White Lies

by Jeremy Bates

  “Maybe it was nothing after all,” Zach said. He was pacing back and forth.

  “But maybe it was,” Katrina told him over her shoulder. She was peering out the window. “Where are the damn police?”

  “You don’t happen to have another gun around somewhere, do you?”

  She turned. “How about a knife?”

  “Yeah, anything. A knife would be good.”

  Katrina started down the hallway to the kitchen. Just as she was passing the basement door, it exploded open. One of Jack’s massive arms wrapped around her, tugging her forcefully against him. His other hand smothered the gun, aiming it upward, toward the ceiling. She screamed in surprise. Kicked and struggled. But she couldn’t free herself from his viselike hold. He shoved her forward, back to the living room. They crashed through the door. Zach, who had obviously heard her scream, had backed up to the bay window, like maybe he was thinking about jumping through it again. Bandit leapt at Jack. Jack swung his foot, catching the dog under the jaw. Bandit dropped to the floor, motionless.

  “So you wanted to leave me for dead, huh?” he hissed into her ear. It sounded as if his throat was full of razor blades.

  “We could have killed you,” she said. “But we didn’t.”

  “Should I thank you for that?” He directed her arm so she was now pointing the gun at Zach. “Should I thank this cowardly piece of shit for hitting me when I wasn’t looking?”

  “Zach, jump!” she shouted.

  “If you move a muscle,” Jack growled, “I’ll snap her neck.”

  Zach glanced at the window but didn’t move.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “Exactly what I’d planned. To leave a lot of bodies and let the cops sort it all out. Only now you’re going to be part of the death toll.”

  “They’ll figure it out.”

  “I’ll take my chances. Now pull the trigger.”

  “No!”

  “Do it!”

  “You’re going to kill me afterward.”

  In the distance came the howl of approaching sirens.

  “No fucking time for this,” Jack snapped, adjusting his hand so it cupped hers, his finger on top of her trigger finger. “Say goodnight, Zach.”

  At the last moment Katrina cocked her arm back, trying to aim the gun at Jack’s face. She squeezed the trigger. The slug plowed harmlessly into the ceiling. But the noise of the blast an inch from Jack’s ear blew his head back, causing him to loosen his grip on her.

  She dropped to the floor, unable to hear anything except a maddening ringing.

  Seizing the opportunity, Zach rushed forward, bowling into Jack, knocking him backward. For a moment they struggled like drunken dancers, each trying to keep to their feet. Zach was out of control, throwing wild haymakers, trying to hit Jack’s bad shoulder. Then, with a grunt that seemed to indicate he’d had enough, Jack pulled some martial-arts combo, punching Zach in the gut, elbowing him in the jaw hard enough to loosen teeth, and finishing up with a skull-crushing head butt. Zach would have collapsed had Jack not grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back up so he had him tight against his body.

  The world was swimming. Through bleary eyes, Zach saw Katrina scuttling away, the pistol aimed at them. He suddenly understood that Jack was using him as a human shield.

  Outside cars screeched to a halt. Red-and-blue lights flashed through the window, momentarily eclipsed by a shock of sky-wide lightning. The sirens went silent. A burst of thunder shook the house.

  “It’s too late,” Katrina said. “Let him go, Jack.”

  “Looks like we’re all dying here tonight.”

  Zach felt Jack’s arm tighten over his throat.

  “Wait!” Katrina raised the pistol in a nonthreatening manner. “I’ll set this aside if you let him go.”

  “No!” Zach said. “He’ll shoot you!”

  Jack gave his hair a snappy tug, which shut him up.

  “Okay,” he said. “Set the pistol down.”

  She did.

  “Now kick it toward me.”

  “Let him go.”

  “The gun first.”

  She hesitated but kicked the weapon forward. Jack shoved Zach aside and snatched it up. Armed, he started toward the hallway, apparently believing he still had time to make an escape out the back, when someone on a bullhorn outside said: “How the hell are ya, Jack? It’s been a long time. But what d’ya say? Have a few minutes to chat with your old buddy from Virginia?”

