by Loki Renard
Mark looked at the statement he’d just written. Several hundred words detailing how he’d been held in an old warehouse and only just barely managed to escape with his life. All he had to do was sign it. Throw away the last shred of ethics he had to his name.
Mark put the pen down.
Fuck that. Fuck this. He was done. It was time to be Caesar and crucify some pirates.
He got up from his desk and knocked on Gary’s door.
“Come in.”
Mark walked in and caught Gary halfway through a bear claw.
Gary huffed when he saw it was Mark. The snort sent a small cloud of powder floating into the air between them caught in a sun beam.
“What is it? Don’t tell me you’re tired of desk work, we’re not putting you back out for another two weeks and that’s final!”
“It’s not that,” Mark said. “It’s about Vitali. I haven’t told you everything.”
Gary’s mustache twitched in irritation. “You haven’t? Why?”
“He threatened me,” Mark explained. “But I’m not afraid of him anymore. I’m ready to give you everything I’ve got on him.”
“What’s this everything? We’re about to file kidnapping charges on Mario Leonti.”
“That’s all part of his plan,” Mark explained. “He wants Leonti out of the way.”
“So you’re saying you weren’t taken by Leonti?” Gary’s eyes narrowed. Mark knew this didn’t look good. He should have just told them the truth in the beginning.
“No. Vitali got me when the shooting started. He held me for over a week and wore me down. He made me think my life was over if I didn’t do what he wanted. He tried to flip me. But I won’t be flipped, sir. I want to tell you everything. I want you to get him.”
“Sit down,” Gary said. “And start talking.”
18
The compound was smaller than he remembered it. When he’d been there half a month earlier it had seemed to be endless in scope. From the air, it looked like a postage stamp neatly outlined with fencing.
Mark had been denied direct access to the op thanks to his previous experiences in the house, but they’d agreed to let him watch from the air. It was the least they could do.
Down below, masses of units prepared to swarm the place. He wished he could see Angelo’s face when he saw that his brainwashing hadn’t worked and that Mark had remained true to himself in spite of everything. He would have given anything to be the one to put the cuffs on Angelo himself, but he had to watch hovering above. There would be time to gloat later in interrogations. He was going to play a role in those. Oh god yes he was. He couldn’t wait to just sit there and watch Angelo squirm.
“There the go,” the pilot commented. “Heading out.”
An order must have been given. Down below, black suited figures emerged from their transports and poured into the house. Mark shifted in his seat, thoroughly excited for the moment when Angelo would be brought out, beaten at his own game. He waited. And waited. Seconds ticked by, every one of them feeling like an hour.
FWOMP!
A weird sound and a sudden glare emanating from below made both him and the pilot squint.
“What the hell is that?” The pilot swore as light burst from the heart of the building. He had the presence of mind to send them rocketing up into the air to escape whatever it was, but they were too slow to fully escape the shock wave. The helicopter juddered and danced in the air above the violent explosion emanating from the heart of Vitali’s home. Mark held on for dear life as they were both shaken violently, riding the turbulence of destruction. By the time the pilot had control of the bird again, there was nothing but a crater where Angelo Vitali’s lair used to be.
19
Martha Boyars
Jack Kent
Gregory Foyer
Theo Wright…
Mark listened to the names of the fallen being listed at the funeral. There were twelve coffins displayed in the chapel. So many that there were no room for pews. Standing room only. The cries of mourners filled his ears and weighed upon his soul.
This was his fault.
Five days had passed since the mission went wrong. Five days in which Mark had been utterly numb. He didn’t need his pills anymore. His body had shut down all feeling and left him an empty man. He was breathing, and that was about all that could be said for him.
The whispers had started almost immediately. There were rumors that he had been the reason the teams went in. That he had avoided being hurt - even though he’d been refused the chance to go in, they didn’t care. It was all part of his sick plan, apparently.
