Running into the Darkness

by D. A. Bale

  Chapter 37 - The Rookie

  The SAC’s voice boomed. “Rookie, get me a coffee – black.”

  “Sir.” Agent Joe Roberts started toward the break room to see to the Special Agent-in-Charge’s request, but before he’d even left his desk he was inundated with additional demands from other senior agents.

  “I’ll take a soda, rookie.”

  “Coffee here, one sugar.”

  “Make mine two – and add a little creamer but not too much.”

  “I like mine light, no sugar.”

  “Scotch on the rocks.”

  Joe rolled his eyes. “Funny, Laturno.”

  Special Agent Laturno’s green eyes sparkled with mischief as he propped his legs up on his desk and slicked back his black hair – just like Chief Snowe in Wichita. He sure missed the guy.

  Laturno continued, “Coffee – black.”

  “Coming right up.”

  The good natured harassment transpired as part of the overall initiation into the FBI. Joe had been none too happy when his assignment had come down after completion of training at Quantico. Why the D.C. Bureau wanted a good old boy from Kansas puzzled him. Yeah, he was a good detective, had been tops at Quantico, but the D.C. climate seemed a bit beyond his expertise. Thus far they treated him more like a gopher-boy than an agent, but he knew it all came as part of the routine.

  If Joe were honest with himself, he had to admit the real reason for resenting his placement. It took him away from his important investigation back home, of finding out what had really happened to Samantha Bartlett. Haunted dreams had him hacking away at that underground doorway only to open it and see Sam fall down the shaft and disappear into blackness. The possibilities of what he’d have found if Castor hadn’t completed demolition ate away at his brain day and night. Finding out what had happened to Sam drove him.

  The one good thing about being in D.C. was the proximity of readily available information – espionage, international intrigue and speculation of events before they even happened. So much knowledge at the fingertips, it made his head spin. Thousands of tips of crimes, mob connections, and terrorism had to be sorted through and catalogued every single day. After getting settled, he’d waited a few weeks before sporting through files from the Midwest and discovered a very interesting file on Castor in the process. They even had copies of his reports from Wichita.

  It took everything he had to keep his time in the computer files to five minutes on each occasion. No need to bring about undue suspicion so early on the job. One thing he’d learned at Quantico was that there were potential turncoats in the Bureau, and if you didn’t play your cards right you could end up kissing the pavement with a slug implanted in the skull. If he could get into the document archives instead of having his searches tracked on the computer, maybe he’d have more luck. No way they’d let a probie in that place.

  They hardly let him do anything except catalogue speculations, a little research for other agents, and tag-along on basic assignments. In Wichita, Joe had been used to being his own boss in a way – questioned by the chief but not in that irritating, patronizing manner as if he didn’t know his nose from his butt. Then the connections he’d had there – felt like he was starting over from scratch, the last ten years a virtual nothing.

  The day dwindled until only the SAC and a couple of other agents remained. Most of those with families usually left by six. The hour hand pushed eight before he decided to wrap it up to go grab a beer and burger with Laturno. No doubt they’d meet up with a couple of other agents carousing the night.

  Still Special Agent-in-Charge Denver Hitchens remained – no telling what his wife had to say about the late nights, always the last to leave and the first to arrive. Did the guy even sleep? The man was impossible to read. Joe had always prided himself on being pretty accurate in his immediate estimation of suspects and people, but the atmosphere of the D.C. scene made him paranoid about everyone.

  The raucous laughter and loud music trampled their ears when Joe and Laturno stepped into the bar. Laturno seemed to know every face in the crowd and immediately blended into the surroundings. Joe lifted his chin in acknowledgement to the few agents he recognized. Lately he’d felt on edge when they were out and about, as if he were being sized up by unknowns. He hated the fact that he couldn’t fully trust his cohorts yet, might not ever trust them. Not a pleasant thought when you had to place your life in their hands. The D.C. life hardened the average soul. In just a few weeks it’d affected him too.

