by P A Duncan
“He was concerned at the time,” she said, but added nothing more, remembering Terrell’s admonition.
Alexei was, of course, unrelenting. “So concerned he left you injured and alone in a motel room to go off on a whim.”
She looked at him. “Why are you dressed so early?”
“I woke, and you were gone. No point in going back to sleep.”
“I left a note.”
“I found it.”
“A few weeks back, I asked Snake to do deep background on Gerald Parker.”
“That’s what our analysts are for.”
“Snake has markers he can call in.”
He smiled, but she read skepticism in his narrowed eyes. “Markers he’ll only call in for you. You were gone a while.”
“That bloody SUV. I’m glad I’m replacing it. It sat in the cold for less than an hour and wouldn’t start. I’m cleaning the battery terminals, and a park policeman pulls over and wants to know what I’m doing. Cleaning the battery terminals, I tell him. He wants to take over to ‘make sure it’s done right.’ Gah, men.”
“Chivalry isn’t dead. What did you want to know about Parker our analysts couldn’t find?”
“Things about him have bothered me. The odd marriage, the string of dead-end jobs, an interesting supply of cash, the early anti-government stuff. Analysis’ profile had gaps, and what I learned on my own didn’t fill them.”
“What did you learn from Snake?”
She thumb-nailed the conversation for him, noting his aloofness, though he watched her, as if judging her truthfulness.
“Interesting hypothesis,” he said when she finished.
“I thought it nuttier than Terrell’s usual conspiracy theories.”
“Even given his biases about Islamists and the cartels, some of it makes sense. What did you tell him about your face?”
Mai frowned, as a touch of suspicion worked its way into her thoughts. Alexei was acting far more reasonable than usual where Terrell was concerned.
“The truth. You’ll be pleased to know he agreed with you,” she said.
“Did you tell him all of it?”
Her suspicion deepened. “I prefer to keep my bad-ass reputation intact with Terrell.” No reaction. Something was definitely up. “I wasn’t keen on discussing it with him,” she added, “much as I’m not keen on re-hashing it with you.”
“Understood.”
All right, she thought, what is going on.
He settled at his desk next to hers. “That phone call was telling,” he said.
“Yes. Definitely back on the meth.”
“You made a deep impression on him. I thought it was physical, but it’s an emotional attachment.”
Mai had the impression Alexei meant them, not her and Carroll.
“I say,” Alexei continued, “let him sweat.”
“I agree. He could lose focus.”
Alexei showed the tell that passed for surprise, cocking his head to one side.
“Did you think I can’t manipulate him?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Manipulation I can handle. Not cold-blooded murder. I’ll give it a few days and write him back. After that, I’ll hit the road to look for him, and no admonishment I didn’t place another tracer on him.”
“I wasn’t going to bring that up.”
Meaning he was. “How unlike you, Alexei.”
He opened his mouth to speak but smiled and looked away, forehead crimped in thought.
“He’s gone underground. With Elijah’s Patriot City network, he’ll have the means. I suspect Elijah is with him—did you catch the muffled exchange about Carroll’s phone call?”
“Yes.”
“If he’s smart,” Alexei continued, “he’ll stay away from his friends and emerge at the last minute to assemble and place the bomb. That makes it difficult for us.”
She heard the emphasis on the plural. “Jay is an amateur at this. He’ll call or write home. He called me, something I’m sure Prophet told him not to do. That’s a trail I can follow. I found him before.”
“When he was in the open. This time will be harder.”
Alexei was tiptoeing around her, even though they’d managed some civility since his return the day before. She wondered if this newest breach, now months long, were sealable. Or whether it was worth the effort. His next words made her want to show him the door.
“Time to turn over to the government what we know,” he said.
“No. You want to punish me for not murdering someone.”
He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny it either. “If Carroll has sold the guns stolen from Addams and/or moved them across state lines,” Alexei said, “the FBI and ATF need to know.”
