Knife Point

by Jim Heskett

  “Yes?”

  “It’s not that easy for me to talk about. I want to give you what you want, but…”

  He tried to study her facial expressions to get a read on how she meant it. But he had trouble poking through. Her face was a constantly shifting menagerie of intentions and thoughts. Instead, he waited for her to continue, but he soon realized it was his turn to talk. Mariana wanted him to draw the information out of her. Or, that was his best guess as to her intention.

  “How do you mean?”

  She leaned closer to him, her lips against his neck. Hot breath tickled the little blond hairs there. She gave him a playful bite on the ear as she put her hands on his arms and gave each bicep a sturdy squeeze.

  “You’re a thick one, aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I put in my time at the gym.”

  “Tomorrow night at my place. Come over and cook me dinner, and I’ll tell you all about whatever you want to know.”

  When she pulled back and tilted her head up to meet his eyes, the wry grin returned. He considered kissing her but decided against it. Mariana wanted to wait until tomorrow night. Another day of pent-up tension in day treatment, another day of furtive glances and quickly disappearing smirks. He knew the drill.

  Above all, he couldn’t be aggressive with her. Even though he was under a general time crunch, he didn’t want to go too far and make her think he was only using her for information. Which, in a way, he was, but he didn’t need to be obvious about it. He actually did like her and her vigorous flirtiness. Refreshing to be with someone so upfront about it.

  “I can make you dinner,” he said. “I already know you’re not a vegetarian, so I’ve got a little more to work with.”

  “Can’t wait to see what you dream up.”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but his phone beeped. A notification from the GPS tracker he’d attached to Jonah's car. He was at home. A quick check of his watch told Layne that Jonah would probably stay at home now, too.

  “Have to go?” she asked.

  “I do. But, tomorrow night, it’s a date.”

  12

  Layne slid over the back fence and kept low until his heart rate slowed enough for him to hear everything. The neighbors next door had wind chimes on their front porch, and a light breeze made them ping every few seconds. On the other side of the street, a dog in a back yard barked at a constant rhythm. Aside from that, Layne heard nothing.

  He’d come up from behind the house, in a slim alley blanketing the backyards of houses on either side. While there were plenty of homes with lights on, he hadn’t seen anyone spying him as he crept down the gravel path in his black shirt and dark jeans.

  Jonah's backyard was sparse. No pool, no barbecue pit, no grass littered with kids’ toys. As far as Layne knew, Jonah had no children. At least, he hadn’t back when they’d known each other. A set of patio furniture populated a slim patch of grass, a few empty beer bottles atop the table. Layne wondered if he took prints, whether he might find Farhad’s on one of those bottles. Perhaps, but Layne didn’t want to expend the resources to investigate. He had bigger things to worry about.

  Layne eyed the security system on the back door of Jonah's house. A tiny panel near the top of the sliding glass door into the kitchen told him everything he needed to know. Qualmatrix Home Defense 1800, one of the last of the Qualmatrix designs to come out before Layne had retired from the home security business. Top of the line. Whatever was going on here with Jonah claiming to be Wade Nicholson, he clearly saw the need for premium home security. The kind of security almost no one could bypass.

  Almost no one, except for Layne Parrish, who had installed one of these as the last job he’d taken for his security consulting business. A rich guy living in Creede, Colorado, not far from Layne’s cabin in South Fork. One of those houses on an oversized patch of hilly land, out in the middle of nowhere. The sort of place that didn’t need security because the closest neighbor was a mile away. But, the man had been willing to pay Layne’s premium prices, so Layne had not refused the job. Not that Layne had needed the money.

  He popped off the panel and found the switch on the bottom. A quick flick moved it from positive to negative, and then he entered 0703005 on the keypad. The panel gave no visual or auditory sign it had disarmed.

  Layne hesitated. He seemed to remember that, when disarmed, the keypad on the 1800 would flash green twice. But, it hadn’t this time. Was this not the 1800 series? Was it a newer model, or had Jonah somehow modified the disarming sequence?

