The Consultant

by TJ O'Connor

  “I … know. I know.” He bent down and picked up his club—my dad’s Ithaca. “I saw car lights go around back. I didn’t hear it coming until it was too late.”

  No kidding. “Maybe your lousy music was too loud.”

  “Maybe.” He handed me the shotgun. “I didn’t know it was you. You went around front, and I went out the back. I’ve been hearing something out here for hours. Someone was out here, I’m sure of it. When you pulled up, I freaked.”

  A real intruder? Doubtful. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t do what I told you to. You might have blown my head off.”

  “Ah, probably not.” He wavered a little and gestured to the shotgun. “I was nervous with the gun so I unloaded it on the kitchen table. I figured I could reload it real fast if someone came. Except I got so scared and dropped the shells. So I ran.”

  Of course he did. “What happened to my back door?”

  “I forgot the chain was hooked.”

  Well, given the circumstances, it could have been worse. He might have shot me, or himself.

  “You know, Bobby,” I said, lifting my pistol. “You’re lucky.”

  He stared, and even in the darkness, I could see the fear in his eyes. “Damn, Hunter. Where’d you learn all that martial arts stuff?”

  “Let’s go inside.” Something jabbed me in the brain. I grabbed Bobby by the arm and shoved him sideways against the woodshed. My pistol swept the darkness. “Quiet.”

  Someone stood fifty feet away in the trees. The figure tried to blend into a large thick of scrub trees. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, but it was long enough to have a bead on Bobby and me.

  Surprise was his, but I aimed my .45 at his center mass nonetheless. “Don’t move. I’m armed. Step into the cabin lights and keep your hands away from your body.”

  When the figure hesitated, I shouted, “Now or I shoot.”

  Seconds ticked. My pulse raced. Bobby’s heavy gasps went silent as he tried to press himself through the woodshed wall.

  Seconds …

  CHAPTER 39

  Day 4: May 18, 0120 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  Fool’s Lake, Virginia

  “DON’T SHOOT. IT’S me.” Sam Mallory stepped into the dim cabin light. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Sam?” I lowered my pistol and gestured for Bobby to follow me to the cabin. “The question is, what are you doing here?”

  Sam was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with its sleeves cut off above the elbow. A large sweat stain covered the center of his chest and beneath his arms. His face glistened in the dim light and his hair was disheveled and damp.

  “Sam?” I repeated.

  He threw a chin at Bobby. “This isn’t a hotel, Hunter.”

  Sam was edgy and had something to share with the class. He wasn’t going to be nice about it. But I’d had it. His attitude had worn me thin.

  Sam thrust an angry finger at me. “I asked you a question.”

  Enough. “Yes, you did. I’m just not used to answering to snotnosed punks. Lose the attitude and tell me what you’re doing here, Sam.”

  He ignored me and went inside.

  “Hunter?” Bobby’s voice was meek. “What’s going on?”

  Good question. “Go inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He did. I wasn’t.

  I took a walk—more a stealthy sneak-and-peek—around the perimeter. Sam had emerged from nowhere and there was no car or motorcycle nearby. I walked about a quarter mile down the mountain road and found nothing. It was too dark to try and follow any kind of trail Sam might have left. Back in my early Special Forces days, I’d learned tracking in SERE training—that’s Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape. In the Middle East, we had K-9 teams for tracking, and I’d lost what little skills I’d learned. So, other than watching Daniel Boone reruns, I didn’t know much about tracking anymore. Out here, I knew enough about these woods to know that bears were behind trees, rattlesnakes under rocks, and sharks in the lake. Well, maybe not sharks.

  I jogged back to the cabin, loudly announced my entrance, and went inside. Bobby and Sam stood near the kitchen table arguing about something. The argument abruptly ended when I closed the front door.

  Sam said, looking at me like a rattler about to strike, “Okay, Hunter. Just so you know this is my place, and Mom’s. You got no right here.”

  Really? I crossed the room and stepped into him, pressing him back against the wall without so much as touching him. His face contorted and he sucked in air.

