Free Fall

by Kyle Mills

  “Would you step back, please?”Reys said. His calm had been restored by the intervention of his two bodyguards.

  “What?”

  “Step back away from the table.”

  Beamon took a deep breath and managed to construct a façade that would pass for outward calm. When he complied, Reys matched him with a step forward.

  “You didn’t let me finish, Mr. Beamon. If you agree to this, you’ll retire with your full pension. If not, the FBI is willing to use whatever resources necessary to prosecute you to the full extent of the law. You’ll spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a defense. I understand that you lost most of your savings in the market crash. If you lose, you’re looking at bankruptcy and a potential ten-year jail term. Even if you win, you’re still bankrupt, but with no pension.”

  Beamon felt everything come crashing down on him. Twenty plus years sleeping, eating and breathing the FBI, and this is how it was going to end for him. He wanted to say something that would express that, that would let Reys know what the political machine pulling his strings had done. How he was destroying a man’s life for nothing more than the off chance it might cool the heat a bunch of amoral political hacks had brought down on themselves. But what words could do that? In the end, he just turned away and started walking toward the door.

  “Three weeks, Mr. Beamon,”Reys called after him.“I’ll give you three weeks to make a decision. I think that’s more than generous under the circumstances.”

  ten

  “Come ON, Tristan!”

  “I’m trying!”His voice was strained and he was breathing harder than he should have been.

  “Well, try harder!.”1

  Darby stretched her arm further around his bare waist, attempting to support a little more of his body weight. They were both sweating profusely and he was getting more slippery with every step.

  The forest had closed in quickly behind them and was becoming increasingly dense as they fought their way up the butte. The good news was that the thick foliage was reasonably effective at keeping them out of sight. The bad news was that it also hid the rocks and broken sticks that were strewn across the forest floor and tearing Tristan’s bare feet apart.

  “It’s not much further,”Darby said as the slope suddenly turned into a forty-five-degree ramp of slick leaves and loose dirt. It was what she had originally hoped for—the tougher the terrain, the better the odds in her favor. It had been a miscalculation, though. Tristan was fading fast.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. They were outside, away from that house, and away from the sterile-looking freak who had been so anxious to have her tied to that bed. No matter what happened next, no matter what this was all about, they were better off out here.

  The positive thoughts that she had forced on herself slipped away as Tristan’s legs slowed and finally stopped. He stuck a hand out in front of him and fell against the steep slope.“That’s it … Darb. I’ve… I’ve got to rest.”

  “Now’s just not a good time,”she said, locking an arm under his and dragging him to the point that his knees actually made a trail in the dirt They made it about another four feet before she fell next to him.“It’s too steep and loose here, Twist. I can help, but I can’t carry you.” She pointed up the slope to a patch of blue sky framed by a stand of pine trees.“That’s it. That’s the top,”she said, having no idea if it was or not.“We’ll rest up there, Tristan. We’ll be able to see better. Figure out what we’re going to do.”

  He was still on his knees and sweat was running off his nose in a stream. His breathing had slowed a bit, but his recovery time wasn’t what she remembered.

  “You gonna throw up?”

  He shook his head.“Think they broke a couple of ribs. Can’t hardly breathe.”

  When she reached out and brushed the darkening bruise on his side, he jerked away weakly.“Doesn’t look that bad,”she lied.“I doubt they’re broken. You’ll be okay. We’ll slow the pace down a little. But we’ve got to keep moving. We’ve got to.”

  Tristan reached out and used her shoulder as a crutch to stand.“Okay. I’m all right. Let’s go.”

  Darby scooped up a handful of dirt to dry the sweat from her left arm and then wrapped it around Tristan’s waist. He managed to ignore the pain in his side and feet, and they started forward again.

  What seemed like an hour was probably no more than fifteen minutes. By the time Darby could clearly see the top of the butte, she was propelling herself by fear and force of will only. Every sound behind them—kicked off rocks, creaking trees, the flapping of wings—became a running gunman gaining on them.

  When the grade eased off a bit, she stopped and released, Tristan’s waist, instantly feeling the blood begin to flow back into her arm.“You can make it the rest of the way, Twist,”she said in a loud whisper.“Just keep going. Come on. Go!.”

  He grunted loudly and started crawling up the butte, trying to keep his damaged feet from contacting the ground. Unburdened, Darby backtracked by taking long jumps down the loose slope, sending a small avalanche of dirt and leaves down in front of her.

  She stopped behind a rock outcropping and peered down through the trees for at least a minute. Nothing. No sounds that didn’t seem to belong, no motion that couldn’t be accounted for by the wind or the natural inhabitants of the forest. The entire way up the butte, she’d felt like they had barely been moving, but in the end, everything was relative. Realistically, they’d probably covered the terrain faster than ninety percent of the population could.

  The brief rest had been enough to return her to near full strength and Darby was able to propel herself back up the slope at close to a full run. The patch of blue sky she had seen earlier actually did mark the top, and she came out of the trees into a small, flat meadow. Tristan wasn’t immediately visible, but the roughly foot-shaped blood trail he’d left through the brown grass was. She followed it fifty meters or so and found him lying on his back in a stand of tall weeds.

