Louder Than Words

by Brett Baker

  “You never know, he might turn up. Maybe he just had enough of Florida.”

  “He’s not the only one,” she said, finally ringing up my items.

  I paid her, promised that I’d forget her name, and wished her a good day.

  Although I’d arrived at the gas station without any idea of what to do next, I left knowing exactly where I had to go.

  Chapter 39

  I went back to the El Hombre, and let know Ashtray know that I was checking out, and thanked her for her hospitality. I’d never heard of Cross City ten days before, but as I followed highway 19 out of town, I knew that I’d never forget it. And also, that I didn’t care to ever return.

  It seemed like a good idea to stay away from the Gainesville airport, so I drove to Tallahassee, returned the rental car, and booked myself on a flight to DC scheduled for three hours later. It felt good to leave Dixie County in my rearview mirror, and I found myself somewhat relaxed as I waited at the gate while passengers boarded a flight to Dallas, which would leave before my plane to DC arrived.

  Despite lacking the information to connect the string of events, Meredith might have been on the right track when she asserted that Derek Curtis’s disappearance and his brother’s job were more than a coincidence. The news reports didn’t mention that Derek Curtis worked for the CIA, and I suspected that tidbit of information would never be revealed. However, I couldn’t ignore it. I had to go to DC and find Sean Curtis.

  The flight took off an hour later than scheduled, but I didn’t care. The extra time on the ground gave me time to research Sean Curtis. I thought about leaving the airport to find a Roost to find out what Polestar knew about him, but I suspected if they had any information they would have shared it when I told them about Derek Curtis.

  Sean Curtis had worked at DEA for fifteen years, the last ten years as its administrator. He’d served in that post under three different presidents, a testament to his effectiveness, according to the DEA website. He’d worked as a district attorney in Philadelphia for a decade before joining the Department of Homeland Security in its Counternarcotics Enforcement Division. Everything I read made him seem like an upstanding citizen protecting law abiding Americans from the scourge of illegal drugs.

  But I didn’t trust him.

  My plane landed at Dulles around dinner time, and by the time I secured a rental car, I assumed that Sean Curtis would have already left the DEA headquarters, but I decided to drive there anyway.

  Situated across the street from the Pentagon in Arlington, the DEA headquarters couldn’t have looked more non-descript. It was as if the government had decided that the DEA should take a page from the book of drug dealers and exist in the middle of the city without calling attention to itself. Stripes of windows alternated with character-free stone for at least a dozen stories. The building looked like every other building in every other suburban office park in the United States. It seemed like the sort of place that would suck the soul out of every person who worked there.

  But with a DC Metro stop right around the corner, and dozens of hotels in the area, they couldn’t have chosen a better location.

  I didn’t want to confront Curtis in DEA headquarters, and I didn’t have a good idea of what he looked like, so I decided to find a hotel and begin my search for him the following morning.

  Before I went to the hotel, I wanted to see where Curtis lived. A simple web search revealed his address on 10thStreet in DC. I parked my car near the DEA headquarters, and boarded a Yellow Line train at the Pentagon City station. Fifteen minutes later I found myself at his address, a three-story brownstone with a waist-high wrought iron fence separating a small courtyard from the sidewalk. A tree obscured the view into the large bay window with no curtains, otherwise I could have stood on the other side of the street and looked directly into the house. At the end of the block a church on the corner had two benches that provided a perfect vantage point from which to scope out Curtis’s house. I’d seen a few pictures of him online, and felt confident that I could identify him if I saw him walking near his house.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes after I sat down on the bench, I saw a man coming toward me who had the light brown hair, and muscular build that I’d noticed on Curtis. He took no notice of me as he passed, and I watched as he crossed one street and then the next so he was diagonal from me. As he headed toward his house I stood up and followed behind, maintaining enough of a distance so I could look uninterested if he turned around, but also close enough so I didn’t lose sight of him. He opened the gate in front of his house, walked up the steps, and disappeared inside.

  I caught the Yellow Line back to Arlington, and checked into a hotel around the corner from the DEA headquarters.

  Chapter 40

  The best night in a new city is always the first night. Most of the time I’ve managed to avoid encountering anyone new, and have no immediate threats hovering over me. Working for The Summit meant that I always felt at risk, but the first night in a new city didn’t add to the general risk.

  So after a solid night of sleep in a comfortable bed, with no innkeeper harassing me to buy her ashtray collection, I woke just before five, boarded the Metro, and returned to Curtis’s house. A homeless man had staked a claim to the bench I’d sat on the night before, but the other bench remained free, so I sat with a newspaper and started reading, despite the limited daylight provided by the almost-rising sun. I didn’t know what time Curtis went to work, but I wanted to be there when he left. I had no plans to confront him that day, but I had to learn his routine so I could figure out the best time to talk to him. With his brother missing, I half-expected him to stop going to work and return to Florida to oversee the search for him, so I felt a sense of relief as I watched him emerge from his house and come down the front steps. However, instead of walking toward me, which was the direction from which he’d come home the night before, he turned the other way and started walking away from me. With daylight still limited, and such an early hour, I didn’t worry about getting too close as I followed behind him.

