by Ethan Cross
So Father and I fled the land of milk and honey and bribe-resistant law enforcement and headed back to Moscow. And that’s when I met Stasi.
*
The wave of sand threatened to drive Marcus farther away from the frightened mother and her child. So he fought forward against the current. The particles rushed over him and tore at his skin like sandpaper. His eyes burned. Through the haze, he saw Renata and Ian gasping for air as the wave threatened to carry them farther down the tunnel.
He reached out and grabbed them both under his left arm as he shielded his eyes with the breaching shotgun and his right arm. He held up the mother, and she held up the child. And a stubborn will to never surrender held up Marcus. Together, they steadied each other until they were out of danger.
Once they were free of the wave and the sand was slowing down, Marcus said, “Stay here,” to Renata and then ran toward the center tunnel.
He hoped that he wasn’t too late to help Reese.
There still should have been plenty of time to save him, despite Judas’s extra surprise. Still, the closer he came to Reese’s enclosure, the deeper the sinking feeling grew in his gut. As he turned the corner and saw that there was no sand in Reese’s tunnel, the sinking feeling jolted him like he’d been on an elevator that had slipped a cord.
When he didn’t see Reese in the tunnel at all, the elevator dropped completely.
And when he saw that the floor of Reese’s enclosure had actually been a false bottom and had dropped away like a trapdoor, the sinking feeling became more like striking pavement.
He hit bottom just like Reese probably had a few seconds earlier. And that’s when he realized what had been so disturbing about Reese’s scream. Reese had been falling into a dark hole, getting farther and farther away. The fall had created an eerie echo effect. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but a part of him had registered it as strange. Now, that same part of him, that same tiny detective, checked off a box and declared that mystery was solved.
Marcus reloaded the breaching shotgun and fired three more blasts into Reese’s door—instead of kicking it, he pulled it toward him and away from the hole. He made sure that it fell back into the tunnel instead of down into the shaft. He didn’t want shattered bullet-resistant materials raining down on Reese, on the off chance that he was still alive.
Leaning over the hole, Marcus yelled, “Reese!”
There was no reply.
“Bradley Reese! Can you hear me?”
No reply.
Marcus felt a sudden wave of guilt.
He hadn’t known Reese very well or for very long, and he hadn’t liked him much in the time that he had known him. But that didn’t mean that the guy was all bad. And it definitely didn’t mean that he deserved something like this. Marcus considered what Reese’s last thoughts would have been. Probably something about Marcus betraying him and choosing to let him die. Reese probably blamed him at the end. He wondered if he should have clicked on the radio and let Reese listen to Judas’s video. Maybe he should have been nicer to him. Maybe he should have told Reese to put his coin in the tray, just in case.
He second-guessed himself for a moment more and then went back to Renata and Ian. As he helped them toward the mine’s entrance, recalling the map from memory, he stopped and said, “Wait here for just a minute. I need to check something.”
Then he moved back toward the three tunnels and entered the first—his tunnel from the game. The floor in his enclosure was also gone. Just like Reese’s, it had been built to function like a large trap door.
Marcus stared at the depths of the pit into which he would have fallen, but he wasn’t seeing his own mortality. He was seeing lost opportunity. He could have had that tablet computer analyzed, but now it was in a million pieces at the bottom of a mineshaft.
As he gazed into the darkness, trying to see the bottom, he realized that just because he had refused to play Judas’s game didn’t mean that he had won.
3
AFTER FREEING MAGGIE AND JERRY Dunn from the dog chains, Andrew had the correctional officers he had deputized help the pair out of the filthy little trailer and over to their vehicles, which were parked a safe distance away in case the whole place exploded. By the time they were all clear, the kitchen was in flames. The fire trucks were on their way, but he didn’t think there would be much left by the time they arrived.
Maggie was the first to speak. “Did Marcus tell you to come help me?”
“It’s called backup, Mags. It’s kind of a thing we cops do.”
“We’re not cops. And does Marcus always call in for backup and accept help from people? If he had taken our help last year, he would have never been taken prisoner in the first place.”
“Is that what’s going on? You’re mad at him for not putting up more of a fight when he was taken?”
“No, of course not. Listen, we had no reason to think that Clarence O’Neal was cooking meth and growing herb back here. I had two other people with me.”
“One of whom is now dead.”
She shook her head and gritted her teeth. Andrew’s ex-wife used to make the same face when she’d get angry with him. “We had no reason to think that we would be walking into a situation like this.”
“No, you had reason to believe that you were walking up on a serial murderer who likes to work with sophisticated technology and explosives. Hell, Maggie, you barely survived these guys. It’s a damn good thing that you didn’t find our killer.”
“That’s enough.”
“No, it’s time you heard this. I know what Marcus did for you in Pittsburgh.”
“He told you?”
“He didn’t have to. We covered up the whole thing so it doesn’t really matter, but remember, I was a medical examiner. I know a thing or two about the meaning behind the angle of stab wounds. What the hell is going on with you?”
