by Dwayne Gill
“He asked for an even-numbered room on the third floor,” said the clerk.
“And were there a lot of rooms available?” asked Hart.
“Quite a few, yes,” said the clerk. “I read all the available ones off, and he stopped me immediately on 310.”
Hart was sure he chose that room deliberately.
He walked out of the office and spoke to Perry. “Can you get me a copy of the sketch once it’s done?”
“Of course,” said Perry. “I’ll email it to you.”
◆◆◆
5:00 a.m.
Hart left the hotel in the hands of Perry while he and Barkley headed over to the second crime scene. The FBI would clean up the bodies, he knew; they’d also want to claim the next one too, he assumed.
“How’d you find out about this one?” Hart asked Agent Sanchez, who was there babysitting the scene until he arrived.
“Anonymous call,” he replied.
“We know who the victim is yet?” asked Hart.
“His name is Darryl Nelson,” said Sanchez.
Hart walked inside the warehouse. The local guys had arranged rows of spotlights focused on the center of the room. A few officers remained inside, scouring the building for evidence, though they didn’t seem enthusiastic. The victim was sitting on the floor, his arms tied to a table, his chin resting on his chest.
“Someone shot him in the forehead,” said Sanchez. “But what’s interesting is the drill marks in his knees.”
Hart saw the blood spatter on the floor around the victim.
“Looks like someone was pumping him for information,” said Sanchez.
“If so, it didn’t take much to crack him,” said Barkley. Hart looked at her. “Just saying. It only took a drill to each knee?”
Hart agreed. The marked men were known for being tough; it seemed like it would take more to break one.
“How’d he get here?” asked Hart.
“We found a car several blocks away that belongs to him,” said Sanchez. “Someone shattered the driver’s-side window, and there was blood on the dash and steering wheel.”
“Can you show me where the car was?” asked Hart.
“Sure. Follow me,” said Sanchez.
The three walked outside. Sanchez pointed in the direction of the vehicle, and Hart could barely see it in the distance, only because officers were surrounding it, still looking for evidence. “That’s a long way away. Why bring him all the way here to torture and kill him? There were other abandoned buildings closer.”
“Why was anyone down here at all?” asked Barkley. “Look at this area. It doesn’t seem like a place anyone would be by choice.”
Barkley’s right, thought Hart. Neither Darryl nor his killer would’ve been here for any wholesome reason. One, or both, was up to something sinister.
“What time did the anonymous call come in?” asked Hart.
“It was around one o’clock,” said Sanchez.
Hart had guessed the two scenes were related before he arrived, but now the timeline made it all but a certainty. Unfortunately, this wouldn’t help them; there were no witnesses and no evidence that got them any closer to the perpetrator.
“Let me know if anything interesting turns up on the victim,” said Hart.
“I will. But you know it won’t take them long to come get him,” said Sanchez.
The cleanup crew would come sooner rather than later to gather the corpse. Hart had no say in this process.
They walked to Hart’s rental car and got in. Hart sank into his seat and laid his head back.
“You okay, Lance?” asked Barkley.
Hart sighed. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
“You know who the man in 310 was, don’t you?” said Barkley.
“I know who it looks like,” said Hart.
“Cane,” said Barkley. She had an excited look.
This was another topic Hart had yet to speak to her about. How weird, he thought, that two of the most critical issues to Hart in the past five years, the marked men and Cane, he hadn’t brought her up to speed on. There had been no leads on either for some time, especially Cane, so there’d been no reason.
“I’m at a loss to think who else could’ve pulled that off, besides him,” said Hart. The marked men were difficult to kill; in fact, he only ever knew of one man who had killed any of them—until now. “The high-tech cameras scream Lynks.”
“Lynks?” asked Barkley.
Hart realized that she only knew who Cane was, not his partner. “Lynks was the other trainee from Red Delta we never brought in. He and Cane work as a team.”
Barkley nodded. “So that means it was Cane at the warehouse too?”
“The timeline fits,” said Hart. “I think someone followed him after he left the hotel. That makes the most sense. Now, what he was doing in this area, I don’t know. Maybe he lured the guy here. But the torture gives me more reason to think it was Cane.”
Hart looked over at Barkley; she was so young. He envied her, in a way. What he’d give to be her age again and not know the things he knew now.
“You don’t know much about Cane, do you?” Hart asked her.
“He’s a legend, so I’ve heard a lot of talk. I heard he was the best in the program,” said Barkley.
“Cane is likely the most dangerous man on the planet,” said Hart. “If he wanted you dead, you’d never see him coming.”
“Did you ever get close to bringing him in?” asked Barkley.
“Not even within sniffing distance,” said Hart. It haunted him to this day. He’d brought in the other twenty trainees rather easily, but Cane and Lynks might as well have left the planet.
“I heard he got the program shut down,” said Barkley.
“You could say that. Cane killed an American citizen and his two children, at his own home,” said Hart. “And it wasn’t even the right guy.”
Barkley looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Hart. I didn’t know.”
Hart smiled at her, though his heart wasn’t into it. He didn’t want her to feel bad. “I don’t know why he’d surface now, after all his years of silence,” he said.