  He walked down straight down 10thStreet without looking back. If he worried about anyone following him he didn’t show it. Ten minutes after he left his house we passed St. Patrick’s Catholic Church and then Ford’s Theatre. I pondered the fact that I could murder him right there in the early morning sunlight, with traffic surrounding us, and it would still only be the second most brazen killing ever to take place there. Half a block later we passed the FBI headquarters, and I wondered if somewhere deep inside its walls a group of agents tried to figure out how Pietro Ospina came back from the dead. Then, past the IRS building and the Department of Justice, conveniently located across the street from each other.

  At Constitution Avenue we turned right and continued walking until we reached a crosswalk with the White House on the right and the Washington Monument on the left. Curtis crossed the street, walked toward the Monument, and then turned left on Independence Avenue. Dozens of runners and walkers filled The Mall for their early morning exercise before disappearing into one of the thousands of buildings where the business of the government took place.

  Moments later he descended underground beneath the futuristic canopy of the L’Enfant Plaza Metro Station. I followed behind, and boarded the train with throngs of other workers. We disembarked at Pentagon City and he walked to the DEA headquarters, while I retreated to my hotel room.

  I wasted the day waiting for Curtis to go home. At five o’clock I took up position near the exit of the DEA headquarters and waited for him, hoping that he wouldn’t leave through another exit, or catch a ride in a car before I could follow behind. I had no reason to worry though. Just before seven o’clock he emerged from the building. I followed behind, but his journey home was much more direct than his morning journey. He rode the Yellow Line just as I had the night before, exiting at the same station, following the same path to his house.

  I spent the next two days monitoring Curtis. Both mornings we fol
lowed the same path to work, and then the more direct, easier path back home at night. He appeared to pay no attention to me, and did nothing to change his route or throw me off his scent.

  During each day, while I waited for him to return home at night, I stayed in my hotel room and monitored developments in the search for his brother. Although I knew they wouldn’t find Derek Curtis’s body – The Summit team made sure of that – I awaited word of a potential suspect, or evidence. But every news report emphasized the fact that he seemed to have vanished into thin air. They examined his car for evidence, but it was still being processed. The Summit somehow made sure that no personal data from agents made it into any law enforcement database, so we never came up as a match for fingerprints, DNA, or any other scientific sample. I didn’t worry about them connecting me with Curtis’s disappearance based on scientific evidence, but if I’d somehow been recorded on video or captured in a photograph that they circulated, the situation would become much more difficult for me.

  With no reason to worry about authorities connecting me to Derek Curtis, I could concentrate my efforts on his brother.

  Chapter 41

  After watching Sean Curtis’s movements for more than two days I had a good handle on his routine, so I felt ready to act. My training with The Summit had taught me how to handle any situation, but all things being equal I’d rather have time to prepare for a confrontation than not. I knew the best place to catch Curtis off-guard, which worked in my favor.

  I arrived at the bench thirty minutes earlier than I had the previous two days just in case Curtis planned to go to work early. He’d shown no inclination to vary from his schedule, but I wanted to be prepared. He came down the steps at the same time as the previous two days though, and as soon as I saw him I hustled from the bench to catch up with him.

  I wanted to confront him in a residential neighborhood so he couldn’t duck into an office building and be shielded by security. With only a couple of blocks until the residential neighborhood gave way to buildings with less character, more light, and a greater chance of bystander interference, I had to act right away.

  Curtis stopped at the corner to wait for early morning traffic to pass, which gave me a chance to close the gap. When the cars cleared and he crossed the street I started running toward him, assuming the sound of the intersection would shield the noise of my footfalls. By the time he’d reached the other side of the street I closed the distance to just a few feet. With no one else around it seemed the perfect time to introduce myself.

  “Mr. Curtis!” He stopped and turned around. He didn’t look alarmed, but he didn’t smile. It almost seemed as if he didn’t hear what I said, but just responded to a noise. “Sean Curtis?”

  “Yes?” he said, taking a step back.

  “My name is Mia Mathis.” I extended my hand, and he shook it without enthusiasm. “Do you mind if I walk with you. I have a few questions.”

  “Questions about what?” he asked.

  “Let’s walk, and I’ll tell you. I don’t want to make you late for work.” I started walking and when he didn’t move, I looked back, motioned for him to follow me, and said, “Come on. Just real quick.”

  He followed and asked, “What is this about?”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your brother.” I debated whether to mention his brother or not. It seemed risky. Doing so would immediately make him suspect of me, whether he was guilty of anything or not. But as I devised a strategy I decided I needed to make him as uncomfortable as possible, and rely on my instincts.

  “What do you know about my brother?” he asked, stopping in his tracks.

  “I don’t know anything about him. Just that he’s missing. It’s been all over the news. How are you holding up? I can imagine it’s a difficult time for you.”

