On The Black: (A CIA Thriller)

by Theo Cage

  “Never anyone else?” Any other traffic on the road?”

  “You saw the road. No one would go up there.”

  “How about in the winter months?”

  “I drove a snowmobile up. Same day. Same delivery.”

  “How did he pay you?” asked the leader.

  “Cash every time.”

  The leader perked up. “Cash? How much?”

  “Fifty dollars. Another hundred for the supplies.”

  “That's a lot of cash. Where did he get that from?”

  “He must have had it hidden somewhere cause he never left the ridge.”

  Wilson could see the leader considering the options. The mountain man must have taken the cash up when he first found the cabin and stored it somewhere. Was that what they were after? The money?

  “What did he tell you about himself?” asked the leader.

  “Nothing. I don't even know his name. I know nothing about the guy, honest.”

  “His name is Rice,” said the leader. Wilson shook his head slowly. Something told him that knowing the man's name did not bode well for his future. “What else? Where did he come from?”

  “He told me he was up in the mountains to get away. He didn't want to talk about his past. If I asked too many questions, I didn't get a bonus.”

  All the men stared at their prisoner; the only sound the floor drain gurgling. Wilson felt like he had reached a point in an interrogation where the tortures are starting to doubt the value of the prisoner. Questions of disposal become a topic of discussion. I'm too young to die, he thought.

  “There's something else,” said the leader. And as if to confirm that, Wilson jerked his head up involuntarily. The leader smiled. “I was right, wasn't I? You have something. A rabbit hole.”

  Wilson looked at the leader with blood-shot eyes, still hacking up water from deep in his lungs. Every breath like a kick in the ribs.

  “If I was Rice, and something was to happen to me, like getting eaten by a bear or falling down a cliff, I would want to send out a final message. And there is only one person who would ever know that. Because Rice had no phone access or Internet up there. That's you, Wilson McFee. You're the rabbit hole.”

  They applied the water torture a third time, only longer and more aggressively. Wilson was crying by the time they were finished. His sinuses felt as though someone had ripped them out of his skull. The pain was unbearable and all consuming. And he couldn't stop coughing and puking. He just wanted it to end. He no longer cared if they killed him. So he gave the leader the information he needed - the phone number and the password. Who cared about ten thousand dollars? He would never see it anyway.

  They left him then, cold and shivering on the cement floor and went upstairs.

  Wilson cried some more, hacked up more water and even some blood. He had torn up his lungs pretty good. He was shaking with the cold. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted this to end.

  Several hours later, the two bodyguards came back and he got his wish. They applied the hose technique until he drowned.

  That night, they drove to a partially submerged dock on the Fredriks River and tossed his body into the muddy current.

  CHAPTER 46

  Bismarck, N.D.

  TWO MORE DAYS, thought Britt. Two more days and I’m back to work at St. Alexius. The night shift for a week. That would still give her time with her patient. She could keep an eye on him during the day, skip sleep for as long as she could.

  He was sitting up in the front room where the light came in through the two ceiling height windows. Only now she had the curtains closed. He was worried about being seen. Every day he told her he needed to leave and every day she made a strong medical argument for him staying. She was running out of excuses.

  This morning she decided to cut his hair.

  When he came to her, out of the sky, she thought he looked like a mountain man who had chopped away at his long brown hair with a hunting knife. Which was probably true. Not what you would expect from a space traveler.

  She gave him a careful trim, took her time, ran the curls through her fingers, touched his neck briefly. He didn’t seem to notice. But she gradually became aware of how special the moment was for her. Touching a man again, innocently, lightly. They talked about her life, which was nice too. How often had anyone cared enough to ask her lately?

  “I fell in love with this place years ago, but the couple would never sell. They had lived here for decades. It was just a hobby farm. They had a milk cow, some chickens. Not much more.”

  “You’re patient.” Rice said, dipping his head forward so she could clean his neck with a trimmer.

  “Not really. I would show up every three months, knock on the door. They would invite me in, make me tea. And then tell me they weren’t interested. I kept that up forever. I was like a stalker.

  “Then one day their son shows up at our door to tell me they had a bad accident. They died together. Her husband had a heart attack driving home from church and they hit a tree. Sad, but they went at the same time. I always wondered if it was intentional, like a secret pact. They were both in their eighties.” Britt stopped her recollection at this point, worried that she had run on too much. But also curious to know what he thought of her story. If anything.

  “Were you ever married?” she asked. “Because I don’t see a ring.” Before he could answer she added “But now I feel foolish because it could have come off in the crash.” Rice lifted his hand and rubbed his finger where he wore a band for years.

  “No. I didn’t lose it,” was all he said. Another moment of silence.

  “So you’re not going to tell me anything about why you happened to land in my back pasture?”

  “You’re safer not knowing.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.”

  “Every day I’m here, brings them closer. I really have to leave.”

  “You can’t yet. You’re not recovered.”

  Rice laughed. “I think you’ve run out of medical excuses to use.”

  “So when? You’ll just walk out of here? No car?”

