Acts Beyond Redemption

by S. Burke

  “Agent Clayton?” Frank gently leaned over and tapped Trish on the arm then turned to his wife. “Lana, get the whiskey and a glass, quickly, dear.”

  Trish didn’t hear him. She continued turning the pages …

  The final sketches were horrific, almost too well drawn. The first showed horses lying on the ground with human bodies piled on top in a funeral pyre. The words written there chilled her blood and brought bitter tasting bile up into her mouth.

  Revelation 6:8

  And I looked, and behold a pale horse; and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.

  Underneath were the words ‘May the Lord have mercy on my soul’.

  The next was a sketch of the Grim Reaper riding a white horse; instead of a scythe he carried a giant syringe. The horse stood on a crumpled and torn American flag. Trish was unaware that she spoke aloud. “Oh, dear God in heaven, what did we do?”

  Frank Allworth put his hand on her shoulder, snapping her back to the present. She took the proffered glass of whiskey and gulped it down.

  He poured her another. “Are you okay, my dear? Can we call someone?”

  “NO! Sorry, please forgive me raising my voice. Can I have a few moments outside; I need to clear my head.”

  Frank and Lana Allworth both nodded. Frank topped up her glass, and Trish walked outside on unsteady legs. She lit a cigarette with hands that shook, and then sat on the top step of the porch, absent-mindedly patting the two dogs coming to join her.

  My country did this! What the hell am I going to do? Who can I trust with this? If it’s learned that I know … Jesus! Do I have the right to?

  She knew this information would bring her country to its knees before the rest of the world. She also knew that if … if she exposed who had perpetrated this horror; there would be nowhere she could hide.

  There would be nowhere she could run.

  Trish stood on legs that quivered, aware she had little time to do what must be done. She went back inside and thanked the Allworths for all their assistance. She collected the sketch book and turned to the couple now watching her with concern. “I am sorry to have concerned you like that, I haven’t been feeling well.”

  She caught the look the couple exchanged and chose to ignore it. No explanation she could think of would cover this adequately.

  “May I take the sketch book with me?” she asked.

  “Of course. Will it prove helpful?” Frank Allworth asked quietly.

  “I hope so, Mr Allworth. I hope so. Thank you both for all your assistance.”

  “Good luck with whatever it is you intend doing with that,” Frank Allworth said, pointing to the sketchbook.

  Trish cast him a quick glance and saw the look on his face. “Don’t be concerned, please. I’m certain everything will work out for the best.”

  “If you say so, Agent Clayton. We were glad to be of help.”

  “I must get moving. Thank you both again.”

  The older couple saw their guest to the door, their thoughts kept private until she had driven off.

  They had just seated themselves comfortably and were sipping on a glass of sherry each, when the doorbell rang again.

  “Are you expecting anyone, Frank?” Lana asked.

  “No. Stay there, I’ll get it.” Frank walked across and glanced through the curtains before opening the door.

  Trish Clayton stood there. Her face still pale and eyes red from crying, but she stood erect and the look on her face was one of determination.

  “May I come in again, for just a moment?” she asked.

  “Certainly.” Frank stood aside to allow her to walk over to where Lana sat.

  “What is it, my dear?” Frank asked as he joined them. “Did you forget something?”

  “Please. I need you to listen to me very carefully, without interruption. Can you do that?”

  Frank and Lana shared a look and Lana responded, “Yes, we can do that; what is it?”

  Trish Clayton took a deep breath and began. “The sketches you gave me are pivotal to the investigation into Quentin Hamersley’s murder. However, they also present me with a dilemma. My concern is that should it become known you are not only both aware of the existence of these sketches, but were active in bringing them to my attention … well, that could place you both in harm’s way. You are both intelligent people, and already aware that certain important elements of the investigation into Quentin Hamersley’s death were overlooked.”

  Lana and Frank shared a look, and Lana spoke. “The car?”

  Trish nodded. “Yes. I’m almost positive that the information relating to the car was deliberately omitted from the initial report.”

  Frank Allworth spoke. “Are you asking us to lie, Agent Clayton?”

  “Yes, I am. I doubt you will ever be questioned about this again. But if you are, I’m certain it would be in your best interest to simply say I was here and interested in the car, plus I looked through a couple of boxes of Quentin’s stuff in the garage. You have no idea if I found anything of interest. Then I simply thanked you and left.”

  Trish watched the looks on both the faces change from query into nods of a dawning understanding.

  “What about the message I left with the person that answered your cell phone?” asked Frank.

  “Don’t be concerned about that, Mister Allworth. I can explain that away easily enough by alluding to the car being here.”

  “You’re breaking all the rules to warn us, aren’t you?” asked Lana.

  “Yes, Ma’am, I am.”

  “Can you give us a moment, my dear? We need to talk about this. Perhaps you would care to have a drink on the porch? I don’t think we will be long.” Frank patted Trish on the shoulder and walked quickly to the bar and poured her a large scotch.

