No Good Deed

by Victor Gischler

A head poked out of the window, one of the slick-haircut suits who’d been chasing him.

  “Stay right there, sir.”

  Fuck you. Francis wished he’d had the breath to say it out loud.

  He righted himself, gulped oxygen, and hobbled away.

  “Sir!” The voice behind him. “Sir!”

  Francis was almost breathing normally again by the time he came out on the street. He didn’t recognize where he was. A glance back showed the guy trying to come out the window after him, but he was a lot bigger than Francis and couldn’t fit. Francis picked a direction to run when a black sedan came around the corner and screeched to a halt, blocking his way.

  He turned to run the other way.

  A black SUV roared into view, blocking him that way.

  Francis froze, eyes flicking right to left, seeking an escape route.

  Shit shit shit shit.

  Suits and haircuts spilled out of the two vehicles, forming a quick semicircle.

  “Come with us, sir,” said one of them. “There’s no point making this more difficult.”

  Francis could have sworn the man speaking to him was the same guy who’d told him to stay put through the window. All these guys looked like they were made in the same factory.

  Francis spotted a slight gap between two of the guys and ran for it.

  The two guys slammed into him from either side, and all three of them went down. More came to pile on top. Francis thrashed, tried to twist loose. A forearm against his neck. One of his arms twisted behind his back.

  “Don’t struggle, sir.”

  “Go to hell!” Francis had hoped to sound tough, but it came out desperate and afraid.

  He heard a crackling sound and in the farthest periphery of his vision saw the flash of a familiar blue light. Francis remembered zapping the one with the mustache in the bathroom, the expression on his face.

  Oh, hell no. No no no no—

  The guy stuck the stun gun into Francis’s ribs, and Francis contorted with what felt like a million volts running through him. Darkness closed in from every side.

  So that’s what that feels like.

  29

  Boston was waiting for him when Gunn walked in.

  “Tell me,” Gunn said.

  “Berringer is in interrogation room A,” Boston said. “The girl in B. We’re going through the truck now and all their belongings.”

  Gunn thought about that a moment, then said, “Okay, I’ll give Berringer a go first. Mostly because I want the girl to stew awhile longer. But I’ll expect a report on what you find in the vehicle before I start with her. I want to go in knowing everything.”

  “I anticipate no difficulty with that,” Boston said.

  Gunn gave Boston a curt nod, then entered room A, a file folder tucked under one arm.

  Berringer looked up, raw anxiety plain on his face.

  Gunn paused to take in the room. It was like nearly every other interrogation room he’d ever been in. A metal table. A chair on either side. The suspect cuffed and chained to the table. The only thing missing was the quintessential two-way mirror. It had been replaced with multiple cameras that would record the interrogation from various angles.

  Gunn sighed, sat in the chair opposite Berringer, and opened the file folder.

  Berringer cleared his throat. “Okay, so, yeah, look, I know I have a lot to explain, but if you just hear me out, I promise all this—”

  Gunn held up a finger, eyes never leaving the folder. “A moment.”

  He kept Berringer waiting as he read the file folder he already knew by heart. He nodded as if mulling over the information, closed the folder, and set it on the table in front of him. He steepled his fingers under his chin and fixed Berringer with a hard stare.

  “Who are you, Mr. Berringer?” Gunn asked.

  “Uh.” Berringer glanced nervously around the room as if the answer to the question might be hanging on the wall. “Francis Berringer?”

  “Humorous, Mr. Berringer,” Gunn said. “Very humorous. Do you know who I am?”

  “The police?”

  Gunn laughed. “Oh my, no. You should be so fortunate. The police would read you your rights, meaning that you had some. My name is Harrison Gunn. I’m chief field operative for the National Security Agency, and I’m in no way concerned about your rights, or in fact your safety and well-being in any way.”

  “Aren’t there laws or something?” Berringer asked.

  “Most assuredly,” Gunn said. “But the laws are not here. I am. So if I were you, I’d stop worrying about laws and rights and start worrying as much as humanly possible how you can be useful to me.”