There was little loyalty to rookies who fucked up this badly. All the care and accolades he had received upon returning had dried up. Even now, in a chapel so packed most people were stuffed shoulder to shoulder, he was alone.
He could feel their stares and knew what they were thinking. He shouldn’t have come. He had no business here. But he couldn’t leave. He had to hear all the names. He had to see all the coffins. Mark didn’t want to hide from this, the biggest mistake of his life. He’d been hiding too long.
Every day since the incident had been suffused with guilt and misery, the awful knowledge that he may as well have taken their lives himself. They had been good agents and great people. It was his fault that they were dead. There was no other way around it.
The service ended and the coffins were lifted on shoulders of men and women with hard graven visages of sorrow. Mark watched as they went past, one after the other into the cold dark grave.
“Mark, we need to speak with you.” Gary caught Mark by the arm before he could leave.
He didn’t pick up on the mood at first. He was so miserable that he couldn’t feel past his own pain. He nodded and followed Gary to a quiet spot behind the church. There were several other higher ranking men standing there. He didn’t know all their names, and they didn’t bother with introductions.
“Quick question, Mr Locke.”
They weren’t calling him ‘agent’ anymore. That was the first clue something had gone wrong. The second was when one of them pulled out a cell phone.
“We know what you said. Angelo Vitali tricked you into drawing us into a trap. But what do you say about this?”
Mark saw a still image of his muscular body lurching over Bobby Vitali’s spread thighs. It looked even more crude for being shown on hallowed ground.
“Don’t,” he said, before the agent could press play.
“So it’s real?”
“Yeah, it’s real, but… they made me do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was going to tell you after we got him,” Mark said, feeling the lameness of the words. “When they were holding me, there was all sorts of perverted stuff going on.”
“So this was against your will?”
“I didn’t have a choice. I told the counsellors…”
“We’ve gotten an awful lot of footage of you not having a choice, Mr Locke,” the agent said skeptically. “Your descriptions don’t seem to fully match… and then there’s the fact you pointed the finger at the Leonti family first…”
“He made me do that too…”
“Angelo Vitali made you fuck his boyfriend, lie to your boss, and get a score of good agents dead?”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Gary intervened. There was donut dust on the end of his tie. It was all Mark could look at as the man who had mentored him ended his career. “You’re not under arrest yet, Mark, but you’re suspended. Don’t leave the city. We’ll be in touch.”
Mark drove away from the cemetery in a daze, his mind ticking off all the probable charges he’d be facing once they got their paperwork in order. Conspiracy for sure. Twelve separate counts of murder, god knows how many associated charges of serious bodily harm. Maybe even terroristic acts. Mark could only imagine what else they’d find to throw at him. The loss of this many agents on a single op meant someone was going down for this - and he was the obviou
s choice. He couldn’t even call himself a scapegoat. It was all his fault.
Visions of cells and solitary and gang members with toothbrush shivs played through his mind on the drive home. He’d be going to prison for the rest of his life for sure. The bureau had to save face and prove that it had been one corrupt rookie that was to blame.
He pulled up to the intersection near his house. The turn for his apartment was on the left. Mark went right, checking in his side mirrors to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He took several turns around the block, then headed toward the park. He needed to think. There were probably only hours of freedom left. The fact that they’d let him leave the cemetery was a mercy he had to capitalize on.
As he parked among the happy family vehicles with the little stick figures on the backs of them, he felt so incredibly disconnected from the world. It was just like Angelo had said. He wasn’t part of it anymore. Not really. He didn’t know how long he’d survive in or out of jail.
He had one lifeline left. A cellphone he kept under the seat. It was supposed to be for Angelo to contact him, but it was also capable of dialing out. He should have turned it over to the investigators in the first place. Why hadn’t he? Had some fucked up part of him been too reluctant to sever the last lines between them?
Mark pulled it out of its taped position and held it in his hand for a long moment before flipping it open and pressing the button for the single number programmed into the speed dial.
