If You're Going Through Hell Keep Going

by Tinnean

  “I still don’t understand. I haven’t had anything to do with him or his department.”

  “No, but you were behind Fitzwilliam’s disappearance.” That operation I’d sent him on last year. Fitzwilliam was dirty, stockpiling weapons that should have gone to the WBIS and selling them to the Russian mob. Matheson had erased him.

  “Mr. Davies couldn’t prove that.”

  “No. You did a good job. It’s burned his butt he could never bring it home to you.” I tugged on my right ear. “Matheson, who did you bump to get this job?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You weren’t supposed to work for the WBIS.”

  Color rose in his cheeks, but as I’d noticed before, within seconds it was gone, and he was contained. “No, I’m aware of that, but I should have gotten that promotion—I was the most qualified, so I dressed in work clothes—”

  I looked him up and down in the suit he wore, and he shook his head.

  “Jeans, a sweatshirt, work boots, and a tool belt. I told the security guard I was an electrician sent by the union to clear up some problem on sixty-seven.”

  “Who was the guard?” Dammit, the guard should have been more cautious.

  “It was a few years ago…” Matheson shrugged. “… and I never got his name. Anyway, I went up to Human Resources, hacked into their system, and put my name at the top of the list.” He cocked his head. “I already told you that, sir.”

  “Yeah.” Last year, after he’d met me at the morgue for Sperling’s autopsy. “You wanted to work for the WBIS so badly?”

  “I wanted the promotion, sir. Like I said, I was the most qualified, and it shouldn’t have come down to that. I… uh….” He ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea the job would take me to DC. I just thought I’d….”

  Ah. So it was to see how he’d react to being overlooked. And I imagined Davies’s candidate had done nothing but sit on his hands once he’d thought he was a shoo-in for the job. “Whose name did you replace?”

  “Does it make any difference?”

  “Davies wanted him in the WBIS enough that he’s giving us grief almost five years later.”

  “And I’m sorry about that.” His eyes widened. “So that’s why…” He met my gaze. “Almost four years ago, I was involved in a training exercise that went south in the worst possible way for me. I was sent up to Joseph P. Kennedy Memorial in Weymouth to recuperate after I’d gotten stitched up. My family was told it was a freak motor vehicle incident.”

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “Of course not. The last thing Mr. Adams would want them to know was what it actually was. He was all kinds of pissed and would have blamed me for the whole situation—”

  “Yeah, Davies and Adams were pretty tight at the time.”

  “Were they? I didn’t know. I was too busy watching… well, you, to see how you got things done.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, yes. Most of the junior agents do. And it actually got me out of a sticky situation more than once.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, but you were saying?”

  He could tell I was uncomfortable about that, but he was smart enough to try to hide his grin. I saw it anyway, but I gave him points for making the attempt. He said, “Anyway, the training tapes revealed I was where I was supposed to be, doing what I was supposed to do. Afterward, it struck me as off, but I could hardly go to Mr. Adams and tell him someone had tried to kill me. All the alphabet agencies think we’re paranoid, but that would be taking it to extremes.”

  “You think?”

  “No, I guess not. Now that you’ve pointed out how much Davies wants me gone, I’d have to say what happened looks more and more like a setup.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know who I could have gone to at the time.”

  “You didn’t consider going to Mr. Wallace?”

  He looked startled. “No! Why would I? He’s The Boss.”

  “Yeah, but he takes care of his people.” Well, it was water under the bridge now. “So who did you replace?”

  “Jerry Black. He worked out of another department, but I’d see him around, either in the cafeteria or at those enrichment things when most of Huntingdon had to show up.”

  “Did you ever check him out?”

  The tips of his ears turned red, and I was interested to see the color didn’t fade as quickly as when he blushed. “Six feet two, about one ninety. Red hair, blue eyes, and a pretty nice build.”

  “Jesus, Matheson. His file! Did you ever check out his file?”

