A Trace of Revenge

by Lyle Howard

  “You know that proposition works both ways, right?” Sowell suggested.

  Banks yawned. It had been a long morning. “Captain, you thought you had disappeared. Using very little of our extensive resources, we found you in a matter of hours. You are the only living witness who isn’t on Peter Mason’s payroll. Do I really need to draw you a picture? If we had wanted you gone, you’d be gone.”

  The Captain let out a reluctant sigh and looked outside at the entrance to the ballpark. “Am I to assume that the game is a success?”

  “Are you serious? The crowd is larger than Mason ever anticipated. It couldn’t be better.”

  Sowell reached over and poured himself another shot of whiskey. “What happened to that kid they were taking away a little while ago?”

  Banks shrugged indifferently. “I don’t know. Some teenager goes crazy in the stands and then bolts out onto the field. Security caught him and took him away. Mason won’t press any charges. He’ll just let the kid simmer for a while. He doesn’t want the negative publicity.”

  Sowell rubbed his eyes, they were red and puffy.

  “When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?” Banks asked.

  Sowell rolled his head from side to side. It felt like his neck was a mess of twisted cables. “It’s been awhile. I can’t stop thinking about my crew. I keep seeing their faces.”

  Banks swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “If Mason had told you what he was planning, he knew that you would have never agreed to it. Was it humane? Of course not. Was it necessary? Unfortunately, it was. We needed the military to believe that their technology was destroyed, not stolen.”

  Sowell braced himself for another swallow of the burning liquor. “I’m no better than the Las Vegas shooter or any other mass murderer. I don’t know how Mason can live with himself, but I know my crew will never stop haunting me.”

  Banks turned the television back on and lowered the sound. “You armed forces guys are all alike. I’ve never quite understood the whole military mindset. The chain of command mentality. No one thinks for themselves in the service. No one ever questions authority. You’re all trained to follow orders, or else the entire system breaks down. If Peter Mason were your commanding officer, and he ordered you to scuttle that ship, you’d do it without batting an eyelash. But because he was a civilian, you feel guilt-ridden. Why is that? I’ve never quite been able to grasp that concept. How can you guys take out an entire village in some bum-fucked middle-eastern country, and then hold a press conference preaching that the end justified the means?” Banks wondered, sitting the glass down on his armrest. “The only difference I can see is this time is that you were paid better.”

  The Captain could feel his anger boiling within him. “Killing your own troops is not the same thing as engaging the enemy, Banks. You’d know that if you had ever manned a post. No matter how the Coast Guard treated me, I would never have agreed with the idea if I’d known Mason’s full intentions. I couldn’t care less about the stolen technology. Today it’s a laser, tomorrow it’ll be something bigger and more lethal.”

  Gerald Banks studied Sowell for a long moment. “You want to know something, Captain?” He said as he spun the ice in the glass. “It was my idea to bring you back into this, and now I’m second-guessing myself. I’m not so sure you can be trusted.”

  Sowell gave back the same malevolent stare he was receiving. “Don’t threaten me, Banks. How is it that you don’t understand the concept of chain of command? Mason barks and you jump. You’re just a grunt wearing an imported suit instead of a uniform. He shits and you wipe his ass. He needs me, but you’re just a minion. No one can learn to command the Hydra in two days except me, and he damn well knows it. I’ve read the newspaper. I know your Captain is dead. That’s the only reason you brought me back into this. You’re not the only one who’s done his research.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” Banks growled. “The ship can practically run itself on auto-pilot.”

  Sowell laughed. “I can steer that hydrofoil through a garden hose, and you know it. You’ve seen my record. No auto-pilot can do that. Mason wants the transfer to take place without any of his guests the wiser, and I’m the only living person who can make that happen in three days. Not only does your boss want the perfect alibi, but he also wants a smooth ride to Bermuda and back with the Governor and all the hoity-toity dignitaries onboard. Without me at the helm, his crown jewel and the laser will never leave Jaxport!”

