by Ian Jones
Chapter Six
He was brought back to the present from his thoughts, in the end they gave him over three hours, which John thought was generous.
John had a skill, something which he had learned to do a long time ago, from frequent hours spent in potentially hostile situations. He could shut down, effectively go to sleep while he was still able to remain aware of his surroundings. So when the first quiet, grating footstep occurred on the bottom of the metal staircase a little after one in the morning he was instantly wide awake.
He jumped out of bed and moved across the room with his back to the wall next to the window, then edged closer and peered through. With the gap in the curtain he could see outside and across the landing to the top of the stairway. A man appeared, moving slowly and staring at the window. There was a light for the landing shining down immediately above the door so John knew he couldn’t be seen and he continued to watch. The man reached the top and then waited, and a second man appeared, shorter than the first but wider. Two big men, both wearing identical polo shirts similar to the man earlier, some kind of uniform. The short one seemed to find something funny, and was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. The big man took up station at the door, and then indicated for the other to go to the railing opposite, which he did, still with a stupid grin on his face.
John watched them.
First mistake; not taking the job seriously.
Second mistake; bad positioning. If John was armed he could easily take them both out, the better option would be for the second man to be against the wall on the other side of the door.
John wasn’t armed. No matter. Two on one, they weren’t terrible odds, John could manage that, he had been here before. The trick was simple; speed and surprise. Three on one, things got tricky and despite his skills he was likely to lose. He wouldn’t be lining up like he was now, he would be looking for a way out of the room.
He crouched down and moved under the window to stand behind the door. As he did so a shadow passed over and he guessed the tall man was still trying to look in through the window. He reached up and silently undid the lock.
There was no noise at all, and then a gentle knock on the door. One, two, three quick raps.
John waited.
Again, silence. There would be a debate in the men’s heads, was he even there? Maybe the guy earlier had scared him off after all.
Another rap on the door, followed by a hard knock.
John timed it, as the man’s fist came back to knock again he yanked the door open and launched himself outside, his right arm swinging in hard. It went better than expected, as the big man knocking had his head lowered, maybe he was going to try and look in the peephole. John’s fist crashed full pelt straight onto the bridge of his nose, shattering it and rendering him temporarily blind. He went down on his side with a howl but John had already forgotten him and was moving fast over the landing to other man, who’s grin was slipping and he was raising his arms. John grabbed him by the crotch, got a real tight handful pulling upward and squeezing, his left hand gripping the stunned man by the throat and lifting, then twisting forward with his shoulder he barged him up and over the railing. With a shriek the man fell down headfirst landing on his back on a couple of plastic chairs outside the room below. John turned and kicked the big man hard in the side of the head then grabbed his foot and ran down the stairs pulling the man behind him.
The short man was dazed and trying to get up, John lashed out and kicked him hard in the face, he collapsed back onto the ground and John beat his head backwards until his eyes rolled up and he was out.
He glanced over at the tall man, who was rolling trying to get into a kneeling position. John kicked him hard in the kidneys, and booted him in the side of the face then turned back. He stamped down hard onto both the short man’s hands, splintering all the bones, and broke his right arm. He searched him, tucked into the waistband was a gun, a Beretta M9FS, John checked it was loaded and pushed it down the back of his own jeans along with the couple of hundred dollars he found then moved onto the second man. He was lying on his front, John rolled him over and searched him. Another couple of hundred dollars and another Beretta, the same gun. Also loaded, but neither gun had one in the chamber. Amateurs.
John looked around quickly, they couldn’t be seen from the front of the motel here and he knew the room below his was empty. Safe enough. He crouched next to the man who was staring up at him, he was covered in blood and dazed.
‘Right, question time. Who sent you?’
The man shook his head.
John held the Beretta out in front of his face.
‘Yeah, I got your gun. Both guns actually. What are you, the reserve team?’
The man blinked slowly.
‘I can’t say, I’ll be hunted,’ he whispered thickly.
John looked at him carefully. Hunted? No idea what that meant but the man wasn’t going to tell him anything. Here wasn’t the time and the place for a lengthy interrogation.
‘Right, so here’s a warning, and listen to me good. You are fucking with the wrong guy,’ John said the last part slowly. ‘So far I am three–nil up, and look at me, not a scratch. I got a message for you to pass on; I’ll be waiting. And now I’m armed, both these guns are going to be close by. And I can’t be prosecuted for anything by the way, because I’m not here. So I don’t care who I have to hurt or kill, it means nothing to me. You tell whoever it is that I am not going anywhere, so they should expect to lose more like you.’
He reached down and slammed the man’s head off the ground hard, then stamped down to smash both his hands. Then he rolled both men on their sides and checked they were breathing.
As with the first man, neither was carrying a wallet so had no ID at all. Three men, sent by someone to get him out of town. Or worse. He walked around and looked through the window into the office. The woman wasn’t working which was good, now there was a young man sitting there, reading a magazine. John tried the door but it was locked, so he knocked sharply on the window and the man looked up, bemused, and didn’t move. John waved at him and pointed to the side.
