The Man Who Walks Away

by Dan Ames

  Larkin said, “Sounds to me like you’re making excuses.”

  “No, but those issues, once implanted in Nash, began to blossom and become uncontrollable.”

  “So much so that Nash escaped, with the brains of two crazy killing machines stuck in his head?” Larkin asked.

  Dr. Aldrich answered. “Again, your assessment is quite indelicate, but factually accurate.”

  “What’s my objective?” Larkin asked.

  “Bring back Nash and his ‘friends,’” Lucas said, using air quotes to emphasize the word friends. “Preferably alive.”

  Larkin laughed and it was an unpleasant thing to witness, Lucas observed. Like watching a hyena lick his chops. “Yeah, bring him back alive with a couple of sociopaths bouncing around inside his skull?”

  He let out a long breath.

  “Probably not gonna happen.”

  31

  Dr. Aldrich studied Larkin, a disappointed look on his face.

  Lucas had come close to dozing off, but Larkin was awake and extremely focused on the doctor.

  “Are you shocked by what I’ve told you?” Aldrich asked his captive audience of one.

  “Not at all,” Larkin replied. “The army has been funding this kind of nonsense for years. I’m just surprised you believed your own bullshit and thought it would work.”

  The tone of Larkin’s words roused Lucas from his stupor. He needed to take back control of both the conversation and the operation. Time was being wasted and somewhere out there chaos was unfolding.

  “Okay, the important thing here is that we’ve taken some steps to make cleanup relatively neat,” Lucas said.

  “Like what?” Larkin said, his voice thick with skepticism.

  “Let’s just say that we’ve pointed the authorities in one direction, and it’s the same direction that will hopefully lead the problem to its very own solution.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Larkin asked. “I’m getting very tired of the lack of clarity. Are you guys confused or are you just trying to make it seem that way?”

  Lucas sighed but inwardly admitted Larkin had a point so he cut to the chase. “We gave the cops the same name we gave Nash.”

  “I thought you said Nash was after some guy named Zotz.”

  “He is.”

  “So you gave the cops Zotz’s name and then told Nash where to find him?”

  “Not exactly,” Lucas replied.

  “There is no Zotz,” Dr. Aldrich said. He’d been sitting silent for the past few minutes, waiting for something less operational and more in his area of expertise. “We invented him.”

  Larkin shifted in his seat. “Jesus, you people have been hopelessly ineffective but at least you’ve been busy, I’ll give you that. ”

  Lucas had to be careful. He didn’t want to anger one of the most lethal “exterminators” in the industry.

  “It’s really pretty simple,” Lucas said.

  “Prove it by showing me,” Larkin shot back.

  “Zotz isn’t real,” Aldrich reaffirmed. “We needed a target to set the experiment, or mission as you people call it, in motion.”

  Lucas stepped in. “So basically, we found someone to unwittingly become Zotz. He was an easy choice because he’s ex-military, lives alone in the area, and has a highly secretive past. That way, the cops will be able to find him, but not before Nash does.”

  “And what’s going to happen when Nash finds this guy?”

  “Hopefully, they’ll kill each other, but should one come out of it alive, you’re going to be there to make sure he doesn’t stay that way.”

  “Let me guess,” Larkin said. “And then I’m supposed to stage it so it looks like they were working together all along. And with both of them dead, it will be case closed.”

  “Excellent summary,” Dr. Aldrich said, checking his watch and getting to his feet.

  “So what’s the name of the patsy we’re going to claim is Zotz?”

  Lucas slid a fourth picture across the table to Larkin.

  “His name is Michael Tallon.”

  32

  The gunshot was like rolling thunder in the dry riverbed less than a mile from Tallon’s ranch.

  He and Pauling were facing a row of paper targets on the other side of the wide swatch of dirt and stone. It was Tallon’s homemade gun range and he used it often.

  They were each firing Glock 17s and the match was even.

  “Pretty impressive for an ex-Feebie,” Tallon pointed out.

  “You’re not too shabby yourself,” Pauling responded, happy that she was keeping pretty even pace with him. Then again, she wondered if he was keeping it competitive to be nice.

  After a morning spent making love, they had talked about either going for a run or taking in some target practice. Since they’d just gotten finished with some exhausting exercise between the sheets, they’d decided on shooting practice instead of a long-distance trek.

  As more shots ran throughout the empty space, Tallon considered upping the ante a bit. There was a target farther back–

  “Tallon! Drop your weapon!”

  He turned, saw Sheriff Bordeau standing behind him, her weapon drawn, with two other uniformed officers flanking her.

  What the hell is it with this cop? he wondered. He was careful, though, because even though he knew he was innocent of whatever they were going to claim he’d done, he didn’t want to get shot.

  That was always a bad option.

  Tallon slowly put down his gun and next to him, Pauling did the same.

  “Hands up, get down on the ground.”

  He complied, and soon, he was handcuffed.

  Lifted to his feet, the officers frisked him and found no other weapons.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  Bordeau faced him.

  “You’re under arrest for murder.”