  “Pay attention, Sameh.” I leaned in close. “First, this cabin is mine, not yours. My dad willed it to Kevin and me with the provision that one took ownership in the event that the other died or didn’t want it. But that’s not the issue. It’s your attitude. Let’s start fresh. No bull. No attitude. Just answers. Quick—fast—now.”

  He stared as though I’d slapped him across the face. His lips started to move, but nothing came out. He locked onto my eyes as long as he could, but his tough-guy credentials weren’t up to the job. He broke the stare, glanced at Bobby but found no support, and surrendered with the drop of his shoulders.

  “You weren’t at the hotel tonight.” His voice was weak and timid. “You said you had him somewhere safe, and I thought you might’ve come here.”

  “How’d you get up here?”

  He looked down at the table. “I got an old truck. I parked it down the mountain a ways where the cutoff trail goes around the other side of the lake. I always parked there when I followed Dad here. It’s a hike, but no one sees me coming or going.”

  The sweaty clothes and hair. “Why sneak around? Why not just drive up and come in?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t know what was going on and wanted to find out before you lied to me again and shut me out.”

  “Lied?”

  He shoved away from the table and stood up. “You’ve been lying to Mom and me since you got here. Truth is, we don’t even know if you’re Dad’s brother. Do we? You’re in the CIA or so you say. How do we know?”

  Oh yeah, lying is lying.

  “The CIA?” Bobby’s face exploded. “No kidding? Really? A spy? An assassin?”

  “I’m no spy or assassin.” I threw up a hand to shut him up. “I’m a consultant.”

  Bobby grinned. “Have you hunted terrorists? Done secret missions and spy stuff on the enemy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ever kill anyone?” he added.

  “Yes.”

  “A spy and an assassin. Yup, I nailed it.”

  Maybe he would make a good reporter. “Forget it. Listen to me, Sam. Kevin was my brother, and yeah, I’m CIA. Was CIA. It’s simple.” I explained to him, as I had to Noor earlier, about my funwith-names and who I was, where I’ve been, and why I’m in Winchester. Sam watched my every word, looking for lies. Bobby took mental notes for his next news story, grinning the whole time.

  I was in trouble—quicksand with an anvil tied to my leg.

  “That’s that.” I retrieved the bottle of bourbon and a glass from the cabinet. “Now you know. Your turn, Sam.”

  His face twisted, and he eyed the bourbon. “Hey, we’re over eighteen. How about we—”

  “No.” I poured one shot into me and two more into the glass. “Why are you friends with Azar and Fariq?”

  The air sizzled like fat on a fire.

  “What the hell, Sam?” Bobby’s eyes darted at him and he stepped close to the table. “Is he right?”

  Sam folded his arms and lied. “No.”

  I eyed him. “Fariq and Azar at the café, remember? You seemed chummy with them. Today, you were outside Bobby’s dorm when they were there. Want me to go on?”

  Sam’s face blanched. He tried to eye me but still couldn’t hold it. Instead, he went to his fallback position. He lied. “You’re the liar in the family, Hunter. You.”

  Exhaustion. Two fingers of bourbon.

  I stepped in close again, grabbed him by the arm, and pushed him up against th
e wall. I pinned him there with one hand and searched for his cell phone with the other. It was jammed into his front jean pocket. I also found a snub-nosed .38 revolver tucked into his waistband like a gangster.

  Bobby neared panic and escaped across the room. “What’s with the gun, Sam?”

  “Shut up, Bobby. I must protect Mom.”

  There was angst in Sam’s eyes. Maybe because Uncle Hunter had scared the crap out of him. Maybe because I was nearing his secret. Maybe both. Either way, his attitude transformed into fear—momentarily.

  I held the gun up. “Okay, Sam, start with the gun and then Azar and Fariq. I warn you, at this minute, I’m not family. I’m a tired, irritated CIA consultant. So talk fast. Tell the truth and don’t piss me off.”

  Sam looked at me for the longest time. Then Bobby. Then his feet.

  I won.

  “Fine.” He pulled out a chair and dropped into it. Defeat seeped from every facial muscle he had. “Dad gave me the gun for my eighteenth birthday last year. Whenever I come up here, I carry it. I don’t know, just to shoot a box of rounds or something.”

