by James Hunt
“Fuck!” Matt exploded, but the brief flicker of rage quickly died out, and he worked his mouth in a sad attempt at grief. “Please, Nate. Don’t do this. I haven’t said anything. You know I haven’t, because if I did, you’d be down here with me.”
“You’re right,” Links said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. “I also know that you haven’t talked because I know where your sister and her two kids live. And you know that I could kill them any time I wanted.”
Kover exploded forward again, this time with enough momentum to send him crashing to the concrete floor. With the restraints still keeping him tied to the chair, Matt could do little more than wiggle impotently while Links cocked his head to the side, examining the pathetic creature beneath him.
“I’ll tell them,” Kover said, the threat as empty as a child warning a parent that they would run away from home. “I’ll tell them everything!”
“No, you won’t.” Links stood, the heels of his expensive shoes echoing loudly and bouncing off the barren walls. “Because if you talk, your family dies. I told you the consequences of failure. I didn’t force you into this position. I didn’t threaten you. You volunteered to do this. You wanted to make a difference.”
“I wanted to give my life for my country,” Matt said. “But not for you, you elf motherfucker.”
Links tried to retain a stoic expression, but the comment revealed the lightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was a reaction from all those years in public schools and the kids that teased him. He knew there were those who still did even though he was in his current position with the FBI. He knew their names, their dirty laundry, and when the time was right, they would get theirs. Just as Kover was about to get his.
Links’s green eyes flickered brightly under the halogen lights, and his pointed ears wiggled as he smiled, his features negating the joy spread across his face. “You failed. And you’ll keep quiet about our little arrangement, or I’ll make sure your sister and nephew are in a cell down the hall.”
It was all Kover could do to whimper on the floor as Links walked back to the door and banged on the steel. When it opened, he stepped outside and passed the three armed interrogators. “Bag him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Links’s heels clacked, their noise echoing down the hall on his exit. He ascended the stairs then left the building, and once he was down the street, he reached for the burner phone he kept in his left pocket while he was still out of the views of any cameras. He had the number memorized, and the phone only rang once. “The mole has been taken care of. I’ll deal with the girl myself now. Inform Joza.” He hung up then tossed the phone in a trash receptacle and absentmindedly reached for the tips of his ears.
The wounds sustained as a child never really left a person. They were scars that faded but never disappeared. But Links was close to accomplishing his mission. He was close to bringing himself and his country to the precipice of a new dawn. And he wasn’t going to let it fall apart now. He had worked too hard, waited too long, and sacrificed too much. He wasn’t the elf anymore. He was the director of the FBI and on his way to becoming one of the most powerful men in the world.
All that was left was to get the girl back and then deal with this advisor who was helping the marshals. Chase Grant was turning out to be the aching thorn in Links’s side.
7
The scene was organized chaos. Dozens of officers clogged the dirt road. Choppers buzzed overhead, and the flash of blue and red lights was enough to challenge the sun for brightest spot in the area. The woods were flush with investigators scouring the ground for any drop of evidence that they might have missed. The mercenary’s body was already bagged and placed in an ambulance to be carried out to the nearest hospital for a post mortem.
And while everyone patted each other on the back and cracked dark jokes about the fact that the coward mercenary decided to blow his brains out rather than go to jail, Grant leaned back against the squad car with Lane, thinking.
“Grant,” Lane said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Looks like your partner’s here.”
He turned, expecting to see Mocks and wondering what the hell she was doing out here in the first place, but instead he saw Sam. The one who didn’t believe him about the girl in the first place.
“Hey,” Sam said, slightly winded from the rocky terrain and the long walk. “You all right?”
“We need to talk.” Before she could respond, he stepped away, searching for a place that wasn’t occupied, and then gestured to a small patch of grass off the road ten yards up. Sam followed, and when Grant stopped, he made another quick sweep to make sure they were alone. “We need to question Gusto Debrov.”
“We did. He didn’t give us anything,” Sam said.
“We should do it again,” Grant said. “This time with the cameras off.”
Sam tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. “Look, I know I was wrong about the ferry, but just because you were right doesn’t mean—”
“He killed himself, Sam,” Grant said, stepping closer. “He knew the game was up, and he just shot himself instead of being turned over. What does that tell you?”
Sam blanked for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I don’t—It could mean anything. These people we’re dealing with aren’t stable. Maybe it was some kind of suicide pact. Maybe—”
“He killed himself because of what Joza would do to him when he discovered the abduction failed.” Grant shook his head. “Those guys were willing to take their own lives because they were afraid of one man. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Have you?”
Sam hesitated. “You shouldn’t have even been in the woods in the first place. What’s the name of the officer who gave you a weapon? He should be reported.”
Grant paused, taking a breath and then leaned closer to Sam. “We have a mole that we haven’t questioned, a man in custody who won’t talk, and two parents that are still missing. How much longer do you think they’ll stay alive now that they don’t have the girl?” He watched the officers and shook his head, that itch in the back of his mind still not scratched. “I don’t think Kover was the only mole.”
