Duty Bound (1995)

by Leonard B Scott

  Lowering her head, Ashley spoke in a whisper. "I didn't know, Dan."

  Seeing she meant it, Murphy leaned closer. "Ashley, why would they do that? You and I both know he hates hospitals.

  It's a damn wonder he didn't really go nuts on them.'

  Ashley slowly raised her eyes to him. "Dan, you're not going to like it or understand, but I think I know why. I guess I should have known when they questioned me during the debrief and wouldn't let me see him. It all makes sense now. Dan, you have to understand he killed five men and wounded two others in less than a minute. The operation looked like a suicide mission to everybody. They had to be sure he got through it all right without . . . well, you know.

  It's standard policy--after an agent kills an assailant, they're to be checked out by a shrink--and I guess in this case they thought they were doing him a favor by sending him to Key West."

  "Bullshit, now you're condoning what happened," Dan blurted. "A month of gettin' drilled by shrinks didn't do him any favors."

  "I don't condone it but I understand why it was done.

  Dan, Eli does things that make people feel very uneasy.

  No, don't give me that look--it's true. Maybe it's his time in Vietnam or in Special Ops, but it's there; I've seen and felt it. When a situation heats up, he changes into somebody else. I saw it with my own eyes. It's like he doesn't feel the tension or fear that everybody else is feeling. That's the part that makes people uneasy when they're with him. You wonder if he cares. What makes it worse, he seems to like it.

  I mean, he seems to feed off others' worries and fears, and it seems only to make him calmer. It drives you nuts to watch him think so clearly and spout commands like a damn machine while you're worrying about this and that and forget half of what you were supposed to be doing. Dan, I'm telling you it's scary. . . . You wonder . . . and I'm sure some people did wonder about him after the op went down."

  Murphy sighed and lowered his head as if very tired.

  "You know, Ashley, I'm as dumb as dirt . . . never made it past high school, and that was a struggle. But I'm goin' to tell ya a fact that's in no damn book and never was taught or even talked about in all my trainin' in the Army. I figgered you people in the FBI was better than us military types, but I guess you're no better than us. Ya see, I learned in Nam that some men have somethin' that others don't. I may be dumb, but I saw it right off. You ask any grunt who ever humped a ruck if what I'm tellin' ya isn't true. In every platoon you'll find one, maybe two, who have the gift. These men are special because they sense trouble comin'. In da Nam every grunt was tested sooner or later, and those that had it, knew it . . . believe me. They wanted to be the point men, ya know why? 'Cause they knew they were safer out front of everybody than they were being led by somebody that didn't have it. I'm tellin' ya all this because Eli had it. . . . You saying you felt uneasy tells me he still has it. We all felt uneasy being around him. We'd watch everything he'd do and pray `today' wasn't the day he'd see, hear, or feel somethin' we didn't . . . because if he did, we knew trouble was comin'.

  The Tan man was what we called him, and it wasn't just another handle . . . it was out of respect. When you got scared, you looked to the Tan man. He was all calm like and all business and you knew he was figuring out a way to get us all out alive."

  Murphy leaned forward, looking into her eyes. "He's not crazy or even close to it; he's just different and handles pucker time differently than most. I know I sound like some old drunk in a VFW tellin' war stories, but believe me when I tell ya it's no drunken war story; it's real. All of us who been out there in a life-or-death situation know--we know men like Eli have a gift--and you just pray to God that the enemy don't have one like him."

  Ashley lowered her head. "I . . . I guess I knew. He's told me in his own way about it, but I wasn't listening. My dad was like him, you know. . . . Of course you don't, but he always said he had a special knack. Dan, my dad died one night in an alley. He was a detective, and he and his partner walked into the alley responding to a possible drug buy. Dad didn't come out alive . . . his knack wasn't enough. I believe what you're saying, but gift or not, Eli has used up his nine lives. He was lucky on our last op. It was a suicide mission, and everybody knows it."