  Layne set his jaw. He didn’t want to try again and risk sounding an alarm. Also, if he had triggered a silent alarm, then he would need to hurry. There were no lights on in the kitchen, or from what Layne could see in the living room. No one in the immediate vicinity.

  But, that alarm still could have contacted the security company.

  Layne fingered the syringe through the outside of his jeans pocket, then he blew out a breath. No more time to quietly debate the possibilities. Time to go.

  He picked the lock on the sliding glass door and eased it open. Nothing changed. No alarms, no beep, no light indicator anywhere. It seemed unnaturally quiet. Not even the refrigerator made a hum.

  He slipped inside the house. A simple ranch home, not too big. But, the interior was filled with expensive antiques and artwork, stainless steel appliances, and kitchen countertops that looked like some sort of rare material. Layne wasn’t an expert on kitchens, but obviously, Jonah liked the finer things. Smart move, since this didn’t seem like the best neighborhood. Humble home from the outside, all the comforts on the inside.

  Layne checked his watch. A little after ten. No sounds in the house. Could Jonah have gone to bed this early? As Layne crossed the kitchen, he took the syringe from his pocket. Still with the cap on.

  At the edge of the room, he peered into the living room. Lights off. The hallway leading back to the bedroom area was also dark. A nightlight glowed orange from the bathroom halfway down, and a dim light came from one of the bedrooms. Reading light, most likely. There was one other bedroom. Also dark.

  He spent a few seconds breathing, paying attention to the way air shifted inside the house. Listening for the soft shuffling of feet on the carpet, the gentle creak of door hinges. He heard nothing.

  Layne set his sights on the master bedroom, syringe in one hand. Most likely, he would find the bed on the far side of the room. He would have to rush in and plunge the needle into Jonah's thigh. There would probably be a struggle. Above all, Layne didn’t want to hurt Jonah unnecessarily. He couldn’t leave blood or anything else behind.

  Skulking down the hall, he stopped at the edge of the bathroom. Empty save for the nightlight, casting a glow across the clawfoot tub. He leaned in, taking stock of the contents of the room.

  Layne took another step forward. A figure emerged from the first bedroom, the dark one. Jonah, sprinting at him. Like a flash, coming out of nowhere.

  “Why are you in my house?“ Jonah yelled as he reared back to punch with his right. Layne reacted, pulling back his left shoulder. The punch sailed harmlessly past, a few inches from Layne’s face. Layne gave Jonah a little shove with his free hand to create space and ready himself for the next punch.

  But, Jonah was quick to recover. He’d already balled his other fist. He slammed it into Layne’s gut. Same old lightning reflexes and one hell of a jab.

  Layne resisted the urge to double over from the blow. Instead, he flicked his thumb under the cap of the syringe. It clicked as it came off and tumbled toward the carpet.

  He brought his hand up and jabbed the needle into Jonah's stomach. He wanted the thigh or neck, but the angle was wrong. It would have to do.

  Jonah gave a yelp as the needle entered his flesh, and he tried to turn away. Layne snatched his arm to keep him from twisting free. Probably not a good idea to break off the needle inside him. Layne gripped hard to keep Jonah in place.

  With his thumb, Layne pressed the plunger down. Jonah tr
ied again to jerk free, but Layne held firm. He pulled the syringe out, a dot of blood forming on his shirt, over the injection site.

  A second later, Jonah's eyes dimmed. He ceased fighting and slumped against the wall. His legs crumpled, and he slid down, onto the carpet. Head dipping, lips moving, slower and slower.

  “Why are you… what do you w—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, his mouth drooped, a dab of saliva forming on his lower lip. Eyes shut, shoulders still rising and falling.

  Layne grabbed Jonah’s wrist to monitor his pulse as he drifted off to sleep. “Sorry, man. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but don’t you worry. We’re going to get you right and figure out what the hell is going on here.”

  Part II

  Stray Cats And Dogs

  13

  Layne dabbed sweat from his forehead and opened the door at the Best Western a crack to see who had knocked. Through the slim space between the door and doorjamb, Harry Boukadakis stood outside on the landing. Morning light shined from above, coloring his pasty face.

