Just Run

by Culver, Chris

  “Goddamn,” he said. “Remind me not to piss you off.”

  Trent looked off into the distance. They were on a bluff overlooking the rear of his condominium complex. Cincinnati was a growing city, and it was quickly overtaking the surrounding countryside. In five years, the farmland around his condo would likely be developed, but for the moment, the area was still isolated.

  Victor peered over his shoulder a few times. He squinted in the afternoon sunlight.

  “I’ve gotta ask,” said Victor. “Who set you up with the Ohio Attorney General’s office? I don’t think even my people could have set something up that well, and I used to think I was the best in the business.”

  Trent stared at his old condo before answering.

  “You aren’t. My sources likes to stay low profile,” he said. “I don’t give out names.

  Victor glanced over his shoulder at the apartment complex, but then he turned back and put up a hand.

  “Since you did me a favor, I won’t push,” he said. He rolled back onto his stomach and resumed his shooter’s position. “You saved a lot of people’s asses by taking out those Hungarians in Pittsburgh, though. They were about to roll on a lot of people I know, including me.”

  Trent stood up and walked closer to Victor.

  “Glad I could help,” he said. “What’d they have on you?”

  Victor grunted and hesitated before speaking.

  “They’re dead, so I guess it doesn’t matter,” he said. “But I sold them some files. Names, mostly. Informants, witnesses, stuff like that. They paid well.”

  Trent nodded and reached inside his jacket.

  “I think I see movement upstairs,” said Victor. “Looks like in the bedroom.”

  Trent’s heart started to beat faster.

  “You remember any of the files you sold?” he asked. “Maybe the name Kyle or Audrey Martin?”

  Victor didn’t respond for a moment as he concentrated on the room.

  “Sorry. Names aren’t ringing a bell,” he said, pausing. “Look, Schaefer, you may not have noticed, but I’m kind of busy here.”

  Trent ignored him.

  “Kyle was a CIA Clandestine Services operative out of Bucharest. Audrey was a little girl. She was murdered,” he said. “That remind you of anything?”

  “Vaguely,” said Victor. He paused for a moment, and then nodded slightly. “Yeah. Now that you mention it, I do remember. The little girl was a shame. Why do you ask?”

  “She was my daughter,” said Trent. He pulled out his Glock and pulled the trigger twice. At that distance, Victor’s head was almost gone. Trent’s chest rose and fell as he swallowed. He stayed like that for a moment. It had taken him sixteen months after Audrey’s death to find Victor’s name. Once he had that, it wasn’t hard to find out that Victor worked for Fortunatov and that Fortunatov had contacts in the Agency. In total, it had taken almost two years of planning and waiting for one moment on a hill.

  He reached into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around a thick, black button. At one time, it had been the eye of his daughter’s favorite teddy bear, the one she had been clutching when she died. Now, it was all he had left by which to remember a little girl who was gone too soon.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, honey,” he said. His insides felt like they had been hollowed out with a knife. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the private line of the Deputy Director of Operations at CIA in Langley, Virginia. Per protocol, his boss didn’t say anything.

  “Inform Mr. Fortunatov that I’ve finished cleaning his house,” he said. “It’s safe to proceed.”

  “Were there any complications?”

  Trent glanced at Victor.

  “I took out some garbage along the way,” he said. “Someone will need to clean it up. You’ll also need to send someone to talk to Senator Breningham. Show her pictures of Brad Gibson at the Post. Remind her of what happens to those who don’t play by the rules.”

  “Already done. I have a plane waiting for you at Wright–Patterson Air Force Base. We’ll talk more when you get here. You did well today. Answered a lot of questions people had about you.”

  Trent’s hands shook.

  “I’m not coming back.”

  “Say that again?”

  “I’m done,” he said. Neither man spoke for a moment.

  “Your side trip to Pittsburgh wasn’t authorized. You killed protected Agency assets. Someone has to answer for that.”

  “They deserved it,” said Trent. “We should have taken care of them months ago.”

  Trent’s boss paused for a moment.

  “I agree with you, and I would have given you the green light once they gave up everything they had.”

  “No, you wouldn’t, and we both know it,” said Trent. “As soon as they were done talking, you would have sold them to the Israelis or the Russians.”

  There was another pause in the conversation.

  “If I had ever believed they’d come after your family, I would have put a stop to it. You know that, don’t you?”

  “That’s why you’re still alive. Sir.”

  Trent’s boss paused again.

  “This isn’t the sort of job you just walk away from.”

  “I know,” said Trent.

  “Then you know what happens next.”

  “I do.”

  His old boss sighed.

  “This is going to end badly for you,” he said.

  “Probably for all of us.”

  “Then do yourself a favor at least. Start running now.”

  “I already am.” Trent paused. “And sir, I advise you to leave Dr. Carter alone unless you personally want to find out how good my training really was.”

  “I don’t take–”

  The man who had been Trent Schaefer dropped the phone and ground it under his foot, breaking it and interrupting whatever his boss had to say. He had no bank account, no official home address, no tax records. His fingerprints had been removed from every database of record in the world. He was a ghost his own government would soon try to erase, but for the first time in years, he felt free.

  A note to readers

  I love telling stories, and I wouldn’t be able to do that without you. Thank you very much. I hope you had as much fun reading Just Run as I did writing it. And if you did enjoy the novel, please consider sharing it with friends.

  One further note: if you’d like to keep abreast of my future releases, I have a blog located at: http://www.indiecrime.com.

  Best regards and happy reading,

  Chris Culver