  Murphy stood and raised an eyebrow. "The one thing I learned about a fight, Agent Sutton, is there is no such thing as luck. It's all about experience, training, and skill. The best wins. If I were you I wouldn't be countin' the Tan man out just yet. He may be gettin' gray and he might even be thinkin' he's over the hill, but I don't think the men he killed and wounded would agree with you that it was just luck."

  "Why's he angry at me, Dan?"

  Murphy looked down at her a moment before replying.

  "He's not angry at you, Ashley . . . he's just feelin' different about a lot of things. Almost dyin' does that to ya, you know? You think about life a little differently, and I think them damn shrinks got to him, makin' it even worse. After they released him he went to see his son. . . . Guess it was a waste of time. His ex wouldn't even let him get close, let alone talk to the boy. Tan wanted to make amends to his ex and try to work out a way where he could see his son, but I guess she didn't want to hear it, 'cause she called her lawyer. He's down, Ashley, real down. He came back to work early 'cause he said he needed to work and feel like he was doin' somethin' useful. It's all he knows, Ashley--the job. It's all he's got, and he wants to hold on for as long as he can."

  Murphy leaned over and patted her leg with a tired smile.

  "This operation has been good for him. Ya ought to have seen him in action this afternoon. Christ, ya woulda thought he was Patton, givin' orders the way he was doin'. Look at this. He did it all, got all this organized and the search goin' without a single snag. The damn shrinks told him to take it easy and reflect on life! Bullshit, they don't know him. This is what he needed, action, somethin' to make him get those wheels in his head turnin' and the adrenaline flowin' again.

  Hey, speak of the devil! There he is, just walked in. Don't let on I told you what happened to him--I had to pry it out, and it wasn't easy."

  Ashley patted the sergeant's ann. "My lips are sealed.

  And Dan, thanks."

  Ashley tilted in her seat to look at Eli, and felt the all too familiar goose bumps run up her arms and a tingling sensation in her stomach. Dan was right; it had been good for him. He looked tired but good. His tan slacks and chukka boots were caked with mud, and his sweaty khaki shirt clung to him like a second skin, showing the definition of his heavily muscled chest. His rugged face was splattered with mud, and on his head, pushed back, exposing his forehead, was a blue baseball cap with the letters FBI across the front. He looked tired but satisfied.

  Eli saw Murphy waving and tiredly walked toward him.

  He saw Ashley a second later.

  She pulled another chair over. "I got relieved from my duty once the Atlanta rep arrived at the hospital--Janice is doing fine. How did it go at the recovery site?"

  Eli sat down wearily and looked up at the hissing lantern.

  "We found the boat at about three, but the divers had a hard time because of the low water visibility and later the darkness. It was a struggle for them because the hatchway was facing the current. It took a lot of work but the divers got the last body out about an hour ago. They'll refloat the boat tomorrow at first light."

  A man wearing a thin plastic rain suit approached and lifted a clipboard. "Agent Tanner, I've got the prelim you wanted."

  Eli nodded with his eyes closed. "Go ahead, Doc."

  The M. E. spoke quietly. "All five of the victims were ID'd by Mr. Hilbert. Four of the five victims were shot repeatedly. I'd say based on the pattern of the wounds, it looks like automatic weapons were used. It also appears the wounds were the cause of death of each of the victims. It appears none of them died as a result of drowning. In the young female victim's back, we found one complete nine millimeter bullet that was not damaged. The bodies are being moved now to a helicopt
er, and I'll be able to tell you more after the autopsies are conducted. I do want to tell you, however, unlike the others, the senator took a burst in the face. It's my opinion whoever your killers are, they made sure with him. Too bad . . . he was one of the good ones. We'll start work as soon as we get back. I expect we'll have more details for you by tomorrow."

  Eli nodded. "Thanks, Doc. Please fax your findings to the Atlanta office. I'll pass on your report to the case agent as soon as he finishes closing down the site."

