by Ben Follows
“Dimitri,” said Paul, raising his hands. “What are you doing? Think it through. If I end up dead they’re going to come straight for you.”
“I’m going after them anyway. They’re too quiet. It’s making me nervous.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“There are worse things.”
Dimitri pulled the trigger, and Paul’s shoulder flipped backward, blood spraying and his shirt sticking to the edges of the wound.
“Dimitri, what the fuck are you doing?”
Dimitri shot again, and again, Paul’s body snapping back from the point of impact. Paul stopped reacting and slumped to the floor, the life slowly seeping out of his eyes.
“Something is up,” said Dimitri, stepping over the corpse and walking to the door. “I’m going to solve this. Like a fucking detective.”
Chapter 49
The sun was barely over the horizon when Jake arrived at the airfield, leaving behind the stolen vehicle. The gate was opened without any questions or identification needed. There was a helicopter sitting on the far side of the tarmac. He walked toward it, his head panning back and forth to see if there were any other aircraft there, but he didn’t see any.
The pilot waved, and Jake arrived at the helicopter.
“Jake Lavelle?” the pilot asked.
“Yes,” said Jake, pulling himself up into the back seat. From here he could see there was a second person sitting in the cockpit. The second man turned and handed back a blindfold and an unlabeled pill bottle. Jake took it and casually shook out one of the pills into his hand. The second man passed him a bottle of water and he took a swig to wash the pill down before placing the blindfold on his face.
Just before the blindfold cut out his vision, Jake turned his head to the left and the right, wondering what Thompson had managed to set up. Jake couldn’t see anything, but he didn’t know whether that was good or bad.
He could feel the pill working as he slipped into unconsciousness, slumping onto the side of the seat. He could feel the copilot checking his pulse and slapping his face to make sure he was actually out cold and checking him for any weapons. He had none. That was the last thing he remembered.
Chapter 50
Thompson stood at the back of the FBI control room, squeezing the back of the chair in front of him. The room was abuzz with activity as intelligence officers tried to keep the satellite trained on the helicopter taking off from the airfield.
Thompson wasn’t sure how he felt about Jake’s stunt, but he couldn’t think of a better idea and knew that Jake was right. Cassandra was never going to talk. He had spent almost the entire night awake, trying to think of something else, unsuccessfully. So, at 3:00 a.m. he had called Kathryn Landy and explained the plan.
She had been hesitant at first, just as she had been with the initial plan until they had made a deal, but the urgency had forced her to make the decision quickly, and she had been ready by six with a complete team.
Landy stood beside him, overlooking the room with calm and steady eyes. She didn’t drink coffee or tea, which blew Thompson’s mind. He couldn’t imagine surviving this job without a steady stream of caffeine. He himself had moved the coffee machine from the break room into the surveillance room for the sole reason of never having to leave to get more. If he could have injected it intravenously, he would.
“They’re taking off,” said one of the agents.
Thompson looked up at the main monitor, which showed a satellite view of the helicopter taking off, its rotors speeding up until they took off and headed south. On another screen was a satellite view of the storm systems covering the United States. The midwest had a few storm fronts that might impede their view, and the southeast was experiencing early hurricane warnings, but with any luck they would be able to use the satellites to track Jake’s helicopter all the way to his destination.
Of course, that all depended on where The Compound was.
“You better hope this works,” said Landy. “If we lose him, we might end up with nothing but a guy who disappeared and his rants.”
“We’ll find it. And it’s not just his rants. We have the bunkers, and Janet’s story.”
Landy laughed. “I wish I was as certain as you are.”
“We’ll find it. Jake said they mostly work in the United States, with some occasional jobs in Canada and Mexico. If it’s in North America, we’ll find them eventually. But I think we’ll find it today.”
Landy nodded. “If they go into Mexico, it could turn into an international incident.”
“We’ll deal with that if it happens.”
They watched the video feed as the copter took off and flew south along the east coast. At no point did it make any effort to get clearance or notify any towers of its location. It appeared as though the pilot was doing an expert job of staying away from anywhere he could be tracked, taking a swerving route through Virginia and Maryland before turning to the right, briefly flying over New Jersey. The helicopter turned back toward the north and the storm front centered over Minnesota. The entire process took a few hours, during which Thompson took more than a few trips to the coffee machine.
“Are they trying to lose us?” said Landy.
“They can’t be,” said Thompson, finishing his coffee. “It must be routine. Never be too careful.”
“We’ll lose them in that storm.”
“Do we have any units in that area? Aircraft that can keep an eye on them?”
“Trucks only.”
“Send them. Get local police involved too.”
“What’s that going to do? By the time they scramble, it will be in someone else’s jurisdiction.”
A few dots appeared on the map as FBI vehicles mobilized, following the last known site of the helicopter. In the control room they had low-resolution video feeds from passengers of the cars as they followed the helicopter into the dark clouds of a forming storm.