“We don’t know they stole those guns.”
“Mai, be professional, not emotional. Moving the guns was probably why he left you in Kingman. If so, that’s the ATF’s jurisdiction. If the money from that sale goes toward a revenge act for Killeen, that’s the FBI’s.”
“Neither of us has seen the guns, and a robbery victim’s hidden agenda plus your hunch aren’t enough for a federal prosecutor.”
“Addams gave the police Carroll’s name.”
“You and I both know Carroll was in Ohio when Addams was robbed. Jesus Wept, you bought a video from him. If we go to the FBI now, Brasseau will laugh us out of his office, and I won’t precipitate another Killeen with the ATF. We stop this by stopping Carroll. I won’t agree to call the feds in now.”
“Let’s see what Nelson says.”
“Alexei, your subtlety is slipping. Calling in the ATF is a convenient excuse for you to see Karen Wolfe.”
He laughed, as if she’d joked, and that grated on her nerves.
“I wondered how long before you’d interject that,” he said. “My sole intention is to advise a sovereign government of a threat.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t give a fuck anymore whether you do or don’t. You need to get over it.”
“I’m not the one injecting it into the mission.”
“Boizhe moi, Mai, you brought it up.”
“Let’s bicker like children, shall we?” She pointed to him and to herself. “This is supposed to be a partnership, and I don’t agree we’re at the point to notify the government. The government made Carroll what he is. Why let them in on this and have them blow their wad early? How many times have we turned over information to have some idiot politician use it for ill? If we bring the FBI and ATF in now, they’ll walk all over the people on the periphery for the sake of a big bust to make everyone forget Killeen. They don’t deserve validation.”
After an unnerving pause, he said, “I don’t know who wants to punish the government more, you or John Carroll.”
“I’m not hell-bent on blowing up something. Alexei, one missing piece. We find that, and we’ll be waiting for Jay when he plants the bomb. We turn him, get the Patriot City network, and we take it down, as bloodlessly as possible.”
“Not a bad plan, but the missing piece is huge. Where.”
“We’ll figure it out. We have more than three months.”
“To figure out where, we need to find him.”
God, she thought, I said that. “I can find him.” She waited for him to react, to show her something, but he didn’t. “I think Jay will assemble the bomb,” she said, “but he won’t light the fuse. I think Elijah sees that as his duty. But everything will point to Jay.”
“Given the fact Elijah believes he’s Yahweh’s anointed or whatever, that’s a good possibility.”
“You agree?”
“Mai, our professional disputes have been rare, but consider this: Is the person who assembles and delivers the bomb any less guilty of murder than the person who lit the fuse?”
“Maybe Jay doesn’t want to kill anyone. Thinking he was going to be a special forces assassin almost drove him off a cliff. Maybe the point is to plant a giant bomb and phone it in.”
<
br /> “That’s a long reach, Mai. Even with the best of timing, you can’t guarantee a bomb won’t explode when you least expect it. Something you’re well aware of.”
She shook from holding back her anger. “That was fucking low.”
“About par for this discussion. Elijah has no qualms about killing, as I’m well aware. I don’t think Carroll will be satisfied unless he sheds the blood of his evil king. You know that, but you don’t want to think him capable of it.”
“I have to have faith in someone.”
Alexei rolled his chair toward hers, trapping her against her desk.
“Who did you call when you lay in a crappy motel room with bruised kidneys and cracked ribs? Who came when you called?” he asked, his staccato words almost like physical blows. “Not John fucking Carroll because he’d walked out the fucking door. I come when you call, as I always have, and you can’t have faith in me?”
Regret was a rare emotion for them both, but as soon as she’d said it, she’d wanted it back. Now, it lay between them.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said.
He slouched from his aggressive posture, his eyes softening.