  “This is all a huge misunderstanding,” Berringer said. “I mean, it’s crazy, but I can totally explain.”

  “Then explain who you are,” Gunn said. “And I don’t mean your fucking name. How did you hear about the algorithm? What put you onto the girl? Tell me who you work for.”

  As he spoke, Gunn watched the kid. Berringer had gone pale, expression looking sick. If it was an act, then it was a good act.

  “I promise you I’m not being coy here,” Berringer said. “But I’m honestly not sure what you’re talking about.”

  Gunn sighed, opened the file folder. “You are nobody, Mr. Berringer. In the context of my world, you are an utter and complete nothing.”

  Berringer swallowed hard. “I’m … sorry?”

  “You don’t compute,” Gunn told him. “We’ve encountered deep-cover operatives before, but the life I’m looking at here”—Gunn gestured to the file—“is such a perfect and absolute nothing that it strains credibility. What are the odds that such a nothing should intercept the subject of my agency’s investigation and pursuit, a subject that just by coincidence carries perhaps the biggest technological advance of the decade?”

  “Okay, I mean, I guess from your point of view the odds would be pretty long,” Berringer said. “But see, the thing is, I was walking along, and this suitcase was in an alley on some garbage. I know this sounds dumb, but I noticed the suitcase because of the panties. I mean, not because of the panties, but because everything was so new and—”

  “Long odds indeed, Mr. Berringer.” Gunn had interrupted on purpose, because Berringer was squirming, and he liked to see people squirm. “According to the statement you gave one of my agents, you rescued the girl after she’d been taken captive by some thugs.” Gunn glanced at the file folder again. “That’s your word. Thugs.”

  Berringer shrugged apologetically. “I mean, I don’t know the proper term, but these guys, I mean, if you’d seen these guys—”

  “And with all your skills as a…” Gunn consulted the file again. “With all your skills as a purchasing agent, you pursued these thugs and effected the girl’s rescue.”

  “Ah, okay, I can see how that might seem odd, but see, this cabbie—”

  Gunn pressed on. “And then later at the girl’s temporary residence in South Dakota, these thugs struck again. You subdued at least three of them and then created an elaborate diversion with a tractor before escaping at high speed in a stolen muscle car.”

  “Okay, now come on.” Berringer wiped sweat from his forehead. “You make it sound like I’m James Bond or something. Seriously, it wasn’t like that. I mean, things just happened, okay? It just … happened.” Berringer’s voice rose alarmingly at the end, almost a screech.

  Gunn closed the file folder and sighed. “Mr. Berringer, I believe you.”

  “But you’ve got to listen. I tried to tell you—Wait. What?”

  “Your story checks out,” Gunn said. “As hard as it is to believe, you are indeed the complete nothing you appear to be.”

  “Oh.” Bewilderment seized Berringer’s features and wouldn’t let go. “Thanks?”

  “We’ve checked you out top to bottom, ran your fingerprints, everything,” Gunn said. “And my own instinct is that you did indeed stumble into this whole affair as ineptly as you’ve described. You’ve been impossibly stupid and lucky
, Mr. Berringer.”

  If Berringer was offended, he kept it well hidden. He actually seemed to brighten. “Then we’re done here? I can go?”

  Gunn laughed hard. Not part of the act this time. He really did find Berringer’s wide-eyed stupidity hilarious.

  * * *

  A knock at Gunn’s office door.

  “Come.”

  Boston entered, grinning.

  This was exactly what Gunn had been waiting for. He felt 99.9 percent certain that Berringer was the dupe he appeared to be, but the girl was another story. She seemed so obvious in her methods and motivations that Gunn was suspicious. He didn’t want to interrogate her until he knew he was holding all the cards.

  Gunn eyed Boston expectantly. “You have it?”

  Boston handed over the folded wad of butcher’s paper. “It looks legit.”

  Gunn doubted Boston had the expertise to determine such a thing. Nevertheless, he was excited. He took the paper, unfolded it on his desk, and smoothed it flat. The algorithm. Gunn admitted to himself he was no more an expert than Boston, but he felt sure this was it. They’d finally hit the jackpot.

