by David Beers
Tommy looked at him from across the kitchen table. They were staying at Waverly’s for the time being, a nurse living with them. Everything was tightly under wraps, with neither of them going outside.
Waverly was at FBI headquarters.
“What are you going to tell our boss?”
“The same thing I just told you.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“Tonight,” Christian said. “Now, if I could.”
“You’re going to do what you want. I don’t know why you even ask.”
Christian knew he’d rushed the plan to let Luke capture them, introducing it like some crazed animal. He wasn’t able to help it, though. The other had been right—something was definitely breaking in his head. Even so, Luke would come for Christian, sooner or later. No one doubted that.
His mind already knew it, and Christian was coming to believe more and more that’s why it kept showing him Brenda Manor … or Jennie Goodrow.
Christian told Waverly what he wanted to do, and could tell he was pushing limits. Soon, he’d probably step right over them and Waverly would tell him no.
Except, can he really do that? Given what he did?
Christian didn’t want to consider himself having carte blanche authority, but perhaps he did. Perhaps Waverly’s little action with the paid killer had irrevocably changed their relationship.
Either way, Christian was on a flight down to Orlando, Florida.
He had one carry-on and didn’t plan on staying longer than a few hours. The FBI’s private plane would turn around at 11 that night, dropping him back off in D.C..
From the plane, Christian took a hired car heading directly to Jennie Goodrow’s apartment. The area quickly turned from one of wealth to one of poverty. Christian looked out the tinted windows and saw broken homes and dirty streets around him. Boarded up windows. Fences in disrepair, half fallen to the ground. A dog sat on one porch, barking at two kids walking lazily up the street.
She’d been at Harvard, Christian thought. She went to the most prestigious school in the world, and now she lives here?
Was that beyond Luke’s ability? Someone who had waged a war against the FBI not two weeks ago? Someone who just shoved his arm into the gullet of a man he wanted dead? No, Christian didn’t think so. He thought if Luke wanted a woman to end up in an area like this, then she probably would.
The black car stopped in front of the Jennie Goodrow’s supposed apartment. At least, it was her last known address. Despite what Edward Snowden had told the world, the FBI didn’t have a perfect view on everyone all of the time. In fact, if someone wanted to disappear, they could. Especially someone like Jennie Goodrow. Her parents were much easier to find. They lived in Orlando too, though in a very different part of town. Apparently, after what happened in college and a string of other mishaps, they’d given up on their once promising daughter.
Jennie Goodrow’s last court appearance had been with a court appointed lawyer. Her parents, as far as Christian could tell, weren’t in attendance.
Christian stepped out of the car. He left his bag inside, though his pistol was holstered underneath his jacket. It rubbed against his unhealed wounds, hurting like hell.
It’s remarkable you’re not dead, a doctor told him.
I guess I’m blessed, Christian had deadpanned back. He’d wanted to say, with a crazy laugh rising in him, And apparently, Luke Titan is my guardian angel. He managed to keep it in, though.
He climbed the stairs to apartment 3133 and knocked on the door.
It took a few seconds, but he heard feet moving around inside, coming to the door.
“What do you want?”
It was a man’s voice. The records said nothing about someone else living here, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t shacked up.
“I’m looking for Jennifer Goodrow.”
“She ain’t here,” the voice said.
“I think she is. I’m with the FBI. Tell her that and tell her I’m here to talk about Luke Titan. She’ll know the name.”
The feet walked away from the door and a long silence ensued. Christian was prepared to get a warrant if need be. To even plant drugs on the doorstep if that’s what he had to do. It didn’t matter to him in the slightest; he was going to speak with her.
“What do you want?” a woman said from the other side.
“Jennie?” Christian asked.
“Maybe. What the hell is this about Luke Titan? I don’t know anything about him anymore. All this stuff on TV has nothing to do with me.”
“I …,” Christian felt his old self trying to take over, the part that froze up in big moments. The part that was shy.
“Fuck that part,” the other said from behind him.
Christian looked over his shoulder and saw his bleeding, smiling face. He turned back around.
“Ms. Goodrow, there are two options here. You can talk to me willingly, or I can kick this fucking door in and say that I found 50 grams of meth sitting outside. It’s up to you.”
Silence followed.
And then the door opened.
“You’re a fucking pig, you know that?” Jennie Goodrow said.
Christian sat inside the apartment. It was small, and made more cramped by the amount of stuff the two people living here had accumulated. Christian still found it hard to believe that a person who once went to Harvard lived in a place like this.
Jennie Goodrow didn’t look like Brenda Manor physically. His mind hadn’t been able to replicate anything that detailed, though it didn’t matter. Christian could tell she’d once been pretty, if not flat out beautiful. The years had taken their toll—and Christian understood from the scar on his own cheek that they took their toll on everyone.
“You’re famous, but I suppose you know that, don’t you?” Jennie Goodrow asked.
Christian needed to keep in mind that this woman was probably very intelligent. Perhaps she’d made poor decisions over the past 20 years, but at one time had had brains.
“Luke did that to you? The scar?” she said.
Christian nodded.