  “It is. Very difficult.” He started walking again.

  “What do you think happened to him?”

  “I wish I knew. He was on vacation and he just vanished. Are you a reporter or something?”

  “No. I’m just a concerned citizen.”

  “Well thank you for your concern, but I have to get to work.” He started walking faster as if that would keep me from talking to him.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to keep you from work,” I said, catching up with him and matching him stride-for-stride. “That’s why I wanted to talk with you as we walked. I know you have a very important job to do.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, slowing down.

  “Do you think your brother’s disappearance has anything to do with the CIA?”

  Curtis stopped, and his eyes grew big. He turned around, as if he intended to walk back home, stopped, thought better of it, turned around again, and started walking.

  “The CIA has a history of making people disappear.”

  “I don’t think the CIA had anything to do with it,” he said. “They’re good people. I don’t have time for this nonsense.” He crossed the street, walking in front of an oncoming car. I followed, and when he got to the other side he looked back toward me and said, “I have to be on my way. Please stop following me.”

  “I’m not following you. I’m walking with you. You’ve still got a ways to walk, so I’ll just keep you company. I’ve got some more questions.”

  “I’m not talking about my brother,” he said. “It’s none of your business. What kind of person accosts someone on the street like this? Have you no shame?”

  “Did you know that your brother worked for the CIA?”

  He looked me, shook his head in disbelief, and then looked down at the ground as he walked. “You’re crazy. Who are you?”

  “I’m Mia Mathis. I already told you that.”

  “Why are you asking about my brother?”

  “Because I think you can help me find answers.”

  “I think you’re crazy,” he said.

  “Tell me what you know about Martin Coulson.”

  Curtis stopped in his tracks, grabbed my arm, and pulled me toward a hedgerow that bordered the sidewalk in front of a condo building. Had I not known who he was I would have leveled him and made him regret ever putting his hand on me, but I still needed answers from him, so I let him lead me behind the bushes.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you better back off. I’m well known in this town, and it doesn’t take much for me to make things happen.”

  “I don’t mind being threatened,” I said. “It’s a challenge. There’s nothing I like more than a challenge. So if you want to make things happen, go ahead.”

  He let go of my arm, and looked around, before leaning close to me. “Watch yourself, Mia Mathis. Asking questions around here can get you in trouble. I don’t know where you came from, but this is the big leagues. Tread lightly.”

  “Thanks for the warning. But as I said, I like a challenge. So I’ll do what I do, and you do what you do, and we’ll see where it goes. I’d hoped to have a pleasant conversation with you, and express my concern over your brother, but your reaction to a few simple questions tells me that I’m on the right track.”

  “The right track to what?”

  “Everything,” I said.

  “Are you a reporter?”

  “No.”

  “Then who are you with? What are you doing?”

  “You should worry less about who I’m with, and more about what I know, and what I can do.”

  “You’re full of shit,” Curtis said. “I’m done with this.”

  He walked away and I waited until he got to the end of the hedgerow, and called out, “Ask Dirk Oswalt about your brother. Maybe he knows something.”

  He spun around as if ready to charge me, and came within six inches of my face before stopping. I didn’t budge, and when he started to speak I smiled. “Leave it alone, Mia Mathis. If you know what’s good for you, leave it alone.”

  “Tell me what I want to know and I’ll decide whether to leave it alone. Fight it and I’ll take down all of you. That’s what Oswalt did
n’t understand either. Whatever you’ve got going on in Dixie County isn’t what I’m worried about. I want Coulson.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, and walked away again.

  “I’m staying across the street from headquarters. If you change your mind and you want to talk, let me know. Otherwise, I’ll have to go elsewhere, and I might not be able to control what happens.”

  He waved his hand in the air, but didn’t look back. I watched as he walked out of sight, and then ducked into a coffee shop for a croissant.

  Chapter 42

  As I sat in the coffee shop I realized that my time of relaxation in DC had come to an end. I’d made one person angry, so I had to start watching my back, as experience showed that an attack could commence at any moment. So as I walked to the Metro station, and then road the train back to Arlington, I employed an additional layer of vigilance that hadn’t been necessary for a few days.

  Upon arrival at the hotel I took the elevator three floors higher than my room, and then descended down the stairs. Before entering my room I paused in the hallway, and then did my usual room check, and breathed a sigh of relief upon finding no visitors.

  Now that Curtis knew that I existed, and that I was in town, I’d lost the element of surprise. Although he didn’t tell me everything that I wanted to know upon our first meeting, I’d learned enough from him to have no doubt that he was involved in Dixie County. And his reaction upon hearing Martin Coulson’s name confirmed that I’d made the right move to come to DC to look for answers. I still didn’t plan on confronting him at DEA headquarters, but I suspected he wouldn’t commute alone any time soon either. Although I preferred not to involve the families of my target—I knew Curtis was married—I’d confront him inside his home if I needed to.