  Banks reached over and poured twice as much whiskey into his glass. “Okay Captain, I’ll admit it. We need you.”

  Sowell opened up his pocketknife and began rolling it between his fingers like a magician with a silver dollar. Banks watched him, mystified. “I’ll do it, Gerald, but your boss and I have to come to a mutual understanding,” Sowell said, never masking the condescension in his tone. “I’m the best at what I do. Mason informed me of his scheme for unloading the laser right after he killed my crew. He also showed me the basics of how the Hydra runs. He plans on docking the Hydra inside a modified supertanker while at sea. A hydrofoil that rides above the water has that capability. He wants it to happen in the middle of dinner without anyone even flinching during their prime rib. While everyone is finishing up their baked Alaska, they won’t have an inkling that they’ve been moored inside another ship. I can have us in and out in less than twenty minutes. Unloading the technology in Bermuda was never going to happen. The local customs service would be all over it.”

  Banks smiled every time he heard the plan. It was brilliant. “Twenty minutes? Are you sure about that, Captain? Docking at sea is far more difficult than docking on land.”

  Sowell rechecked his watch. “You just make sure the tanker is on time and at the right coordinates, and I’ll handle the rest.” He put his glass down on his knee and leaned across to Banks. “I just have one last thing for you to tell your boss.”

  “Enlighten me,” Banks said.

  Sowell leaned forward menacingly. “Make no mistake, Gerry. I let you find me. Otherwise, you’d still be looking. If you think that I would ever agree to this arrangement without having my own insurance policy, then you would be seriously underestimating me.”

  Banks eyes narrowed. “Do tell.”

  “I just want you to tell Peter Mason that after this weekend, I want to live out what little time I have left without anymore outside distractions. I understand that there is a special place in hell for men like me, but I want to get there of my own accord, and he needs to know that I’ve taken certain measures to ensure that happens.”

  Banks smirked.

  “Tell your boss that should some wayward automobile drive up on my front lawn or any other unforeseeable twist of fate befall me, then certain incriminating pieces of evidence will make it into the hands of the appropriate U.S. government officials. My quality of life may be deteriorating, but I choose to leave this earth on my own terms.”

  Banks squirmed a bit in his seat. Roy Sowell’s fate had already been determined long before this face to face. The Hydra’s Captain, Ken Hitchcock, had been sacrificed as an excuse to track down Roy Sowell. He was surprised at how easy it had been to find him, but now the Captain was proving to be more problematic than cooperative. Banks hated that he always had to clean up his brother-in-law’s mistakes. Peter Mason was too spineless to do what needed to be done. He should have killed Sowell on the bridge of the Hydra that night and dumped him overboard along with his crew. Nice and neat. Now, as usual, it was up to Banks to get his hands dirty. Insurance or no insurance, bluff or no bluff, after this weekend, Sowell had to die.

  Banks held out his hand to Sowell as he opened the limo door. “You have my word on it.”

  The Captain sat in silent contemplation as the limo pulled away from the curb. He stared out the window and carefully considered his options. The thought of the young boy in the green army jacket that Peter Mason ha
d carted off to jail was still nagging at him. Why should a young man committing a harmless prank have to be taught such a severe lesson? Many members of the Intrepid’s crew hadn’t been much older than that boy. Who gave Peter Mason and Gerald Banks the dominion over so many innocent lives?

  Because of that kid in the green army jacket, for the first time in nearly a week, the Captain found himself at peace. A smile creased his face.

  39

  “He won’t say a word to us,” Detective Marcos Soto said, looking at Matt Walker through the two-way glass.

  “I don’t even know why he’s here,” his partner Moses Green admitted. “The kid ran onto the field before a baseball game. Big fucking deal. Why are we wasting our time? Peter Mason isn’t even pressing charges.”

  Soto shrugged to his partner. “Peter Mason asked the Chief of D’s to have the kid cool his jets in here for a while, and that’s what we’re going to do. Trust me, no one hates babysitting more than I do.”