It rang three times. Three bell like tones, each of which tolled for him and his soul. This was the end of everything. Before it could ring a fourth time, the call was accepted.
“Mark.” Angelo’s accented tones floated down the line. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Mark swallowed his pride and said the three words most dangerous words you could say to a man like Angelo Vitali.
“I need help.”
20
Angelo had given him an address. Mark drove out into the countryside, not entirely sure where he was headed. The address didn’t really seem to correspond with a building. His GPS had it basically being the side of the road.
Sure enough, after a few hundred miles, he saw one of the tell tale black vehicles sitting on the verge. It was a smart meeting spot. The land was flat for miles around. There was no way to be snuck up on.
Angelo got out of the car at the same time Mark got out of his. He was dressed in a long dark coat which made him seem taller and more imposing than ever. How long had it been since Mark last saw Angelo? He didn’t know, but it was like seeing him for the first time. An elegant, powerful devil in a perfectly cut suit. Strong shoulders, hard jaw, perfectly sculpted cheeks and those dark eyes which settled on him with the benevolence and dark mercy he craved.
Angelo left the door to the car open and nodded toward the interior with his head.
“This is the last choice you’ll ever make,” he said. “Get in and be mine, or take your chances on your own.”
Mark wanted to hate this man with all he had. Angelo was evil. He’d caused the deaths of twelve people. He had ruined Mark’s whole life. And yet, for some sick, fucked up reason, Mark had to fight the impulse to dive into Angelo’s arms and sob with pure relief.
He walked up to the car, and got in.
“You want forgiveness, you faithless fuck?”
Bobby Vitali had apparently lost a collection of favorite ties in the fire, and he wasn’t happy about it. He looked like he was on the verge of attacking Mark with his bare hands.
“Why would I want forgiveness from you?” Mark shot back. “I’m not the one who did this.”
“Stop bickering,” Angelo snapped. “I told you to get everything you wanted out of the house, Bobby.”
“Well, I forgot,” Bobby sulked. “And there was so much we couldn’t take. He owes us thousands.”
“Oh he owes us a lot more than that,” Angelo purred.
The three of them were at another country house. It wasn’t as large or well appointed as Angelo’s erstwhile lair, but it was still far nicer than most places Mark had ever been in. The discussion was taking place next to an indoor swimming pool which still had ripples playing across the surface from where Angelo had emerged. The mastermind was taking the meeting in his swim shorts, his muscular upper body bare and dappled with droplets of salt water.
The drama which had played out at his old home didn’t seem to touch Angelo. Mark watched him carefully, looking for some sign of remorse. Not a one. Angelo was acting as if this was exactly as how he had planned things to be - and the sick thing was, Mark was fairly certain that was the case. This had all been planned out. Those charges had been waiting for his betrayal. He may as well have triggered the detonator himself.
Mark sat on a deck chair in his cheap suit, his knee jolting up and down with nerves. He couldn’t help but fidget, knowing what he had just done. He’d chosen the wrong side of the law. He was a criminal now, more wanted than either of the Vitali men.
“I’m not forgiving him even if he pays us back double,” Bobby declared. “They don’t make most of those ties anymore. They were vintage!”
“I don’t want forgiveness. I don’t want anything,” Mark said. He was broken. He knew he didn’t deserve anything. He kept thinking he should just turn himself in after all and go to jail, but it was too late for that. He didn’t make the decisions anymore. Angelo did.
“Of course you want something,” Angelo said. “You want to live.”
“I shouldn’t have come here,” Mark said, looking around furtively “You’re the bad guy.”
“Oh, am I?” Angelo smirked gently. “How is that, Mark?”
“You made me kill my friends! You could have killed me!”
“I did no such thing. My home was scheduled for demolition. Borer in the walls. Easier just to drop the whole thing. The fact that two teams of agents breached the walls and tragically triggered the charges the day before demolition was scheduled isn’t my fault.”
