Misplaced Trust

by G. K. Parks

  A long silence followed, and I pulled the phone from my ear to make sure we hadn’t lost the connection. Finally, he cleared his throat. “You need to be very careful. Deep cover is dangerous, and the situation hasn’t improved since we first heard about it.”

  “I’m always careful.”

  “Alex, I’m serious.” He lowered his voice, even though I’d phoned him at home. “There’s something else you need to know.”

  Panic gripped my insides. “What? Is Martin okay?” Squeezing my eyes closed at the knee-jerk reaction, I silently reminded myself that was no longer my business. I walked away. I broke us.

  “Not really, but neither are you.” Mark swallowed, returning to the actual topic. “Lucca called. He’s okay, but D.C. has their sights set on our office. It’s been going on for some time. Ever since the breach, they’ve been investigating our agents. I don’t think they’ve found anything, but now’s not the time to attract any unnecessary attention. Follow orders and don’t color outside the lines. Anything that happens undercover needs to be on the up and up. I don’t care what the DEA’s regs say about drug use and appropriate undercover behavior. You need to stay clean. If any shit goes down, make sure your actions are by the book. I don’t want your head to be on the chopping block. It’s bad enough that your reinstatement had been contingent on the breach.” He sighed. “Be smart. I don’t care if the bad guys get away or someone gets hurt, just as long as it isn’t you. Do you hear me?”

  My mind was reeling at the revelation. “Roger that.” I wasn’t sure what to ask. “Who exactly are they investigating? What if something surfaces?”

  “Every agent in this office is being evaluated. They’re looking at financial records, unexplained or odd behaviors, and questionable ties or meetings. They’re turning over the usual stones, looking for dirt, but there’s nothing to find. You’ve never had any of those types of connections to any crime boss in this city. So it’s not like you have reason to worry.”

  I laughed nervously. “Aside from the bounty some asshole had put on my head.”

  “Yeah, well, I imagine that’s not exactly the type of connection Washington is looking for. Just be careful, and for once, think before you act. I’ll call in some favors with the DEA and make sure I’m read in on everything that transpires. Since they wanted our help, I fully intend to give it to them.”

  “Thanks.”

  “One last thing,” Jablonsky hesitated for a moment, “this isn’t my business, but I need to know something.” He paused. “Y’know what, never mind. I actually don’t want to know. It’s probably for the best if I don’t.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

  He hung up, and I dropped onto the bed. No news was good news. It was disconcerting to learn that I had drawn scrutiny from D.C., particularly when there was dirt to find. Perhaps I should come clean about what happened in that nightclub. It wasn’t exactly by the book, but the man that I killed would have killed me. He wanted to kill Martin, and he’d already murdered many others. Maybe I couldn’t run from my problems, even though when I left home this morning that had been the plan.

  The sound of the key in the door startled me, and I shot up, poised to fire. Agent Eckhardt stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him while balancing a bag in one hand and a large drink in the other. He smiled as I put the gun on the table and attempted to play it cool.

  “Jumpy?” he asked

  “Force of habit.”

  “You’ll need to break yourself of that. It’s unlikely you’ll be armed or encouraged to demonstrate that you’re armed to a group of religious zealots.”

  “Don’t you think the NRA is full of religious zealots? And what about al-Qaeda and ISIS? God and guns seem to go hand in hand, which has always struck me as strange bedfellows.”

  “Regardless, pulling a,” he cocked his head to the side to get a better glimpse of my handgun, “nine millimeter on someone while under as a suddenly broke heiress isn’t particularly believable.”

  “A broke heiress? Tell me that your techs didn’t get the idea from some daytime soap opera.”

  “No, it was actually Ben’s idea.”

  “Great, the analyst got the idea from a daytime soap. Unbelievable.”

  Eckhardt looked at my slightly unpacked bags. “Y’know, I’ll let you discuss this with Jace. He’ll be able to share his personal insight on the matter. In the meantime, here’s a chicken sandwich, fries, and a cherry coke. You aren’t vegetarian or anything, right?”

  Shaking my head at the question, I couldn’t help but think that these DEA agents had a bad habit of asking for relevant information only after the fact. Then again, that did make it easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Too bad I was supposed to be operating by the book on this assignment. But I was stuck here for the next several months or however long. At some point, the internal investigation would end, and no one would care if we took a few liberties, just as long as it coincided with acceptable undercover protocols.

  “Thanks, Agent Eckhardt.”

  “Matt,” he corrected. “You might have noticed we’re very much on a first name basis. Jace insists on it. It makes it easier to transition from debriefs and mission reports back to his undercover persona.”

  “What’s his undercover handle?”

  “Jason Ellis, that way he still gets to go by Jace.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Isn’t it?” He looked around the room. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, you have my cell.” I nodded, and he let himself out.

  After a few bites, I was done. My stomach was in knots. Wrapping what was left of the sandwich, I stuck the bag in the fridge and looked around the room. The only intel I had on the case were the documents that I’d brought with me. At least it was a start. Now that there was a new angle to consider, perhaps I’d glean something useful that we’d missed.