  “Give me the details,” Gunn said.

  “There was a footlocker full of weapons,” Boston reported. “And a tent. We’re pretty sure they were hiding out off the grid the last few days. The paper with the algorithm was actually found in an alligator-skinned suitcase. It was filled with women’s clothing, all new with the tags still on. There were an inordinate number of panties.”

  Gunn’s ears perked up at the mention of the suitcase and the panties, part of the story Berringer had tried to tell him. Gunn was now convinced the kid did not work for some foreign agency. Nobody could fake such raw innocence and blatant dumb luck. But he was going to keep him in custody anyway just in case, at least until he’d finished with the girl.

  Gunn carefully refolded the paper with the algorithm and handed it back to Boston. “I’m going in there and get started on her. Wait for my cue, then bring in the algorithm.”

  * * *

  The girl’s room was not significantly different from Berringer’s. She sat cuffed to the table, didn’t look up when Gunn entered.

  Gunn looked her over, thought a moment before taking his seat. He decided to approach her differently from how he had with Berringer. No definable reason. He simply trusted his instincts.

  “Berringer said he found the suitcase in an alley on some garbage,” Gunn said.

  She sighed. “I thought Aaron’s men had me cornered. I tossed the suitcase down a garbage chute. I got away, but it wasn’t there when I came back later. I thought it was all over right then. When Francis emailed me, he’d found the suitcase, it felt like … a miracle.” She looked up at him briefly, profound fatigue in her eyes, then looked back down again.

  He fished the little key out of his jacket pocket, leaned across the table, and unlocked the handcuffs.

  She rubbed her wrists. “Thanks.”

  “I’m hoping I can trust you while we work things out,” Gunn said. “You broke an agent’s nose during the apprehension at the doughnut shop. I’m hoping to avoid further unpleasantness along these lines.”

  “Do you plan unpleasantness along different lines?”

  Gunn offered his trademark grin. All teeth and no warmth. He sat, opened her file, and pretended to look at it. He already knew everything there, even better than he knew Berringer’s.

  “That all depends, I suppose,” Gunn said. “You’ve been very busy indeed. Let’s see, grand theft auto, resisting federal agents, and you’ve apparently hacked at least eleven ATMs for over three thousand dollars in cash. I presume this was to fund your recent capers. Too smart to use a credit card and leave a trail, aren’t you?”

  Again, she kept her eyes averted and said nothing.

  “Except then you did use Mr. Berringer’s credit card just once, didn’t you?” Gunn said. “Clever girl. You figured we must have had a line on him by then. Stupid of us not to consider you’d jump ship in Minneapolis instead of making the connecting flight. A bit embarrassing for the agency and for me personally, all this standing there with egg on our faces in LAX waiting for you to deplane. Except then you didn’t.”

  The hint of a smile flickered at the corners of her mouth.

  “You see, it didn’t occur to us you might do that,” Gunn said. “Especially since I know you have something so important waiting for you in California.”

  Any hint of a smile vanished.

  “And then there is the footlocker full of weapons,” Gunn said. “One wonders what dire enterprise you had in mind.”

  A long hesitation, and then she said, “There are worse people than you after me.”

  “Then it’s fortunate you’ve fallen into my hands instead of theirs,” Gunn said. “I think we’re in a position to help one another. I doubt that can be said of Middleton’s henchmen for hire. Yes, we have our suspicions about how Aaron Middleton conducts his affairs. It only matters to us insofar as it gets us what we want. This isn’t a law-and-order issue; otherwise, your recent escapades would have you in the slammer for a good long stretch, and we’d be discussing a plea bargain for your cooperation.”

  The girl remained silent, but her eyes were attentive. Gunn figured she was willing to listen.

  “We’ve been gathering information a long time,” Gunn told her. “Long before you escaped from Whispering Meadow.”