The video feed began breaking up, giving them only momentary glimpses of the helicopter. Rain began coming down on the trucks, disrupting the video feed even more.
Then the video feeds went dark for fifteen minutes. Thompson grabbed a cup of coffee, his hands shaking. When the video feed came back, they were treated to a tirade of curses by the camera operator.
“Driver,” said Landy into the mic, “you’re being recorded.”
“Sorry about that,” said the woman’s voice. “We lost them. This storm is getting dangerous. That pilot is batshit crazy to fly through this.”
Thompson cursed and threw his coffee cup onto the ground with a loud crash, sending shards of the cup and coffee everywhere.
He turned back to the control room. “Watch the edges of the storm. I want to know where they come out.”
The control room went to work.
Landy stepped up beside him. “What if The Compound is under the storm?”
“Then we’ll have a smaller search area.”
Landy nodded thoughtfully. “When this is over, you need some sleep.”
“They killed Emerson. I’ll sleep when I get to see him again.”
They looked over the control room again and waited for the video feeds to find something, either from the trucks or the satellites. It was almost forty-five minutes later—the longest forty-five minutes of Thompson’s life—that they found it.
“I’ve got it!” shouted one of the agents in the control room. “North side of the storm. Looks like they’re headed for Canada.”
Thompson jumped up and looked at the satellite image on the main screen. The same helicopter that had left the airfield in Massachusetts was headed for Canada.
“Why would they go so far out of their way?” said Landy. “Are you certain they don’t know we’re following them?”
Thompson hesitated before speaking. “I can’t imagine how. Based on what Jake told us, it makes sense they would take a convoluted route, just in case their passenger wakes up. He still has a blindfold, so he can’t see anything and will most likely judg
e the length of the trip more than trying to keep track of exact directions.”
“What’s the update?” said Landy to the control room.
“They look like they’re coming down about a hundred miles north of the Canadian border, in the middle of a lot of dense forest. Doesn’t look like there aren’t any roads with access. Nearest major city is Winnipeg.”
“Is it a compound?”
“Have a look, ma’am.”
The image came up on the screen at the front of the room, and Thompson fist-pumped the air. “We’ve got them.”
The image depicted a square, walled-in area with walls that must have been at least fifty feet high. Inside were dozens of buildings, what appeared to be a small town. People walked between the buildings. There was a pad in the northwest corner of the compound where the helicopter was landing. Trees stretched overhead, almost completely hiding it from the view of planes and satellites. If someone didn't know what to look for, they would never find it.
“My god,” said Landy, putting her hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe we’ve never found this before.”
“There’s a lot of the world we’ve never seen,” said Thompson, putting a hand on her shoulder, “just because we’ve never bothered to look.”
Landy glared at him, and he removed his hand.
“We’ve got them. Kathryn, we’ve got to move on them.”
Landy nodded, readjusting her hair. “Start putting a team together for a strike force. If they’re as trained as Jake and the others were, you need a good strike force. Pull anyone you want who’s on active duty. This is the FBI’s number one priority right now. I’ll deal with the Canadian government. They’ll probably want to put some of the RCMP and CSIS on it as well.”
Thompson nodded and turned to the exit, a skip in his step. “This is for you,” he whispered, imagining that Emerson was watching.
“Agent Thompson?”
Thompson turned back to Kathryn, knowing what she was going to say.
“Are you prepared to do what we agreed once this is over?”
Thompson hesitated for just a second. “I am.”
Kathryn nodded. “Make sure you are.”
Chapter 51
Jake woke in a hospital room. There were the sounds of children playing outside the window. He climbed out from under the white sheets, feeling a momentary light-headedness, and pulled back the curtains on the window. He wore no weapons, making him feel naked, even though he wore a white t-shirt and track pants.
He looked out over The Compound in which he had lived almost his entire life. It was only place he had ever considered home. Buildings were scattered around the edges of The Compound, around the training grounds in the center, which included everything from shooting ranges to sparring rings to basketball courts. Jake recognized a few teachers walking among the children, their hands behind their backs and their expressions apprehensive. Jake guessed that it must have been about four in the afternoon.
Mr. Jacobsen, the close combat teacher, walked through rows of children in the center of The Compound. The children couldn’t have been older than ten, yet they fought with an intensity and viciousness that would have been confused with feral by a stranger.
Jake had never considered this training abnormal until now. After being in the outside world it seemed strange, barbaric even.
This was a place where it wasn’t odd for eleven-year-olds to be proficient with AK-47s and rocket launchers. More than that, the most skilled were applauded and praised, given the best food and lodgings in order to foster a competitive atmosphere.
Then half were killed to prove the others half’s loyalty.
Jake had never wondered where he had been taken from, who his true parents were, or where he was born. It wasn’t a thought he kept to himself; he just had never thought of it. But now it dominated his mind, pushing out everything else.