  I’d been jotting notes in the margins for the better part of two hours when there was a knock at the door. Getting up, I tucked the nine millimeter at the small of my back and cautiously went to the door. A quick glance through the peephole assured me that it was safe, and I unlocked the door.

  “I assumed you had a key,” I said, stepping away from the door and back to the table. “You didn’t have to knock.”

  “It’s the polite thing to do.” Jace crossed the room and dropped a stack of files on the table, looking down to see what I was doing. “I’m sure we’ll be in each other’s face a lot. I don’t want to start off on the wrong foot by invading your privacy.”

  “It’s your house.” I gestured around the room. “I’m just the help.”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yep.” I finished my final notation and shifted my attention to him. “Eckhardt informed me that there’s some question as to whether or not Wilde is actually involved with drugs. It seems your office failed to notify mine that this might be a case of human trafficking.”

  “Matt isn’t entirely incorrect, but Timothy Wilde is doping his followers and dealing. I just have no fucking idea how.” Jace dropped into a chair and leaned his head back. “I have to be back in two hours. We don’t have much time. Are you okay to listen while I talk?”

  “Please.”

  “Okay.” Decker ran his hands down his face and leaned forward in the chair. “Wilde’s a predator. He targets potential followers and creates seemingly random encounters and situations in order to gain their trust. Granted, a few individuals seem to discover him on their own, but those tend to be people who are already on the fringe of society. They confuse the mix, and for now, it’s not important that we discuss them.”

  I nodded, picking up a pen. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

  “Whatever.” He swallowed. “His targets tend to mostly be female, mid-twenties to early forties, with no real family ties. No husbands, no children, and apparently estranged from their parents and any siblings. They tend to be unemployed or work at places with
high turnover rates. Oddly enough, they’ve all been educated, at least with some college experience. A few have masters degrees, but I haven’t happened upon anyone beyond that. I don’t know if it’s worth mentioning, but that’s the current profile.”

  “All right. What’s the motivation?”

  Jace found my eyes. “It depends, doesn’t it?” Abruptly, he stood and began to pace. “In some circumstances, Wilde targets wealth. He’s claiming tax exemptions, but his co-op’s reported financial returns are abysmal. There’s no way he makes enough with his artisanal crafts and bake sales to keep the church functioning, let alone providing for those who reside on the property. His biggest source of income is through charitable donations made by well-endowed members.”

  “Does he charge his followers to join?”

  Jace shook his head. “No, they willingly hand over the money because they are convinced that the work being done is good and the church’s need is great. It’s manipulation, plain and simple. Frankly, it resembles a form of Stockholm syndrome.” Jace retook his seat. “Tim makes people become dependent on him. He gives them everything. If they need a place to stay, he provides one. Meals are prepared for his entire community, and the kitchen is always open. If someone needs help to pay a bill or needs a ride, he makes it happen. All he asks is that they pay it forward.”

  “By giving to the church?”

  Jace scrunched his face. “Yes and no.” He rubbed at his beard again. “It’s weird. I’ve been there for eight months. I came in as a drifter, and he’s helped me find a job, a place to live, and has given me rides. Then he’ll ask for tiny favors. The kinds of things that you’d do for a friend, like help out with dinner or talk about my experiences with some prospective recruits. He’s never asked for money directly.”

  “So it’s like living with a sympathetic relative?”

  “Yeah. He makes everyone feel welcomed. He doesn’t turn people away, at least not that I’ve seen. It’s supposed to be a safe environment. Tim has structured his commune with classes.”

  “Classes?”

  “Meditation, yoga, stress-relief. Believe it or not, he even has an addiction group to help those who are dealing with cravings and urges. He’s been very open within the group about his previous experiences and dealings, at least to the extent that we know he has a record. There’s nothing he’s said that we haven’t uncovered by running him through the databases, so it’s not helpful.”

  “Not to us, but I imagine it earns trust and encourages his followers to open up.” A thought crossed my mind. “Do you think he uses whatever confessions people tell him as blackmail?”

  “It’s possible.”

  I leaned back, studying the man before me. “C’mon, it’s been eight months. You must have seen or heard something by now.”

  “I haven’t. Privacy is a weird thing at the compound. The church broadcasts openness leading to enlightenment, but what Wilde is told in confidence by his followers stays that way. He doesn’t share, and gossip doesn’t travel. It’s a strange dichotomy.”

  “Is that because you’re a guy?”

  Jace looked completely confused. “I don’t see the relevance.”

  “Wilde targets women. Are they treated differently? He was accused of sexual assault. Is he open about that? Does he sleep with his female followers, or does he just want their money? If he’s manipulating them, he could convince them to do anything.”

  “It doesn’t appear that he has forced anyone into anything that they didn’t want to do. We have equipment set up to monitor parts of the compound. I have no proof, but I gather that he’s slept with several of his followers. I haven’t been invited into his chambers, so we don’t have eyes inside, nor do I believe that a court would allow it without some sort of valid reason. But none of the women he’s had relations with have left. No one complains, and so far, there have been no repeat performances.” He jerked his chin up. “What are you thinking?”

  “Women have left. He’s lost followers. One of them is currently in the morgue, and others are six feet under. Maybe he attacked them, and they escaped. Perhaps he killed them.”

