by David Beers
The three of them sat at a conference table, a TV mounted on the wall showing the wreckage. The sound was off, so no one could hear what the reporters were saying. There wasn’t any need.
Another FBI building, just one week after the last attack. This one had been completely destroyed, brought down by a van with chemical explosives in the back.
Tommy looked to Waverly, pulling his eyes from the smoke and debris filling up the screen. The man was ghastly pale, closer to a ghost than a human.
This is personal to him, Tommy thought, and then, Of course it is. He’s at the helm and Luke is taunting him, dancing around him like a child who knows the adult is too slow to grab him.
“Sir, we have information from the last attack,” Tommy said.
“What are we considering the last attack? The one that happened this morning or the one that happened last week?” Waverly didn’t take his vision from the TV.
“The one last week.”
“Let’s hear it then.”
“Local cops caught one of the mercenaries last night. He was pulled over just before the Mexican border, apparently trying to cross it.”
Finally Waverly looked to Tommy.
“When did this come in?”
“We got it this morning, had been preparing to send it to you, and then this.” Tommy’s eyes flicked at the television before bringing them back to the Director. “We planned on requesting to fly down and interview him.”
“Go ahead. Go now.” Waverly reached forward and picked up the phone sitting on the conference table. He hit ‘1’ and the line went directly to his assistant. “Hey, get a plane ready for Tommy and Christian. They’re going to need to leave within the next two hours … It’s heading to?” Waverly looked over at Tommy.
“El Paso, Texas.”
“El, Paso, Texas,” the Director repeated. He hung the phone up and looked to Christian. “You look like I feel.”
“Sir,” Christian said, taking his eyes from the television for the first time since they’d sat down. “I’d request that Veronica be allowed to come with us.”
Veronica? Tommy wondered. He knew that Christian had brought her to the east coast a few days ago, but having her fly around on the FBI’s jet?
You know why. He’s not letting her out of his sight.
“That woman isn’t as bad as Luke, but she’s close. First she comes out on national TV, telling the world that Titan is responsible for mass murder, and now she’s wanting to fly private on the taxpayers’ dime.”
Christian said nothing, but held Waverly’s stare.
“I’m not going to make you give me an ultimatum, Christian,” the Director said. “Go ahead and bring her, but don’t make me regret it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
TOMMY AND CHRISTIAN were riding in one car, and Veronica was being brought in another—she had an FBI escort at all times now. Christian and Tommy hadn’t had time to go to the hotel and pack. Waverly sent some underlings to get what was needed, and they would meet them at the plane, the same as Veronica.
Tommy’s wheelchair was in the trunk and he sat in the back of the town car to the right of Christian.
The past hour and a half had been spent learning about the man they were heading to interview.
Patrick Drexler. Thirty-eight years old. Six-foot-two, two hundred pounds. He had spent eight years with the army, the majority as a Ranger. Once he retired from the military, he went into private security—Blackstone Consultants was the name of the firm. He did two or three tours (the records grew a bit hazier with the private company) in the middle east, and one in Russia. Once he left Blackstone, he and any record of him simply vanished.
Analysts were still working on finding out more information about the man, but Tommy didn’t hold out much hope. Spooks like Drexler didn’t drop off the map accidentally. He’d gone underground to make more money than legitimate companies like Blackstone could pay him.
They would study more on the plane, though Tommy was curious to see how Christian acted around Veronica. Would he be able to focus, or was he back in some kind of lovey-dovey state?
Tommy would have smiled if he could, because the person sitting next to him didn’t seem capable of that anymore. It wasn’t long ago, though, that Christian had been asking him if he should call Veronica back after their first kiss.
The desire to smile faded as Tommy thought about the distance between those two extremes: who Christian used to be, and who he was now.
“What’s bothering you?” Tommy asked. He was somewhat slumped in his seat, but that happened any time he was out of his wheelchair and sitting somewhere without the necessary restraints. It was an indignity that he had to look past.
“Besides the fact that Luke is bringing down entire buildings?”
“Yeah, besides that,” Tommy whispered.
Christian chuckled though it contained no humor. “Nothing, Tommy. That’s the only thing bothering me.”
“Fuck you. Don’t lie to me.”
Christian’s face was still busted up, though the worst of it was behind him.
“I know the story you gave Waverly is bullshit. Luke didn’t break in and beat you up. I haven’t said anything because I know you have your reasons, but don’t think I can’t see through your lies.”
Tommy watched Christian stare out the window, still not saying anything.
“It would help us if you told me.”
Still, his partner was quiet.
“I’m not your wife, but I am probably closer to you than anyone else in this world. We’ve both lost a fucking lot. To keep me out of this … it’s insane, Christian. What am I going to do? Run and tell Waverly what actually happened in your hotel room? Is that what you think?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing, Tommy. I just need some time to think through everything that’s happened.”
“More bullshit,” Tommy said. “When you say you need time, it means you need a few hours at most. This has been days.”
