Dire Distraction

by Dee Davis

  “My expert says the photo is real.”

  “It is. Or at least most of it is. It was taken just before she flew to Iraq. We were in Germany at the air force base. Ramstein. Check the upper-right-hand corner. You can see the edge of the tarmac just outside the hanger.”

  He held out the photo, and Avery took it, studying it again carefully. Shrum was right. If you knew where to look you could just make out the building’s opening and the runway beyond. He should have caught it. But he’d been too caught up on the idea of Evangeline being alive. Of Shrum with his wife. It was a cardinal mistake—letting emotion get in the way of logic.

  “Feeling sort of foolish?” The question held no malice. Only sadness. As if Martin too had wished it to be true.

  “But the date on the calendar.” Hope was slow to die, and Avery realized that despite his brain telling him this was going to be the outcome, a part of his heart had bought into the idea—no matter the consequences.

  “Obviously that’s been manufactured.”

  “But you look older here,” Avery insisted. “Certainly not the way I remember from back then.”

  “Remember being the key. It’s been a long time. You see what you want to see. Or, I don’t know, maybe they doctored my face too. But, look at me, Avery. Really look. I’m not the man in that photo. I haven’t been for a hell of a long time.”

  Avery shifted his attention from the photo back to Martin, and for the first time, the true implications of what he was seeing sank home. Martin was really sick. And whatever it was, it hadn’t just happened. There was no way he could be the man in photo. At least not now. Not this Martin.

  The photo was a lie.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Avery asked, sinking back onto the sofa again, his thoughts whirling.

  “Pancreatic cancer. How about that for a laugh? Considering all the risks I’ve taken over the years. Shit, I missed out on dying, by seconds, dozens of times. And then in the end, it’s my own body that fails me.”

  “Isn’t there anything they can do?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Stage three. It’s just a matter of time. Months now, so they tell me.”

  “So you’ve seen a doctor.”

  “Hell, yes. Six to be precise. I never said I was going down without a fight. But they’ve done all they can.”

  They sat for a moment in silence, the differences between them dimmed momentarily by the reality of their own mortality.

  “You’ve done well,” Martin said, finally. “I’ve watched your career. I wasn’t kidding. I do have eyes and ears on the Company. You can’t work that long for someone and not keep abreast.”

  “But you gave it all up”—Avery waved a hand at the room—“for this. Why? You were at the top of your game. And you just walked away. Surely you know that Evangeline wouldn’t have approved of what you’ve become.”

  “You’ve no idea what I’ve been doing. Like I said before, you see what you want to see.”

  “Meaning what?” Avery asked, pushing to his feet again, frustrated.

  “Meaning, that for you, everything has always been black and white. Good and evil. And I’m here to tell you that it’s all about the different shades of gray.” Martin squared his shoulders and for a moment, Avery could see the man that he had been. “When Evangeline died, I swore I was going to find out who was responsible for her death.”

  “So did I. For God’s sake, she was my wife. I did everything I could to find out the truth about what happened.”

  “Everything within the limits of what you considered right. But I went farther than that. I found a way inside the belly of the beast. A way to reach the people who had the answers. Moving drugs was my way in. And if I had to sell my soul in the process, then so be it.”

  “And did you find answers?”

  He deflated again, his frame shrinking before Avery’s eyes. “No. I came close, but then I got sicker and I…” His voice trailed off, fading to a whisper.

  “So all of this was for nothing. You sold your soul, and you got nothing.”

  “Well, at least I tried,” he said, his eyes flashing with anger. “I loved her that much.”

  “I loved her too, Martin, but I had to let her go.”

  “And how’s that going for you?” he asked, looking pointedly at the ring on Avery’s pinky.

  “It’s not easy. And seeing that picture brought it all back with a vengeance. You and me. Evangeline. Iraq. The explosion. All of it. But I’m not going to let it destroy me.”

  “Like it did me, you mean.”

