Rebels & Lies
Page 21
Chapter .16
Sullivan sat in Fitzpatrick’s office without answers. Fitzpatrick flipped through a report at a feverous pace behind his desk. Sullivan wondered as he sat awaiting his next assignment how long it would be before the city grew tired of it and fired him. How long before the USR would rip apart the entire RU and start with fresh faces? He would settle with Mason and Wilcox getting the chop. Maybe then he would get some partners who actually knew what they were doing.
One thought continued to fester in his mind. He could not help but think that if there was a hell, it had Sullivan’s name in permanent marker on the guest list. That old woman, she didn’t deserve to die, Sullivan knew. But, that was not what bothered him so. If she did have any information on the resistance, that was gone. The resistance continued to run wild and would commit more acts of terrorism. He could have stopped it, or at least disrupted it, but he failed to reign in his partners. That would surely send him to that awful after life.
“Looks like Forte found something,” Fitzpatrick said. He looked up from his report.
“He’s going to have my job soon.” Sullivan replied.
“Don’t be like that. He doesn’t have the leadership qualities you do. All he cares about is money.”
“What did he find?”
“A young couple…they live in a busted up old apartment in downtown. Thomas Everson and his girlfriend, Francis B…erlovski. Ha, the fuck is she from?”
“What kind of evidence do we have?” Sullivan asked as he leaned forward. His interest had been piqued.
“Another one of Forte’s suspects implicated them. Yelled out their names in between the screams.”
Sullivan rubbed at his forehead, “At some point, we are going to have to rely on real, concrete evidence.”
“These rebels are elusive, cunning, and smart. They don’t leave behind much in the way of evidence, so we’ll just have to make do with what little blessings we get. Keep the citizens happy and the Consul off our ass.” Fitzpatrick replied.
“Whatever you say.”
“Take Mason and Wilcox with you again.”
Sullivan sighed, “Hopefully they don’t shoot the place up again.”
Fitzpatrick handed the file over to his top man. Sullivan flipped through the mug shots and read Thomas’s profile. He clerked at one of the local grocery shops to make ends meet. They drew credit from the government to feed and clothe themselves. Something struck Sullivan as odd. He could feel something was wrong in the pit of his stomach.
“It’s off.” Sullivan said with his eyes still buried in the file.
“Excuse me?”
“Look at their ages, sir. Twenty-one and nineteen? Barely out of school? This Thomas kid grew up an orphan and was raised in the camps.”
The camps were the schools that picked up orphans. In the beginning, there were still a lot of leftovers that were imprisoned. As a result, someone had to take care of their children. In response to this, the USR set up academies where the young were taught their philosophies and of the wickedness that came before. A majority of the boys who grew up there joined the military or became Agents upon graduation. Thomas was one of the few who did not meet the requirements to join either. He was tossed to the wolves and forced to make his own way.
“They were implicated,” Fitzpatrick said again. “By a man in no position to lie, at that.”
“Do you even believe your own bullshit?” Sullivan asked.
“Come on, our job is tough enough as it is. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll give the no kill order to Mason and Wilcox.”
“Like that’s ever stopped them before?”
“Don’t worry about it. They are two kids who don’t contribute anything to our great society. Who cares?”
“Is that justice?” Sullivan demanded.
“What is justice?” Fitzpatrick replied. He leaned forward in his chair and pointed his index finger at the window. “Seeing those rebels out there tearing our city apart, spreading their ridiculous theories and philosophies?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Take Mason and Wilcox with you. Bring those crooks in and we’ll have a nice little chat with them, clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Maybe you were right about Forte. Get your ass over there.”
“On the way.” Sullivan said.
The Agent stood and saluted his boss before he turned and walked out the door. Nothing about this assignment sat well. The suspect’s profile reeked of innocence. Just what was this all about? Some poor schmuck gets tortured and yells out names of people he knows, saying anything to stop the pain?
Sullivan walked into his office and touched at the small device inside of his ear. He dialed Mason’s number into his wrist watch and awaited the bastard’s voice. When the voice shot through, Sullivan ordered him to bring Wilcox into his office. He informed Mason of the new assignment and ended the call. The quicker the conversation the better.
He sat down in his chair, let out another sigh, and leaned back. He rubbed his fingers through his hair and something caught his eye. On his desk rested a golden framed picture of his son. Little Davie looked so happy, so full of life in all of his photos, this school picture especially. The innocence of youth slapped Sullivan in the face. He reached over and laid the picture down.
He hid his face from his smiling son.