time I was twelve, I’d have to take the rifle away from him in the afternoon. He’d want to shoot something and I was the only something he could see.”
“What about Kristen?”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Were you aiming at her?”
He moved his mouth, but no words came out. He tried it a couple of times. At last he said, “She didn’t know. Unless the old man told her. She was never bad to me.”
“She’s still your wife.”
He chuckled. “I’m gonna have millions. What do I want a wife for?”
I remembered Nita, the waitress at Frank’s place who had fallen for Ethan’s charms. The story in Farah was that all the female NGOs were taken with him, too. Maybe the TV pitchman tone worked. I did not mention his daughter.
We had hours to go. I wanted it all. Once he acknowledged being Ethan Williams, the rest came easier. He had been an Army sniper at Fallujah with the 325th Airborne Infantry. They were moved out and the 101st replaced them. But Ethan was left behind to support the transition. No one knew him. He saw the strutting Blackwater men flaunting their freedom and money. The rules did not apply to them. The rules were going to get Ethan killed.
“Were you scared?”
“You were scared. Everyone is scared.”
“You’re right,” I said. That concession seemed to satisfy him. He breathed deeply a few times and then he smiled.
“It was such a great opportunity. I hitched a ride with three Blackwater guys. They didn’t know each other at all. They were guarding a shipment of Coca-Cola and chips and shit. But it was overcovered. About thirty other guards were on top of it. These guys had two cases of bourbon in their vehicle. We went back to where they were camped, at the edge of the 101st, who were also just setting up. It was all just coming together. Two of the guys passed out, and the other one got real drunk. Real drunk. And he wanted to come back with me to where I was assigned at the edge of the city. I was due back at 0200 hours. I let him come with me. We weren’t there an hour when he stood up. We were on the second story. The windows were all shot out, of course. And he was hit. In the face. It was such a great opportunity.”
I knew Ethan had killed that guy, lured him there and murdered him. “Was he Sam Simmons?”
“Nah. He was someone else. Joe Nobody.”
“In the grave in Montana.”
“I guess. I didn’t stay around to check. Maybe they switched the body. Maybe there was money in there. Was there?”
“No.”
“I went north. Avoided Mosul. Ended up in Kirkuk. That’s where I first heard of Bannion. A lot of the Blackwater guys were talking about him and his operation.”
“And the money?”
Ethan gripped the gun and stood up abruptly and walked to the window. “You know, I could have killed you a thousand times and I didn’t because of you letting me go. But if you hear all this, everything changes.”
‘I could tell, but I’d have to kill you’: everyone’s lame joke, but Ethan’s earnestness was absolute.
“You can’t kill me. Not until you see the money.”
“C’mon. You admitted before that everyone is scared.”
“You went north . . .”
“I met the guy you called Gill. He was special forces at the time. Ted Marker. Master Sergeant Ted Marker. Everybody heard about the money. Everybody was looking for it. Gill found some and he took, I don’t know, he must have taken maybe two packets, twenty thousand dollars. And some guy is stupid enough to threaten to hand him in. So I killed him. That was Sam Simmons.”
“And years later, you looked up Ted Marker and reminded him that he owed you a favor.”
“That’s how I got in with Bannion.”
Bannion, the King, McColl, each thought he was the story, his plans and schemes were the centerpiece around which the world spun. But the toxic concoction of ambition and arrogance bred slime like Ethan, who wriggled below the surface and oozed through the cracks. It was not a play about a schemer or a soldier or a king; it was about a fiend without compunction, a jokester, a demon. And his idea of how to act was to imitate me.
He told me not to go anywhere and he walked into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a bottle of water for me and one for himself. “It’ll be light in less than an hour,” he said.
I closed my eyes and pretended to go back to sleep. All I did was wonder how Sampson was going to get to the other side of the lake to help me.
33
We were just two prospectors certain that this time we would hit the mother lode. But we did not have to wait to count the booty to become paranoid fiends. Our calculations in the murder matrix powered the way. Ethan could not shoot me until he was sure these three graves held a worthwhile payday. I would be digging first. If the grave yielded twenty-five million, I was dead. If it yielded only a couple of million, or nothing, Ethan would try to make me dig farther. Failure meant life for me.
The sun, just poking through the pines, made me hold my eyes down as I rowed across the lake, flat and still now that the wind had escaped. I stared at the shovels and the pick on the bottom of the boat all the way across the lake and tried to figure out ways to survive. Mallards honked far off. Ethan aimed a gun at them but did not shoot.
Sampson might arrive on time but it would not matter. How would she cross the lake? Maybe on Hanrihan’s back. He would be eager enough to get at the money.
“What are you laughing about?” Ethan said.
“You could dig, too,” I said. I held out a shovel toward him.