  After greetings all around, Joe and Laturno found a table and managed to confiscate a couple of chairs.

  Laturno started in. “So what’s eatin’ at you lately, kid?”

  Joe nursed his beer. “What conspiracy theories do you have swirling around in that brain of yours now?”

  “Hey, if I’m gonna play nursemaid to a probie, I need to know what’s going on with you twenty-four-seven. Haven’t known you long, but long enough to tell you’ve got some thoughts on the mind this past month.”

  “Nothing any other fish out of water wouldn’t have.”

  “The D.C. life gettin' you down?”

  “Just trying to adapt, that’s all.”

  Laturno’s green eyes bored into Joe’s before he broke into a wide grin. “You need a woman, that’s what.”

  Laughter erupted. “Now there’s a complication I can well do without right now.”

  “I’m not talking strings and commitments – just a great stress reliever. See that sweet thing over by the door? She’s just looking for a one-nighter.”

  The blonde sat at the edge of the bar near the door, short skirt showing off long legs and a revealing silk blouse. Otherwise, she was the picture of a political powerhouse aide. She sipped a white wine as she scanned the crowd and occasionally spoke to a few people she apparently knew as they passed by.

  Joe shook his head. “Sorry, man. I don’t work that way.”

  Laturno leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “But she’s one of the top of the line. Only works government haunts. Hell, she probably works for the government during the day too. Expensive, but at least you’re not getting some common street-walker. Who knows what kind of diseases those other girls carry.”

  Joe’s blood ran cold. “Wait a minute, are you saying that girl is a prostitute?”

  Laturno cocked an eyebrow. “You really are a greenhorn, aren’t you?”

  The beer soured in Joe’s stomach. “In Kansas, we’d arrest her.”

  “Don’t get your bloomers in a wad, kid. This isn’t Kansas, if you haven’t noticed. No fairy godmothers and ruby slippers. Around here, you gotta find stress relievers wherever you can get them. Hell, most of these high-class kind are better than government operatives. You’ve no idea the information you can glean from them if you’re smart about it. Get a little between the legs and you can get a wealth of data between the ears.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Hell yeah. Matter of fact, I could use me a couple of legs wrapped real tight tonight. Mmm-hmm.”

  Before disgust overwhelmed him, Joe changed the subject. For another hour he listened to the senior agent’s blather before he excused himself to return to his tiny apartment. What had he gotten into? Those who were hired to police corruption were themselves corrupt. How long could he hold out until his soul was sucked in as well?

  Chapter 38 - A Wicked Web We Weave

  Joe took in everything Laturno said, all the while being careful not to say too much himself to conceal his distrust. Interactions around the office helped him peg who he likely could and couldn’t bank on. He’d even given thought to asking Hitchens to reassign him to another senior agent, but that would cast suspicion in his direction. No wonder he’d always hated politics.

  “Hey, rookie,” Laturno called. “It’s pushing eight. Time to get some grub.”

  “Go ahead, and I’ll catch up with you after a bit. We had a crap load of tips today on the Peruvian money laundering scam, and I’m still trying t
o sort through them.”

  “I can wait.”

  “That’s okay, shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes. Crab night tonight, right?”

  “I’m getting a hard-on just thinking about it.”

  “Order me a pound of legs, couple of crab cakes, and a side of slaw. Keep someone from stealing my chair, and I’ll be right over.”

  “You can pick up the tab then.”

  “On a probationary agent’s salary?”

  “Hey, if I’m gonna have to fight for your chair until you can get your sorry ass down there, then you owe me.”

  “Fine,” Joe grumbled.

  One of the perks of living close to the ocean was the incredible array of readily available seafood. Had to find the occasional good in being stuck in D.C. – the only way to maintain one’s sanity.

  After Laturno left, Joe dug back in, sorting and cataloguing all the various tips, dividing them into credible information and crackpots merely looking for attention or a reward. The SAC would have the final say, but thus far his gut had been pretty on target. Some tips were more easily dissectible while others required a bit more discernment.

