by Jordan Cole
“You know,” Dallas continued, “For driving seven hours out here to save your bacon.” Riley and Agatha sat side by side in the back seat, to reduce their visibility, but it was dark enough that they probably needn’t have bothered. Dallas clipped the highway back northeast toward DC, keeping a steady pace in the right-hand lane, the highway lights casting everything with a lantern-like glow.
“We are eternally grateful,” Agatha said. She sounded to Riley like she could sleep for two days straight, and he felt the same way.
“I might have only bought you a short reprieve. They’ll still be after you. And they’ll be wondering how in the hell you got away, especially after they find that car I’m assuming you stole.”
“We’re close,” Riley said, “to squaring this whole thing away.”
“Oh yeah? Clearing your name? That’d be a doozy.”
“Wait ‘till you hear the story.”
Riley filled in Dallas on the details: Fletcher, the training camp, Frazier and the whole conspiracy. Dallas listened, vocalizing occasionally with snorts and grunts of disbelief and astonishment. When Riley finished, Dallas was shaking his head, drumming his hands against the wheel.
“Well Clayton, if even half of that is true then it’s the wildest thing I’ve ever heard. But if all you’ve got is the word of a traitor terrorist, you’re probably going to need a tiny bit more to sway a grand jury.”
“That’s not all we’ve got,” Riley said. “We’ve got an FBI agent who believes my side of the story. He’s the one who led us to Fletcher in the first place.”
“You’ve got a Fed on your team?” Dallas flicked his cigar butt out the window, deftly lighting up a new one in a single, fluid motion. “Then what the hell am I doing all the way out here?”
“Because we need to be careful,” Agatha said, stifling a yawn. “Frazier likely torpedoed the case against Fletcher. If Metzer gets found out working with Riley, our last avenue of help goes away. Right, Riley?”
“Yeah,” Riley said. He was preoccupied, mulling it over in his head. Thinking about what Fletcher had said.
“Do you suppose,” he said, turning to Agatha, “That Fletcher knew more than he let on? About the proof Saccarelli had?”
“Why?”
“When he was talking about you as a backup. He seemed coy. Like he was holding something back. He was a computer genius, right? Before he saw the light of Islam. So maybe, Saccarelli asked him for help. Set up a dead hand system, so that the info would leak in case Saccarelli disappeared.”
The song changed. Golden Earring’s “Radar Love.” I been drivin’ all night my hands wet on the wheel.
“But Saccarelli did disappear, right?” Dallas said. “And the info never came out.”
“Maybe it did,” Riley said. “Maybe we just haven’t found it yet. Maybe Agatha’s the only one who can access it.”
“Fletcher would have told us.”
“Could be he was trying to. Between the lines. He’s still not a trusting guy. Kind of off. Maybe he thought he was spelling it out.”
“Doesn’t help you,” Dallas said.
“Not yet. But it could be the answer. The only one who can help us now is Metzer. We have enough to go on. He gets the FBI to hold off the local cops long enough for us to clear this up, maybe we can nail Frazier.”
“Or the FBI will just collar you themselves,” Dallas said, with a sardonic snort. “Serve you up right there on a silver platter.”
“Don’t see what choice we have. Otherwise we keep running in circles until we’re caught, and then we’re out of options. Frazier and his guys aren’t stupid. They’re not going to expose themselves when they’ve come this far.”
“Do it,” Agatha said. “They killed Peter and Liz. And God knows who else. We have to take them down.”
No quarter in her voice. Or her expression. Riley couldn’t argue. He’d thought the ordeal had changed her, but she’d pulled the gun on him, right from the beginning. Maybe Frazier hadn’t made a mistake getting Riley involved. Maybe his mistake had been going after Agatha.
Riley motioned to Dallas to lower the radio. The sounds of Golden Earring drifted away. He dialed Metzer’s cell from memory and waited. Metzer answered on the second ring, sounding frantic.
“Riley? That you?”
“It’s me.”
“Jesus Christ. I’ve been trying to get you for the past three days. You got rid of the other phone?”
“I’m on the run here, Metzer,” Riley said. “I’m not going to set up a dedicated line where anyone can reach me.”
