"Unless he's figured out what you can do, Christina," GJ said.
That was something Walter hadn't considered. "Why would he? It never even occurred to me this kind of talent existed."
"Me either," GJ offered, looking to both of them. “But it also never occurred to me that my grandfather was a werewolf hunter, so let's just say my world's a little upside-down these days, and I’m trying to anticipate their next moves."
"Valid," Walter commented. "Assuming he hasn’t figured it out, you go in. So, next question, what do we want to get out of him?"
"We need to know the size and scope of his organization first," Christina said, nodding to both of them as if to ensure their agreement. Only in these moments did she seem to be the senior officer running the scene. The rest of the time, there was something about her that made Walter think she was sad, alone, and not wanting to be at the front lines. Yet here she was. Was it because she agreed to it? Or maybe Westerfield had threatened her job? Walter didn't know, and she wouldn’t likely find out tonight.
“So, let's say when we have GJ walk in as Murray Marks, Dr. Marks says to Shray that GJ called him and he just arrived.”
GJ nodded. "That works. I'm not sure how to get him to describe their organization to somebody he thinks already knows about the organization."
Shit. Walter thought for another moment, "How about you tell him that GJ called and you have no idea what's going on. You came because GJ said she was staying with friends and she ran into Shray. She told him—Dr. Marks—exactly what happened. So he would need his assistant’s full side of the story.” Walter was still trying to sort it all out, herself. “That way, he could ask what exactly happened. Like, would Menon believe that you simply hadn't wanted to tattle on him?”
"It's plausible," GJ said. "That's how I got him handcuffed out there. I caught him completely off guard. He said I didn't know who I was staying with, whom my quote 'friends' were. It didn't even occur to him that I was the FBI agent I was talking about."
"Really?" Walter asked. "Doesn't your family know? You told them, right? So, wouldn't your grandfather's assistant also have heard this?"
And that was when she saw it: The expression on GJ’s face changed. Slowly, her partner shook her head. "I haven't managed to actually tell anyone."
Well, shit, Walter thought again, that was news. Walter would have told everyone. She hadn't told anyone she’d graduated Quantico only because she didn't really have anyone to tell. "All that aside, we have to figure out the timing," she said.
They then discussed how long to wait, how long it might have taken for Dr. Marks to get there. Deciding an hour was good, they went back to their houses, organized the troops, and sent a party out for Alicia and the children. With everything as organized as it could be—which Walter was now certain still wasn’t enough against these hunters—they reconvened. Then GJ straightened her back and walked into the room where Shray Menon waited.
35
GJ felt her nerves ratcheting up as she talked with Walter and Christina one last time. They’d checked everything out and then waited another thirty minutes before GJ walked into the dining room where Shray still waited.
He’d been sitting, zip-tied to the seat the whole time. As far as the de Gottardis reported, he’d asked for nothing. With a deep breath, she walked in holding her back straight and lengthening her stride. Letting her hand hang stiffly at her sides, she mimicked the stance she’d often seen on her grandfather. She had no idea if all of this was necessary, and it felt more than a little bit weird.
According to Christina, Shray was watching Dr. Murray Marks, her grandfather, come stalking into the room. If that was the case, then what he was seeing clearly didn't exist, and GJ's mannerisms probably made no difference.
Nevertheless, she couldn't afford to break stride, so she kept it up. Shray's eyes got large, but he didn't say anything. She had no idea if he was wondering why she was strutting in here like a fool or if he was actually seeing her grandfather. Her answer came only a moment later.
Still tied to the chair, hands behind his back in a supremely uncomfortable position, he managed to lean forward just a little bit as GJ settled across the table from him, her hands flattened against the smooth surface.
"Murray!" His face held restrained excitement.
Holy shit, GJ thought. He really believed she was her grandfather. Go, Christina. Even though it still made her feel odd that the other agent could do such a thing, she mentally praised the woman.
Pausing for a moment, GJ realized she was under-prepared. Though she'd had thirty minutes, and though she'd thought this all through, she'd missed the mark on the very first piece. How did her grandfather address Shray? She didn’t know, so she threw it out there with some irritation to mask her lack of knowledge. "Shray, what's going on here?"
"Why are you here?" He was asking it even before she got the question out of her mouth.
"GJ called me. She said she'd run into you while she was out visiting her friends." It was hard to speak of herself in the third person. In response, she tried to lay it on thick, as though she didn't understand anything.
"Well," Shray said, looking furtively back and forth. Ah, he didn't want to be overheard. A lesson from hostage negotiations popped into her head: overcome objections.
"I told them we needed our space,” GJ replied. “They left." Though Shray had watched his guards walk out of the room as the fake Murray Marks had walked in, it appeared it was only her grandfather's word that made him believe he could speak freely. But—because Murray and GJ were supposedly on excellent terms—this should work. The problem came if Shray and Murray already knew that GJ knew about them.
Luckily, in the next blink, GJ realized they didn't. They knew she'd been in the basement; Shray had admitted as much to her when they were outside, but it didn’t seem they had known, until she told Shray, that she’d thrown in with the FBI, that she was hired and on the payroll. She used that to her advantage, hoping that maybe he still didn’t quite believe her, or that he wouldn’t out her. "Well, she said that you had talked to her about something she found in the lab."
