by Sean Black
‘You’re tripping,’ Chauncey had said.
Byron had smiled. ‘Not anymore, I’m not.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Byron
If I’d had any dreams while I was sleeping I didn’t remember them, but I woke to find my hand closing around Chauncey’s throat, slowly crushing his windpipe. I had the Springfield 1911 pressed so hard to his forehead that when I took it away it left a circular groove on the pockmarked skin between his eyes. As I lowered the gun, my hand was trembling. At first I put that down to nerves, the reaction of someone who had just come within a fraction of killing an innocent man. Then I remembered. The shaking wasn’t an emotional response. It was sensory substitution, the reaction of the tips of my fingers to being closed around the metal stock of the gun.
I let go and shoved Chauncey away with my other hand. Behind Chauncey was Repo. He was clutching a sword, and for a moment I flashed back to the village in Afghanistan, and the three men who had come to kill me.
‘I told you never to touch me when I’m sleeping. You want to wake me, shout at me or something, but keep your distance.’
Chauncey looked at me sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I forgot. You really going to shoot me?’
The answer was yes. I said nothing.
‘You want some coffee?’ Repo asked me.
I sat up and surveyed the detritus of the broken-up camp. The cops had done a pretty number on the place. They’d be back too, and if not them, someone else. Chauncey and Repo weren’t safe as long as I was around. I had to get out of there, and so did they.
Over the course of the past three nights I had remembered more. There had been no single epiphany. Instead it had been a slow piecing together that had accelerated as every new piece slotted back into place. I ran a hand over my skull, the magnetic sensors in my fingertips tingling as they came within range of my implants.
I looked up at my two unlikely saviors. ‘You have to leave. Today.’
Repo wasn’t having it. ‘You said that last night, but, dude, you’ve said a lot of crazy shit since we saved your ass.’
Chauncey shrugged. ‘You need to relax, brother. We stood in that bar and no one looked twice at us. Hell, there wasn’t even nothing on the local news.’
How did I explain to them that governments ran news blackouts without sounding even crazier? ‘Forget all that. There are people looking for me right now. Not local cops. Federal, government people. You helped me and that puts you both in danger.’
Mention of the government and the feds seemed to put Chauncey on edge. ‘What’s the government want with you?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘The less you know, the better.’
Chauncey and Repo traded a look. They must have met more than one person down in the tunnels who had some sort of paranoid fantasy that the government was out to get them.
‘All I know,’ said Repo, taking a sip of his coffee, ‘is that you are one bad-ass motherfucker. Look, man, you go ahead and split if you like. We ain’t going to admit we helped you, never mind anything else.’
I studied their faces. I already knew they weren’t going to leave. The tunnels were their home. They felt safe there. This was the life they had chosen. I dug into my back pocket and peeled off some twenty-dollar bills from the roll I had. ‘At least take a vacation for a couple of weeks until the heat dies down.’
‘We don’t want your money,’ said Repo.
‘The hell we don’t. Thanks, man,’ said Chauncey, tucking the bills into the front pocket of his dirt-encrusted jeans.
THIRTY-NINE
Harry Graves stepped past the sallyport toward a row of eight blue Arizona doors. He turned to the corrections officer. ‘I can take it from here.’
The CO, a big man with a handlebar mustache, shook his head. ‘No can do. Not with this guy.’ The CO gave a heavy nod to the door. ‘He come in. We gave him a cellie. Stone-cold lifer. Not someone who’s going to go upsetting a’body. Fella hung hisseff while Eldon here was in the shower.’
Graves studied the CO. There was an air of fear to the man that you didn’t get with jailers. It came off him in waves. It was the same vibe he’d had from everyone he’d mentioned the name Eldon James to. The guy scared people who usually weren’t scared. It went way beyond anything rational. ‘How’d you know he wasn’t planning on doing that in any case? He was a lifer. You said so yourself.’
‘Lifers don’t go out like that, Mr Graves. They just don’t,’ said the CO. He sighed. ‘Tell you what. I’ll pretend like I’m deaf. How does that suit you?’
Graves didn’t have the energy for this so he decided to let it go. ‘He’s coming with me. You know that, right? I mean, if he wants to. Seems kind of redundant to have a chaperone under those circumstances.’
‘And if he doesn’t want to accept your offer, then you’re going to need me,’ said the CO, tapping the industrial-size can of pepper spray on his utility belt.
Forty-five minutes later, Graves pulled out of the front parking lot. Next to him in the passenger seat was Eldon James. Graves was careful to call him Mr James or (once he had checked that it was appropriate) Eldon. At no time did he call Eldon James by the name everyone else had for him – a nickname by way of The Simpsons, which would have been funny if it had been applied to anyone except Eldon: Satan’s Little Helper.