  Green shook his head. “He’s disrespectful…not even talking to us.”

  “Have you tried sign language?” Came a voice from down the hallway.

  Both detectives turned in unison to see Toby Bilston frowning at them.

  “We didn’t see you standing there Dr. Bilston,” Santos admitted. “Is he deaf?”

  “Well, that would explain a lot,” Moses added.

  Toby moved into the light. “Yes, the boy is deaf.”

  “We didn’t…”

  I’m releasing you from your duty, Detectives,” Toby commanded. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Are you sure, Doctor? The Chief of Detectives personally asked us…”

  “Tell the Chief of D’s to go fuck himself,” Toby said casually. “I know the kid personally. I’ll vouch for him.”

  The Detectives were well aware of Toby’s reputation and trusted his judgment. “He’s all yours, Doc,” Green said, as he held open the exit for his partner.

  “Good luck,” Santos added.

  Toby stared through the window at Matt Walker for a good three minutes trying to decide how he would handle the teenager. Matt was facing the glass probably aware that someone was watching him. He sat expressionless with his hands clasped together. His hair was unkempt, and his baseball cap was sitting on the table in front of him.

  Toby entered the interrogation room and smiled at Matt. The teen’s dour expression never wavered. “How are you?” Toby signed.

  Matt never looked in Toby’s direction.

  Toby grabbed the only other chair in the room, and the dragged it over, groaning as he sat down across from the boy. “These seats are so uncomfortable,” he signed. “I heard they do it on purpose.”

  Matt blinked slowly and then clasped his hands behind his back. A gesture Toby interpreted as him not wanting to speak.

  “Okay, then let me talk,” Toby signed. “Pretty crazy day I’ve had. I’m sitting at the ballgame minding my own business, having one of those great father-son bonding moments, and then guess what? I look out at the video screen in left-center field and guess who’s up there making an ass of himself?”

  Matt remained expressionless and unresponsive.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Matt?” Toby signed furiously.

  The room went quiet as they both considered the consequences of their situation. Finally, Toby broke the silence by slamming his hand down on the desk. Matt may not have heard the sound, but he definitely felt the vibration. The two-way glass shuddered in its frame. “Did you know that your girlfriend and her family are waiting for you outside in the squad room? She seems pretty upset. Do you want me to bring her in here?”

  Matt’s head turned robotically in Toby’s direction, but there was still no outward sign of emotion.

  “I realize that we just met yesterday, but I thought we trusted each other,” Toby signed. “I thought we were friends. Am I wrong about that?” Toby asked with a questioning facial expression. “You trusted me enough to share your amazing gift. Why won’t you talk to me? I just want to help you.”

  “What gift?” Matt signed defiantly, as he looked toward the window. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Toby turned and looked over his shoulder. “You think someone is out there watching us?” Toby chuckled. “Trust me, kid, your secret is safe. No one here thinks you’re that important.”

  Matt remained stone-faced staring distrustfully at the two-way window behind Toby.

  “Maybe I need to bring your girlfriend in here,” Toby signed. “Maybe she can give me some answers.”

  Matt’s opened hand came down on the table like a clap of thunder. Toby actually flinched. “Okay, fine. Your girlfriend stays outside…for now. But you’ve got to talk to me, Matt,” Toby signed. “What set you off at the ballgame?”

  The door to the interrogation room opened, and Lauren King walked in. “What the hell is going on in here? Are you trying to break our furniture, Matthew?”

  Matt watched her take a seat on the edge of the table. Toby made an effort to stand, but the detective put her hand on his shoulder to stop him. “I’m fine. Relax.”

  “How’s Benjamin?” Toby asked.

  Lauren smiled. “Terrific as always. I dropped him off, and Harriet sends her love. You both raised an amazing kid.”

  Toby smiled. “Doing the best we can.”

  The detective shimmied herself into a more comfortable position on the table. “You should be proud.”

  Toby nodded. “Thank you.”