  “Good story.” I manipulated the revolver’s cylinder, dumped the rounds into my hand, and dropped the gun on the table. “Why do you have it now?”

  “Because I want to.” His face was fire and his eyes defiant. He switched personalities like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

  “You’re only eighteen, Sam,” I said in a softer tone. “You can’t carry a gun.”

  “Who cares? Dad was murdered and someone attacked Mom. I’d rather go to jail than be dead.”

  Not bad logic, crazy as it was. “Who’d you tell about us being here?”

  He hesitated a second too long. “No one.”

  Behind his dark Iranian eyes was a lie. “You’re lying.”

  Sam’s eyes told me he was digging in. So I asked, “What about the café and Bobby’s dorm?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Instead of arguing, I tapped on his cell phone and navigated into his application settings. A couple taps on the screen later and I was looking at a GPS map of Winchester and surrounding Frederick County. On the map were dozens of red dots like pimples on an adolescent. The dots indicated where the phone had checked into the network. Places where Sam had been. With a tap here and there, I displayed the date and time he was at each location. With a few twists and pincers of my fingers, the map enlarged enough to show the location on the streets. I studied it and made a mental note of two addresses that repeatedly reported in. Many of the times of day were late hours, over and over. I stapled the addresses into my brain and tossed Sam the phone.

  “Look for yourself.”

  He caught the phone and glanced at the screen. “What’s this?”

  “A lie detector.”

  “What?”

  I eyed him. “Your phone tracks you, genius. All you have to do is know how to go back and read the data. I do. That’s a map of your movements the past week. Look close, you were at the parking garage by the café last night, Bobby’s dorm room earlier, and, oh look, Sand Town.” The last one was a guess—more a lie, really—but the look on his face said I’d just hit the mother lode of “I gotchas.”

  He pincered his fingers and widened the screen over several of the red dots. Each time he did, he cringed. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Then explain.”

  He started to when Bobby walked over and shoved him hard backward. “You rat. You’ve been telling them about me. I thought we were friends. I thought you were on my side.”

  “Easy, Bobby.” I grabbed his arm. “Sam’s gonna explain.” I looked at Sam. “Right, Sam?”

  Bobby wasn’t having it. “He ratted me out, Hunter. He’s telling Fariq and Azar everything. Right? Right?” He shoved Sam again. “That’s why they knew everything about me and where to find me, like the café. Sam was like all calm and cool when Fariq and Azar showed. He knew he was safe. Every time they show up, he’s there.”

  I didn’t like what one-plus-one was adding up to. “Sam?”

  Sam shifted his weight back and forth. He looked from the cell phone to his gun on the table. He lifted his head and snorted fire at me. “You sound like Dad—like Kevin. But you know, he wasn’t my dad and you’re not my uncle. Neither of you are blood. He thought he could push me around and tell me what to do. But he didn’t do the right stuff, either. He was a liar. If you knew all the things he did …”

  “Easy, Sam. You don’t know what you’re saying.” I reached for his shoulder, but he pulled back. “Come on, settle down. Tell me what’s going on.”

  He thrust a threatening finger at me. “You are nothing to me. You are not family. You’re just like him. Go to hell.” He snatched up his .38 revolver and bolted out the back door.

  “Sam!” I tried but couldn’t stop him. He disappeared into the darkness along the lake. I went to the water’s edge but couldn’t see him along the shore. “Sam!”

  He was hiding something. It was tearing him apart. A secret. A lie. Protecting someone. Protecting himself, perhaps? He was on the verge of a meltdown, and his surliness told me the fuse was lit and burning fast. If he melted down at the wrong time, there was no telling the damage he could do. Or to whom.

  Had it happened before? Was Sam capable of—no.

  I stood at the water’s edge for the longest time. It was something I’d done when I was a kid to sort out the many insurmountable crises of adolescence—death, an angry brother, math and English. Mostly, over girls. The gentle lapping of the water soothed frayed nerves and eased my anger. Somewhere in the darkness a night bird called. Crickets or frogs or nocturnal birds chirped across the water. All around me seemed at peace, and that unsettled me more than anything.