“You dig. I’ll stand nearby holding a gun on you.”
“Which one should I start on?”
He examined the headstones for clues the way a sucker plays three-card monte. He pointed to the grave on the left, the one belonging to Neil Bess. I laid the extra shovel and the pick on the middle grave. Ethan sat on the rocks, facing me and the lake. I dug and thought about Ethan Williams, who joined the Army and kept finding opportunities too good to pass up.
He was his own best customer. Every step down to this lakeside graveyard was guided by his faith in the power of hucksterism. The lower it sent him, the deeper its claws dug into his flesh, and the more grateful he was. In his version, I had saved him in Farah Province and Gill had introduced him to Bannion. We were sent by the god of good luck, who wanted him to find the lost city of gold. Gill was dead; I was his only companion. At journey’s end, when he lifted the pot of gold, I would have to be sacrificed; that was the shipping charge, the small print. He was so busy selling himself the magic elixir that no one had ever tried the truth on him. Why bother? I had reason to bother.
The silence did not last long. “Why didn’t you bring Bannion outside while I was waiting? We had him. We had a deal.”
“Maybe I’m not who you think I am,” I said.
“You are.” Too loud. The sound boomed. Both of us looked across the lake as if someone t
here might have heard.
“My mission was to catch Bannion, not recover the money. I had to try to bring him in.”
“You were always after the money.”
“Never. You have me wrong. You just don’t get it.”
“I know you’re lying.”
I just kept digging. I hit some rocks and changed the shovel for the pick and worked that way for a while. The sun came over the trees and was directly in his eyes. He moved over to the grave on the right. He was careful not to step directly on it.
“Why are you here, if it isn’t for the money?”
“The money isn’t here, Ethan.” I kept picking away at a big rock. “Bannion put it all in bank accounts. I already gave them over. The money is gone.”
“Stop digging.”
I kept pounding on the rock with the pick. He repeated the command. I kept working. He fired the pistol at the headstone. The echo died and we both turned to see the Mallards take off. The lake remained a mirror.
“You can’t kill me yet, Ethan. Unless you believe me about the money. And you don’t. You can’t, can you?” I changed the pick for the shovel. “You have some water?”
I hit the top of the box about three and a half feet down. Ethan came forward cautiously. He smiled, showing his small, even teeth, and his eyes lit up. Door number one was going to open; all the prizes were waiting behind it. He commanded me to dig out a bit on one side so the box could be pried open.
“Why do you think this one is any better than the others?”
“Just a feeling.”
He treated hope like a lighter, flicking it over and over again to see if it still worked, not understanding that the flame was meaningless. The failed opium scheme was one of hundreds meant to remake him. But his plans were disjointed pieces, notes hit simply to make a noise that went with the previous note. It took about twenty minutes more digging and scraping. I hopped up and leaned on the shovel. “I’ll make you a deal,” I said.
“You don’t keep your deals.”
“If there is no money in there, you dig the next one. You can hold on to the weapons.”
“No.”
“I’ll never make it through three in one day alone. We’ll have to spend another night here. Do you have enough food?”
“Open it up.”
I used the pick on the latches. I used the shovel to pry open the top.
“Pull it out,” he said.
I had to lie on my belly and reach in and pull up the bag. It was too heavy to lift from that position and I told him so. He moved next to me and got on his knees to help. I could have made my play, gotten under his arms so he couldn’t reach the guns, which were stuck in his belt, and wrestled with him. I decided to wait for a surer chance, betting on Bannion, betting the DS list was mostly fake.
We dragged it out. By its weight it might have been a big stash of money or it might have been a corpse. Ethan stood over me as I unzipped the bag. I turned and looked at him instead of the contents.
His glowing eyes got small as slits and he scrunched up his nose in disappointment. A corpse was in the body bag where the money was supposed to be. Two rounds left before the show was over.
Ethan held the pistol on me for about a minute. I didn’t move and neither did he. At last he said, “Is there any money in these graves? Just tell me.”
“I already told you.”
The light in his eyes seemed to flicker. To shoot me meant an end to his quest. He would have to start over, admit defeat. “Start digging,” he said quietly.
“Which one?”
He set me to the grave on the right, belonging to Roger Clark.
34
Roger Clark, or somebody posing as Roger Clark, was in the second grave. Ethan groaned. I was tired and hungry. I threw down the shovel and sat at the edge of the grave. Our dance was too static. Ethan stayed more than shovel length away.
“Y’know, no one will ever find all the money Bannion put in the ground. I don’t know how many graves he seeded, but I think it’s a lot. None with big numbers, but I bet it all adds up.”
“C’mon, it’s gonna get dark.”
“I’m just telling you because I want it on the record that I’m not digging them all.”