  Lauren looked at Matt to make sure that he was looking at her mouth and understanding her. “How are you?”

  He continued to be wary.

  The detective unbuttoned the denim jacket that was restricting her movements. “I’ve got a funny story to tell you both. Not hysterical, but funny ironic.” She crossed her legs. “So I go to the big ballgame today because a really nice young guy offered me a ticket. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know a baseball from a golf ball, but because he seemed so nice, I agreed to go. So when I get to the seats where we’re supposed to meet, he’s a no-show! Can you believe it? I put a desk-load of murder cases on hold for this guy, and he stands me up! The nerve of this guy!”

  Toby could tell that Lauren’s satirical charm was softening Matt’s demeanor. Good cop, fat cop. It seemed to be working.

  “Believe me,” the detective continued. “I’ve been dumped before, so I’ve learned not to take it personally,” she admitted, “but this time I honestly felt a little disappointed.”

  Matt frowned slightly.

  The detective held up her palms. “Wait, wait…I haven’t even told you the best part of my story yet. I have to back up a bit.” She leaned in toward Matt making sure their eye contact was rock-solid. “As I’m walking up the tunnel to the seats, this family is walking past me in the opposite direction, which I thought was really weird because the game was just about to start. But then I noticed that the beautiful young woman in her father’s arms is crying her eyes out. I mean the faucets are going full blast, and there’s nothing her dad can do to console her. She looked devastated, like life had just run over her dog. I wanted to ask her if she was okay, but by the time I turned around, the family had disappeared down the tunnel.”

  Matt’s eyes began to glisten with moisture.

  Lauren smiled. “Hold on, I’m not done yet. Here’s the kicker. When I show up to the station just now, who should I run into?” She paused for effect. “You guessed it! The same family! I mean, what are the odds? And the girl still hasn’t stopped sobbing! How is that even possible? It’s been over an hour and a half, and she’s still crying out there! I don’t know how she isn’t dehydrated yet!”

  Matt’s arms burst forward with expression. “Enough!” he screamed gutturally.

  Toby thought all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. He made a mental note to warn a
ny future spouse of Lauren King’s about her cross-examining skills. The student had become the master.

  “What do you want from me?” Matt said in his best pronunciation. “Either lock me up or let me go. I know my rights.”

  Toby waved to get Matt’s attention. “Are you planning on lawyering up, Bugsy?”

  “What…who?” Matt asked.

  Toby shook his head. “You’re free to go anytime you want. Peter Mason isn’t pressing charges against you. You picked a good day to pop his party balloon.”

  “So I can go then?” Matt asked, putting on his cap.

  The detective shook her head. “Not until you sign some release papers and I’m not giving you a pen until you tell us what made you run out onto the field today. “

  Matt looked at her. “I thought it would be fun. . . a stupid prank.”

  “Trying to raise deaf awareness, were you?” Toby spoke and signed.

  “It was just a spur of the moment thing,” Matt said, belligerently.

  The detective crossed her legs. “It sure doesn’t look like your girlfriend thinks you did it on a whim.”

  Matt’s head drooped. “Leave Simone and her family out of this. They weren’t involved.”

  Toby scratched at his beard. “Simone…what a beautiful name. Its origin comes from the French. The meaning of Simone is ‘to be heard.’”

  “How the hell do you know that?” Lauren asked, turning to her mentor.

  Toby grinned. “I am a veritable font of obscure trivia, my dear.”

  “Oh yeah? A font?”

  Toby shrugged. “A font; it’s the abbreviated form of the word fountain, as in a source from which knowledge springs.”

  Lauren laughed under her breath. “You’re not a font of anything.”

  Toby quickly conceded the debate. “Okay, I also watch a lot of Jeopardy with the kids. I’ll take Etymology for one thousand, Alex.”

  The detective rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the other youngster in the room. “Tell us the truth, Matt, and you can walk out of here in five minutes. Simone needs you. This had something to do with your tracing ability, am I right?”