  “Okay—feel better?”Darby said, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. A rush of air escaped him, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to protest as they stumbled to a less exposed spot. When she let go of him, he crumpled to the ground, coughing violently. She knelt and gently scooped a hand under his right calf, lifting his foot for a closer inspection.

  “Oh, Tristan,”she heard herself say, and then instantly regretted her tone.

  “Not… so … good, huh?”he gasped out.

  It wasn’t. His foot was completely covered in blood. She wiped some of it away and sat quietly as the deep gouges continued to ooze and pump.

  “It’s always the silly things that get you, isn’t it?”Tristan said. He’d caught his breath a little and was trying to sound cheerful.“Rappelling off the end of your rope, losing your goggles … forgetting your shoes.”

  Darby began yanking at the straps of her sandals.“Maybe we can make these fit you—.”

  “Don’t be stupid,”he said, putting a hand on hers.“My feet are twice as big as yours. Besides, the damage is done.”

  She looked into his face. He was still so beautiful. As near as she could tell, a unique combination of perfect features, perfect skin, perfect hair, and eyes that looked so soft—no matter what the situation.

  The day they’d gone their separate ways had been much harder on her than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She’d always known the day would come. Tristan wanted everything: freedom, adventure, money, love, fame. But he’d never understood that none of those things came without a cost. There was always a price to be paid.

  “I’m so sorry, Tristan. This is all my fault. I …” Her voice trailed off. What could she say?

  “Your fault? What are you talking about?”

  “There was this plane in Laos. I think that’s what this must be about. An Air America plane full of heroin. I took a picture—.”

  To her surprise, he started to laugh.

  “What are you—.”

  “Darby…” He
reached out and ran a bloody finger gently down her cheek.“I stole an old FBI file from the National Archive where I worked. It has things in it you wouldn’t believe. Things that could hurt—destroy—some of the most powerful people in the country.”

  It took her a moment to process what he was saying.“You … you what?”

  “I stole it and stashed it in that cave near the Fisher Towers. That’s where I’d been when you showed up at my apartment.” He looked away and pretended to concentrate on one of the worst of the cuts on his foot.“I figured I could sell it. To the press. I’d have been set up for life….” His voice got quieter as he continued to talk.“I was going to find you. We could have gone anywhere we wanted, done anything. Lived in four-star hotels instead of moldy tents….”

  Before she knew what she was doing, Darby punched him hard in the chest. He fell back into the grass, but not really from the impact. It hadn’t surprised him.

  “How could you have done something so stupid?”she said, grabbing both of his shoulders in her powerful grip and shaking him.“Don’t you know what people like that are capable of? We don’t even count to them. We’re nothing. They’d kill us for nothing! What the hell were you thinking?”

  She froze when a shout drifted up to them on the light breeze. It wasn’t very close, but it would be soon.

  Tristan heard the voice, too, but didn’t seem to care.“Sorry, Darb. If I’d have known…”

  She knelt and picked up one of his feet again, not listening to him. The blood flow had slowed while he was lying down, but she knew that when he stood, it would start again in earnest. He was going to get light-headed before long.

  “Darby, I—”He lost his voice when she wrapped his foot in the bottom of her shirt and squeezed down a little harder than she needed to.

  “Forget it,”he said, pulling away and leaving a large stain on her T-shirt. He struggled to his feet and started to limp toward a short, exposed ridgeline to the north.

  Darby stayed where she was, glaring at him as he moved away. He’d only made it about ten meters when she took a deep breath and pushed back her emotions. There would be time to be angry later. Hopefully.“Not that way, Tristan. We’ve got to go down the other side.”

  There was an obvious canyon running between the butte they were on and the one behind it. It looked remote, and she could see a stream running through it. They’d need to avoid roads, open areas, and other easy terrain where the men chasing them could move quickly. And they’d need water.

  “You go that way,”Tristan said.“I’m going this way.”

  She ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm.“Don’t be stupid. We have to stay together.”

  He looked behind him at the bloody footprints he was leaving and forced a pained smile.“Don’t worry, Darb. I don’t care how bad my feet are—I can stay ahead of those fat-asses.”

  She wouldn’t let him go when he tried to pull away again.“I’ve been in worse situations than this, Tristan, and I’ve never left anyone behind before.”

  “You’ve been indifferent situations than this, Darb. You’ve already saved my ass as many times as you’re going to.” He leaned forward unexpectedly and pressed his mouth against hers, then pulled away and began limping off.“I’ll meet you at Summersville Lake. Near Apollo Reed. Tomorrow or the next day.” He paused for a moment and looked back in her direction, but wouldn’t meet her eyes.“Darby. I’m sorry.”

  Darby leaned forward and dipped the bottom of her shirt in the quickly moving stream. The tears finally started to roll down her cheeks as Tristan’s blood was flushed from the material and swirled away over the mossy rocks and rotting logs. She fell onto the bank, closing her eyes and choking off her sobs before they got out of control. Tristan was on his own now. She had to concentrate on her own problems.

