The Gambit

by Allen Longstreet

  I couldn’t have cared less about the people we killed at the debate. All that mattered to me was the fact that Owen wasn’t one of those seventeen. Cole and Owen were supposed to die—not just Cole. A sharp pain in my head made me wince.

  “You’re giving me a headache,” I announced. He stood up angrily.

  “You’re gonna have one hell of a headache if this shit backfires on us! Getting away with murder is one thing, but doing it twice? You are pushing it, Veronica. I’ve seen people twice as cunning as you dig their own grave.”

  “Bite me,” I spat.

  “Have you been fishing before?” he asked with his eyebrows quirked.

  “Why? Where the hell did that come from?”

  “Just answer the damn question!” he retorted.

  I chewed my lower lip. He was beginning to tick me off. Perhaps he had forgotten I was the one in charge, not him. But for the time being, I would give him the satisfaction of going along with his advice.

  “Yes, when I was young.”

  “Well, perhaps your memory is foggy. I’m going to spell it out loud and clear for you. Let’s say you’re fishing at the end of a dock, and you’ve baited the hook.”

  “Are you serious right now?” I sneered, interrupting him.

  He rolled his eyes at me and pushed back his graying hair.

  “Just listen. You cast your line, and the bait sinks beneath the water. You feel a tug and pull back. You can feel the weight of the fish as you hook it, and you get excited, so you yank it up harder, reeling it in as fast as you can. Then, you lose the fish. You broke the line.”

  I was completely lost where he was going with this. So I stared at him like he was an idiot.

  “Wow,” he snorted. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

  “No.”

  “We have the election in the bag, Veronica. Owen is still out there, but we can consider him hooked. It is just a matter of time before you are reeling him in, and if you do it slow and steady, it will work. Giving the Intel guys those orders was mistake—a huge one. Your line is fraying, Veronica, and if you keep it up…it’s going to break.”

  He turned around and headed for the door. He looked at me once more and shook his head with a sigh. He closed it behind him, and I was left alone…finally. His statement had me fuming. Who the fuck did he think he was? Talking to me like he was my father, and explaining his God awful parallel that was completely unrelated. Owen wasn’t a fish. He was bright, charming, and intelligent. I could admit it. I had met him. He was the last obstacle preventing resuscitation of our plan. The plan that was cut short. No, Marc was wrong. My line wouldn’t break. It couldn’t, because I had the entire federal government helping me reel him in. I would have been a liar if I said I was content with Owen being brought in in handcuffs. I wanted more. I cringed at the thought of how much of a fool he made out of me at the airport. The older Intel guys who knew this was all a sham sure were cheeky after he escaped. I would show them what I was capable of. Veronica Hall was the wrong person to fuck with. I was ruthless, and I knew it. It had gotten me this far, so why would I change now?

  If Owen was a fish…I planned on turning him into a goddamn fillet.

  The ride was long—eight hours. We only stopped once for gas, snacks, and to use the bathroom. I pissed in a bottle. Going inside wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught. Rachel had bundled herself in so many layers she was unrecognizable. Thankfully she wasn’t given a second glance from what Briana and Grey said.

  Much of the drive had been silent. My fear of telling Rachel where we were going was palpable, because she wasn’t pleased in the least bit. She knew what me going on live TV meant, that there would be no escape plan this time. They would finally get the satisfaction of putting me behind bars. She worried for my safety, more so than I did myself. I tried to convince her it was an ambitious last effort, to tell the world on CNN that I was innocent, and I had been framed…but by who?

  That was the million dollar question. It was a question I feared I would never have the answer to. Rachel wasn’t having it, though. She couldn’t yet bear the reality that I was slowly beginning to accept. The reality that there was no way I was getting out of this a free man. Although we hadn’t talked much, she still held my hand. Our bond had strengthened since last night. One might presume it was the sex, but I was inclined to believe it was what we felt during it. Oh, how I wished our dreaming would come true. Rachel and I running off to the French Riviera, sipping wine under a foreign sun. Maybe one day, in a different life. Not this one. My fate was already sealed the moment the air marshal recognized me. It was that moment I knew wholeheartedly that I would never leave this country. The only thing saving me from life in prison was the hope that Rachel and Ian could compile a solid story in time. A story with irrevocable evidence.

  Our time was running out.

  The skyline of Downtown Atlanta came into view. It brought back memories of the time I had been interviewed in the CNN building. I told Grey I remembered it vaguely, but I couldn’t remember what floor it was on. I was treated like a hero that day. I was escorted by my personal driver, and the interview went well. It still bewildered me how quickly it had all changed. Hell, if none of this would have happened, maybe I would have been interviewed again after we won the election. My stomach twisted just thinking about the past. The alternate reality I could never revisit. One where Cole was still alive.

  Now, I couldn’t show my face anywhere. What a change…

  “It makes me nervous being in a city,” Rachel mumbled. “So many people.”

  “Easier to hide, right?” I said, pointing out the positive.

  “More people that could recognize you, and more cops.”

