Web of Lies

by Michael Cross

  Her words hit me hard. A profound sense of sympathy for this woman washes over me. It adds another layer of righteous rage I feel for Vogel and for the Hellfire Club in general.

  “We will destroy these people,” I tell her. “You have my word on that.”

  I hear her setting something down on the counter. “I’m giving you a flash drive with everything you need,” she says. “I’m also giving you a burner phone with my number already in the contacts. Keep it charged, and don’t use it for anything but contacting me.”

  “Understood.”

  “Now, my friend and I are going to back out of here. Please count to one hundred before you move,” she says. “I think for our safety—and yours—it’s best if we don’t see each other.”

  “I agree,” I say. “One hundred. Ninety-nine...”

  Publius and her bodyguard move through the door behind the front counter and melt into the shadows, disappearing into the dark. I count down to zero, then pick up the flash drive and phone, slip them both into my pocket and head out, adrenaline making me buzz with excitement.

  Armed with this new information, I’m anxious to get this op going. The fact that they’re using the lives of innocent civilians and U.S. troops to turn a buck is beyond infuriating. And after hearing Publius’ story, how they murdered her sister to cover it up, I feel as if I have a more personal stake in it. Despite not knowing her, the woman’s story resonated deeply with me, and I’m anxious to blow this thing wide open.

  I’d rather put bullets in Vogel and Kent for what they’re doing. They more than deserve it. But I’ll have to be satisfied that I’m putting a stop to a money and power grab more evil than anything I’ve ever heard of. Permanently.

  Saturday can’t get here soon enough.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “The shipment’s been sent to our friends in Syria,” Vogel says. “Fourteen crates this time.”

  “Good, good,” Kent nods. “And once we get confirmation that they’re being used in the field, we’ll push through an order for more T-12 rockets.”

  “I would suggest adding some of the VT-25 bunker-busting bombs,” Vogel offers. “You know how those animals love to dig in deep.”

  “Of course. Terrific idea,” he replies with a smile. “And of course, I trust that my efforts to secure orders on your behalf will not go unnoticed.”

  Vogel’s laugh is light and luxurious. She lays her hand on Kent’s arm and gives it a squeeze that can’t be described as anything else but intimate.

  “Avery dear, in all the years we’ve been working together, have I ever failed to reward or compensate you?”

  He flashes her a wolfish smile, his eyes sliding up and down her body, his face a mask of desire.

  “Never. You always take care of me monetarily,” he grins, sliding a finger up her arm. “Or otherwise.”

  I cut the tape off, and the screen goes dark. Justice stares at it with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open. We sit in silence for a few moments, digesting the hidden camera footage we just watched. The film was made of Kent and Vogel tucked away in the corner of some posh private party. The way they talk about selling weapons to Syrian extremist groups to enrich themselves fills me a rage I’ve never known.

  “There are another twenty-seven hours of audio and video recordings,” I say. “Along with the photos of Vogel and Kent.”

  “And also the photos of Vogel and Hardwick.”

  A wry grin touches my lips. “Right. Those too.”

  After listening to and watching all of the recordings Publius gave me, one thing that’s been made clear is that Hardwick doesn’t know of the arrangement between Vogel and Kent. His only crime is cheating on his wife. And these days, that’s not nearly enough to end his career. At least if you’re a man. Infidelity is a character flaw that’s often overlooked these days.

  But Vogel is guilty of so much more, and if I can take her off the board, the implication that he was involved with her illicit deals might be enough. It will at least dirty him up enough that it will make his election unlikely. At least in this cycle. No doubt he’ll be back with a new Hellfire Club-approved benefactor in the next election cycle.

  “Where did you get this footage?” Justice asks.

  “An asset I developed recently.”

  “Not going to tell me who it is?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. Trust is key when developing an asset,” I say. “If they can’t trust you to protect their identity, they’ll never open up to you.”

  “But we’re on the same side.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s a one-on-one relationship,” I reply. “Unless they are specifically open to expanding that circle, you never do it. Ever. Do you understand me?”

  Justice nods, her expression serious as she takes in the lesson. That’s good. Justice has the talent that’s going to enable her to become a fantastic field agent. She just needs to learn the skills that will refine that talent.

  “That’s rule number one,” I say.

  She quirks a grin. “I thought rule number one was always assume you’re being surveilled?”

  “You are such a smartass,” I crack with a soft chuckle. “But I’m serious. You must be willing to die to protect your asset. Are you willing to give your life to protect an informant?”

  “I am,” she nods without a trace of sarcasm.

  “Good.”

  We watch a couple more of the videos together. My disgust only deepens as my anger rises. I close the laptop and shake my head. Justice looks as disturbed about it as I do. But she also looks determined. Which is good.

  “What are we going to do with these?” she asks softly.

  “We are going to use these to destroy her. And Kent.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Telling Justice the details of my op is something I shouldn’t even consider doing. Operational security is as sacrosanct as protecting your assets. But I know this is somebody I can trust. I can’t say how I know this with the certainty I do, but I know it down in my bones. And if there is one thing I remember from my training with crystal clarity, it’s to always trust your instincts.