  Judging by the position of the setting sun, it had been a little over an hour since she’d left him. There had been no shots, no more shouts, nothing. The men who had attacked them weren’t close behind her; she knew that for sure. Without Tristan’s weight, she’d run down the slope at a speed made possible only by the thousands of similar descents she’d made in her lifetime.

  On a less positive note, though, she had no idea where she was. How long had she been unconscious in that van? Was she five hours from the New? Ten? Twenty? Was she still in West Virginia? How far to the nearest town?

  She finally stood and started carefully downriver, picking her way through the tangle of slick boulders and fallen trees. No matter where you were in the world, if you followed running water far enough, you pretty much always ended up in civilization. Or the ocean.

  She picked up her pace a little, but not so much that she couldn’t keep her progress quiet. Best to make some time now; the coming dark was going to cut her speed in half. And it was starting to get cold.

  eleven

  David Hallorin leaned into the centermost microphone and looked out over the people neatly lined up on benches in front of him.“It looks like my time is running out. I think they’ll let us squeeze in a couple more, though.” He pointed to a woman in the back row. It was impossible to make out any more than her outline with the bright television lights bearing down on him, but that was enough. Her movements were slow, uncertain. The question would come the same way.

  “Thank you, Senator.”

  He nodded and smiled easily.“What do you have for me?”

  The imprecise, informal way of speaking was pure Roland Peck and Hallorin was still having a hard time making it work. Despite the condition of the country and the rest of the world, the American people were still too stupid and weak to focus on anything but image. Even now, they were still more easily drawn to feigned personal warmth and deliberately meaningless and endearing character flaws than to strength and leadership.

  “Sir, I agree with your stand on personal responsibility and the way you want to reform the tax system but I just can’t agree with you on the legalization of drugs. Senator Taylor wants a more efficient government, too, but he says we can’t afford to do it at the expense of our children. If the government sold drugs, everyone would be doing them.” She started to sit down before she was even finished speaking his Republican opponent’s words.

  “Hold on there, don’t take your chair just yet,”Hallorin said, squinting through the lights.“I have a question for you.”

  She stopped halfway, and he could see the dark outline of her head move as she looked around her.

  “Would you, ma’am?”

  “Excuse me?”she said nervously, still not sure whether she should stand or sit.

  “Would you start using drugs if they were legal?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.” He paused, considering stopping this routine short. The rest was risky. Peck insisted that it couldn’t fail—there were no less than three cameras trained on the crowd, and according to Peck, the audience’s mothers and bosses would be watching. He decided to go forward.

  “I want everyone out there who does not currently use narcotics, but would if they were legalized, to raise their hands.” No one moved.

  He scanned the audience for a few more seconds, shrugged meaningfully, and continued.“As I’ve said before, I like my Republican opponent. I always have. But more than that, I respect Senator Taylor’s willingness to get bloodied over and over again in the war on drugs. The question is this: If you’re fighting a war and you’re losing badly, hopelessly, would you continue to send your sons and daughters to the front lines to be killed? Or would you change your strategy?”He leaned against the podium and made a show out of scanning the crowd before locking in on the woman who had posed the question.“Let me correct one thing you said. I believe that the U.S. government, as it’s now structured, is the only organization in the world that could lose money selling drugs.” There was a brief, quiet tittering from the audience that he hoped was loud enough to be picked up by the mikes.

  “I propose that the right to produce and market these products be sold to
pharmaceutical companies. Now, there would be no advertising and you could only buy in state- run stores. These stores wouldn’t take cash or checks—no, you’d have to use a credit card specially designed for the purpose. The government could then track who was using what and how much. That would then be compared with tax returns to make sure that there were no disparities that might suggest that money was being raised by criminal activity.”

  “Big Brother is watching!.”

  The shout from the back was unamplified, but this time there was no doubt it was loud enough to have been picked up by the mikes. More Roland Peck. He’d allowed a number of staunch liberals to“sneak”into the audience. The town-hall format wouldn’t look real without them, he’d said, all the while making sure that these red herrings were poorly spoken fanatics who would succumb to the carefully planned responses he’d devised.

  The audience had been generally sympathetic to his positions all evening, so Hallorin chose the most forceful of the five or so retorts he had to choose from. He breathed out audibly but didn’t turn toward the source of the voice.“Big Brother. The battle cry of the paranoid.” More quiet titters. It had been the right choice.“Big Brother, as you say, is already watching drug users in the form of the DEA, FBI, and local law enforcement agencies. And what are they seeing? They’re seeing people die. Children—in gun battles over territory, in crossfires, of AIDS, as crack babies. Remember a few years back when a group of vigilantes decided to poison the drug supply? Thousands died. You have a choice as an individual. If you don’t want Big Brother to watch you, don’t use drugs.”

  There was a smattering of applause. Positive, but respectful of the gravity of the subject matter.