“You sent the video of me and Bobby. You made them look at me. Accuse me. They want to put me in jail for a very, very long time.”
“I told you what would happen if you crossed me, Mark,” Angelo said smoothly. “I kept my word. Unlike you.”
Mark put his head in his hands and began to sob. This was the end. Angelo had picked him up, but that didn’t mean he was going to do anything else for him. If the Vitali men didn’t take him in, he was lost.
Vitali had constructed a trap from which it had always been impossible to escape. Freedom had been an illusion from the moment Angelo first put hands on him weeks ago. Mark finally understood what Bobby and Angelo had been trying to tell him all along, far too fucking late.
“I could have died like they did. Why didn’t I die like they did?”
“Shhh,” Angelo soothed, crouching down in front of him.
Comfort was the last thing Mark expected from Angelo. Certainly he hadn’t gotten it from anyone else.
“You should have stayed loyal, Mark,” Angelo purred, lifting his face by the chin and brushing some of the hair out of his eyes in a gesture which felt so perfectly kind he leaned into it instinctively. He needed comfort. Craved it. And the only place he could find it now was here, with Angelo Vitali. To everyone else in the world, he was a traitor. He was scum. A criminal conspirator. He didn’t know what he was to Angelo, but he knew when this man touched him that he felt something. Hope. There was a future here, and only here.
“I don’t mean to give you an out from your own actions, my boy,” Angelo said, his dark eyes so delicious beneath the wet curls of his hair. “But you should not blame yourself for everything. This is not entirely your fault.”
“What do you mean? Of course it’s my fault! I led them to you, and you…”
“It’s not your fault you were sent in unprepared for your first mission. It’s not your fault you had no back up. It’s not your fault they left you in my clutches for a full week. I’ve broken men in hours. You had no chance at al
l. It’s not your fault they didn’t even bother to check that the house was safe to enter. It’s not your fault they bashed their way in and ran around until they exploded. They’ve been deeply negligent, Mark, and they’ve hung you out to dry every step of the way.”
Angelo had a point. The same thoughts had occurred to Mark briefly, but under the weight of the judgement of his peers, he’d pushed them away.
“They’re not just coming for me,” Mark murmured. “They’re going to try to come after you for this too.”
“My lawyers are already drafting a suit against the FBI. I have very good lawyers, Mark. By the time they’re done, the FBI will be building me a new house. You don’t. You’d have a legal aid attorney who would sit there with his or her thumb up their ass while you spent the rest of your life behind bars. You were smart to come back to me. Don’t worry. I’ll look after you. You’re my boy now, and I look after what’s mine.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Angelo smiled. “Now you boys stay here. I have some business to attend to.”
“You hate him, don’t you.” Bobby spoke in Angelo’s absence. “It’s okay, you can admit it.”
“Yeah I hate him.” Mark could barely look at Bobby. “I hate him for fucking me over, for taking everything from me. I hate him for ruining my fucking life.”
Bobby nodded, for once looking somewhat sympathetic. He laid back in a deck chair, puffing away on a berry themed vape. “Angelo only loves men who want him dead.”
“What?”
“It’s true,” Bobby said, drawing a deep breath of flavored smoke. “I don’t know why, but it is. I used to think he secretly wants to die, but that’s not it. I think he just enjoys the perversion of it, seeing hate and lust in a man’s eyes, knowing he has both of the most powerful feelings a man can have focused on him. Love isn’t enough. He wants it all.”
“That’s fucked up,” Mark said simply.
“I did try to tell you,” Bobby added. “You had no idea what you were getting into. You still don’t.”
“Yeah, well. Maybe he’s got no idea what he’s gotten into,” Mark replied. He was already wracking his brains trying to come up with a way to get back at Angelo. The relief he felt at being saved from prison was tempered strongly by resentment for the way he had been played. He needed to get his own back. He needed revenge. Not just for himself, but for everyone else. For the fallen. They would have their day.