The door opened. Jake spun and took up a defensive stance.
“You still have your instincts, I see,” said a heavyset woman, stepping into the room.
“Mrs. Paula,” said Jake, straightening.
He walked toward The Compound’s head doctor, the closest thing he had ever had to a mother. He stopped a few feet from her, then paused, swallowing. He was unsure what to do now that he outranked her.
Mrs. Paula smiled. “You can hug me. I won’t tell anyone.”
Jake pulled her into a hug, breathing in her scent and looking over her shoulder. He could feel her warmth, and he couldn’t help but feel at home.
He looked up over her shoulder at the white wall and thought of Doug. He swallowed hard. There was no going back anymore.
But he had never considered that Mrs. Paula might die in the attack, or any of the others he’d grown up with. Jake didn’t know whether or not she had a poison tooth implant, but he wouldn’t have been surprised.
He pulled gently back from her, letting her arms slide around him as he stepped back. He wiped a tear from his eye.
He took a deep breath and felt his resolve returning.
Another string of questions came into his head. How many children had Mrs. Paula groomed for death? What was her involvement? She had to know what was happening, but what were her thoughts on it? Why didn’t she do something about it?
Mrs. Paula smiled at him, and he knew the answer. She was the same as he had been. She had never considered another option for her life. He turned his back so she wouldn’t see his contorted and troubled expression. He walked back to the window and looked out. He thought about what was going to happen. He may as well be bulldozing the homes of a civilization with no concept of technology. They wouldn’t understand what was happening. Or why.
“Pardon?” he said, realizing Mrs. Paula had said something.
“The director instructed me to take you to him when you woke up. Sounded important.”
“Yes,” said Jake, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Let’s go.”
Mrs. Paula led him out of the room and down the hallway to the exit. They walked across the compound, through the fighting children and the instructors who nodded respectfully as he passed. They had never done that when he was a student, but as a field agent he now outranked them.
The director's office was located in the only building in The Compound with a distinctly peaked roof; the others were sloped just enough for rainwater to run off. The roof was red, which contrasted with the black of the walls.
Guards were posted on both sides of the door. Mrs. Paula stayed back as Jake approached. “Good luck, Jake,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said absentmindedly as the guards opened the double doors. He walked through the doors, making a tangible effort not to look back as the doors shut behind him. To the left were the offices of the academy, where they received requests from criminals who wished to disappear and where the agents assigned to setting up criminals in their new identities—movers—picked up the paperwork. It was also where the cleaners—those of Jake’s persuasion—were given their orders.
Jake walked to the staircase on the right that led up to the second floor. The last time he had walked these stairs, Doug was at his side, both of them excited at the prospect of meeting the director.
Jake had walked down the stairs alone.
His certainty returned as he walked the steps. This was revenge, and he was going to go through with it even if it killed him.
He reached the top and felt drained. There was only one door in front of him, and it was a door he had dreamed of knocking on for most of his life.
He knocked twice, looking up at the camera above and to the right of the door.
The lock clicked open, and he heard a voice he knew well say, “Please come in.”
Jake glanced back as he entered, wondering where Thompson and the FBI were. He wouldn’t be able to keep up the charade forever.
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, gathering his courage to look up at the man who had killed the only people he’d ever thought of as family.
The director sat behind the desk. He was tall, with only the beginnings of the weight people tend to gain as they age. He had stark white hair. He did not stand as Jake entered.
Jake bowed to him. “Director, thank you for seeing me.”
The director nodded and pointed to the two plush red chairs in front of his desk. Jake took a seat, noticing the chair was a few inches lower than the director’s own chair, further accentuating their height difference.
The director smiled. “So, Jake. You have a story to tell me about why I should call off the order to have you killed?”
Jake swallowed. “I know it’s hard to believe, Director, but it’s the truth. I wouldn’t be alive if I thought otherwise. I would have retired myself for my failure. The mission was completed, despite’s Harold’s efforts to the contrary. Do you mind if I start at the beginning?”
“Go ahead.” The director leaned back and interlaced his fingers over his stomach. “I absolutely love a good story.”
Jake nodded, clearing his throat as he told his tale, starting on the night that he had arrived in Crescent Point wasted. The director confirmed Jake’s suspicion that being drunk was not part of his test, that it had been a setup for Harold’s plan. Substances were only used for infiltration of drug dens or the like. The director apologized for interrupting and urged Jake to continue.
Jake told the story in extraordinary detail, trying to buy as much time as possible for Thompson and the FBI. He didn’t know how long it would for them to get there, or whether they even knew where he was. He hoped everything had gone according to plan.
When he spoke of Sarah’s death at the factory and the subsequent explosion, he was beginning to get concerned the FBI would never arrive. He made sure to say all the same lines that had been drilled into his head and which Sarah had told to him during their brief time together—that he wasn’t good or bad, he just was, that it was the only thing they knew how to do.