by L. T. Ryan
"You're in it deep," Harris said.
"Why's that? And why are you telling me this over the phone?" Charles said.
"Because you're running out of time."
"What the hell is this about?"
"They got your guy, Paolo. And he's rolling over on you, man."
"What'd he say?"
"They kicked me out for that. But as long as they had him in there, it can't be good."
"Where're they keeping him?"
"In Manhattan right now, but that won't last."
"Well then why don't you call me back once you know where he is and we'll take care of this."
Harris shoved his phone in his pocket and entered the flow of pedestrians, unaware that at the moment, the FBI had begun an investigation that would turn his life upside down.
Chapter 83
Washington, D.C.
JACK HAD SLEPT for seven hours. Even the sunrise hadn't been enough to wake him. He studied the highway signs and noted that they'd reached the northern Virginia suburbs.
"Coffee," Jack said.
Brett pointed at an upcoming exit. "We'll get off here."
Five minutes later they were seated inside an IHOP.
"Can finally get some pancakes," Jack muttered.
"What?" Brett said.
Jack shook his head.
The waitress dropped off the coffee and took their orders. They each downed two cups without saying much. It was too busy to discuss what they had planned for the day.
After eating, they gassed the car, then got back on the highway.
"He lives in D.C.," Brett said. "That's what my contact tells me at least."
"You trust them?"
"Of course. Wouldn't have called them otherwise."
"Mention me?"
Brett nodded. "Don't worry. They're so buried in this that if they tell, they'll be marked for termination."
What's done was done, so it didn't really matter. Jack would exercise extra caution. Nothing new.
"We can't get to him during the day," Brett said.
"Langley?" Jack asked, referring to the CIA headquarters.
Brett nodded.
"Live in the city?" Jack asked.
"No, out here. We're heading there now. Figure it makes sense to set up inside his house and wait. That way we can get to him the moment he gets home."
Jack had no argument. He sat back and watched the exits as they passed. Studied the faces of those in other cars. Watched the vehicles behind them in search of a tail. He saw a few candidates behind them. There always were. But after a few minutes of monitoring, they all checked out.
"You can relax," Brett said. "This is a rental. No one knows where we are."
"Sure about that? What about your phone?"
"Nobody knows about it."
"You made a call to your contact?"
"From a throwaway device. And I've already discarded it in pieces."
Brett had all bases covered. Jack felt somewhat at ease. He wasn't in control, which bothered him. But sometimes that's how things went. Go with it, he told himself.
Twenty minutes passed. They exited in Alexandria, Virginia. Jack had spent considerable time in the area years ago. It had changed a lot since then. And in some ways, not at all. It'd just been added to. He doubted it improved anything. Made it all more crowded and congested.
Brett turned into a suburb of modest two story homes with well-kept landscapes. It was the kind of place Jack could never envision himself living. The upkeep. Tied to the restrictions set forth by some HOA. Not the kind of life he wanted.
Then a thought crossed his mind. He blurted it out to Brett.
"Kids and a family?"
Brett glanced at the houses on both sides of the street. He took a moment to respond. "Not that I'm aware of. Would that be a problem?"
Jack shrugged. "Depends on what you plan to do with them."
"Take away their phones and stick them in the bathroom, I suppose."
"They'll see us."
"There's ways around that."
"Good enough."
They continued on. Brett drove the whole of the neighborhood. There were two exits, and a park that backed up to a heavily wooded area. Worst case, if they had to make a run for it, that would provide some cover.
They circled back to Ballard's home. Brett drove past, made the first right turn and parked the car out of sight of the other road. They exited and walked to Ballard's.
Jack checked the door. Locked.
Brett pulled tools from his pocket. Took him under fifteen seconds to pick the lock.
"Sorry," he said. "Bit rusty. Not much thieving in my work these days."
Stepping into the foyer, Jack noticed the problem right away. Apparently Brett did too.
"Someone's been here," Brett said in a hushed tone.
Jack nodded. He already had his pistol out and aimed down the hall.
They traveled together, with Brett covering their flank. Every sound presented a potential threat, though most could be attributed to the noises a house makes.
They reached the great room. The couch lay on its back. A table was flipped over. The television was shattered.
Jack pointed to the kitchen. A long island was the only thing separating it from where they stood. He gestured for Brett to go left, and he took the right.
The two men timed their movements in tune with each other and crouched as they approached the island. Each burst around the corner at the same time. They leveled their pistols at one another.
But they both stared at the floor.
At the corpse of Joe Ballard.
"Shit," Brett said.
"Looks like someone beat us to it," Jack said.
"We need to clear the house." Brett rose and started toward the stairs. "Stay down here."
Jack remained with Ballard while Brett headed upstairs.
"What did you do?" Jack said, not expecting a response.
The man had to have screwed up to end up dead. There was no doubt it was an agency job. He glanced around at the destruction in the other room. Then he looked at the kitchen. The fight had stopped at the island, yet the shot was obviously close range. He saw the scorch marks on the guy's forehead. Ballard had taken the bullet point blank.