“Knoxville police found your car,” Metzer said. “Throop tipped me off. They’re going to turn over the whole city, looking for you.”
“We’re past all that. Slipped the noose, for now. We’re heading east, back to DC.”
Riley heard Metzer breathe out. A sigh of relief.
“Christ. That’s good to hear. How the hell’d you manage that?”
“Got a ride from a friend.”
“You did? Who? Well, whatever, that’s not important. What’s important is you’re out of Knoxville. The local cops grab you there, I can’t help you any longer.”
“We found Fletcher,” Riley said. He could see outlines of barns in the thin night air, sloping hills where sheep and cows would graze in the daylight hours. Shadowy outlines of old buildings that could have been hundreds of years old, all occluded by darkness and shade, trees vibrating gently against an imperceptible breeze. Out here, they might have been the last three people in the Universe. A billion stars flickered overhead.
“Fletcher? Impossible. How? He dropped off the Earth’s face. What was he doing in Knoxville?”
“Remember when you said you thought there were deeper things swimming around in the water here?”
“Yeah.”
“You have no idea. What Fletcher said...if any of it’s true, it’s going to be the biggest deal you ever saw. You break this open, you’ll have the run of the Bureau. I guarantee you that.”
“We’ll worry about that later. For now, we need to get you and Agatha someplace safe.”
“You got any good ideas about that, I’m sure as hell listening.”
A slight commotion on the other end of the line, like Metzer was shuffling papers around.
“As a matter of fact, I think I might. There’s an FBI safe house about two hours west of DC. Empty right now, except for a watchdog who’s probably bored out of his mind. I can meet you out there, explain the situation. We can use it as a staging ground, to finish this thing.”
“You can authorize that?”
“I’ll take the heat for it. More important things than paperwork to worry about, right now. When can you get there?”
“Four hours,” Riley said. “Maybe a little longer.”
“All right. I’ll see you there.”
Metzer gave an address. 1587 Dispatch County road. An unincorporated area near the Allegheny Mountains, according to Dallas’s GPS system.
“What’s the plan?” Agatha asked, once Riley had gotten off the phone. He explained about the safe house. Leaned up to Dallas in the front seat. “Is that all right with you?”
“It’s fine with me,” Dallas said, flicking his cigar out the window. Glowing cinders of ash rolled in the taillights behind them. “But I’m not going to stick around. Tired enough as it is, with all this driving.”
Riley nodded. They drove on, sitting in near silence for the next half hour, crossing the border into Virginia. Dallas was attacking the throttle, opening up on the deserted twilight roads.
“Watch it,” Riley said. “Last thing we need is to get pulled over for speeding.”
“No asshole cop is going to pull me over,” Dallas said. Patted a radar detector near the dashboard that Riley hadn’t noticed before. Still, there was no reason to risk it. But Riley didn’t press the issue. They drove on, past Kingsport. The occasional headlights of an 18-wheeler or some late night motorist, screaming past them in the left lane. Ahead were signs for a high
way rest stop. Riley felt the Town Car slow, almost imperceptibly. Veering off toward the exit.
“What are you doing?” Riley asked. Dallas didn’t respond. Guided the town car along the exit ramp down a long sloping road, into a dark half circle completely shaded by trees, so that the road was no longer visible. A small rectangular building, two sets of bathrooms with a tiny visitor’s center packed in between them. Completely deserted. Only one fluorescent light, flickering with all the vitality of a terminal cancer patient. Dallas pulled in beneath the dying glow and killed the engine.
“What are you doing?” Riley said again.
“What does it look like? I’ve got to use the head. Been driving all goddamn night without a break. About to burst.”
“We don’t have time to be stopping,” Riley said. Agatha, who had been half-sleeping with her head pressed against the window, turned apprehensively. “We’re exposed here.”
“I’m sorry, Clay. Don’t really have much of a choice. I’ll be quick.”
Dallas climbed out and headed toward the darkened bathrooms.
“Great,” Riley said. His eyes unconsciously darting toward the tree line. Fatigue affecting him now, as well. Had been at least three days since he’d slept properly, and it was playing tricks on his mind. Shadowy figures emerging from the forest. He blinked and slapped his face. Just branches, swaying in the darkness. Five minutes passed. Then ten.
