The Controller

by Matt Brolly

  It had been thirty seconds since he’d knocked on her door. She’d answered but had yet to open up. It was possible she was calling it in and that within minutes a back up team would be present. It was a risk he’d decided to take.

  ‘Rose, come on. I feel like an idiot out here.’

  The door opened, Lynch presented with the scene of a vacant room.

  ‘You’re not going to hit me with an iron bar are you,’ he said, entering, his hands in the air in mock surrender.

  Rose closed the door behind him and he dropped his hands. She was wearing blue jeans, and a plain t-shirt. Her red hair was wet and fell onto her top creating a number of small damp patches. ‘You alone?’ she asked.

  ‘Who would I be with?’ Lynch moved towards to mini bar. ‘Do you mind?’ he said, taking a bottle of beer.

  ‘Be my guest. I take it you’ve been following me?’

  ‘I saw you by the railroad today. Razinski’s father?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘The daughter?’

  ‘Eight-year-old girl. One to the chest, one to the head,’ said Rose, pointing to the places on her own body.

  Lynch swallowed hard. Daniel had been seven when they’d taken him. ‘They don’t fucking discriminate, do they?’

  Rose took a bottle of beer from the mini bar and moved to the veranda. ‘You left in a hurry this morning.’

  Lynch didn’t hear any accusation in the words. ‘Apologies.’

  ‘Not asking for apologies.’

  ‘I thought your colleagues would be turning up and I wasn’t in the mood for answering any questions.’

  ‘Or explanations.’

  ‘I need another one of these,’ said Lynch, returning to the mini bar in the hotel room. Apart from Rose’s suitcase, there was no sign that anyone occupied the room. The bed sheets were laid fresh, nothing in the room out of place. Perfect for a quick getaway. He retrieved the last two bottles of beer and returned to the veranda.

  Rose took the second bottle and drank heavily. ‘What aren’t you telling me, Lynch?’

  Lynch drank before answering. ‘I think I’ve been very open with you.’

  ‘What I don’t understand is this increase in activity. If the Railroad exist then they’ve managed to avoid detection for years. Now, all of sudden, they’re responsible for all these deaths. Hardly the action of a secret organization.’

  Lynch had considered this and had no explanation beyond Razinski. ‘They came for Razinski. He must have known something.’

  ‘And his family?’

  ‘I imagine initially it was a warning to him. They killed his family to keep him quiet, and took his father and daughter as security.’

  ‘Why kill them once Razinski was dead?’

  Lynch frowned, unsure if Rose was testing him somehow with her supposed naivety. ‘These are not rational people. They believe they can do whatever they want. They would have killed partly out of fun, partly as a warning to other members of their organization. Would you cross them now?’

  Rose’s hand reached for her pale cheek. ‘You speak of them as this entity. Surely Razinski was one of them before this?’

  ‘Exactly. My research suggests they act exactly like this. A clandestine cell network as Razinski suggested at the compound. Razinski was one of them until he became weak and had to be expelled.’

  ‘Every organization needs a leader. There has to be a hierarchy of sorts.’ Rose reached for her iPad. ‘One of your older reports highlighted someone called the Controller,’ she said, reading from the glaring light.

  Lynch laughed, thinking about Razinski’s dying word: Mallard. ‘I’m still not sure if someone was having a joke with me on that one. You’ve read Thomas the Tank Engine?’

  ‘Daily,’ said Rose, deadpan.

  ‘That big guy. They call him the Sir Topham Hatt over here. In the UK they call him the Fat Controller.’

  ‘Not very PC.’

  ‘British sense of humor I guess. Anyway, that’s where the name comes from.’

  ‘But you had some leads on this Controller. He’s potentially the head of the organization?’

  ‘I was getting close, before…’

  ‘Your son?’

  Lynch nodded, taking a final swig of the warm beer. ‘I was in Fort Worth meeting an informant who didn’t show, who I never heard from again. The informant had given me good information prior to that. Either he’d been taking me for a ride all along, or they’d used him to get to me. And that I’m afraid, is the closest I ever got to this Controller.’