“And I’m sorry you had to think you couldn’t have faith in me. You know I never indulge in regret, but I regret what happened between Karen Wolfe and me. I shouldn’t have let it happen, but I have nothing more to offer you for your forgiveness.” He dry-washed his face and leaned toward her. “This has pushed us too far apart, not merely as husband and wife, but as partners. I feel as if you no longer want me as either. I fear nothing except losing you. And that’s my weakness, always has been. I know I caused this breach, and I’m at the point I’ll do anything, anything, to hold our marriage together and… And damn the mission. I’m sick and tired of the mission and John Carroll, of feeling like I’m a fucking stranger in your life.”
She swallowed to lubricate a dry throat. “Alexei, being unreasonably jealous of Snake is one thing, but John Carroll?”
“Of course I’m jealous. I’ve seen… Do you know why I wasn’t at the bar when Elijah beat you? I sat in the parking lot and debated whether or not to go in, but I couldn’t watch Carroll’s hands on you one more time. I left to go sabotage his stash of dynamite.”
She remembered how when he’d touched her in that motel room, how she’d wanted him so badly. “Didn’t you think I wanted it to be you?” she said.
“Mai, I don’t know anymore who you want.”
“Right, I’m into snogging with a man who has to be shown what to do. And who turned his back to me in bed last night after being gone for three weeks? You.”
“I don’t enjoy rejection.”
“God! I haven’t rejected you! Why is it so hard to understand regardless of how or why it happened, you slept with another woman, and I can’t fall back into bed with you after that? And, yes, I know I used to let you think it didn’t matter, but it did. It always did.”
“Mai, I do understand that, but we need to move on. Not only for our marriage but for this mission. I need us like we were. We would make love at the drop of a hat, and we dropped a lot of them.”
“Alexei, it’s not like we’ll never fuck again. We’re supposed to be discussing the mission.”
“Of course,” he said, with unmistakable bitterness. “How could I forget the priorities?”
“You taught me missions come first. Look, you and I can finish this. We don’t need the feds yet. Wanting to call them in seems like you don’t have faith in me.”
His hands rested on her thighs, the heat from his touch radiating toward her groin. “I believe in you more than anyone in my life,” he said, “but you need to accept Carroll may be beyond your reach now.”
Their eyes locked, and she put her hands atop his; his pupils dilated with desire. “Give me until the end of February, the anniversary of the ATF raid, to find him. If I can’t or I do and can’t turn him, we give him and everything we have to the FBI.”
His hands shifted to hold hers. “Mai, if we find him and he can’t be turned, we have to stop him.”
“Give me until the end of February, and you can fuck me whenever you want.”
He dropped her hands, rolled his chair away from her. “Boizhe moi, Mai, I want your forgiveness because you’ve forgiven me, not in exchange for something. I can’t believe Carroll means so much to you you’d bargain with…”
He stood and strode over to the windows, where the sun had cleared the Maryland bluffs across the river. He turned back to her, arms akimbo.
“You can have your time without any conditions. After all our work, we should finish what we started.” His mission face fell into place. “But when the time comes, we ask for help. Understood?”
“First of March, if I haven’t found him or turned him, we go to the FBI. That’s resolved.”
“Do we resolve the other, or do I pack my bags?”
“We’re back to threats, are we?”
“Maybe the time I was gone wasn’t enough space.”
“And maybe it was too much.” Mai stood, leaned a hip against her desk. She started to cross her arms over her chest, but caught herself. That was negative body language. “I don’t recall any attempts from you recently to induce me to make love.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is seduce,” he said, crossing the room to her, standing in her personal space.
Another flash of desire sped her heart up, but she shrugged and said, “Induce, seduce. The only person trying to do either is John Carroll.” Mai walked past him and sat on the sofa, back against the arm. She kicked off her shoes and lifted her legs onto the cushions. “How convenient we have a sofa right here,” she said.
“You’re suggesting this because you want me to shut up about it.”
“I’m here, you’re here, and the sofa’s here. What’s it to be?”