“What do I have to do with any of this?”
Christian looked at the man sitting on the other side of the couch. He was clearly her boyfriend, though there wasn’t much physical touching between the two of them. The man was silent, and might be high, but he didn’t think Jennie was. She was too observant, to on point.
“It’s hard to explain,” Christian said.
“Well, try. You’re in my home after threatening to violate my constitutional rights.”
Christian smiled. If Luke had been normal when they met, he might have fallen in love.
“That’s a good point. My mind … It does things that I can’t always describe well. It started creating this story about you, though I didn’t actually know it was you. It … well, when it learns about a person, it’s able to create backstories, to understand their past in a way that allows me to … I don’t know, empathize, I guess?”
“Luke probably had a fucking field day with you, didn’t he?” Jennie asked, a little smirk on her face.
“Trust me. He’s still having his fun.”
“Alright, Special Agent Fuck-The-Constitution, what do you want with me?”
“I want to know what happened.”
“With Luke? I was a kid. He lied about some things and tricked me into doing something I shouldn’t have. That’s all. I only remember him because of all the shit on TV. I was 18 years old. A lot has changed for me since then, and clearly a lot has changed for him too.”
“What did he lie about?”
“I can’t even remember,” Jennie said.
“I don’t believe you.” No one who met Luke forgot him, and this woman wasn’t different.
“You don’t have to. Is there anything else you want, or are you ready to leave yet?”
Christian looked down at his shoes. “I’m not leaving until you tell me, Ms. Goodrow.” He heard the boyfriend shift on the couch, but he didn’t look up. “
I need to know what he did because … he’s going to do it to me soon.”
Goodrow laughed. “To you? I’m not sure that’s possible anymore, hunny.”
“Why?”
She sighed, still smiling. “He convinced me that my roommate was trying to sleep with him. Then, he convinced me to plant some drugs on her, and she ended up in jail. I don’t think he’ll be able to do any of that to you, so you should be safe. Now, would you please leave?”
Christian rested his head against the seat. The plane was carrying him back to Washington; he was alone and the ride was quiet except for the sound of the engines.
He had already gone inside his mansion, hoping that it might have more information about Jennie Goodrow, but there’d been nothing. He and the other simply stared at the blank television screen, it refusing to turn on.
And what Goodrow told him hadn’t made any sense, at least not how Christian thought it would. The girl had planted some drugs on her roommate, and the roommate ended up getting busted? That’s what his mind had been trying to tell him?
You’re losing it, he thought. Truly and fully. Even your intelligence is cracking.
Christian didn’t have any idea what to tell Waverly and Tommy. He had come down here expecting some huge bombshell, something that would give him an edge over Luke. Instead, he’d received some silly story that turned out to be the equivalent of Luke playing a prank.
Christian closed his eyes.
He needed a break, not from the case, but in the case. He needed something to jump up and tell him what the hell was going on, and what he was supposed to do about it.
“Is your plan still on? To call Luke to you?”
His mother spoke to him from across the short aisle. Christian didn’t open his eyes nor answer her.
He couldn’t ignore her question, though. It may have been an apparition asking it, but it was all that really mattered right now. The plan had been predicated on two things, that Christian could finally die, and coming down here would give him information that might help save Veronica. He hadn’t found anything of use, though; instead, he was returning with most of his questions unanswered.
Yet, Waverly would still want an answer to the question: are we bringing Luke to us?
Did it make sense on its own merits, without Christian’s mansion adding anything else to it? If he removed wanting to die, would he still do it?
Maybe.
It was the only way they would get to Luke quickly, and that was what really mattered—because it meant they’d find Veronica.
Then yes, the plan still had to be followed. Christian would think of something to tell the two in Washington, but getting to Luke was all important—for Christian and Veronica.
Tommy’s chair rolled into Waverly’s room, the small engine whirring quietly beneath him.
“Christian not with you?” Waverly asked.
“No,” Tommy said, pulling the chair up to Waverly’s conference table. Waverly already sat at it, the space in front of him bare. No pen, no paper. There was no need to take notes any longer, apparently. If anything told the truth about what was actually happening here, that bare spot did: a struggle between Christian and Luke. “I wanted to talk to you without him.”
“Okay,” Waverly said. “Let’s not beat around the bush then. What’s happening? Is it about his mental state?”
“No, not that alone at least. It’s about Veronica.”
“Go on.”
Tommy sighed and looked at the table. He played by the book, and always had. The only time he really hadn’t was the story he was about to tell now, and he didn’t want to say it aloud. Even though Waverly had done something that the world—certainly the law—would consider worse, he still didn’t want to say it.
“Tommy?”
“Okay. Okay.” He met Waverly’s eyes. “I wanted to tell you this before we follow Christian’s plan. I don’t want him knowing though, because I’m not sure how he’d take it. I saw Veronica in there with Luke, and she wasn’t the same. Not at all. I can’t say for sure what happened, but I have an idea. I think Luke may have hypnotized her. He did it once, before Christian joined the team. It was with a suspect, and it was only once. I told him if he did it again, I’d report him. The way she looked in that warehouse … He did it again.”
