by David Beers
Tears were in her eyes.
“I have no one I can talk to about this, Tommy. No one but you. I’m asking you to just talk to me for a minute.”
A cold, reptilian thought came to Tommy: What would Luke do?
An answer, just as chilly, came immediately. He would talk to her. He would set up cameras throughout Christian’s house, so that he knew what was happening all the time. Here is your camera, Tommy. Right in front of you. So open up, talk to her. Have her watch Christian for you.
A part of him hated what he heard, but then an image came to him, and it dashed the hate into innumerable pieces: his fiancée, Alice, sitting at a kitchen table, a hole in the front of her head and blood covering her face. Her eyes open and staring forward, but seeing nothing, because all the life in her had been extinguished.
“What do you want to know?” Tommy asked, pushing the image from his mind, and focusing on the woman in front of him.
“I don’t know,” Veronica said. “Just what you’re feeling. How you’ve been.”
Tommy’s chest hitched once, the closest to a laugh he could come by these days. “I mean, I get by. I don’t think about it much, to be honest. If I stopped and thought about everything that had happened, I’m not sure I could keep going. I wouldn’t want to.”
Veronica nodded. “That’s the way I felt. Clearly, what happened to me wasn’t nearly like what happened to you, but I just often wondered whether going into hiding was worth it? Was life worth all of that?”
“Is it?” Tommy said.
“Is it for you?”
He looked away. “It depends on if I think about everything that happened. If I think about Alice, about what I lost … Fuck, about what she lost, and how she lost it ….” He looked back toward her. “Then no, it’s not worth it. The pain becomes too great. It turns into a cloud, Veronica, one bigger than something an atomic bomb creates. It rushes forward, its blackness blotting out the rest of the world—the rest of the whole universe. I see nothing else but it, and its rushing right for me. If I think too long, that cloud will rush over me, and there’ll be nothing left.”
Tears were in his eyes now. He couldn’t stop them, though he knew they would help with what he needed later. They gave realism to what he said, intimacy.
“I’m so sorry, Tommy.”
A tear dropped from each eye. Tommy’s chest hitched again, his single laugh coming out. “I can’t even clean up my own face. Hell no, it’s not worth it.”
Veronica stood from her side of the table and walked to him. Using one thumb, she wiped the right side of his face, and then the left, clearing the tears. She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.
Tommy’s emotion had been real, but he knew the truth. He had set her up to be used later.
Am I any different from Luke? he wondered.
Maps lay across every wall inside Charles Twaller’s room, the one that resided in Christian’s head.
Christian was close to making a connection here; he could feel it.
He thought Twaller was most likely in Georgia, the reason being Luke’s visit. Luke had been able to come to Christian’s home while he slept, prior to the first attack. If Twaller was commanding the operation, then that meant Luke would have been in close proximity. So, they had orchestrated the catastrophe from Georgia … but where? And where did they go afterwards?
No records showed anything in Charles Twaller’s name—not in Georgia, anyway.
Men were already sitting outside of his offices in Pennsylvania, but everything appeared to be closed down; the judge had denied them their warrant, saying hearsay from a questionable source didn’t meet the burden of proof.
Luke burnt down the church when the priest disobeyed him. Now, he’s burning down the United States. There’s a buffer separating him and the actual warfare, though: Charles Twaller.
Christian turned away from the maps. He was missing something, but he could feel himself nearly upon it.
What did Luke love? What caused him to burn down the church?
His mother and brother. His family.
Almost there.
And would Charles Twaller love his family?
Except he had none.
“Not under that name,” the other said.
Christian’s mind came to rest and the screens on the walls around him went black.
No, Charles Twaller had no family, but if one wanted to protect them, what would one do? Especially in a business such as his—would he keep his name? Or would that allow people easy access to his family, to those he might care about?
“We’re looking for the wrong person,” Christian said.
Chapter 16
Charles Twaller wasn’t concerned with his name any more than he was how many polar bears had been eradicated by global warming. He was concerned with Luke Titan, and growing more so by the minute.
The psycho had left the cabin, and as soon as he did, Charles made a call—two bodyguards were on their way now. That would be the last time Titan put his hands on Charles, and in all likelihood, the last time the two of them ever spoke in person.
Because the next time Titan showed up, Charles’s bodyguards would be under instructions to shoot him right in the fucking face.
He was fuming, though the dollar figures that Titan had spoken about before leaving helped alleviate it some. It was a hell-of-a-lot of money, and half had already been deposited. The other half would come once the operation was completed.
And then, when that money was in its place, Charles was finished with this whole enterprise. Titan wanted him to keep going until he either died or some ex-fucking-toy of his went on a killing spree? Thanks, but no thanks, babe. Charles was done with all of it, just as soon as this next ended.
So far, they had killed around four hundred people, and leveled one building.
What Titan wanted to do next would eclipse all of that, though.