  Trish took the glass he offered, thanked him and headed out to the porch. She sat down aware that some of her drink had slopped out of the glass because her hands were shaking so badly. She sipped at what remained, lit a cigarette, drew in deeply … and waited.

  It was a long twenty minutes. Trish grew more concerned as each minute ticked by. She felt no guilt in breaking the rules. She knew that the Allworths stood directly in danger’s path if it became known they had seen these sketches … she did what her conscience dictated must be done.

  The porch door opened and Frank Allworth beckoned her inside.

  He wasted no time. “We have decided we will follow your advice, my dear. There will be no mention of those items. Thank you, Agent Clayton. We know it must have been difficult for you to do what you have just done, and appreciate it more than we can say. And I believe that concludes the matter. Lana and I are off on our trip tomorrow, we wish you well. We are both going to catch some shuteye to help us through the long flight in the morning.”

  Trish shook both their hands, and received a hug from Lana Allworth.

  The Allworthss left on their three month tour of Europe the next day.

  Trish drove back into town on auto-pilot, without being aware of where she was going until she brought the car to a stop outside the garage.

  Joseph came out of his office and shook her hand in welcome. “Well now, I thought you’d be outta here by now?”

  “Joseph, I need your help.”

  “Name it.”

  “I need my vehicle to be kept locked up out of sight for around a week or so.”

  “I can help you with that. Can you tell me why you need this, um, help?”

  “Not in detail.”

  “Okay. If this will help find out who murdered Quinn, I’ll do whatever I can to assist. Come on out back, you can fill me in on whatever you can.”

  “Thanks, Joseph. You think you could rustle us up another drink or two?”

  “A little early for the hard stuff, ain’t it?” He looked over at her pale face. “Second thoughts, you
look like you need it.” Joseph headed into the office and returned with a highball glass of whiskey and ice. “How’s about you sit a while and try and compose yourself a little. Tell me only what you’re comfortable telling, it’ll stay with me.”

  Trish accepted the glass and appreciated the calm way Joseph had about him, she needed to be calm. She needed to think, but in order to do that she had to ensure she couldn’t be found.

  Chapter 49

  Sheila watched the video yet again, enjoying as always the adrenaline surge it created; not unlike that which many people experienced watching pornography.

  She got off on this, she recognized with a smile. The power players in this little movie were at the top of the political heap.

  Ted Prendergast had been the most challenging of all her targets to turn, yet he’d been relatively easy to kill.

  She still quivered with excitement recalling the night when, after months of hungering for their sessions of bondage and discipline by his dominatrix, Ted broke down completely as he confessed to his beloved mistress the awful truth that he carried into his nightmares. He had succumbed completely, whipped into orgasmic submission, his hands tied and a collar and leash completing his shame.

  As he cried in despair at the death and destruction his vanity and greed had helped unleash against innocent people, against women and children that had no part in the war between his country and Afghanistan, she had watched him coldly. He cringed as he told her of his complicity in the plot to bring Afghanistan and the Taliban to its knees, the willingness to cause massive collateral damage in order to make a political withdrawal from the fighting understandable and palatable to the American public.

  The money made from the Colombia connection was huge, and Ted had gambling debts that required payment, under threat of exposure.

  His guilt by the time Sheila had finished with him had overwhelmed him. Playing the tape for her was his attempt at cleansing his soul. He had placed the tape back in his safe and as usual drank himself into a state of unconsciousness.

  Sheila had bided her time, waiting till she heard the twins go out before opening the safe, and removing the video. Then she replaced it with a blank.

  The video secreted in her overnight bag ensured her safety if in future her complicity and active part in this crime became known.

  She had held the tape for her own protection. Now she knew she must make a decision as to whom she addressed it.

  Her life may depend on this choice. She grinned as she thought of the chaos and retribution the tape would unleash.

  She couldn’t resist the urge to watch her ‘favourite movie’ one more time.

  Sheila laughed as she hit the eject button.

  She then sat quietly thinking through all the options. She wanted to create the most damage possible. If her life was taken she wanted to know with certainty that other people would suffer as a result. She may not witness the outcome, but at the very least she would die content in the knowledge that the powerful would topple.

  If she were betrayed, the retribution would be swift and uncaring of whom it damaged in the process.

  Craig was restless. He poured himself a drink and decided to take a listen in on the library. He heard the sound of a tape being inserted into a video player. That’s different, she doesn’t normally watch tapes. He turned on the recording equipment out of habit, and sat back, interested to hear what movies Sheila Harrington liked to watch. He recognized the first voice all too well. That’s Miguel … fuck me dead, where did she get a recording of the head of the most powerful drug cartel in the business? He hunched forward and increased the volume.

  Craig listened to the tape in its entirety. He checked the recording he had made, which included Sheila laughing merrily as she hit the eject button. He then made a call. Nigel needed to be here, and he needed to be here fast.

