The Eyes of Others

by Mikael Carlson

  “Gypsies and thieves.”

  “That’s right. Gypsies and thieves,” Louisiana repeats, undaunted by Tara’s rebuke.

  “Unbelievable,” Tara mutters as Boston brings the SUV to a stop at the curb alongside the faded red brick wall of a warehouse.

  “Stay here. I'll be right back.”

  Louisiana jumps out of the vehicle, shuffles down the dimly lit street, and disappears around the corner. Boston kills the engine and headlights and gets out of the car. After five minutes, I join him and watch as he paces back and forth along the wall.

  “Forget the police, Boston. If we stand here much longer we’re going to get ourselves shot. Where the hell is he?” I ask after another few minutes elapse, eager to get out of this situation and think about what to do next.

  The words are barely out of my mouth when one of the ugliest cars I have ever seen comes around the corner and stops along side us. Louisiana puts the vehicle in park and rolls down the window. Boston lets out a little laugh, but I don’t find this funny at all.

  “You stole a nineteen eighties Mercury Sable?”

  “I didn't steal it. I reappropriated it,” Louisiana defends.

  “You couldn’t have picked something from this century?” Boston continues, as he surveys the ridiculous-looking beige car with the peeling paint and less than graceful lines.

  “I didn’t want to risk anythin’ with GPS or On-Star.”

  “I understand, but damn, with all the cars parked along the street, did you have to grab one that’s going to get us pulled over just because it looks like its occupants are up to no good?” This car is ridiculous. What were the engineers thinking when they drafted the design of this thing?

  “You know what all those cars on the street have in common, genius? People drive them. Trust me, this car won’t be missed. It will be weeks before anyone even realizes it’s gone, if they realize it at all.”

  “What are we going to do with my car?” Tara asks as she emerges from the back of her SUV.

  “Leave it right here,” Louisiana announces. “You have insurance, right?”

  “You think this is funny? I can’t believe I let you talk me into helping you.”

  She’s no longer in a fit of rage. Now it’s something even more dangerous―a simmering anger just waiting for a release. I can’t blame her. I feel the same way.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Tara. If I’d known―”

  “Don’t … don’t even talk to me right now. You’re all certifiably nuts. You all still think you’re overseas or something where nobody gives a crap what you do,” she protests.

  “Don’t lump me in with them,” I add.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy,” Louisiana groans from the driver’s seat of the goober mobile.

  “Like it or not, we’re all in this together for the time being. We need to find a place to hole up for a while. The city is full of cheap motels we can―”

  “I have no cash on me,” Louisiana informs us. There’s a shock.

  “I have about a hundred bucks. That’s it,” I impart to the group. “But when the police start looking for us, outside of our residences, local hotels will be the first places they check.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s right,” Boston agrees. “And it’s not like we can stop at an ATM. They’ll be on us in a matter of minutes if we do.”

  “Save your money,” Tara grumbles, looking down while shaking her head. “I have a friend. She's out of the country for a few months and I’ve been looking after her place. We can go there.”

  “Where?” I ask.

  “S Street, Northwest. It isn’t far from Logan Circle.”

  “Great. Right back into the lion’s cage.” That’s too close for comfort from where we just came from.

  “We can park behind the house. Besides, they won’t be looking for us in … this.”

  “I thought you were―”

  “If I’m going to prison because of you, it’s not going to be living some Dateline cliché by getting busted by a SWAT team at a twenty-dollar-a-night motel.”

  Sirens blare somewhere off in the distant causing all of us to stop talking. None of us except Louisiana have ever been on the wrong side of the law, except for maybe a small infraction or two most high school kids find themselves tangled up in. Everything is more surreal now.

  “I hate to be a nudge, but we really should be getting off the streets.”

  “Yeah, all right. We just have to make a quick stop,” Boston tells the group as we pile into Louisiana’s freshly stolen ghetto car.