“It’ll be harder to get,” Charles told him.
“And that difficulty has been added to your payment,” Titan responded.
Which was true.
“Can you do it?” Titan had asked.
“Yeah, I should be able to.”
Charles hadn’t trafficked in this before; the penalties were far more severe than guns. He had, however, been offered jobs involving it, but he always turned them down.
The connections were still there.
Charles could utilize them.
“Do you want to?” the fat man wondered aloud, alone in his north Georgia cabin.
For the first time—ever, perhaps—the answer that came back was no. It wasn’t that he held no interest in watching this new weapon work on people; he was intensely interested in that. Charles didn’t want to work with Titan anymore. He didn’t want anything to do with the psychopath.
The money.
Always the money.
One more score and then Titan died.
Charles had already agreed to find the weapon—and maybe that would be fun. He had always wanted to see what sarin gas could do.
“He changed his name in 1998.”
Tommy had been pouring through records for the past two hours. He knew he could have some junior associate working on this, but it was too important to outsource. Tommy or Christian needed to take the lead on this, because if they were mistaken—or didn’t find the correct name—Twaller wouldn’t be found.
“You’re sure?”
Christian paced back and forth across the plane. The three of them were heading back to DC. Veronica sat to the back left of the private plane. Tommy faced her diagonally. Christian had remained seated for the first three minutes of the flight, but even with the ‘fasten seatbelt’ lights still on, he’d unbuckled and stood up.
Then the pacing started.
“Christian, you’re gonna hurt yourself!” Veronica had said.
Christian said nothing back to her, though his thumb absently rubbed the pink scar on his cheek. Maybe he didn’t know he was doing it, or maybe he was sayin
g, Not too worried about it, dear. Either way, he didn’t sit down.
“I’m as sure as I can be,” Tommy said, answering his question. “I think these records were purposefully buried, like someone was paid to make them nearly impossible to find. You can’t seal these things, at least not without very specific criteria met, but you can make it harder to dig up.”
“How so?” Christian said.
“You move the records around. I think the name change took place in Philadelphia, but I found it in Tucson, Arizona.”
“How is that even possible?” Veronica asked.
“It’s easier when you’re using older documents. Most of this was done with actual paper, not digitally. So, you simply pay a mailroom clerk to find the document, and then ship it somewhere else. You do that twelve times, apparently, and that creates a trail that can barely be followed.”
“He shipped his name change document twelve separate times?” Christian asked.
“That’s what I’m seeing.”
“But how did you find it?” Veronica said.
“The document wasn’t ever scanned, but the case number was entered. I followed those.”
“Do you have the name?” Christian asked.
“No, they never scanned the actual document. It’s sitting in a lower court’s closet.”
Christian stopped pacing, turned around, and then walked to the front of the plane. He knocked on the pilot’s door.
“Yes, sir?” the pilot said as he opened it.
“We’re going to Tucson, Arizona. We need to make it before the court closes for the day.”
“Did you find it?” Charles asked.
“Yes.”
“When can we have it by?”
“That depends on how much you want to pay.”
“Price doesn’t matter.”
“Three days.”
“Okay,” Charles said. “Get it.”
He hung up the phone, knowing his assistant would do as he said. The procurement hadn’t been hard, though Charles didn’t expect it to be. Weapons were available if you had the money to buy them. Charles imagined it had always been so, all the way back to primitive man. The cost for weapons was different then—you paid with physical labor as you carved your sticks or found your stones—but all the same, weapons were available for those who wanted them.
Charles had more work to complete—work just as important as procuring the gas.
He needed to pick a target.
None of what Titan was doing was new, per se. In fact, gunning down and blowing up buildings was used by every two-bit terrorist to ever exist. Charles knew the man was smart, but if he was being honest, he was more impressed with Titan’s ruthlessness. It reminded Charles of himself somewhat, the way he had moved across the cabin’s living room like some lithe predatory cat.
Charles hated the man, but he couldn’t deny the attractiveness of such instinct—the instinct to kill.
And what came next? Perhaps this was the real difference between Titan and the other terrorists that bombed Europe every other week. They killed indiscriminately, but not Titan.
His target was very specific this time, and it was Charles’s job to ensure compliance.
Charles waddled to the couch and took his laptop from the coffee table, placing it on his knees. His fat stomach didn’t leave a lot of room to set the thing on his legs, but no matter. His knees would work fine.
He was using Tor, the encrypted browser that ensured his searches were private. He was safe as he started typing in keywords. Which was good—necessary, even. Because what Charles was looking up would definitely trigger bots throughout the federal government. Algorithms that would see his search terms and then began their own searches, on him.
No need to worry, though.
‘FBI buildings with childcare on site’ wouldn’t be picked up by anything, bot or human.
Christian sat in the hotel lobby. Night had fallen outside, and other than the random hotel guest, he was alone. The staff was somewhere around, though Christian hadn’t seen them in a few minutes.