Shray nodded, his head moving up and down quickly, his agreement measurable by quick jolts of his chin. "Yes, I told her we knew. I don't know if I was supposed to. I mean, she's been sneaking in for months now."
So, they'd known about that all along. Well, crap, she thought. She tried not to let the flat line of her mouth falter. It was a common expression her grandfather wore when irritated or confused, and she aimed to keep this up as best she could.
"Who's out here? Who came tonight?" GJ asked, as her grandfather. The slight affectation of an English accent wound through her tone because he swore he had picked it up from so much world travel.
"Exactly who you said."
Another oh, shit crossed through her mind, this one sharper and darker than the one before. Not only was her grandfather involved, he had apparently ordered a mass genocide on non-random members of the de Gottardi-Little family tonight. Son of a bitch. She wanted to arrest him right there on the spot, but she couldn't, because she suddenly realized another flaw in their plan.
What happened when Shray wanted to see Murray and GJ together? It wouldn't happen, couldn’t happen. She pushed on, aiming to collect the information they’d all agreed upon. Walter and Christina were just beyond the door. Though she had promised that no one was listening, they were listening hard.
"What was our final head count?" she asked, thinking that might be something her grandfather would say, though she had no idea what the protocol was, or what lingo they used for a situation like this. Did they talk in terms of werewolves? Did they just say dogs, as Shray had done before? She'd have to remember to use that.
Her grandfather’s assistant shook his head. "Zero. We got none of them and they got me."
Mortified, GJ covered for her natural expression. She’d been asking how many of his own people had showed up. Shray had taken the question to indicate a bod
y count. She had to assume that was because they’d spoken in terms of body counts before. Without showing it, she swallowed her revulsion and continued.
"Well, it's kind of your own fault," GJ said as Murray. Her grandfather didn't suffer fools and he didn't seem to ever believe that the fates were against you. If anything bad happened, it was your own fault. It was a lesson he'd taught GJ early on in life, and she intended to reiterate it to Shray now as well. "How many of our people?" she asked.
"They didn't get any."
"How many showed?" She asked again, thinking that an organization like this probably didn't all live together on a plantation or a military base or even a farm like the one she was currently sitting in the main house of. Chances were, they had come from all over.
"Fifty-eight," he said, his head count fast and sure. She had to believe it was accurate. It was more than they'd seen, more than they'd counted, GJ thought. Even while she was out there in the woods tackling Shray, handcuffing him and bringing him in, she had probably been surrounded. It was plausible the only reason nobody took her down was because they saw her with Shray, and they saw the way Shray interacted with her.
Just then, another thought crashed through her mind. Maybe they knew her—or at least knew of her. If her grandfather was so high up in this organization, maybe he'd spoken of his granddaughter. Maybe they knew the name “GJ,” and when Shray had said it out there in the woods—loud enough for everyone to hear—maybe they'd instinctively backed off knowing that they shouldn't get themselves tangled with Murray Marks' granddaughter. Another breath. Short and sweet, she reminded herself. Get in, get out.
"Are they still out there?" she asked, this time keeping her voice low, signaling to Shray that she understood.
He shook his head, the negative coming through small and tight. He was pissed about that, unable to even look up from the table surface. GJ understood that this was what the man believed, but that didn’t mean there weren’t wanna-be heroes out there, waiting to come back and break him out. Or kill his captors. Or take down the whole compound. She couldn’t cover the disturbed sigh that worked its way out of her lungs. Thinking about what her grandfather would do, she tried to make it work.
She looked Shray in the eye and asked, "You really pissed the bed, didn't you?"
36
As Walter stood beyond the doorway listening in on the conversation that GJ was holding with her grandfather's assistant, she felt her blood run colder and colder. It appeared whatever mojo Christina Pines was using was working, and working well. Next to her, Christina stood listening, but Walter could see the tension in the woman's muscles. She noticed the way her hands occasionally pressed flat against the drywall and clasped at it, almost the exact same way she'd seen the woman do to the surface of the table the other night. It indicated she was doing something even if Walter couldn't see it.
But Walter could hear it. From the other room with no eyes on the situation, she could hear GJ's voice come through clear as a bell, but it was obvious that Shray Menon was hearing the voice of Dr. Murray Marks, his mentor, long-time friend, and boss.
Next to her, Christina let out a slow breath as Walter stayed close to the wall. The wire from the listening device was not long enough to allow more than a single step back from where she held the receiver against the wall. The other piece went into her ear, keeping anyone around from hearing what she and Christina were listening in on.
The solid nature of the wall transferred the sound relatively well. It was a physics issue that she’d had to have GJ teach her several times to pass the test in class. Now she heard every word even though she found she didn't want to. The number of hunters was higher than those they'd seen. There had been people out there that she hadn’t known about at all, and that wasn't the most disturbing thing.
