Ethan focused on recalling his dream and committing the details to memory before they fragmented and slipped away. An image resurfaced. A black-and-white image on a computer monitor; it was the security feed from the North Carolina representative’s murder nearly a year ago. Stunned curiosity sent his eyes wide.
“It can’t be,” Ethan said to himself. He had watched the video nearly a hundred times since the case had opened. He had scanned every detail, searched for any small clue, but not until now did the dots start to connect.
He replayed the scene in his head. An unknown man calls out to Representative Daniels, but the representative is in a hurry and runs off. The man turns to walk away and his face becomes visible to the camera.
Eyes petrified in place, Ethan stared out into a blank wall. Surely not. He froze the image in his mind; peering into those familiar icy eyes. It was Agent Sean Abrams.
“Abrams?” Ethan questioned as though someone else would answer back in the empty room. Could it be? Was Abrams the passerby he and Jason had dismissed? Had he been complicit in the representative’s murder?
A chill traveled down his spine at the thought.
It seemed too great a coincidence. Ethan wondered if he had simply projected Abrams into his dream as some reflection of the deep-seated ire he held against him. It was too soon to jump to conclusions. He needed to watch the security footage to be certain.
Too keyed up to go back to sleep, Ethan slid out of bed and slipped into a plain grey t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans and tennis shoes. He rummaged through the pockets of his jeans until he produced a small memory storage device. He eyed it for a moment with a sigh before slipping it back into his pocket. Stepping carefully, so not to wake Dante who was sacked out on the couch, Ethan entered the living room.
Stepping into the kitchen, he welcomed the heat of the waning fire as he waved a silent good morning to Austin. Each footstep elicited a creak from the old wooden floors. A sudden impulse came over him to tell Austin about his dream, but he decided against it. He needed to ground himself first.
“There’s a pot of coffee on the counter,” Austin whispered, nodding to the clear pot near the sink. His eyes appeared alert despite staying up half the night to keep watch. Must be good strong coffee, Ethan figured.
“Thanks,” Ethan responded as he picked up the pot and poured a cup, sniffing the earthy aroma. “I’ll keep watch now, Austin. You get some sleep.”
“Aye,” Austin answered without complaint in what was left of his Scottish accent, and left the kitchen to take a nap on the unoccupied couch.
Ethan took a sip of coffee, letting its warmth roll through him. He needed to get his head straight before getting into the old security feeds. As cold as it was, he wanted the fresh air and solitude of outdoors. He plucked his jacket off the coat rack by the main door and threw it over his shoulders. Quietly he opened the door and walked out onto the porch, careful not to let the door slam behind him.
A chilling rush of mountain wind greeted him, stinging his cheeks as it whipped by. Bracing himself against the cold, he zipped up his jacket and stepped up to the railing. He leaned against the sturdy wood, watching his breath rise like white smoke in the crisp air.
He peered out across the open lawn to the towering evergreens and naked oaks and maples that formed the perimeter, taking a sip of coffee. Everything was so stark, so barren. Ethan thought that his life felt a lot like winter: gloomy, cold and bleak.
Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a single white snowflake. It floated lightly through the open air, caught by a gust of wind and then set free again to fall to the ground and disappear. Then another tiny flake and another fell from the sky. Soon hundreds of snowflakes gently fell all around the cabin, noiselessly touching the ground. Gradually the world began to frost white.
Even in the seemingly desolate and lifelessness of winter, here was something beautiful. Ethan placed his cup on the railing and stepped down the porch stairs to savor the white flakes. Closing his eyes, he let the delicate chilly flakes fall on his face and neck, melting to nothing as they touched his skin. He sighed and the traces of a smile crossed his lips as another chill wind swirled the snow around him.
Hope, Ethan. There is always hope, he could imagine Jason telling him. Jason had always been the more positive of the duo.
Ethan had lost sight of that hope. He had become mired in the horrifying reality of his situation, had allowed himself to dwell persistently on the negative. He could not let go of hope, not if he wanted to see Kate again. Not if he wanted to see justice carried out. There was always hope.
With a renewed sense of purpose, Ethan hiked back up the stairs, loaded his arms with firewood and walked back into the cabin. He laid the wood delicately into a small bin beside the chimney, checking to make sure he did not disturb Austin and Dante. He took two of the logs and laid on the dying fire. With a piece of kindling he gently nursed the flames back to life, letting the heat radiate up and through him.
Satisfied with the fire, he retrieved his cup from outside and went back to the kitchen to refill it. Warmth gradually returned to his toes. He sighed as the last remnants of cold were expelled.
If only Kate were here. If only I could be sure she was safe. I don’t even know where she is.
The ever-present chain of thoughts beset him as he sat at the small wooden table. He took in a deep breath and exhaled.
How do I prove my innocence? I ran from the FBI, I stole a car, I shot an agent. What do I have to show I was framed?
Then he remembered the dream.
Ethan bailed from his seat and jogged into the living room past Austin’s now snoring body. He snatched up Austin’s computer bag and jogged back into the kitchen, the floor creaking loudly with each step. Austin and Dante stirred on the couches, muttering indistinct noises and yawning.