They had the name. Charles Twaller had actually been born Randy McStein.
Charles Twaller might not have any family, but Randy did. He had a mother, 83 years old, who lived in Boston. Rebecca McStein. Her husband was deceased, but she had a daughter—and Randy a sister. Alicia McStein.
A whole, regular family.
Did they know about Randy’s name change? Did they know about his job? Did he send them money every month, being the dutiful son and brother? Did he treat them well while gunning down innocents? While disintegrating buildings?
Christian didn’t know, but he was going to find out.
“Hey,” Veronica said as she rolled her suitcase across the lobby. She held a cup of coffee in her other hand. Christian saw how exhausted she looked, but they had no other choice. This was his life, and she’d asked to join it. She’d stepped out of the shadows, insisting that he take her along. “Want me to get you a cup?” she asked.
“I’ll get one.”
“You see Tommy on the way down?” he asked.
“I stopped by his room. I think he’s ready for you. I can go get his things, though, if you want to be alone a little longer.”
“No, I will. Do you think you can talk to me for a second?” he said. He looked down at his shoes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at asking something so bold. So much of his life had changed, yet when it came to Veronica, he still felt like a child.
“Sure,” she said and placed her bags down. She took a seat across from him.
“I … umm … I don’t know how to say this, to be honest.”
“Then just say it.”
But he couldn’t do that, and he knew it. He hadn’t told anyone this, and had been debating for days whether he should let Veronica know. In the end, it came down to her life. Tommy, Waverly … they mattered, but they signed up knowing death was an option. Perhaps an argument could be made that Veronica had too, given how many times she kept coming back, but still … not in the same way those two had.
Christian was resolute in that he wouldn’t pay any heed to Luke’s ultimatum. Insanity. A million people could die and still Christian wouldn’t raise a hand to the three people Luke said he must kill.
Yet, another part of him—a more cynical part—said he might not have a choice in the end. Luke might have his way regardless of Christian’s feelings on the subject.
“Christian?” Veronica asked.
He looked up from his shoes, realizing he’d been lost in thought.
“Sorry.” His eyes wanted to go back to the floor, but he kept them on her. “I’m going to tell you something, Veronica, and you can’t tell anyone else. Not Tommy. Not anyone. Okay?”
Concern crossed her face. “Okay, Christian. You know I won’t.”
“Except, there might come a time when you have to tell them.” His eyes broke their gaze, and went to his shoes. He smiled at the contradiction in his statement. “If you think I’m going to do it, then you have to tell Tommy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“When Luke broke into my hotel room, he told me something, Veronica. And I haven’t said this to anyone else. I can’t, because I’ll be off the case.” He sighed. “He said that he’ll stop all this if I kill you, Waverly, and Tommy. He said he’d turn himself in.”
Christian could feel her eyes on him, though her silence said more than her words could.
She understood how insane it sounded, how Luke it sounded. And maybe she understood why he was telling her, too. Because Luke had a way of making the impossible, possible. A way of turning virgins into whores, and saints into killers.
“I’m not going to do it, of course. It doesn’t matter what he does. But ….” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“But, you don’t know what might happen.”
“Right,” he said, understanding that was the most polite way to say something that sounded insane now, might sound perfect
ly reasonable after more time with Luke. “I’m going to go get Tommy.”
Christian stood and said nothing else. He left the room to get his paralyzed partner.
The four boarded the plane (the nurse, Anne, as always coming along), though Tommy barely noticed. He wheeled himself to his usual place, across from Christian and diagonal to Veronica.
He was glad to be sitting diagonal from her during the flight. He wanted to watch her, because something had happened. Tommy should have been concerned with where they were headed—to Charles Twaller’s family, or Randy’s. He wasn’t, though.
Tommy was concerned with Veronica. He’d seen her 30 minutes before they boarded the van which brought them to the jet, and she’d been normal—as normal as someone could be when flying around the country looking into a killer’s past, anyway.
And then, when he saw her on the ride over, that normality was missing. Replaced with fear that radiated from her like poison from a dirty bomb.
He was quiet during the ride over, but as she sat down in the plane, he spoke up.
“You okay, Veronica?”
Her eyes darted up from the floor as if she wasn’t completely sure where she was. As though his voice had woken her from a deep slumber, and it was taking a few moments to reorient herself.
“Yeah, Tommy, I’m okay. I’m just sleepy.” She gave him a smile and he knew she was lying. Was it Luke or Christian? Someone had gotten to her and the smile said he would get it out of her. She thought they were connected in a way that couldn’t be duplicated with others. Both victims of Luke, and horribly so.
Perhaps she was right in that.
She was wrong as well, though. Tommy was a victim, but he was different than most. Some victims wanted to be left alone, to retreat and deal with their pain. Not Tommy. He wanted vengeance, and whatever Christian was hiding … Tommy thought it could give him his vengeance.