  Rice was considering asking to use her SUV. Quite a favor to ask of a stranger she only met two days ago. Renting a car required a credit card. He was sure if Kreegar’s men were canvassing the area they would also be watching for taxis. So that left slinking away on foot in the dark.

  Rice was tired of running.

  When she finished, she gave his hair a final combing. Maybe she lingered a bit longer than necessary. And stood close enough for one of her breasts to lightly touch his ear. She suggested a shave and he nodded his head.

  She had an old can of shaving cream that still worked, not even sure where it came from. She spread the white foam through his beard after cutting off the biggest chunks with her scissors. Then she took the razor she usually used on her legs and ran the blade across one cheek.

  Britt had never shaved a man before. She liked the pull of the beard on the razor and the fresh smell of the cream, the clean naked skin exposed. She wiped the razor off on a towel and took a second stroke below his chin, his head raised up to accommodate her. Her voice felt trapped in her throat, a wave of emotion welling up from somewhere.

  She managed a third stroke across his chin, and then stopped. She peered down at him. He was staring at her, curious and about to say something so she lowered her head and placed her lips on his. She held them there for several seconds, tasting the menthol, feeling her head swim. Then he reached out to her and pulled her closer.

  CHAPTER 47

  Bismarck, N.D.

  RICE’S FATHER WAS OBSESSED WITH HARD WORK, common sense, and never trusting anyone. Rice didn’t think his dad ever said those works precisely, but he knew it from the way he lived. Yet he had met a lot of people who were rich and powerful who never worked a day in their life. Was that the common sense his Dad always talked about like it was a precious metal?

  Try as hard as you want, he thought, but luck trumps everything.
The stealth copter they called the ZI9 went down over a random field south of Bismarck, in one of thousands of private yards, and the one he landed in was owned by a professional nurse with a heart as giving as an angel. Rice didn’t believe in angels – he’d seen enough in life to convince him they didn’t exist. But Britt? She lived to care for others. You know the kind. You go to the hospital to have your tonsils removed. There’s a tall God-like surgeon, hospital staff buzzing around like busy ants in a hive. And then there’s this one nurse. You are just another patient, but she smiles at you like you’re her long lost brother. Britt was the epitome of that ideal. And Rice had the luck to land in her flower garden.

  They were lying in bed together, a gray sky peeking through the blinds, Rice feeling guilty. He had delayed his decision too long.

  “What made you decide to go into nursing?” he asked, his hand on the curve of her back.

  “Hey. I’ve been answering all the questions today. How about you?” Rice wasn’t sure where this was going to go, but was willing to give it a try.

  “OK. Ask me.”

  “You said you used to work for the government. That covers a lot of ground. Something tells me you’re not a letter carrier.”

  Rice rolled over on to his back and looked at the ceiling. The delay was probably already an obvious tell, but he didn’t want to build this relationship totally on lies. Then it struck him. Relationship? Was that what this was becoming?

  “Everybody thinks if you work for the CIA you’re a spy or an agent. I got hired out of University as an analyst. It was pretty boring work.”

  Britt turned to him and ran her fingers along his abdomen. “So this is a paper cut then?” She was referring to a scar on his left side, all that remained of a bullet wound from many years ago. She was a nurse. Rice had to assume she had seen that kind of thing before.

  “Overtime. I moved up into active duty. It happens. I was a soldier for a few years.”

  “A soldier? In the CIA?”

  Rice laughed. He knew that was funny really. Because that was exactly how it worked. He had no plans to become an agent. The agency looks for people with potential and trains them into the role so it happens in small steps.

  Right out of college Rice joined the Navy, and learned if you applied to the Seals program, you got a nice fat check on signing. He seemed to remember it was over $10,000. He had no idea what he would be getting into, but he needed the money. Rice’s family wasn’t rich and he was flat broke from three years in College. He was no tough guy or jock. But he ran in college, so he was able to handle the boot camp training. Maybe survived is a better description. Then they sent him off to 24 weeks in basic underwater and demolition training. His Dad tried scuba training when Rice was a teenager, so that sounded interesting.

  “I joined the Navy after graduating. I was bored and I was starting to go soft in the middle. My Dad had lost his business and I decided not to add extra pressure by moving back in.”

  “You look like a soldier,” Britt said, her hand still on his stomach. “I’m not sure what it is. Besides the bullet hole?”

  “The bad haircut when you first met me, probably. Or the cruel way I curl my lip. I learned that in survival training. Really comes in handy.” She took Rice’s face in her hands and bit his lip. The lip he said was cruel.

  “Mmmm.” Was all she said, and tried again. When she pulled away she looked Rice in the eye.

  “Are you still a soldier?”

  “I’ve been retired for a while. I’m a bird watcher now.”

  Britt laughed. “Like that bird that landed in my backfield?”

  “That’s another hobby. I fly experimental planes.”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t buying any of this.

  “Why are they looking for you?” she asked. Rice watched her face, her stunning almond eyes. He had never seen eyes like hers before. He read a poem once about falling into a woman’s eyes, which he never understood until now. But he wasn’t falling. He had already disappeared. He was in there, thrashing around like a drowning man. But giving in to it.