“You know, I had a brother once. And he died. I don’t need a surrogate. I don’t need you in my business.”
Andrew said, “You should talk to Emily about it.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I’m serious. If you don’t talk to her about this, I’m going to tell the Director.”
“You do what you feel you need to do.”
Andrew closed his eyes and took a breath. “You know, we all used to be like a family.”
Maggie pushed him aside and moved toward her vehicle. “Things change,” she said.
“What are you doing?”
She said, “I’m going back to the prison. Clean up this mess for me, will you. That’s what you’re good at. You’re like our janitor.”
Andrew wasn’t sure what to say to that. His mother had always said that if you don’t have anything nice to say, then you shouldn’t say anything at all. So he said nothing at all.
He watched Jerry Dunn walk up and ask her for a ride.
“Sure,” Maggie said, and then she climbed into the minivan and sped off.
Andrew looked around at the burning trailer and the metal building full of pot plants. He thought about the dead bodies contained in both of them.
With a shake of his head, he said, “So now I’m the damn janitor. My professors from medical school would be so proud.”
*
Debra Costello lived in a luxury apartment not far from Catalina State Park and Mt. Lemmon. It was a beautiful two bedroom inside a new, gated community. A nice, safe environment for a young lady designed to keep danger at bay. Unfortunately, the Director knew that the people who hurt you most often were the ones you welcomed inside.
They had torn the place apart searching for any clues. Unfortunately, the only thing they had found so far were some small traces of blood. The Director was working on dismantling Debra’s couch for any evidence when Val called out from the bedroom, “Come take a look at this.”
The Director made his way down the hall to Debra’s bedroom. It was beautifully decorated and well kept. He hadn’t seen Debra in years, but from everything he ha
d learned in the past few days, Powell had done an excellent job in raising her. She seemed to be a kind and responsible young woman.
Valdas sat at Debra’s computer. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Look at this, Philip. I discovered a program running on her computer.” He brought up the program and clicked an icon that displayed a horn with sound waves coming out of it.
Out of the computer speakers came a young woman’s voice. “Shoot … Missed you again, Dad. I’ll try later tonight. Everything’s going great though … I love you.”
The young lady sounded stressed about something, but if he hadn’t known any better and he were the message’s recipient, the Director would have assumed that she was just exhausted from her trip.
Valdas wiped tears from his eyes and said, “That was Debra’s voice. You were right. I traced back a cable plugged into her MacBook and found the burner cell phone connected to it. He had a program on here that would somehow leave messages from her making everyone think that she was safe. If you consider that and the blood … Debra has to be dead.”
The Director didn’t know what to say. He had no words of comfort to offer that wouldn’t sound hollow.
Valdas collected himself and said, “I’ve been thinking about this, Philip, and I’ve decided that it’s time we tell Scott about his little girl.”
“It will destroy him. He’s already dealing with a lot.”
“I would want to know. And him not knowing isn’t going to bring her back.”
Valdas pulled out his cell phone and navigated his way to a video conferencing app. The Director said, “I figured we’d wait until we got back to the prison. Tell him in person.”
“We still have more work to do here. We tell him now.”
Both of them sat down on Debra’s bed and Val held up the phone so that their picture was displayed in the top corner of the device’s screen. The phone was one of the new oversized models, and although the Director thought it was a step backward to have to lug around an even bigger device, he had to admit that the extra screen size was appealing.
When Scott Powell’s face appeared on the phone’s display, Valdas immediately said, “We have some bad news … ”
Then Valdas started crying again. This time uncontrollably. He gestured at the Director to continue on.
With a look at Valdas meant to say thanks for throwing me under the bus there buddy, the Director said, “It’s about Debra, Scott. We think this guy took her.”
“She’s in India. I’ve been receiving calls from—”
“He faked them. We just found out how.” The Director went on to explain how Marcus had seen the scar in the video and all that they had discovered since.
When he was done, he could see Powell weeping and the jumpy video looked like the device was enduring an earthquake. The Director felt helpless. He felt like all of this was somehow his fault.
After a moment, Powell’s tear-soaked face reappeared on the screen.
The Director said, “We’re going to find this guy and put him in the ground. I promise you that.”
Powell was silent for a moment, but then he said, “You still don’t get it, do you? If my daughter is dead, taking another life isn’t going to bring her back. I told you when we went up against the Cattleman that I wanted him alive. That I wouldn’t be part of your shoot-first-ask-questions-never mentality any longer. I wanted then and I still want these men to stand trial. I want them to see justice. I wanted the Cattleman to see justice, for Debra’s sake, but you murdered him.”
“That was a clean shooting. Obvious self-defense.”
“You put his back against the wall on purpose and manipulated him into doing what you wanted. You wanted that man dead, and he died.”
“And what the hell is wrong with that? The world’s a better place without him in it!”
“That’s not for you to decide. I actually believe in second chances and redemption, Philip. You look at criminals and see weeds that need to be pulled so that healthy crops can grow. But I don’t see them as weeds that need to be pulled out and tossed away. I see potential. I see men and women who with a little help and a lot of love can still be a light in this world.”
