His thoughts kept returning to Jason’s pleading eyes, begging him for time. He shuddered; a tear ran down his cheek. Anger smoldered within Ethan’s chest as he remembered the fear in those eyes – and the man who had taken Jason’s life: Agent Sean Abrams.
Boiling inside, he stopped at a red light. A sedan and a sports car whined by. Abruptly he punched the steering wheel, again and again, imagining Sean with each blow. He wanted the anger to go away, but even more so the feeling of helplessness – a deep abyss of emotion that rolled in his gut.
The light turned green. Ethan drew in a deep breath and pressed the accelerator.
Who will tell Amanda and Kallie? Are they going to believe I killed Jason? How would they ever know the truth? How would Kate know the truth?
The thoughts haunted him, hanging over him like a massive weight that threatened to crush him. Everyone he knew would soon be positive he was a domestic terrorist. A soulless murderer, a cancer. He had to set things straight. But how?
The building’s security cameras? Were the cameras working on that floor? Please have been on!
He thought back to entering that ill-fated fourth floor. He pictured the bare walls and exposed wiring, the naked sheetrock and steel beams.
Were there any cameras?
He squinted. Would they even have been on with all the construction work? He could only hope his luck was not entirely out.
Wait, the shooter. He had a tattoo… on his neck.
Ethan forced himself to replay those painful moments in his mind again. Jason staring up at him in shock replayed in his head. He tried to turn away, but his memories refused to let him. Willing his mind to move forward he saw the shooter. Asian. Blue and white coveralls. The tattoo on his neck.
A cross? No. Maybe a tribal pattern?
He focused. The details became clearer.
A dagger. A triple dagger.
Realization sparked in his eyes. It was the same dagger formation pinned to his tack board back in Norfolk. The same one that had appeared on a recording nearly a year ago when a North Carolina representative had been murdered in Raleigh.
Could it be the same man?
Without a means to dig deeper it was all useless speculation. But something told him it was more than speculation. If it was the same man, it could be the break in the case he and Jason had needed. Yet, right now it did him no good; it helped little to show his innocence.
Hopelessness seeped back in. He had to prove he had no part in the Congressman’s assassination. That he did not kill his best friend. He groaned at the thought. Everything was set against him now. He no longer had access to the Bureau, to law enforcement or any other tool that could prove his innocence. Instead they were hunting him down at this very moment as they would a hardened criminal. His most important task now was staying alive and under the radar.
Could the Bureau be involved?
The thought stung. He tried to push it away. It was maniacal to think the Bureau could be complicit in such a plot. They were far from perfect, but this was too much, too criminal. Yet, something deep inside him would not allow him rule it out. After all, it had been another Agent that had stabbed them in the back.
Ahead the traffic light turned red, and Ethan slowed the car to a stop. The roadside was adorned with more maple and oaks. Light poles stood erect on either side of the intersection. Power lines sagged over the road, feeding power to the houses and the few small business that peppered the area.
Under the radar… My old ID.
Ethan reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He opened it and examined the back fold with his finger until he found what he was looking for, a small loose thread. He took hold of the thread and gave it a firm yank. It moved. Again he pulled. Reeling in the rest of the thread, he revealed a small opening in the back of the wallet.
Pulling the flap open he poked his fingers inside and pulled out a North Carolina Driver’s License. It had been years since he had last seen the ID. He had placed it there for safe keeping, motivated by equal parts paranoia and nostalgia.
The picture showed Ethan, but the name was different: Matthew E. Killian. The Bureau had supplied him with the alias two years before, during a drug bust in North Carolina. The bust had gone as planned, and the Bureau had kept the alias active for future use.
Ethan had kept the ID hidden in his wallet. He never really could explain why. Over the years he had chalked it up as the result of too many conspiracy movies and books. His friends had joked that he must have been the only federal agent to mistrust the feds that much.