  He blushed again, and again it lingered. Because he had something else on his mind? “Sorry, sir. Yes, I did. I’m not you, but I’m not stupid either. I hacked into Huntingdon’s Human Resources system again.” I waited for him to tell me how he’d managed that, but he continued smoothly. “There’s a Jerry Black who works there, only this Black is employed in the mail room, he’s five eight, two twenty, brown hair and eyes. I tried tracking the other guy down, but every lead turned into a dead end, so finally I gave it up.”

  “Now that we know he’s somehow involved with Davies…?”

  “I’ll try again.”

  “Tell me something, Matheson. Are you sorry?”

  “Sir?”

  “That you wound up in the WBIS?”

  “No, sir. It got me Theo.”

  It also put him in the position of having to do wet work. Had that been something else to… persuade… him to leave?

  “Mr. Vincent, I’m a big boy, and if Mr. Davies wants to take a swing at me, that’s fine. I can take care of myself. But I don’t like Theo being dragged into this.”

  “Neither do I, but we might have to. If we had a track of Theo’s voice when he was fifteen we’d have a better shot finding out if he’s this kid.”

  “What do we do, sir? I won’t put this department in jeopardy, but I don’t like the idea of making Theo watch this tape, either.”

  “You’re going to—” The phone rang, indicating a call direct from Security. Jesus Christ, what the fuck was going on? I picked up the receiver. “Yeah?”

  “Mr. Vincent. This is Sanford.” He was one of the security men who worked the public areas of the building. I was a little surprised he was still here. “Sorry to bother you, sir. I have someone down here who wants to see you.” I growled, and I could hear him swallow over the line. “He says he's a friend of yours.”

  “What’s the name?” This was the last thing I needed at this point.

  “Bascopolis, sir.”

  I stared at the phone, and then covered the receiver. “What’s Theo doing here?”

  “Theo’s here? I left him….” Matheson scrubbed his face. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m a little….” Yeah, I could see how shell-shocked he was. He’d paused the tape and was staring at the frozen images.

  “Sanford, send him up.” I hung up. “Matheson, pull yourself together.” I picked up the remote and turned off the VCR.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

  “You need a drink?”

  ***

  Last December I’d been called up to The Boss’s office. That had happened a lot lately, another reason for me to be unhappy with this fucking position of deputy director I’d been given. I jogged up the three flights to ten. Ms. DiBlasi waved me in, and I entered.

  Mr. Wallace looked up and while he didn’t smile, the expression on his face lightened. “I have something for you, Mark.” He rose and walked around his desk.

  “That isn’t necessary, sir.”

  “Oh, I think it is.”

  “Sir?”

  He clipped a name tag to the breast pocket of my suit jacket.

  The directors and deputy directors wore them, but I never bothered. As a matter of fact, the tag announcing I was Deputy Director of Interior Affairs was in the bottom drawer of my desk. If anyone in the building didn’t know who I was, they’d find out soon enough. Was this a hint that The Boss wanted me to wear it?

  I tipped it back to read it and blinked. No, that couldn’t
be right. I twisted it this time so it would be more legible.

  Shit, piss, fuck, and son of a goddamn bitch!

  “Congratulations, Mark. I know you’ll do a good job and treat your people well.”

  I’d been promoted to Director of Interior Affairs.

  Stanley, the one-legged Director of Foreign Affairs, was waiting in my office when I’d returned. “I understand we have a reason to celebrate.” He nodded toward the tag that dangled from my pocket. And then he held up a couple of glasses and a bottle of Dewar’s. “Congratulations, Director Vincent.”

  ***

  We’d had a drink, and then I’d tucked the bottle away in the bottom drawer of my desk and hadn’t opened it again, but this might be a good time.

  I took out the bottle and a glass. “Matheson?” I waited to find out if he wanted that drink.

  “No, sir. I’ll… I’ll be okay.”

  Would he? He still looked dazed.