  Chapter 42

  Katrina watched Jack freeze midstep. He slowly turned around. His face was impassive, but she thought she saw something in his dark eyes she’d never seen before: fear. He went to the front of the room and flicked off the lights. Pressed his back against the wall, next to the shattered window Zach had jumped through. He shouted above the storm, “Is that you, Russ?”

  “I’m glad you haven’t forgotten the voice of a good friend.”

  “You’re no friend of mine. Not anymore.”

  “Ah, Jack. But you’re too hard on me. I’m not the one who’s a wanted fugitive. That’s you.”

  “What are you doing here, Russ?”

  “What do you think? I’ve come to haul your ass in.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “News travels fast these days, Jack. When we got word of a Jack Reeves involved in a possible homicide up in the beautiful state of Washington, we called the locals for a description. I was whisked up here just as quick as can be on one of the Agency’s private jets.”

  Katrina had been listening to the exchange with rapt attention. Agency? As in, CIA? What was going on? Why would the CIA be after Jack? Surely not for accidentally killing someone in an underground fighting match?

  Jack said, “You should have known you’d never bring me in alive.”

  “Then I’ll bring you in dead.”

  “I have hostages.”

  At this Katrina stiffened. The whites of Zach’s eyes grew wider. She glanced around the room. Their only chance of escape would be down the hallway to the kitchen and out the back. But the door to the hallway was closed. There was no way she or Zach could get it open and flee through it before Jack picked them off with a bullet in their backs.

  Silence reigned for what felt like an eternity. Then the man on the bullhorn said, “I’m coming in to talk to you, Jack. I’m unarmed.”

  “I know how this works, Russ,” Jack said, stroking his ponytail. “I know you can’t cut a deal.”

  “What options do you have? The place is surrounded.”

  “Maybe I’ll just clean house now. Get it over with.”

  Katrina took Zach’s hand and squeezed it; he squeezed back. Her eyes fell on the limp form of Bandit, and she looked away.

  “I just want to talk, Jack. Where’s the harm in that?”

  Jack seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he went cautiously to the door and inched it open a crack. “Come on in, Russ. But I’m not going to promise I’m not going to shoot you.”

  Jack turned to Katrina and Zach and waved the gun. “Get over to that wall, both of you.”

  “Jack—”

  “Now!” he shouted.

  They went to the far wall and hunkered down. Jack crouched behind them. Katrina thought his motivation was to get them all out of any possible line of fire through the front window. The seconds ticked by. Katrina could hear both her and Zach’s breathing, quick and shallow. Jack, however, remained perfectly quiet, despite his injuries.

  Finally, the door pushed farther open. A wedge of light, nothing more than a shade of gray fainter than that in the room, spilled across the hardwood floor. The outline of a man appeared, silhouetted against the storming night.

  “Close the door behind you, Russ,” Jack said.

  The man obeyed. There was a sharp sound as the metallic tongue clicked home in the strike plate. Despite the shadows, Katrina could see the man named Russ was roughly Jack’s size, thick in the chest and shoulders, with hard features and a bald h
ead. He was dressed in navy slacks and a crisp white shirt, no blazer, revealing an empty gun holster.

  Jack aimed the pistol at him. “How many outside?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Russ. This town’s got a three-man police department. One’s lying over there on the floor, dead. That leaves possibly two outside, the chief and some part-time senior citizen who’s twice retired. You expect me to believe you brought a ten-man team with you?”

  “The Agency’s been itching to get you. At any cost.”

  Katrina couldn’t stand the not knowing any longer. “Are you CIA?” she asked the man.

  He looked at Jack, who shrugged.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Special Agent Russell Nowicki. I used to work with Jack Stone here.”

  “Jack Stone?” She looked at Jack. “You said your name was Reeves.”

  Jack smiled humorlessly. “Guess I haven’t been completely honest with you, sweetheart.”

  “And you worked for the CIA as well?” She shook her head, trying to come to terms with everything. “Who are you?”