  Rose gazed out towards the night sky, now decorated with specks of glowing silver. ‘And your subsequent investigation?’

  ‘Subsequent to leaving the Bureau?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘The name appears. He’s as much of a mystery as the organization itself. You question people about him and you see them change before your eyes. It’s like talking to the devout about their God.’

  ‘Some God.’

  ‘A mythical deity who holds sway over the masses, who watches from a bastion of authority whilst terrible things happen? Yes, some God.’

  ‘You’re convinced he exists?’

  ‘He exists alright, in one form another.’

  Rose drank the last of her beer. ‘I’m all out.’

  Lynch would have liked nothing more at that moment than to call room service for another round of drinks but held his tongue.

  ‘Did you ask Razinski about the Controller?’ asked Rose.

  Lynch remembered the look of fear on Razinski’s face as he’d mentioned the Controller. The way a man seconds from dying was scared of someone he would never see again. He couldn’t be sure if Rose had overheard his final words. ‘He may have been mentioned.’

  ‘You don’t give much away, do you, Lynch?’

  ‘I’ve learnt the hard way.’

  ‘You know you can trust me?’

  ‘I’ve heard that too many times as well.’

  ‘I heard you sneaking off that morning. I could have stopped you.’

  ‘You could have tried,’ said Lynch, trying to sound light.

  ‘I could have called this in when you knocked on the door.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘You’ll have to find out,’ said Rose, absently pulling at a loose strand of hair from the front of her eyes.

  Lynch stood up. ‘I should get going.’

  ‘You need to tell me what Razinski said to you, Lynch. We can help each other.’

  Lynch hesitated. He wanted to share the information and felt he could trust Rose. It wasn’t that stopping him. ‘If the incident at the compound has told us anything it’s that they have people on the inside.’

  Rose stood and edged towards him. ‘That’s very likely but withholding information is not going to help anyone.’

  ‘It will help me.’

  ‘Will you take something from me before you leave?’ asked Rose, holding her ground.

  ‘Show me.’

  Lynch followed her into the room where she opened up her suitcase and withdrew a small silver box.

  Lynch opened the box revealing a metal covered capsule. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a tracking device.’

  Lynch made a flinching motion. ‘Delightful.’

  Rose laughed. ‘It activates when you twist the top. It may prove to be useful. I will be the only one who has access it to it.’

  Lynch pocketed the device, undecided as to whether he would discard it as soon as he was outside.

  ‘Okay then,’ said Rose.

  Lynch stood less than a foot away from her, close enough to reach. He felt like a teenager on a first date. ‘I have your number,’ he said.

  ‘And I yours. Goodnight, Samuel.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  17

  Lynch held the tracking device in his hand and considered throwing it onto the street. Everything about Sandra Rose so far suggested she could be trusted. If she’d wanted him in custody he would have been there by
now. She’d told him the device was not activated and he believed her. He placed it inside his wallet and drove away.

  The sky had darkened but the intense heat of the day had yet to fade. He drove with his window down, savoring the cool breeze and the outdoor smells of the countryside. An excitement permeated his body. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time. It reminded him of the times inside the Bureau before things turned bad.

  Wary of being followed, he checked his mirrors on a regular basis as he made his way to his next destination. He needed to speak to a former colleague, Bryce Gibbs who resided a few hours away, north of Dallas. Lynch had called ahead and Gibbs agreed to meet that evening, even though Lynch wouldn’t reach his place until after midnight.

  Gibbs had originally worked with him on the Railroad investigation but had been pulled off the case six months into the operation. Gibbs left the Bureau four months after Lynch. Lynch wanted to confirm his suspicions about Balfour and to find out any information the former agent had about Mallard.

