by Gary Starta
The investigator in her commanded she pay attention to this new development, nonetheless. She logged on to her computer. She searched for all meetings and conferences the President of the United States might be attending during the next few days. In the middle of her search, she paused. A gut feeling had told her the next assault would be escalated. Maybe her subconscious mind had simply conjured up the President as the next likely target. She resumed her search. Just in case...
***
The time has come where risks must be taken.
He reflected upon this summation for a moment as the first shards of daylight coalesced in the eastern sky. He had parked his Buick a half block down from Director Connah Hainsworth’s house on a cold, but clear, January morning.
Assistant Director Andrew Dudek was on a reconnaissance mission. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever entertained the idea of tailing his FBI superior. But it seemed a lifetime had passed since Geoffrey McAllister’s death nine months ago. Nine months earlier, the very idea of surveilling the FBI director might have been deemed ludicrous. But today, it not only seemed plausible, but downright necessary. In that interim, Dudek became more and more convinced Director Hainsworth was ultimately responsible for Geoffrey McAllister’s murder.
Even if his hands didn’t deliver the fatal blow, Hainsworth’s decision to involve McAllister on a dangerous and suspicious sting operation made him most responsible for the agent’s demise, and Andrew Dudek wasn’t about to let anyone get away with murder. He had waited nine long months, hoping for a slip up. Maybe the director might even crack and confess that he had set McAllister up from the get go. That he had conspired with terrorists in the sting.
No breaks or slipups ever came, though. And worse yet, Dudek could not fathom Hainsworth’s motivation to ally himself with such hardened criminals. No evidence. No motive. Without these, Dudek’s hands were tied. He had promised Caitlin justice for the death of her partner and boyfriend. Yes, they had convicted the two men physically responsible for killing McAllister. But the mind responsible for that killing still walked free. How could he ever hope to bring this dangerous mind to justice, to bind it in the chains of justice?
He would need a confession. Dudek hoped Ed Hoyt’s truth serum might do the trick. He would operate outside Bureau rules to administer it. No amount of justification in the world would have made Andrew Dudek feel any better about bending the law. Even though he was quite sure Connah Hainsworth had not only bent rules, but had broken them, Dudek still felt a tinge of guilt each time he weighed his plan.
He was about to throw away three months of abstinence from nicotine when Hainsworth emerged from his home. Dudek slammed the glove box shut. It contained the emergency box of Marlboros he was about to raid. He turned over the engine. Fifteen minutes later, Dudek found himself trailing Connah Hainsworth’s Escalade, still trying to justify the line he had crossed, that wavy blur of a line that separated justice from street justice.
Dudek dropped back a few car lengths. The sound of his heartbeat invaded the confines of his vehicle. He allowed a Honda to sneak in between his Buick and the Escalade at an intersection to provide some buffer. He believed Hainsworth might make a pit stop there on his way to headquarters.
To the left sat a diner and to the right was a gas station. He had hoped to ascertain which spot Hainsworth might frequent before work. He would plan to surprise Hainsworth at this spot on some other day, infect the Director with trust spray and record his confession via tape recorder. The plan seemed solid until Hainsworth shocked Dudek when he chose neither option. Dudek now had to consider that Hainsworth might not make any stops on his way to work.
Dudek entertained the notion of confronting Hainsworth at FBI headquarters if necessary, although that would be the less conspicuous choice. Dudek thought that might not be the worst-case scenario. He feared Hainsworth might be on to his tail.
But Dudek’s fears were unsubstantiated. Hainsworth drove on for a few more miles, never once stopping to glance into his rearview mirror for more than a second at a time. The route Hainsworth had engaged was not to FBI headquarters. He had bypassed Pennsylvania Avenue and instead turned onto Tenth Street. He then proceeded to travel onto Sixth Street. Dudek parked about a half block away. The entrance of a parking garage swallowed up Hainsworth’s black Escalade. Dudek scratched his head, perplexed, asking himself the same question, repeatedly. Dudek could not fathom why Hainsworth would be visiting the Verizon Center, home of the NBA’s Washington Wizards.