He sat on the sofa, at the curve of her waist and began to unbutton her sweater. “All this pressure might induce performance anxiety. I may need to be on top,” he said.
“Maybe the second time.”
4
Doing Better
Varner SuperMax Unit
Varner, Arkansas
Neil Betnor was glad to be done with this client.
Law school had taught him to give a client his all, even when he knew that client was guilty, even if he repulsed you. Whenever his turn came to be a public defender, he took the client, no matter who, because the Constitution assured everyone’s rights.
The Supreme Court had refused to hear the latest appeal, meaning the lower court’s ruling stood. With no likelihood of clemency or commutation, his client would die in around ninety days. The governor, who’d prosecuted the case before running for state-wide office, had wasted no time. Betnor’s briefcase held a copy of the order, complete with the governor’s signature and a tentative date for the execution.
That piece of paper was Betnor’s salvation. No more trips to the penitentiary. No more briefs filed, arguing baseless points. Most important: no more sessions with his client. His client had indicated he wanted to die with no witnesses of his own, and the relatives of his victims were scattered about the country and not likely to attend. The case wasn’t a cause célèbre; reporters or demonstrators wouldn’t feel obligated to attend. His client would get the death he wanted.
When Betnor crossed the parking lot to the prison entrance, the chill wind made him long for the overcoat he’d left in the trunk. In a hurry to done with this, he didn’t turn back.
The guards greeted him with familiarity and accomplished his check-in with their usual efficiency. Every time he’d come here, he doubted his choice of criminal law over his father’s specialty, personal injury law. Betnor tried to feel compassion for his clients, but they disgusted him. They were all guilty, no matter what they said, especially this one. Betnor had had trouble reconciling his personal ethics with giving Ira Wayne Mathis appropriate representation.
“Haven’t seen you in a while, Mr. Betnor,�
� said one guard, as he filled out the inevitable paperwork.
“Might be the last time.”
The guard gave a wry smile. “Aw, Ira Wayne’s going to meet his maker. I suspect it’ll be pretty warm where he’s going. You okay, sir?”
“Cold. Left my coat in the car.”
“Go on in the anteroom. We’ll bring him down in a few.”
In the room, Betnor paced. His throat itched for water; his fingers twitched to hold a cigarette. He didn’t want to get cozy. He wanted to deliver the news and leave. One final handshake with Mathis was necessary, but he’d pass a men’s room with plenty of soap and water on the way out.
Two guards brought Mathis in and removed his shackles. He wore shower shoes, tan trousers with no belt, and a white short-sleeved shirt. He hadn’t gone to fleshiness like some prisoners did once they got three starchy meals a day. Lean and wiry, Mathis’ arms were covered with jailhouse tattoos: skulls, crosses, Nazi symbols, snippets of Bible verses. Mathis had slicked back his hair with God knew what, since hair gel was forbidden, the ends curling at his neck. The sweaty scum on his skin reminded Betnor of a reptilian sheen.
“Mr. Betnor,” Mathis said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Ira Wayne. How are you?”
Mathis grinned, showing teeth that hadn’t seen the prison dentist. “I expect you’re here to tell me I’ll be doing better soon.”
Betnor fumbled with the latches on his briefcase.
“I, uh, came as soon as I got word.” His throat went dry. Being a messenger of death wasn’t easy. “Uh, Ira Wayne, the Supreme Court refused to hear your case. You know what that means?”
“Yes, Mr. Betnor. The lower court’s ruling stands. Has the governor set the date?”
“Uh, yes, yes, he has, but we can still… If you want, I can review the transcripts again…”
“No need, sir. God wants me with him, and, God is great, I’m ready to go. I did what God wanted, and the Jews want to punish me for it. All they’s doing is sending me home to my God, to my reward. It’s nothing but eternal damnation for them. You done good by me, Mr. Betnor. I’ve prayed for you, and I know the Savior has heard me.”