  Was Sam right? Was I nothing to him? Nothing to Noor? Was I just the guy who came home too late?

  No. I was the guy who would find Kevin Mallory’s killer. I was the guy who would end him. It didn’t matter who it was. Friend. Foe. Unknown. The killer ruined too many lives. He’d ruined Noor’s and Sam’s. He ruined the reconciliation between Kevin and me.

  I would slay the dragon who’d laid waste to all of us.

  I prayed it wouldn’t be someone I knew.

  CHAPTER 40

  Day 4: May 18, 0535 Hours, Daylight Saving Time

  Fool’s Lake, Virginia

  BY DAWN, EXHAUSTION took me. After Sam’s disappearance, I’d patrolled the cabin perimeter every few minutes looking for any sign of intruders or monsters. Last night, Bobby claimed he’d heard someone outside the cabin before I’d arrived. Maybe it was Sam. Maybe it was a bear or a lost lumberjack. Maybe it was Bobby’s imagination.

  I’d found only darkness.

  Bobby was on the couch in an old sleeping bag. Earlier, I’d watched him sneak a few fingers of bourbon and that calmed him. Then, he curled up and went to sleep. I’d breathed a sigh of relief. He’d finally shut up.

  I slumped in a chair and caught an hour or so of sleep, but it was restless and lasted just minutes at a time until I gave up. At seven thirty in the morning I found enough old coffee grounds to make a pot. Before I poured my first cup, though, I heard a car—cars—approach.

  I rousted Bobby. “Someone’s coming. Get into the back bedroom. Stay there until I come for you.”

  “Huh?” He tried to stand but was twisted in the sleeping bag. His struggle left me wondering. “What?”

  Through the front window, I saw the front bumper of a car a hundred yards out at the entrance to the mountain road. “Get a move on, Bobby. Lock the bedroom door.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay.” He untangled himself and stumbled into the bathroom instead of the bedroom. Instead of locking the door and hiding, he relieved himself into the toilet.

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  The shotgun sat on the kitchen table, loaded, and I scooped it up and headed out the back door. By the time I’d made it to a safe position at the corner of the cabin, three cars waited for me.

 
Artie Polo stepped out.

  Now, how did he find me? Sam? Four more plainclothes cops and Feds stepped out of the other vehicles. Somehow, Artie had found his way up the mountain. No one knew about this place. Sam was the only answer.

  I walked into Artie’s view. “Good morning.”

  “Dammit, Hunter.” Artie was not a morning person. “Where’s Kruppa?” He glared at the shotgun in my hands. “Lose it.”

  “How’d you know I was here?” I set the shotgun down on the front porch and stepped away from it. I didn’t want to give his Wild West pals an excuse to give me a bullet enema. “How’d you know I had Kruppa here?”

  “I’m resourceful.” He turned and gestured toward his Fedmobile. The front passenger door opened and Victoria stepped out. “Not to mention I have friends.”

  I thought Kevin kept this place a secret. “Victoria, you pop up in the most interesting places.”

  She shook her head in more a warning than a disagreement. “You have no idea, Hunter.”

  Artie gestured for the other cops to hold in place and approached me. He stopped close enough to talk without anyone hearing. “There are developments. I need to ask you some questions. You need to answer them without any BS.”

  “Sounds serious.” His face—tight and cold—worried me. “What’s going on?”

  Victoria joined us with Bond in her wake. “Hunter, you’ve got more than that shotgun, so hand it over. Then, get Kruppa out here.”

  “Slow down.” Everyone’s knickers had shrunk. Victoria wouldn’t look at me. Artie breathed fire. Bond, well, he was Bond. “Somebody tell me what’s going on. Is it Sam? Did he do something stupid with the gun?”

  “Sam?” Artie eyed me. “What gun?”

  “Let’s all just relax and get some coffee,” I said. But no one blinked.

  Victoria glanced toward the cabin. “Hunter, call Kruppa.”

  The odds against me, I obeyed—something I’m not used to doing. I called Bobby and moments later, he peeked out the front door window, waited for me to nod, and eased outside.

  “Hunter?” Bobby said. “What are they doing here?”