  There was a tap on the door and then Ms. Parker opened it. “Mr. Bascopolis, sir.”

  Theo swaggered in, but there was something behind his cocksure demeanor….

  “Thank you, Ms. Parker. You can leave for the day.”

  “Tell Ms. DiNois she can leave also, would you please?” Matheson stood so stiffly he looked like a touch would break him in two.

  “Yes, sir. Have a nice weekend.”

  “You too.” I wasn’t going to tell her to give my best to Granger and Ms. DiNois. It wasn’t my business.

  She closed the door behind her.

  “Nice office, Vince.” For some reason, Theo seemed to be fascinated with the Keyser Söze poster that hung on the wall; he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  “Yeah. Why’d you come here, Theo?”

  He straightened his shoulders and faced me. “I’m going to fight for him.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said you didn’t need your boy in a state like he was in because he was worried about me.”

  When I’d talked to him yesterday. “Civilians,” I muttered under my breath. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “How was I supposed to know that? I… I thought when you called him in to work, you were going to tell him he had to break up with me. Whatever you did mean, I…” He got a stubborn look on his face. “I’m not giving him up.”

  “Fine. We’ve got other worries. Matheson, rewind the tape and play it for Theo.” This was going to suck, but it was better getting it done fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

  “Sir….”

  “I said rewind it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Wills?” Matheson didn’t say anything, so Theo turned to me. “Vince, what’s going on?”

  I pulled over a chair. “You’d better sit down.”

  “What….” He must have picked up on Matheson’s tension. “What am I going to see?”

  Matheson looked away. If his words of love were lies, it was going to kill Theo.

  Theo swallowed and licked his lips and watched as the image jumped and wavered before finally steadying.

  I watched him watch the tape, his face getting so pale I wasn’t sure if he was going to pass out or throw up.

  “Oh, Jesus. Wills, did you…. ” Theo covered his face with both hands. “No more. Please. Turn it off.”

  “Is that you?” I asked as once again I stopped the tape.

  “Why, Vince? Why make me watch this?”

  “Because I needed to be sure it was you.”

  “It’s me. I was… I was fifteen, he said he loved me, and…. How did you get this?”

  “Long story. Suffice it to say it came into my possession a few hours ago. Are there any more copies?”

  “I don’t know. I thought this one had been destroyed. He promised me….” Theo began to shake, and slow tears rolled down his cheeks.

  “Oh, baby.” Matheson went to him and took him in his arms. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.” He glanced across at me, the expression in his eyes flat and cold. “I let him die too easy.”

  “Yeah.” I knew he was talking about the man who’d turned Theo into a whore when he was fifteen. “You should have left it to me.”

  “What?” Theo reared back.

  Matheson ignored his reaction and asked me again, “Where do we go from here?”

  “Nowhere now, but on Monday….” Davies was so anxious to see I got this. I wouldn’t want to deny him the pleasure of seeing my reaction. I picked up the bottle of Dewar’s. “You look like you could use a drink, Theo. Matheson?” I had another glass in that drawer if he felt in need of the fortification.

  “No, thank you, sir. I’ll be driving us home.”

  I filled the glass for Theo and handed it to him. I didn’t think I had to warn him about taking it easy, but I should have. He belted it back, coughed and gasped, and held out the glass to me. “’Nother one?”

  “You’ve had enough.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Why the fuck did that one glass of whiskey go straight to his head? I twisted the cap back on the bottle and put it out of reach.

  In a matter of minutes his eyes started to cross.

  “Are you drunk, Theo?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” he amended.

  “I think he is, sir.” Matheson rubbed Theo’s shoulder. “He hasn’t had anything to eat since last evening.”

  “Yes, I did!” Theo announced. “I went down on you, don’t you remember? And when you come, I always swallow!” He looked so satisfied with himself, I had to bite back a grin. Matheson, on the other hand, looked like he wished the ground would open under his feet.

