by Jeff Carson
The sound of running footsteps outside the rear door broke the silence, and Pope saw the lawyer slam into the back door and twist the locked doorknob to no avail.
“Daddy’s here.” Gabe jogged past them and twisted the lock. He pulled it open and the lawyer’s keys landed on the polished hard wood floor inside.
The lawyer, Pope now knew as Jeffrey Lethbridge, Esquire, knelt down and gripped his son’s arms, clearly relieved and at the same time horrified to see his son.
“Hi Jeffrey,” Pope called out before he got any ideas.
Lethbridge’s face dropped as he saw his wife and kid and how Pope was standing over them.
“Come on in, join us on the couch.” Pope’s mustache popped off and he smoothed it with a gloved finger.
“Please. I have everything right here.” Lethbridge held out a manila envelope. “This is everything they gave me. Take it and let us go.”
“Close the door and come sit on the couch.”
The little boy’s jaw dropped at Pope’s new tone of voice and he looked up at his dad in horror.
The lawyer ushered his son to the couch and held out the envelope. “Sit down. Go.”
Pope snatched the envelope, careful to display his pistol now.
“He has a gun,” Gabe said.
“I know. Don’t worry. Just keep quiet. Let daddy talk to him, okay?”
Pope waved Lethbridge to the couch and walked to a triangular table next to one of the overpriced, overstuffed chairs. He swiped the stained glass lamp off onto the floor with a crash and emptied the contents of the folder.
Without looking he pointed his pistol at the boy. “Take your gun out of your pants and put it on the coffee table.”
“Okay, okay. Please.” Lethbridge leaned forward and put a pistol on the coffee table and sat back down. “I … I…”
“Shut up and keep still.”
Pope lowered his gun and sifted through the contents now strewn on the table. He made no move for the lawyer’s snub nosed revolver because there was no need. Pope was too fast, legendary in his time as a Marine.
He’d only recently learned that his .22 rapid fire pistol competition record score of 588 out of 600 had been bested by two points.
It was news he would never admit to caring about, but it had devastated him. After his Other Than Honorable administrative discharge, the only proof that he ever existed as a Marine, that any of it was worth anything, was that engraved record plaque in San Diego.
He clenched a fist to steady his shaking hand.
The family stared at him, not moving except to breathe.
Swallowing, Pope fought to ignore the irony of the situation, but it was impossible.
What this family was unaware of was Pope had been expeditiously swept out of the Marines for killing a family of four in Afghanistan, and now here he was staring at a family of four. A boy, a girl, a mother, and a father, just as it had been back then.
It was disturbing how life came full circle sometimes. Back then he’d done the right and honorable thing. He’d saved countless lives by wiping out that terrorist and his seed with their ignition plate factory in their tiny hut. American soldiers had already died because of that family, and would have continued to die if it weren’t for him. Forget what his Battalion Commander and the rest of the brass thought in the end.
He wiped his forehead and painted his sleeve with a swath of brown.
Coming here, he knew this exact moment would probably arise, when he’d have to battle the demons that screamed in his brain, and he knew he’d have to move on with the present moment.
I’m disguised.
He was doing the right and honorable thing today, too. These people didn’t deserve to die.
Sweat dripped off his chin and his mustache flapped off his lip again and almost peeled clean off before he caught it and pressed it home.
The family shuddered and averted their eyes.
Shit. Snapping out of his waking nightmare, Pope pressed the mustache to his lip again and examined the envelope contents on the table.
“What the hell is this?” He asked.
“It’s exactly what you asked for. It’s the documents I was supposed to leak upon the agents’ deaths. One receipt, and a rental agreement. And one letter of instruction written to me. The receipt and rental agreement are for a long-term storage unit in Gunnison, Colorado. Up in the mountains.”
“I know where Gunnison is.” Pope picked up the letter of instruction and read it.
Upon the deaths of Special Agent Terrence Tedescu and Special Agent Paul Smith please proceed to the attached storage unit in Gunnison Colorado to obtain information regarding an urgent matter of domestic and national security.
Signed,
Special Agent Terrence Tedescu
Special Agent Paul Smith
Pope shook his head and chuckled. “Matter of domestic and national security.”
He picked up the storage unit rental agreement and shook it by the corner, and a key slid out from between the pages and clanked on the table.
It was a small padlock key with a logo stamped into it, attached to a magnetic key fob with the #62 written on it. He put it in his pocket and then turned to the family.
Lethbridge and his wife sat with their children pulled close together between them.
“I’m not going to hurt you or the kids,” he said to the woman.
He pointed his pistol and motioned Lethbridge to stand up.
“No, please,” the woman looked over at Lethbridge.
With a deft movement Pope tucked his pistol into the back of his pants and picked up the papers, folded them, and shoved them into his pants pocket, all the while keeping a sharp eye on Lethbridge.
Lethbridge seemed incapable of keeping his eyes off his revolver, which sat on the edge of the coffee table nearest Pope.
“Don’t think about it.”
Lethbridge nodded, clearly still thinking about it.
