The Eyes of Others

by Mikael Carlson

  The second man is as good as dead. My aim was a little off on my first one and he’s still alert, although losing blood at an alarming rate. I walk over to him, take a knee, and look him in the eyes. All I see staring back at me is fear and disbelief.

  It’s not the movies. I don’t have anything witty to say. I’m not a killer by nature, I’m a fixer. I’m trying to solve the problems this country has, and whether he knows it or not, this agent is part of that problem. I stand back up, point my gun at him, and fire a round into his head.

  Satisfied that neither of the men are any longer a threat, I relieve them of their weapons. They might come in handy eventually. I also search their pockets and take their FBI badges and cell phones. The badges may be a nice keepsake, and their cell phones will alert me to when they start being missed.

  I’m on the clock though. It’s time to get out of Dodge before it’s too late. With a little luck, the FBI will blame Boston for the murders. It sounds exactly like something a suspected spy on the lam might do. Content, I head to the bedroom to finish packing. Twenty minutes from now, I’ll be heading out of town to a safe haven while my contacts arrange my escape from the country.

  .

  ~ chapter 71 ~

  eric “MARYLAND” williams

  “This is Bruhte,” the garbled speaker of my phone belches out when the call gets answered.

  “Agent Bruhte, this is Eric Williams.”

  “So I saw on my phone. Hello, Maryland. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  “He calls you Maryland?” Louisiana asks, a little too loudly. Why can’t he shut his trap just for a few minutes?

  “Who’s with you?”

  “None of your damn business,” big mouth answers for me.

  “You must be Louisiana. It’s nice to finally talk to you. We’re going to have a nice long chat very soon about my car, I promise you that.”

  “We have a bigger problem for you first. We got a call from Boston.”

  “When?”

  “A couple of minutes ago.”

  “What did he want?”

  “He told us he figured out who the mole is. He’s on his way to confront her.”

  “Her?”

  “Yeah, her. The mole is his fiancée, Gina Attison.”

  The silence on the other end speaks volumes. The news probably hit Agent Bruhte like an anvil. I know it did the same to me.

  “Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Are you telling me his own fiancée is behind all of this?” The strain of disbelief actually caused his voice to crack a little. That, or it was the speaker of this broken phone I’m holding.

  “That’s what Boston told us.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. He said he was going to confront her, and that means he’s heading home. We need you to stop him.”

  “I already have people over at his house taking her into custody. We’ll try to stop him on the way.”

  “What do you need us to do?”

  “Absolutely nothing. I don’t want you within ten miles of that house, understand? You’ve done enough. We can handle stopping Boston.”

  “Oh, please,” Louisiana barks. “You haven’t stopped him once yet.”

  “This isn’t a good day for you to press me on this, Louisiana. You’re already facing a boatload of charges. I said we’ll handle it from here.”

  “Agent Bruhte? I need to tell you, Boston may not have been telling us the truth.”

  “I believe he is. We’re at the sleep center with Doctor Winters now. He rushed out of here in a hurry. I believe that he thinks Gina is the mole.”

  “Why? How would you know that just by talkin’ to the doc?” It sounds like Louisiana is a little jealous.

  “Because he kissed her before he left.”

  “What?” Louisiana spits.

  “Stay put,” Agent Bruhte commands. “We’ll be by to talk to you guys later.” With that, the line disconnects.

  “Bro, I don’t work for him and neither do you. I say forget the FBI. I ain’t plannin’ to sit on the sidelines for this.”

  “He ordered us to.”

  “You changin’ your mind again, bro?” Louisiana asks.

  I stare at the keys in my hand. The FBI is far better equipped to find and stop Boston than we are. Only they are more interested in apprehending him and charging him with treason. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Agent Bruhte know. Louisiana is right. If anyone can talk Boston down, it’s us. Screw it. I’ve been playing it safe my whole life.

  “If anyone can stop Boston from doing something stupid, it’s us. C’mon.”

  .

  ~ chapter 72 ~

  FBI Agent zach Bruhte

  “Roger, our guy should be heading south in a gray Chevy Malibu,” I say into the radio.

  “Roger,” is the short reply from the FBI helicopter hovering somewhere overhead.

  “The air unit is searching the interstates south of Bolling-Anacostia. The visibility sucks though.”

  “It’s a half hour to Oxon Hill and he’s got about a fifteen-minute lead on us, at least,” Remsen decrees, pushing our FBI-issue Crown Victoria as fast as she’ll go.

  “I hope you drive faster than he does.”

  “Yeah, right,” he mutters. “At least the rain lightened up a little.”

  My phone chirps in my pocket. I pull it out of my coat and look at the caller ID before answering. This better not be someone looking for another debriefing or I’m going to scream.

  “Bruhte.”

  “Agent Bruhte, this is ops. We passed along your request for the agents at Hollinger’s house to bring in his fiancée.”

  “Yeah, and? Did they get her?”