  I shrugged. She was right. Briana was navigating through the thickening traffic, and Grey was messing around on his laptop. There was a mobile hotspot sitting on his lap. I wondered what he was looking at.

  “The Omni,” Grey spoke up. “I’ve booked a room. It’s also connected to the CNN building.”

  “Nice,” I said.

  Rachel let out a long, drawn-out exhale. This whole plan had her upset. She turned and looked out the window, facing away from all of us. There was nothing I could do to comfort her. My decision was made, and we would all have to live with it.

  “We need to stop somewhere and get Owen and Rachel some new hair dye. Blond isn’t going to cut it any longer for you, and Rachel’s natural hair has to go. I’m thinking black.”

  “Black?” I questioned.

  “We are running out of colors, Owen. We need to get you a scarf, and a big jacket. You can’t just go walking into the hotel looking like you did in Miami. It won’t work.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed.

  We were in the heart of downtown.

  “Oh…my…God,” Grey practically exhaled the words. “Look at that billboard.” He pointed out of his window to the right. I peered out of it, and my mouth dropped.

  It was written in red spray paint. The letters dripped down the white canvas. I glanced out at the street and saw a crowd of people pointing their smartphones at it, taking pictures. There was also a news crew filming. One of the cameras was pointed up at a steep angle to capture the footage. My mind darted to one name—Viktor Ivankov.

  Was this his doing? It was so similar to the first message he left in the cabin for the FBI nearly six months ago. If it was Viktor, what was he doing in Atlanta?

  “Do you think it’s—”

  “Him?” Briana finished Rachel’s question.

  “Yes,” I answered. “I think it’s him.”

  “His timing couldn’t have been worse…” Grey huffed. “If Viktor is here, the feds are going to swarm this city. Now that you’re in the spotlight, he is in the background, but they want him just as badly as they do you.”

  “Shit.” I said.

  “What are we going to do?” Rachel asked.

  Grey glanced around at all the traffic nervously.

  “We’re goin
g to lie low.”

  I stood at the crosswalk, waiting for the pedestrian light to change. Ten seconds. Five. I hurried across with the others and made my turn to walk alongside the back of a building. I was at the federal triangle and moments away from walking into the EPA building. The front entrance was too busy, but I remembered the one time I was here, there was a side entrance. I hadn’t the slightest idea of where to go, but given my clearance, I could get in anywhere.

  Veronica should have taken away my badge. Her mistake would turn out to be a grave one. Even with my title, my mind was racing, playing out all the possible scenarios of what could happen. Would an employee try to stop me? Question me further than needed? I already had it in my head from the moment Veronica threatened me back at the CIA—I would not give up on securing the information I needed. The words echoed around in my head, and I held them there for reference. I felt like I was trying to solve a puzzle. Black Monday, the EPA, and the animals the students at MIT were testing were all a part of it. It was all connected. I just had to find the pieces that formed the big picture. Sure, there must have been a ton of false evidence circulating the country, but there was always an original. There had to be some form of documentation for the original cleanup on Wall Street, and wherever it was inside this building, I would find it.

  There were days on the battlefield in Iraq where I felt calmer than this. The change in pulse was noticeable, and I tried to quell it. The last thing I wanted was to walk in sweating bullets and looking like I was up to something. I walked through the revolving door and immediately surveyed my surroundings. The military training always kicked in, regardless of if I wanted it to. It was instinctual. There was a moderate number of people in the lobby. That was ideal because I didn’t want to stick out too much. I made my way across the marble floor and stopped at the reception desk. The woman behind the counter was young with a short bob haircut. Her red layers flared out at the ends by her ears. She smiled in greeting me.

  “How can I help you today?”

  I returned her smile and pulled out my badge.

  “Lucas Bolden, CIA. I need to access your archives. It’s a matter of National Security.”

  Her eyes grew wide and she nodded.

  “Second floor, the elevator is right around the corner. In the first office on the left, there will be a woman who can help you. She is head of the archives.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  I walked away with a grin, shaking my head at the thought of how easy that was. The badge sure did do the trick. It was a step above the FBI and a step below those snakes over at the NSA. I rode the elevator to the second floor and stepped out. I immediately felt how much warmer this floor was kept compared to the lobby. The carpet had an outdated look to it. The faint scent of printer paper filled the air. It was a typical office. This building was like a maze, though, so I knew there had to be a lot more than meets the eye.

  There was what looked to be a break room in front of me, and I wandered a bit to my left. I found an office which I presumed was the first one. The door was open, but I still gave it a few gentle knocks.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice called from inside. I opened the door a little more. For a moment, I thought I had lost my mind. She looked far too young to be working at the EPA. Her youthful appearance was more similar to an intern. She had platinum-blonde hair that flowed down past her shoulders. It was straight and sleek without a hair out of place. I couldn’t help but notice her looks and well-built figure. She looked more like a model than a government worker.

  “What are you doing up here?” she asked with a tone. She treated me as if I were an intruder. I guess I could have understood why.