It was not that he mistrusted the feds, it was government in general that he held as incompetent. A fine belief for a federal servant.
The photo showed Ethan with dyed black hair, cut exceptionally short, almost military-like, and he sported a pair of thin rimless glasses. He stared at the picture for a few moments.
After a deep breath, he exhaled, “Looks like it’s time to become Matthew Killian again…”
Beep! Beep!
Ethan darted his eyes up to the rear-view mirror. He spotted a woman with her hands raised and waving in the car behind him. Her bright red lips moved swiftly. She was undoubtedly spitting out the foulest expletives she could think of, if her irate facial expressions were any clue. The light had turned green while Ethan had been examining his ID.
The woman’s horn blared once more as Ethan floored the accelerator. A quick squelch of rubber on pavement sounded out, and he was off. He buried his agitation. Hot-tempered drivers were the least of his worries.
As he drove, the thought of warning Kate slipped into his thoughts again. He needed her to know he was innocent that he did not do the horrible things the media was likely saying about him. At the same time he worried for her safety.
The Bureau would want to speak with Kate to find answers and dig deeper into the situation. That was good and hopefully could lead to a positive conclusion. The problem was Agent Abrams. Ethan feared he would be the one to question her and that he may want to use her in a much more sinister way.
The thought alerted a renewed sense of urgency. He reached for his phone and dialed Kate’s cell phone.
No. What are you doing? You can’t do that. You can’t use your phone.
He stopped in mid-dial, mentally chastising himself for the mistake. He stared at the phone, a virtual GPS. A tracking beacon.
He flipped the phone over and tore the back panel off before ripping the battery out. He slung them down on to the passenger seat like red-hot coals. Had he already given away his position?
Ethan’s eyes scanned his surroundings as he drove, paying close attention to the car behind him. It was an old Dodge sedan, crimson, with a dented front quarter panel. The woman behind the wheel had curly brown hair, bright red lip stick and wrinkles over her eyes. Her expression was only mildly less angry than it had appeared at the stop light a few miles back.
No, she’s civilian.
He continued to scan the area, both on the lookout and hoping for some solution to present itself. Two miles up the road he spotted another intersection. A few buildings stood to either side, too far away to make out.
The closer he got the more detail he could see. On the left just past the light was a small outlet strip. A beat up sign heralded a local mom and pop’s diner, a laundromat and a questionable looking pawn shop. On the opposite side of the road stood a small two-pump gas station. Coming up on the stop light he noticed a weathered glass booth set next to the road in the gas station parking lot.
Pay phone?
Ethan scanned the booth as he pulled closer. It was a pay phone. Ethan pulled past the traffic light and turned into the gas station. The station was old and in need of repair. Its exterior walls were covered in old wood paneling. It looked like the boards had been nailed up fifty years and received little maintenance since. Half rotted wooden stairs led up to the front porch. A large Budweiser sign hung in the window, flashing with bright LEDs.
Ethan pulled th
e Maxima past the two solitary pumps. He bypassed a mammoth red Chevy truck with a rebel flag flying behind the cab. Beyond the truck the parking lot was empty. He pulled to the edge of the lot a few feet from the pay phone and sat for several minutes.
Satisfied, Ethan opened the car door and walked up to the payphone.
CHAPTER 19
January 29 at 12:15 p.m. EST
Raleigh, NC – North Carolina State University
FBI Agent Accessory in Congressman’s Assassination, Murders Partner, read the Fox News headline on Kate’s screen.
She had just finished a set of advising appointments with a few less-than-eager undergraduate students when Martha had stepped in. It did not take long for Kate to realize why Martha had seemed so fidgety when she told her to check the news.
Kate was shaking. The euphoria of Ethan’s proposal juxtaposed with this unbelievable headline sent her mind and heart into a frenzy. Fear and confusion rushed in. The warmth of the room had become overwhelming, her thoughts chaotic.
It can’t be. It just can’t be.