“You seem sure it’s him,” said Barkley.
Hart looked out his window. He knew it was him. Maybe it was because he felt like he knew Cane and what his work looked like. Or perhaps it was because he wanted it to be him so badly.
Barkley seemed to read his mind. “Well, let’s go find him then, partner.” Barkley smiled at him, and Hart realized how much he liked her. She was not only smart and hardworking, but she was also confident and encouraging.
Hart nodded, gathered himself, and pressed the ignition on the car.
“Where to now?” asked Barkley.
“Now’s the fun part,” said Hart. “I gotta go talk to the boss.”
Crisis of Conscience
2024
Nevada
A year after Cane’s Detour
Cane was in position; he couldn’t have asked for a clearer shot. Martin Nasser walked onto the front deck of his large home with a phone in his left hand, making himself an easy target.
There was only one problem: cradled in Martin’s right arm was his infant son, asleep on his shoulder.
Nowadays, the men who gave the orders at Red Delta had no issue with this complication and wouldn’t tolerate assets tanking an operation because of their conscience.
Cane could take the shot without hurting the kid. A year ago, he would’ve just put a bullet through Martin’s head, and as long as the kid was uninjured, he would’ve counted it as a win.
That was then. Now he thought differently. That he could look at Martin and his son and only see the irreparable trauma to the kid was a testament to how much he’d changed.
The government wanted him to be a thoughtless killing machine, to kill at their discretion without asking questions. He wasn’t that guy, not anymore, and neither was Lynks.
“He has another kid inside, too,” Lynks informed him throu
gh his headset.
Cane had tried to make it clear to his commanding officer months ago; he wouldn’t target American civilians. They either weren’t taking him seriously or thought he’d succumb to their requests, because they’d been trying to sneak jobs like this past him for months. He thought about what Kristy and Helen would think of him if they could see him now, perched with a sniper rifle, an American businessman and his infant son in his sights. Yet it wasn’t only because of them that he refused to do it. Over the past year, Cane had discovered an emotional side he didn’t know was there before. In fact, it likely wasn’t there. Sure, Kristy and Helen might have been the catalyst, but Cane could make empathetic decisions more frequently now and view the consequences of his actions on a broader scale.
Cane could see the government’s dangerous pattern escalating; Red Delta was not only sending the boys out to dispatch the dangerous terrorists overseas, they now ordered assassinations of American citizens on their own soil, people that deserved a fair trial. Cane didn’t have a problem pursuing corrupt citizens working with the Russians; in fact, he had no issue killing them. However, who would draw the line, and where? Who decided that something an American citizen did was severe enough to warrant an execution rather than a trial?
Bowman decided months ago that he wanted no part, but for Cane, it wasn’t as simple. Bowman removed himself from the latest incarnation of the program and they inserted another in his place. They couldn’t replace an asset like Cane so easily.
If Cane disobeyed the order, which he would, he wasn’t sure how Floyd Hughes, his commanding officer, would react. He might get the message and stop sending Cane on missions like these, or he might blacklist him. Cane was okay with either result. He had become so disillusioned and unmotivated over the past year that he felt like he was ready for a change, a shake-up.
“I’m not doing it,” said Cane. He could hear Lynks breathe a sigh of relief. Of all the men conflicted about their jobs in the past year, no one felt more out of place than Lynks. The only reason he hadn’t quit himself was because of Cane. “I won’t do it. I can’t,” said Cane, mostly to himself.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Lynks.
Cane knew they’d need to disappear, at least for a few days, until things calmed down and they had a better idea of what Hughes thought of his disobedience. The first thing he did, though, once he cleared the area and was back with Lynks, was call Bowman. He’d have a better idea of how Hughes would respond.
“Well, well, I always knew you’d get soft on me,” Bowman joked. Bowman had his own way with Cane, a personal level of trust he’d earned over the years, that allowed him to fool with him in a way most others could not.
The humor was comforting, given the variations of how this could all play out.
“What are they gonna do?” asked Lynks.
“Nothing. They don’t have more of you lying around somewhere. They can replace anyone else in that program except the two of you. I’ll call them in the morning and get it straightened out. I’ll tell them what I think about the missions they’re sending you on too. It’s their own fault.”
Cane couldn’t help but feel conflicted. He wasn’t questioning his decision, but not completing a job was unfamiliar to him. Months ago, when Bowman stepped down, he told them it was because of the same thing Cane felt now. He said he couldn’t turn a blind eye to what the government was doing. Cane was sure it killed Bowman to leave him, Lynks, and the others he devoted his life to training, but he said he refused to see the young men he taught justice and fairness be asked to perform duties that would make the average person blush.
Hughes figured Cane would be the one trainee they never had to worry about, as he didn’t seem to possess the same moral compass as the other boys. He never flinched when asked to complete a sensitive job and never asked questions like so many others would. Ironically, Cane and Lynks were the only two in the program that ever questioned an order, and Bowman couldn’t disguise his satisfaction.