Pope was sweating like a pig with the padded clothing. Without thinking he pulled up his sleeves to the elbows, letting the climate controlled air of the house cool his arms.
“All right. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to …” Pope looked down at the three occupants of the couch. They were entranced by something, all staring at Pope’s arm.
With lightning speed, Pope pulled down his sleeves, a movement that only worsened the situation, because they’d already seen the tattoo, and if they hadn’t grasped the significance of seeing it before, then they surely did now, because the tattoo may as well been a nametag—a billboard with a headshot and phone number painted in day glow, like the ambulance chaser lawyers overlooking Colorado Boulevard outside.
The demons cackled in his head. They’d won. They’d somehow duped him into this, made him drop his guard, even after so much preparation, and now he had no choice.
Pope had never had children, had never even had sex in his life, but he was a good enough man to know that it was inhumane to let parents watch their children die. So he shot the parents first.
Chapter 5
Wolf sat on his back deck and chewed the last bite of steak.
Out in meadow a bull elk circled his harem of females in the meadow, letting out vocalizations that echoed through the misted landscape.
The beauty of the evening was lost on Wolf. He was elsewhere in place and time, standing over the man, feeling what it would feel like to be finished bringing justice to the person who had shot and killed Sarah.
As he stared down at the nameless, faceless, lifeless, man in his mind’s eye, he felt nothing. No sense of satisfaction or fulfillment.
Perhaps a simple sense of completion of a chore, a task that if otherwise not done would be too much to live with. Like neglecting to clean up after a dog in the backyard. One could live with it so long, but in the end, the smell would overpower everything else, making enjoyment of anything impossible, making movement impossible, and sooner or later the scooper had to come out.
Wolf pushed his plate forward and leaned back. A low cloud, heavy with moisture obscured the mountain behind his house.
Standing up, he stretched his arms overhead and felt a twinge in his back that failed to materialize into any real pain, but it was a sensation that added a hesitation in his step, in things he did that required any sort of muscle.
Screw it, he thought. Metaphorically speaking, he needed to walk his ass up that mountain, up through the cloud to see what was on the other side, his broken body be damned.
Clenching his jaw, he made a resolution. Tomorrow he was going to get busy, and if the FBI wanted to tag along, then they could tag along.
Chapter 6
Special Agent Kristen Luke of the FBI looked over the Denver County Police officer’s shoulder and saw one of the dead bodies inside the house light up from a camera flash.
She blinked, and knew that image would stick with her a long time.
The Denver Police officer stepped aside and shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve seen some gruesome killings in my time. But this takes the frickin’ cake. You wanna go in and look? Fine. Go right ahead.”
Special Agent Tedescu, Luke’s interim partner for the last three months, stepped inside as if being pulled by a tractor beam.
The flashing turret lights of countless police cars lit up the early morning darkness, abusing her eyes. A group of officers stood with folded arms on the front lawn, watching her every move.
She checked her watch and turned back to the doorway. It was 5:20 a.m.. Too early to be seeing stuff like this.
With a sigh she followed after Tedescu into the house.
He was already all the way across the room and staring down at the carnage.
Luke stepped next to him, giving a cursory glance at the executed family, leaning in macabre poses, their skin slathered in dried blood. It was sickening.
“Why the hell are we here?”
Tedescu was an amiable enough guy, and Luke had grown to like him in the short time they’d been working together since his partner’s death. Tedescu was quick witted, surly, a straight shooter, and not too bad on the eyes, either, not that she’d ever entertain the idea of dating a man from work ever again.
A family man with two kids of his own, Tedescu had a soft spot for children, which made it all the more vexing why he stood there like a statue, staring at this.
“Hey. Tedescu. You gonna tell me what’s going on or what? Did you know this family?”
Tedescu ignored her and honed in on a torn envelope on a triangular table. He stepped to it, tilting his head this way and that, and Luke noticed him take a sharp inhale and then, as if catching himself showing too much, trying to pull off an air of indifference.
The envelope was blank, a basic manila. The brass tines were pushed together and the flap was open, though ripped on one side as if wrenched open hastily.
“You guys get any prints?” Luke asked a woman CSU officer.
She shrugged. “Plenty of them. All from the family, though.”
Luke nodded and then did a double-take at Tedescu.
He was staring hard at her.
“What? Jesus, Terry, you gonna speak or what?”
The CSU officer eyed them and then snapped off a few more pictures.
Tedescu finally blinked and shook his head. “Let’s go.”
“Good idea.”
Luke followed him out the door, never looking back. She had a strong stomach, but not when it came to stuff like that.
When they got outside it was sprinkling rain in the pre-dawn hours and she felt grateful for it, like it was washing her.
She was suddenly enraged at Tedescu for bringing her in there. She could have gone her whole life without seeing that. She was in agreement with the DPD that they had it all under control. There was no need for them to be there.
She sucked in a breath and leaned her head back, feeling the drops hit her face.
Tedescu stopped without warning on the front walkway and she ran into his back.
“Damn it, Terry. You’d better start talking or I’m gonna start throwing punches.”
