The Eyes of Others

by Mikael Carlson

  “They interrupted me when I was packing. I had just finished grabbing what I needed and was about head for the door when I heard you retrieving the spare key on the patio. You should have exercised some noise discipline, Boston.”

  “What do you want from me, Gina?” he demands.

  “Nothing, really. I’m just taking a moment to enjoy our last time together. So, let me guess, you finally saw through my eyes in one of those dreams of yours, didn’t you?”

  “It was after we got off the phone tonight. You called your contact.”

  “It figures it would be something like that. I knew it was a risk, but I need his help to get out of the country,” I explain.

  He shakes his head in disbelief at my nonchalance. For me, this is the end result of years of deception. It may not have been my original plan, but I knew this day would eventually come. For him, it must be a revelation he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams. I smile at the pun.

  “I suppose this is the part where you ask me why I did it,” I taunt.

  “I don’t think I could count on you telling me the truth if I did.”

  “Oh, don’t be like that, honey. I didn’t lie about everything. Only about helping you catch the mole, supporting you in your career, loving you … trivial stuff like that. But you still want to know?”

  I can see the wave of anger rush over him. I know his feelings about betrayal all too well. I know he’s suppressing the urge to take a chance and lunge at me, but he can’t cover even a fraction of the distance in time.

  “Yeah, I still want to know.”

  “Ideals used to mean something in this country, Boston,” I explain after inhaling deeply. “The founding fathers had a vision for a government of the people, by the people, and for the people. We’ve lost sight of that. Too many have had to sacrifice for a government and a country that doesn’t give a crap about them.”

  “The founding fathers? That’s rich. Do you really expect me to believe you did this for anything as noble as the idea of America and the people? Those are your reasons for selling the very country you profess to love and getting countless soldiers killed in the process?”

  “Ask yourself who’s really getting our soldiers killed. Is it me, is it ISIS, or is it the politicians sending them overseas on worthless missions to begin with? You don’t really think they’re over there keeping us safe or defending democracy, do you? They’re over there because of things like politics and economics. They are there so fat cats can appease their big contributors from the defense industry.”

  “ISIS is a threat to our way of life. They’re maiming and slaughtering anyone who doesn’t swear allegiance to their perception of religion.”

  “So what? How is that our problem?”

  “We’re the largest, most powerful nation on earth. If we don’t intervene, who else will?”

  “I don’t care who does or doesn’t. Not one American life is worth any dozen of theirs. The Arabs want us out of the Middle East, and I’m more than happy to help that along.”

  “By passing along information that results in the death of Americans?” he argues.

  “All wars have casualties, but then again, this isn’t really a war, is it? We don’t declare war anymore. Have you ever stopped to think why that is? If ISIS is the threat you pretend it is, why not go before Congress and ask for a declaration? Nazi Germany was a threat to us and we mobilized the entire country to eliminate it. Every war since then has been political, Boston. They are conflicts that politicians use to line their friends’ pockets and bump up their poll numbers, nothing more.”

  “I never realized you were so pessimistic.” That’s all he has to say?

  “You never listened. You were so bent on finding out who tried to have you killed that nothing else really mattered to you, especially me.”

  “What matters to you? Teaching the country a lesson? Is that what this is about?”

  “It’s too late for that,” I say with a laugh. “I originally wanted to embarrass all the charlatans we call leaders in this country. Then I realized that it’s not worth it. They’ll just spin it and the media will regurgitate every lie they spread. It’s happened countless times before: the Iraq War, Benghazi … just to name two. The people don’t care so long as they have their social media and reality television. They are lemmings and don’t deserve to live in a country that demands the attention of its citizens to function.

  “When you lose faith in the idea of America, nothing else matters anymore except yourself. So the original plan got dumped and now I’m taking care of me. Isn’t that what America is these days? Everyone for themselves? Anyone who gets in my way is just collateral damage.”

  .

  ~ Chapter 80 ~

  eugene “boston” hollinger

  “Collateral damage? Is that what I am? Tell me something, did you know it was me you set up in Iraq?”

  “Why do you always take things so personally? I didn’t target you in Iraq. I passed my contact information about an intel team that was getting close to exposing the existence of a leak they were getting valuable information from. They took it from there.”

  “When did you know?”

  “I had my suspicions the night we met. My friend told me you were just out of the hospital after being injured overseas and took a job with Defense Intelligence. My curiosity got the best of me and I went there that night to meet you. I thought I’d get to know you better to find out.”

  “And I told you everything you needed to know in the coffee shop the next day,” Boston moans.

  “Imagine my surprise. By the way, sorry about your friends,” she declares with the sincerity of an ice cube.

  “You bitch,” I seethe, taking a small step towards her.

  Gina moves her finger from the slide to the trigger and tightens her grip on the weapon. I freeze in place. I know she won’t hesitate to shoot me. She motions me with her gun and I step back.

  “You’re making it personal again, honey. I had a nice little operation running before your team started putting the pieces together when you were in Iraq. I had to do it.”

