by John Grit
The nurse took the tray away, not wasting time arguing.
Kelly Fosilliow walked into the room, followed by Jayden Becker. Raylan knew them both from his CIA days. Paper-pushing assholes who had no idea what it was like to have a man’s brains splattered in your face or hear bullets zipping by at three thousand feet per second.
“Leave me the hell alone,” Raylan said, and turned his face to the far wall.
Fosilliow looked at him, his face revealing uncharacteristic compassion. “Can’t do that, Raylan, sorry. Sorry about Carla. Sorry about a lot of things.”
Becker said, “Events are moving fast, and we need to fill you in.”
Raylan knew that was bullshit. They didn’t have to tell him a damn thing, and if they did, it would almost certainly be all lies. There would be no lawyer, no trial. The Constitution meant nothing. He had no rights. At that moment, he was teetering on the edge of a bottomless black hole that he was already falling into, never to be heard from again. The best he could hope for, pray for, was a relatively painless, quick execution. The fact they were speaking to him at all meant they wanted something from him or needed to lie to him for some hidden reason.
“What I don’t understand is why I’m still alive,” Raylan said. “I don’t have any useful intel. There’s no point in killing me by the inch.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Unless the prez wants some kind of revenge. Send a tape of it, so he can get his jollies.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Fosilliow said.
Raylan’s hate came to the surface. “I fully realize I can’t believe a thing you tell me. So what’s the point of this conversation? If you’re not here to torture or kill me, just go.”
“We spent a lot of taxpayers’ money to keep you alive,” Becker said. “Why would we kill you now?”
“Stop the shit.” Raylan grew tired of them. “If you didn’t think I had something valuable, I’d be dead already, and having something useful to the company can be very painful.”
Fosilliow grabbed a chair and moved it closer to Raylan’s bed. He was accustomed to sitting all day and grew tired of standing after only a few minutes. “Hear us out. You’re not going anywhere, so you might as well listen. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. President Riley has plans for you.”
~~~
Only three weeks had passed since Raylan was shot, and he was still weak and needed lots of antibiotics to ward off infection, yet the exchange was set for the next day. He still wondered what to think about him being handed over to Janowski. It wasn’t as simple as that, and he had been told so, and not to fear suffering for weeks or months at Janowski’s hands. They wouldn’t allow it, they promised. They and the nation owed him that. But he didn’t believe what he had been told and guessing on what he hadn’t been told terrified the hell out of him. Raylan had been told a lot of things, not only by Fosilliow and Becker, but the acting Director himself and even the Attorney General. Surprisingly, he had also been assigned a lawyer, but Raylan had no way of knowing if that was a ruse or not. The lawyer seemed sincere and the real thing, but CIA employees were trained liars; he should know. At any rate, he liked her. She reminded him of Carla. But then, that too could have been arranged and part of the plan. The fact is, he could trust no one. He doubted there would ever be a trial, anyway. And what good was a lawyer when he was on the edge of that black hole called the Patriot Act?
Two tall, very serious men in suits came into the room, interrupting the storm in Raylan’s mind. He noticed they had ear buds with wires leading down under their suits. He had used such communications equipment many times himself and wondered if he was about to be taken away ahead of the schedule he had been given. They ignored him and looked around, searching every inch from ceiling to floor. Then they searched Raylan, turning him as much as the chains would allow, not being cruelly rough, but not gentle either. One man had a device he ran over every inch of the walls and ceiling, then waved it over Raylan. When finished, they both checked the chains, making sure he couldn’t get loose. Both men then left the room without a word.
The door opened again, and President Riley walked straight up to Raylan, his eyes inquisitive, as if he were looking at someone he had wanted to meet for a long time. Raylan, who suddenly became very interested in his visitor, held his head off the pillow and gazed back at the man he had tried to destroy, and might have (though the jury was still out) by revealing classified information to the American people. He was surprised to find no hatred in Riley’s eyes.