  Jace shook his head. “He didn’t kill them, not personally. We monitor his movements. He rarely leaves the compound, and when he does, he typically stays in town. A surveillance unit tries to keep eyes on him. He has eluded us, but I still think we would have seen something.”

  “But you admitted that you don’t have audio or visual surveillance in parts of the compound. Things could happen right under your nose, and you might not know about it.”

  “It’s a good thing there’s two of us now.” Jace stood, tapping the top folder in the stack. “This is your new identity. Get to know her. I won’t be able to get away for the next few days. Matt will call when we’re ready to put you into play. You’ll move to a different location, and that morning, I’ll bump into you at a coffee shop. It’ll be purely accidental, but it’ll get the ball rolling. We’ll make sure your insertion goes as smoothly as possible. I have a good feeling about this. You and I have a nice rhythm. This partnership should work out well.”

  “I hope so.”

  He smiled. “I’ll see you soon, Alex.”

  Eight

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept or managed to choke down more than a few bites. I’d read and reread the files, spent hours on the phone with Mark, working through the intel and searching for new angles, taken meticulous notes, and requested profiles and background checks on Wilde’s flock. Apparently, I was such a pain in the ass, the entire team was taking turns answering my calls. I was completely focused on work, probably to the point of obsession. Luckily, the resident shrink was deep undercover and nowhere near the safe house to pass judgment.

  Rubbing my eyes, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, took a sip, and put it down on the table. Then I stretched my arms and back, dropped to the ground and did a few dozen push-ups followed by some sit-ups. Getting up, I did some squats and lunges, thinking I’d gladly kill someone for the opportunity to go for a run and clear my head. If I had to stare at these sickening walls for another moment, I might crack. The little voice in my head chuckled. You already cracked, Parker.

  “Knock, knock,” Eve called, and I straightened up and went to the door. “Sheets, fragrance-free detergent, a new pillow, and a fluffy throw.” She dropped the bedding on the couch and looked around the apartment. “Damn, when I can’t sleep, I watch TV. What do you call this style of decoration? Serial killer chic?”

  “Bored OIO agent.” I picked up the sheet set, unzipping the plastic. “Hopefully, this will help. The crap they have on the bed is scratchy,” I cringed, “and it smells.”

  “Are you anxious to get to work?”

  “That’s why I’m here.” Sighing, I finished unwrapping the items and crossed into the kitchenette where a small washing machine was hidden in the corner. “Y’know, it’d be nice to use the laundry room or breathe some fresh air.”

  “You can open the window,” she teased.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  She laughed, making herself comfortable on the couch. “Quiz time.” She picked up the dossier on my undercover persona. “What’s your name, and where are you from?”

  “Alice Lexington. I was born in Springfield, but I don’t remember much about it. My parents split up when I was a baby. My mom took us to stay with my grandparents in Florida. They were elderly.” I blinked, looking up. The last time we’d run through this exercise I had been encouraged to sell it, so I was doing that now. “There was a fire. She got me out of the house but went back for them. They didn’t make it. It took a while, but my dad finally came for me. He’d been abroad. We lived in Europe for a while, London and Paris mostly.” I stopped. “You realize my foreign language skills suck, right? What if Wilde expects me to speak perfect French?”

  “I don’t believe he speaks French, and there’s no indication that any of these twenty-odd individuals we ran backgrounds on speak French either. You’
re familiar with the region, and you have basic conversational skills. Plus, Lexington said she lived there. Remember, she’s from a wealthy background, so she had private American teachers.”

  I slammed the lid on the washing machine. “You don’t get it. You want me to be some rich snob that moved to southern California because of a contested inheritance after being estranged from my father for several years.”

  “Over resentment concerning your mother,” Eve pointed out, attempting to demonstrate that she knew the profile better than I did. “What’s the problem?”

  “Wealthy children are given a certain type of upbringing. They speak several languages, are forced to endure music lessons, and develop refined tastes.” Suddenly, I couldn’t stop wondering if Martin played any instruments. Why didn’t I know the answer to that?

  “Alex,” Eve stood in front of me, “you just zoned out. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just tired.” I shook it off. “The point I’m making is I don’t believe I’ll be convincing.”

  She smiled. “You’re nervous. It’s natural, but Ben’s really good at coming up with enticing personas. This will work, and you have enough experience to make it realistic. Everything in that profile is based on skills and experiences that we pulled from your personnel file. The things you know, Alice Lexington knows.”

  “Like how long it takes for a man to lose consciousness while in a chokehold?”

  Eve held up her palms. “I get your point. Just do the best you can and follow Jace’s lead.” She narrowed her eyes. “There are two things you need to know that you’re not going to find in any report. One, Jace is harmless. He might tease and flirt, but he won’t cross any lines.” She fell silent, studying me.

  “What’s two?”

  “You damn well better be on your game and have his back. He’s been running himself ragged on this mission. Bringing in outside help is supposed to lighten his load, not make it worse. You’re going to pick up the slack and give him a break. And you’re going to make absolutely certain nothing happens to him. Do I make myself clear?”