***
Once I commit, there’ll be no turning back...
The man with the thick white hair and mustache drummed his fingers upon the steering wheel of his Audi. He used a digital radio transmitter to eavesdrop on suspects who resided a half a mile away from his vehicle. He needed to be more than hundred percent positive the men he had under his surveillance were guilty. It angered him the way these men were so willing to poison the society they lived in, the society they once worked to protect, all for the sake of a few dollars. It was their arrogance that gnawed at him most. These men knowingly disobeyed the direct orders of his secret society, fully aware that there were consequences to suffer for such insolence. He needed a few more admissions to ease his conscience. He had to be sure his acts of murder would be justified.
***
It was too good an offer for a guy like Ray Scarpetta to turn down. Get paid three thousand in cash just for doing the nasty with some guy’s wife. It made Ray feel like he was living the life of one of those secret agent dudes. The ones he always admired in the movies. A man dressed in a black suit offered him the job a few days ago. One minute he was fishing in his pockets for pennies to pay for his Subway sandwich, the next, Ray Scarpetta found himself being hired to do a dirty deed, like the ones that Australian rock group AC/DC had sung about, and not for chump change, either. This time he would make some serious coin.
Ray believed the money would impress his girlfriend Eva, who has made it her life mission to point out each and every one of Ray’s flaws. The one she found most annoying was his penchant for making them date Dutch. Eva was no fool. She knew Ray was not empowering her with liberation when he made her pay half the check for pizza or ice cream. She knew Ray was plain stingy—or in her words, “one cheap bastard.” Ray finished his sandwich that day, smiling on the inside, knowing he would shock the shit out of Eva on the day he would pull a wad of money from the ripped pockets of his old Levi jacket.
The next few days passed. Ray put up with the frustration, the anonymity of his blue-collar job. He delivered packages for Federal Express the same as he had done for what seemed like an eternity. The days mirrored a thousand others before them. The packages differed. The people differed. But the faces of the people remained the same. He was quickly forgotten as soon as the recipient signed for the package. Most of the faces he had encountered seemed to possess large and terribly shortsighted eyes. These eyes trained on their new arrivals and forget Ray Scarpetta even existed. There never was and there would never be any recognition. No gratitude for the deliveries he made while battling the elements. No offers to tip, not even once. All the people Ray Scarpetta encountered possessed this same, unkind, ungrateful face.
He believed the man in black was some kind of saint, a saint that would free him from his solitary existence. So what if he got fired for boinking a customer? He would be able to afford a few days off. Maybe even go to Florida for the weekend. And then he would come back and get a real job, a job where the name and face of Ray Scarpetta would command recognition, respect. The kind of respect the man in black had given him three days ago.
He prepared the package in his delivery van. Yes, everything seemed to be in order. He must remember not to ask the recipient for her signature and purposefully forget his electronic signature pad. This would give the recipient—a Mrs. Arlene Dudek—time to indulge in her gift. It would be addressed from her husband, with a note that read, Sorry, honey for not being home more. Please put this perfume on as
soon as you get it. I will be home shortly to make amends. Mrs. Arlene Dudek would be Ray Scarpetta’s last stop of the day. Ray planned to make it his last stop for Fed Ex ever.
Everything went as planned. He delivered the perfume sans signature. Ray returned to his truck to fetch his signature board and came back when Ms. Dudek was in the throes of lust. He enjoyed the woman’s response. Not only for the sex, but also for the gratitude of a job well done. Ray remained confident even when Mr. Dudek walked through the door. Ray had prepared a second bottle to douse him per the man in black’s orders. It worked wonders; Mr. Dudek forgot all about his rage over discovering his wife with another man. He even thanked Ray for coming.