  “So none of this was real?”

  “You mean us?” she says with a snicker. “Boston, do you really think any woman would have put up with that obsession of yours? There wasn’t much room in your life for anything else. Seriously, if I could have thought of a better way of knowing when they were on to me, we wouldn’t have lasted three months.”

  Her words cut deep. This is not the Gina I know. It’s not the woman I was about to marry. She is a completely different person, and I feel like a fool for having been suckered for so long.

  “I told you everything that was going on,” I say, shaking my head. How could I not have seen this? What did I miss? How could I not have known?

  “That’s what assets do,” leaving no doubt in my mind that she was only using me.

  “That’s why you were never supportive of me investigating this. It’s why you tried to persuade me to stop so many times. You weren’t going to get away with it forever. You had to have known that.”

  “You’re right, I did.”

  “So what was your plan? Betray everyone and then ride off in the sunset?”

  “Not exactly. I always assumed I would be caught. There’s nothing more embarrassing than a high level staffer in the Senate getting pinched for espionage. It would shake the foundations of the government and the people’s faith in it.”

  “But they were investigating the DIA,” I say, not understanding what her endgame was.

  “That was part of the plan. I made sure all the information I passed was originated by or handled by the DIA. I wanted to get anyone investigating to start by looking in the wrong place. With my access to the senator, I would know when they were getting close in case you didn’t.”

  I have to hand it to her. She may be a cold-hearted traitor, but she thought it through. If I hadn’t started having these memories, she could have continued passing information rig
ht under everyone’s noses while the FBI scoured for the mole in all the wrong places.

  “How did your SCI clearance entitle you to that? I mean, the VP’s son’s visit to Baghdad was classified at the highest level.”

  “It’s Congress, Boston. People talk too much.”

  “You mean your boss does.”

  “They all do, but he’s one of the worst offenders. He leaks more than the Titanic did. I’ve never met someone so cavalier about safeguarding sensitive information. I just made sure that information made it into the right hands. They took care of the rest.”

  She’s actually proud of herself. She’s gloating, and the more she does, the more I hope she forgets what she’s doing. My hands are up at chest level, and I slowly start lowering them to my sides in the hopes she doesn’t notice.

  “And the dreams I was having? Why did you want me to go see Tara?”

  “You were whining so much about them that I couldn’t wait for you to get answers. I never could have guessed that they would actually be memories, or whatever. What are the odds you could have used them to figure out who the mole really was? Speaking of that, did you ever find out how it works?”

  “Do you think I’m going to tell you?” I snap defiantly.

  “Aw, honey, I thought we shared everything,” she condescends. “I don’t really care how it works. You have to admit, though, that things would have worked out better for you if what you saw was more … irrelevant. I mean, if the memories had been about people taking their kids to the park or a couple strolling on a long walk down to the beach, you wouldn’t be looking down the barrel of my gun.”

  .

  ~ Chapter 81 ~

  eric “maryland” williams

  “Do you think he listened to us and is going to Boston’s?”

  “That or he needs to go buy donuts and coffee,” Louisiana posits as we watch Agent Bruhte and his sidekick hustle back to their car.

  We watch as Bruhte and his henchman climb in their vehicle. The sidekick in the driver’s seat fires it up and kills the blue and red strobes on it. He slams the vehicle in reverse and pulls into a driveway before making a left and heading back up the street.

  “He’s going the wrong way,” I say, amused.

  “Story of the FBI,” Louisiana adds with a smirk. “How close is Boston’s from here?”

  “About three-quarters of a mile or so that way,” I explain, pointing in the general direction we were heading before being ambushed by the feds.

  “So close,” Louisiana laments.

  I give him the once-over. My longtime adversary and I have finally reached a détente. It was only an hour ago, and only after a fistfight, but it seems like a week ago. For better or for worse, our roles in this whole sordid affair are over. Now it is up to Boston, Gina, and the FBI.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like hell, bro. You?”

  “Torn.”

  “Torn? What the hell does that mean?” he asks.

  I’m not sure how to explain this to him. Boston’s my closest friend, despite our differences. I wanted to stop him from acting rashly and getting himself locked up in a prison or worse. We weren’t able to do that, and I’m having second thoughts about having the FBI do it for us. I’ve never faced a moral dilemma quite like this before.

  “I didn’t want Boston to do something stupid. Taking Gina down by himself is not worth throwing his life away. At least, that’s what I thought. We’re past that now. Now I’m kind of hoping he kills her before the FBI gets there.” Louisiana chuckles, then starts outright laughing. “What’s so damn funny?”

  “I swear, bro, I’m gonna make a proper villain out of you yet.”

  “Come with us,” an agent walks up to us and demands, steering us in the general direction of the ambulance and waiting paramedics that arrived a few minutes ago.

  They sit us down inside the vehicle, still cuffed. A mix of local law enforcement and federal G-men stand guard just outside the door in case we get any ideas of escaping. A paramedic is asking questions and checking my eyes while the other starts dressing the gash over Louisiana’s right eye.