Riley smiled and started to speak, then noticed the chains. His face turned from what appeared to be genuine warmth to outrage. He turned to the door and yelled, “Get those damn chains off him! He’s not an animal!”
Not two, but four Secret Service agents stormed into the room, two had H&K submachine guns out and ready.
Riley ordered, “Find the one who has the keys to those chains. They’re coming off.”
The senior agent spoke, “Sir, we can’t allow him to be alone with you in this room unchained. He’s a trained killer.”
“Aren’t you a trained killer?” Riley asked. “I would think one hand cuffed to the bed would suffice. To chain him like that so he can’t move is sadistic.”
“Yes sir.” The agent’s eyes flashed to one of the men, who quickly stepped out of the room.
Riley turned to Raylan. “I instructed them to treat you humanely. I apologize. I had no idea.”
Raylan half suspected Riley was putting on a show for his benefit, but said nothing.
After a few minutes, the Secret Service agent returned with a man Raylan had met a few days earlier and had been told was an FBI agent. He proceeded to remove the chains. Before removing the last one, he pulled handcuffs out of a pocket and cuffed Raylan’s right hand to a stainless steel bar on the edge of the bed. His left arm was bandaged but not seriously injured from a glancing round.
Riley asked the FBI agent, “Was this done for my safety, or has he been chained like this since he’s been here?”
“As far as I know he’s been chained since he arrived,” the agent answered.
“Damn it,” Riley hissed. “Disregarding the unnecessary cruelty, and I’m not disregarding it at all, his muscles have now started to atrophy. How is he to complete his mission tomorrow when he may not even be able to stand?”
The FBI agent stuttered, “I – had no idea he was to ever be part of any mission. My understanding was he, uh, was to be processed under the Patriot Act.”
Riley said, “Well, that’s the fog of government. It’s a lot thicker and darker than the fog of war and never goes away.” He waved his arms as if shooing chickens. “Please leave me alone with Mr. Maddox. Close the door behind you.”
Raylan wondered what would happen next, still not believing anything he had heard and little of what he had seen.
“I’ll see to it you get some time to walk around the room and out in the hall today and tonight,” Riley said. “But it’s too late for the exchange tomorrow. Your body won’t recover that quickly. We’ll have to give you to him in a wheelchair.”
“Wonderful,” Raylan said. “I won’t even have to walk to my death. Nice.”
The corners of Riley’s mouth quivered a little, then he broke into a laugh. “You’re a little pawn in a big game of chess, Mr. Maddox; get used to it.”
“I’ve been a pawn since I went to work with the CIA.”
Riley thought for a second. “Believe it or not, I know what that’s like. Even a president can get caught in a trap in a moment of weakness. Whether you have money or power, everyone wants a piece of it. Like a pack of hyenas, show any weakness and they move in for the kill.” He stepped closer, within arm’s reach of Raylan. “You’re not caught in a trap. Not this time. Sure, I need something from you. Some people under me think I’m going to actually give you to him. Even some friends are worried I might be that corrupt.” He shook his head. “No way in hell Janowski is getting you. I’m just using you as bait to lure him back to the Sta
tes.”
Raylan commented, “I believe you. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You hate him as much as I do.”
“Hate? I despise him. He’s not worthy of hate. Like you, though, I’m not sure who I can trust, so only a small number of people know what I’m up to. The fewer people who know, the better.” He glanced at the closed door. “Janowski has enough money to buy anyone and anything – a CIA Director, even a United States President, or so he thinks. Well, I’m going to show him he can’t buy me. His days of trafficking in human beings and bribing government officials are coming to an end. It’s going to be my greatest victory, my greatest triumph over the vileness and evil of this world. It won’t undo my own sins or unhurt the people I’ve caused pain, but it will be a great step from out of the dark and into the light.”
Raylan listened to him and found himself wanting to believe it, but he could not.
Riley stepped right up to Raylan. “They tell me you’re dangerous, even in your condition and handcuffed to the bed. They say you know a dozen ways to kill with your bare hands. Well, here I am, the President of the United States, asking you not to kill me, because we have work to do together. Here. I’ll move closer so you can reach me with your free hand.” He bent over. “But before you do, know this…” He whispered into Raylan’s ear.