Chapter 26
Already rattled by her vision and Agent Rivers’s arrest, Caitlin Diggs was in no mind to entertain another piece of bad news. Nevertheless, she spent the better part of her Friday evening replaying the Assistant Director’s phone message. He told her about how someone drugged his wife, Arlene, and then himself. The message was not entirely clear though. Distraught, Dudek spoke in frantic bursts, pausing to take deep breaths between sentences. She surmised he had been pacing throughout his house during the entire call because the phone signal kept cutting in and out. The one thing Diggs did hear with crystalline clarity was his warning.
“Whoever drugged Rivers is most definitely taking aim at Bureau personnel. You must avoid all contact with neighbors and especially strangers, even the most innocent looking person walking by you on the street may be targeting you. I think they paid a Fed Ex employee to infect us. It was a perfume-like spray, like the one they used on Rivers. Call me as soon as you get this message.”
Diggs called Dudek immediately as requested, yet only received his voicemail. She left a message, proposing a meeting at Bureau headquarters first thing in the morning. Being Saturday, Caitlin expected they could have a one-on-one chat in relative secrecy. Director Hainsworth rarely ever frequented the office on weekends. The very thought of Hainsworth spiked dread and paranoia throughout her body and left her wondering if this feeling was merely instinct or part of her metaphysical change. In any event, she dared not breathe a word of her latest vision over a phone line. If her premonition were correct, the President of the United States would be the next target. She dismissed Dudek’s warning regarding her own welfare. If she had been totally straight with Dudek about her abduction, he would have realized she had only been taken as a test subject for the express purpose of examination. And Caitlin believed this someone was most likely the man in the purple robe.
The recent attacks on Rivers and Dudek confirmed her suspicions. The robed men must be responsible for the drugging. Even though they presented themselves as cloaked men of magic in her visions, the agent had come to realize these men had simply modernized their alchemical weaponry. Instead of casting spells, they now used cutting edge psychotropic drugs to induce their will.
Diggs spent the night tossing and turning, fearing the worst, stewing in her latest dilemma because it all made perfect sense to her. The robed men had left her alone because she was part of their plan, possessing a mystical power these men hungered for. If what Crowley had said were true, then she did indeed possess a golden light. Consequently, this light coupled with the psychotropic drugs all fit into a grand scheme. But what was it? If these men were trying to stop the war, how on Earth did she fit into the picture?
She shuddered, even with her body wrapped in a down comforter, because a distant idea in the back of her mind hinted that the connection she was seeking might not involve life on Earth at all, but the afterlife. And up until recently, Diggs had never really believed such existence was possible.
Diggs conceded to drowsiness after making a promise to her conscience. She would tell Dudek about her psychic capabilities in the morning. One part of her felt relieved to be shedding the burden of secrecy. She felt as if she had betrayed Dudek by not coming clean with him two weeks ago. Still, if he could understand her reasoning and forgive her, she might be able to look him in the eye again. And to think, she had once chided Dudek for the same behavior.
Nine months ago, he had lied to her regarding Geoffrey McAllister’s whereabouts. Truth was, McAllister was engaged in a fatal mission. Dudek had lied to Caitlin for the benefit of honoring Agent McAllister’s wish. Geoffrey did not want Caitlin to become involved in the dangerous sting that would ultimately claim his life. Caitlin recognized her own hypocrisy now. Secrets are sometimes kept with good intention. Yet more often than not, those secrets often come to light because of unforeseen consequences. Caitlin came to learn of Dudek’s secret because of Geoffrey’s death. Caitlin didn’t want her hand to be forced in that manner. She wanted to tell Dudek about her visions before a worse consequence would finally compel her to divulge the truth.
Another part of Caitlin braced for the worst because she believed the robed men would make their next strike on Saturday evening. President Duncan would be discussing nuclear disarmament with Iranian officials at a White House dinner. Diggs struggled to whip up a game plan. How could she stop them? And who could help her? Dudek had relieved Rivers of duty Friday afternoon, taking her gun and badge. She prayed the assistant director might offer some valuable insight into this dilemma. To her dismay, Agent Diggs arrived at FBI headquarters the next morning only to discover the assistant director was nowhere to be found.
The front desk receptionist informed Caitlin that Assistant Director Dudek had already come and gone.