Christian said nothing and Tommy finally looked elsewhere. He could speak until his vocal chords died completely—it wouldn’t matter. Whatever happened in that room, whatever was bothering Christian, he wasn’t going to talk. At least not to Tommy. At least not yet.
And what did Luke do when he wanted to know something? Tommy wondered. The bastard set up a surveillance system inside Christian’s house. He knew everything that happened, everything Christian thought.
Why don’t you do something similar?
If you want to know what he’s thinking, why don’t you pay attention when he doesn’t think you are?
“YOU’RE THE COP TITAN PARALYZED?”
Christian didn’t look away from the man in front of him, even as he taunted Tommy.
“You were all over the news for a while. It felt like I couldn’t turn on the TV without seeing something about you. And now, here you are, in the flesh. Small world, I suppose.”
Patrick Drexler. Former military turned mercenary. Christian had learned everything he possibly could over the past few hours about the man. It was six in the evening and the plane had landed an hour ago. The cops had transferred Drexler to the FBI building in El Paso, giving up jurisdiction willingly enough. As with the rest of the world, they wanted nothing to do with Luke.
“Look,” Tommy whispered. “I don’t want to sit here talking to you any longer than I have to, so tell us what you know, and we can move on to getting you in front of a judge.”
“I asked for my lawyer six hours ago. Why isn’t he here yet?” Drexler said.
“We haven’t been able to get in touch with him,” Christian spoke up. “Mr. Lawrence is a tough man to find, apparently.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he is. Why don’t you try calling the number I gave you?”
Of course Drexler was correct. They hadn’t actually called the phone number they’d been given, though a federal prosecutor would find it tough to prove. The IT group had used some IP
rerouting to ‘call’ the lawyer’s number, though in the end, the call went nowhere. A technical forensic team could figure out, but right now, no one in the FBI really gave a damn.
“We’re still trying to find him. In the meantime, why don’t we just talk?”
“Even by saying that, you’re violating my constitutional rights, Special Agent Windsor. Don’t they teach you anything about the Constitution at Quantico?”
All of it was true, but again, Christian didn’t give a damn.
“Tell us who hired you and we’ll get you all the lawyers you want. Hell, I imagine you’ll be granted immunity if you testify. We’ve got a lot of leeway on our side, Patrick.”
“You know, I had no idea we were working for Titan. Not until that woman started talking on television, and then you guys were forced to admit it. To be honest, I didn’t really know what the point of the operation was, only that they were paying more than anyone else at the time.”
The man spoke so freely because he knew none of this could be used against him. His rights had been violated and he could sing a tune for the next sixteen hours, detailing out all the crimes he’d ever committed, and in the end, he’d walk.
“He did a number on your face, boy. You know that? I’m surprised you survived. A knife through the skull like that ….” The man shook his head. “Should have caused more damage than it did. Maybe Titan isn’t so deadly after all.”
Or maybe he did exactly what he wanted to, you arrogant prick, Christian thought.
“You know you can say anything and we can’t use it against you. So why not just give us a name? One name and Tommy and I will find a way to get you out of here. Might not be today or tomorrow, but maybe you just got pulled over for a broken taillight and no one found an AR-15 sitting in your trunk.”
“Aren’t you military spooks supposed to be smarter than that?” Tommy asked.
The levity on the man’s face died; he knew he’d fucked up by keeping that weapon on him—it had been colossally stupid, because it matched up perfectly with the weapons left at the attack sites.
“I can still walk. So you tell me who’s smart.” Drexler looked at Christian. “Do you think I spoke directly to whoever did the hiring? That’s not how it works. There must have been 300 men at all those sites. No one has time to individually recruit each person. I don’t know who allegedly hired me. I don’t care either.”
Christian stood up from the table. He looked at the camera in the corner of the room, the eye recording everything. It had him on record offering illegal deals to the detainee. Christian didn’t care, though, and for once, he thought Waverly might not either. The recording would disappear, because the rules were ceasing to matter. Another attack was imminent, and Christian knew it with certainty. Luke had given him a choice, and he wasn’t going to stop killing until Christian did his bidding.
“I know you’ve heard rumors, Patrick. That many people aren’t hired without rumors springing up. So give us a rumor. Give me something to use.”
“Get me some guarantees and I’ll talk. Until then, I’m not saying anything else.”
Christian stared at the camera. It would do no good to threaten the man’s life, and Christian knew it. The mercenary had made a damning mistake keeping the weapon on him, but he wasn’t dumb, and he certainly wasn’t scared of death.
He turned to Tommy. “Let’s get him some guarantees then.”
IT TOOK ANOTHER TWELVE HOURS, but the guarantees were there, all right in front of Patrick Drexler. Christian had also given the okay to get Drexler’s lawyer here. Putting papers in front of the man would do no good if he didn’t have someone trusted to tell him everything was legit.
Which it was.
It had gone all the way up to Waverly, and the basics of it were simple: Drexler was pulled over for a busted taillight, paraphernalia was found on his person, but his cooperation in an existing investigation would cause all charges to be dropped. Testimony in open court not necessary. The record would be sealed and then expunged at the end of the year.
