by Larry Hoy
“That is not an answer.”
“Yes, I understand. But what’s this about?”
“If you do,” she said, side-stepping his question. “I will take whatever action I deem appropriate.”
Teri Warden groaned and tried to roll over onto her side but couldn’t. Pulling in a deep breath sent spasms of pain from her stomach into her chest. Slowly, with several false starts, she opened her eyes in the dimly lit hospital room.
She wasn’t alone. It wasn’t what she thought of as her “psychic powers” that alerted her to another presence, rather it was that feeling all humans get when they’re being watched. Squinting, the single floor lamp drew her eye to a slim, forty-something woman in a black pants suit, her hair drawn back so tightly into a bun she would never need a facelift, her face frozen in the familiar disapproving scowl. It was Cynthia Witherbot, the British Bitch herself.
“Mom?” Warden tried adjusting the bed up to see her more easily, but it hurt. “What are you doing here?”
“Mom?” Sweetwater asked from across the room.
Witherbot lifted an eyebrow.
Uh-oh, Warden thought. She knew what that meant.
“Do you wish for me to focus my attention on you, Mister Sweetwater?”
“No, I’m good.”
Witherbot turned back to her daughter.
“We have two Shooters gone forever, a third lies on death’s door, and my only child is sliced up like a mackerel ready for grilling. Pray tell, where else should I be?”
“Uh, thank you?”
“You falsified your report.”
“What? I did no such thing.”
“You reported that you and Sweetwater were heading the investigation to catch Mr. Erebus. In reality, Mister Sweetwater was incapacitated.”
“Not completely. Plus, we caught him.”
“Semantics, Teresa?”
“Teresa?” Sweetwater asked. This time Witherbot ignored him.
Warden scowled and let out a huff, even though it hurt.
“Please don’t call me that, Mother. You know I hate that name.”
Sweetwater couldn’t help calling out. “How does it feel?”
This time Witherbot turned fully in her chair, which Warden knew to be a very bad sign.
“I have convinced the staff to reintroduce medications to control your pain, and also to feed you something other than yesterday’s leftovers. They will do this provided we move you soon, and I have agreed. Would you like me to nullify that agreement? Do you enjoy pain that much?”
“Not really.”
“Then don’t say another word, Mister Sweetwater. Now, Miss Warden, your catching Adrian Erebus was a fluke.”
“No, it wasn’t. Luther laid a trap, and I went along.”
“This was his idea?”
Warden nodded. “And it worked.”
“After the target murdered a hospital employee and a patient in the room above Mister Sweetwater’s when that bomb detonated.”
Warden looked away and said nothing.
“But the killer fell into your trap, right?”
Again, Warden said nothing.
Witherbot rose and paced the room. Warden knew that was a good sign; it meant she was deep in thought.
“If Erebus thought Mister Sweetwater was deceased, then how did he discover otherwise?” Stopping, she turned to Warden. “This is our other problem, isn’t it?”
Warden nodded, pulled the blankets up to her waist, and smoothed them flat. Her mom could make her feel like a naughty five-year-old, even when she didn’t mean to.
“Damn. Very well then, I’m here to take you both back to Dallas.”
“Why are we going to Texas?”
“Moving forward, we need the cooperation of the Memphis Police Department. They have formally requested that we remove the two of you from their area of responsibility, and given the havoc of late, that seems like a reasonable request. I’m also here to claim Mr. Erebus, who will be undergoing some rather nasty debriefing. I believe he has some information about possible holes within our security. Technically, Miss Warden, you are not under my direct authority, so I’m extending to you an invitation to join us for the trip. Some of the LEI management feel that you might have acquired some first-hand information that may aid us in the future.”
Witherbot leaned on the railing at the foot of Warden’s bed.
“Are you waiting for my answer?”
“Please allow me to clarify your options. You may join us as we travel to Dallas, you may return to your home in Atlanta, or you may remain here in Memphis. The latter two seem fraught with danger, given your current physical state, but the choice remains yours.”
“What do you want me to do?”
That stopped Witherbot, and for the briefest instant her scowled dropped into something much less severe.
“Why would I care?”
“I’m not asking the British Bitch, the assistant director, I’m asking my mom.”
Witherbot didn’t answer right away. Then she approached Warden’s right side, bent down, and brushed a stray lock from her daughter’s forehead.
“Given the choice, her mother would prefer to nurse her back to health in Dallas.”
“Her daughter would like that, too.”
Straightening, Witherbot now pointed at Sweetwater.
“Consider this a confidential briefing, Mister Sweetwater. Revealing what occurred here could have deleterious consequences for you.’
“I don’t know what that means, but I won’t do it.”
“Smart. Now, before I leave, there is someone you need to meet. He is one of our top assets, and I have asked him, as a favor, to oversee your safety during this move.” She waved her hand as a tall, well-knit man wearing a beautifully tailored suit but no tie, attempted to come through the doorway…until a uniformed policeman blocked his way.
“You should move,” the newcomer said.