  She shivered slightly at the mention of the mental health facility.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time piecing this information together,” Gunn said. “So I’m going to tell you a little story. All you have to do is listen, but when I’m finished, you can tell me what I got wrong.”

  Her eyes came up to meet his again, and her nod was so small, Gunn wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “Your marriage to Aaron Middleton started out with so much hope,” Gunn began. “You were just in from flyover country, ready for a bigger, exciting world. Middleton wasn’t a billionaire yet, far from it, but there was an exciting promise in him that captured your attention. You got married and proceeded to do the things married people do. It seemed to go well for a couple of years.”

  Gunn looked at the girl. He didn’t get confirmation of his story, but he didn’t get denial either, so he we went on.

  “But then Middleton’s success caused problems,” Gunn continued. “Most people think strife in a marriage comes from money problems or a spouse cheating, and they do obviously, but people fail to take into consideration that sudden success can cause problems too. Am I close? How about helping me fill in some of the gaps?”

  She didn’t say anything for a long time, and Gunn was tempted to prod her. He was patient instead. Sometimes silence would simply become intolerable, and an eagerness to fill it would get him where he wanted to go.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “He started to get really paranoid. At first, it was just like he was being careful, you know? Not scary, just him reacting to a new situation.”

  Gunn nodded along, encouraging.

  “But it eventually got weird, and then it got scary,” she said. “He didn’t trust anyone. Everyone was out to use him for something. Everyone wanted to take what he had. That some of those people really did exist made it worse. It was like proof of everything he suspected. Everyone became a potential enemy. Even me. He was losing it fast. He even knew it on some level because he saw a doctor and got a prescription for anxiety medication. It helped a little at first, but in the long run, it didn’t matter.”

  “Let me guess.” Gunn felt on safe ground that he knew the rest of the story. “He was the one going off his rocker, but he was also the one with all the lawyers and the money and the influence. It would have been simple for his people to come up with a reason that you were the problem and then zing you’re off to Whispering Meadow for group therapy and basket weaving. What did Middleton’s pet doctors come up with?”

  Gunn already knew the answer, but it was important to keep her
talking.

  The hesitation was shorter this time. “Anger issues. Evidently, I was a danger to myself and others. More than that, I was declared…” A crack in her voice. This part upset her. She cleared her throat. “Unfit.”

  Gunn nodded, understanding. It was an unfair world, and he was a sympathetic ear. “They never even listened to my side of it,” she said. “Denial only proved it, they said.”

  “Any feelings left for Middleton?” Gunn asked. “You’re still married, after all.”

  Her eyes narrowed. If they’d been daggers, blood would have been squirting from Gunn’s face.

  “So we can safely declare that romance terminated,” Gunn said.

  Her expression was as flat and hard and cold as a tombstone. “Dead.”

  “So,” Gunn said. “That just leaves the unfinished business.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you hoped the algorithm might be a bargaining chip.”

  Back to the stony silence, but her hard gaze met his and held it.

  “I think this is where I should take up the story again,” Gunn said. “Just to keep things moving along.”

  She didn’t object. Gunn smiled, sincerely this time. He was enjoying himself.

  “You no longer wanted Middleton, but he had something that was rightfully yours,” Gunn said. “At least it was yours as far as you were concerned. You would be more than happy to be shed of the bastard, except he had this one thing that belonged to you. The one thing you couldn’t live without. Am I right?”

  She didn’t contradict him.

  “So you had a copy of the algorithm,” Gunn went on. “And naturally Middleton wants to keep it out of a competitor’s hands or the hands of some hostile government. So you offer a trade. He gets the algorithm. His invention is safe again. And you get back what you so desperately want. But there was a problem, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  She sighed. “He sent his people. Said it was a meeting to do the trade. Obviously, they wanted to make sure I kept silent. Maybe also wanted to make sure I wasn’t around to sell anyone a copy.”

  “And did you make a copy?”

  She shook her head. “I meant to take it to a copy center, but one thing just kept leading into another. I’ve been sort of … swept away by all this.” She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, closed her eyes, and massaged her temples. “I’m just so tired.”