by Laurel Dewey
“I don’t know.” Threads of jealousy were woven into his tenor. “But if anyone could do it, I imagine he would be the one who could pull it off.”
Jane tried to make sense of it all. An expertly trained, high-level assassin possibly uncovered stunning information and clearly understood the depth of what that information meant. But on some strange, intuitive level, he also knew his life would end because of it. Jane quickly recalled the IEB white binder. “Ever heard of ‘IEB’?”
“No clue. Why?”
“Gabriel mentioned it to Harlan on the trip. You sure you never heard of it?”
“I’m fucking positive! His clearance was far above mine.”
“You never heard about IEB or—” Jane suddenly saw a flash of the African village and the elders seated in a circle pounding their drums. “How about Africa?”
“Well, you’re all over the place now, aren’t you?”
Jane pulled up the comment that Nanette made regarding the postcards Gabriel sent her when he was gone. She mentioned that one postcard featured children in the Congo, dressed in their tribal outfits. Less than a week later she read a story about a coup in that region where the tribal leaders were slaughtered, along with lots of children. “The Congo?” Jane asked tentatively, feeling some sort of veiled significance the minute the word left her lips.
John stared at her. “The Congo?” He looked interested even though he was doing everything possible to hide it. “What did he tell Harlan about the Congo?”
She couched her words carefully. Something told her he was trolling for information and had nothing of import to offer her. “He took photos of the kids in their native garb,” she offered, winging it as she went. “He told Harlan they’d never seen a digital camera before so they were thrilled to see themselves in the monitor.” Jane wasn’t certain where all this bullshit was coming from.
“Is that right?” he replied, not caring one bit.
“Yeah, he said something like, ‘We take all of this for granted, but through the eyes of a child…’” She stopped, hearing the words she just uttered. It was the exact title of the Patsy Cline song on the cassette tape that Harlan carried in his bag.
“Through the eyes of a child, what?”
A wave of terror gripped Jane and then subsided. But a sense of dread hung close to her.
“Hey!” John yelled. “I asked you a fucking question!”
She came back into herself. “You can see forever,” she replied, not sure what she meant.
He regarded her with derision. “Fuck! What a load of tripe. What else about the Congo?” John asked in an irritated tone, fishing for information.
She shook her head. “That’s it. Just the kids. Does it mean anything to you?”
He snorted contempt. “The few times Gabriel reached out and we made contact, he never said a word about what he saw or was involved in. But it wouldn’t have mattered. They change names of projects all the time. They compartmentalize us on purpose. So Bob doesn’t have a clue what Bill’s doing. But then again, by the time Bob is on the scene, Bill is probably dead. So, problem solved there, eh?”
Jane could see that John took her bait and she let him talk.
“There are organizations within organizations,” he continued. “Secrets within secrets. And it’s all buried so deeply that one arm doesn’t know what the other is doing. It’s all by design. It’s so no one has any idea of what the master plan is except for those in charge. And those people are so few, you’ll never meet them.” He picked at his front tooth with his fingernail. “I only know what I’m asked to do. I don’t know what came before or what happens after. All I know for certain is that the people I work for invented the darkness. They own the bloody patent. And their hand is in every single major organization on this planet, even the ones that appear entirely altruistic. They leave nothing to chance, you see? Every gesture is planned to the last motion. They don’t do anything that isn’t significant. There’s no wasted effort. Every breath is programmed and considered before inhaling. Dates, locations, seasons…they are all important. And above all else, ritual is king. Without ritual sacrifice, there’s no point to the process because it’s through the ritual that they gain and maintain their power.”
“So, you’re saying Gabriel was sacrificed?”
“Yes. I’m certain of it. His death knell probably kept their gods satiated for quite a while.”
She let it sink in. “Because of his abilities?”
“Oh, shit. It went far beyond ‘abilities,’” he mocked. “He had raw, impenetrable power.” He cocked his head to the side. “And when you kill someone like that, it’s like throwing a large stone into the water. The waves of energy produced from that death can be significant. It’s the way it works. Someone always has to die so someone else can prosper. Sacrifice is what it’s all about, sweetheart. You can’t sacrifice enough people or beliefs. Because with each sacrifice, the more supremacy is attained. Through someone else’s blood, one can use that death to attain greatness.” He eyed Jane carefully. “Don’t think you’re so above us, Perry. If you had to, you’d sacrifice someone in a bloody heartbeat.”
Jane thought about it. “Only if it meant saving them.”
“Killing someone to save them? That’s a novel idea. Gotta remember that one.” He looked at her with a handler’s eyes, modulating his voice in an attempt to mesmerize Jane. “Don’t you want to know what greatness feels like? You could be a fantastic asset to us, Perry. I mean it. This could be one of those out-of-the-box opportunities for you. Everyone thinks you’re dead. The timing is brilliant. You change your identity, alter your appearance, maybe have a little cosmetic surgery? We don’t have a lot of women in our ranks. Who knows how far you could climb up the ladder? You’ve already killed at least one person in your career. I can tell. I can always tell that. Once you’ve taken the life of another human being, it’s stamped on your psyche. So, the next one and the one after that shouldn’t be difficult at all, eh?” He smiled broadly. “Yeah. I see the potential of greatness in you.”
