by R. A. McGee
Blackthorn did a good job of using freelancers—retired spooks and operators—in other countries to supply the incoming operators with anything they’d need to complete their mission. Since he had quit, Clark figured he was his own freelancer now. He put the money and passport in his pocket along with his cellphone, then put the rest of the clothing back in the suitcase, zipped it, and set it in the trash can.
For sure the next person to empty the trashcan would notice it was much too heavy to be paper towels and used tampons, but by then, Clark would be long gone. He splashed water on his face, dried himself off, and stepped out of the bathroom, taking a left and following the hallway into the lobby.
Once through the lobby, he was out the sliding door in the front of the building, onto 2nd Street NE, and into the cool night air.
Forty-One
“Are you having any trouble with the local government?” McHenry said into an encrypted satellite phone.
“None,” Lorenzo Wight said. “They actually seemed excited to have us help out. Apparently, they’ve never thought to secure their radio towers. Not sure if they believe what I told them about the physical security threat, but they’re at least listening. I’ll admit, I’m sucking wind hauling my ass up and down these mountains.”
“Well, altitude sickness is real, especially in the Andes. Be safe down there and call me if you need anything on my end.”
“I will, but you should go home, Ulysses. Don’t stay there all night,” Wight said. “Get some rest. We’ll be fine until the AM.”
“Ah, I’d rather answer a call from you folks than sleep.”
“And we damn sure appreciate it. I’ll be in touch,” Wight said as he hung up the phone.
McHenry sat the phone down and pulled a bottle of Scotch from his desk drawer, satisfied that the team in the Andes had their operation running smoothly. They were one of four teams he had deployed around the world, and everything was as it should be. His Clark problem hadn’t been solved, not yet, but he couldn’t let the running of Blackthorn fall by the wayside as he waited.
McHenry tried to keep his finger in as many of the pies as he could, although he realized—but wouldn’t admit to anyone—that he was slowing down a bit. He used to lead from the front, hopping planes to be by his team's side all over the world. Now, he felt more comfortable hanging back.
A different cell phone rang, and McHenry flipped it open. “Keever.”
“Mr. McHenry. Just wanted to let you know I’m still on mission.”
McHenry looked at his watch. “Well, it hasn’t been very long, Mr. Keever. I’ll assume everything is still fine.”
Keever told McHenry where he was headed, then said, “You tell me if that’s fine.”
McHenry cursed under his breath. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. Only one reason why Lucy would be going to that place. “No.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No, it’s not fine. She can’t be there. I’ll need you to handle that for me.”
Keever laughed into the phone. “Is ‘handle’ a euphemism? I’ll need you to be more specific.”
McHenry was very specific.
“Now you see why I want to have the parameters up front. Because it always comes to this,” Keever said.
“I’m not asking you for your opinion; just do as I say. And Keever?”
“Tell me.”
“Do not hurt the girl. That still stands, you understand me? There’s no reason to. She won't be able to do anything once the evidence is gone.”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll see what I can do. I have another issue that’s more pressing,” Keever said.
McHenry rubbed his face with both hands, speaking into the tiny speakerphone. “What the hell is it now?”
“Czerny Clark.”
“What about him?”
“Apparently he’s friends with your girl. You know, the thin one with the dark hair? Looks like she smells like lilacs and roast beef.”
McHenry stared at the phone. Unable to parse what Keever meant, he chose to ignore it. “Are you telling me you’ve seen Clark?”
“Yes. He was with the lilac girl and another one. Tall, great ass.”
McHenry’s mind raced. Clark and Miri were together? Had she found him in Mexico, or had they reconnected once he got back? What could Clark, Miri, and Lucy all be talking about? He bounced scenarios and possibilities around in his head.
“You still there?” Keever said.
“Just leave Clark and the rest alone. Do what I ask you, Mr. Keever.”
“You sure? Because I’ve heard that Clark is disavowed and out in the cold right now. Kill order floating over his head. That bullshit or truth?”
McHenry shook his head. The prospect of someone going after Clark so soon hadn’t even been on his radar. He still held out hope that he could spin things. “That isn’t what I brought you on board for. Leave Clark out of this.”
“Your call, McHenry,” Keever said. “I just think it’s funny that you burn a guy and try to protect him all at the same time.”
“I’m not worried about Clark right now,” McHenry said under his breath.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Keever, just handle what I’ve asked you to. No more, no less. Can you manage that?”
“Sure thing. Feel free to let me know when you change your mind.”
“I won’t be changing my mind,” McHenry said through a clenched jaw.
“That’s what everyone says. Then they change their mind. Every fucking time.”
Forty-Two
“Have you ever been to Hershey?”
“When I was a kid, I used to go all the time. Jersey isn’t too far away,” Miri said.
The headlights from Lucy Gordon’s sedan cut through the darkness in front of them.
“My parents never did anything with me. They definitely didn’t take me to amusement parks.”