The cop stood two inches taller and was much broader across the chest, but the newcomer dominated the moment. Warden sensed something in him, something extremely powerful and…familiar?
“It’s all right, officer,” Witherbot called to him. “He is here at my request.”
“I don’t answer to you, ma’am,” the cop said, albeit in a shaky tone.
“And you’d best be glad you don’t!” she replied. The man stepped back like she’d raked talons across his chest.
The man in the suit nodded once.
“Thank you,” he said and entered.
“Luther Sweetwater, Teri Warden, this is Steed.”
Chapter 33
23,000 Feet Altitude, Somewhere Over Texas
Cynthia Witherbot never walked anywhere, not even down the center aisle of the LEI Learjet 75 in rough air. Rather, she stalked in a way that drew all eyes toward her. So, when she passed Steed, and his head turned to watch her backside, with the same peculiar swing as her daughter, it didn’t surprise her at all. She also didn’t mind.
“Are you sure he’s out?” she asked the large male nurse sitting beside Erebus two rows behind Steed. She wasn’t willing to take chances with such a dangerous prisoner, despite his grievous wounds. The nurse was in his first week of Shooter training. That allowed him wide latitude in dealing with Erebus.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s been unresponsive for the past twenty-four hours, and he was just administered an additional sedative. If he’s not in a coma, he’ll be asleep for the next twelve hours.”
“Thank you, Robert,” she said. “Please slip on your headphones; we need to discuss something. You too, Steed.”
“What about Two-Bit up there?” Steed said.
Witherbot sighed loud enough to hear, meaning it was for effect.
“I suppose that cannot be helped.”
She pointed toward Warden, lying on a specially installed folding bed two rows back, and tapped her own ears. Once all of them had donned microphone-equipped headphones, she began.
“Needless to say, this conversation
is strictly confidential. Robert, what that means is that if you breathe a word of what is said here, even if by accident, then you are in, shall we say—”
“Deep shit,” said Steed.
Although visibly annoyed at the interruption, Witherbot let it pass.
“Just so. It is never wise to break the rules of an organization whose chief source of revenue is killing people. Now, to put it simply, we have a mole inside LEI. How to find him or her is the point of this meeting. I want to hear your ideas.”
She sat back in her chair and crossed her hands.
“Did you verify this is an internal attack?” Warden asked.
“On that count, you were right. Our database can only be accessed behind our firewall, and we track all IPs that touch it. I am reliably informed that no hacker on Earth could enter our system without our knowing it, although I understand that our technicians would likely say that regardless of its truth. They are the ones who set up the system, after all, and the ones responsible if it is hacked. Still, I’m fairly certain this is an internal breach, but if so, whoever is doing it knows how to cover their tracks.”
“I’m not a computer guy, but I’m a fan of keeping things simple,” Sweetwater said. “Follow the money and that will lead back to our man.”
“After checking the logs, that was the second thing we tried. Unfortunately, there have been no anomalous changes in our employees’ accounts, not that we can find.”
“What about the ones you can’t find?” Steed said.
“Meaning what?”
“Cash, jewels, gold, dummy corps, crypto-currency…”
“None of which can be easily investigated.”
Steed used his chin to point at Sweetwater. “Boy Wonder over there still nailed it; tracking the money is the best way to find him.”
“Or her.”
“Or her,” he said. “I don’t know how else you’d do it, not at this point.”
Sweetwater and Warden turned to look at each other. They shook their heads, until Sweetwater held up his finger.
“What about my death?” he said.
Steed answered before Witherbot could.
“I wouldn’t volunteer if I was you, she might take you up on it.”
“This is serious shit, Mister Steed,” Warden said, with far more fervor than seemed necessary. Injured or not, her words had power behind them. “You should give the assistant director the respect she’s due.”
For the first time, Steed looked closely at the girl. Witherbot saw it, and knew she needed to change the subject, fast. Given time, Steed would figure it out.
“Thank you, Miss Warden, but Mister Steed is not singling me out for disrespect, he treats everyone that way. He thinks it’s cute, no matter how many times he’s told that it’s not. Now, Mister Sweetwater, you were saying?”
“I don’t really understand how all this works. Does everyone at LEI have access to the contracts?”
“No, only those whose duties require them to have such information.”
“Okay, but when LEI announced that I died from the bomb, what was put in the database? Was my file marked dead?”
“If you are asking who could access the logs containing your true status, then, as I said earlier, that avenue has been thoroughly checked. The number is small, and every person has been checked out. They are all clean.”
“And yet Erebus knew.”
“This is not new information, Mister Sweetwater.”
Sweetwater unclipped his seat belt and slid to the edge of his seat. “But somehow Erebus found out I was still alive, even though LEI had me on record as dead.”
“Now you’re repeating yourself.”
“Then you explain it,” he said.
Witherbot’s face turned stony. Steed grinned.
“Yeah, boss, you explain it.”
“Dial down the testosterone everybody,” Warden said. “You, too, M—” Steed leaned forward. “Ma’am. Sweetwater might be onto something. I called you directly, so who might have heard that call?”