“You awake?” Agatha said.
“Just barely. What the hell is taking him so long?”
“Try and hang on. We’re almost there.”
A flash of movement to his left and Riley turned. He felt slow and heavy, like a cannonball rolling underwater. It was only a squirrel, darting up a telephone pole. Then a glow from the exit ramp where they’d come from. Another pair of headlights. Riley tracked them as they neared. His hand clasped firmly around the pistol. The vehicle was a dark pickup truck. It pulled in a few spaces over from them and the driver got out. A middle-aged guy with a long beard and a bandana. Wearing a tie-dye Grateful Dead shirt. He stretched out and flicked away a cigarette. Barely glanced at the Town Car before heading to the bathrooms. Dallas finally came out a moment later, and climbed back into the driver’s seat.
“The hell were you up to in there?” Riley asked. “Redecorating?”
“How’d you know? The decor was horrible. Figured I’d feng shui the place a bit. Prick.”
The engine started, and they pulled back onto the highway, to Riley’s great relief. Still some hours to go. As much as he willed his eyes open, the steady motion of the town car and the hypnotic flashing of the white lines on the road was too much, and he drifted into uneasy sleep.
***
“Rise and shine, cupcake.”
Riley awoke with a start, nearly banging into Agatha beside him, who turned and gave him a wry, lethargic expression. They were on a lonely rural road, a narrow dirt trail surrounded by red oaks and white dogwoods. The clock on the dash indicated it was a little after four in the morning. The GPS map blinked an error message, the words ‘searching for satellite’ displayed in white text overlaid. Dallas was driving slow, craning his neck like he was looking for something.
“Where are we?” Riley asked.
“Dispatch county road,” Dallas said, switching on the Town Car's brights. The darkness was near total. “Closing in on the address the Fed gave you. But the GPS gave out a few miles back. Pretty sure we’re going in the right direction, but hard to tell out here in the dark. Maybe you should give that guy a call.”
Riley opened his cell phone and dialed, but heard nothing.
“No service,” he said. “Something must be interfering with the connection.”
“I think we might be in the quiet zone,” Agatha said.
“What’s that now?”
“The US radio quiet zone,” Agatha continued, softly. “They restrict all communications coming in and out. I guess that would include GPS and cell phones. No wi-fi, either. Military intelligence type stuff. I know part of it is in Virginia. Would make sense an FBI safe house would be located here.”
“Where’d you hear about that?” Riley asked.
Agatha shrugged. “Discover magazine. Read an article. I figured you military contractors would know of it.”
“Not a clue,” Dallas said. “But there’s nothing much out here. By my calculations the next place we see should be it.”
“Real backwoods country,” Riley said, straining to see the landscape around him. “As far from the city as you can get.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if this was all an elaborate FBI sting?” Dallas said. The Town Car bounded over a ridge on the dirt road, its suspension bucking and shuddering. “The entire Bureau waiting for us with floodlights and Mossbergs? Wouldn’t that be a kick?”
“Yeah, Dallas,” Agatha said. “That would be hilarious.”
“Metzer was telling the truth about Fletcher,” Riley said. “He handed us the lead to Fletcher’s parents, which led us to Fletcher, ultimately. Unless Fletcher was also an undercover agent, playacting his role. Which seems unlikely. If that was the case, they would have nailed us in Knoxville for sure.”
“Just a joke,” Dallas said. “A pinch of levity. Feds wouldn’t bother with this setup, anyhow. They’d have shut down the highway with a roadblock, fifty miles back.”
“I’d invoke Murphy’s law,” Agatha said. “But it doesn’t seem like the time.”
Something appeared in the road ahead, a vertical shape, like a signpost. The headlights washed over it. An iron mailbox attached to a wooden stake in the ground. Dallas slowed the car to a near crawl.
“1587,” he said, reading off the painted numbers. “That’s the address.”