Dante sat up and looked around blankly like the reanimated dead. “Good morning,” he croaked, addressing the room at large, then voiced another massive yawn.
Ethan was oblivious to the greeting. He opened the laptop computer on the kitchen table, pressed the power button, and waited impatiently for the computer to boot.
Ethan grunted in irritation as a login prompt came up on the screen. He turned and looked at Austin, who still lay sleeping on the couch. He was loath to wake him up so soon.
“What is it?” asked Dante.
“I need Austin’s login and password. I don’t suppose you know it do you?” Ethan replied in a whisper.
Still half-asleep Dante stared blankly for a moment. “Like he'd tell me. Austin! Hey!” Ethan put a finger to his lips and made a swiping gesture across his neck in a vain attempt to shut him up. But Dante was already roughly shaking Austin from his short nap.
“Austin! Hey! What’s your login, dude?”
Austin suddenly came to; he squinted his eyes, blinking away the scant fifteen minutes of sleep he had been allowed. “Huh?” he squawked as he jumped to his feet, abruptly on high alert. “What is it?”
“I need your login,” Ethan explained sheepishly.
“Huh?”
“For your computer. I need to check some videos, but I can’t get on your computer without your login,” Ethan continued to explain.
“Youtubing on the run, huh?” Dante quipped.
Austin stretched his arms. “Alright. Something up?”
“Maybe,” said Ethan, as the two walked into the kitchen. “That’s what I’m about to find out.”
Austin sat down to type in his ID. Soon the familiar desktop design filled the screen.
“It’s all yours.” Austin turned the laptop around facing Ethan.
Ethan took the mini-USB from his pocket and shoved it into the computer. Moments later a box popped up on the screen and then another as Ethan clicked away, navigating folders and files until he found the video file he was looking for.
Promptly a media player launched, and they were watching a black and white video feed showing a dark alleyway. A lone well-dressed
figure stood at the upper right corner of the street waving at someone.
No, that’s the wrong video. I need the other angle.
He was about to change the video when the murderer came into view. Ethan was mentally transported to the encounter with the shooter in Georgia, and the glimpse of a tattoo that had seemed so familiar to him. Why had he not thought to check earlier? He focused on the man walking up the street, anticipating the moment he had watched a hundred times before. As the man passed under a street lamp, a sliver of light revealed the man’s bare neck just below the line of the figure's hood. Ethan paused the frame. There it was, the same tattoo.
There was no doubt in his mind that they matched. He had run the tattoo through every database he could find and not once had he hit a match. It could not be a coincidence.
Could the suspect in North Carolina be the shooter in Georgia?
Ethan balked at the revelation; maybe the cases were connected after all. But what about Abrams and his dream?
Was his mind playing tricks on him, or was his dream simply a memory? Had it connected the dots for him in his subconscious?
Austin stood behind Ethan as he watched. “What are you watching those for?”
“I couldn’t figure it out earlier, but the shooter in Georgia…” he paused a second, “I think he is the same man who killed Representative Daniels in North Carolina last year, and I think Abrams may have been involved. They may even be connected to the others cases Jason and I were following.”
Austin stepped back, raising an eyebrow at the idea. “You really think so?”
“This tattoo,” Ethan continued, pointing to the mark on the man’s neck frozen on the screen. Austin leaned in to see the mark. “That’s the same tattoo that the assassin in Georgia had.”
“I bet it’s not as cool as mine,” Dante joked from the couch, his eyes closed again, feigning sleep. Austin and Ethan continued to ignore him.
Austin’s interest was piqued. “Is there any way to show he was in Georgia, at the scene?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. The floor he used was cordoned off for renovations and he was wearing worker coveralls. They planned well. He may have been filmed on one of the lower floors or the stairwells. But it’s a long shot considering how well he avoided the cameras in North Carolina and D.C.”
“Sugar? Do we not have any sugar?” Dante had finally rolled off the couch and wandered into the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. He shut the cabinet and moved to the refrigerator. “And no milk, what do you know.”
“D.C.?” Austin asked, not easily distracted.
“The Gregory Teague case, a journalist. There were several cases we were working on that we believed to somehow be connected. But we could never substantiate that.” Ethan sighed. “Until now maybe. The tattoo may prove the murders are connected, but it doesn’t identify the killer and it certainly doesn’t prove I wasn’t cooperating with him. It doesn’t seem to help us much now, at least not yet.”
Dante was listening now, grimacing as he sipped on the black coffee. Ethan continued, “But I think I may have something else.”
He minimized the video and scanned a few more filenames. “I think this is it,” he said as he clicked another video file. Ethan hit the play button, and the feed came to life. Silently the representative walked down the street away from the camera.
“What are we looking for?” Austin asked as he watched over Ethan’s shoulder. Dante remained quiet, realizing that maybe now was not the time for jokes.
“I’ll know when I see it, just hold on.” Ethan said, reluctant to explain his dream. He watched as the second man appeared in the video, breaking into a trot to catch up with the representative about ten feet ahead. Ethan moved closer to the screen and focused intently on the man, the mouse pointer hovering over the pause button.