  “How do you think Tara’s holding up?” I ask. It’s the first time I’ve had a chance to think about anyone else.

  “She’s a mess, bro, I promise you. She had a thing for Boston. I guarantee she’s freaking out right now.”

  “I know the fe―”

  “Where’s Agent Bruhte?” the balding agent, who was along the wall during my questioning back at FBI headquarters, appears at the rear of the ambulance and asks in a panic.

  “Who?” I ask, playing dumb. He’s not amused.

  “The agent you were talking to a few minutes ago. The one who debriefed … you know who I’m talking about! Where is he?”

  “I don’t know, it’s not my turn to watch him,” I say.

  He looks at Louisiana who grins. “Well?”

  “No hablo ingles.”

  “Hey! Lopez!” he shouts, looking off to the side at what I assume is one of his underlings. “Have you seen Bruhte?”

  “Negative, boss.”

  “Get on the radio and find out where he went.”

  .

  ~ Chapter 82 ~

  gina attison

  I smile and wiggle the barrel of my pistol up and down a couple of times to prompt him to keep his hands up. He thought I wasn’t paying attention. Boston acknowledges the gesture by raising his hands back up to chest level.

  “Why did you kill Garrett?” he asks me out of the blue.

  “I meant to set Louisiana up for it. You see, Maryland was never much of a threat, and you were easy to manipulate. Your crazy Cajun buddy was the one I worried about. He was too much of a wild card to leave in play. Knowing he blew up the agent’s car outside of that skank’s house you were at, I figured that the FBI would be lazy and sloppy, like most bureaucrats are, and finger him for it. It turns out I was right, although I never would have guessed the two of you would be so adept at escaping capture.”

  “But why Garrett?” he presses.

  “You had an ugly history with him. Louisiana may have done the dirty work, but the FBI would think you’re the logical person to be the mastermind behind it. I knew they would mobilize everyone to hunt you down.”

  Poor Boston. He’s been so slow to put all the pieces together. He’s an intelligence analyst, after all. I would have figured he’d put more of this together than he has. Not that it matters for him.

  “Our time is running short, love,” I continue to mock by using the cutesy pet names we always have called each other. “It’s time for one of us to get on with our lives.”

  “So, where do we go from here?” he asks, staring down the barrel of the gun pointed at his chest.

  “Well, I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to do my best to make it look like a suicide. You murdered the FBI agents, had a guilty conscience, and then took your own life. They’ll figure it out, eventually, but by that time I will be kicking back with a nice glass of Merlot.”

  “It won’t work. They already know you’re the mole,” he informs me. As if that changes anything.

  “It will work as long as it has to. I only need a few days to get the documents I need to get out of the country.” I hope my contact comes through and it only takes that long.

  “They’ll never believe it.”

  “You’re the fugitive wanted for murder, Boston. The media will convince themselves and everyone else you’re the mole. Politicians and bureaucrats will want the case closed and play along with their narrative. Even if someone manages to convince them otherwise, that will take time. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I ask him with my brightest smile.

  .

  ~ Chapter 83 ~

  FBI agent zach bruhte

  “Bruhte, come in,” the voice shouts after the radio crackles to life. “It’s Lopez.”

  “Yeah,” I say after retrieving it and pressing the transmit button.

  “The boss wants your lo
cation,” my colleague informs me. I bet he does.

  “In my car,” I tell him with no attempt at disguising my sarcasm.

  “Where specifically are―”

  “Zach, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Grimman barks, having probably yanked the radio out the other agent’s hand. “I ordered you to stand fast!”

  “Not this time, Tom,” I refuse calmly.

  “I have a tactical team en route to our location. They’ll be here in ten minutes and we’ll be ready in fifteen.”

  “It may be too late by then.”

  “Do not go in without them! We’re sealing the area off. Hollinger isn’t going anywhere,” he tries to assure me.

  “We can’t wait that long, and it’s not Hollinger I’m worried about.”

  Five days ago, sitting on a wooden stool in some dive bar, Garrett offered me redemption for my past sins. He wanted me to put a suspected mole under surveillance. I never would have dreamt that simple assignment would have led me here.

  This is my chance for redemption, just not the way Garrett had planned it. If Gina is the mole, one of the two of them is going to die tonight. I need to stop that from happening. The only way to clear Hollinger completely is for him to live and Gina to be brought into custody. Unfortunately, I’m the only one who seems to realize or care about that.

  “How far?” I ask Remsen who is now navigating the side streets in this little slice of suburbia with remarkable adeptness.

  “It should be right up here.”

  “Agent Bruhte! This is your last chance! Stand dow―”

  I turn off the radio. I’ve had enough of him. Anything I say will only make my insubordination hearing worse. I may be willing to end my career, but I’m not the only one in the car.

  “Matt?”

  “Yeah?” He glances over at me. He’s not used to me using his first name.

  “We’re violating orders. When everything is over tonight, we’re going to be in a lot of trouble. If you want out―”