Those were the technical details.
Christian wanted a name and then this man could run down to Mexico and live there forever. He might be a killer, capable of atrocities, but he wasn’t who Christian was after. He was what Lucy Speckle might term nonessential.
Christian was willing to let a killer go if it brought them closer to Luke.
“Everything looks good,” the lawyer said. “You’ll have a record, but it’s sealed, and in a year, it’ll be gone completely.” He was focusing on the documents sitting on the table before him, but he had been pissed when he first arrived. He knew the game Christian and the FBI had been playing, and had threatened to sue from now until the end of time.
The problem was, the weapon charge would have stuck, even if nothing Drexler said inside the interview room would. The weapons charge was legitimate, and all the rules had been followed. So, he had to play ball if he wanted his client to get off clean.
“Alright,” Drexler said. “Let’s not waste any more time, because I’m tired.”
“We all are,” Tommy said, and Christian knew that was perhaps the truest thing ever spoken. No one had slept in the past 12 hours, and it was nearing 7:00 in the morning. Christian and Tommy were fueled by caffeine and hate, but both were quickly running out.
“The rumor is a man named Charles organized everything.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Tommy whispered. “If you think we’re letting you go with a first name, you’re even dumber than I thought.”
“Just pulling your leg, my crippled friend,” the mercenary said. “Did Titan kill your sense of humor when he killed your fiancée?”
Tommy said nothing.
Good, Christian thought. Stay strong. Fuck this guy.
“Charles Twaller,” Drexler said, his eyes still holding Tommy’s.
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s high up. I’ve never met him and I doubt anyone who was on the job had met him, either.” No humor in the man’s voice now. This was the trained killer that rested beneath the clown-like mask he had worn the rest of the day. This was the man who had gunned down innocents and then left before he could get what he deserved. “I’ve heard about him. He’s fat and he’s a psychopath. He deals in munitions, primarily transportation and storage. I’ve never seen him doing operations like this, so I imagine that’s where Titan comes in, if Titan is behind this. I don’t have any knowledge on that.”
“What else do you have knowledge on, Patrick?” Christian asked.
“That’s it. I think Twaller may dabble in drug transportation from time to time, but I don’t know much about him. I only know this because I did research after I was contacted for the job.”
“Who contacted you?” Tommy asked.
“That’s not pertinent to our agreement,” his lawyer said.
Drexler said nothing.
“That’s the deal we cut? A name and hearsay?”
Christian liked hearing Tommy talk like this; it had been a while since he saw the man in his element, and even confined to a wheelchair, some of the old Tommy was coming out now.
“That’s what you wanted,” the lawyer said. “Now you have it. Is there anything else?”
“Why do you say he’s a psychopath?” Christian asked, ignoring the lawyer.
“He kills drivers.” Christian was still amazed at the change in the mercenary. He was like a robot now, giving out information as it was asked, but nothing else. This Charles Twaller might be a psychopath, but Christian thought one sat in front of him right now, too. “The people that transport his goods, he likes to kill them. He’s gotten in trouble for it before. The cartels and such don’t take kindly to their men being killed, but he’s skated by so far.”
“What’s his next attack?”
“I don’t know. I was contracted for one job and I completed it.”
“Why did you take it?” Tommy asked. “Most of your colleagues died. You’re the first
one we were able to take alive.”
“Not pertinent,” the lawyer said.
Christian smiled. “Fine. This will be enough. You both can get the fuck out now.”
IT WAS one in the morning when Christian finally returned to his hotel room. He’d been able to nod off for 20 minutes earlier in the day, but other than that he hadn’t slept at all.
Exhaustion wasn’t a strong enough word. Christian wasn’t sure the English language possessed one.
Veronica was up and waiting on him. Christian had made sure there were two beds available, though he wasn’t going to put her in a separate room. It was too risky. Even with the FBI agents standing outside the door, he thought one more line of defense—even if only him—was better.
“Didn’t want to risk my seduction?” Veronica said, turning the television on mute.
He hadn’t been to the room yet, but knew she was talking about the separate beds.
“Sex would complicate things.” In his exhaustion, he was reverting back to blurting out whatever came to mind. Veronica (and his mother, and Melissa, and a host of other people) had helped him work on it, but he just didn’t care right now. He placed his bag next to the bed and then fell on the mattress.
He turned to his side, facing Veronica. A lamp hung on the wall between them, the light shining.
“You always knew how to woo a woman, Christian.” She turned the television off and rolled on her side, the former lovers staring at each other. “Are you ready for bed?”
“I’m not sure I can sleep right now.”
“You look like you could sleep forever.”
“I think that’s death.”
“Then you look like death,” she said, smiling.
Even in his current state, he couldn’t help but fall in love with that smile. Every time she did it, he fell again. If only things could have been different, if only Luke had never existed.
Then you wouldn’t even know her.
“Are we safe for the night?” she asked.
