by Ty Patterson
‘He sent a message for you.’ Broker grins when he feels Zeb still like a cat. ‘Remember that washed-up veteran you spoke to?’
‘Kelly.’
‘Yup, Kelly. I think you asked him to spread the word that you’re hunting Holt?’
Zeb nods.
‘Well, he got passed a message from his network.’ Broker pauses for effect and then gives up, seeing that Zeb can outwait the Sphinx.
‘He told Kelly that you can forget about hunting him. He’s coming after you.’
He waits for a reaction. Gets none.
‘Well, isn’t that what you wanted? Exactly that reaction?’
‘Yes, but until he shows up, this is meaningless. In fact, I’m surprised he even bothered to send this message. How do you know it’s from him?’
Broker turns serious. ‘Kelly was told to pass on that the girl with the burning hair who you found alive? He left her dead.’
Zeb says nothing, shows nothing. Not even Andrews knew about the girl with the burned hair, only someone on the scene would, and also know that Zeb moved her away from the fire. Someone. Holt or his remaining colleagues.
Broker sees no reaction from Zeb, but from his very stillness he knows there is a blast furnace raging inside him.
‘That helps,’ says Zeb finally, ‘but it doesn’t change anything. The plan is still to draw him out to me.’
‘I would say you’re niggling away at him seems to be working if he’s resorting to messages like that,’ agrees Broker. ‘Do you want to pass any message back to Holt?’
‘Nope.’
They watch the party in silence, and then Broker nudges Zeb. ‘The Director.’
Zeb looks across and sees her raising an eyebrow at him. He makes his way across.
‘You don’t take orders, do you?’
‘Ma’am, I am shocked. I have never disobeyed an order in my life,’ he replies, straight-faced.
‘Be careful. You’re alone in this. You’re going up against an establishment that I can’t save you from.’
‘Not a new situation to me,’ Zeb replies and makes his way back.
Broker snorts in derision when Zeb updates him. ‘Funny how in the grand scheme of things, what happened in the Congo gets forgotten, or gets buried. Bureaucrats. Used toilet paper rolls have more value.’
Broker turns serious. ‘You might find it’s not just Holt gunning for you. The establishment’ – he waves a hand around him – ‘might want to bury all loose ends along with the story.’
Zeb nods once; he’s aware of that. They join Connor once the events have finished and make their way out.
‘Major, you’re coming to the Catskills with us next week, aren’t you?’ Anne asks.
‘I have a lot on my plate,’ replies Zeb.
‘Rory will be so disappointed. He was looking forward to having you there. Can’t you try, Zeb?’ Lauren asks him.
‘I’ll give it some thought and let you know in a couple of days.’
He goes back with Broker, who turns to him while driving, ‘You worried that Holt might attack when you guys are in the mountains?’
‘Yes. And also I don’t want Rory to get too close to me. You know very well I’m not cut out for these things. The closer I am to people, the greater the risk I put them in.’
Silence fills the car.
‘A long time ago, I knew someone who used to never turn his back on relationships, whatever the circumstances.’
More silence.
As they’re nearing Jackson Heights, Broker asks him, ‘What will you be doing now? Provoking Holt some more?’
‘I’m meeting the FBI.’
Chapter 11
‘What? Why?’ Broker exclaims.
‘The Director and I spoke at length tonight.’
‘I’m confused, man. You were at her table not more than five minutes. I was watching.’
‘We spoke outside the hall, when she was coming out of the restroom. But the how and where is irrelevant.’
‘Right, so what was she saying about them? And why couldn’t they contact you directly?’
‘Mendes wants to talk to the FBI. That’s thrown them in a loop, since they’re already talking to Holt.’
‘So?’
‘So, they want to talk to me first.’
‘About?’
‘No idea. The Director asked me to meet them as a favor to her.’
Broker mulls this over. ‘You know it might be a setup.’
‘Yep.’
‘You know you’re not the FBI’s poster boy. They could make you disappear under the Patriot Act.’
‘Everything is a setup to you.’
‘In my information business, it doesn’t pay to take things at face value. You’re really going to meet them?’