Finally the man turned back down the street, facing the camera. Ethan paused the video, his eyes fixed on the familiar face. It was Abrams.
“You alright, Ethan?” Dante asked, seeing the color drain from Ethan’s face. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
He pointed at Abrams on the computer screen without turning to face Dante or Austin, his voice certain, “That’s Agent Abrams.”
“Whoa, what?” Austin asked, confused.
“The guy who shot you in Georgia?” asked Dante. “Are you sure?”
“I’m damn positive,” Ethan said without hesitating. “That’s Abrams.”
Ethan did not taken his eyes off the computer. The image on the screen made him seethe with anger. Abrams had been involved all along, practically within Ethan’s grasp, had he but known it.
Behind them a door creaked open and Gray came stumbling out, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I heard you all out here talking. What’s—” Gray began, then saw the stunned look on their faces and finished flatly, “up?”
Ethan summed up the revelations. “Agent Abrams is playing both sides, as we already know. But it seems he has been doing it a while. He was in the crime-scene video feed of the representative that was murdered a year ago down in Raleigh.”
Gray faintly remembered the case. He knew it was one that Ethan and Jason had been working on with little success, but otherwise he was not entirely familiar with the details.
“And the suspect in North Carolina,” Ethan paused. “He’s the same man that killed the Congressman in Georgia yesterday. At least I’m nearly positive.”
“A team?” Gray asked, his brow wrinkling.
“It looks that way,” Ethan replied, “but not for the Bureau.”
Dante lowered his head in amazement. “This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it?”
Ethan shook his head in reply and then turned his attention to Austin, who was sitting next to him wide-eyed. “Is there any way you can find out some information for me on Abrams?”
“Uh… Possibly. What do you need?” Austin stammered, still trying to take it in.
“I need to know why Abrams was in Raleigh last year when the North Carolina rep was murdered. I need to know any orders he had from the Bureau in the weeks before and after—where he went, who he talked to. Anything you can find.” Ethan paused a moment, thinking.
He had to pull the pieces together, just as he would in any other investigation—with one critical difference: this time, it was his own life and those of his friends that were at stake. Their time was running out.
“If you can get that for me, and the same information for this past week, I think that may help.”
“I’ll try,” Austin said. His hesitant tone conveyed little confidence. Ethan vacated the chair and Austin sat down and did his work regardless.
With eyes downcast, Ethan walked back into the living room. His mind was working at hyper speed, but his thoughts were disjointed. Could this be the break we needed? He wondered how many of his cases the two had been involved in. If only I had gotten this far in solving the case before Jason was killed, and Kate—
Suddenly his attention was diverted by an unusual cracking noise.
“You okay, Ethan?” Dante asked as Ethan stared at the front door. There was a brief silence.
“I’m fine, it’s nothing.” Ethan shook his head and rubbed his eyes, dismissing the noise. Processing the new information had ramped him up, made him jumpy.
“We need to start talking plans, guys,” Gray started. “We’ve got a lot to figure—”
Ethan raised his hand, signaling Gray to hush. He tilted his head, listening. Confused, Gray raised his hands and silently mouthed a question, “What is it?”
Crack.
Gray heard the cracking of wood coming from outside just as Ethan pointed toward the front door. Ethan met Gray’s gaze and nodded. Somehow they understood each other.
“Austin, pack your gear,” Gray whispered, nodding to the laptop on the table. “We need to get out of here, fast.”
All four of them scurried as quietly as possible around the cabin to gather their supplies. They
each returned to the small living room with packs strapped to their backs and a pistol in hand, except Dante, who had a pistol at his waist and a 12 gauge tactical shotgun held high and tight to his shoulder.
Ethan stepped up to the window next to the front door, leaning flat against the wall. Slowly he slipped a finger between the window and blinds and peeked out. There were two men in black suits on the porch standing to either side of the door, posturing to enter with guns drawn.
“The tunnel,” Ethan mouthed silently to the others, while pointing with two fingers toward the kitchen. They had to get out, or fight.
Creak.
Ethan’s attention shot to the door. The knob was turning.
CHAPTER 33
January 30 at 7:50 a.m. EST
Blowing Rock, NC
Bang!
The door ruptured inward, a burst of wood splinters showered the floor.
“Freeze, FB..” an agent yelled into the room Ethan’s twisted and rammed his elbow in to the man's nose. The agent jerked back. His tall figure slammed to the ground and his gun collapsed onto the wood planks of the porch.
The second agent, eyes covered by a pair of dark glasses matching his complexion, raised his service weapon and took aim at Ethan. As he pulled the trigger Gray shoved his entire weight into the agent, knocking him back out onto the porch.
A loud bang echoed by Ethan’s head as wood splintered past his neck. His ear burnt with a high pitch ringing, but he ignored it, shaking off the shock.
Getting to his knees, Gray swung out at the man, snapping his head to the side, knocking him out. Gray took a quick glance up. To his left, the first agent was getting his composure back, his nose bloodied. Out past the porch railing Gray counted three more men in black suites before jumping to his feet and connecting his foot with the side of the agents jaw. The man reeled back, body slack against the porch, unconscious.
They'll Call It Treason Page 15