Eldon squirmed in his seat. In fact, the guy didn’t stop moving. Not once. He reminded Graves of a hyperactive child with ADHD. He wasn’t that much bigger than a child either. Graves wondered if that accounted for the number of men he had killed. You’d look at Eldon and not think anything of it. He was small, five feet seven, and skinny, maybe one hundred thirty-five at a push and with some rocks in his pockets. He had short cropped hair, and a pale verging on sickly complexion with big brown eyes. His feet and hands were big and out of proportion with the rest of him. He sure as hell didn’t look like a killer whose blood lust had proved even too much for special forces. He didn’t look like shit. But the files didn’t lie. Satan’s Little Helper had taken more lives than most active-service platoons. He had something else too: he was an expert tracker. You wanted to find someone, he was your man.
‘You hungry?’ Graves asked him, as they came up on a sign informing them of a truck stop a few miles ahead.
‘Sure,’ said Eldon. ‘I could eat.’
‘How’d they treat you back there?’
Eldon shrugged. ‘Could have got messy if’n they’d kept me much longer. I need my space.’
Terrific, thought Graves. I got three hundred more miles alone in a car with this nut bag. He swiped at the stalk of his turn signal. ‘Let’s get you something to eat. Whatever you like. All on Uncle Sam’s dime. Just like old times.’
‘Just like old times?’
‘I have a job for you, Eldon.’
‘I guessed that already. Who is it, and what’s in it for me?’
Graves took Eldon’s directness as a good sign. The guy might have come off like some backwoods hillbilly but you didn’t assemble his kill rate without having something about you. ‘I’ll bring you up to speed on the individual later. What’s in it for you is your freedom.’
Eldon threw his head back and laughed. ‘No deal.’
Graves leaned toward him. ‘What do you mean “no deal”? You’re looking at life without.’
‘I want a return to active service. Ain’t no life worth living if I can’t do what God put me on the planet to do.’
‘You mean take other people off it.’
‘Never killed a body that didn’t need some killing, Mr Graves. And I would include those two gentlemen I shot in Texas,’ said Eldon.
‘Active service, an official return to your unit, no dice, no way I could swing that. But I could keep you plenty busy. Off-the-books work. Some here, some overseas. You want time to think it over, I can drop you back at the prison.’ said Graves.
‘Good enough.’
When they had finished eating, Graves walked Eldon back out to the car. They s
at in back. Graves pulled out his notebook computer and double-clicked on the file they’d assembled on Byron Tibor. He angled the screen away from Eldon for a second.
‘This goes no further,’ he said to Eldon. ‘You do not discuss at any time the details of this operation. I also want to emphasize that in the initial stages you are charged with locating this individual. You have to wait for direct orders before you take any further action. If we can detain him, that’s our chosen option.’
Eldon seemed a little deflated at this twist but he nodded.
Graves angled the screen back so Eldon could see it. Eldon grinned as he stared at the picture of Tibor. ‘For real? Tibor?’
‘I understand you served together for a time. That’s why I thought you might be the right person for this particular task.’
‘So what’s he done so bad that you want him? I mean, the guy was a regular Boy Scout when I knew him.’
‘He’s gone AWOL, and he’s carrying some sensitive information. Information that would threaten national security were it to be accessed by the wrong people.’
Eldon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Tibor? You sure?’
‘We’re sure,’ said Graves.
‘So you want this information back?’ Eldon asked.
‘Don’t worry about that. We just want Tibor.’
Eldon turned his hands over so that his palms were facing up. ‘I’ll need money, a weapon.’
It was Graves’s turn to smile. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to make sure you have everything you need.’
‘You want him dead or alive?’
‘You’ll be issued with a full set of ROE. As I said, we’d prefer him alive, but circumstances …’ Graves trailed off, letting Eldon read into the pause what he wished to. ROE stood for rules of engagement, the guidelines that set out under what circumstances lethal force could be deployed by a field operative. For a situation like this they usually offered several degrees more latitude than in standard military operations.
‘Got any idea where he might be?’
Graves nodded. ‘We believe he’s in Las Vegas. Three days ago there was an incident involving Metro cops. We have him on an elevated watch list at all nearby airports. And we have people watching bus stations and other transport hubs as well as local hospitals. It’s a little more complicated than a regular manhunt because we have a media blackout in place.’
‘So what’s the deal with this information he has? You think he’s going to try and sell it or something?’ Eldon asked.
‘No, it’s nothing like that. Let’s just say that Tibor has had what might be best described as some kind of nervous breakdown,’ said Graves, careful not to lie.
Eldon’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t get it. The guy was like a rock. What makes someone like that flip out and run off with something that’s classified?’
‘Do everyone a favor, Eldon. You catch him. Leave the figuring out to us.’
FORTY
New York City
Julia
They were watching her. And even if they weren’t, it was safer for her to assume that they were. But as Julia woke after a fitful night’s sleep it wasn’t surveillance that was troubling her, it was whether Graves had been telling the truth. To be told that her husband had been killed in action would almost have been better than the state of limbo she had been plunged into.
She got up and walked from the bedroom into the living room and across to the small desk by the window. Last night she had shut down her computer and unplugged it at the wall. Byron had spoken in passing but at length about how the internet was the greatest invention ever, as far as governments, including their own, were concerned. Coming from anyone else it might have sounded like conspiracy stuff but the way he had laid it out had made complete sense.
