Fallon's Flaw

by Dale Mayer

  Fallon must have known somehow and walked over and grabbed her by her hands. “What’s the matter?”

  She shook her head and said, “I don’t know. I just felt something was really wrong there for a moment.” He tilted his head, and she shrugged, adding, “I don’t really have a way to explain it. Maybe the storm outside had something scratching on the walls. It was just kind of creepy—but probably nothing.”

  “Maybe,” he said, “but we also found bugs in two of the rooms.”

  She stared at him in shock. “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What bugs? Where?”

  “Quinn is still searching the command center, but one was in the big dining room and one in the offices.”

  “Which office?”

  He sighed and said, “Dave’s.”

  She said, “Well, that has nothing to do with my stalker guy, right?”

  “I don’t think so, but I don’t know what’s going on here. We’ve disabled both bugs and will trace any serial numbers we find on them,” he said. “I texted Dave, but I don’t think he’s landed yet.” Fallon checked the time and the schedule on his phone and said, “No, he’s still in the air.”

  “Okay, that’s a little disconcerting. How would somebody get a bug inside?”

  “It wouldn’t be all that hard, particularly if something was jamming the overall security system.”

  “But that just happened.”

  “Did you and Dave do anything since you’ve been here, like go out shopping or to dinner maybe?”

  “No, but we’ve been out at the pool a lot,” she said. “I needed to destress and relax.”

  “And that could be all that it took,” he said. “Think about it. The pool’s out back, and, if there was no security connection, there would be no alarms to hear. So somebody could have crept in and set up the bugs while you’re out there.”

  She stared at him.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “The day before yesterday,” she said, “I asked Uncle Dave if somebody was in the house because I thought I heard something. He just laughed and said we were the only ones here.”

  “But he hasn’t quite been himself either, has he?”

  “No,” she admitted. “He hasn’t been, but he hasn’t been off or weird or anything. Just distracted and stressed.”

  “No, I understand. Plus, he’s been carrying a heavier load,” he said.

  “I don’t like anything about this,” she said, wrapping her arms around her chest. “Are you sure?”

  “Are we sure we found bugs? Absolutely. Do we know who planted them? No, but we’ll get this traced and figured out. Of course we don’t think it’s internal, meaning an inside job, but we have to consider it objectively, even though we don’t want that to be true.”

  At that, her jaw opened, then slowly snapped shut. “Just please tell me that you don’t think it’s my uncle,” she said, her emotions boiling to the surface.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a little shake, saying, “Hey, it’s all right. I just said it’s not Dave.”

  She took a deep breath and said, “Thank you. Of course it could be anybody else too, couldn’t it?”

  “It could be, but it’s not likely.”

  “Too scary,” she muttered.

  “Yes, it is. Betrayal is always scary.”

  “Betrayal, that’s such a hard word,” she whispered.

  “I don’t know what other word to use,” he said quietly.

  She shrugged. “Oh, it’s the right word. I just can’t imagine anybody trying to cut down Bullard. He was always so full of life,” she murmured.

  “So does this guy who wants to date you, did he know Bullard?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said, frowning. “Though I guess, since he’s been in the area all this time, it’s possible. But, honestly, if someone’s around causing trouble, can we actually count on it being a separate issue from Bullard’s death?”

  “Bullard’s attack, you mean?” he corrected. “No, but I’d like to have a little talk with this guy.”

  “Well, I have his number in my contacts. It was transferred with the rest when I got my new phone,” she said, as she pulled it out, brought it up, and held it out for him.

  He quickly took down the number and called it. When he got no answer, he said, “Let’s see if we can trace it.”

  “What would that tell you?”

  “Where he is right now.” Fallon asked her, “So, with that IT work he does, does he travel much?”

  “He said he had to do a bunch in the beginning but less now. It was more a case of when there were issues.”

  “Right,” he muttered.

  She watched as he headed to the command center with the number. “Don’t you want dinner first?”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said, but she trailed behind him.

  “What are you trying to do?”

  “Just locate where he is right now.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” she muttered.

  “All kinds of things in life are illegal,” he said. “That includes killing our friends—or trying to kill our friends, I mean,” he corrected. “However tracking a cell phone location is not.”

  She knew that he was working hard to keep Bullard alive in his mind, even against all the evidence or lack of evidence either way. It’s just that the odds were against Bullard having survived at this point, and nobody wanted to deal with that. Still, she watched, as he sorted out some app system.

  “Will that tell us if he’s nearby?”

  “It should tell us wherever he is, nearby or not, but I have to track it.”

  “Well, that’s not necessarily an easy thing then, is it?” she muttered.

  “Doesn’t mean it’s impossible though,” he said. “A lot of people leave their phone on all the time.” When nothing came back up on the screen, he shrugged and said, “I’ll leave it set up, in case it gets turned on.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Now will you eat?”

  He chuckled. “Yep, come on. Let’s go eat. And, with that, he swung an arm around her shoulders, tucked her up close, and walked into the dining room.