  This is a woman who can do great things for the Tower. Burying her in data analysis is a waste of her talents. She just needs somebody to mentor her.

  “I’ve been tasked with planting incriminating information on Vogel’s computer,” I tell her. “But in the grand scheme of things, insider trading and stock fraud are small potatoes. It’s all petty bullshit they’ll sweep under the rug and bounce back from.”

  I see Justice’s eyes light up, and a wicked smile touch her lips. “Something like this will bury them forever,” she connects the dots. “They’ll never recover from this kind of scandal.”

  “That’s the idea,” I confirm. “I’ll carry out my mission. But I’m planning on adding to it.”

  “How did we not know about this?”

  I shake my head. “Vogel and Kent keep a pretty low profile in public,” I offer. “And unless you knew to look for this specifically, you might not find it. My asset only stumbled onto it by accident.”

  “This is big,” she muses. “Massive.”

  “It’s going to be game on after this,” I reply. “If we hit the Hellfire Club this hard, they are going to be looking to hit us back even harder.”

  She nods but says nothing, her face set in that look of grim determination. Justice wants to help. Wants to be part of the solution. But she’s being held back—not just by the powers that be, but by her own lack of training and knowledge. I have a chance to change that. And if we really are going to war with the Hellfire Club, we’re going to need all hands on deck.

  “We’ll start training tomorrow morning. Oh-six-hundred,” I tell her. “Be ready to learn because I am going to push you hard.”

  “Looking forward to it,” she smiles.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I spend eighteen hours a day for the next three days teaching Justice all the tradecraft I can. I pass o
n everything I can remember, drilling her again and again, until she has it right. Until she has it perfect.

  And Justice is a very quick study. She listens attentively and picks up every lesson easily. Her thirst for knowledge is as relentless as her drive to improve. My only regret is that I don’t have more time to spend training her.

  We sit across the table from each other, and I take a sip from my beer as I watch her mentally calculating, planning, analyzing. Going over everything in her head. Finally, she looks up at me and gives me a grim smile.

  “I know what a risk you’re taking by teaching me all of this. And I just want to thank you for it,” she says. “I’ve learned more from you these past few days than in two years at the Agency.”

  “Don’t thank me,” I shrug. “We’re going to need all the capable bodies we can get after we finish this op.”

  “Right,” she nods. “Speaking of which, I found out which private security company Vogel is going to be using for the fundraiser.”

  I take a long swallow of my beer and nod. That’s good news. About the only piece of good news we’ve had in regard to this op.

  “I’ve already hacked into the company’s database—it was surprisingly easy, considering they’re in the security business,” she laughs. “Anyway, I was able to plant a personnel file for you in their database and even backdated it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that you, my friend, have been an employee of Blackledge Security for five years,” she grins, giving a flourish to it. I’m impressed. “Of course, you’ve been working in the overseas branches, guarding foreign dignitaries and heads of state. You only came to the Windy City a month ago.”

  “Overseas, huh? I’m a pretty impressive guy.”

  “Yes you are,” she laughs. “And an extra gold star for me since I was able to get you on the personnel manifest for the fundraiser.”

  She slides a white envelope across the table to me, and inside, I find an ID badge, a small flag pin, and an earwig.

  “I was able to clone the company’s ID tags, so in the unlikely event somebody checks you out, you’ll pass muster—you are going to be Robert Hudson for the night,” she explains. “There’s a pinhole camera in that flag pin—also standard issue for the company—that will let me see what you see, and a two-way earwig that will allow us to communicate while you’re inside.”

  I’m actually impressed. She’d already anticipated me telling her she couldn’t go inside with me and had planned accordingly. Better than that, she accepts her role in this op and isn’t arguing with me about it. I appreciate that about her.

  “You are a master at your craft,” I observe.

  “Yes I am. And totally unappreciated in my own time.”

  I laugh and throw a crumpled up piece of paper at Justice. “Come on down off that cross,” I grin. “Martyrdom’s not a good look on you.”

  She laughs as I lean back in my seat and take a long swallow of beer, feeling the same rush I got the night before the Blankenship op. It’s not quite excitement, but it certainly steps right up to that line. Given that I’m running around out here destroying people’s lives, if not killing them outright, I’m not sure what that says about me.

  “I’ll be monitoring you from a van nearby,” she says. “I’ll be able to walk you through any tech issues that may come up.”

  “What? You don’t think I can manage that end of the op on my own?”

  She grins. “I just figured you’re getting to a certain age...”

  I laugh. “Kiss my ass, lady. Just how old do you think I am?”

  She shrugs. “Not sure exactly, but if I had to guess, I’d say you and Methuselah were contemporaries.”