  Chapter 50

  Nigel Cantrell was an unhappy man. He hung up the phone and turned to the other occupant of the room. “Mike, we have to locate Trish. Fast. Something is going down here that we aren’t privy to, and my gut’s telling me she could be in big trouble.”

  “Good luck with that. If Trish doesn’t wanna be found, we won’t find her.”

  “She’s that good?”

  “The best I’ve seen.”

  “Do you think she deliberately left her cell phone behind? It strikes me as odd she would do that if she were thinking clearly. I think Ted’s death shook her a whole lot more than we thought.”

  “They were close.” Mike stood as he spoke and shook his head to clear it.

  “How close?”

  “They dated for a good while, and remained good friends afterwards. She’s very close to the twins as well.”

  “I didn’t realize they had dated. Damn, I wish I had known that. I may have been able to offer her more solid support.”

  “I have a watch out for the car. Unless she’s gone to ground, we should turn up something soon.”

  “She’d have to have missed her cell phone by now, man. Why hasn’t she been in touch? That’s out of character. I think she left a message we didn’t get, someone must know where she is.”

  “That’s what worries me,” said Mike.

  Trish drove east in the pre-dawn light keeping to the back roads. The all-terrain vehicle she had hired was surprisingly comfortable and the power assisted steering made it easy to drive.

  She glanced briefly in the rear view mirror. The wig changed her appearance significantly, the long dark hair suited her olive skin and the contacts changed her eyes to a dark brown; with the addition of gold dangling earrings and the makeup she knew her own mother would have trouble recognizing her.

  Her training would stand her in good stead; she was fairly confident she wouldn’t be located until when and if she chose to reappear.

  Trish needed a little more time to think and sat in a truck stop drinking her third beer, wondering what to do with the explosive information she’d found.

  Why?

  The word went around and around in her head. What could have possessed the government of her country to do the things they had done? Just how far up the chain of command did this thing go? They had tried to cover their tracks by murdering the men they trained to perpetrate the evil of unleashing a deadly virus; therefore it had to go a long way up the food chain.

  Could the President herself be involved? Dear God! I could bring down the government. Is that what I want? How could this have been allowed to happen? The lengths they went to, to ensure all the ‘Countdown’ deaths were labelled serial killings. Were they really a unit of trained assassins working for the government? Were they mercenaries? Did they act on orders given by her superiors?

  The thoughts pummelled her tired brain and drinking only made it worse. She needed sleep- even in her now drunken state her training kicked in. She finished off her beer and headed to the cheap motel. She was confident she hadn’t been followed and allowed herself the luxury of a few hours’ sleep.

  When she awoke she showered quickly, grabbed a meal on the go and headed north. She needed answers and she needed them fast. She pointed the car in the direction of Washington D.C.

  She telephoned Ted’s twin boys, Jeff and James Prendergast, and arranged a meeting the following day. The young men liked and trusted her, and she needed information about their father only they would know. With Jeff especially she must be cautious with her words; he had a temper and a zeal for vengeance the quieter James lacked. But these young men lived with their father, and she needed to know if Ted had been seeing anyone new in the weeks before his murder.

  Trish strongly suspected she already knew the answers to her unasked questions.

  She arrived at the uptown bar half hour early and seated herself in a booth near the rear exit. Today she wore a business suit and a cropped blonde wig, fitting in with the smartly attired men and women she knew frequented this place. It was located far enough away from HQ for her to be reasonably secure she wouldn’t run into anyone
she was likely to know.

  The twins arrived together and she waved them over. Neither commented on her uncharacteristic apparel. Having been raised by a man who frequently needed to go undercover, they knew better than to ask questions.

  For her part, Trish was shocked by their appearance. Both Jeff and James looked years older than their ages, their father’s death registered clearly in the lines on their young foreheads.

  They greeted her warmly and hugs were exchanged, then the three of them settled back and waited for the opportunity to speak. After the drinks were ordered and delivered, James was the first to do so.

  “So, Trish, why the meeting? Not that we aren’t happy to see you, but what’s this about? Why weren’t you at Dad’s funeral? Why didn’t you just come by the house?”

  Trish looked into his eyes and tried to be as honest as she could. “I’m working on your Dad’s murder. Off the record. I am officially missing, and my team will be worried and looking for me; your house is under constant surveillance.” She raised her hand to forestall the questions she could see on both their faces. “Please, guys, no questions. You both know that your father and I were more than just colleagues for a while there. His loss has hit me hard as well. I can’t tell you too much at this point, but I believe I have a strong lead on the shooter and I need your help to confirm some things. Can we do that? I need you to trust my judgment on this, can we do that? Please?”

  The young men exchanged looks, and then Jeff nodded. “Okay, Trish. What do you need to know?”

  “Was your father seeing anyone in the weeks leading up to his murder?”

  Jeff gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, yeah! He was seeing someone all right.”

  James spoke up. “Dad was acting like a teenager for a while after he met the woman, you know, really strange. He started dressing younger and he even dyed his damned hair.”

  Trish leaned forward. “Did either of you meet this woman?”