“It was more like my dad liked to eat all the candy, so we’d come along. He’d buy those really big bars, the two pounders, and keep them in the house. I’d sneak and eat them all the time. Hell, that’s probably why I was chubby until eighth grade.”
“Stop it,” Lucy said, taking a big drink of her gas station coffee.
“What?”
“You were never fat.”
“I didn’t say fat, I said chubby, and I sure as shit was. I’ll dig up a picture sometime.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Lucy said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what I said. You show me the picture and then I’ll buy it.”
“Fine, I will,” Miri said.
“I mean, you’re so… so…”
“So?”
“You’re so you, you know? Tall and pretty. Track athlete, all that shit. Guys fall down around you. It’s hard to believe you weren’t always like that.”
“Come on, you do okay. That kid who works for you is always fawning over you.”
“Klaus? Please,” Lucy said in a tone that brooked no further commentary.
The pair rode in silence for a few minutes.
“Guys do not fall down around me,” Miri said, breaking the silence.
Lucy didn’t say anything.
“They don’t. When have you ever seen that?”
“Every time we’re anywhere. Literally all the time. Hell, half the time I’m running an operation for you guys, I overhear guys introduce themselves, stuttering and sounding like fools. C’mon, you know I’m telling the truth.”
Miri thought for a second. “Honestly, it’s more of an inconvenience. People don’t take me seriously until I kick them in the dick.”
“Oh look at me, I’m Miriam and everything sucks for me,” Lucy said, a mocking tone evident in her voice.
Miri shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks of you unless you value their opinion. If not, then who cares?”
“You saying you don’t value my opinion?”
“Of course no
t. I’m saying all those slugs who stare at me don’t blip my radar. I don’t care what they think.”
“Well, whose appreciation are you after?” Lucy said.
“My own suits me just fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason,” Lucy said, taking another sip of coffee.
Miri looked over at the technical officer, the headlights of the oncoming traffic reflecting off her big glasses. “Well, spit it out. What are you trying to say?”
“You know what I’m saying.”
“No, Dr. Gordon, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“My PhD is in computer science, but it doesn’t take a shrink to see it.”
Miri didn’t answer, instead looking out the window.
“You’re just going to ignore me now? That’s fine. We’re about an hour away; we’ll see how long you can hold out.”
Thirty minutes later, Miri had settled into a comfortable silence, glancing occasionally at Lucy, who looked like she was bursting at the seams.
“Fine, okay. I’m sorry,” Lucy said.
“For what?”
“I was needling you about Clark.”
“Why would you needle me about him?”
“About the opinion thing.”
Miri shook her head. “We’re partners. Friends. He respects me, and I respect him.”
“Right, but it’s obvious… you know…”
Miri didn’t say anything.
“Oh, come on. When you got kidnapped a few months ago, he came after you. I mean, it was intense. I’m glad you two met up when you did, because there’s no telling how many other people he’d have gone through. And you? Pretend all you want, but there’s a reason McHenry sent you to Mexico after Clark. He could have sent a whole team, but he knew Clark didn’t need a whole team. He only needed you.”
“Lucy, he’s still processing some pretty heavy things that happened to him,” Miri said, leaving out the nightmares she’d witnessed. “He and I have gotten close over the years, and that’s no surprise given the things we’ve gone through. But we’re friends and coworkers and that’s all we’ve ever been.”
“I’m just saying,” Lucy said, letting the statement linger in the air.
There was silence in the car until the GPS informed them to get off of I-76. They took a back road through the rural countryside until they reached a small gravel road. Lucy hesitated at the entryway.
“Go,” Miri said.
“What if these people don’t want us here? What if this is some Leatherface-type shit and they skin people and wear their faces like masks? I don’t want to be a mask, Miri. I have a small face. Think of how they’d have to stretch it to get it on. I’d look terrible as a face mask.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. Does that make you feel better?”
“No, not at all.”
Lucy crept onto the gravel, the vehicle’s speed barely past an idle. On both sides of the car, tall trees rose high above them. The road went down and doglegged to the left, emptying out in a small clearing.
Miri looked out the front window at a mobile home, no-frills, no car parked out front. In the moonlight, the trailer appeared to be in good shape, with a small wooden deck in the front.
Lucy parked the car and craned her neck to look out the windshield. “Are we seriously going in there? It looks so gross.”
“You’re the one who wanted to come along,” Miri said. “You want in, you have to be all the way in.”
“I didn’t expect it to be like this. I’ll bet there are roaches the size of matzo balls in there.”
Miri just looked at the girl.
“Oh come on, you didn’t get the reference?”
“This isn’t so bad. I once spent an entire night in a sewer in Dhaka. Picture that in your mind for a while.” Miri got out of the car, shutting the door behind her. As she pulled her shirt down, she felt the butt of the Sig Sauer, its weight comforting her.
She walked up to the end of the deck and took the stairs two at a time, then walked across to the front door, careful as she moved past the front window.
She looked back and motioned Lucy to follow her. Lucy shook her head and walked over to the front door, standing next to Miri.