  Quinn looked up at them in surprise. She went to step away, but Fallon wasn’t having it and held her close. As they got to the table, he motioned to one chair and said, “You can sit here.”

  “And what if I don’t want to sit there?” she asked, feeling belligerent for whatever reason.

  “Then please, pick a spot,” he said and waved his hand at the entire expanse of the massive table. She shrugged and took the seat he had pointed out. She caught the smirk on his face as she did so, earning him a glare. She handed over the vegetables, as she took a little bit of meat and then passed it on.

  “Smells good,” Quinn said.

  She smiled. “I learned to cook from Uncle Dave, so all these recipes are his.”

  “And it tastes fantastic,” he muttered.

  They quickly dug into the food in front of them, and she was more than happy to see how much they appreciated good food. It made such a difference between cooking for people who enjoyed food and cooking for people who just picked at it. But these men tucked in, like they hadn’t had a meal in days. And maybe they hadn’t; they’d been traveling so much.

  Finally Fallon put down his fork and said, “That was really good.”

  “Thank you. It was, wasn’t it?”

  Just then a series of beeps came from the other room. Quinn looked up and asked, “What’s that?”

  But Fallon was already on his feet and racing that way. The two of them hopped up and joined him.

  “What do you see?” she asked.

  “It’s picked up his phone,” he said.

  “Oh, good,” she said. “So where is he? And can you tell who he’s calling?”

  “Well, that would be nice to know, wouldn’t it?” he said, as he clicked a few more buttons. “It’s not giving me the phone number called. I have to get i
nto his phone records to see that.”

  “But where is he?”

  Behind her, she heard Quinn gasp. She turned, while he stared at the map. “You guys can obviously figure this out, but I don’t know what I’m looking at.” Then she leaned closer. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Isn’t that local, here?”

  “Not only is it local,” Quinn said, “but it’s like seriously local. As in, the guy is here, and I think he’s literally right outside the compound.”

  She stared at him, shook her head, and said, “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “He told me that he wasn’t in town.”

  “Well,” Fallon said, “wasn’t that two or three days ago? And didn’t you tell me that you’d heard a noise that day you and Dave were out by the pool? Guess what? He’s in town now. Plus, he’s probably a lying bastard anyway.”

  She couldn’t believe it. It was just too much, and she hadn’t even gotten a thought fully processed before the men raced toward the front door. She called out, “Wait! Shouldn’t we at least be armed?”

  Fallon called back, “We are. You stay inside.”

  She frowned at that and followed them to the front door, stepping just outside. She had no clue what was going on, but a gate was on the far side of the fence. Was this guy actually here at the gate, or was he somewhere else? It was just too hard to tell. As she stood on the front porch, both men searched the grounds. She didn’t think this guy could have gotten that far into the compound, but she knew saying anything wouldn’t do any good. The guys were on a mission, and that was beyond something she could stop or slow down. Yet, as she watched, the two men looked at each other and approached the big gates.

  Twin heavy wrought-iron gates barred the entrance, but it was hard to see clearly through with that much iron involved. They went to the small side gate, both crouching, as if looking for an enemy on the other side. She stood here, wondering and watching. When the men returned a moment later, their faces were grim. She raised both hands and said, “Well?”

  “Get back in the house,” Fallon snapped.

  “I’m not some little woman to be ordered around,” she said coolly.

  “No,” he said. “But a murdered man, connected to you, is outside the front gate.”

  She stared at him in shock. “Murdered?”

  Quinn nodded, as he walked toward her. Fallon had already headed toward the small gate again.

  “I don’t understand,” she said faintly.

  “What’s to understand? The reason we could pick him up with the trace was because his phone was left on. And he was right outside, as we thought. Literally just outside the gate.”

  She stared at him. “But I thought he was the danger.”

  “The game has changed,” he said, his voice hard.

  She stared at Quinn, still trying to process this. “Are you saying that somebody murdered him, just like that?”

  “But we don’t know whether he was murdered because somebody thought he was part of this team,” he muttered, “or he was murdered because he’d served his usefulness or he was murdered because he was involved in something else completely unrelated.”

  She blinked, struggling to absorb everything he’d just told her, but it seemed so unbelievable. “Let me see him,” she said.

  He shook his head.

  She glared and put her hands on her hips. “I can at least identify him.” Quinn frowned at that, and she nodded. “Yeah, let’s make sure that we have the right guy at least.” At that, she turned and stormed toward the front gate.

  Quinn called out, “Fallon, we’re coming to you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, she wants to ID him.”

  “If you say so.” They came through the side gate, headed to the main gates, and found Fallon sitting there. He had covered the face and part of the deceased’s body with his jacket. At her nod, he lifted it up.

  She stared down at the young man in shock. “It’s him,” she said faintly. “I don’t understand. Why would Ben even be here?” she asked Fallon.

  “Nobody’ll understand why now, what with him dead and all.”

  Quinn looked at Fallon. “I could call the local cops but—”

  “I know. I think we should bring him inside and instead call a few of our network groups.”