  “We haven’t heard back from them yet,” the agent reports to me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We sent them in to pick her up five minutes ago. They haven’t been in contact yet.”

  I get a sinking feeling that comes with the realization that something is very wrong. I’d accept the possibility that one of their phones was dead, but not both. The fact that Boston believes his girl could be the traitor is taking my thoughts to a very dark place.

  “You need to get units … Hold on, I have another call. Let me get back to you,” I tell the agent as Grimman’s phone pops up on call waiting.

  “Grimman?”

  “Zach?” I hear after the muffled sounds of a phone changing hands.

  “Yeah, it’s me. How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay. Listen, how sure are you that Hollinger is going after Gina Attison?”

  “It’s almost a certainty. He believes she’s the mole, Tom, and I think he might be right.”

  “Zach, listen to me. We can’t afford to be wrong. There is way too much heat on this. Everyone is watching what we do.”

  He means everyone is watching what I do. The loss of confidence in me after my last case is carrying over to this one. Karen Weisz doesn’t trust my judgment, and she’s convinced Grimman not to either. It’s something I’m going to carry with me through the rest of my career.

  “She’s the mole, Tom,” I tell him evenly. As angry as I am, I know lashing out about it will make matters far worse.

  “She’s a former staff member of the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee. If you swing and miss on this …” He’s unbelievable.

  “Are you more worried about keeping your job or finding the mole you were told to find? Gina has been implicated, and we have a bigger problem. Our agents posted at the house were sent in to get her and are out of contact. Do you need a map to put the two together? We need to get some agents over there!”

  “I don’t have resources to spare. They’re all being dedicated to bringing Hollinger in.”

  “They’re going to the same place! Use the local police if you need to.”

  “This is our investigation, Zach. We have to keep this in-house and be the ones who bring Hollinger in. Leave the locals out of this for now.
”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Grimman is more concerned about saving face in case we’re wrong than apprehending a possible traitor or checking in on our own missing agents. It’s the only reason not to call for help from local authorities.

  “That’s a mistake, Tom.”

  “Hollinger is the primary target, and we will intercept him before he even gets close to home. I’m already en route with four units. I should be in Oxon Hill in a couple of minutes. We’re going to set up near the highway exits. If you’re sure he’s heading home, he’ll come right to us,” Grimman explains. It’s the most tactically unsound plan I have ever heard.

  “What about our missing agents at the house?”

  “Ops will keep trying to raise them on their cells. I’m sure there’s a reason they can’t answer. Call me when you get close.”

  “One more thing, Grimman. Have the agent at Williams’s house babysit them until this is over.”

  “What agent? We pulled everyone off to apprehend Hollinger. I have to go. Remember to keep in touch.”

  He ends the call, and I slam my fist onto the dashboard. Remsen is more concerned with keeping our speeding vehicle from spinning out of control on the wet highway, but he does give me a quick glance.

  “The idiots in this town can’t get out of their own way. Stupid bastards.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Get there as fast as we can. Grimman is heading to intercept Boston and they won’t act on Gina until they do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Politics.”

  This whole operation is turning into a fiasco. Too many chefs are in our proverbial kitchen, and bad decisions are being made. I’ve been down this road once before. I’m not about to travel down it again.

  “Remsen, we’re going to let Grimman worry about Boston. Head straight for his house instead, and we’ll check on it ourselves.”

  “Grimman gave us an order. Going against that is a big risk, Zach.”

  “If he wants to waste his time trying to apprehend Boston, let him. If Gina is actually the mole, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her get away.”

  .

  ~ chapter 73 ~

  eugene “boston” hollinger

  I check my rearview mirror. The closer I get to home, the more paranoid I’m becoming. I can see the flashing lights back in the distance. I can’t shake the feeling they’re coming for me.

  A half mile and four more checks of the mirror later and the lights from a police cruiser grow larger and brighter, causing me to literally hold my breath. The car coming up behind me is joined by a second and a third. My heart tries to pound out of my chest. I’m so close to the highway and the anonymity that travelling on an interstate provides.

  I slide into the right lane as I pass beneath the large green sign indicating the turn for the tunnel and I-395. The lights of the squad cars are bouncing off the façades of the buildings around me and it’s the moment of truth. If they try to stop me, I have to decide what to do―take a chance and make a break for it or leave my fate to Washington’s finest.

  Making the turn, my eyes stay glued to the mirror. They’re so close to me. I ready my foot on the gas pedal. If they make the turn, they’re coming for me and are going to get the chase of a lifetime. Any moment now …

  The first car screams by, continuing east up New York Avenue. The second and the third car follow suit. I exhale loudly. For the first time in a couple of minutes, I start to breathe normally again. They weren’t coming for me.