Ponderously the man put on a thick pair of glasses and stood up, then slowly made his way over to the door. He unlocked it and opened it a tiny amount and looked at John through the gap, pointlessly as it was all glass and had a window at the side.
‘Rooms are forty bucks,’ he said.
John sighed.
‘I don’t need a room; I’ve already got one. There’s a couple of guys lying in your car park, they look like they’re hurt to me,’ John told him, and went to walk away.
‘What, again! Wait, Jesus, look wait there,’ the man grumbled, and locked the door again. He made his way back to the counter and ferreted around behind it, emerging with a big old torch and a bunch of keys. He walked back over to the door and unlocked it, then walked outside and locked it again with a key and then stood there looking at John.
‘Good job I’m not in a rush,’ John told him.
‘What?’
‘Never mind. This way.’
They walked back across the front of the motel to the corner. The men were still lying there, the shorter one was moving his legs and moaning.
The man from reception gasped and switched on the torch, which was unnecessary as there was a bright white light above them.
‘I don’t believe it,’ the man said. ‘There was another one of these earlier, what’s going on?’
‘No idea. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding,’ John replied.
‘But …’
‘Right, I’ll leave it with you,’ John interrupted and headed around the corner and up the stairs. He let himself into his room and sat on the bed and took his boots off, then quietly went back out onto the landing and looked down. The young man was talking rapidly on his cell phone, worried.
John smiled and went back inside, stripped down to his boxers and laid down. He fell asleep easily, he wouldn’t be bothered again tonight.
&nbs
p; Chapter Seven
Eleven years previously Fairhead offered to drive John back to El Paso, one of the other agents would take his car instead. They stopped for coffee at the diner and then set off.
They discussed the case as they travelled along; Fairhead mentally storing all the information away for later. He asked a lot of questions, particularly about the intelligence gathering.
‘I’m impressed,’ he said with a wry smile.
It was a long drive, but they had a lot to talk about so it passed reasonably quickly.
Once they got to the office there was another conference before the first interview took place. Collis was being held in the basement; there were two detaining rooms there. Fairhead had a deputy; an agent called Bianca. John was unable to work out if it was her first or last name, but everybody called her that. She was about his age, an attractive Hispanic woman with long, thick black hair and an attitude that oozed ‘I will break anyone’s arm who touches me’ from every pore. She was undoubtedly Fairhead’s ace in the hole, she had consolidated all the data, every photograph, every statement, every single detail into ordered files, and would be conducting the first interview alongside Fairhead. This was another genius idea. Collis would not have any idea how to react to a woman, especially a Hispanic one.
Bianca had organised everything into folders, there was even one for John. Collis was brought upstairs from his temporary accommodation in the basement. He had become rude and aggressive, brusquely waiving his right to an attorney at this stage but had made his phone call, it was to a mobile phone number which was currently being traced. They discussed everything they had so far, and what more they could expect from the search team.
As the meeting ended Fairhead held John back gently by the arm.
‘Listen John, I feel bad about this but I can’t let you in the interview. I’m real sorry, you done a lot of work on this. But we got rules, well, you know I guess.’
‘I understand,’ John replied, who had been expecting to hear that anyway.
‘But look, you’ll be watching, we got a smart setup here. And we wear earpieces, so if we miss something or you got a question for him then just hit the button and let me know ok?’
John was shown into a room which was surprisingly comfortable with armchairs and a coffee machine. It had a long window set low in the wall which looked down into the interview room. Fairhead explained that there were mirror panels all around the top of the room which had a high ceiling, and it was possible for him to hear as everything was recorded and there were loudspeakers and TV monitors positioned on either side of the viewing window. There were microphones set into the wall above the window with buttons labelled ‘Talk’ next to them.
He made himself a cup of coffee and took a seat in one of the armchairs. He was joined by another couple of agents he vaguely recognised from earlier in the day, plus another smartly dressed man who introduced himself as Ingram, the local section head. They sat in a rough semi-circle around the window.
Collis was brought in a few minutes later, led inside by a young agent who took a seat just inside the door watching Collis impassively. He walked around the room staring up at the mirrored panels wondering where the watchers would be. He was now wearing paper shoes and constantly hitching his trousers up as his belt had been taken. He had a defiant look on his face and was clenching and unclenching his fingers. Finally, he sat down and placed his hands flat on the table in front of him.
After a short time Bianca appeared; wandering in casually without speaking, deliberately not looking at him. Collis stared at her and started cursing but she said nothing. She placed a folder down and opened it to the first page.
Then Fairhead entered the room, walking briskly over to the table and threw his own folder onto it with a loud thump. He didn’t sit down, instead he stood leaning on a chair back staring down at Collis, who looked anywhere else.
The room stayed this way for what seemed like an age, and then Fairhead sighed heavily and stood up straight with his hands in his pockets.
‘You see Mr Collis; this is all a waste of everyone’s time. And money. Shit you would not believe what you have cost us.’