  “Martin, you’re a drug lord. Hell, you killed an MI6 operative.”

  “I did not kill Timothy Vanguard.”

  “He was on his way to see you. They found his body strung up outside your compound. And your man Edward implied—”

  “I don’t care what he implied,” Shrum said, cutting him off. “It wasn’t me. Timothy never came here. I swear it. And if he had, I most certainly wouldn’t have killed him. No matter what kind of threat he presented.”

  “What about your men?”

  “They can be reckless, but they would never take that kind of risk without clearing it with me. No one in my employ had anything to do with the man’s death.”

  Avery studied his friend, looking for some sign that he was lying, knowing that the truth would be important to Sydney. “So if it wasn’t you or your men who killed him, then who do think was responsible?”

  “I don’t have to think about it,” Shrum said. “I know. Wai Yan. Or his people anyway. It’s been no secret that he wants to take over my territory. But as you’ve seen, my position here is quite secure. So what better way to get at me than to make it look like I’ve killed an international operative?”

  “So you’re saying Wai Yan framed you.”

  “Absolutely. As far as he sees it, with evidence that I killed one of their operatives, the British will have no choice but to take me out. With the CIA being pulled in by association. I’m eliminated, and Wai Yan steps in and fills the void. The flaw in the plan is that Wai Yan has no idea who I really am—or was.” He paused, coughing, clearly struggling for breath. “Anyway, the point being that I had no reason to hurt Timothy. And both the CIA and MI6 know that. That’s why they’ve both tried to rein in their local people, even though it still seems as though I was responsible. They know that push come to shove, I’m not a real threat.”

  “But what about Sydney? Your men harassed her, sabotaged her, and, frankly, tried their best to scare the hell out of her.”

  “Oh please, Sydney Price has never been scared in her life.”

  “Well, she definitely felt threatened.”

  “I was right.” Martin smiled, the gesture seeming macabre somehow against his shrunken face. “You do have feelings for the girl.”

  “She’s a hell of a woman. And I care about what happens to her.”

  “Well, there’s no need for worry. She’ll be fine. I have to put on a show for my men. It’s necessary. Especially now. And sometimes I’ll admit they get a little carried away. But I’ve never intended her any harm. Hell, I kind of admire her spunk myself. We always did have a tendency to go for the same kind of woman, you and I. Looks like nothing has changed.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Martin, everything has changed.” For a moment, the two of them were silent, the past hanging heavy between them. Then Avery shook his head, pushing himself back into the present. “You said that you chose dealing drugs as a way in. What the hell does that mean? You think the drug trade is somehow responsible for the bombing in Iraq?”

  “No. I think that the people responsible are players in a bigger game. But they’ve got their fingers in every pot. Drugs. Arms. Currency. Information. You name it. Drugs were just a way for me to get access.”

  “To whom?”

  “The people who really know what happened. Look, you think that the bombing was carried out by insurgents. People who wanted to make a statement. People who didn’t give a damn who was kill
ed in the process. But what if I told you that wasn’t it at all? What if I told you it was personal?”

  “Against Evangeline?”

  “No. Against us. You and me. We were responsible for her death, Avery. But not for reasons we believed.”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  “I’m saying someone paid a bomber to create that explosion. Someone who was specifically targeting Evangeline as a way to get payback against us.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Avery was leaning forward now, every nerve ending in his body firing at once as he tried to make sense of Martin’s pronouncement.

  “I don’t know.” Shrum sat back with a sigh. “I was never able to get that far. But I do know for certain that it was planned. And that somehow it was linked to us.”

  “And you have proof of this?”

  “I’ve got recordings. People who admitted to me that the explosion was not what it seemed. People who swear that it wasn’t an act of terror and that it wasn’t about her.”

  “So if you have proof, why didn’t you take it to someone in the CIA? Someone with the power to do something.”