  Lynch reached the city apartment at eleven forty-five pm. Gibbs was waiting for him outside, a newly lit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

  ‘This is some welcome,’ said Lynch, shaking hands with his former colleague.

  Gibbs was diminutive in height but not stature. He was almost as wide as he was tall, his chest rigid with muscle. ‘I’m a bit worried about the company you’re keeping at the moment, Sam,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve heard?’

  ‘Whispers. Something about a compound explosion. This to do with the Railroad?’ Gibbs offered him a cigarette which he declined.

  ‘The less you know the better.’

  ‘Amen to that. So what can I help you with?’

  ‘It’s best if you don’t share this with anyone, Bryce.’

  Gibbs lifted his cigarette in front of him, the smoke drifting in the night air before evaporating. ‘I’m not sure if I’d want to risk it.’

  ‘I have a possible lead on the Controller. Tentative at best.’

  Gibbs nodded, not giving much away. ‘Go on.’

  ‘You remember Wilberforce Mallard?’

  Gibbs smiled. ‘The billionaire playboy, turned recluse? I remember his absurd name. Wasn’t it Wilberforce Mallard the fifth?’

  ‘The sixth.’

  Gibbs chuckled. ‘Somehow that’s worse. I remember some of the work we conducted on him. It was a bit vague, as much of our work was. Heir to some rail fortune. I remember he was impossible to track, his funds spread very wide and very well protected.’

  ‘You recall anything else?’ said Lynch, fearing he was wasting his time.

  ‘No criminal record. I do remember it being strange, the lack of information we had on him. I can only recall one image we had on our database. Which, considering the money he had was a bit unusual. There was a talk that he was a front, that he didn’t really exist but that was from unverified sources. There was nothing to suggest a link to anything untoward. The reason we looked into him in the first place was his family’s link to the railways in the past.’

  Lynch nodded, disappointed but not surprised by the information. ‘Thanks, Bryce. That tallies with what I remember.’

  ‘If I think of anything else I’ll let you know. On that number you called on?’

  ‘Yes, thanks again.’

  ‘No worries. Look, it’s none of my business but you look a bit drained. You should get some rest.’

  ‘You’re probably right. I’ll find somewhere for the night.’

  Gibbs grimaced. ‘I’d invite you to stay, but I have a family now, you know?’

  ‘Of course, Bryce. Apologies, I shouldn’t have called this late. Thanks again.’

  Gibbs went to say something but held his tongue. Lynch imagined he wanted to say something about Daniel but couldn’t find the words. ‘Look after yourself, Sam.’

  ‘You too.’

  Lynch headed back towards Hardwick wanting to be near Rose in case there were any more developments. Fifty minutes into the journey he began to take notice of the dark blue sedan in his rear view mirror. He’d noticed other vehicles during this time but the blue sedan had remained in a constant holding pattern three to five hundred yards behind him. The driver could simply be going at the same pace as Lynch but during the period Lynch had constantly changed speed and lanes as he’d been trained to do in the past. Whilst he’d

  overtaken some of the other cars on the highway, and had been overtaken in return, the blue sedan had stayed at a constant safe distance behind.

  Lynch sped up, keen to see if the sedan would follow. He was four miles from the next exit – a service stop where he intended to refuel and buy provisions. It took three minutes for the sedan to appear in his rear-view mirror. Lynch was in the outside lane, the sedan in the middle.

  He was being followed. He reached for his wallet and considered throwing the tracking device away though that made little sense now that he was being tailed. He slowed down into the inner lane and smiled as the sedan did the same.

  They must have realized he’d discovered them by now.

  Lynch pulled over into the gas station and filled the van. He kept his eyes on the pump, relying on his peripheral vision to discover if the sedan had followed him.

  With no sign of the sedan, he locked up the van and made the short walk across the forecourt, his skin clammy with the night heat. A cold blast greeted him as he entered the shop as asinine music pumped through the shop speakers. He bought provisions for the following day including a six-pack of beer, three of which he would drink once he’d stopped for the night.