  “Jack was one of our top agents, ma’am,” Nowicki said. “He began with a brief stint in the CIA’s domestic station in New York. This was right after nine-eleven. His supervisors saw his potential as a rising star and sent him to serve in Egypt, Afghanistan, then as a station chief in Iraq, to oversee the oh-three invasion.”

  “Go on,” Katrina said, riveted by these revelations.

  “Two years ago Jack was charged with destroying eighty-seven CIA videotapes showing the waterboarding of Al Qaeda terror suspects. Unfortunately for him, the Justice Department put together a solid case for his prosecution. Nearly eleven months later a federal judge sentenced him to time behind bars. Jack escaped custody while being escorted from the courthouse. He went underground and has been in hiding ever since.”

  “I was serving my country,” Jack snarled, and there was a ferocity in his voice Katrina had not heard before. “Doing what I thought was best for the Agency. Dozens of agents and contractors had cycled in and out of Iraq to assist with the questioning. If those videos ever surfaced, the identity of those people would have been compromised. Lives would have been put in danger. And what’s the thanks I get? Treated like I’m the enemy?”

  “You went against standing orders from the White House.”

  “Don’t make this political.”

  “Jesus, Jack. It is political. Your cowboy shenanigans caused a real shit storm. Because of the investigation you instigated, we had to turn over sensitive documents, including classified cables from around the world, which are now floating around on WikiLeaks. The bloody director was summoned before a grand jury. Not to mention that Washington Post story about the existence of secret CIA prisons overseas, which got the president in hot water. So tell me, Jack, how is it not political? What was the Agency supposed to do? Someone had to take the fall.”

  “They should have given me a medal,” he said simply.

  “Killing two cops wasn’t the answer, Jack.”

  “What?” Katrina blurted. She was still trying to come to terms with what she was hearing. It was too much, too bizarre. “What do you mean, two cops?”

  “That’s how he escaped custody,” Nowicki told her. “Took out the cops escorting him from the courthouse. With his bare hands. Snapped one of their necks. Strangled the other with the handcuffs on his wrists. Took their car, drove off. Went completely off our radar—until this afternoon.”

  Katrina had gone numb all over. She had cared for Jack. She had slept with him.

  A serial murderer. Maybe even a genuine sociopath.

  “You lied to me,” she said. “About your past. About everything.”

  “No, not everything,” Jack told her. “Not about my past. Not about my training in martial arts. Just about my job. And that wasn’t really lying since I signed an oath not to tell anyone who I was except on a ‘need to know’ basis. And I’m sorry to say, sweetheart, but you didn’t classify as need to know.” He stood, yanking Katrina to her feet as well, holding her against him. “Now that’s enough talk. I want you to go back out there, Russ, and clear the street except for one car. Leave the keys in the ignition and the engine running. She’s coming with me. I see anyone out there, I shoot her. I see anyone following us, I shoot her. Get it?”

  “All right, Jack, if that’s what you want. No problem. I’ll clear the street. Just don’t do anything rash.”

  A squeak sounded from behind them.

  Before Katrina knew what was happening, Jack squeezed off two rounds, dropping Special Agent Nowicki to the floor. Then he spun and released a firestorm of bullets through the hallway door, all in one fluid motion. The door swung open and two men dressed in black combat gear tumbled head over heels into the living room.

  Just as Katrina was gaining her wits, Jack was jerked backward. He was still holding her, and she went down with him, landing on top of him. He dropped the pistol. She sprang off him and picked it up. She whirled around, holding it before her in both hands, backing up.

  To her amazement, Zach had Jack in some kind of full nelson, and she realized Zach must have been the one who’d tugged Jack backward off his feet. Very quickly Jack grabbed Zach by the scruff of the neck and flung him off him like a rag doll.

  “Don’t move, Jack!” she yelled.

  He stared at her, his eyes burning with rage.

  “What are you going to do, Kat? Shoot me?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Your hands are shaking so badly you couldn’t hit the blind side of a barn.”