  “I need access to your archives, miss.”

  “Sorry, that is off limits to the public, sir. It is property of the federal government. Are you on the wrong floor?””

  “Nope,” I answered and handed her my badge. “I’m with the CIA, specifically Intel. I need to go through your archives. It is imperative that I do so.”

  She began to squint and studied me. I watched her eyes dart across my badge, over and over. I caught the sense she didn’t trust me at all. She handed me back my badge. I heard her exhale, and she pushed herself out of the desk chair. “Follow me,” she said. She wore a business skirt and heels. My eyes immediately went down to her ass, and it was quite nice might I add. That was my teenage mind trapped in an almost-forty-year-old body talking. My wife would have hit me so hard for looking.

  “Why haven’t I had anyone from the CIA come here before?” she questioned as she led me into another room. It was massive, with rows upon rows of file cabinets.

  “Because my colleagues are too busy kissing ass to do any real work.”

  She shot me a hesitant glare and crossed her arms.

  “It’s all sorted chronologically. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” Her voice was short, and she wasn’t very pleasant. I made a face behind her back. More teenage boy coming out in me. I hadn’t grown up yet, so why try now?

  I went to a random cabinet and opened it. I skimmed through some of the folders and saw the dates were in the early 2000s. I went one cabinet over and discovered it was from 1999. I went in the opposite direction and the year changed to 2001. With certain years, I quickly figured out that one year might have filled five to ten file cabinets. This room was gargantuan. I tried to skip around and hopefully in the process jump some years. I found 2014. Okay, now I’m getting warmer. Two cabinets over, I found 2015. I began to pull out the rows beside of that one also. Skimming through, I saw many of those cabinets were dedicated to 2015. I knew it had been a busy year for the EPA. With the bombs on Black Monday, the cargo containers from the Port of New York, and the Confinement—there was a ton of environmental impact.

  I began to pull out individual folders and investigate the contents. It took me a few minutes to find the ones containing information on Black Monday, but what I found only angered me further.

  It was the same garbage they had spewed on the media. Strontium-90 was found at the scene. Viktor Ivankov this, Russia that. It felt like it was all planted here. These were the only records they wanted to be read. Of course, there was nothing about the stray animals affected by the radiation, and it didn’t even mention that they executed them all. Something was missing.

  “Do you mind if I ask you what you came here to find?”

  I turned around to see the blonde woman standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

  “It’s confidential, miss…but I will say, it is very dire that I find what I am looking for.”

  “Have you found it?” she asked. The snarky tone in her voice irritated me. I studied her facial expression in the fluorescent lighting, and there was almost a smugness about her. Like she knew something that I didn’t. My eye began to twitch in realization of what her question affirmed. She knew I hadn’t found what I was looking for because she knew it wasn’t here to begin with. I slowly approached her with one of the folders in my hand.

  “What is your name, might I ask?”

  “Ms. Walling,” she answered. Her smug smile diminished and was replaced with fear.

  “Ms. Walling,” I said her name slowly and intensely. “I haven’t found anything besides this garbage. Whatever it is you know about what I haven’t found, I suggest you help me find it.”

  She opened her mouth to speak.

  “But wait,” I cut her off. “That’s no good, either, because I would never find what I needed in here. Am I right?”

  She stayed silent and glowered at me.

  “My question doesn’t need to be answered. We both know the real evidence isn’t here.”

  “What is it you want to find so badly?”

  She was testing me. She knew that I knew, but she wanted me to say it. If she wanted to play this game, I could play it better. I was the one with the clearance. She should have been answering my questions—not the other way around.

  “It is something I believe will help pr
eserve the freedom and livelihood of every person in this country.”

  Her forehead creased. “How so?”

  I set the papers down. “The fact that you are even questioning me shows that you have been lied to so well that you are beginning to believe them, even though you know the truth about what happened on Black Monday.”

  Her eyes grew wide.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  My steps were measured, and I neared her until I was a foot away.

  “You know exactly what I am talking about.”

  She stared back at me with a blank expression. She blinked, and I noticed her chest rose and fell quickly. Her breath was rapid—she was nervous.

  “I—I’m sorry I bothered you,” she stammered and shook her head. “I need to make a phone call.” She turned back around. She made it two steps.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I warned.

  She whipped back around, glaring at me…but behind her distrust, there was curiosity gleaming in her eyes. At this point, I was going on my first whim. I just hoped my statements would lead me in the right direction with this woman.

  “Why?” she spat with a quirked brow.

  “Because, you will get yourself in more trouble than you would ever want to be in.”

  “How do you know this stuff? Like who the fuck are you?” She rolled her eyes and threw her hands up in the air. She was frustrated with my sudden appearance. It was obvious. She was having a normal day, then I came and screwed it up.

  “I know this stuff because I work with the same people who are lying to you.”

  Her eyelid twitched and lower lip trembled. Her chest still heaved with her rapid breath.

  “How do you know you’re not being lied to, too?” she countered.