Higgins

by C. G. Cooper

  Henri licked his lips and looked away. “She didn’t know.”

  “She knows now, right?”

  Henri’s eyes narrowed. “I assume your friends have paid her a visit and informed her.”

  “But you have not yet seen her?”

  Henri swallowed audibly. “Non.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Henri’s eyes narrowed. “I would like a lot of things.”

  “Yes? Like what?”

  “I would like you to go to hell.”

  Higgins chuckled. “You know, your English is quite good.” He leaned back in his chair but kept his hands clasped in front of him. “Very natural.”

  “Is this a compliment, Dr. Watson?”

  “Very good,” said Higgins, sounding impressed. “Sherlock Holmes. Another of my favorites. Although I’m sure you know Watson was kind of a doofus in those stories. And so, you meant that as an insult. That’s ok, I can take it.”

  Henri shook his head and, for the first time, cracked a bit of an honest smile. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Alvin Higgins.”

  “You are not like the others.”

  “No, I’m not. I have this nice bowtie, see?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I want to talk about what happened that day in the park. People died that day. A little girl named Alice lost her life. The worst part of it is she wasn’t even with her parents. She was with her aunt and uncle. Her parents were not there and have to live with the knowledge that their child died. Does that do anything to you to know that?”

  “It was not by my hand,” Henri snapped. He took a deep breath and licked his lips again. “I did not press the button. I did not kill those people.”

  Higgins leaned forward. “I know you didn’t, Henri. You’re a good man. You want to do the right thing, but you’re trapped. All you need to do, though, is to tell your side. That feeling you have in your stomach right now, that will go away. Besides, I need to figure this thing out, and I need your help. So, you say you didn’t press the button. Who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do, Henri. And I think you’re scared of what might happen when you do tell me. Well, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “You keep saying you know what I’m feeling. You don’t.”

  “Oh no?” said Higgins. “You’d be surprised what I know about you, Henri. I’ll tell you, it’s more than a dossier could provide.”

  “Oh, yes? Like what?”

  Higgins cocked his head to the side. It was a risk being honest with Henri. If his prisoner was not who he thought he was, he would lose all respect and therefore all leverage.

  But where Higgins was not necessarily confident in his abilities to dress how society wanted him to dress, or talk to women without stuttering, he was certainly confident in his ability to see through people’s facades.

  “Well, I know that brown hair is not your natural color.”

  Henri blinked several times while he absorbed the statement. Then his face cracked into a huge smile, and he laughed, deep and guttural. “What makes you say that?”

  “The shade is too dark, too perfect. You’re tan, Henri, which means you spend time outside, not locked away at home in front of a computer. Where are the natural highlights?”

  “So, you think I am lying because I do not have highlights in my hair?”

  “I said nothing about lying. And you have a five o’clock shadow, which makes sense because you’ve been a prisoner for quite some time. The only problem is that your stubble is too light, too blond. As is your arm hair.”

  “So, I dye my hair.” Henri shrugged. “Why does this matter?”

  “By itself, nothing,” Alvin said. “But with everything else combined, it paints quite a picture.”

  “And what picture is that, Dr. Watson?”

  Higgins leaned forward on the table. He could feel it in his gut that he was right. Any sense of humility went out the window. This is what he lived for.

  “You love your mother.”

  Again, a flash of confusion. Henri bowed his head ever so slightly. “Very much.”

  “Mm hm,” said Higgins. “You see, when I mentioned your mother before, up to that point, you had a whole set of body language cues you were using. Too many to list really, but that’s not the point. The point is when I mentioned your mother, a whole new set of cues arose. All pretense of deception transformed in that moment, Henri. Let’s talk about her for a moment. I know she was a good mother. One who wanted only the best for you.”

  The flash of confusion turned to anger for a nanosecond. “Oui.”

  “You grew up poor.”

  “Oui.”

  “You see, I know all these things, Henri. They’re nothing to be ashamed of. Your feelings are real. They’re what make you human. All your past experiences shaped you into the man who is sitting here before me. You got into a prestigious school in Paris, and you did not know what kind of doctor you wanted to be? Your mother made you map out every single class you needed to take for every semester you’d be at that school.”

  The man shook his head.

  “Too bad the bitch isn’t real,” said Higgins.

  Henri froze, a flash of fury making his eyes narrow. In one swift movement, he lunged forward, his hands somehow freed from the cuffs, and launched himself over the table. His hand wrapped around Higgins’s rather thick neck as he pulled him up out of the chair and slammed him against the wall.

  Higgins felt a momentary sense of panic, but forced it down with every ounce of his willpower. He deliberately pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a sense of calm. His heart was pounding, but he knew he had Henri right where he wanted him.

  “Say that to me again,” Henri whispered.

  “Your mother does not exist, Henri. Or perhaps your real name is Henry? It would be fitting.”

  “It is Henri.”

  “Well, I’m afraid I’ve been lying, too. My French is quite excellent. It sounds native, or so I’ve been told. Your accented English is good but not quite correct for a young man born in Southern France. It has a northern flair. If you had lived in Paris for more than just a few years, your accent would have sounded more natural. So, then, where are you from Mr. Moreau?”