‘Yep.’
‘Maybe I should come along as backup.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t.’
Zeb meets Isakson at Federal Plaza after being made to wait for far too long and then patted down and searched thoroughly. Isakson’s payback for humiliating him.
Isakson places a folder in front of him. ‘I think you’ve met Pieter Mendes. Ex-Ranger was in the Congo, and now in New York.’
Zeb opens the folder and idly flips through it. It has the same information in it that Andrews, and later on Broker, had provided him with. ‘Never met him. Name doesn’t ring a bell either.’
Isakson pauses. ‘Come, come now, Major. Let’s stop playing games, shall we? We know what you did in the Congo. Our brothers in the agency whispered in our ears.
‘After we leaned on them,’ he adds.
‘Don’t waste my time with stuff you and I already know,’ Zeb replies and gets up to leave.
Isakson steps forward. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ He steps back when he sees Zeb’s expression.
‘We need your help,’ he says finally, after a long silence. ‘We’ve been receiving a steady stream of intel from Holt on Al Qaeda’s activities in the Congo. This intel has helped us close in on some dangerous networks. As you are aware, in return we have offered Holt immunity and witness protection. We didn’t question Holt too closely about what he did in the Congo and who with, but he did tell us that he was with five others and only three of them were left, and he also mentioned you were pushing a vendetta against him. Vendetta. His word.
‘Now, Mendes contacted us a few days ago, and he, too, said he had some information for us on the Congo. He specifically took Holt’s name and said he was aware Holt was informing on Al Qaeda and he had additional information.’
‘So talk to him. Why are you wasting my time?’
‘He’ll only talk to you.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘We could make you talk to him.’
He shifts on his feet when Zeb gazes at him, his eyes cold, boring holes through Isakson, making the ridiculousness of Isakson’s comment obvious.
‘We need your help,’ Isakson repeats. ‘Mendes might have more intel, and we can’t pass up any opportunity to get more on Al Qaeda.’
‘Looks like it was pretty easy for you to ignore the mass rape and killing of women and children in the Congo. Or didn’t your new best friend, Holt, tell you what he was up to over there? Maybe you didn’t even ask.’
Isakson flushes deeply. ‘That was not my call. Way above my pay grade. You should know how these things work.’
Zeb looks at him contemptuously. ‘That rationalization makes you sleep better at night?’
A vein beats rapidly on Isakson’s forehead as he struggles to control himself. After a long silence he takes a deep breath. ‘Whether I do is not your concern. Will you speak to Mendes?’
‘Set it up.’
Isakson shows Zeb out. ‘Major,’ he calls out as Zeb steps out.
Zeb pauses, doesn’t turn.
‘We want you to get all the intel you can from him, not kill him. We would be most upset if anything happened to Mendes during your meeting.’
Zeb continues without a word.
‘I don’t like it,’ says Broker, when Zeb updates him. ‘The timing is too coincidental. Let’s face it; they have absolutely no love for you. If anything happened to you, they wouldn’t shed any tears. What’s stopping Holt from taking you out with a long gun as you meet Mendes?’
‘I’m going to meet him,’ and on that Zeb hangs up.
They meet at a crowded café near Times Square, late evening. Mendes’s choice. Mendes has specifically requested that Zeb meet him alone and that Zeb be dressed in tight clothes so that he can conceal no weapons.
Zeb is aware that Isakson has posted undercover agents around the café. He wanted Zeb to wear a wire, but Zeb flatly refused. Zeb is seated with his back to the wall, thick walls, enough to stop even a Barrett M107 shot.
Mendes is thinner than portrayed in the agency files. Disheveled. Greasy hair and beard, he’s not exactly a role model for personal hygiene products. His eyes dart around, meeting Zeb’s only briefly.
‘It’s you who’s after us.’
Zeb doesn’t say anything. Studies him, watches his hands tremble. Zeb’s radar is not pinging, so he thinks Mendes has come alone. He’s wearing a jacket that could conceal a gun, but that doesn’t bother Zeb.