It had only been yesterday that she had rushed into the department and announced her engagement to Ethan. Now, she stared at the screen in disbelief. She could not accept the words in front of her. She studied the article again, hoping to find she had misread or misinterpreted its text.
Democratic Congressman Thomas Burr of Richmond, Virginia was assassinated today at the Winter Meeting of the Democratic National Committee. While the sniper is still unknown and at large, the FBI has confirmed that one of their agents was complicit in the shooting.
Special Agent Ethan Shaw, 35, of Cape Charles, Virginia is on the run after allegedly preventing two agents from apprehending the suspect and keeping the FBI off the suspect’s trail. Shaw also allegedly took the life of his partner, Special Agent Jason Phelps, 35, of Virginia Beach and wounded another agent.
The FBI has denied any involvement in the shooting and stated they are doing everything within their power to find and bring the rogue agent to justice.
Who was behind the attack and what their motive is, is still uncertain. The FBI stated they have several leads, one being the pro-gun Georgia Militia group that is known for its violent political protests in the area.
Kate stopped reading and looked down at her trembling hand. A diamond glinted on her finger. She stared at the ring, afraid that it might vanish. For a second Kate considered removing it; a sliver of distrust breaching the confusion somewhere in the mix of swirling emotions.
Could it be true? Could I be in love with a deranged murderer?
No. She was sure there had to be an explanation.
Ring… Ring…
She jumped, almost screaming at the sound of her cell phone. Kate checked the phone display. Number Unavailable. Distraught, she let it ring. She had no desire to talk with anyone right now.
Ring… Ring… Ring…
“Ethan…” Kate uttered quietly. With a heavy heart, she read the claims in the story again. How could Ethan have done such a thing? Could he have? Her mind was racing, seeking and needing answers. The phone went dormant.
Kate turned her head away from the computer screen, shutting out the unwanted words. Her eyes wandered to a photo of Ethan and herself at last year’s Marine Corp Ball. She looked at the image. She looked into Ethan’s eyes – the eyes of a Marine, a man who had dedicated his entire life to serving his country. A man she knew to be honest and moral. A man she loved.
No. Ethan couldn’t have done it. There has to be another answer.
It all made no sense. Why would he do it? Kate worked the thoughts around her head. Ethan was well aware of how counter-productive the action in the news article were. He had conducted whole lectures on the topic for her class on counter-terrorism. The man the news described sounded nothing like the Ethan she knew.
Ring… Ring…
She reached for the phone and read the screen. Number Unavailable. She wrinkled her brow, her hands still shaking. Someone was persistent. She took a slow breath and slid her finger across the screen to activate the call, bracing herself.
“Hello. This is Dr. Kate Connors,” she said, trying to steady herself, to mask the quavering in her voice.
“Kate, it’s me. It’s Ethan.” His voice was hushed but urgent.
“Ethan?” she asked in disbelief. She recognized his voice immediately, but it still caught her off guard. “They said you…”
“I know, but I didn’t. You have to believe me,” Ethan cut her off and then paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “I was framed. I don’t know why, but I didn’t kill Jason or anything else they said I did.”
Kate was silent; she could hear the trembling in Ethan’s voice when he mentioned Jason. The sincerity and the depth of loss he felt. The two had been the best of friends.
“And I had nothing to do with the Congressman’s death,” he continued. “Jason and I went down to Georgia on a lead about the Congressman. It was another Agent down here. He shot Jason and then tried to kill me. He must have been cooperating with the shooter.”
The line was silent for a second. She could hear his breathing. She wanted to believe him; she wanted him to be innocent. No, she knew he was innocent.
But what if I’m wrong?
The thought killed her inside. For a moment she contemplated hanging up.
“Kate, you have to believe me. I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you. I would never put you through this on purpose.” Ethan pleaded with her, “I’m innocent, Kate. You have to believe me.”