"Upstairs is clear," Brett said as he descended the staircase.
"Come look at this and tell me what you see," Jack said.
"Well," Brett said as he stepped around the far end of the island. "I see a dead guy." He knelt and looked at Ballard's head. "Close range. Muzzle blast got him."
"And?"
Ballard rose. He looked at the kitchen. Then the living room. Down at Jack, then around the kitchen.
"No signs of struggle in here," Brett said.
"That's right," Jack said.
"It's like someone walked right up to him, maybe waited for him to turn around, and fired. He wasn't expecting it. Christ, he hadn't finished dressing yet. Probably in here, getting ready to make coffee and breakfast, when someone shows up at his door. He lets them in. They're talking. Then wham, he's dead."
Jack said, "And then they trash the place to make it look like a struggle. A break in, perhaps."
"Plausible."
Jack checked Ballard's pockets. Found his cell phone and wallet, which upon investigation he found had been emptied. But the phone, leaving that behind had been a mistake.
"Why?" Jack said.
"As far as I know, I was the only one he was working with on this. Now, whether he was running other ops, I'm not sure. I can't imagine that he was."
"That'd be too much for one man. Did he have a team?"
"Never said."
"Partner?"
"A handler? Doubtful."
"And you're sure he never worked in the field?"
Brett glanced down. "Look at him, Jack. Would you or I end up dead this way?"
"Good point."
Brett nodded, said nothing.
"So that leaves one option."
"What
's that?"
"They know I'm alive. They think he lied to them. Didn't even question the guy about it. Simple execution."
"Tough group."
Jack nodded. "Sure is. So let's do our best to keep off their radar."
"Obviously a bit late for that." Brett paused a beat. "He had the answers. He knows how this all originated. Now we've got nothing. No leads."
"I've got his phone. Look for his laptop and anything else he might've used for work. Let's hurry. Someone could be watching. We need to get the hell out of here."
Chapter 84
Nevers, France.
THE TREE PROVIDED little relief from the rain. Bear didn't care. He was a block away from the address the woman had given him. It easily could have been a trap. Every fiber of his being told him to stay away. Going there would only result in his death.
But it had happened so quickly. And the tension in her voice, the frustration, the fear. It sounded real. As though the woman attempted to wash her hands of all that had happened by offering Mandy to him.
A peace offering.
Take your girl and get out of our country for good.
And while he planned on doing so, his thoughts kept turning to Kat. What had they done with her? He presumed they had killed her prior to setting the stage for Pierre's death.
What a plan, he thought. Bring the man back on board after haunting him for months. But make it a concession on his part, that way he'd revel in his power a bit more. Even hook him up with his old team. That had been one of the few morsels Pierre had fed him on their drive.
His old second in command, Laure Desault, a woman Bear had met years earlier, had stepped down and allowed Pierre to resume control of his old team. Not even the position he'd had when he left the agency.
Bear already had her address. And after he had Mandy in a safe location, he was going after Laure. She set it all up. She'd told him where to find Mandy. She would know Kat's location.
He slowed his breathing, cleared his head, and waited in the rain for another hour. Behind the dark clouds, the sun slipped deep to the west. Streetlights clicked on. The falling rain distorted the lampposts cones of light.
In the hours he'd been watching, Bear had seen kids enter the home. A woman left. Then returned. There were no threats on the street. No faces lingered longer than a few minutes. No strange cars parked nearby. The rooftops were clear.
Sticking to the shadows, he made his move. He hadn't thought about what he'd say when they opened the door. Or what he'd say to his girl.
My girl.
He smiled at the thought. Time passed quickly. She was growing up, and would soon set out on her own. From here on, he was not going to put her in the position to become part of such a situation again.
"One last time," he muttered as he stared up at the rainclouds. "Cut me a break this one last time."
He stopped short of the landing. Leaned back against the exterior and watched the street and sidewalk again for five minutes. Comfortable all was well, Bear resumed the walk. He only had a few feet to go.
Bear hopped up the steps to the landing. He rapped on the door with his thick knuckles.
A boy who looked like he'd used his face to attack a two by four answered.
"Your parents home?" Bear said in French.
The boy nodded and ran off. A moment later, a woman who looked to be in her early fifties approached with caution. Bear was used to it.
"I'm looking for my daughter."
The woman shrugged.
"Her name is Mandy."
The woman shook her head.
Bear pulled out a picture. The woman glanced at it and then looked up at him, eyes narrowed.
"She was here. That boy who answered, she did that to him. Then the little wench fled."
"Mandy did that?"
The woman did not respond.
"He must've deserved it then."
"And another thing, she had no name when she came here. Knew nothing about herself. We started calling her-"
"Wait, what?"
"Amnesia or whatever. Had no idea who she was, or where she was from." She looked Bear up and down. "Makes sense she comes from your stock."