She looked around the sparse house and its meager trappings. “Greatness, huh? You’ve killed a shitload of people. I don’t see that it’s working out for you.”
He scowled, shaking his head with disdain. “I thought you were smarter than the average cunt. But you have no fucking idea.” He observed her like a lab specimen. “You’ve bought into the falsehood that with goodness comes an inevitable reward. But that’s bloody untrue and you know it! Look around and tell me what goodness gets you. It doesn’t propel you forward. It traps you in the promise that with every wonderful deed you accomplish, somehow you’ll gain a gift. But that’s a false belief system. Because no matter how many stellar actions you initiate, the evil in this world is overwhelming and will always defeat you.”
He moved his chair closer to hers. “You’re like the rest of the sleeping masses who enjoy believing that all nursery school teachers are virginal and all preachers are faithful.” His tone was eerily calming. “But the truth is nothing like that. Yet it doesn’t stop people from trying to convince themselves that goodness still exists. The stupid fucks have no clue that goodness died a quick death years ago and has been replaced with all that’s left.”
She looked him in the eye, unmoved by his words. “You’re wrong. There still is goodness in this world. You just don’t attract it.”
He waved his hand at her in a dismissive manner. “Fuck off! Have you taken a hard look at the world lately, sweetheart? You tell me that there hasn’t been a precise objective over the years to propel the shit to the top of the heap. It’s been done on purpose, you stupid bitch, and there’s nothing anybody can do to stop it! Ninety-nine percent of the human drones out there cannot wrap their minds around the idea that there are a chosen few in this world who will stop at nothing to gain whatever it is they believe they need. And if that means destroying people, places, ide
as, concepts, morals and the lot, so be it. They achieve their goals through creating chaos! They love it. They feast off it for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And all the fear that’s produced from that chaos? They thrive on that! It’s their manna from hell.” He leaned back, displaying a certain amount of pride. “Some call it ‘driving the wedge.’ I like to call it the Chaos Quotient. Throw enough chaos at anyone and they shut down because they can’t process anything thoroughly. Too much is happening all at once so nobody can focus on any one thing before the next ‘unexpected’ thing happens. And so everyone’s running around just trying to make it through their day and juggle all the distorted information their primitive mind questions but their rational mind accepts based on what they’ve been told.” He smiled like a feral Cheshire cat. “You see how it works? Hit them with a blast of madness and convince them that it’s sanity. Tell them that this is the new reality—a reality that doesn’t allow for contemplation or critical thinking or even common sense. And do it all in plain view and if someone is smart enough to figure it out, you just label them crazy, unhinged, mentally unstable, in need of medication and then give them whatever it takes to get them so bloody numb that they shut the fuck up.” He smiled again. “It really is quite humorous to watch especially when you know how the game is played.”
“You can’t continue chaos forever,” Jane stated.
“Of course, not. The ones who create the chaos are the same ones who come up with the solution. Brilliant, eh? So no matter what happens, they always win. Trust me, they will always win.”
Jane turned back to Harlan who was still sound asleep. She sat back and glared at John. “So, what’s the plan?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you going to kill us or not?”
He met Jane’s intense glower. “You’re already dead. Remember?”
She sat forward on the chair. “Right. So, I think we’re done. What happened here is between us. I won’t breathe a word of it.”
“Dead men tell no tales.”
There was a thick silence between them that seemed eternal. With no more words, John snapped his fingers toward S.B., who dutifully handed him two black blindfolds. He tied one around Jane’s head as she heard S.B.’s footsteps trod toward Harlan. She was gruffly pulled to her feet by S.B. and taken outside into the cold, early morning air. After being handcuffed and then locked onto what felt like the side mirror of the SUV, she heard S.B.’s feet retreat back into the house. Before she’d figured out how to escape the cuffs, she heard John and S.B. return, grunting as they walked. She felt Harlan’s large body brush against hers as he was lifted into the backseat of the SUV. Her cuffs were removed and she was shoved into the SUV. The ride lasted half an hour. At least, that’s what Jane factored as she quietly counted in her head. No words were exchanged the entire time. For all she knew, they were driving in circles just to throw her off. But thirty minutes later, the SUV came to a halt and the back door was opened. Jane was grabbed first and hauled out of the backseat before being thrown onto the asphalt. About one minute later, she felt Harlan’s body fall next to her. She waited, knowing they were still hovering close by. One of them stepped toward her and removed her wallet from her jacket pocket.
“Oh, fuck, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” Jane argued, straining against the blindfold. “You’re ripping me off?”
“I never bet against the team,” John replied. “So I like to improve my odds whenever possible.”
He stuffed the wallet back into her pocket and leaned close to Jane’s face. The hot, venomous stench of his breath nearly overpowered her.
“I’ll let them finish what they started,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t ever believe you can outsmart them, Perry. They always get what they want.” He dug into her jacket pocket again, removing her car keys.
Jane heard him heft the keys across the parking lot and their soft landing in dirt.
“That’ll slow you down in case you’re stupid enough to follow us,” John sneered.