  “A quick stop for what?” I ask him, climbing into the back with Tara. We don’t have time for a quick stop, so this had better be good.

  “Booze, I hope,” Louisiana interjects from the front.

  “Gina is bringing us some necessities. I arranged a place to meet her before we dumped our phones. Let’s roll.”

  .

  ~ chapter 37 ~

  FBI AGENT zach BRUHTE

  I’ve had to do a lot of explaining over the past half hour. The police arrived only a matter of minutes after the explosion knocked me to the ground. Their first inclination was that I was a victim of whatever happened. That all changed when they noticed the gun in my hand.

  “Your story seems to check out, Agent Bruhte,” the uniformed Metro Police sergeant tells me. “Members of the FBI are on the way. They should be here any moment. Just sit tight until we get this sorted out.”

  “All right, thanks.” I agree, only because I’m too sore to move. I have already been checked out by the paramedics, and other than a few bumps, bruises, and first-degree burns from the heat of the thermite, I’m fine. At least I’m physically fine.

  Right now, the police are taking statements from the people in the neighborhood. Among the hardest thing I will need to explain is why I discharged my weapon twice at the fleeing SUV. The justification would be less of a chore had this been a sanctioned operation and I had not been on suspension. Now, sitting in the back of an ambulance while the fire department continues to douse what’s left of my car is the least of my problems.

  “This is how you spend your time on suspension, Zach?” Special Agent Grimman asks me with his usual condescendence. He looks around at all the police and fire trucks and all the activity on the street. I don’t bother responding to his question.

  “Look at this mess!” he orders, making a sweeping arc with his arm at the chaotic scene around us. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is going to cost you your badge. The police showed me your statement. You had no authority to perform surveillance on anybody, much less someone who is a part of my investigation. So, I’m going to give you one chance to save this train wreck you call a career. Why were you here, and who told you to watch Eugene Hollinger?”

  “I did,” a voice from behind Grimman answers. We both look as Garrett walks up, a half-smoked cigarette in his hand.

  “Deputy Director Turner?”

  “Soon to be Director Turner. How are you, Tom?” he asks, shaking Grimman’s hand. “I asked him to watch Hollinger based on the guidance from former Director Washington.”

  Grimman shifts his eyes between the two us, trying to figure out the connection we have. There is no obvious way I would know Garrett Turner. The fact he’s in the dark, despite their working together on this investigation together at DIA, isn’t improving his mood.

  “And why do that?”

  “We’ve had our suspicions about Hollinger for some time. He’s mentally unstable and, as you know, we believe there’s a possibility he’s the leak we’re all looking for.”

  “So you unilaterally decided to place him under surveillance and used a suspended agent in my section to do it?” Grimman questions, wearing an unmistakable look of suspicion. “Why didn’t you bring this to my attention? Don’t say it’s because it slipped your mind.”

  “I did, in a manner of speaking. My suspicions surrounding Hollinger were the reason we interrogated Eric Williams
the other day with the information about Boston’s therapist. He was one of Boston’s coconspirators in tonight’s … escapades.”

  “At least I know where you got the information from,” Grimman concludes, glaring at me. “What gives you the right to watch him outside of my investigation?”

  “We’re not children here, Tom. A judge wouldn’t have given us a warrant with the scant information we have, and you know it. I had a hunch, so I exercised some initiative,” Garrett defends with an arrogance usually reserved for the politicians who work in this town.

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I call it. And based on what we’ve seen tonight, I was right, wasn’t I?”

  It’s a load of crap, and it looks like Grimman is thinking the same thing. I’ve used enough excuses with the man to know when he isn’t buying one, and it’s the same look Garrett Turner is earning now. I don’t know why Boston and his cohorts decided to wreck my car, but I still don’t think they’re traitors. I’ll be sure to ask them that question when I find them. Then I’m going to find the pudgy one who used the thermite to melt my BMW and cut his balls off.