“So?” Waverly said. “She’s hypnotized? What does that matter?”
“Luke talked to me about it afterwards. He said there was a theory behind it, that if done enough, the person’s mind could be erased. Wiped clean. Like a computer hard drive or something. If Christian is trying to save her, there might not be anything left to save.”
Waverly leaned back in his chair. He understood now.
“And if we tell him that,” Tommy continued, “I don’t know how he’ll take it. I don’t know if he’ll be able to take it.”
“Yet, if we don’t say something, he’s going to push this plan forward.”
“Exactly,” Tommy said.
The two sat quietly for a few moments. “Our next meeting is in two hours, right?” Waverly asked.
“Yes.”
“Let me think on what to do. You’ll know my decision by what I say in the meeting. If you disagree with it, make it known, and we won’t go forward, okay? We both need to be on the same page.”
“It’s dangerous,” Waverly said.
“That’s not a reason to kill the idea,” Christian answered.
“No, but the fact that it won’t work is a reason,” Tommy said. “There are too many things that could go wrong. Even if everything you say happens: he takes us, agents follow us, the agents can see when the hired gun shows up, and then the cavalry swoops in—too many things could simply happen. Not to mention we’re dealing with Luke.”
Christian didn’t look over at Tommy. He kept his eyes on Waverly. Tommy was inconsequential now; his mind was made up. Christian couldn’t waste time convincing him. Only Waverly mattered because the final decision rested with him.
The three sat in Waverly’s office. The D.C. building was open again, though not nearly as full as it had been a few weeks previous. Christian and Tommy had taken the private elevator up to Waverly’s office, not wanting to be noticed by anyone. Everything since leaving the hospital had been done in secret, even with Tommy’s quadriplegia. The nurse they were using lived with them at Waverly’s house—where all four now stayed the past two days. Five, if you included Simone.
“Christian, detail this out for me. What’s it going to look like? Big picture, I know what you want, but what’s the nitty gritty?”
“We pull off all detail and we put us out there in front. Let me go on some talk shows. I’ll say he’s dead or whatever we have to. I’ll slip in some messages that only Luke will understand. He’ll know I’m ready for him to come get me, and that he’ll be able to take me clean. Tommy doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want. I’ll do this alone—”
“You really think I’m going to allow that to happen, Christian? After everything, you think I’m going to just let you go in alone?”
No one said anything for a moment. Finally, Christian continued, “Either way, Luke takes us. You can implant tracking devices underneath our skin. That way you’ll always know where we are.”
“Not if we’re underground. The positioning system won’t work,” Tommy said.
“Not necessarily true,” Waverly said. “There’s new technology—I’m not sure of the name right now—but we can follow you below ground if necessary.”
“Good. That takes care of that,” Christian said. “So, we’re with him. We’re implanted with tracking devices. Put a radio or something in my tooth. I’ll clamp down when it’s time to move in.”
Waverly looked to Tommy, which Christian didn’t like.
“You think this will fail?”
“Yes,” Tommy said. “It’s got a greater than 50% likelihood of falling short. We wouldn’t even consider this if Luke didn’t have Veronica. Hell, if he didn’t have her, we could just step
away and let this creature you hired do his job.”
“Well, he does have her. So that idea is DOA,” Christian said.
“If we do this,” Waverly spoke up, “it’s a rescue mission. That means you both have to be willing to die in order to get this woman back. I’m okay with commissioning the order; we’ve done things like it before in other parts of the organization. It’s dangerous, and I doubt both of you will make it back, but the choice is up to you.”
Now Christian turned to Tommy. He wasn’t sure Luke would come if Tommy went underground. This was about Christian, but not only about him. The others mattered as well. To Luke, they were still a team—just playing a very different game.
“You’re committed?” Tommy said. “I can’t talk you out of this nonsense?”
Christian shook his head.
Tommy looked at Waverly and stared in silence for a few seconds, as if making up his mind.
“Okay,” he said. “I guess I never really had a choice, did I?”
The guards and secrecy that surrounded Christian and Tommy disappeared the next day. The two of them were put up in a corporate-type apartment, full of all the amenities they could possibly want. They were seen on the street, as well as coming and going from the apartment. They went out when they wanted, grocery shopping as if they weren’t being hunted by the most dangerous man in the world.
Three days passed and nothing happened.
“I need to get on a talk show,” Christian said. “Something like The Situation Room. I can communicate with him that way.”
Waverly made it happen.
On the fourth evening, Christian found himself mic’ed up and standing in front of a blue screen. A camera was in front of him, its black lens staring at him like an alien eye.
“What are you going to say?” Waverly asked from the side.
People were coming and going all around Christian. The news show was based out of New York City, but they had a satellite hub in D.C.. Christian was on the third floor and though he didn’t know anyone around him, they all appeared to be in a hurry preparing for the broadcast.
Tommy and Waverly were off camera to his left. Christian had been surprised that Waverly didn’t ask for a preview copy of his remarks. Maybe it wasn’t just Christian that was different; perhaps Luke had changed them all.