  I throw another ball of paper at her and drain the last of my beer. As I set the bottle on the table though, a frown pulls the corners of my mouth downward. I pull on my earlobe hard as I try to recall how old I actually am. But that information, like everything else, remains behind that opaque door in my mind, locked securely away from me. I pull my earlobe hard enough to make me wince, the frustration flowing through me thick and deep.

  As if sensing the shift in my mood, Justice frowns, and when she finally speaks, her tone is soft.

  “They’ll come back to you—your memories,” she says. “I’m sure they will. It’s just going to take a little time. I mean look, you remembered this house, didn’t you?”

  A faint smile touches my lips. I nod and get to my feet, grabbing my jacket from the back of the chair.

  “Listen, we can regroup in the morning and go over the last-minute details. So the rest of the night is yours,” I tell her. “I’ve got some business I need to see to.”

  Justice looks up at me and purses her lips, something obviously on her mind.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Does this business you need to see to involve Deion Franklin and Julio Reyes?” she asks.

  Of course she knows. Ferreting out information is one of her skills, and I don’t know that I’ve seen anybody do it better than her. It’s impressive, really. I don’t reply right away. I’ve come to respect her too much to lie to her. Plus, she did give me a piece of information I didn’t have before—the full name of the second shooter.

  “You forget that I grew up in this city. And that I’m still pretty plugged into it,” she says. “I stay current with what’s going on around here. When I saw you looking up those two names, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

  I shrug casually. “Well I’m not from around here and am not plugged in to the city like you,” I tell her. “I just wanted some fresh air, so I thought I’d take a walk.”

  “Uh huh,” she says with an eyebrow raised. “It’s certainly a nice night for—a walk.”

  A small smirk touches her lips, and she produces a second envelope, sliding it across the table, an enigmatic expression crossing her face.

  “Well just in case you need a little reading material on your walk,” she says.

  I take the envelope and slip it into my back pocket, giving her a small smile. “You can never have too much reading material.”

  “Absolutely not,” she replies. “And some of the people here can never get too much justice.”

  I smile again and head out of the house, needing to wrap up my affairs before we hit Vogel tomorrow night.

  Chapter Twenty

  I sit on the arm of the couch in the dingy old flophouse, trying to not gag on the odor of stale cigarettes and vomit. Still, as bad as it is, I’d have to say it’s an improvement over that first motel I was in. This charming place is deep in the inner city, near some railroad tracks, but in territory not claimed by any particular gang. A perfect vantage point that must have somehow slipped everyone’s mind. I’ve got to tip my hat to Justice for that.

  I look again at the note she had slipped me before I left. She wasn’t kidding about being plugged into the city. Not only did she give me this pace, but she’d also given me the locations of both Deion Franklin and Julio Reyes. I didn’t actually think they’d be at those spots—I thought they’d be a good starting point for finding them. But they had been where she said they’d be—both laying low for a while until the heat was off.

  Extracting them out had been a little dicey since both were deep in their respective gang territories. But I’d managed with little collateral damage. Certainly not enough to get the cops’ attention. I think it might take all out nuclear war for that to happen. Their ambivalence about working down deep in gang country is working in my favor.

  I look up at the two men tied to the chairs in front of me. I have them facing each other, so the first thing they’ll see when they wake up is each other. But I’m going to be the last thing they see.

  Deion is tall and lanky, his arms tightly corded with muscle. He’s got dreadlocks that hang to the middle of his back and the signature Sixtieth Street Rollers dice tattooed on his neck. Julio is much the same. Both of his arms are tatted up, and he’s got the Coronas logo—
a crown with the flag of Puerto Rico behind it on his chest. He’s got a shaved head and tats on his scalp as well. Just the kind of guys you want to bring home to Mom.

  Deion is the first to wake up. He groans and winces, a thin line of blood spilling down his face. I watch as the light of realization dawns on him and he figures out that he’s zip-tied to the chair. He snaps his head up, his eyes narrowing with rage.

  “Yo, what the fuck, man?” he shouts.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Deion,” I say. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  I give him a grin that’s cold. “I’m the scales of justice.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Julio raise his head and moan. He goes through the same cycle of realization that Deion had and gives me the same expression of outrage. I hold up my hand to head off what will no doubt be the same angry line of questions that I’m already bored with answering.

  “You mother—”

  “Do you both know why you’re here?” I cut him off.

  “Because you’re a punk bitch who wants to catch a bullet in the head?” Deion spits.

  That cold smirk still on my face, I stand up and pick up the sledgehammer I’d set on the couch. Without a word, I walk over to Deion and grab hold of his hand. In a sudden motion, I bring down the hammer fast on the back of his hand, shattering bones. He screams in agony. Deion is howling, his face blanching as he tries to jerk away from me. The chair doesn’t budge.

  “That was the wrong answer,” I growl, turning to Julio. “Care to take a guess?”

  Julio’s eyes are wide, and his face pales as he stares at Deion’s hand. The look of fear on his face is stark, but not a sound comes out of his mouth. It’s as if his fear has stricken him mute. I rap my knuckles on his forehead to get his attention.