  Martin’s laugh was bitter. “I tried. But they said it wasn’t enough. They even implied that it was a ploy to get back in the company’s good graces.”

  “And was it?”

  “No. I don’t give a damn about the CIA, or my life when it comes right down to it. I just want to get the bastard who killed Evangeline.”

  “So what makes you believe it was about us?”

  “I tracked down the bomber. Or at least I got close to him. Close enough to get a confession out of one of his associates. He admitted to me that the plan was to take out the woman to avenge something two CIA agents had done. He was bragging about it actually. Said that it was time for the imperialist pigs to pay.”

  “Did your source mention us by name?”

  “No. But it has to be us. How many CIA operatives do you think Evangeline knew?”

  There was clearly an element of truth in what the man was saying, but Avery wasn’t inclined to trust him that far. Not without something more to go on. “But you never actually talked to this alleged bomber?”

  “No.” Martin was back to looking defeated. “I told you, the closest I got was his associate. I never could get a bead on him, and then the cancer got worse. And I no longer had the strength to try.”

  An ugly thought occurred to Avery. “Did you orchestrate this? The photograph. My coming here?”

  Martin shook his head as another cough racked his body. “If I’d thought of it, maybe I would have. But no, whoever sent the picture was clearly trying to play us off against each other.”

  “Or bring us together.” He frowned, trying to put the facts into some kind of logical order.

  “You haven’t said how you came by the photo,” Martin prompted.

  “We recovered it from a hard drive found in an Afghan terrorist camp.”

  “Seems an odd way for it to have surfaced,” Martin mused, and for a moment, Avery was reminded of old times, the two of them working in tandem. “You think maybe it was planted?”

  “It seems a fair bet, considering the fact that you clearly had no idea it existed.”

  “So you believe me?”

  “That much, yeah. I do. I don’t think I ever really believed she was alive.”

  “Because if she had been, it would mean she’d betrayed you.” Martin sat back, folding his arms over his chest. “That never would have happened, you know. Evangeline loved you. I always wished it were different. Sometimes even pretended it was so. But it wasn’t. There was never anyone for her but you. But I did love her.”

  “I know. And I let that fact tear us apart.”

  “Well, I certainly played my part. But staring at death has a way of making one face reality head-on. Maybe if I’d just come to you with what I’d found, I don’t know. Hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. The point is that her killer is still out there. And although I didn’t summon you here, now that you are, maybe there’s a reason. Maybe you’re here so that you can continue the hunt.”

  “I meant what I said, Martin. It’s better to let it go.”

  “Except that you can’t, any more than I can. That’s why you’re here. And why you’re still wearing her ring. If she was killed because of us, then we owe her the truth. Don’t you think?”

  “Evangeline is dead, Martin. She doesn’t care anymore.” It was a stark pronouncement but Avery knew it was true, just as he’d known it to be fact when he’d told Sydney the same about Tim. “But maybe we owe it to ourselves,” Avery said, knowing that he was probably stepping off a cliff he’d live to regret. The operative word being live. “So tell me the name of this illusive bomber.”

  Martin leaned forward, his gaze darting around the room as though it had ears. “His name was Joseph. Joseph Isaacs.”

  Avery’s stomach lurched, and he repeated the name. “Joseph Isaacs. You’re certain.”

  “Absolutely, why? Have you heard of him?”

  “Unfortunately. Indirectly at least, I’m responsible for his death.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Martin brought his hand down on the table beside his chair, the strength of the action belying his emaciated state. “I was so close.”

  “But surely there must be someone else. Someone who helped him. Someone who can lead us to the person who’s really responsible. You said you talked to an associate. What about him?”

  “He’s dead too. I don’t know what happened. But someone must have known he was talking to me. He was killed in Damascus shortly after we met. I thought maybe it was Isaacs. Covering his tracks or something. How long ago did Isaacs die?”

  “A little over six months. Ironically, he was killed in an explosion.”

  “And you have proof?”