Sam stepped closer, arms still crossed but her interest piqued. “How do you know that?”
“Mullens said he was told that this route would be clear,” Grant answered.
“Christ.” Sam dropped her arms to her sides then scanned the officers sweeping the woods. “Who do you think it is?”
“Could be Hickem,” Grant said, sounding unsure. “Maybe another member of his team. But I definitely think it’s someone high in the ranks.”
“Grant, throwing around those kinds of accusations around these types of people isn’t going to make you friends anytime soon.” Sam arched both eyebrows. “It’s dangerous. Trust me.”
“We need to press that mercenary we have in custody harder,” Grant said. “Get me in a room with that guy. Shut off the recording devices, and let me see if I can’t get anything out of him. The fact that he didn’t kill himself when his partner did means that he doesn’t feel as strongly about their employer’s repercussions.”
“And what am I supposed to tell Multz?” Sam crossed her arms.
“He’ll approve it,” Grant answered.
“What makes you say that?” Sam asked.
“Because he knows we’re running out of options.”
Sam dropped her arms and gave him the once-over, a mixture of fascination and sadness on her face. “You know, I read your court transcripts after you were dismissed from the police department. You told the prosecutors who were pressing charges that you knew you were out of your jurisdiction, and you knew that it was dangerous to continue your investigation even after your superior officers instructed you to stand down. And despite all of that, you still did it.”
“Yeah,” Grant said.
“And then you said that if you had a chance to do it over again, you wouldn’t change a single thing, because there is no way to know the future. You
’re given leads, and you follow them until you reach a dead end.” She chewed the inside of her cheek, but the nervous twitch passed quickly. “You still feel that way?”
He shifted, trying to find his footing on the roots. “You know, I’ve had more nightmares about my career as a detective than I’d care to count. But in all the worst versions of my nightmares, you know what doesn’t scare me?”
“What?”
“Action. We make decisions. We live with them. And then we move on. You spend too much time on it, and you’re just keeping yourself in the past.”
“And is that what you did?” she asked. “You move on, Grant? Finally put that past behind you? Or is this some kind of atonement? Trying to save the people that you couldn’t?”
He wiped his mouth, chuckling to himself. “You people read these cases and think the decisions are so easy out there. That some magical answer will appear just when you need it, but that’s not what happens. Shit hits the fan, and you do your best to dodge the bullets and save as many lives as you can. But I guess you’d know that if you were any good at your job.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Grant regretted them, even before the wounded expression on Sam’s face.
“All right, Grant,” Sam said, nodding. “I’ll make the call. And you know what? They’ll probably give it to you.” She turned to the crowded forest and gestured to the massive show of officers and agents. “After all, you’re single-handedly solving this case for us.” She looked back at him. “Let’s just hope nobody dies on this one.”
The words were meant to hurt, and they did. But he knew Sam had a point. He was treading into familiar territory again. That feeling, that itch, it wasn’t going to go away until this was done. And whenever he scratched, trouble always followed him.
It was just before noon when Grant and Sam arrived back at the marshal building in Seattle. Anna had been taken to a hospital for a checkup. The abductors had given her some kind of sedative, and the medics were trying to figure out what it was. They didn’t think it was anything lethal, but they were running a litany of tests on her to make sure.
The ride back was awful. Grant felt bad for Lane, who didn’t have much of a conversationalist in Grant on their return. After all of his talk about decisions, Grant kept wishing for a do-over with his last conversation with Sam.
“Everything all right, Grant?” Lane asked.
“Fine, Lane,” Grant answered. “Just fine.”
When they returned to the marshal building, Grant found that they were the last to arrive. After they parked, he turned to Lane. “I appreciate your help. You did good work today.” He started to open the door, and then stopped. “And, hey, I asked Mocks to look up the utility account at the house where we found the ferry ticket, but I never heard anything back. Can you check on that for me?”
Lane’s eyes widened. “Absolutely.”
Grant smiled and patted him on the shoulder, and got out.
The lobby was teeming with a mixture of marshals, FBI, and local police. A few people had set up a permanent spot in the lobby due to the lack of desks. Grant weaved through the bodies, heading straight for Multz’s office. The door was cracked open, and Grant let himself in.
Sam and Multz were whispering to one another, and the moment Grant stepped inside, Sam left without a word.
Multz paused for a moment and then pointed at Grant. “You get five minutes. No more. You can’t get anything out of him in that time, that’s it. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, get out.”
Grant headed to the interrogation room, where he found Sam already waiting for him at the door. Their exchange was wordless as Sam unlocked the door and then stepped into the observation room to watch through the one-way glass.
Grant stared down at the timer on his watch, which was still running from when he started it during Anna’s abduction. He stopped it, reset it, and then stepped into the room. The door swung shut on its own, locking him inside.