  Joe could almost taste the crab melting in his mouth as he pondered the last tip. He glanced at the clock and realized he’d need to hustle before Laturno gave away his chair and his meal. The SAC’s voice resonated behind him.

  “Agent Roberts. Burning the candle at both ends, I see.”

  Joe glanced up to see Special Agent-In-Charge Denver Hitchens propped against the corner of his desk, picking up his award. The bushy, salt and pepper eyebrows made it difficult to see into his eyes unless his interviewee stared up at him. Joe enjoyed the rare luxury. Maybe that was why it always seemed so difficult to read the man.

  Hitchens read the inscription. “Director’s Leadership Award. Pretty impressive.”

  “Wish I could put it away, sir. You’ve no idea the flack I get for having to keep that on my desk.”

  A smile danced in Hitchens’ dark eyes before his lips pressed together – back to business. “You’re analyzing the Peruvian scam?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There’s a case I worked in the past that may have some relevance in this instance.”

  “Sir?”

  “In your short time here, kid, you’ve shown an incredible ability to separate the wheat from the chaff. According to Laturno, you’ve also proven to be a man of integrity, and that’s the kind of man we need more of around here.”

  Joe smiled. The girl at the bar the other night – now it made sense. They’d set him up to see how far he’d stretch the limits of the law. Several other conversations and opportunities resurrected in his memory, probably also set up to test his mettle. So Laturno was a good guy after all.

  Hitchens continued, “There’s more than one reason why I requested assignment of the top Quantico graduate to this office. This case has been ongoing for many years and the longer it has been around the more strands connect to the web.”

  “I’m interested.”

  The SAC lowered his voice. “I need you to do some research in the caverns for me. I want no written reports on this. Anything you discover you commit to memory, all kept between you and me. Don’t even be talking to Laturno about it, got it?”

  “Yes, sir. But I don’t have proper security clearance to access the caverns without a senior agent.”

  “You’ll have a temporary, high-level clearance in your desk first thing tomorrow morning. There will also be a signed form designating what division you’ll be assigned to research in, but your verbal assigned division will also be nearby. Make nice with the bookworms and stiffs who oversee the caverns, at least for the first week. They’ll tire of watching you and get lazy. That’s when you work your way down the aisle to where I need you to dig.”

  “And where’s that?”

  Hitchens leaned closer and whispered, “What do you already know about Oleander Enterprises?”

  Chapter 39 – The Deed

  Her worst dread was about to culminate as Warner’s hot breath steamed against her neck.

  Alexandra’s neck. Alexandra’s body. Be Alexandra.

  The Lincoln bedroom beckoned, the curtains on the canopied bed swaying in welcome to the lovers embrace. Samantha’s stomach turned as Warner tore her blouse open and suckled her breasts like a newborn calf. If he only knew.

  Samantha fought to gain control of her mind and disappear into Alexandra. Alexandra would welcome the advance, the warm mouth sliding over her supple body, the cold hands expelling her clothing as fast as possible.

  How did Debrille expect her to accomplish the deed? He hadn’t provided a weapon, no poison to extract the final breath from Warner’s lungs. The jeweled comb had disappeared after that first night. Was she to ride him to death? Did he think she would find a tool of destruction in the room and bludgeon him senseless? Why did she actually have to perform the sex act with him if all Debrille wanted was the man’s death? Why had the question never occurred to her until now?

  The hour had come and she couldn’t back out now. With everything she possessed, Samantha fought to allow Alexandra prominence. Only Alexandra could do what must be done. There was no stopping it.

  As Warner tossed her onto the bed, Alexandra rolled to straddle him from above. She unzipped her skirt and slid it over her head to join the growing pile of clothes on the floor. Warner’s hardness rose beneath her, his desire urgent. She stopped the action by climbing to her knees and allowed him to ravage her glistening body with his gaze. Shame disappeared as his hands traced sweat rivulets down her curves. Touch electrified Alexandra’s mind, her purpose, her moans encouraging exploration of her perfectly formed frame.