  33

  The three of them sat together drinking beers and laughing.

  “You actually tried to get rid of us,” Dawkins said, his white teeth practically glowing, framed by his dark skin. “What were you thinking?”

  The three of them were back in the command trailer, sitting around the table in the center of the kitchen, drinking beers. Nash hated to admit it, but he was glad they were all back together again.

  He’d kind of missed his buddies.

  “Bitch, we’re here for the long haul,” Blatch added. “And now that I know where your head’s at, I’m going to keep my eye on you. However, I also feel like it’s time to clear the air. I’ve got a thing for the ladies and don’t ever try to get in my way again.”

  Blatch had picked up a pistol and was using it to accentuate his gestures. Now, he set it on the table, pointed directly at Nash.

  Nash nodded to the voices in his head. They seemed real to him, though, as if he was looking in a mirror and could see them over his shoulder.

  “I learned my lesson,” he said, in the empty trailer he’d been living in since he escaped the army base. To him, it was a command center, but in reality it was a rusty shell partially hidden beneath an outcropping of rock in the middle of the desert.

  He finished his beer, walked over to the secure laptop he’d linked to a satellite server, encrypted so no one could use geotracking. He’d stolen the equipment on his escape from the army base.

  Now, he tapped the screen and saw he had a new secure message.

  Nash grabbed a fresh beer and double-clicked the message icon.

  A photo filled his screen, and beneath it, an address.

  Followed by one word.

  Zotz.

  34

  It took several hours of unproductive questioning for Sheriff Bordeau and her investigators to determine Pauling had nothing to do with the crimes. They also understood that interrogating a former FBI agent was no small task.

  In other words, they knew they’d met their match.

  When Bordeau entered the interview room and told Pauling she was free to go, Pauling made no si
gn to exit.

  “On what basis did you make this arrest?” she asked Bordeau.

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss details of an ongoing investigation,” the sheriff responded. Pauling recognized the woman was in over her head, but at the same time, oddly confident. Which gave Pauling pause. What exactly was giving this sheriff such a strong conviction that Tallon had been involved in a murder. There was no other explanation for the arrest.

  “Give me a break,” Pauling said. “You have nothing. There was no evidence of Tallon at the crime scene. There was hardly any evidence at all.”

  Bordeau frowned at Pauling.

  “You sound as if you’ve seen the evidence.”

  Pauling knew she was exposing that, but had decided to plow ahead anyway.

  “One of your investigators told me what you found,” she lied. “No DNA, no fibers, just some footprints that may or may not have been Army issue footwear. That’s all you have to arrest Tallon? Once I have his attorney here, he’ll be free in a matter of hours, you realize that, don’t you? And then you’ll have made yourself, and the sheriff’s office liable for a whopper of a lawsuit.”

  Bordeau took a step back and Pauling knew she had the woman on the ropes. It wasn’t a fair match. Pauling had decades of investigative experience, her time with the Bureau and her private practice to rely on.

  The sheriff had slid into her current position based on her father’s strings, probably. Maybe an incorrect assumption, but Pauling could tell the woman was out of her element. Probably not her fault. She actually seemed fairly bright, but a multiple homicide had not been on her radar.

  “I’m not going to discuss our evidence with you,” Bordeau finally said. “All I can tell you is you don’t have the whole picture. Bring your lawyer.”

  “Have you double-checked the source of your information?” Pauling asked. “Chain of custody?”

  “Of course I have,” Bordeau snapped. “I told you you’re free to go, so do I need to have you escorted from the building?”

  Pauling got to her feet.

  “The next time I see you, you’re not going to be happy,” Pauling said and walked out the door.

  35

  Nash knew a fortified compound when he saw it and the little adobe ranch complex fit the bill.

  If ever there were signs of a military presence, this had it all. Nash could tell by the way the structure itself was laid out and the strategic placement of what little landscaping had been planted.

  It was all about creating clear shooting lanes.

  Zotz is here, Nash knew.

  For defensive purposes, great care had been taken as well. It was nearly impossible to approach without being seen. Nash had also noticed at least two surveillance cameras, as well as what was most likely backup generator power and satellite linkages. He was also sure there were more surveillance devices hidden from view.

  Zotz had planned well.

  “What’s the plan, chief?” Dawkins asked. He was impatient, and Nash could feel it in his head. They had left the van a mile back and hiked in. They all knew that everything that had happened before was just a buildup to now, the main event. This was what they had been planning and training for all this time. Their hard work was about to pay off.

  Nash wanted Zotz’s head on a stick, plain and simple.

  “Yeah, what’s the plan, I need some action,” Blatch piped up. Nash saw Blatch’s fiery red hair and blazing blue eyes in his mind. He knew the man’s idea of action had nothing to do with getting Zotz, though. His interests were always more primal.

  “Shut the hell up, you two,” Nash said. “I need to think.”

  He turned the problem over in his mind, looked at both the challenge and the compound itself from every conceivable angle. Just when he was about to pick the least of the bad options available to him, he noticed a vehicle pull up to the driveway, key the garage door, and pull inside.