  “I swear I’ll do it.”

  “No, I don’t think you will.” He pushed himself to his feet. “You know why I don’t think you will?”

  “Shoot him!” Zach said. He’d also regained his feet and came to stand beside her.

  Jack’s gaze flicked to him. “I’m starting to really regret not ending you in that shitty little basement of yours when I had the chance.”

  “Zach,” Katrina said, never taking her eyes off Jack, “go outside and get some help.”

  “Who?”

  “Anybody!”

  “I’m not leaving you alone in here with him.”

  “Will wonders never cease,” Jack mocked, taking a step toward one of the commandos lying on the floor—toward his weapon. “The peeper actually has a backbone.”

  “I said don’t move, Jack!”

  “You’re too good to shoot me, Kat. You don’t have murder in you. I’ve witnessed that firsthand.” He crouched down and picked up one of the two assault rifles on the floor. “Isn’t that right?”

  Fast as a snake, Jack swung the barrel toward her. She was faster. She squeezed off three shots. The first missed but the second plowed into his chest and the third nicked his shoulder, spinning him about. He stumbled sideways, groping the wall for balance, then sliding down it, leaving a red streak on the beige paint. He coughed, spitting blood everywhere.

  “Guess I was wrong,” he mumbled, more blood bubbling from his mouth, and she knew she must have hit a lung. “You’re more like me than I thought.”

  He made a final guttural sound, then went quiet.

  And still.

  “Is he dead?” Zach asked, breaking her trance.

  Time sped up. Sounds returned.

  “He has to be,” she said. “Has to be.”

  She looped her arms around Zach’s neck and held on tightly just as the front door banged open and more men in combat gear spilled into the room, aiming their guns, shouting orders.

  “You didn’t have a choice,” Zach said into her hair seconds before he was tugged away.

  “Yes, I did,” she replied softly. “You always have a choice.”

  Epilogue

  January 3. Four months later.

  Katrina was walking with Zach through the snow- and slush-covered sidewalk along Front Street, enjoying the scenery. If possible, Leavenworth was even more beautiful when painted white and done up in Chri
stmas lights and decorations.

  They passed King Ludwig’s, the restaurant Jack had taken her to on their first date, and she thought back to the night she’d been forced to shoot him. After arranging for Bandit to be taken to the town’s vet, the police chief, a man by the name of William Darcy, had escorted them back to the station, which had gradually filled up with FBI and CIA agents, all of whom had drilled her with question after question about Jack and everything that had led to the deadly climax at her bungalow. When she was finally allowed to meet with an attorney, she entered a guilty plea to a single-count indictment charging her with being an accessory to murder. She hadn’t wanted to go through with a trial. She knew what she did, knew it was wrong, and took full responsibility for it. At the sentencing, however, the deputy district attorney prosecuting the case recommended to the judge the minimum sentence in light of the circumstances of Jack Reeves’s—or Jack Stone’s—character and her own lack of a criminal record. The judge agreed, placing her on probation for one year.

  Katrina did not celebrate. She knew she’d gotten off far easier than she should have. She immediately began her personal penance, dividing her free time among several charities, which required her to travel to a number of towns throughout Chelan County. She found this a rich and rewarding experience, and she knew helping others would be a central component of her routine for a long time to come. Meanwhile, life in Leavenworth had continued with much more normalcy than she would have thought possible. Almost everyone she spoke to was sympathetic to her plight. To her great relief, when she returned to school, no one mentioned the party or Jack again. Small towns might be fertile grounds for gossip, she’d learned, but like any tight-knit family, they could also be understanding and supportive to one of their own, even one as relatively new as herself.

  As for Zach, she’d become good friends with him over the past several months, compounded by the fact he and Crystal were now in a serious relationship. In fact, the three of them tried to get together at least once a week, usually a Friday or Saturday evening for dinner and cards.

  “So where’s this place you wanted to go?” Katrina asked Zach.

  “Right there,” he said, pointing across the street to a pub.