  I shook my head. “Matheson. Take him home, sober him up, and then tell him what it is you do for a living and why, when you're working, you can't afford to have anything on your mind but the job.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Gettin’ married,” Theo slurred. He kissed Matheson’s cheek and then peered at me and ordered, “You come.”

  “I’m not about to tell you it wouldn’t be legal.”

  “Don’t care.” He sounded like a three-year-old. “Gonna get married.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Matheson, get him out of here.”

  “Yes, sir. Come on, Theo.”

  “Carry me?” He hopped up, and Matheson caught him and held him without any obvious difficulty. Theo rested his head on Matheson’s shoulder and flirted his eyelashes. “My hero.”

  This was why I limited my alcoholic intake. “Go on home.”

  “Yes, sir.” He set Theo back on his feet and patted his butt. I pretended I didn’t see.

  Theo whispered something in his ear, and a smile lit up Matheson’s face. He was good-looking. Not as good-looking as Quinn, but then as far as I was concerned, no one was.

  I watched as they left my office. Love’s young dream.

  I glanced at my watch and swore. The evening was shot. Quinn would have canceled our reservations for dinner, and I could hardly show up at his door.

  Davies was going to pay heavily for screwing up my weekend.

  I ejected the cassette from the VCR and tore the tape out of it. After running it through the shredder, I bagged the bits of black plastic. Before I left for the night, I’d take them down to the incinerator and get rid of them.

  I cracked my knuckles and went to my computer. Time to do a little hacking.

  Chapter 7

  What an asshole, I thought as I studied my monitor’s screen. Davies actually believed all the information on his hard drive was secure?

  It had been pathetically easy to hack into his computer, especially since I went in via his assistant’s. Aside from the normal files and folders dealing with the public relations aspect of the WBIS—making sure the organization flew under the radar—he had one I found particularly interesting.

  Alfred Honeycutt, sometime businessman, full-time purveyor of porn, liked to dabble in politics. If Davies wanted to be the power behind the throne, Honeycutt wanted to be the one to put the king there.

&nb
sp; They had gone to college together, and according to Davies’s records, Honeycutt had gotten in touch with him a few weeks ago.

  But the more I read into it, the more pissed I became. This was no nefarious scheme to play havoc with the American economy. The plot wasn’t hatched to see money and equipment was filtered into certain companies backed by certain government officials instead of going to the troops in Afghanistan.

  I stared at the screen in disgust now. Normally I’d stay out of it, but all this bullshit had nothing to do with the government.

  The long and the short of it was to get Matheson fired, and even Matheson’s involvement was purely incidental.

  As it turned out, Honeycutt believed Theo was the boy on the videotape, he wanted him, and he would do whatever it took to see he got him.

  My cell phone rang. I checked the screen, and then touched it. “Yeah, Winchester?”

  “Mr. Davies is just leaving, sir. He had dinner at the restaurant in the William Henry Harrison Hotel with some old guy who’s a chub.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir. The man looks like he’s in his fifties, and he hasn’t gone short of a meal.”

  “Were you able to get a name?” And since when is fifty old? Winchester was one of the WBIS’s younger agents. He probably viewed it that way since he wouldn’t be twenty-five for another four months.

  “Yes, sir. I was able to borrow an apron and a pad, and I bribed a waiter into letting me replace him. I… uh… promised him the tip, and it looks like it’ll come out of my pocket.”

  Davies stiffed the waiter? I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “Put in a requisition for it.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Vincent.”

  “Now, what about Davies’s dinner companion?”

  “The man’s name is Honeycutt. Mr. Davies slipped him an envelope. I heard him say something about that being a down payment and that the rest would be deposited into an offshore account as soon as Matheson gets the boot. Um… why is Matheson going to be fired, sir?”

  “He isn’t. Anything else?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think Mr. Davies liked this guy, though.” He continued before I could ask him to explain. “Honeycutt had to use the john, and the look Mr. Davies gave him as he walked away…. I got some good pictures.”