"When did this happen?"
"Overnight. She was gone before sunrise."
Bear stepped back, looked down the street, wondering which direction she had gone. Where she had gone.
"I need whatever-"
The woman slammed the door shut. Bear stepped forward and banged on it. No one answered. He hit it harder. Still no one answered. Bear punched the door twice, then stepped back to kick it. A window above him answered. The woman stuck her head out.
"I'm calling the police," she shouted at him. "Go away."
With everything that happened, last thing Bear needed was the police to be involved. They might serve him back up to the DSGE and then he'd disappear.
He hopped off the stoop and went back to where he'd taken position earlier.
"Where are you, Mandy?" he said.
She couldn't have gone far with no ID and presumably no money. But which way?
He walked back toward the house, staying on the other side of the street. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths. Pictured the girl attacking the boy - for good reason - and then imagined what she would do if she were him.
Opening his eyes, he studied the street in both directions. To her left, it was open, bright. People could have been out, even at a late or early morning hour.
To her right it would have been dark, narrow, abandoned. Alleys ran between townhouses.
And that's the direction Bear headed. He'd honed her instincts enough to know that she would have taken the path that offered her escape and the ability to hide if someone chased after her.
He showed her picture to a few men cowering under an awning. They'd seen her, earlier that day, about two miles down the road.
Bear raced to his rental car and started down the street. He pulled over after four miles, figuring she should have gone this far. The rain let up. Two women were standing outside a door, smoking. He approached them and showed them the picture of Mandy.
The older woman nodded. She pointed across the street.
"Our family runs that restaurant. I sent her in there about an hour ago to get warm and eat."
"Thank you," Bear said as he turned and ran across the street.
A car slammed on its brakes, skid on the wet street. Bear leapt forward, just missing the opportunity to get hit. The guy rolled down his window and shouted something, but Bear only had to look back at the guy for the driver to move on.
Bear stopped in front of the door where he caught his reflection. The rain had weighed his hair down, making his beard-clad face look puffy. His clothes were drenched. He ran a hand through his hair and pushed the door open.
"Mandy," he called out.
Several people turned to look at him. None of them were her.
At the bar, a mane of blonde hair draped over the back of a stool.
"Mandy," he said again, heading toward the bar.
The girl seated there didn't move.
Bear placed his hand on her shoulder. Felt her tense up. Then she reached across and grabbed his wrist. She attempted to twist his arm, but only spun herself around in her seat.
"Mandy, look I know you are having some problems with your memory, but look at me. You have to know who I am?"
She looked frightened. "Let me go."
He reached in his pocket and pulled out her photo. "See, I'm carrying around this picture of you. C'mon kid, you know me. I know you do. You know you do." He'd leaned forward so they were eye to eye.
During this time, a patron watching the exchange had risen from his table and approach.
"Is this man bothering you?" he said in French.
Bear turned toward the guy. "Piss off."
The guy backed away.
"Listen, Mandy. I always taught you to strike at the opponent's greatest weakness. And you always asked me what's my weaknes
s. You remember what I said?"
Tears had filled the girl's eyes. She blinked and two streams formed on her cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I always said I have no weaknesses, so you can't take me down." He paused, wiped his own eyes. "But that's not true, kid. I have a weakness, and it's a big one. You, Mandy. You are my greatest weakness. And despite that, I want to continue raising you and make sure you reach adulthood."
The girl said nothing.
But the bartender did. He aimed a pistol at Bear's head and said, "Step back."
Bear lifted his hands to chest level, close enough to his weapon he could reach it, and took a step back.
"Listen," he said. "This is my girl. She was in an accident and lost her memory. But she's mine. She just don't remember."
"We'll let her be the judge of that."
"I just told you, she don't remember."
"And I'm holding the gun."
So am I.
Bear backed off.
"Child, who is this man?"
HIS VOICE SOUNDED so familiar. But surely a man of such stature would register in the girl's mind if she knew him. She looked back at the man behind the bar, now flanked by two other armed men and shook her head.
The man said, "Get the hell out of here before we kill you and bury you out back."
The big man said, "Mandy, I won't give up on you." He stepped back toward the door, stopped, pointed over her shoulder. "And I'll be back for you. Count on that."
"Get out," the guy screamed.
"Mandy," he said from the open doorway over the sounds of cars passing by on a wet road. "Remember the lessons I've taught you. They'll keep you alive."
His voice played in her head. Dozens of lines that she heard constantly, like she had when the boy attacked her. Why couldn't she remember him if he had played such a part in her life. And here he was, pleading with her, while three men aimed guns and threatened to kill him.
I'm his greatest weakness .
"I'm not telling you again," the man behind her said.
The man at the door locked stares with her. She sensed his pain, yet she felt nothing. He turned to leave. One door fell shut. His big hand held the other open as he stepped to the sidewalk. The girl felt a slight yearning. A feeling of home disappearing.