What was most disturbing to Walter was that this was the “local unit.” These were the people they'd been able to assemble in just a matter of a few hours. It almost stopped her heart to think there were nearly sixty people available who believed in the need to kill others unlike themselves. And that these were just the ones who felt they could get here and meet up on time. Not only that, they were prepared. These people each came with their own uniform, safety gear, rifles, and ammunition. They had gone so far—believed in the myths deeply enough—to cast silver bullets themselves.
It was stupid. Walter understood. Even so, she was more than a bit grateful for the mythology they embraced. There was every possibility the ridiculousness of that silver bullet had saved Burt de Gottardi's life. Silver was lighter in weight than lead. It flew slower, and it didn't warp quite as badly as, say, a hollow point could upon entering the body. The very thing they had planned on using to kill him had likely saved him.
Still, casting your own bullets spoke of dedication, of hours of work, of the long-term gathering of resources. This was no longer a group of hunters. It was well beyond load up your guns and get 'em, boys. This was an organized plan. It was a militia, and as she listened Walter came to understand it was actually worse. This wasn’t even a militia. It was only part of a militia.
She heard GJ's voice from the other side. "All right, Shray. Let me talk to GJ. See what I can do about getting you out of here."
Walter heard the steps as her partner stood and walked through the door. As it opened, GJ didn’t make eye contact with Walter or Christina on either side in hopes that Shray wouldn't notice that she was talking to people who'd been hanging out just beyond the door, making her promise that no one was listening into a blatant lie.
She closed the door on him for the briefest of moments, and Walter saw that she shook with small shudders of anger, fear, and more. That's also when Walter noticed the breach in protocol. GJ should have let Art, Will, and others with guns rush back into the room and surround Menon. Instead, she'd given him a momentary chance to break his bonds and make a move.
As Christina pulled GJ aside, holding her hands, Walter calmly opened the door and ushered the others in. To her trained eye, she didn't see anything amiss. With a small nod she motioned Art aside and whispered, "Check his bonds. He had a moment alone. Be thorough."
Art nodded, and the group resumed their positions. Again, barrels of the rifles aimed down. Handguns pointed more toward Shray's feet than his heart, but the fingers were on the trigger guards, and these people were ready. Shray Menon needed to worry about vengeful de Gottardi-Little family members mistakenly firing on him when they shouldn't. Walter, on the other hand, didn't really worry about that at all.
It was Christina who led the trio a good distance away, back to the room on the other side of the house where they’d first discussed this interview. The room where they’d spent their half hour planning and acted as though it was the time taken for Dr. Murray Marks to arrive at the distant compound.
GJ's breathing was noticeably evening out as they walked further and further from the room. Walter could only surmise that GJ had been forced to hold it together in front of a man she knew well as she heard the same chilling details that Walter had.
"You okay?" Walter asked in low tones. It wasn't a question she asked often. Not of her troops, not of her partners. But right now, she understood. She hadn't been around for the Civil War. She hadn't had to watch people kill their own family members, and in essence, that's where GJ was headed.
When GJ nodded, Walter believed her. The words that followed gave Walter a little more insight into just how tough GJ Janson was. "I'd say I'm losing my family, but the problem is I lost them a long time ago. What I'm doing now is learning that I lost them."
That was something Walter had never encountered, growing up the way she did—being at loose ends until she joined the military, and then on active duty. People woke up with you. They went out with you. They either came back, or they didn't. There was none of this sense of long-term loss and need to keep secrets. There had been no time or place for that in her life, yet here she was.
It was Christina who pulled them into the room, c
losed the door, and made sure that their voices didn't get back to Shray Menon. Normally, they would have been more cautious with the family members nearby, but if there was anything Walter believed right now, it was that none of them were going to help this man. So at least, no leaks from this room would reach his ears.
"We have maybe one more shot at him," Christina said. "One more time that GJ can go in there and be convincing as Dr. Murray Marks and get more information out of him. After that, he's going to wonder why he hasn't been released, or why he hasn't seen GJ again. If we take it too far, he’ll likely become more belligerent."
As Christina explained this, Walter had to wonder: did Christina just push people? Or could she go digging into their minds too? Was she reading something from the man? Walter didn't know, and there wasn't time to ask or figure it out. They had to keep going. She would have gladly done the work and taken this hit for her partner. The emotional effort it cost GJ wouldn’t have happened to Walter. But she couldn't pull off pretending to be Murray Marks. GJ had to think on her feet and know what her grandfather would have said in the same situation. Walter simply couldn’t run the assignment. So she said something she knew would hurt her friend. "We have to send her back in."
37
GJ was about to go back in and run her second stint posing as her grandfather when her phone buzzed. Though they'd alerted Westerfield to everything that had happened and updated him on the path they’d taken and the results they’d gotten, he hadn't yet answered the phone. GJ could only assume that he and Wade were up to their necks interviewing the two in the hotel. Maybe they were letting the captured hunters in on what had gone down at the farm tonight now that he had information. But he hadn't returned their calls yet, so when the phone buzzed she picked it up immediately, thinking it must be Westerfield.
Salvage: A Shadow Files Novel Page 20
