by Ben Follows
She looked in the rearview mirror and watched as the gates closed behind her. No turning back now.
She pulled up to the front door and parked the car. She climbed out and looked up at the large house. For most people, this was the house of someone who had too much money and not enough time, but Lauren knew better.
The door opened as Lauren walked up. The man in the doorway smiled at her. He was a tall man with a thin face.
She walked inside, and the door closed behind her. The man, Ralph Lawton, stepped back.
"Hello, Lauren," he said with the slightest trace of an eastern European accent. "I assume you're here about your brother."
Lauren nodded, avoiding looking into Ralph's piercing glare. Then she took a deep breath and looked up at him, her hands shaking as she did so.
"I need to know," she said. "I need to know if you have anything to do with this."
Ralph looked down at her and smiled. "Come with me," he said.
He turned on his heel and walked into the large house, his footsteps echoing off the marble floors. They passed by a few workers as they walked, but they kept their heads down.
She followed Ralph into a media room which had a bar at the back of the room.
Ralph walked behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of cognac and a glass.
"Want anything?" said Ralph, gesturing to the wall of liquor behind him. "I've got beer and wine too if you want that. I hired a guy who comes in once a week and stocks up the bar with just about anything you could ever ask for."
Lauren shook her head. "No thanks. I need to talk to you. About Henry."
"Yes, yes," said Ralph. "Of course. I can absolutely understand that. Take a seat. I'll turn off this television, and we can talk."
Lauren took a seat in one of the large theater seats, feeling herself sink into it, trying her best not to relax too much. She needed to focus. She sat up on the edge of the chair as Ralph walked around and sat down in the chair beside her, the glass of cognac in his hand.
"So," he said, sinking into the adjacent chair, "what was it you wanted to talk about?"
"What do you mean? My brother is dead, and I need to know if someone is coming for me next."
"Oh yes," said Ralph. "I suppose that you would be worried about that."
"You're not?"
Ralph shrugged. "Look around. Look at the house that I have. Look at the life I have."
Lauren looked around and shrugged. "What point are you trying to make?"
Ralph chuckled. “I have everything I've ever wanted, and I'm miserable. I know what we did was wrong, and yet I've profited off it immensely. We all did."
Lauren sighed.
Ralph continued. "I've been sitting alone in this house for the last ten years, terrified every day that someone was going to come and take it. I think that a part of me was hoping that they would."
"What are you saying?" said Ralph.
"I'm saying that I'm almost certain that your brother's death wasn't a suicide. It was done by someone in the group. And since I'm quite certain that you aren't the one who did it, that leaves two people."
"Debra and Jason."
"Exactly," said Ralph. "I don't know why, and I don't know how, but I know that right now at this moment, one of those two is coming for the money."
"What do we do?"
"I don't know about you," said Ralph, "but I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to stay right here and get nice and drunk so that when they show up, I won't fight it."
"You're going to let yourself be killed?" said Lauren.
"I've been through a lot," said Ralph. "I was in the military for almost three decades. I never had a family. I never had a child. I don't think I ever fell in love. I can say that I've done a few good things, but the bad things far outweigh them. I have this huge house and all this money and no one to share it with. People who work for me, from gardeners to maids to yoga instructors, that come here. I invite them to sit with me and have a drink, and they do, and they even seem grateful, but it's not the same. They are employees, not friends or family." He chuckled to himself. "I think that you're the closest thing to a friend that I've had in here for a long time. For the first time in years I'm talking to someone I'm not paying."
He laughed and polished off his cognac. Lauren couldn't help but wonder how much he had drunk before she arrived.
"Do you know who killed my brother?" she said. "Who was it?"
Ralph laughed again. "It's not that simple. God, the number of prostitutes that I've had in this house would terrify you, Lauren. I must have some sort of disease by now. I haven't bothered to check, and I've paid those women more than enough for them to not ask any questions. I can feel the warmth of a human being, but it isn't love. They're working for me, just like the gardener and the maid."
Lauren stood and grabbed his arm. "Come with me," she said. "We can find somewhere that we can be safe. We can go to the authorities and get into protective custody. We can do a lot of things besides just waiting for someone to come and kill us."
"I'm sorry," said Ralph, slurring his words. "I'm sorry you came all this way just to find an old man waiting to die."
"I came all this way to get help. We can't just give up!"
"Yes," said Ralph. "Yes we can, and that is exactly what I intend to do."
Lauren released his arm and looked down at him. "You know, I expected a lot more from you, Ralph. My brother used to talk about how great you were. The greatest fighter pilot he'd ever seen, capable of making the top-ranked recruits from any military in the world look like amateurs. Those were his words, not mine. But now here you are, a shell of a man who thinks his life is over."
"Don't go just yet," said Ralph. "I have a pool table and lots of movies. Stay here and spend my last moments with me."