  Interstate 395 is mostly tunnels as it passes through the heart of Washington. A tourist standing next to the reflecting pool and admiring the majesty of the Capitol Building would never know that a major thoroughfare ran right beneath their feet. The tunnels are covered in cameras, so I keep my speed reasonable to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

  The road merges into Interstate 695 and I take that east until I cross the Anacostia River. I’m going faster than I should risk travelling, but the traffic is light and I can’t fight the feeling to push as hard as I can to get home.

  I then merge onto I-295 at the north end of the base that houses my employer for the last leg of my journey. My usual commute takes me to the Beltway and a quick right at Exit 3B. I don’t live far from that point. Does she know I’m coming? There’s no possible way, but there’s no way she could be a traitor, either. It will add some time to the trip, but maybe it’s best to take the exit after my usual one and come at my house from a different direction. Or is that just a waste of time?

  There’s no sign of pursuit, so maybe taking precautions is pointless. I need to think. I have to fight through my anger and make a plan. I have no idea what to do when I get home. Do I just question her when I see her? Try to get her explanation of what I saw? Would she even tell me the truth?

  No way. If she’s been lying this long, I can’t believe a word that comes out of her mouth. She has to be taken out. I can’t rely on the FBI or anyone else to do it. This is my responsibility. And to do that, I have to get there without her or anyone else knowing I’m coming. Just another ten minutes to go now. Just … another … ten … more … minutes.

  .

  ~ chapter 74 ~

  eric “Maryland” williams

  “Did you have to wind this thing up before you put it in drive?” Louisiana asks with no shortage of impatience from the passenger seat.

  “Bite me. I’m going ninety.”

  “You need to be going a hundred ninety. How much longer?”

  “Five minutes, tops. We’ll be off the highway in three.”

  “It’d be two minutes if I was driving,” Louisiana laments.

  “We’d be wrapped around a light pole if you were driving.” I’m serious, too. We would be.

  I’m not sure what I’m worried about more: the speed I’m driving, the weather I’m driving in, or what we’re going to do once we get there. I hope Louisiana has a plan, because it’s taking every ounce of my concentration to weave around cars and not crash into the median. I only hope whatever he’s dreaming up doesn’t involve high explosives and a one-way ticket back to the FBI for more questioning.

  “How well do you know Gina?” he asks.

  “I’ve known her since the day he met her,” I say as I steer the car around a slow moving Honda from Utah. “She was one of those political staff types. I never would have guessed she was a traitor.”

  “You think he’s right? You think she’s the one?”

  “I hope not. This is really not a good time for twenty questions,” I advise him as I weave through a pack of slower vehicles. There are a scarce amount of vehicles on the highway, but the ones we come up on are only in our way.

  “You’ll be fine, you’re not even going that fast. How would she do it? Get a hold of classified material, I mean.”

  “She works for the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”

  “You’re kidding me? I thought she worked on special projects, or something like that.”

  “That’s her special project, but it gets worse. Before she took that job six months ago, she worked for the committee itself and attended classified briefings. It’s how she got her TS/SCI.”

  Sensitive compartmented information is a classification for information derived from sensitive intelligence sources, methods, or analysis. SCI is not a classification itself like Top Secret is. It’s why the titles are often used together and generally indicate that the information a holder of that clearance has access to is classified above Top Secret.

  “You’re shittin’ me. Who knows what kind of intel she passed them, bro?”

  “Yeah, or for how long, but it’s worse than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t understand how this town works. She worked for a very powerful senator up on the Hill. Do you have any idea how crazy the media will go over this? It will send all the rats scurrying around looking for a way off the sinking ship.”

  “I d
on’t care about that, bro. That’s his problem.”

  “It’s everyone’s problem. Whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not, what goes on in this town affects every American. The damage this could cause our country and our intelligence gathering capabilities is almost immeasurable.”

  I shudder at the thought. Louisiana may not understand, and I’m sure he isn’t alone. Scandals are the easiest way for citizens to lose faith in their government. It creates divisions and a loss of trust that is debilitating and dangerous in a time of war. Instead of rallying behind our leaders to win, we eye them with apprehension and mistrust. A scandal of this magnitude, especially if they get caught covering it up, would shake the very foundation of our republic.

  “We need to get to Boston. How long before we get to his house?”

  “We just got on the Capitol Beltway. It runs just to the north of where he lives. We’ll get off at the next exit and it’s only a couple of minutes to get to his house.”

  Louisiana makes a show of looking at his watch. Even under the streetlamps, he can’t possibly read it. He’s always been one for theater. He doesn’t need to consult a clock to know we’re running out of time.

  “Drive faster, bro. We need to beat him there.”

  “No kidding, why do you think I’m driving this fast? What are we going to do once we get there?” I ask myself, more than him.

  “Whatever we need to.”

  .

  ~ chapter 75 ~

  FBI Agent zach bruhte

  Remsen has us hurling down the interstate, emerging from the tunnel that passes under the National Mall with our lights blazing. Cars that don’t move out of the way fast enough get a long blare from the horn. If they still take too long, they almost get run off the road.