‘Holt mentioned that you killed Con, Brink…I didn’t see the bodies. Jones and I had left earlier.
‘We were six. The world was ours.’ He laughs harshly. ‘Now look where we are. Three of us left, hunted by you. Hunted by just one man, with no support from anyone. Who are you, man?’
He looks around. ‘I should kill you. Holt said whoever sees you should shoot you on the spot.’
Zeb can sense the undercover agents inching closer. Isakson was bound to be using parabolic mics to pick up their conversation, and Mendes’s last utterance would have sent the agents to highest alert.
Mendes turns back to Zeb. ‘Now that bastard has become an FBI informer, I hear. He’s safe and protected, but not Jones or I. We were with him. We both know as much as him, if not more. We also want to be protected from a madman like you and whoever else is out there.’
‘If I’m mad, what does that make you? And why ask for me? You could have had this conversation with the FBI, the NYPD, anyone.’ Zeb’s eyes bore holes in him.
‘I didn’t think the cops or anyone else would take me seriously. I wasn’t sure if I could trust them either; hence I told them I would talk only to you. I guess your coming shows how badly they want my information.’
‘If they wanted your intel that badly, they would’ve met you. There wasn’t any need for going through me. Unless it was to set me up.’
Mendes meets his eyes briefly and looks away. ‘I have my reasons. As for setting you up – that’s the risk you willingly took.’
He pauses reflectively. ‘Once we went to Somalia, we were like animals. That country changed us. Holt changed us. Maybe we wanted to change. I was different before the Congo. I believed in good, in rightness, in justice. But there…’ He trails off.
He smiles crookedly, still not meeting Zeb’s eyes. ‘What we did there…it doesn’t leave you.’
‘You telling me you got a taste for raping and killing girls now?’ Zeb asks.
Mendes stills his nervous twitching and goes white. He finally looks at Zeb. ‘It sits on your shoulder. Always. And it eats away at you.’
‘You looking for sympathy and forgiveness?’
Mendes stares at Zeb. Zeb is sprawled, relaxed. And ready.
‘Tell your friends in the FBI that I have more information than Holt has, to close down cells. Holt just gave the orders. I and the others did all the dirty work and got up-close and personal with the locals and know better than Holt, what the Al Qaeda are doing there. I know names, numbers, cells, locations, the way they work…a shit load more than what Holt knows and is feeding them. In return I want immunity. I want you to set this up for me.’
‘And why do you think I give a shit about what you want? I want you. Every one of you and mostly Holt. Why the fuck should I play matchmaker for you when I would rather plug you dead?’
‘Then I’m wasting my time with you. And as for killing me, you won’t. You see, you’re my insurance policy now. If you kill me, or I die for whatever reason, the FBI will come down on you faster than a ton of bricks.’ He smiles coldly, the nervous twitching all gone.
He stands up, looking down at Zeb, who is still sprawled in his seat. ‘Get them to give me the same deal that they’re giving Holt, or I’ll go public with their dirty dealing and bring this shit crashing down on them.’
Mendes looks at him a moment, then turns around and walks out.
Zeb follows him a moment later.
Mendes stops outside the café, with Zeb a few feet behind him. New York swirls around them and goes about its business. The agents are there. Zeb can sense them.
‘You know, Holt was right.’ Mendes turns his head to look back at Zeb.
A woman facing Mendes screams. ‘Gun! He’s got a gun!’
Mendes turns smoothly towards Zeb, his right arm sliding out of his jacket, holding a gun. People dive to the pavement, taking shelter behind up-ended tables as more screams punctuate the air.
Zeb stands still. Nothing exists now but the straightening arm of Mendes with the gun at the end of it.
Isakson breaks cover from inside an anonymous car and runs towards the two of them. ‘Stop. FBI. Throw down your gun.’
More FBI agents run screaming orders at the two.
Isakson sees Mendes’s arm straightening, his forefinger heading to the trigger as he sights Zeb.
Zeb is still standing motionless, and only when the gun has reached Mendes’s eyes does he move. All Isakson sees is a blur.