Collis looked up at him confused.
Fairhead grinned and pulled out the chair and sat down.
‘Sorry, I should explain Mr Collis. You see, I’ve been doing this job a long time. And you know what? I have never had anyone in front of me as guilty as you are. Never. We could have just got your local sheriff to pull you in. Would have been a lot cheaper.’
Collis recovered. ‘I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done.’
Very patiently, Fairhead went through everything, going through the evidence so far. Collis said nothing of any value, other than to repeatedly say that he was being set up by the British guy, and the FBI were assholes as they were falling for it. Fairhead got to the Mossberg rifle and showed photographs.
‘That ain’t mine,’ Collis said smugly.
‘Really? Well we found it in the attic of your house. It was hidden, although not very well. It was under some loose insulation,’ Bianca told him.
‘Bullshit. You planted it. You won’t find my fingerprints on it. I never seen it before. I know what you people are like.’
‘My people?’ Bianca asked.
‘Yeah. You people.’
‘You mean FBI people?’
‘I mean all you people. That’s what I mean.’
Fairhead stepped in. ‘You are right. Your fingerprints aren’t on it, in fact there are no fingerprints on it at all. It’s been wiped clean. Which seems very suspicious to me. An expensive, high power rifle, hidden in your attic, wiped of any fingerprints. What do you think Bianca?’
‘I think this guy is a jerk.’
Collis reacted to that.
‘Don’t you speak to me like that! You need to show me respect. I’m better than you.’
Bianca laughed and Collis raised his eyebrows.
‘I think I’d be hard pressed to find anyone that you’re better than.’
Collis stood up angrily.
‘We know what you all think,’ he shouted.
‘We?’ asked Bianca.
‘Us. Texans. You all think we are stupid rednecks, just some hillbillies but we are smarter than you, and one day you’ll see. You all will. One day, and we’ll all be sitting back laughing.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Fairhead commented. ‘Sit your ass down. I’ve heard all this shit before. White power, am I right? God bless America.’
Collis went into a rambling rant, reciting crime figures and prison numbers for young black men and drug arrests for Mexican cartels, who was really to blame for 9-11 and why Hitler had been in the right. All of it just variations of the exact same stuff that John had been forced to listen to relentlessly on far too many Tuesday evenings in a crappy run down pub in London.
Fairhead and Bianca sat and listened in stony silence, and then Fairhead stood up.
‘Right, I’m ending this. We’ll pick it up later. Forensics will be coming in thick and fast and in no time, we can just lock you up with all your other Aryan buddies, and they are going to love you. You’re gonna be very special to them.’
Complaining loudly Collis was led from the room.
Then there was another conference back in the meeting room, with Fairhead and Bianca and they were joined by Ingram who polished his glasses and looked all around the room.
‘So, have we got enough?’ he asked.
‘I’ve requested all the forensics and ballistics on express, and I should get everything from Germany, France and Italy latest tomorrow morning,’ Fairhead told him.
‘I’ll get you a hotel room,’ Ingram told John.
‘Thank you. Can we get anything from Martin Scanlon or that other guy Norman Flint now we’ve got Collis?’ John asked.
‘Scanlon is with the Des Moines office right now, apparently being real helpful, but it does look as if he genuinely was unaware of Collis’s reasons for travelling. Appare
ntly, these overseas trips are always driven from Texas, but as far as he knows it’s all about recruitment. He was just told that Collis would be there on this occasion but he didn’t really know why, apparently Scanlon didn’t take to him and they didn’t speak a whole lot on the London trip. He had never met him before or seen him since. In Germany, Scanlon had been told beforehand that Collis had to go to talk to a politician but he wasn’t to go with him. Flint is retired, lives in Florida. He’s known to the local PD for spouting all the same crap Collis just let loose with. They’ve pulled him in, and an agent is on their way but it seems unlikely he will be able to add anything even if he wanted to,’ Fairhead told him.
‘Right. So, what’s next?’ Ingram asked.
‘Me and Bianca will go again tonight, we’ll go in heavier this time. I’m praying we get all the results back before tomorrow afternoon and we can just put this to bed.’
‘He does seem like an asshole,’ Ingram agreed.
The second interview kicked off a couple of hours later, and immediately there was a change. It was clear that Fairhead and Bianca had done it before, they operated like clockwork. Bianca tore into Collis, destroying everything; who he was, his way of life, his history. She didn’t mention his views once.
But Fairhead did. He told Collis he would make sure he was locked up in Arizona, there was a federal penitentiary there that was over ninety percent black and Hispanic, and Collis would be in there sharing a cell with at least three other inmates.
Collis just sat there, shaking his head, clearly scared now. The smug look was off his face but to John it felt like there was still a long way to go.
In the end, it was all but over the following morning. The data from the computers was back; Collis ran the One Race website from the server they found, and they had retrieved a long history of conversations where Collis had bragged about the shootings. There was also pages and pages of racist propaganda, copies of Hitler speeches, even Mein Kampf.