  “How did you manage to get one of my subordinates dragged into this?” my boss asks Garrett, who is now stomping out the last of his cigarette on the pavement.

  “You suspended him, and he has the skill set I was looking for. It seemed to make sense.”

  “You should have gone the official route with this,” Grimman reprimands him with a shake of his head.

  “We have a mole doing deadly damage to this country, and it’s become public knowledge. If I have to step on a few toes to find that person, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” the Metro Police sergeant interrupts. “It looks like your engine block was melted by some sort of homemade thermite grenade. The explosion was not caused by the fire reaching the fuel tank though. We found the remnants of a detonator. It appears like there may have been some sort of explosive device attached to the underside. We’re still collecting the evidence, but the lab will be able to tell us more.”

  “Thank you, sergeant,” Grimman tells him with a nod before he walks off.

  “Still think he’s not the mole?” Turner challenges.

  “Just because he had one of his friends blow up a car doesn’t mean―”

  “It means he just became the prime suspect. He thought the heat was on him and his coconspirators and decided to make his escape. If you don’t agree, I’m sure your superiors will. I know mine will be calling them once I have this discussion with them. So let’s skip the usual drill and simplify things. I want Agent Bruhte to handle bringing Hollinger in for suspicion of espionage, in addition to whatever crimes he was involved in here.” My head shoots around at Garrett.

  “What?” Grimman asks, dumfounded.

  “You heard me. Since you’re not convinced it’s him, you can continue the investigation at the DIA. I want Bruhte reinstated and he can take charge of finding, arresting, and interrogating Eugene Hollinger.”

  Grimman doesn’t like to take orders from anyone not in the bureau. He hates the CIA, despises local authorities, and doesn’t play nice with the rest of the federal alphabet soup agencies. Anyone who dares to tell him how to do his job is met with the full force of his fury.

  “Are you telling me how to run my department?”

  “Not at all. But if you would like to take the matter up with Director Weisz, I’m sure we can explain the whole thing to her.” Damn, this guy knows how to play politics.

  “Fine, have it your way. But if this goes south, it’s your ass that is going to get hung out to dry. I’ll be in touch with you later, Zach,” Grimman tells me before storming off.

  “You’re official again. See how easy that was?” Garrett tells me after Grimman’s out of earshot. I don’t share his enthusiasm.

  “You don’t still really think Boston’s the mole?” I ask him, trying to figure out where his angle is in all this.

  “I think the likelihood that he’s somehow involved just shot up after tonight. Zach, do you know who Boston’s friend Louisiana is?”

  “Are you talking about the guy who blew up my car?”

  “Yeah. His name is Vaughn Rilleux. He’s a notorious ‘fixer’ for criminal enterprises in and around New Orleans. He’s already been implicated in a dozen crimes of varying severity. Knowing that, you don’t think he could also be involved in trafficking information to score a bigger payday?”

  “It sounds like a stretch to me.”

  “Let’s find out, shall we? Get out there and find Hollinger, Williams, Rilleux, and the doctor they’re with. They can’t get far. The local police will be more than willing to help capture him given the visibility of this disaster.”

  I don’t know what Agent Turner’s motivations are, but I know it has nothing to do with catching a mole. For whatever reason, Hollinger is the most important piece to solving that puzzle. Agreeing with Turner might make the most sense until I can figure things out.

  “Zach, Agent Grimman over there is going to chase his own tail at the DIA,” he confides after I take too long to answer him. “The key to this whole mole hunt is Hollinger. I told you I would give you a shot at redemption. This is it, unless you’d rather be sitting on a stool in some dive bar nursing your injuries with a bottle of whiskey. It’s your choice.”

  “I’m fine. I’ll do it. I’ll find him.”

  “Good,” he says as his phone rings, prompting him to fish in his jacket and pull it out. “I need to take this. I’ll be in touch.”

  “I can’t wait,” I mutter.