Bad time for an itch, he thinks, and the next moment the Benchmade Entourage buries itself in Mendes’s throat.
Isakson has been watching Zeb, screaming at him to duck, and he still could not see Zeb’s arm move as he threw the knife. Isakson sprints to Mendes, stoops over his fallen body, and removes the gun from his hand. One of his agents has called the paramedics, and the other agents are holding back the crowd of people, shielding them from Mendes and dispersing them. Isakson tries to stem the flow of blood from Mendes but can see it’s in vain. Zeb’s knife has severed the major arteries and major muscles in his throat.
Isakson joins Zeb, who is still standing motionless, looking dispassionately at Mendes.
‘I was listening in. You didn’t ask him anything about Al Qaeda, which is what I was interested in.’
‘Not my problem.’
Isakson shakes his head, trying to understand what’s happened. ‘Craziest thing I’ve seen or heard. He sets out his terms and then decides to kill you. Surely he would have known there was no way he could have escaped after shooting you.’
Zeb replies drily, ‘That was sorta what he wanted.’
Isakson sees the media swarm approaching and leaves to head them off. He shouts over his shoulder, ‘I’m majorly pissed that you didn’t ask him about his intel. For that alone I might just be tempted to feed you to the media.’
Zeb disappears into the throng.
‘You did what? Killed him in Times Square, in broad daylight, in front of thousands of people?’ Broker exclaims when Zeb briefs him.
‘Near Times Square. In the evening. And he was drawing a gun on me. You wanted me to pray?’
‘Yup, I see your point. Four down now,’ Broker says gleefully.
‘By the way, didn’t you say Isakson was going to hand you over on a platter to the media?’
‘He didn’t put it quite that way, but I wouldn’t put it beyond him.’
‘Hold on. Let me check the news.’
Broker comes back a few minutes later. ‘Nada. Not a thing about you. There is a brief story about a man being killed near Times Square and that the police are investigating it, but no details. Nothing much on cyberspace either, and I checked the usual – Twitter, Facebook, that shit. Let me do some digging and find out why Isakson had a change of heart.
I doubt he has a heart, but we’ll never know for sure.
‘What’s next?’ he asks Zeb.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ replies Zeb. ‘I’ll continue to paint target circles on myself.’
‘Are you going back to Williamstown in the next few days?’ asks Broker.
‘Nope. I’m thinking of joining the Balthazars on their mountain trip. I wasn’t planning to go, but if Isakson feeds me to the press, then it might be better to disappear for a short while.’
‘What if Holt comes after you there?’
‘I did think of that, and that’s the reason I wasn’t willing initially. However, if Isakson has a change of heart, then Cassandra and the Balthazars will inevitably get sucked into the media scrum, whatever happens. If Holt comes at me in the mountains, I’ll deal with it. I’ll be ready. I’ll warn Connor, however, and leave the final decision to him.’
‘Good thinking. I’ll come back to you if I hear anything about Isakson’s angelic act.’
Its late night when Zeb goes to the tabla school, but it’s still open, and he can hear the sounds of the drums. When he pushes open the doors, he sees that the hall is empty but for his teacher. His teacher smiles widely on seeing Zeb and beckons him silently. He eyes Zeb silently as he approaches.
‘This is a place to heal. Not to wage war.’
‘I have known only war all my life.’
His teacher smiles. ‘The tabla does not bond with those that only destroy.’
Zeb is silent. His teacher looks at him silently and then launches into the Ardha Taal Chakra. A half-beat tabla taal that starts with the smallest rhythm circle, growing one beat at a time, pulling Zeb into its ripples.
It’s early morning when Zeb returns to yet another transient hotel. Broker has left him a message.
‘I have news for you.’
Chapter 12
‘The Director’s still batting for you. Isakson was going to make a press statement releasing the details of Mendes’s killing when she got wind of it. She called the FBI’s Director and said that a certain Special Agent in Charge had better like cleaning toilet bowls in Idaho, because that would be the only job he’d get once she was through with him. She also said the same SAC could be booked under the Patriot Act for risking sensitive operational details. I guess she meant the media digging into your past.