The mailbox stood at the head of an even narrower gravel driveway, trailing downward on a slight incline. Ahead was a clearing, and beyond that, Riley could just make out the dim silhouette of a building. Dallas turned right and crunched along the driveway, slowly. The building came into better focus. An old farmhouse, wider than it was tall, with a gabled roof and steps leading to a big porch supported by columns. A lantern burning overhead, above a thick white door.
“This is it,” Riley said. “Has to be.”
The driveway funneled into a wide circle of grass, directly in front of the house. Another car was parked off to the side, a sedan of some kind, too dark to make out the model. A flash of movement. Someone who had been sitting on the porch steps stood up. Illuminated in a dark outline by the lantern above. A man wearing a suit, waving an arm above his head in a friendly salute. It was Metzer.
“I recognize that guy,” Dallas said. “He was in my office, asking about you.”
“You were our liaison,” Riley said. “That’s Metzer, all right.”
“He’s lucky we found the damn place.”
Metzer jogged down the porch stairs and headed for the town car. Grinning and shaking his head, like he couldn’t believe they had finally made it. Dallas rolled down the window.
“Dallas Henderson,” Metzer said, leaning his balding head down level with them. “Thought I might find you here.” Metzer sketched a wave at Riley and Agatha.
“Agent Metzer,” Dallas said. “Guess the Bureau’s up late tonight.” Dallas extended his hand to shake. Metzer looked down at him, still smiling. His hand came out of his suit jacket.
Holding a Glock 17.
“Wait,” Riley said.
But Metzer didn’t. He pressed the gun against Dallas’s temple and fired twice.
28.
Two trigger pulls, in less than a second. Dallas never stood a chance. Riley darted forward, uselessly. No point. He couldn’t move faster than a bullet traveling 1400 feet per second. All he could do was watch as his friend jerked in his seat, blood spattering the windshield. The muzzle flash singed a jagged starfish pattern against Dallas’s head, and he slumped over onto the steering wheel. The horn honked once, weakly.
Agatha screamed.
Riley fumbled for his revolv
er with obscene slowness. Metzer leaned in through the window, shoving Dallas’s lifeless body out of the way. Holding his Glock level with Riley’s forehead. Agatha went instinctively for the door handle. A man appeared at her window, like a phantom from the darkness. Holding a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, slung tight around his shoulder. He yanked the door open and grabbed Agatha roughly by her blouse, dragging her out face first onto the grass. All Riley could do was watch. Molten fury roiling inside him. Were Metzer’s Glock an inch or two closer, Riley could have tried to make some kind of evasive move and engage him. Knock the pistol aside, get up in his face somehow. Attack with aggression and anger, without hesitation. A long shot, but better than nothing. But Metzer’s gun was just far enough that Riley was effectively paralyzed. No matter how fast he moved, Metzer could shoot him dead. It was over.
“Put your hands on the headrest in front of you,” said Metzer. His voice smooth and measured. Like he was instructing a junior agent on proper procedure.
“Fuck you,” Riley said. Sounds of a struggle to his right. He turned his head a fraction. Agatha was out of sight, on the grass somewhere, at the mercy of the man with the submachine gun.
“Put your hands on the headrest in front of you,” Metzer said again. No change in his tone. “Or you die right this second.”
Riley figured his odds of surviving until morning had dropped to roughly a thousand to one. But a one thousandth percent chance was still a chance, so he put his hands on the headrest. He might as well stay alive and see what happened next. Always the possibility someone who thought they were in complete control would make a mistake.
The man with the submachine gun came around to the driver’s side of the car. Aimed his gun through the rear window at Riley, while Metzer lowered his Glock and reached into his pocket. Not much a thin pane of glass would do to stop 9mm rounds from an MP5. Bullet deflection would be negligible. Maybe the first round would miss, ricocheting off the broken glass, but the next 29 wouldn’t. Riley’s eyes focused in the darkness. He recognized the man with the submachine gun. It was the camouflage guy, the one Riley had kicked in the face way back when. He wasn’t wearing camouflage tonight. Instead he was dressed in all black, with a black ski-cap to match. Riley could see the faint remnants of bruising on the guy’s face, a purple splotch around his forehead. Just concussed, after all. He scowled at Riley, real hatred on his face. Gaps where some of his teeth used to be. Payback time for him.