  “I’m not a criminal. I haven’t broken any laws.” Rice stopped there, unsure where to go next. It sounded disingenuine, but he couldn’t see any suspicion in her expression. “I can’t say any more than that.”

  “Will they come back?” she asked.

  Rice ran his fingers over her freckled shoulder. “I’m guessing no. But that’s probably wishful thinking.” The thought of hanging around convinced Rice that he had to move. The longer he lingered, the more they would learn about him. They also might be interrogating Addie. Rice couldn’t stop thinking that he was lying in a soft bed with a beautiful woman while his enemies were waterboarding an innocent girl. He knew he should never have picked her up.

  “Britt. You saved my life. It’s not fair to repay you by getting you involved. These people are ruthless.”

  “When, then?”

  “Tonight. After dark.”

  “So we don’t have much time,” she said, running her hand along his face.

  Then they both heard the knock on the door. It was loud, not the reluctant rap of a Girl Scout selling cookies door-to-door. Cops knock on doors like that. Aggressively. No nonsense.

  Britt looked at Rice, the first time he was seeing anything close to fear in her eyes.

  CHAPTER 48

  Bismarck, N.D.

  BRITT AND RICE ROLLED OUT OF BED in unison, as if they trained for this moment. Rice pulled on his blue jeans and she pulled a dress over her head. Rice watched her for a second, afraid he might never see her do that again.

  “They can’t come in without a search warrant.” Rice whispered. Britt nodded as he started packing his things into his gym bag. Britt was smoothing her hair down as she walked to the front door. For a short while Rice could hear nothing. Was she using the peephole to get an idea who was there? Rice was too busy getting ready. He had his socks on, but his shoes were by the back door. Then he heard the front door hinges squeak.

  “Yes?”

  “Ms. Johnson? We’re with Homeland Security.”

  “What’s happening?” she asked.

  “We believe there still might be a terrorist in this area. We wonder if we can take a look around?”

  “What kind of terrorist?”

  “We can’t really say. But it’s quite serious.”

  “I haven’t heard anything on the news.”

  There was a pause, which meant they were becoming frustrated, but Britt was doing a good job of stalling them.

  “A very dangerous killer is loose in the area. He could be hiding in one of your outbuildings.”

  “I was in the shed this morning. There’s a field mouse in there chewing on my…” Then Rice heard a crash as the door swung open and Britt swore as the wind was knocked out of her. They were forcing their way in.

  Rice’s old commander would probably say that years of training just automatically kicked in. But ten years of stargazing had also probably dulled his killer instincts. No. It was Britt’s cry of surprise that triggered something else. Without thinking, Rice charged into her living room. She was down on one knee and the two home invaders were looking down at her, one already headed into the room in earnest.

  As a Navy Seal, Rice spent months studying CQC – close quarters combat - which he practiced in the field for years. The problem now was a simple one. Should he use deadly force? Did Rice want to kill these men? Were they really Homeland Security?

  The first agent was about six feet tall, medium build. He looked at Rice without surprise, as if he was expecting a fight. That wasn’t good. Rice was hoping to take on some covert recon agent with a big brain and tender fists. If he was Homeland Security, he would be carrying a gun and should be reaching for one right now. But this guy wasn’t. He planted his feet ready for a show down. Probably thinking - old guy like Rice? Why do I even need to unholster my weapon? Or maybe this guy just liked punching it out.

  Rice stepped into him without saying
a word, punching at the agent’s head with his right arm. The man moved his head with the swing, seeing it coming, then moved his left arm up to protect his face, doing exactly what Rice hoped. Then Rice reached up and grabbed the agent’s punching arm with both hands and put all his weight down on the right arm. There was a popping sound and the man grimaced. Rice had dislocated his shoulder. He followed him down to the floor, sensing agent number two was coming up from behind. Rice couldn’t see the second man but he could smell his proximity. He wasn’t surprised. Some people pump out a lot of fear and excitement during a fight. Was he reaching for his gun? Didn’t matter. Rice had man number one’s gun out of his misshapen shoulder harness and aimed at the second man’s face. Most Homeland Security agents were ex-FBI and most FBI had limited experience using guns. Especially in close quarters.

  “Just drop it,” was all Rice said.

  Agent number two did as he was told.

  “This woman? Ms. Johnson? I have held her captive. She knows nothing. She makes a great veggie chili though.” Rice smiled at her, but she looked uncertain. Maybe she finally realized what she was into. The honeymoon was clearly over.

  “Give me your keys,” Rice said to agent two, who reached into his pocket and dropped them on the floor. “Kick them here, buddy. You smell like a muskrat in heat. I’m staying away from you.” He pushed them across the floor.

  “Ms. Johnson? I saw some duct tape in your kitchen. Would you be so kind as to get it for me?” Britt edged along the living room wall and disappeared into the kitchen. Then Rice heard nothing. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was calling 911. He heard a drawer open and she returned with the gray tape. Unfortunate timing. Agent number one was trying to make his move so Rice kicked him hard in the neck with his heel. She jumped back. From the time Rice crash landed, she had never expressed a second of fear. Now it was clear in her face. He had metamorphosed right in front of her eyes. Rice wanted to say something, but had to incapacitate his federal friends first.