  Layne smiled. “Come on in, man.”

  He opened the door a bit more, just enough for Harry and his briefcase to waddle on through. Layne peeked around outside, checking left and right and up onto the roof of the next building. No one seemed to be watching, but he’d survived this long by being careful.

  When he shut the door, they stood for a moment, grinning at each other. Physically, Harry was the polar opposite of Layne. He claimed to be 5’9”, but that depended on which shoes he was wearing. He was in the same weight class as Layne, but he carried his pounds in entirely different places. A few years older and a few hairs grayer. One of Layne’s oldest friends. They’d worked together on dozens of operations in Daphne Kurek’s nameless espionage agency over the years.

  “It’s good to see you, K-Books.”

  “You too,” Harry said, then he looked past Layne to the far side of the room. In front of the dual sink next to the bathroom, Jonah Bramble had been duct taped to a chair. An IV stand led to a needle in his arm. He was awake, quiet, docile. Head down, breathing slowly, he didn’t look up at Harry or react to his presence.

  “Hey, Jonah,” Harry said. “Long time no see.” When Jonah's bloodshot eyes took a few seconds to check out who had addressed him, Harry frowned. “You look like shit.”

  “Who are you?” Jonah asked, the words as slow as molasses.

  Harry raised an eyebrow at Layne. “He’s for real?”

  “As far as I can tell. If he’s faking, it’s one of the best undercover jobs I’ve ever seen. He’s been like this since I met him, days ago.”

  “My name is Harry,” he said to Jonah, raising his voice and enunciating as if he were speaking to a foreigner. “But you know me. We’ve known each other for ten years, actually. You came to my son’s fifth birthday party in Virginia, more than eight years ago. We had a bouncy castle. You don’t remember that?”

  “Will you let me go? I don’t want to be here anymore. This guy won’t let me go.”

  “We had a rough night,” Layne said. “I had to give him something to sleep, and he’s not quite right yet. As you can see, he’s calmed down, but we have made zero progress.”

  “What’s in the IV?”

  “Mostly, breakfast. A little bit of a narcotic to keep him calm. Is that a problem?”

  “Let me think for a second.” Harry paused and eyed Layne, checking him from head to toe. Layne was still out of breath, a towel resting on his neck. “Were you working out?”

  “Crunches. I was in the middle of a set when you knocked.”

  Harry pointed at Jonah. “You were exercising in the room while he’s over there, tied up like a terrorist?”

  “What am I supposed to do? I don’t have a punching bag in the room, and I’m not going to leave him here to spend an hour in the hotel gym.”

  Harry sighed, clucking his teeth a few times. “Okay, Muscles, I guess that makes sense. Maybe you can pause on the crunches for now, until we’re done?”

  “Roger that. What are our next steps?”

  Harry set down his briefcase and unclasped the latches. “What have you been giving him?”

  Layne handed Harry the note where he’d recorded the times and doses of medication since last night. While they had both received training in field medicine, Layne didn’t have half of the expertise Harry did. Layne needed Harry to help him steer the ship, but he knew he didn’t have to communicate to his old friend the importance of what they were doing here.

  Harry studied the note, his lips moving as his eyes trailed over the page. “I don’t think this will be too much of a problem. It won’t make it easier, though.” Harry removed a small medical bag and a device with wires hanging from it. He walked the device over to Jonah and set it in the sink behind him. Once he’d unfurled the wires, he attached electrodes to Jonah's temples.

  The man in the chair tried to pull away, but he didn’t put up much of a fight. With them placed all around his head, Harry turned on the device sitting in the sink, and then stepped back. It gave an initial beep, then a green line pulsed on the machine, like a heart rate monitor. Layne didn’t know exactly what the thing was or what it was supposed to do.

  “Do we call the cops?” Harry asked Layne.

  “No. Not yet. Not until we know why he is the way he is.”

  Harry turned to his patient. “Jonah? Are you in there?”

  “Why do y’all keep calling me Jonah? My name is Wade.”

  Harry took a syringe from the medical bag and inserted it into a bottle of liquid. “Do you remember Singapore?” he asked Layne.