Gusto Dibrov was shackled to his chair, shirtless, the edges of a white bandage crawling over his shoulder from his back where he’d been shot. His right arm was in a sling, and he eyed Grant lazily. He spoke something in Russian and then spit on the floor.
Grant looked at the spit on the floor. “I’ll make you clean that up later.” He bypassed the empty chair across from the prisoner and instead sat on the edge of the table next to where Gusto was chained. “But right now I need some answers. And you’re the only person left alive that I can question.”
Gusto spoke more gibberish, the thick Slavic accent making it sound as if his tongue was swollen, and then spit on Grant’s shoe.
Grant looked down at the spittle and nodded. “Let’s start with something simple. Was it Joza who hired you to take the girl?”
Gusto turned away, maintaining his apathetic posture in the chair, at least as much as the chains that shackled him would allow.
Grant looked back at the one-way glass, knowing that Sam was on the other side, and knowing that he was already one minute into his allotted five. He slid off the table and then stood right next to Gusto, staring down at the top of the man’s buzzed head. “We don’t have to do this the hard way.”
Gusto laughed then licked his lips as he eyed Grant. “You going to hurt me, cop? I don’t think so. Because this place won’t let you. You have laws. You have a code. You’re not allowed to do things the hard way.”
Grant drummed his fingers on the table while Gusto gave a mocking smile. “There are two things you need to know.” He crossed his arms. “The first is that whatever rights you think you’re entitled to ended the moment you opened fire on federal agents inside a federal building. Current law dictates that that is an act of terrorism.” He then bent at the waist, resting his hands on his thighs, and pushed his face within an inch of Gusto’s. “And I’m not a cop.”
“Fuck you,” Gusto said, the English muddled with his Slavic tongue.
Quickly, Grant palmed the back of Gusto’s head and then pivoted all of his weight behind the slam that smashed the man’s face into the table, the dull whack of meat and bone against wood preceding the groan of pain.
Grant kept pressure on the back of Gusto’s head, the man squirming beneath but unable to fend off the attack. “Was it Joza?”
Mumbled groans of pain and nonsense answered, and Grant removed his hand, letting Gusto fling himself into the back of his chair. Blood dripped from his nose, which had bent harshly to the right, forcing him to breathe out of his mouth. A tooth and blood covered the table.
Grant punched Gusto in the stomach. “Was it Joza?”
“Yes!” Gusto screamed, gasping for breath as the chains connected to the shackles on his wrists and ankles tightened as he squirmed in his seat. “Joza. Yes.” He closed his eyes, trying to control his breathing, and then straightened up in his chair.
Grant punched Gusto in the face and then hid the fact that his hand was shaking from the blow. He circled around the back of Gusto’s chair and then sidled up on the other side and positioned his hand around Gusto’s throat. He applied pressure lightly and tilted his head back. “Are the parents still alive?”
Gusto choked and then wheezed a few breaths. “I can’t fucking breathe.”
“Focus, Gusto.” Grant tightened his grip. “Are the parents still alive?”
Gusto nodded.
“Are they out of the country?”
Gusto squirmed in more desperate attempts for air, but the random shakes of his head masked his answers. His eyes bulged as he looked at Grant.
“Are they out of the country?” Grant never broke eye contact with him.
Gusto shook his head, his motions exaggerated to make sure that Grant understood the answer. His lips started to turn blue.
“Where are they being hidden?” But as Grant pressed and his grip tightened, Gusto’s eyelids fluttered, and the muscles in his face relaxed. Finally, Grant let go.
Gusto sucked down air in greedy gul
ps, but Grant didn’t let him rest as he fingered the bullet wound on Gusto’s back. He screamed, thrashing in the chair.
“Where are the parents?” Grant asked.
“The mother,” Gusto answered, scrunching his face tight. “I only know where the mother is.”
“Where?”
“Four, four. Nine, nine, nine, six.” Gusto swallowed. “One, zero, nine. Zero, three, one.”
“Those are coordinates?” Grant kept pressure on the wound.
“Yes!” Gusto screamed, nodding vigorously.
Grant removed his hand and then headed for the door, waiting until someone opened it for him. And he was surprised to find Sam standing there as he stepped out. “Where is it?”
“Wyoming-Montana border west of Highway 120-72. We’re working on getting satellite imagery of the place, but from a quick glance, it doesn’t look like there is anything there.”
“How long?”
“Choppers take off in ten.”
“Good. We need to get there as quick as we can.”
“We?” Sam stuck her arm out, stopping both of them on their walk toward the building’s exit. “Director Multz made your position perfectly clear. Predict and analyze. You’re not supposed to be in the field.”
“The only reason we got Anna back was because I was in the field,” Grant said. “I can help.”
“I’m trying to make sure we stay on protocol. We’ve broken it enough already by having you go in there and—”
“I can get it done!” The flash of anger surprised both of them. “I can finish this.”
Sam shook her head, confused. “What is this about? What are you trying to prove?”