“I do,” she whispered. I do. “I believe you, Ethan. I don’t know what’s going on, but I trust you.”
“It’s not safe for you to stay in Raleigh. Once they connect you to me they will come for you.” She sensed the urgency in his voice.
“Who, the FBI?” she asked.
“They will come, but I’m not worried about the Bureau. I’m worried about someone else. You need to pack your things, take as little as possible, and leave Raleigh as soon as you can.”
“Okay.”
“I need you to call Grayson and have him meet you somewhere outside of Raleigh. Don’t tell him what has happened until you reach him. Just have him tell Dante and Austin to meet us at the old safe house in Rockingham,” Ethan instructed her. “Kate? You got that?”
“Uh. Yes, I think so.” Confused, Kate asked, “What safe house?”
“Gray will know what I’m talking about. Are you sure you’ve got it? You have to be sure. You’re strong. But I need to know you’ll be safe.”
“Yes, I can do it,” she assured him, willing herself to push aside the fear.
For a moment neither of them spoke. Then Ethan broke the silence. “Tell no one you talked to me or where you’re going. Make up something if you have to, and after you call Gray don’t use your cell phone again. Take the battery out and leave it out.”
“Okay.”
Just like that, she was thrust into a situation she could never have prepared for, and she was scared. She was caught in the jaws of the unknown, awaiting the snares of whatever evils may come.
What if I’m wrong?
Quickly she shoved the thought aside.
“I love you, Kate. I’m so sorry to put you through this.” She heard the strain in his voice, the shaking. Kate wiped her eyes.
“I know. I love you, too.”
CHAPTER 20
January 29 at 1:10 p.m. EST
Smyrna, GA
The dull fluorescent light flickered, humming and crackling. The single bulb was the only source of light in the small, ill-kept gas station bathroom.
Ethan turned on the water, cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed his face with water. It was cold and refreshing. Water trickling down his face, he stared into the mirror and examined his jet-black hair. He retrieved a paper towel from the old metal dispenser to his left and began to rub his hair dry.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Ethan looked down
. He willed himself to stay strong. It felt pointless. His eyes drifted to a stack of supplies. Two first aid kits from gas station lay open on a plastic bag. Ethan had used most of the supplies in the first kit patching up his side and some wounds he did not realize he had.
Under the bag were a folded pair of blue jeans, an Atlanta Falcons t-shirt and a reversible jacket he had got at the local Salvation Army store. A small pack of disposable razors sat in the bag alongside a pair of black-handled scissors and an open box of cheap black hair dye. A pair of tennis shoes rested on the grungy, worn-out linoleum floor next to the toilet.
Ethan had found the shoes in the trunk of the Maxima, along with a set of jumper cables, a tire iron and an unopened pack of paper towels. The shoes were half a size too big, but they would do for now.
Minutes earlier he thought he had found the one thing that could prove his innocence. Ballistics. Sean had shot Jason, and when the FBI checked the rifling on the slug they would soon learn the truth. Yet, something inside told him he was wrong. Sean was smarter than that, he would have planned for it. He did not know how, but he was sure of it.
Looking in the mirror he assessed his altered appearance; smooth clean-shaven face, jet-black hair cropped short. He was amazed at how much younger he looked, and how different. Ethan frowned at the image in the mirror. He did not want this, but there was nothing he could do about it.
He leaned over and gathered the used items into a plastic shopping bag and placed them on the floor next to the tennis shoes. His jaw clenched, he slid off his pants. Every move hurt.
Ethan placed his hand on his side and examined the freshly applied bandage. The first gauze had already soaked up a lot of blood, but it would be okay for at least a few hours. It was his one small fortune that the bullet had only grazed him.
He had done his best to clean the area with an agonizing douse of rubbing alcohol. He glanced apprehensively at the covered trash can; inside were mounds of bloody paper towels. It would be hours before anyone took out the trash and noticed them. At least he hoped.
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