  “This is Director Turner,” Garrett says as he heads away from the rear of the ambulance.

  .

  ~ CHapter 38 ~

  dIRECTOR COLBY WASHINGTON

  “You are still only a deputy director,” I practically spit when Garrett answers his phone using my title.

  “Yeah, for one more day. What do you want, Colby?”

  “I just got woken up by Troxsell. He said something about a warrant being issued for Hollinger. Did you hear anything?”

  “Yeah, I did. I’m at the scene now, actually. That guy we tasked for surveillance on him? Hollinger blew up his car and fled with three accomplices.”

  “Blew up a car?” I had to repeat it to make sure I heard him correctly.

  “It may have been one of the people he was with that did it. The police are sorting out the details. Either way, he’s in deep, Colby.”

  “That makes no sense,” I say, more to myself than to the ambitious bastard about to take my job.

  “Unless he’s the mole.”

  “You know damn well he isn’t, Garrett.”

  “People keep telling me that, Colby, but you know what? I don’t know any such thing. All the evidence is pointing to him being exactly the person we should be looking at.”

  “That’s a mistake, Garrett,” I argue, knowing it is an exercise in futility. This is about to be his show and he knows it. He’s not going to listen to me, regardless of how much sense it makes.

  “Are you offering me advice, Colby? Because what you should be doing is packing your desk.”

  “Why are you so eager to pin this on Hollinger?” I demand. If he wants to trade volleys one last time, let’s load up the guns.

  “I’m interested in finding the mole,” he says after a noticeable silence. “I only want to―”

  “Then prove it, because it sounds to me like you have your mind made up.”

  “I can’t believe you’re defending him after what I just told you, Colby. Now you understand why you’re out of a job. You’re blind with loyalty to people who don’t deserve it.”

  “I believe in giving the members on my team the benefit of the doubt until I have all the facts,” I retort.

  “Jesus, Colby, do you need someone to draw you a map? Innocent men don’t run. They sure don’t use thermite and explosives to blow up a car in the middle of D.C.”


  “Explosives?” I repeat, unsure I heard him correctly.

  “The Metro Police have an APB out for him and his friends. The counterintelligence agents at the FBI want him for questioning in relation to the leaks. While they’re tracking him down, they’ll also continue their investigation back at the DIA, but everyone is looking at Hollinger as their guy. Not that any of this is your concern now. You’re going to be busy packing tomorrow.”

  “Don’t think for a second this is over between us,” I grumble through my teeth, fighting a losing battle with the anger welling up inside me.

  “Spare me your idle threats. What are you going to do about it?”

  “You underestimate me, Garrett.”

  “Don’t make me laugh. Do you really want to know why you’re getting replaced? This is why. You don’t know how to get the job done. How you dealt with Hollinger is just the latest in a laundry list of your missteps in that position, and now it’s gone.”

  “Enjoy this moment for the short time you have it, Garrett. Our job was to work together, not against each other. You may have won this battle, but the war is far from over.” I don’t expect that to intimidate him at all. He thinks he’s won. I’ve only started fighting.

  “So you say. I have work to do. I expect you to have all your crap cleared out of my office before you leave it, otherwise you can go looking for it in the dumpster behind the building.”

  The call disconnects and I hurl the phone against the wall. I’m not going to let that arrogant bastard win. I power on the second phone I use for my special calls. Once it powers on, I immediately check the voice mail and find no messages. The senator still hasn’t called me back.

  He knows how to play the game, but he doesn’t understand the value of relationships like I do. This one is not panning out, though. I knew Senator Ludwick would be apprehensive when he received my voice mail, but I have the leverage. He knows he owes me countless favors for everything I have done for him, so I should have heard back from him by now.

  I search the contacts in my personal phone and select a number I have had stored for months now, but never used. If the senator will not return my calls, maybe I can enlist the help of one of his staff members. She will want to know what’s happening anyway. If she refuses to help, I will have to take care of things on my own.