A couple of officers nearby looked at her and raised their eyebrows.
She snarled a lip and gave them a nod.
“I’ve gotta give you something.”
“Oh. He speaks.” Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and read the text message from Special Agent Benjamin, one of the few men in the Bureau she considered a friend.
You’d better get in here. Now.
What? She dialed the phone.
“What’s going on?” Tedescu asked.
“Better come in here,” Benjamin said without greeting into her ear. His voice was just above a whisper. “I have to go. We’re having a division meeting.”
He hung up before she could respond.
“What the … they’re having a division meeting without us? Benjamin said we’d better get in there. What’s going on?”
Tedescu went wide-eyed and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen and started walking to the car, phone pressed to his ear.
Luke followed close.
“Hey,” Tedescu said with clear relief, “are you all right? Where are you? Listen, don’t get on the plane. Stay there. Don’t ask me why, but do not go to the airport this morning. I don’t care. Turn around and go back. I’m going to have an agent come pick you up from your sister’s. I love you. I love you so much. Tell the kids I love them…I have to go.”
He tapped the screen and pocketed his phone.
Luke opted to keep silent as they marched toward the car.
They reached the car and Tedescu flung the keys at her without looking. She caught them and got in.
Luke remained silent for the ride back to the Denver Field Office building, letting her partner do some thinking as he stared out the window while she did her own.
Tedescu had been interested in a dead lawyer named Lethbridge and his family, been spooked by an empty envelope at the crime scene, and then called his wife and told her and the kids to stay in Missouri, where she knew they had been on vacation visiting relatives for the last few days. Not only that, he’d essentially told his wife goodbye, as if he was dying, with that final “I love you and the kids” bit.
He would talk when he was ready.
Or not.
She reminded herself that she knew little about her new partner. And then she reminded herself that people were not to be trusted, men in particular. That was one of her deepest beliefs that had served her well so far in life and career. This guy was caught up in something dangerous and she needed to stay clear.
Lifting her chin at the thought, she pulled into the parking lot, flashed her credentials at the guard, and parked the car.
Two-by-two, agents were exiting the front entrance and climbing into their vehicles.
She got out and waved to Agent Benjamin. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Benjamin hurried over. “You’d better go talk to Frye.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because we’re going up to Rocky Points.”
Her heart hammered. “What?”
Benjamin shrugged with an apologetic twist of the mouth.
“Thanks.”
“Luke,” Tedescu grabbed her arm.
She tried to wrench it free but his grip was powerful, clearly fueled by the fear that seemed to be driving him now. “What?”
“Take this. Go to Trout Creek Moving and Storage in Gunnison Colorado and go to this number.” He held out a key with a plastic tag that said #62 on it. “It explains everything. Your friend in Rocky Points is innocent. It’s the ghosts. Smith and I were right, and the proof is in that storage unit.”
“Innocent of what?”
He thrust the key against her chest and she took it.
“They’re executing some sort of plan.” He looked at his watch. “I can’t explain everything now. I have to go get my son.”
“Your son? I thought they were in Missouri?”
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“Not my oldest.” He gripped Luke by the shoulders and stared with psychotic eyes. “You have to go to that storage unit soon. It proves everything. You have to …” The sentence died in his throat, and he twisted to look over his shoulder.
Luke followed his searching gaze. “What? Who are you looking for?”
“I have to go.” Tedescu ran away, calling out as he went. “Go to Gunnison!”
Tedescu fled across the parking lot. He stopped and got into his overpriced SUV and fired it up, backing out in front of Benjamin and his partner who had to jam on the brakes to avoid a collision.
She stared in confusion for a few more seconds and then darted into the building, veered right and took the stairs three at a time. Dodging another pair of agents as she reached the fourth floor, she went straight for the ASAC’s office.
“Agent Luke,” Agent Frye greeted her as she poked her head in.
“Sir, what’s going on?”
Frye loaded some papers into his brief case. “We’re moving on Wolf, and you and Tedescu are staying here.”
“What? Why? What have you got?” Luke asked between breaths.
“A tip.” He avoided eye contact.
“A tip? What kind of a tip?”
“On a weapon.”
“From whom?”
“Anonymous.”
“Sir, this is—”
“Not. Your. Concern!” Agent Frye’s gray eyes bore into hers. “Now report to Agent Samson, we’ve got another matter you’ll have to cover while we’re gone.”
Luke’s mouth hung open. Her eyes darted around the room as she thought about what to do. She needed more information, and she needed to speak to Wolf.
A weapon? A murder weapon? There was no way Wolf killed Sarah. She knew that without Tedescu telling her.
What exactly had he said? It was the Ghosts. Tedescu was either the crackpot agent everyone feared he might be, or he was telling the truth. She opted for the latter, because there was no way Wolf was a cold-blooded killer.
“Sir, it’s the Ghost Cartel. Tedescu just told me that it’s they who are framing Wolf, and he’s the expert.”
He looked at her like she’d just passed gas. “Jesus, Wolf is the cartel. Don’t you get it?” He opened another drawer.