  Ashley waited until the medical examiner had left before speaking. "Tanner, this is bad, isn't it?"

  Eli exhaled and shifted his eyes to her. "Yeah, it's going to be big-time."

  Ashley nodded in silence; confirmation of the senator's death had just elevated the case to the number one priority of the FBI. "Big-time" was an understatement.

  A tall agent wearing suit slacks, white button-down shirt, and regimental tie walked up and tapped Eli's shoulder.

  "You're Agent Tanner, correct?"

  "Yeah," Eli said warily.

  The agent extended his hand without smiling. "I'm Agent Frost, Tampa office. I'm relieving you effective immediately. Headquarters has directed our office to finish up here.

  You along with all the Atlanta office agents including the case agent in charge are being relieved by our office. I've already been back briefed by the CAC, and he told me you are to leave immediately for Columbus. Tomorrow you and any agents you may have brought with you are to report to the Atlanta office at 1000 hours for a meeting with the deputy director, who's flying in from Washington for the briefing. There's a Blackhawk helicopter waiting, Agent Tanner. Your job is done here."

  "What about me?" Murphy asked. "I came along 'cause Tanner told me he needed me. I'm relieved, too, right?"

  Before the tall agent could respond, Eli stood and put his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Come on, I'm not leaving you with these tanned Tampa dudes . . . unless of course you wanna stay and do some fishin'?"

  Ashley lowered her head, thinking he'd forgotten her, when she, felt herself being pulled up. Eli grinned and patted her back. "Come on, pard, you heard the clean man, we're outta here. Time to saddle up."

  Ashley smiled, seeing that the glint in his eyes was back.

  Once outside, they walked straight for the distant helicopter.

  A black family sat in lawn chairs just outside the lighted area, and a small boy Ashley judged to be about eleven pointed and said excitedly, "Looky, Mama, an FBI man!"

  Eli slowed his steps and veered off from Ashley and the sergeant major. He stopped in front of the boy and kneeled down. "What's your name, son?"

  The boy looked at his mother, then back to Eli, and lowered his head as if embarrassed. "My . . . my name is Amos.... I'm twelve."

  Eli took off his cap and put it on the boy's head. "Well, now you're Agent Amos of the FBI. You're assigned to take care of your mama and your small sisters and brothers."

  The boy's eyes widened and he looked at his mother.

  "Mama, look, I'se a FBI man."

  Eli patted the boy's shoulder and walked back to the others. Ashley looked away when she saw a tear trickling down his cheek. She followed him in silence, knowing he was wishing he had been able to give his son the hat and seen the same smile.

  Chapter 8.

  5:45 A. M., Monday, Lake Lanier, Georgia.

  Ted leaned over the couch and gently shook the sleeping woman's shoulder. Bonita's eyes slowly opened.

  Ted lowered his head and backed away. "A report just came on a minute ago. . . . The senator and his family were found. They're all dead."

  Bonita closed her eyes. "Oh God . . . please forgive me."

  "Don't do that, Bonita," Ted said as he turned off the television. "Stop blaming yourself. Wasn't your fault . . . wasn't mine, either. Your lover boy ordered the hit . . . the son of a bitch."

  "We caused it, Teddy. We're responsible," Bonita said, sitting up, her eyes beginning to well.

  "Look, Bonita, I've been sittin' here all night thinkin' about this. I've been over it in my mind and I keep rememberin' what you said about that conversation you overheard.

  You said this Raul guy told Mendez their DEA friend called and warned them about other DEA agents goin' to pick up those used-car guys. This friend in the DEA has got to be their snitch."

  "What's that got to do with--"

  "It's got everything to do with it. It means this DEA snitch probably told Mendez about the investigation the senator was running."

  "What are you saying, Teddy?"

  "I'm saying we did what any good citizen does when he knows somebody is dirty--he turns them in. We did that.