I went to work on the middle grave. Ethan became quiet. The coming decision was weighing on him. Just standing there and watching had to be tiring him out, too. The sun had rolled across the lake, so Ethan moved with his back to the hill, facing the lake. I slowed my pace. I wish I could say it was some brilliant strategy, but it was really dread. I did not know what was going to be in the grave. I did not know what decision Ethan would make.
“There’s no money down there, Ethan. Let’s bet on it.”
“Why should I?”
Why should he?
Ethan watched. The sun and the lake seemed perfectly still. I was the only thing moving. After a while, Ethan said, “Where do you think we should go next?”
“Bannion gave me lots of names, Ethan. We could stay busy for a long time.”
I decided to go faster and I hit the top of the box in just five minutes. Ethan hopped up at the sound of the shovel striking the wood. He wanted to come close to get a look, but I glanced up at him and that made him cautious.
I didn’t mind, because I was looking at Sampson and Hanrihan standing above him on the hill.
Sampson walked ahead of Hanrihan, which I did not like to see. When she was just a few feet above Ethan, she spoke up. “Drop your gun. Do not turn around.”
Everyone played their part in the dance: drop gun, hands up, drop shovel, turn around. I pointed out to Sampson that Ethan still had a gun in his belt. Sampson and Hanrihan came down to flat ground. Sampson picked up the gun Ethan dropped and put it in her belt. She came behind him and reached around and took the other gun from him. That move looked wrong. Ethan let her take it too easily. I was not happy.
Hanrihan noticed it, too. Sampson moved away from Ethan and said, “Which one is his?”
“The Beretta,” Ethan said. “Marines . . .”
“Who is this guy?” Hanrihan said. I was very unhappy.
Sampson looked at the gun in her hand, put it in her belt, took the other gun out, transferred it to her right hand. I watched it all. Hanrihan watched it all. It was the last thing he ever watched. She shot him in the head. Hanrihan staggered before he went down. His left foot stepped sideways and into the first grave. His other foot stayed out. His body lay across the grave like a broken plank. His gun fell from his hand on the ground on the strip between the graves where I stood.
“Why’d you bring him here?” Ethan sounded like a husband who just found out the neighbors were coming over for drinks.
“The lieutenant had to shoot him. And he has. Hello, Lieutenant. Surprised?”
“Surprised.”
“You guessed right and you guessed wrong.”
“We fooled him this time,” said Ethan. He went up to her and kissed her on the cheek and took one of the guns from her belt. He turned to me. “We didn’t know you would help us like that, telling Amy where you were going.”
“Amy.” Ethan had a way with women. “So all you had to do was let Hanrihan and me dislike each other and that gave you an excuse to track me.”
“That’s it,” she said.
“But why bother with me at all? Why not take it in a different direction that could never lead back?”
“That was Victor’s idea. He thought that FBI pressure would help him turn you.”
“Every little bit,” Ethan said.
“Get Hanrihan’s gun. We have to kill him with that one so it looks like they shot each other,” Sampson said.
“First let’s see what’s in the box,” Ethan said.
“We can open it ourselves, without him.”
“We don’t shoot him yet. We might
need him.”
Sampson looked at him and took her time about her answer. She was as deliberate and thoughtful there beside the graves, holding a gun, as she had been questioning me in an office or hotel room. “I don’t think we will need him. If there is money in the grave, then we’ve got what we want and we don’t need him. If there is no money, it’s safe to assume there is no money in any graves. At least none that we can get to. The Marines are digging up graves right now. They’re way ahead of us. This is pretty much it.”
She was right. I wished she would have spent more time explaining it so I could figure out a way to grab the gun near my feet.
Ethan did not like the argument. He shook his head and grimaced. The decision was being forced on him. “I don’t know. There’s definitely more. He even said so. Didn’t you?”
“I did. There is.”
“C’mon, Victor,” Sampson said. He was Victor to her.
“Ethan, you two keep discussing this, I’m going to starve to death.”
“Keep quiet.”
“I’m going to start digging, Ethan.”
Sampson was puzzled. “Who is Ethan?” she said.
“Ethan Williams. Didn’t you know?”
“Dammit.”
Sampson was controlled and methodical and she would get to that later. “Pick up the gun and let’s kill him and get going.”
“No, let’s wait on that,” Ethan said.
Sampson said, “I’ll do it.” She took one step and Ethan shot her. She fell and she shot him. I dove for Hanrihan’s gun and faced Ethan first, but he had dropped his gun. He was wounded in his right arm. Still on the ground, I turned and kicked Sampson’s gun from her hand. She was alive, but had been hit in the gut. She tried to speak but couldn’t make anything more than low sounds. Ethan was moving to pick up his gun. I shot next to him. He stopped.
I hopped up and faced him. This time I was not going to let him get away. “Get in the grave, Ethan. Get in. Now.”