  “Bullard and Kasha used to handle all that,” Quinn stated.

  “I know who to call,” she said. She didn’t even need to check the body further because it was obvious he was dead—half of his head had been blown away. She looked at the body again and asked, “So what kind of weapon would have done that?”

  “Several, but nothing small,” Fallon said. “The damage to the side of his head is pretty extensive.”

  “So are we looking at a long-range weapon?” she asked, motioning around. “Because nothing suspicious is here.”

  “I would highly suspect,” Fallon continued, “based on the lack of blood pooling around the body, that he was killed elsewhere and dropped here.”

  She nodded. “And that would make sense. I don’t do the forensic stuff that you guys talk about. I work more on the side of saving people, not killing them.”

  “Well, we didn’t kill this guy. Remember?”

  She nodded slowly. “So why is he dead?”

  “Quite likely his association with you.” She felt the ground shift under her feet. Fallon reached out a hand and said, “I don’t mean that you’re to blame.”

  She looked up at him, then frowned and said, “But, in a way I am, aren’t I?”

  “No,” Fallon said with added emphasis. “Don’t even go there.”

  “Hard not to,” she whispered, rubbing her forehead.

  “No,” he said. “This is not part of it.”

  “How can it not be?” she cried out.

  “Calm down,” Quinn said, as he looked at Fallon. “I suggest we completely remove the evidence, if you don’t think anybody’s coming for the body.”

  “No, wait,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Uncle Dave gave me some numbers.” She quickly hit Dial on one. “Hi,” she said. “Uncle Dave gave me this number.”

  The man on the other end said, “Yes. What can I do for you?”

  “A man’s outside the gate,” she said boldly. “And he’s dead.”

  “Right. You’re the doctor, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, with a small smile. “A lot of good it’s doing right now.”

  “That compound tends to end up with more cases of death than injury anyway,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

  She tucked the phone in her pocket and said, “Okay, he’s coming.”

  “Who is?” Quinn asked.

  She pulled out her phone again, checked the name on her Contacts, and said, “All Uncle Dave put down is Wagner the Fixer.”

  At that, Fallon smiled. “Good guy to call,” he said.

  “You didn’t really call the cops, did you?” Linny asked Quinn.

  “Not in this case, no,” Quinn said. “They aren’t exactly the people we want to deal with right now.”

  “But we didn’t kill him,” she protested.

  “Very true, but the law out here is a little bit rogue—on its own.”

  “I thought that’s how it was at the other compound,” she muttered. She frowned, as she looked at the body again. “Any other injuries?”

  “Haven’t looked yet,” Fallon said, but, crouched beside the body, he inspected Ben’s arms, hands. “I’m not seeing any signs of torture or indication of being tied up.”

  “Right,” she said. “I was thinking of that too. None that I can see.” She studied Ben for a long moment and said, “No, I don’t see anything else. Check his ID.”

  “I already have,” Quinn said. “His driver’s license is here. Ben Radcliffe. He has no credit cards, no cash and no phone. So they’ve destroyed that somehow or we wouldn’t have found him.”

  “So they killed him and robbed him blind too?”

&
nbsp; “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Quinn said.

  “Why would they leave anything to identify him?” she asked, frowning. “Right back to the cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

  “It’s the life. Remember?”

  She acknowledged that slowly. “I do.” Then she shut her mouth at that point because she really did understand. She’d been here too much in her life, not that she was ever involved like this, but it wasn’t like Uncle Dave to hide any of it from her. How do you hide something like that, when her own parents had been murdered? “So now what?”

  “We wait for Wagner,” Fallon said. “And consider this scenario further. There’s not much blood, for one.”

  “And is Wagner likely to take away the body? In this heat, it won’t be long before it gets riper.”

  “Well, that’s one of the other questions. How long do we think he’s been dead?”

  “There’s blood but not fresh,” she said. “So I would say he’s probably been dead at least ten or twelve hours.”

  “So his killer kept him where? He’s plenty ripe already.”

  She frowned at that. “It’s not exactly a clear answer, is it?”

  “Nope, sure isn’t, but welcome to the world of the puzzles we live in.”

  She frowned at that and then bent to check his wrist temperature. “It’s hard to say if he was even in a cooler. But, if he was dead for half a day,” she said, “I would have expected a lot more decomposition in this heat. So a fridge is a good answer potentially.”

  “I agree with that assessment,” Fallon said, studying the body. “Nothing here differentiates him. No different clothing—nothing. What we’ve got is a white Caucasian male, and his ID has him identified as Ben Radcliffe, thirty years old. But, other than that, we don’t have anything to go on.”

  “Which means what?” Lindsey asked.

  “Means we need to do a full workup on his life,” Fallon said.

  “That seems almost insulting,” she said.

  “Maybe, but he isn’t worried about it now, is he?”

  “But that doesn’t mean we have to be so intrusive.”

  “We have to find out who killed him in order to find out what message they were trying to send us.”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” she said, pointing at the dead body. “It’s a warning.”