‘Just think, Julia, when George Orwell wrote 1984, he was talking about a screen in everyone’s living room that Big Brother could watch them through. And now look at what we have. Cameras and a perfect surveillance system that the government doesn’t even have to pay for. Orwell would laugh his ass off if he were around now at how dumb people are.’
She had laughed when he’d said it but he hadn’t joined in.
‘The web was a piece of military technology first. You think they allowed civilian use without thinking it through?’
He hadn’t been saying it to scare her. He had simply been stating a fact. She picked up the business card that Graves had left and turned it over in her hand. She thought about calling him but decided to wait until later. There were a few other things she wanted to know about him first.
She took a shower, dressed, grabbed her bag, the same bag Byron had rescued from the two muggers, and left the apartment. Outside it was a cool, crisp New York Saturday, the kind that featured in Woody Allen movies and romantic comedies. She stopped at the small Cypriot neighbourhood deli, forced herself to eat half a bagel, washed down with black coffee, then headed for the subway.
She rode the 1 Train all the way up to 116th Street, then walked across campus to her office. On the way she watched for someone following her but in the crush of people on the subway, even as it emptied out a little above 96th, it was next to impossible. If you wanted to follow someone, Manhattan had to be an ideal environment to do it.
She shared her office with two other academics. One was currently doing research in London and the other, Katrina, was from Ukraine and did most of her work from home, which left the small space to Julia. All the computers in the office were hooked up to a central system. Julia logged on to Katrina’s computer, figuring that accessing the other, when the person had been away for several months, might flag somewhere. Logging in was straightforward.
She thought about using Google or a similar search engine but quickly decided against it. Typing in ‘Byron Tibor’ to Google would be bound to raise a flag somewhere and there was no way on the university system to hide your IP address, the unique identifier that told someone where the search request had originated. Instead she began to search through various news sites, looking for something, anything. After an hour, she gave up. There was no mention of Byron or anyone that resembled him. Whatever had happened, the people he worked for were making sure it would stay like that.
She dug into her purse and pulled out the number Graves had given her. Maybe he would slip up and give something away.
She punched in the cell number. Graves answered almost immediately.
‘Mrs Tibor, how are you? Have you heard from your husband?’
Something about the urgency in his voice comforted her. He might know a lot more than she did right now, but she was sure he didn’t know where Byron was.
‘How did you know it was me?’ she asked him.
‘New York area code. I guessed.’
Yeah, right, she thought. ‘No, I haven’t heard anything. I was hoping you might have news.’
‘I’m very sorry. We’re making every effort but so far we’ve got nothing concrete,’ said Graves. ‘We’re working hard, though, you can be assured of that. Byron’s very important to us. We’re leaving no stone unturned. We’ll find him.’
‘You’re sure we can’t contact the media?’
On the other end of the line, Graves almost choked. ‘Not without risking his life and those of people he works alongside. You haven’t spoken to anyone, have you?’
‘No, Mr Graves. Listen, I just want my husband back safe.’
‘You and me both. If you hear anything …’
‘You’ll be the first to know,’ Julia lied.
FORTY-ONE
Graves
Graves killed the call from Julia Tibor. Across from him, a data analyst from the NSA was looking at an analysis of the call. The analyst shrugged his shoulders. ‘She’s telling the truth.’
Graves sensed a little doubt. ‘But?’
‘There is a slight disruption to her speech.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘Here, and here. Where she asked about how you knew it was her. But that could just be the stress associated w
ith this type of situation. Other than that it’s all clean. She’s telling the truth.’
‘Sometimes I forget we’re not supposed to know what we know,’ said Graves.
‘There is something else, though,’ said the analyst.
Graves leaned toward him.
‘Bunch of internet searches at a computer in her office at Columbia,’ the analyst continued.
‘Oh, yeah?’ said Graves. He’d expected her to do some digging. It was human nature. The woman’s husband was MIA while on government business, and they’d told her pretty much nothing. She was bright. She was hardly likely to stay home filing her nails and watching daytime TV. The only thing that had him worried was her going to the media, and putting Byron’s disappearance into the public domain. ‘What was she Googling?’
The analyst looked nervous. ‘Come on, what?’ Graves pressed.
‘You sure she didn’t know about the program, Harry?’
‘What the fuck are you talking about? She can’t know. No one knows.’
The analyst tapped a finger to the screen. ‘Take a look at the search terms, Harry. She might not know everything, but she knows a lot.’
Graves started reading through the search terms. The analyst was right. There were terms in there that only someone who was on the inside could have known. ‘What about her email? She shared any of this?’
‘Haven’t had time to go through each one but the analytics and hot words search were clear. Looks like he told her but she hasn’t shared with anyone.’
Graves chewed it over. If she hadn’t told anyone it was containable. The question he couldn’t get past was why Byron would have said anything, even if she was his wife. The firewall that surrounded operatives like him was there for a reason that he would have understood. It came down to one simple thing – what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.
He had to go speak to her again. They had a flight heading back east in an hour. He put in a call and checked there was room. Then he headed out of the office at speed. Traffic would take up most of that hour. He needed to get to Julia Tibor before she did something with the information that they’d all regret.