  “I do. The remains were identified.”

  “It figures.” Martin sat back with a sigh. “Every time I’ve found something, I hit another brick wall. But at least we know for sure that he wasn’t the one who killed his associate. It was only four months ago when I met with Kamaal. According to your timeline, Isaacs was already dead.”

  “You said his name is Kamaal?” Avery’s gut was churning again, but this time with excitement. “Do you have his full name?”

  “Kamaal Sahar. Do you recognize it?”

  “Yes.” The hairs on Avery’s arms were standing at attention now. “He was the man running the terrorist camp where we found the hard drive.”

  “Which means that he was more than just an associate—”

  Before Martin could finish his sentence, the sound of machine-gun fire echoed from the hallway outside the closed double doors.

  “You set me up,” he screeched, trying to push himself to his feet.

  “I didn’t,” Avery denied as he sprinted over to pull Martin to his feet. “It’s not my people.”

  “Then who the hell?” The windows behind them shattered, bullets strafing the floor.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Avery said, as they dove for the floor. “We just need to find Sydney and get out of here.”

  “My men will have taken her back to the cell.” Martin rolled onto his back, gasping for breath as another volley rattled through the room. “You need to go quickly.”

  “I’m not going without you.” Avery’s gaze moved around the room, trying to assess the safest method for exiting. Glass from the windows littered the floor. And the sound of gunfire still echoed outside the room. In the far corner, he could see the edge of a door.

  “Where does that lead?” he asked, pointing.

  “To the back hallway. You should be able to make it from there through the kitchen. The cell is just to the west of there.”

  “All right then, let’s go. Give me the pistol.”

  “I’m too slow,” Martin shook his head, holding out the weapon. “You’ll never make it.”

  “Martin, I’m not going to argue with you.”

  Shrum waved his hands, still protes
ting, but Avery simply grabbed the pistol then picked Martin up and threw him over his shoulder, racing across the room as the next barrage of bullets hit. Slamming through the side door, he sprinted down the hall, relieved that there was at least a momentary respite from the onslaught.

  He rounded the corner, his thoughts turning to Sydney. Please God let her be alive. All he had to do was make it to the cell before whoever the hell was attacking. Ignoring his screaming muscles, Avery hitched Martin a little higher and continued to run through the kitchen and out the back door. There were bodies littering the ground. He recognized Edward among them. And there was gunfire everywhere, most of it coming from the trees on the hills surrounding the compound.

  Whoever this was, they were well armed and well prepared. Mindless of the danger, Avery bent to scoop up the machine gun lying beside Edward. Better to at least try to improve their odds. Shrum’s pistol just wasn’t going to do the job.

  Dirt spewed up at his feet, and Avery straightened, shifting Martin’s weight as he sped up his pace, his eyes on the open door of the earthen cell. Again a barrage of bullets strafed the ground, a stinging pain across his shoulder signaling that he’d been hit. Son of a bitch.

  Still holding on to his ex-partner, Avery bent low to make it through the cell door and then set Martin on the floor. The other man’s face was ashen, his eyes half closed, his hand holding his belly.

  “Martin, can you hear me?” Avery asked. “You’ve got to stay with me.”

  “I’m hit,” Shrum replied. “And it isn’t good.” He moved his hand to show the pulsing wound in his abdomen, his torn shirt already soaked with blood. “Any sign of Sydney?”

  “No. She’s not here.” Avery’s heart sank as he tried to figure out his next move. “We can’t stay where we are. We’re sitting ducks, and there’s only one way out.”

  “I haven’t got any other choice,” Martin said, his voice cracking as he struggled to breathe. “It’s not going to be long.”

  “But if I can get you to someone who can help.” The minute the words were out, Avery recognized their futility. Even if Martin had been in the picture of health, he might not have survived the wound. Not here in the middle of the jungle. And to make matters worse, the cancer had probably already compromised his immune system.