“You are so naive. Most of those men would rather cut your throat as look at you. And the justice system is a joke.”
“I one hundred percent disagree. You are right that some people can’t be helped. Some people deserve to be in a hole somewhere, whether that’s a cell or a grave. But that’s not for you to decide, Philip. Only dispassionate, objective people can decide something like that. There can be no justice where there is passion.”
“But there can be vengeance.”
Powell said, “Kill all of them you want, and it will never bring back your wife.”
“I’m not a fool.”
“No, Philip, you’re a zealot. You’re chasing a white whale that doesn’t exist. You want to know what kind of man you really are? We were best friends, and when I left the SO, I was so afraid for my life that I kept copies of all of our case files as insurance against you. Because I was worried that a man who used to be my best friend may slip into my home and murder me and my family in our sleep … just because he thought it was for the greater good. You think that life is transactional. That for every sin that’s committed equal retribution should be extracted, but that’s black-hole logic that only leaves the world a cold and dead place. Killing won’t bring back the ones we’ve lost. It will only tarnish all they’ve left behind, and all they lived for.”
“Well, while you’re teaching psychos how to read, I’m still out there in the trenches and the mud, bleeding, and watching good people die at the hands of your charity cases. You can spare me your self-righteous bullcrap. You can tell Judas, the man who more than likely murdered Debra, all about your wonderful new programs when I catch the son of a bitch!”
The Director grabbed the phone from Val’s hand and threw it against the wall. It ricocheted across the room with a crunch. He stood there panting and feeling light-headed again.
Val was quiet for a moment but then said, “That went about how I expected. And you owe me a new phone.”
As the Director stormed out of the room, he said, “Send the bill to Powell Prison Technologies.”
*
Maggie parked the minivan and then suffered through a probing pat down from a young male guard at the next security checkpoint before being allowed entry into Foxbury. The guard gave Jerry a wink when he thought Maggie couldn’t see him, but Jerry didn’t come to her rescue. He just diverted his eyes and then followed behind her like an orphaned puppy which had finally found its mother.
As they crossed through the manufacturing facility and down the tunnel to Foxbury’s main building, Maggie observed her newfound partner. He was cute in a younger brother sort of way with his shaggy black hair and Eastern European skin tone. But she definitely wasn’t buying what he was selling, and it was probably best if he knew that sooner rather than later. As they walked, Jerry started to say something twice, but both times he seemed to think better of it. She hoped he wasn’t planning on asking her out. She didn’t ask him what was on his mind, and she didn’t really want to know.
Every time she looked at Jerry, she thought of her real younger brother. He would have been about the same age as Jerry was now. She supposed that if Ackerman was correct in his assessments of her brother’s case, then her brother could still be out there. She wondered what he would have been like now, or was like now.
They passed through the corridors of the prison’s main building. The halls were teeming with sweaty inmates, and she could feel their hungry eyes following her. She did her best to ignore them, but their crawling gazes felt like centipedes creeping over her skin.
The guard behind the glass allowed them through a checkpoint leading up to the CCE and Powell’s office. She finally permitted herself a second to relax. She took a deep breath, but when she did, she caught a big whiff of the cat-urine chemical smell from the trailer. Some o
f those putrid scent molecules must have still been stuck in her nostrils and, with them, billions of microscopic invaders climbing up her nasal cavity. She rubbed at her nose, as if that would help somehow.
The elevator doors closed, and Jerry said, “So do you have a—”
Maggie cut him off. “I’m a nun, Jerry.”
“I thought you were a—”
“I’m on loan from the Vatican to help the DOJ with special cases.”
He seemed to process this for a moment and then said, “Are you teasing me?”
“Yeah, but in a good-spirited way. You saved my ass back there. I won’t forget that. But yes, I do have a boyfriend.”
He seemed to take a second to process that information and then said, “Okay. But I was going to ask if you have a badge that actually says Department of Justice.”
“Oh. Well. I … ”
“I thought it sounded pretty cool, if you did. Like you were a member of the Justice League like Batman and Superman.”
She felt three inches tall. “Yes, I do have credentials that say Department of Justice.” She wondered if this was the slowest elevator ever made. They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, and then she pulled her creds from a pocket and handed them to Jerry. The elevator dinged. He opened the leather flap and looked at the badge and ID.
“You can just keep that,” she said and stepped out through the elevator’s opening doors. She couldn’t take another second inside that box. It felt like four years of her high school gym class had just flashed before her eyes.
She heard Powell shouting nearby and was happy for the distraction. She rounded a corner and saw Scott Powell—who was speaking with his hands as much as his mouth—say to Spinelli, “How in the hell is that even possible?” Spinelli was at her terminal in front of the main display and looked as if she was about two seconds away from curling up into a ball and pretending to be dead.
Maggie came up behind Powell but didn’t say anything. She wanted to see if he gave away anything more. He didn’t. He noticed her between tirades and said, “What happened to you?”