  We knew the Yona Group was price-fixing, and we told the right people who could do something about it. Problem is, the system is broke. Mendez has corrupted it by having a paid snitch on the inside."

  Bonita shook her head. "You're just trying to justify what we did. We only told them because we wanted to steal Carlos's money."

  "Think a minute, would ya? What would have happened if we hadn't even known about the money? I'll tell you, the senator would have been killed anyway. Bonita, we may have given the senator the information, but we sure as hell aren't responsible for his death. The DEA snitch, a damn fed, who's supposed to be workin' for the people, sold the senator out. Mendez and the snitch are the ones who are responsible. Mendez ordered the hit, for Christ's sake."

  Bonita slowly lowered her head. "I--I guess you're right . . . but I don't feel any better about . . . Oh my God!

  The others! We've got to warn Matthew Wentzel, the senator's investigator, and the FBI agent who took over from him. Carlos will kill them!"

  "Whoa now . . . you're right, but we gotta be smart about it. We can't just call 'em and say, 'You're in some really deep shit.' We can't let 'em know who we are or we'll be in serious trouble ourselves."

  Bonita sprang up from the couch. "E-mail. I'll warn them by e-mail . . . they won't know who it came from."

  Ted followed her into the office. "You sure they can't find out who sent it?"

  "Trust me," she said as she sat down behind her computer.

  "Bonita, listen to me now," Ted said, seeing her click the mouse. "We gotta be smart on this so we don't blow our op.

  Tell 'em they're in grave danger. Say a big drug player is tryin' to knock 'em off, but don't tell them who it is or how exactly he's involved with the Yona Group."

  Bonita swiveled around in her chair, looking at up him as if in disbelief. "You're still planning to steal the money after what's happened?"

  "I can't take out Mendez unless I have the money to pay my team . . . and you won't get your split, either. How long can you hide out with what you've got? You want to live, don't you?"

  Bonita turned back to the computer. "Please, God, forgive me . . . what do I say again?"

  Minutes later Bonita pushed back from the desk but kept her eyes on the monitor. "Something is wrong. The FBI agent received the message, but not Wentzel."

  "How do you know that?"

  "It says right there on the screen whether their computer got the message or not. Wentzel's computer won't accept it.

  Something is wrong. It's always accepted my messages before."

  "Maybe his computer is turned off," Ted offered.

  "Uh-uh, that doesn't matter. I'm going to call him."

  "You can't do that. A phone call is traceable . . . they keep records."

  Bonita picked up a cell phone from the desk. "I'm not stupid, Faircloud. Your friends gave me this cell phone to use. I used it to call you yesterday. They called it a safe phone . . . it's got a number to somebody in Texas . . . can't be traced here." She pushed the keys and put the phone to her ear. A long moment passed before she lowered the device and gave Ted a worried look. "He's not answering. . . .

  He wouldn't have already gone to work this early; he should be there. Something is wrong. Oh God, do you think . . ."

  "I don't know," Ted said, patting her shou
lder. "Keep tryin' . . . I've got to get back to my guys. I gotta feelin'

  Mendez is goin' to be movin' that money real soon."

  As Ted turned to go, Bonita grabbed his hand. "Teddy, what are we going to do if Carlos has already got to Wentzel?"

  "Do?" Ted repeated. "There's nothin' we can do, at least for now. But once I get his money I'm goin' to do something. . . . I'm puttin' that son of a bitch away permanently."

  Bonita kept her grip. "What happens if you don't kill Carlos?"

  "I'll be dead then, Bonita. And so will you."

  "That's right, we'll all be dead and Carlos will have won.

  I can't let that happen. . . . If I die, I want to die with a clear conscience. I know somebody, Teddy, a TV news investigator from a station in Atlanta. She came to our station in Miami a year ago and did some research on a story she was working on. I'm going to send her an e-mail and tell her about the Yona Group. . . . Don't worry, I won't name Carlos, but I'll give her enough to get started. She'll eventually piece it together and expose him."