“Cane, Lynks. I’m proud of both of you. You both know why I left, so I couldn’t judge you if I wanted to. You’re doing the right thing. I’m on your side. Just lie low and let me see what I can do.”
◆◆◆
“He didn’t take the bait,” said Clay, who now had Martin Nasser and his five-year-old son tied up with his infant son crying beside them on the couch.
“It’s okay,” said the voice on the other end. “We still have Hughes on record ordering the assassination. We just need someone to execute the order.”
“I thought the whole point of this was to kill Cane,” said Clay. “It was our last best chance. If we let him get away, we’ll never see him again.”
“Calm, now. The goal wasn’t necessarily to kill him; it was to get him out the way. Once the world learns the US government ordered the assassination of an American citizen and his two children, they’ll be forced to terminate the program that gives orders to Cane.”
“Which renders him useless,” said Clay.
“Precisely. He’ll have no resources and no motivation to pursue us. It also has a bonus. What happens to the other assassins when Red Delta ends?”
“They’ll be out of a job,” said Clay. “But won’t they incarcerate them?”
“I have a plan. But first, you take care of the business at hand.”
◆◆◆
The next morning, Bowman called with news, and there was no humor in his voice this time.
“Cane, all hell is breaking loose here. They found Nasser and his kids dead last night. Executed.”
“It wasn’t me,” said Cane.
“I know,” said Bowman. “At first I thought they sent someone in behind you to finish the job, but it’s much worse.”
Lynks was awake now, sitting up on his bed, alert.
“Someone recorded Hughes giving you the order to kill Nasser and released it to the FBI.” Bowman was breathing heavily; he sounded like he was running up or down a flight of stairs. “They’re framing you, making it seem like you followed through with the order.”
Cane had trouble thinking about anything other than the infant he saw in Nasser’s arms. He burned with a rage he’d never felt before.
“Cane! You there?” Bowman shouted. “You and Lynks have to disappear. You’ll need money. I can help with that.”
“How?” asked Cane.
“Someone provided bad intel. Martin Nasser was the wrong target,” said Bowman.
Someone killed those kids for nothing, thought Cane.
“Well, I know the real intel. The real target,” said Bowman.
“He’s still an American citizen,” said Cane.
“Yes, he is,” said Bowman. “I’m not telling you to kill him. This guy helps the Russians smuggle guns and drugs. Best of all, he’s filthy rich and deals only in cash. Take it. You’ll put it to better use than him. The amount of cash he has there would last you a lifetime.”
Bowman was right; they would need money to disappear, although Cane didn’t aim to remain invisible. He wanted the money for better reasons. Now that he was free from Hughes and Red Delta, he could take on any mission to which he felt inclined.
The Blood Of The Matter
Saturday, 9/9/2028, 5:30 a.m.
Boston, Massachusetts
James Duncan’s house sat in a typical urban neighborhood; in fact, it was in a cul-de-sac. Although the recording suggested Duncan was expecting him, they’d stalled until this time of the morning, thinking the later they showed up, the better.
To be honest, they all needed a break anyway, so they’d found the most obscure hotel they could, checked in, and rested for a few hours before visiting the professor.
The three walked up the pathway leading to the doctor’s house, glancing carefully around them. Lynks and Natalie were jumpy since discovering someone had been following them. Cane rapped on the door three times then rang the doorbell. A minute later, he heard footsteps approaching, and the door opened.
James
Duncan was a small man, 5’6, maybe 150 pounds, but he held himself confidently. Dressed only in slacks and a t-shirt, he stood there, smiling yet apprehensive. “How may I help you?” he asked. He seemed to know something was different about the visit, likely because of the time of day.
Cane let Lynks do the talking. “A lady told us to come see you. A lady on a cassette tape.” He emphasized the last part.
The professor’s eyes widened and he waved all three inside. “Follow me.” He led them through a vast open area downstairs, which had a spiral staircase leading to the second and third floors. Everything inside seemed to sparkle, like it was brand new or had recently been cleaned. Cane swore he could see his reflection in the porcelain tile flooring.
They entered a big room downstairs, an office perhaps, and took a seat at a large, rectangular conference table. James Duncan looked them over, sat at the head of the table, and sighed. Cane, Lynks, and Natalie waited; no one said a word.
“So you’ve heard from Marcene too, I take it?” asked Doctor Duncan. Lynks and Natalie looked surprised.
“She didn’t tell us her name,” said Cane. “But I’ve also heard someone refer to her as Marcene.”
“She’s a very secretive person,” said Duncan.
“What do you know about her?” asked Lynks.
Duncan smiled. “Little, if I understand your question. I assume you want to know where she’s from, what she’s doing? I’m afraid I won’t be of much help there.”
“Tell us what you know,” said Cane.
“I heard one of you talk about cassettes,” said Duncan. “Well, that’s how she communicated with me initially. She’s been sending me messages for a year.”
“What about?” asked Cane.
“DNA-related topics,” Duncan said. He stood. “I’m sorry, I’m so rude. Would any of you like something to drink?”
Cane shook his head; Natalie and Lynks looked at each other and looked back at the professor.
“I’ll take a coffee if you have it,” said Lynks.