  His voice panted need. “You are such a glorious specimen.”

  Alexandra pressed against him and stared into his eyes. “My body is yours.”

  With a flick of her tongue, Alexandra licked the sweat from his chest then drove down onto his ramrod member. His eyes narrowed and he threw his head back with a gasp. No more thought. No more questions. Alexandra hurled herself into the deed with full frenzy, drawing his seed as if drawing blood from his veins, raking her nails into his flesh to join the pleasure with pain. Again and again.

  Alexandra extracted every last ounce of strength from his body before she rose triumphantly from the bed, leaving his spent casing gasping for breath. The power she’d drawn from him fed her hunger, her need for control. She needed him to want her again. Killing him had to come later.

  As Warner lay in a stupor, she dressed before leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I’ll let myself out, Mr. President.”

  “Yes, my dear. Tell the agents outside the door…that I am not to be disturbed.” He smiled weakly. “First time anyone’s outlasted me.”

  “To a night of firsts then. May there be many more.”

  The door creaked as Alexandra excused herself. The Secret Service agents stopped her as they realized she was leaving alone.

  “The President said he is not to be disturbed.”

  One agent held her in her tracks as the other agent called into the darkened room. “Mr. President, are you alright?”

  “Didn’t you hear her?” Warner yelled back. “Leave me be.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  As they released her, Alexandra smiled when their gazes settled into her cleavage. “I’m sure you’ll get used to seeing me around for awhile, gentleman.”

  As she sauntered down the hallway, Alexandra gave an exaggerated shimmy to her strut. Perhaps they’d enjoy another view of what they missed.

  Chapter 40 – Unbidden Emotion

  Samantha leaned against the wall and let the steaming rivulets of the shower flow over her head and onto her shoulders, streaming hot down her back. The water left red streaks on her skin, scalding like Warner’s hot breath. Her hands clenched, arms and legs shook as she fought to keep raw emotion in check, little feeling the water that seared her skin.

  Only feeling the horror that se
ared her soul. Damned her to hell.

  Over and over she repeated to herself: He’s not your father. It was Alexandra, not you. He’s not your father.

  An hour later as the water grew frigid, her skin changed to mottled blue and purple. Goose pimples covered her flesh. Samantha’s legs no longer supported her, and she slid down the wall to where the water puddled in the stall. Her teeth chattered. She no longer felt the cold.

  The darkness enveloped her.

  ***

  In the dark of night, Marcus crept into Samantha’s suite. Something nagged at him as he’d settled in for the night. He couldn’t fall asleep. Thus he found himself in her suite, but no one lay in the perfectly-made bed.

  Samantha had been noticeably quiet after their debriefing, giving short yet focused answers to Debrille’s incessant questions. This first experience with Warner couldn’t have been easy, but she had flashed him a brilliant smile upon her return, obviously satisfied with her performance. He had taught her well.

  The faint sound of running water perked his ears, the sight greeted him upon entering her bathroom. Samantha lay huddled and shivering violently in a stream of ice-cold water, her skin mottled and lips purple. How long had the crazy girl laid here like this?

  Marcus shut off the water and patted Samantha’s cheek. “Hey, are you trying to invent a new shade of blue?”

  His joke fell flat as she stared blankly at the wall, never acknowledging his presence with any false modesty or other nonsense. Marcus half dragged the little statue toward him to get a better grip, all the while getting soaking wet as he stepped into the tub. The water was freezing. Brusquely he toweled her off as best he could while she lay shivering against him. He really needed to get her warmed up soon.

  Lifting her in his arms, Marcus carried Samantha into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. After tucking her among the covers, he turned the temperature down slightly on the radiant heating. It’d be just as harmful to warm her up too fast.

  As Marcus watched her shiver violently among the covers, the slightest twinge of emotion tugged at his heart, something he hadn’t felt since...