The secretary informed Diggs he had left in a huff, mumbling something about going to Quantico. “He couldn’t have been here longer than ten minutes in total.”
Diggs dug for her cellphone, ignoring the secretary’s offer to take a message. She had put two and two together in mere seconds. Dudek had gone to Quantico to visit Hoyt’s laboratory. Diggs could only surmise Dudek was after the trust spray.
Diggs learned from the secretary that Dudek had left Quantico in quite a hurry, mumbling unintelligible sentences underneath his breath. Diggs requested she be transferred to Quantico security. She inquired if video surveillance monitors in the building could confirm if Dudek had been to the laboratories.
A man with a booming voice confirmed the assistant director had indeed visited the same wing of the building where Ed Hoyt’s lab was located. The guard could not confirm if Dudek had obtained the spray.
“He looks pretty agitated on the video, agent. Yep, I’m watching the playback as we speak. He raps on the lab’s door a few times and then gives up. All of pathology is under lock and key for the weekend. I would have assumed Assistant Director Dudek would have known as much. We checked the area and found it secure shortly after his visit. It’s noted in my log. Is there anything else I can help you with today, agent?”
“No, sir. Thank you for your report.”
Diggs concurred with the guard. Yes, Dudek should have known as much. The lab would be under lock and key for the weekend. Dudek was not thinking straight. His family had been victimized. Diggs was sure the assistant director was out for revenge. She dialed Dudek’s number, but it rang repeatedly. She placed her next call to the FBI switchboard. Diggs knew she had one last chance to locate Dudek and that chance depended solely upon technology. Because Dudek’s cellphone was GPS enabled, it might be possible to locate the assistant director via satellite.
***
Dudek felt a tinge of guilt mix with the nauseating realization of the night before.
He had received Caitlin’s voicemail, but chose to ignore it. He didn’t want her to become involved in what might be the final act of his career. Last night’s violation of his family, the attack on Rivers and the death of his good friend Greg Salinger had all coalesced to bring the assistant director to the brink of desperation. Although he had no evidence as of yet to confront his superior, every fiber of Andrew Dudek’s instinct told him FBI Director Hainsworth had conspired to make all three events a reality. What’s more, Hainsworth was already under suspicion for the death of Agent Geoffre
y McAllister. No, Dudek told himself, the judicial system would and could not bring a man like Hainsworth down.
How had Hainsworth been able to operate above the law for all this time? Sure, his position gave him the abilities. But Dudek felt there must be more to the story. How did Hainsworth beat him out for the Director’s job in the first place? What experience or skill did Hainsworth possess that he didn’t? The question had kept Andrew Dudek awake at night over the years. Dudek had more experience. Dudek fielded the investigative team responsible for the most convictions. There simply weren’t any logical reasons for Hainsworth’s promotion, and there never would be. This fact angered Dudek to the core, all but destroying the intimacy of his marriage. He often invented excuses to refrain from sex with Arlene. He was always too tired, it seemed. Eventually, Arlene stopped believing Andrew’s excuses.
Unbeknownst to her, the promotion of Connah Hainsworth to FBI Director had poisoned Dudek’s soul years earlier. It was as if Dudek had consumed a psychological form of strychnine. Dudek never told Arlene the reason why he felt so burdened, so overwhelmed, until last night. When the drug’s effects finally wore off their bodies, Dudek spilled everything to Arlene, apologizing for his indifference, blaming himself for allowing something like this to happen. Arlene tried to stifle his confessions, but she couldn’t. Even if she had been armed with an arsenal of psychotropic drugs, Arlene Dudek could not have convinced her husband that someone other than himself was ultimately responsible for the breakdown of his marriage.
Andrew Dudek was as much a part of the FBI as the FBI was a part of him. He would not transfer blame to anyone other than himself. He swore an oath to uphold duty and honor. In short, it meant he was destined to shoulder a shit-load of blame. Arlene awoke all alone in her king size bed the next morning, a premonition telling her the FBI had taken her husband away from her—and this time, it would be for good.