  “Nogaro.”

  “Not too many blondes in Nogaro. The jig is up, Mr. Moreau. Or is it Morrow? Let’s cut the bullshit. You are an agent for the CIA, blondie. Where are you from, originally?”

  Henri pressed his hand tighter around Higgins’s neck, just enough that pressure started to build in his head. Panic almost brought tears to Higgins’s eyes, but he held firm. He knew he was right.

  Before it was too much to take, the young man dropped his hand, dropped his accent, and dropped all pretense entirely.

  “Pasadena.”

  Chapter Seven

  “That was impressive,” said the agent formerly known as Henri.

  Higgins rubbed his neck. “You weren’t so bad yourself. Method acting?”

  “Something like that. I honestly didn’t think anyone would pick up on the accent. I worked hard on that.”

  “It was subtle. You did a great job.”

  “You don’t have to stroke my ego, you know. You’ve already won.”

  Higgins shrugged. “Just being honest.”

  “Neck okay?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “What was your name again?”

  “Dr. Alvin Higgins.”

  “Oh yeah. You did say that.” The agent stuck out his hand. “Anyway, congratulations. You can wait in the common room for your teammates.”

  Higgins shook the hand and smiled. “Thank you.” He made it to the door before turning around one last time. “What’s your real name?”

  The agent smiled. “Inspector Clouseau.”

  Higgins rolled his eyes.

  “You don’t get to know everything, Dr. Higgins.”

  Higgins tried not to let that
needle him. He didn’t like being in the dark, but this was the CIA. There’d be plenty he wouldn’t be allowed to know.

  Upon entering the common room, Higgins found himself completely alone. Basic turkey and ham sandwiches were piled onto the cart, along with bottles of water. He grabbed a sandwich and flopped down on the bed, his body exhausted but his mind spinning in exultation. It hadn’t been a hard test, but a satisfying first.

  An hour later, the sound of a door crashing open woke Higgins with a start. He sat up suddenly, realizing half his sandwich was still in his hand, a tomato having slipped out onto his chest while he was asleep. Looking around wildly, he noticed Abrams sitting on the floor, chowing down on his own sandwich. Johnson was standing in the center of the room, seething.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Johnson stalked over to Higgins, snatched the sandwich right out of his hand and slammed it into the garbage can. Higgins threw the lone tomato in after it.

  “Al was napping,” Abrams said around a mouthful of turkey. “And I’m eating.”

  “You idiots do remember how they said these are open investigations, correct? These men are mass murderers.”

  Higgins laid back down on the cot, his hands clasped behind his head, and closed his eyes lazily. “No, they’re not.”

  Not two seconds went by before Johnson had a handful of Higgins’s shirt in his hand. “You’ve picked a pretty inconvenient time to get a sense of humor, Higgins.”

  “He’s not joking.” Abrams stood and wiped his hands of crumbs, then walked over to the water bottles. He took a moment to search for the best looking one, grabbed it, flipped it into the air, then caught it and proceeded to down the whole thing in one go.

  Johnson watched, bewildered, seemingly having forgotten he was still gripping the front of Higgins’s shirt. “What are you talking about?”

  “Do you want to tell him, Al, or should I?”

  Higgins pushed Johnson away and stood up, straightening out his jacket as he did so. He turned to Abrams. “How long have you been out?”

  “I’m pretty sure you were still chewing in your sleep, so I’m going to guess not long after you.”

  “You worked it out that quickly?” Higgins was not usually surprised by people. He knew Abrams was cunning, but he didn’t seem particularly worldly. His guy likely had a different story from Henri’s, though. Maybe he had underestimated Abrams. It wouldn’t happen again.

  Abrams shrugged. “Wasn’t that hard once you made the first connection.”

  A growl emitted from Johnson. Higgins turned in his direction.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “We’ve solved it,” Higgins said. He knew he shouldn’t push Johnson’s buttons, especially right now, but something about having had a pair of hands around his neck twice today didn’t exactly make him feel like playing nice. “Haven’t you?”

  “You’ve gotten him to say it? Pasadena?”

  Higgins and Abrams exchanged a look. “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  “They’re agents, Johnson. They’re not real terrorists.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Abrams opened another water. “He’s telling the truth, Johnny boy.”

  “Don’t call me Johnny boy.”

  “Fair deal,” Abrams said, holding his hands up. “But Al’s got it right. Cracked it before I did.”

  “Him?” Johnson said, looking Higgins up and down.

  “Him,” Abrams said.

  “How?”

  Higgins shrugged. “Information’s all there. It didn’t stack up. I asked the right questions and got the right answers. That’s all.”

  Johnson worked his jaw so hard, a vessel on the side of his neck was visibly throbbing. He turned on his heel, strode back through his door, and slammed it behind him.

  Abrams immediately sat down on the cot and looked up at Higgins. “You got through that pretty quick.”

  “Did you?

  “Not as fast as you. I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

  “I’m here for a reason. Just like you.” Higgins was already tired of saying that. “I’ll admit I was surprised you made it out before Johnson.”