“Don’t stand there,” Miri whispered. “That’s the fatal funnel. If someone shoots out the door, they’ll hit you. Although I guess considering we’re outside a trailer, none of these walls are very thick.”
Miri moved her friend back, then pulled out her Sig, gripping it firmly in her left hand. She nodded to Lucy and banged on the thin door with her right hand.
“Hold on,” a voice from inside the trailer called.
Miri banged on the door again.
“Calm your shit,” the voice said again.
A noise from the inside indicated that two deadbolts were being turned, and then the door swung open.
Miri looked down at a short man with black hair and glasses, wearing a Black Flag T-shirt. She stuck the pistol in his face.
The man looked at Miri, then turned his eyes to Lucy behind her. Another glance back at the pistol, then his gaze settled on Lucy.
“You’re not the pizza guy,” the man said.
Forty-Three
“Step back,” Miri said to the man, who moved backward, his hands raised in submission. He eyes kept moving from the gun in his face back to Lucy Gordon.
“I’m cool, man. I’m super cool. I’m moving.” The man stepped backward and tripped over a small stack of pizza boxes, sprawling onto his back.
“Shut the door,” Miri said to Lucy. She obliged and clicked both deadbolts.
Miri kept the pistol trained on the man on the floor, but quickly swept her eyes around the interior space. It was basically devoid of furniture, with a small folding chair in front of an enormous flat-screen television. Opposite that was a bank of six computer monitors, several PCU towers arranged underneath.
The air was stale and hot in the trailer, and there was the faint smell of ammonia. Miri wrinkled her nose. “Is there anyone else in here?”
“What? No,” the man said. “It’s just me.” He looked from Miri back to the front door, where Lucy was standing. “I like your shoes.”
Miri saw Lucy look down, then looked at the man’s feet to see they were both wearing Chuck Taylors. She watched Lucy crack a small smile.
“Look, dude,” the man said to Miri, “I would have just let you in, no problem. You don’t need the gun, we’re cool.”
Miri looked around the trailer again and lowered her gun to her side. “You let anybody in here?”
“No, but I figure I have to let the FBI in, right? What can I say?”
“Stand up. What’s your name?
“Darren. Darren Fielder.” The man rose to his feet.
“Okay. We’re not even close to the FBI, Darren. Why would you expect us to be them?”
Darren pulled up his pant leg and showed a thick black ankle bracelet, with a clunky rectangular device on the end. “House arrest. I have to let the FBI into my place. But you aren’t the FBI?”
“No, Darren, we aren’t the FBI.”
Darren straightened his shirt out and dusted himself off. “That makes sense.” He turned toward Lucy. “You’d be, like, the prettiest FBI agent I ever saw.”
Miri watched her tech officer crack another small smile. “Oh, please. We aren’t here to play Love Connection.”
“If I ask why you’re here, will you point your gun at me again?” Darren said.
Miri shook her head and tucked her pistol away. “We need to talk about some of your activities.” She looked around the trailer, pointing to the computer monitors. “I thought you people couldn’t do this tech shit on house arrest.”
“Most people can’t. It’s in the terms of their probation. I’m different. The Man figured it would be a waste not to use my talents, so they turn a blind eye to my Internet activities, as long as I abide by the rest of my probation and help them when they need me to
.”
“What kind of stuff do you help them with?” Lucy said.
“You know, computer stuff,” Darren said. “Kinda complicated.”
“Like cracking AES encryption, installing RATs in the NASDAQ, and hacking the GCHQ database? Anything like that?”
“You… you know computers?”
“A tiny bit,” Lucy said. “And I looked into your work. Impressive.”
“Where did you go?”
“CalTech.”
“The Beavers. I went MIT.”
“Of course you did,” Lucy said. “They wouldn’t let me in, elitist assholes.”
“Hey, most of us aren’t that bad.”
Miri looked at the monitors, the mass of cables, and the array of fans running, trying to cool the space. She wasn’t sure what she was looking at on the screens, but was suddenly more glad she’d brought Lucy along than she was ten minutes ago. She turned back to the other two.
“Hey, we had a joke at Tech. How do you know someone went to MIT?” Lucy said.
Darren shrugged his shoulders.
“They’ll tell you.”
The pair laughed like they were at a comedy show. Miri was familiar with Lucy’s snort-punctuated chuckling, but had never heard anything like the bray coming from Darren.
She cleared her throat.
Lucy looked at her and stopped smiling, turning back to the young man. “So you do freelance work for the FBI? Hacking firewalls, planting evidence, forging identities?”
“All that stuff, and whatever else they’re looking for. They come to me when they need something done off the books. I don’t ask any questions, I just do it.”
“Did anyone ever ask you to do work related to a guy named Butterfield?” Miri said.
“Hell, yeah. That was the last thing I did, a couple months ago. Transferred some money from one account to the other. Added a fake archive of some emails. Easy stuff. Why?”
“You’re telling me you did all that?” Lucy said. “You fabricated all those records?”
“I was just doing what they told me. No one was ever supposed to know. How did you guys find out, anyway?”