There was a tense moment before Jane heard John and S.B.’s feet trail back to the SUV. She waited until she couldn’t hear the vehicle’s engine any longer before removing the blindfold. They were back at the bowling alley, lying next to the Mustang. Jane quickly pulled out her wallet and found that everything was still there except for one thing: all the cash. She untied Harlan’s blindfold and nudged him in the shoulder. He didn’t respond.
“Harlan!” She nudged him again with more urgency but he didn’t move. Leaning closer to him, she said the first two words that came to mind. “You’re safe.”
Harlan immediately opened his eyes and looked at Jane. Looking around the scene, he shook his head of the cobwebs. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled. “What’d I miss?”
CHAPTER 16
Jane brought Harlan up to speed, which didn’t take long since she left out most of what transpired. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
He thought about it. “Drivin’ into this parkin’ lot.”
She sighed. “You don’t remember singing, ‘Just in Time’?”
“What’s that?”
“Oh, gee, Harlan,” she stated wryly, “And I thought you were singing those words just to me.”
“It ain’t funny, Jane.” Suddenly he became serious. “None of this is comical. We’re outta money. How in the hell are we gonna buy gas and food?”
“We have about half a tank left. I have an emergency hundred-dollar bill stashed in the glove compartment. And there’s still enough food in the cooler if we ration it.” Her attempt at Pollyanna optimism quickly disintegrated. She turned to Harlan. “Okay. We’re fucked.” She worked herself up off the asphalt, gingerly avoiding the broken beer bottles. Her car keys were sitting out there in the dark somewhere, probably closer to dirt than pavement based on the sound she heard when they landed. Jane walked around the Mustang and realized something was wrong. Peering at the right rear wheel, it was completely flat. “Oh, fuck.” This was instant Karma—ethereal payback for slicing the cop’s patrol car tire.
Harlan heaved himself up. “You got yourself shitty tires, Jane. I tried to tell you that when we first met.” He rubbed his hand across the top of the tire. “You got an air pump and a good spare?”
“Good enough.”
“Well, finally somethin’ I can actually help you with!” he said with pride.
After Jane found the keys lying in a landscaped island next to a small, decorative tree, she popped the trunk and Harlan went to work changing the tire. Jane grabbed a cigarette, promising herself just two puffs. She checked the time on the clock. It was 3:11. “Shit,” she whispered. If this was a cosmic joke, she wasn’t laughing. How many times had she seen 3:11 staring back at her during her last case in Midas, only to find out it happened to be Wanda’s birthday. She took another drag on her cigarette and walked into the empty parking lot. How long had she been gone? Six days? No. It was coming up on four. How in the hell was that possible? Based on what Hank and she had learned, there was only a short window of time before Wanda moved from her halfway house to another location. After that, tracking her down might be more difficult, especially if she ghosted herself like a lot of addicts and fell back into her old life. Jane tried to persuade herself that she didn’t need to meet or talk with Wanda but Hank convinced her that if she didn’t make the trek to Northern New Mexico she’d always wonder about her half-sister. “That’ll dog you forever, Jane,” he warned her. And he was right. She hated that fact but it was true. But it was also a fact that Wanda didn’t have a clue that Jane existed. Here Jane was, focused on the woman, like she had been a couple weeks before, and realized that she could think about Wanda 24/7 but it didn’t mean they had any purposeful connection. Right now, it was a one-sided relationship. Jane lectured herself that if she wanted to, she could blow it off and never look back.
She took another hit of nicotine, hoping it would ease her nerves.
But there was a gradual shaking that crept under her skin that felt like a thousand electrical outlets buzzing simultaneously. Jane looked into the coal darkness. She heard the distant horn of an Interstate truck, miles away from their desolate location. But she didn’t feel one bit alone. Were they watching her, she worried. Had John made a call and improved his odds even more by tipping them off to their whereabouts? Between the cops and the mysterious Romulus, Jane knew she had to make some serious adjustments in their plans if she was going to be able to continue and figure out how to remove Harlan from this mess.
Her lip started to throb where she’d been slapped. Rubbing it gently, she noticed some of the dirt from the floor of the cement blockade was firmly embedded in her inflamed cut. All she needed now was an infection to cap off her night from hell. She turned back to the Mustang in time to find Harlan stashing the dead tire in her trunk. Letting out a hard sigh, she knew what she had to do. It wasn’t going to be easy and she’d have to wing it, given the enormity of her situation. But her back was against the wall and as much as she wanted to continue being the lone wolf, she was aware that either the cops or Romulus would devour her unless she got some help.
Trekking back to the car, Harlan was waiting for her.
“They may have jobbed your two guns, Jane. But I still got one,” he beamed, tipping his head toward the backseat. There was the 9mm he’d grabbed when he escaped from the hospital days before. “Extra clip, too, don’t forget.”
Jane looked at him. He was so proud that he could fix her tire and now he was thrilled that he could offer a gun and a clip. “Thank you,” she offered.
He licked his lips nervously. “We’re gonna be okay, Jane. Right?”
She nodded, still formulating her plan.
“Hey, can I ask you somethin’?” he said.
“What?”
“How’d you wake me up? What’d you say?”