  He left his goods in the shopping basket and used the restroom before paying. His movements were methodical, well measured. His ears and eyes alert to every customer who entered the shop. After relieving himself he examined the tracking device Rose gave him. He’d seen them before, though they were more advanced than the ones he’d used in his time. From what he knew of them they were indeed activated by twisting the capsule. That was not to say this particular device had not been tampered with.

  He held it over the toilet bowl as a small bug, trapped in a spider’s web by the windowsill, struggled to escape. In the end, he pocketed the device deciding there was a small comfort in Rose knowing his whereabouts. He made slow movements back to the shopping area, checking first the clerk who sat slumped behind the cashier desk, eyes full of apathy, and next an elderly couple, resplendent in shorts, khaki t-shirts and sun-visors, buying provisions of their own. He retrieved his shopping basket and moved towards the clerk, never once letting his attention waver as the teenager silently packed his groceries into a bag and muttered the price.

  Outside, the heat hit him in a wave reminding him of disembarking from an airplane into a hot summer’s day. His eyes flitted to each car in the gas station and further afield down the side streets. There was no sign of the blue sedan but he kept vigilant. He placed his grocery bag on the side seat and checked his gun. The area was well lit but he couldn’t stay the night there. He wanted to make another few hours into his journey. So, checking once again in his rear-view mirror, he pulled out of the gas station and back onto the highway.

  Five minutes later, the blue sedan reappeared. Lynch was impressed. Although they seemed happy to give away their position on the highway, they’d managed to track him to the gas station and back without him noticing. It made him think it was the Feds. But why would they follow him? It would have been simpler for Rose to bring him in; they could have questioned him and avoided such theatrics. That left the more worrying thought that it was the real Railroad following him this time, not the pair of amateurs who’d tried to scare him at the storage lock-up.

  For the next thirty minutes, he followed the same routine: accelerating and slowing, the blue sedan never once driving past. Tension riddled his body. He had a headache and was dehydrated from the two beers he’d had at Rose’s hotel. One way or another, he’d have to lose the car behind him. The next turn off was five miles away.

&nbs
p; He slowed down to fifty and planned his move. According to his Sat-Nav the turn led to a small town. There were a number of secondary roads he could navigate through to his destination. The sedan was less than two hundred yards away now, three cars behind him. Lynch tried to relax his body. He loosened his shoulders, breathing as he took a light grip on the steering wheel. As the turn off approached he began accelerating, slow at first so as not to arouse suspicion then full on as he yanked the car off the highway without indicating and sped down into the darkness of the small town road.

  Dismissing the threat of oncoming traffic, he took a hard right at the first junction catching a glimpse of the sedan in his rear view mirror as he made the turn into the thankfully desolate road and sped up the hill. He was at over ninety by the time the road flattened out. According to the Sat-Nav, the back road had seven miles of uninterrupted driving left. The tension returned, his arms locked into position as he gripped the steering wheel, his eyes darting from side to side in search of a turn off where he could hide the car.

  The Sat-Nav displayed a turn to the right a mile away. On the map, the glowing screen of his cell phone, the turn was a truncated line less than a centimeter long, possibly an entrance to some farm property. He rounded the corner, the sedan still not within his viewing area. He glanced alternately from the road to the Sat-Nav. The machine counted down the next turn in one hundred yard intervals until Lynch saw it, the possible opening he’d been searching for. He kept the speed up until he was fifty yards away. Lifting his foot off the accelerator, he eased the brakes switching his headlights to full beam. He squinted, assessing the potential of the turn off. Now yards away, he pressed heavier on the brakes and swung the car into the turning.

  He was in luck. The driveway was indeed a link to some farm property and to the left was an opening, a dirt track about as wide as his vehicle. Lynch wasted no time turning into the side road. Ignoring the sound of branches scratching the exterior of his van, he expertly steered the vehicle into the narrow area where it was safely encased by a covering of trees and shrubs.