"Are you kidding me?" said Lauren. "You're asking me to stay with you while you wait for someone to come and kill you? Not a chance in hell. Since you're not going to help me, I'll solve this myself. I know the FBI is involved. Maybe they'll be more helpful than you are, you pathetic old piece of shit."
Ralph reached out toward Lauren, and she snatched her hand away. She grabbed her bag and marched out of the room, past a few maids who were moving around the house. They all gave her polite hello's but said nothing more than what was required. Lauren nodded to each of them in turn but said nothing as she walked out to her rental car. She climbed into the front seat and threw her bag into the passenger seat.
As she drove away, she looked back. Ralph was standing in the doorway, a half-empty bottle of cognac hanging from his fingers.
No one stopped her as the gate opened and she drove out.
After a few miles of driving, she pulled onto the side of the road and through about what her next move should be.
She didn't want to go to the authorities. Not yet at least. She was just as guilty as the rest of them.
Chapter 8
Curtis and Frankie walked through the throng of reporters gathered outside the FBI offices, ignoring them completely.
They took the elevator to the top floor and walked through the bullpen of agents and into the office of Director Johnson.
Johnson was sitting behind his desk, a cigar between his fingers. The window was open, and a fan had been set up to blow the smoke outside. Although the building had a strict no smoking policy, no one had the guts to tell the Director of the FBI that he couldn't smoke the cigars that he'd gotten hand-delivered from a small shop on the outskirts of Cuba.
Johnson gestured for them to sit.
Frankie took the lead. "We have suspicions that something more was going on, but up to this point, all the evidence points to General Mavis killing himself. However, some things don't fit."
"And those are?" said Johnson.
"There are two main things. We can't find Lauren Mavis, his only living blood relative. She works at a tech company in Virginia, and she disappeared as soon as she saw her brother had died on the news."
"And the other?"
"It has to do with General Mavis's bank accounts," said Frankie. "Our teams have been going through his accounts. Most of it is typical for a man in his position. He gets a pension from the military, and he was making a large amount of money from speaking fees. That isn't suspicious. But there is also a long string of direct deposits which have come into his account for almost fifty-thousand dollars a month going back almost a decade, which we have been unable to track the location of."
"What do you mean?" said Johnson.
Curtis sat forward. "We mean that he was getting paid by someone who doesn't want to be traced and who knows how to conceal the location of the money to such a degree that no one caught on unless they were going through his accounts with a fine-tooth comb. We're still trying to trace it, but our tech guys aren't making any promises about being done soon. Someone who knew what they were doing was managing it."
"Has anything gotten to the media yet?"
Frankie shrugged. "The suicide angle must have been leaked by someone, but it could also be the media making a lucky guess."
"Was it suicide?" said Johnson, taking a deep drag on his cigar and looking up at them.
"We don't know," said Frankie. "He might have been coerced. The lack of security camera's in the top levels of the hotel make it tough to know whether there was anyone else there, and there are too many different fingerprints in the hotel room to get a clear idea of who might have been there."
Johnson nodded. "I want you both to make sure you get enough rest during this case. Curtis, I'm talking to you in particular. I know you've been through some things recently, and whether you were cleared for field work or not, I want you to focus on yourself. Make sure that you take some personal time if you need it."
"Yes, sir," said Curtis. He wanted everyone to stop worrying about his personal life so much.
"Good," said Johnson, finishing his cigar and crushing it into an ashtray. "Frankie, do you mind if I speak with Curtis for a moment?"
"Sure," said Frankie.
Curtis felt a lump form in his stomach as Frankie stood and walked out of the room. The door closed behind her and Curtis was left alone in the office with the Director of the FBI, who had started to act more and more like a father figure since Curtis had returned to Blind River.
Johnson held out a cigar, and Curtis shook his head.
"They're nice," said Johnson. "Fresh shipment."
"I'm good, thanks."
Johnson leaned back and lit the cigar. He leaned back and inhaled, then blew the smoke out into the path of the fan, where it was carried out the window.
"How are you doing, Curtis?" said Johnson.
"I'm fine," said Curtis. "Everything's great."
"What about Amber?"
Curtis leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. "I'm going to call her."
"What does Melanie think about that?"
Curtis shrugged. "She's worried but thinks it's a good idea to call her so I can stop worrying about it."
"Frankie told me all about it," said Johnson. "I know that you would have preferred her not to do so, but you know how she is."
Curtis nodded. Frankie had told him a different version. She had told him that while she had been looking up Amber's contact information, just as Curtis had asked, an alert had been sent to Johnson about unauthorized use of the FBI systems, and he had called in Frankie to explain herself.
Either way, it didn't matter now.
"That's good," said Johnson. "What about your family? Blind River? Your sister?"
"It's fine," said Curtis. "Monica and I have spoken a few times. Blind River is recovering slowly."
"Good to hear," said Johnson. "Anything else you want to talk about?"
"You know there isn't. I told you I never wanted this to be more than a relationship between an employee and a boss. I had a father. I don't need another one."