  Abrams shrugged. “Scare tactics don’t always work, especially if you can’t actually enforce them. I figured there had to be a trick to it all. I’m not against getting in a good fight every now and then, but you gotta fight smart.”

  “I have a feeling we were both right about Johnson at least.”

  “Man uses his fists more than his head, but he’s no idiot.”

  As if on cue, Johnson stormed back through the door, grabbed a sandwich, and ate half of it in one bite.

  Higgins and Abrams looked up at him while he chewed.

  Johnson swallowed the rest of his sandwich, grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it, then tossed the empty bottle in the garbage. “Let’s go.”

  Before either of them could respond, Johnson made his way out into the hallway. Higgins followed Abrams through the door but stopped short. Spencer was standing on the other side with his arms crossed.

  “Congratulations,” he said, though the words rang hollow. “You were the second team to finish. Go back to your rooms. Tomorrow’s class starts at 0600. You’re dismissed.”

  “Who was the first team?” Johnson demanded.

  Spencer shot him a look that told him to clam up. Even Johnson seemed to know better than to talk back after being dismissed for a second time, so he nodded his head and charged down the hallway, leaving Abrams and Higgins to slowly make their way back to the barracks.

  “You know what, Al? You’re all right.”

  “Thanks, Abrams.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You know I still don’t trust you, right?” said Higgins.

  “Oh, absolutely. And now I know you’re a bit wilier than I gave you credit for. I won’t make that mistake again.” They came to a fork in the hallway. “I’m going to grab some more lunch. Want anything?”

  “No, thank you.” Higgins hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to finish that nap I started.”

  “Good call. See you tomorrow, Al.”

  Higgins nodded his goodbye and wandered off in the opposite direction. He wouldn’t call Abrams a friend by any means. Even ally didn’t quite have the right ring to it. But he’d been right all along. If he had to choose between the two men...

  They’d been lucky today. Coming in second out of six meant they were in no risk of being sent home if Abrams’s intel was right. But tomorrow was a new day. Johnson had been the weakest link this time, and he clearly wasn’t happy about it. That meant he had something to prove tomorrow, which might just spell disaster for Higgins if Johnson wanted to make an example out of him.

  The best Higgins could do now was go back to his room and get a good night’s sleep. Better to meet a new challenge rested and ready.

  Chapter Eight

  She could feel the cafeteria staring at her.

  You’d think a bunch of agents would be used to seeing a woman among their ranks in this day and age. Was that still enough of an anomaly to hold people’s attention? It was the 1980s after all.

  Everyday someone new would sit down across from her and offer to show her the ropes. Every-day she politely declined. The last thing she wanted to do was rock the boat. With any luck, these agents would soon be her colleagues.

  But Higgins was greener than she was, and no one was offering to help him out. Instead, they kept their distance and laughed about the way he dressed or spoke. It was like she was back in high school, surrounded by a bunch of horny simians competing for the alpha position. She was itching to really put one of them in his place—namely on the floor under her shoe.

  “Afternoon, darlin,” said Abrams, sliding along on his tray right in front of her. “Come here often?”

  She didn’t break eye contact. “Don’t call me darlin’.”

  “Right-o.” Abrams’ smile never left his face. “I apologize
, Ms. York. I didn’t mean to come off overly familiar.”

  She was sure that was exactly what his intentions were. It didn’t take a genius to see that Abrams was collecting people. He rarely sat with his own group but instead surrounded himself with different people every day. Some showed up more than others. They were typically the candidates who were doing better than most. He didn’t bother associating with the ones who would be out in a day or two.

  When York remained silent, Abrams pressed on. “So... that was an interestin’ little exercise, wasn’t it? How’d you do?”

  York knew he was digging for information, but she couldn’t help the pride she felt for her team. “We were out first.”

  Abrams’ eyes grew wide, and she was pretty sure it was a genuine surprise though she had to admit he appeared to be a pretty good actor. “No kiddin’? Congratulations.”

  She raised her eyebrows by way of thanks.

  “We came out right after you, I imagine,” said Abrams. “That Dr. Higgins is some kinda mad genius.”

  “Mad genius, huh?” York chewed her sandwich thoughtfully. This felt like a game, and she wanted to make sure she profited from it as much as Abrams did. “Sounds like you have more respect for him than your pal Johnson.”

  Abrams laughed. “I don’t know why that guy has it out for ol’ Al. He’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but he’s whip-smart. I think he’ll go a long way.”

  “Is that why you’re being nice to him?” York studied Abrams’ face closely. “Is that why you came to talk to me?”

  A mischievous grin spread across the man’s face. “Why, Ms. York, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re charming, I’ll give you that.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  York took another bite of her sandwich and waited until she swallowed before continuing. “Like a tarantula.”

  “And here I thought I was winning you over.”

  “Who’s to say you weren’t?” she said with a smile. “But to be perfectly honest, Abrams, you’re coming on a little hard. Remember, it’s our job to read people. The ones you’re coveting will be able to see through you in a second flat. You don’t want to show your hand too early.”