  “The heroin dealer? Sure. What about it?”

  Harry now looked at Jonah. “You were in Singapore, Jonah. You, Layne, Daphne, Alicia, and Oleg. Do you remember them?”

  Jonah glowered at Layne. “He told me his name was Louie. I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

  “Singapore, Jonah,” Harry said. “Do you remember Singapore? You tried durian, and you threw up on that old man’s shoes. Remember that?”

  Jonah shook his head. “I’ve never been out of the country. I ain’t never been to Singapore.”

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. I mean. I think so.”

  Harry turned back to Layne. “Has he been under hypnosis?”

  “It’s possible,” Layne said. “He won’t tell me anything about his recent history.”

  Harry added the drug to Jonah's IV flow, and Layne watched Jonah's face dip and then his eyes widen.

  “Is he okay?” Layne asked.

  “Well, Boy Scout, I’m not a doctor, so I’m making my best educated guess here. I’d say he’s pretty messed up.”

  “Can you get through to him?”

  Harry looked up at Layne and gave him a shrug.

  Sixty minutes later, the drugs had taken hold of Jonah. Layne watched Harry adjust knobs on the little device in the sink as Jonah slowly came out of his funk.

  Layne first noted something different when Jonah looked at Layne, and his eyes changed. A hint of recognition, and along with it, crushing guilt embodied by the frown on his face.

  “What happened to me?” Jonah asked.

  Layne knelt in front of him as he popped a nicotine lozenge from the tube in his pocket. “Your name is Jonah Bramble. You were born in Little Rock, Arkansas. Your parents still live there. You have a sister who lives in upstate New York, plus a brother in Denver. You were part of Daphne Kurek’s team of shadows until you retired about six years ago. Your last op was tracking Satori Watanabe in New Orleans with me.”

  “Oh, no,” Jonah said. “Oh, no, this can’t be real.”

  Layne took his hand and squeezed it. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s all so fuzzy. Daphne, I remember. Brunette, curly hair, about our same age, or a little older. Yes, I remember her. She was the boss, wasn’t she? She was as mean as she was sexy, I do remember that. We called her Control, but
I don’t ever think I understood why.”

  “Yes,” Layne said. “We called her Control. Do you remember New Orleans? Our last op?”

  “I remember Satori. That little asshole and his flashbang. He killed someone important, didn’t he? A politician?”

  “A politician’s brother. What else do you remember?”

  A tear streamed down Jonah's face. “I don’t want to remember Satori. I don’t want to.”

  “Why?”

  “I did a terrible thing, Layne. It’s like a hunk of mud in my brain.”

  A sense of unease spread through Layne. Maybe having Harry in the room wasn’t the smartest idea, since there were things about the New Orleans op he still didn’t know. On the last day of the op, Layne and Jonah had cut off communications with the rest of the team and gone rogue for several minutes. What happened during those few minutes was something Layne had spent many years thinking about. A choice made. A dark secret.

  Maybe it would be better if Jonah didn’t remember.

  Time to change the subject. “Why are you in Redding?”

  The tears flowed freely now. “I’m so sorry, Layne. I’m so sorry about what I did to you.”

  Layne and Harry shared a look. Now, Layne felt confused. He had no idea what Jonah could be referring to. Had Jonah done something outside of what they’d done together in New Orleans, in that apartment complex behind the jazz bar?

  “I need you to focus, Jonah. Your boss, Farhad Jahandar. I saw him inject you with a drug at the fundraiser a few days ago. What’s he doing to you?”

  “Secrets,” Jonah said, sniffling back tears as he said the word. “He wants secrets about the ops we used to run. 'Intel from an insider.' I remember that slimy bastard saying those words.”

  “Is he in the AJA?”

  Jonah shook his head. “I don’t think he’s military. Not as far as I know.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I don’t know all of it. But I know I’ve told him about Tehran, Egypt, Dubai. There may have been others, but that’s all I can remember.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Can y’all untie me, please? I’m feeling much better. I’m not gonna cause you any trouble.”