“Hold it.” Steed put out his hands to stop the conversation. He examined the girl until she squirmed. “What did you almost call her?”
“Steed—” Witherbot started, but he held out a palm to stop her.
“I don’t have to answer your questions,” Warden said.
“Walk down the aisle,” Steed said.
“Fuck off! What kind of perv are you?”
“One with a haunting suspicion that I’ve been lied to for the past twenty years,” Steed said, speaking through clenched teeth.
“Look, buddy,” Sweetwater said, “I don’t know what your deal is—”
Witherbot cut him off before things got out of hand. “He’s not a pervert, Teresa.” Witherbot raised her chin. Her square face could not have been stonier if it were chiseled beside Teddy Roosevelt on Mount Rushmore. “He’s your father.”
Warden and Steed gaped and blinked for ten seconds, until Steed rose and walked the length of the plane without looking back. Sweetwater knew enough to shut up. He considered trying to comfort Warden, but realized that was a bad idea, too.
“Certainly, you must have many questions,” Witherbot said, “but now is not the time. We have a mole to catch.”
“Not the time? Not the time, Mother? For twenty years you’ve told me that my father was dead! Twenty years! Why? Why is my last name Warden instead of, instead of whatever my real last name should be?”
“Steed is your father’s last name. It’s his preferred name.”
“You really are the British Bitch, aren’t you?” Warden asked, turning to look out the window.
“Perhaps so, but as I am also the assistant director of LEI and, at the moment, I have field operatives who are dead because someone in my organization values money more than life. Finding that person is my current priority. Once that is done, you may castigate me in whatever way you choose, and for as long as you wish.”
“Does that go for me, too?” Steed asked, walking back with a glare.
“You’re my father?” Warden said, with an expression like she was trying to process it.
He sat and ran hands through his hair.
“The instant I saw you I knew something was different. I—I can’t explain how I knew that, but I did. Now it makes sense.”
“How long were you together?”
“Teri!” Witherbot said.
“Together? We were married.”
“You—what?”
Witherbot stood. “Enough! We land in twenty minutes, and we still have no plan for catching our mole. Lives are at stake, and regardless how angry you both are with me, that is our only concern at the moment. May we, therefore, move on to the issue at hand? I believe we were just starting to make progress.”
“Fine, Mother, but this is far from over.”
“I have no doubt of that.”
The anger had not drained from Warden’s tone, but she pressed on. Every few seconds she glanced up at Steed.
“I think we have something with the time we reported Luther as being killed by the bomb. If you’re positive those with access to the database didn’t do it, then that only leaves our phone call.”
Her mother reclined her chair a few inches. “Go on.”
“How many people know you came to Memphis?”
“I am the assistant director; everyone knows when I am gone from my desk.”
“But how many know who you’re bringing back with you?”
“Other than me, they are expecting only you and Mr. Erebus. And Robert, of course.”
“Not Luther?”
“No. As I said before, only a small circle knows that he still lives, and the few who do believe he was too badly wounded to move for many weeks. Even I am astounded at his recovery. Although I have seen this sort of thing before.”
“So, most people think he’s dead, and the rest don’t know he’s coming?”
“Correct.”
“Has anyone updated the passenger list since the
n?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then maybe you’d better find out,” Warden said.
Nobody at LEI had ever spoken to her that way, nobody. Yet Witherbot said nothing, merely rose and walked toward the cockpit, steadying herself as the plane began its descent into Dallas-Fort Worth. There she pulled a white phone from the wall.
“Adam, have you been in contact with Dallas?” She paused while the other person answered. “Have you submitted a passenger list?” Another pause. “No, I don’t want that information shared at the moment. Please continue regular communication about the flight, but nothing about any of the passengers. That will be all. Thank you, Adam.” She hung up the phone and returned to her seat.
“All right, Mister Sweetwater’s presence on board remains unknown. What are you thinking?”
“What if you spread the word that the Memphis Police have him in custody for all the murders, which technically is their legal right? That he was being questioned when you left and wanted to make a deal?”
“That could work,” Steed said, not bothering to hide his anger, though for the moment focusing on the task at hand. “Whoever this person is, they know that Luther here isn’t dead, so use that. Tell everybody the Memphis cops want him to help get Erebus to confess, in return for a deal.”
Grateful to have buried the subject of her daughter’s paternity, even if only for a little while, she added her own thoughts to the plan. “And what if the Memphis Police want whoever sold Erebus the information as an accessory to murder and are willing to make a deal to get the name?”
Aside from the whine of the jets, the cabin fell silent.
“It seems we have a plan,” Witherbot finally said.
“Father.”
Adrian Erebus blinked sleep from his eyes and focused on Herbert, who was tugging at his arm like a lab puppy wrestling with a shoe. Snug and warm under the covers in the bedroom of their cottage, he rolled his head to one side and smiled, as he saw curly red hair covered the pillow beside him. A naked shoulder disappeared as Grace Allen groaned and pulled the quilt over her head.
“Mom’s asleep,” he whispered, raising a finger to his lips.