Raylan’s eyes rounded and he grabbed Riley’s lapel in a vice grip, ignoring the pain from the bullet wound in his left arm. “You son of a bitch!” He screamed. “Get away before I kill you!” He shoved Riley across the room, slamming him into the wall and turning his bed over, spilling him onto the floor.
Secret Service agents stormed in, as Riley picked himself up and rearranged his suit and hair. He waved the agents out of the room. “Everything’s under control here. Leave us alone to work this out.” They hesitated, glaring at Raylan. “I promise I won’t get within his reach again. Now go and close the door.”
Before leaving, the agents set the bed back upright and helped Raylan, then handcuffed his other hand to the bed, yanking his arm over. A nurse checked the IV drip and the monitoring device, finding all undamaged.
After they left, Riley faced Raylan. “You misunderstood me completely.” He caught his breath, his chest heaving. “There seems to be a lot of that of late.” He laughed nervously. “Only this misunderstanding could have been fatal. I admit you scared the shit out of me. Even half-dead and full of meds, you’re a dangerous man.” To Raylan’s surprise, he walked right up to him again. “What I told you wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a bribe. It was a statement of fact.” He reached under his white shirt and rubbed his red collarbone area. “I just wanted you to know there is a life for you after we get Janowski and things aren’t nearly as bad as you think. Why would I have to hold anything over your head, threaten you? I’m convinced you hate Janowski as much as anyone. Hell, I could probably charge you a fee for the privilege of killing him.” After a few seconds he added, “But perhaps it would be better to bring him to trial and let all of his dirty laundry hang out in public.” He checked the door once again and then produced a photo from a pocket, holding it before Raylan’s eyes. “Since you have a habit of not believing me.”
The effect on Raylan was visible, visceral, welling up from deep within. He blinked tears.
Riley put the photo back in his pocket. “Once Janowski is caught, it’s over. There are the Senate hearings to get through. You’ll be grilled for anything that can bury me. That’s what they want most. My advice is to tell them the truth. Whatever truth you know.” He stepped back. “Of course I don’t have to tell you not to speak of what transpired in this room and certain things about yourself.”
He shrugged. “You’ll have to die, of course. Otherwise Janowski’s associates will be sending more killers, and sooner or later they’ll get you.” He nodded and smiled. “Better if you die. But that’ll be months from now after the hearings. By then you’ll be back on your feet and ready to enjoy your new life as a dead man. To help you enjoy your afterlife, I’ve added another million to your account in Florida. The one under one of your many aliases. Don’t worry; it’s not dirty money from Janowski or some other asshole, and it’s not a payoff. I only ask that you tell Congress and the American people the truth after helping me catch Janowski. You’ll also need surgery on your face. I’m making arrangements for that to take place after you die. Any questions?”
Chapter 24
Raylan’s body ached from the sudden exercise over the last hours. The president was right. Being chained to the bed for so long had taken its toll, and he was still weak from his wounds. His leg was in some kind of a brace with screws that were threaded into his bone to support the part shattered by a bullet, yet allow for swelling and drainage. It hurt like hell. His painkiller dosage had been gradually reduced since the president’s visit, so he could function better. He would receive no more medication until after it was over and he had done his part. A surgeon had warned him not to try to walk on his leg, but the surgeon wasn’t there when he used crutches and rattled up and down the hallway only minutes after President Riley had left. His appetite had returned, pleasing his nurse. It wasn’t much preparation for what was to come, but it would have to do. Secret Service agents were waiting to take him to meet Janowski, who was at that moment, Rayland had been told, in his private jet flying to the States.
President Riley had called Raylan only an hour before to drop another bomb in his lap. He prayed it was the last one. I’m still being used as a tool for those in power. Two Secret Service agents strapped him in a wheelchair and cuffed both wrists to the armrests. “There’s just no trust anymore,” Raylan said dryly. He was wheeled out of the room and down the hall at breakneck speed. A short elevator ride took them to the roof, where a helicopter waited. He was quickly carried on board, wheelchair and all, and in seconds they were airborne.