  Nash had seen the driver.

  A woman.

  No sign of Zotz.

  Was he already inside?

  Or had Zotz sent a scout ahead?

  Either way, Nash abandoned whatever plan he had in mind.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Direct approach?” Dawkins asked, surprised.

  “Its time to kick ass and don’t bother with names,” Nash answered. “The only name that’s important is Zotz. Let’s put down this bastard once and for all.”

  He started down from the rise.

  Dawkins and Blatch were with him and they were locked and loaded, too.

  36

  From nearly a mile away, hidden in a thick stand of reddish boulders caught in the fading sun, Larkin watched Nash approach the house.

  Larkin wondered what was going on in the poor son of a bitch’s patch-worked brain. Three crazies ricocheting around the man’s thought process. Larkin was surprised the guy could even walk.

  It was interesting to see the soldier jogging toward the house, with no attempt at concealment.

  Larkin knew why.

  He, too, had been surprised to see a woman arrive alone to Tallon’s house. Or “Zotz’s” house as Nash believed it to be. The soldier had probably been assuming there would be an armed force defending Zotz. Instead, a lone woman drove up to the house and went inside.

  At that point, all bets were off, Larkin knew.

  He hoped for the sake of the mission that Tallon was already inside. If he wasn’t, the “cleanup” plan Lucas had bragged about wouldn’t work out so well. Instead, there’d be another dead woman, probably raped and tortured, and no one to pin the blame on because Larkin wouldn’t be allowed to kill Nash. If he killed Nash and Tallon wasn’t there, it would only make the police investigation continue.

  And that would make Larkin’s job tougher.

  That was okay, though, he had to admit.

  Usually, the messier the job, the higher it paid.

  37

  Pauling was glad the house had been turned back over to her after the investigators had performed their search. They had found nothing, she was sure.

  Once inside, she pondered what to do.

  On the way back from the police station she’d already called her attorney and gotten a referral for the best criminal defense attorney money could buy who was getting on a plane in the next hour.

  As she went about straightening and cleaning up what the cops had disturbed, her mind went over the sequence of events.

  One thing particularly nagged at Pauling.

  She knew Tallon hadn’t killed those people.

  So who had?

  They had the wrong person in jail so the real killer was still out and about. Not a pleasant thought.

  Plus, she’d seen the evidence on the FBI’s database directly from the state crime lab. It should have been the exact same reports Bordeau had studied. So what had the sheriff seen to justify Tallon’s arrest? Had she, Pauling, missed something? She knew she hadn’t. Her background and attention to detail gave her the confidence to assert that nothing was missed. Especially something that would have caused someone to believe in Tallon’s guilt.

  No, something else was going on here.

  Pauling had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

  She ducked into Tallon’s home office and went to the back of the room where he had one of his gun safes. They had opened it together in order to go to the range. Now, she saw that some of the guns had been taken by the sheriff’s office.

  All that was left were revolvers as they didn’t shoot the right kind of ammunition that had been found at the crime scene, Pauling assumed. All of the more military-style assault rifles had been confiscated, probably for ballistics testing.

  Pauling studied her choices and wondered if she really needed to arm herself. Was she overreacting?

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  She saw a Ruger Alaskan, which held a huge, powerful .44 Magnum round. Six of them to be exact. It was a big, heavy gun, but with a short barrel. She slid it off its peg and open
ed the cylinder to make sure it wasn’t loaded.

  At the bottom of the gun safe was a drawer containing ammunition. She found the box of .44 Magnum shells and loaded the gun, as well as two speed loaders Tallon had placed next to the powerful handgun’s place on the rack.

  Pauling slipped the speed loads into her pocket and was leaving the office when the bank of surveillance monitors caught her eye.

  Because she’d just seen movement.

  She focused on the screens.

  Which one?

  Pauling waited, listening for any sounds in the house.

  There weren’t any.

  There.

  A flash of a shoulder passing through the kitchen.

  Pauling felt her heartbeat quicken.

  Was it a cop who hadn’t finished? Then why had she been told the house was clear?

  She stepped tentatively into the hallway.

  And heard voices.

  It sounded like three people were arguing. A deep, baritone voice, a higher-pitched male voice, and then a shushing sound.

  Pauling stepped into the kitchen and saw a man wearing army fatigues, carrying an automatic rifle. He was looking to his left, holding his finger to his lips in a be quiet gesture.

  But there was no one there.

  He turned back, saw Pauling and stopped. His rifle was pointed down, but Pauling had the big revolver in both hands, pointed directly at the intruder.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she said to him.

  In his eyes, Pauling could tell the man was calculating his options.

  “Don’t. You’ll lose.”

  He acted like he didn’t hear her.

  “Where’s Zotz?” he asked.

  “Not here,” Pauling answered. “Who are you?”

  “Yeah, she’s pretty, Blatch,” the man said. “But you can’t have her yet. Calm down.”

  Pauling thought it was an odd attempt to distract her. Making her think there was someone behind her?