Johnson nodded, then gestured to the door.
"Good luck," he said.
Curtis stood and walked out of the office. Frankie was waiting near the elevator. She said nothing as they rode down to the main floor.
"What now?" said Curtis as the doors opened.
"We need to wait for the tech teams to get us more information," said Frankie. "We should take some time to rest. Go see your baby. I'll keep track of things here and let you know when you need to be back."
"Thanks," said Curtis. "I appreciate it."
They walked out the front doors of the FBI offices, back through the throngs of reporters.
Curtis managed to ignore them for most of the walk to the parking lot, but one voice cut through the screaming. It wasn't louder than any of the others, but Curtis jerked his head toward the source of the voice.
And there, in the middle of the crowd, looking calm in a sea of turbulence and chaos caused, stood Natasha Nolowinski.
She grinned from ear to ear when she met Curtis's eyes.
Curtis looked away from her and walked away, but he could feel anger rising up inside him.
Her being here made everything worse.
Chapter 9
The moment she dropped Curtis off at his house, Frankie let out a long sigh. She had been trying to stay strong for Curtis, to not let her own issues cloud into his life when his were so much worse than hers.
Curtis had to deal with Blind River, his father's death, his baby, and Amber.
All Frankie had to deal with was the strong possibility her marriage was over.
In comparison, it didn't seem like it meant all that much.
But it meant a lot to Frankie.
She drove home and felt a shameful relief overcome her when she saw that Will's car wasn't in the driveway. She wouldn't need to sit through another awkward dinner, another awkward conversation about how he wanted to fix everything.
She didn't want to tell him the truth.
We were the best in our class at Quantico.
We were going to be the best agents. We were going to be partners.
But he had gone on one assignment, failed, and never dipped his pinky toe back into fieldwork. Frankie didn't care about whether he was a field agent or not, it was his cowardice that irritated her.
She had told him that. But he didn't want to listen. Refused to listen.
And so they were where they were.
They were who they were.
And nothing about that was going to change.
She walked inside, sat on the couch, booted up her computer, and started learning everything she could about General Henry Mavis.
Chapter 10
Curtis walked into his house just as the sun was setting. He could hear Melanie in the next room, talking in a little kid voice, and his daughter giggling.
He slowly walked through the house. It seemed like he was never here, and it seemed like every time he came home he was walking into a different house.
He turned the corner into the kitchen. The news was playing on mute on the television, and Sophie was standing in her bouncer, bouncing up and down as Melanie put baby food on a plastic spoon and moved it toward her mouth, making airplane noises as it went.
Sophie noticed Curtis first, just as Melanie was bringing the spoon close to her mouth. She reached out to him with open arms and made a sound which sounded like she was trying to say "dad" but couldn't quite finish the first letter of the word. Melanie looked up and put the baby food back into the container.
Curtis smiled and walked over to her. He hugged and kissed Melanie, and then sat cross-legged on the ground beside his daughter. She reached out to him. He held her hands and looked into her eyes. She had Melanie's eyes, and her face was chubby in that way babies can get. She smiled up at him and tried once again to say "dad."
"How is she?" said Curtis without taking his eyes off his daughter, the most beautiful thing in his entire world.
"She's been doing great," said Melanie. "The nanny loves her. She said that Sophie mostly just sleeps all day, and then they watch some television."
"How's
work?"
"They've got me drawing up some new drawings for a consulting firm who hired us for some newspaper ads. I'm mostly working on my own because I was away for maternity leave and all our other projects are too far along for me to jump into. It's kind of boring, and I could absolutely do it from home, but they won't let me."
"Why not?"
"They say that I need to be there to be part of the workplace culture or something like that. I don't know. It's tough. I wish you could take some time off and spend the time with Sophie. It would be nice for you two to spend some time together while I'm at work."
"Yeah, I'll try to get some time off soon."
"You always say that."
Curtis tore his eyes away from Sophie and looked at Melanie. She was sitting back on her hands and was looking right at Curtis. Sophie looked back and forth between them, as though she could sense that there was some sort of tension.
"It's not that easy," said Curtis. "The FBI needs me. There are boogeymen at our doors, and if I don't protect the world from people who would do us harm, then Sophie will be left in a more dangerous world. Don't you want her to be safe?"
"Of course," said Melanie, looking at their daughter and pulling one of her knees to her chest. "I just don't understand why it has to be you. We have enough money saved. Our mortgage is all but paid off, student loans are small enough that it doesn't matter. You can take a few months off without needing to worry about it. You can get a position inside the FBI that's less intense, maybe with nine-to-five hours. Don't you think that it would be nice to spend more time with Sophie?"
"Yeah," said Curtis, looking out the window at the stars. "That would be great."
Melanie, apparently sensing that was as far as she was going to get, let out a sigh and looked over at Curtis.
"Sophie's been having a bit of a fever," she said. “I'm going to take her into the doctor tomorrow morning."