Raylan sat in the helicopter as it flew low and fast. He looked out a window, squinting in the bright sunlight, and instantly recognized the streets below and the topography in the distance, discovering for the first time he had been held at a small hospital run by the CIA. He had been in McLean, Virginia, near Langley the whole time. The CIA had him all along. He had no idea how much he had been told was truth and how much was lies, but there was no doubt he was being used. During the recent phone conversation with Riley, Raylan had been informed that he was expected to kill Janowski on the plane before it took off. Since Janowski would never be in custody, and would be killed by a rogue agent, the official story would have fewer loose ends to be tied. The added benefit was Janowski would never go to trial and have a chance to buy off jurors, prosecutors, and judges. Raylan suspected Riley was most concerned with preventing Janowski from talking about his dealings with the administration. So the president wasn’t throwing himself on the mercy of Congress and the American people after all; he was still playing the odds and insulating himself from Janowski and his death. If successful, it would all be blamed on a rogue agent, who had escaped long enough to kill the man he blamed for the death of his lover. If not, the plane would be shot out of the sky over the ocean. At least he would not be flown to Russia, where he would suffer a living hell. Or would he?
In a hanger at the airport, Raylan met two Secret Service agents. Raylan recognized them, because they were actually CIA operatives he knew to be incorruptible. This gave him a little more confidence, because he trusted both of them. Unfortunately, they probably didn’t think much of him releasing classified information to the public. Somehow, the president’s people had missed the fact the men knew Raylan. Obviously, they had lied when asked, and the lie held because the two had never worked directly with Raylan, so there was no record of them actually meeting. Their solid reputations were what caused them to be chosen for the job in the first place, yet they lied about knowing him. Raylan had confidence the two had lied because they wanted to be there and help him, if possible.
One man showed Raylan how his arms were going to be wrapped tightly to the wheelchair arm
rests with a weak material that appeared to be strong silver duct tape. To ensure that Raylan had no trouble breaking it and freeing his arms, the tape would be cut on the bottom side of the armrests, where it couldn’t be seen.
The man wrapped Raylan’s wrists with the fake duct tape, but didn’t cut it. “Give it a try and see how it breaks.”
Raylan yanked his arms upward from the rests and found the tape ripped away easily.
While he removed the broken tape from his arms, the man opened a briefcase full of knives. “Take your pick,” he said.
Raylan threw the sticky used tape on the floor and grabbed a Ka-Bar. He felt the edge for sharpness. Satisfied, he put it on the left armrest, where it would be hid under his wrist when it was taped up.
“Good choice,” the man said. “A classic with a long history of use in combat.” He opened another briefcase, this one full of pistols. “No telling how many body guards he’ll have in the plane with him. I would pick the Glock 19 for its mag capacity.”
Raylan nodded and reached for the Glock. Two men who had been standing nearby moved in and snatched him back from the briefcase. Raylan didn’t struggle. He looked up at them, his face a question mark.
The man took the Glock in hand and set the briefcase on a nearby table. “I’m placing the Glock under you, positioned so you can get at it with your right hand.” He pulled the slide back enough Raylan could see there was a round in the chamber, then he removed the magazine so Raylan could confirm it was fully loaded. There was no way he could know if the rounds were loaded with gunpowder or were duds, though. The man said, “Lift him off the chair a few inches.” They did as he asked, lifting him with a hand under each arm and keeping his wrists tightly grasped with their other hand. A bolt of fire shot up his left arm from the bullet wound.
The two men set Raylan down on top of the pistol and held his wrists until they were both cuffed to the wheelchair. The only one who had spoken a single word so far grabbed the tape and said, “The cuffs will come off just before you’re wheeled out to the plane.” He wrapped both wrists with the fake duct tape again and used a utility razor to cut through it underneath the armrests.
