by Mark Stone
“That’s not-”
“You tell yourself it’s not true, because you hide behind a banner of doing the right thing,” Merriman cut me off. “And that’s all fine and good down here, but we won’t have it where you’re going.” He took a step closer to me. “Now, Rayne says you can do this, and I trust Rayne. But I’m going to give you a chance, right here and now, to tell me the truth about yourself-out of your own mouth- before we reach the point of no return on you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tell me, scar boy, do you have what it takes?”
A swell of emotion and pride ran through me as I answered.
“The name’s Dillon Storm, sir, and I sure as hell do,” I said.
“Good,” Merriman replied, smiling. “Then sit your ass down. We have a case to discuss.”
Chapter 6
“First thing’s first,” Merriman said, motioning for me to sit on the other side of Boomer’s desk as Natasha plopped down and he pulled what looked like a smartphone from his pocket. “Press your right thumb down on this pad.”
He laid the phone face up on the desk and slid it over to me. Catching it, I saw the screen was completely blue, with a glowing, rolling bar moving across it.
‘What is this?’ I asked, narrowing my eyes at the man. “You already have my fingerprints on file. I’m a police officer.”
“This is your agreement that nothing that happens inside of this room or at an point during your mission can be shared with anyone without with express consent of an agent with higher clearance than you.” He grinned a little. “Which is to say basically any agent, but still. The point is, you have to keep your trap shut, Storm, now and forever. Pressing your thumb on that pad indicates that you agree to that. It would also serve as evidence of the fact should we ever have to prosecute you for failing to hold up your end of the bargain.”
“That’s a strange way to put it,” I said, pressing my thumb against the screen and allowing the rolling bar to move across it. I had absolutely no hesitations about submitting to this. First of all, I wasn’t going to open my mouth about sensitive issues. I knew better than that. Secondly, doing so would be a crime whether or not I consented to making it one here. The fact that Merriman required evidence of that either meant he was anal or just crossing standardized ‘t’s and dotting necessary ‘i’s. Either way, I was fine with it.
“A strange way to put what?” Merriman asked, pulling the phone from me and tapping a few places on the screen.
“You said it was a bargain,” I answered. “Usually, in a bargain, both people get something out of it.”
“You’re getting a chance to put a scumbag in prison,” Merriman said. “If that’s not enough to get your engine going, you also get an all-expense paid trip to St. Thomas with a beautiful woman.”
I looked over at Natasha, who did not make eye contact with me. “She’s certainly beautiful, and I have no doubt she’s a stellar agent.” I glanced to the floor. “She always had a way of making people believe whatever she wanted. That has to come in handy in her current line of work. As it stands, she’s not the beautiful woman I would choose to have on my arm for a vacation like this. Luckily, you were right. A chance to serve out some justice is more than enough reason for me.”
“Good,” Merriman answered. “Then keep your ears open. You’re about to learn that people like us don’t always have the luxury of saying things twice.” The man pulled a folder out of a previously unseen briefcase on the floor. Sliding it over to me, much like the phone, I caught and opened the manilla object. Inside it, sat a pair of birth certificates, college diplomas, and driver’s licenses. “You’re Al Davidson. She’s Margo Clemons. You’ve been dating for almost two years now, and you live together in a house outside of town.”
“I’m assuming Margo Clemons is a real person too?” I asked, looking over at Natasha as I handed her the documentation that pertained to her fake identity.
“She was picked up last night on an unrelated charge, and she’s being held until all of this reaches a conclusion,” Merriman answered.
“Reaches a conclusion?” I asked. “Is that legal? Can you just hold her?”
“We have reason to believe Margo Clemons played a huge role in the distribution of drugs throughout Naples, meaning she was playing ball with her boyfriend. That information has been sent to your Chief of Police and to the District Attorney. We’ll have more than enough legal reason to hold her by the end of the day.”
“You seem to have all your ducks in a row,” I answered.
“We’re the US government, Storm,” Merriman answered. “Our ducks are always in a row.” He shuffled in his seat. “With that being said, I need to make sure you understand just what’s being asked of you here.”
“You want me to impersonate a drug dealer, learn everything there is to know about him, and use that knowledge to infiltrate a meeting of even higher ranking drug dealers so we can find the kingpin and take him down. I get it,” I answered, succinctly encapsulating the job as I saw it.
“I’m also asking you to put certain emotional entanglements aside,” Merriman said sternly. “Natasha informed me of your past relationship. It was almost enough for me to pass on the idea of bringing you into this in the first place.”
I bristled a little, taking in all he had to say. “I can assure you, sir, whatever happened between Natasha and I is planted firmly in the past.”
“And I can assure you that, after years of experience, the past has a way of uprooting itself regardless of how firmly it might be planted.” He shook his head. “Especially when your lips are firmly planted on hers.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead.
“You’ll be acting as a commited, long term couple, Storm. That has to be believable, which means you’ll have to act the way a commited, long term couple would,” Merriman said. “Public displays of affection and all. Now, I need to know you’ll be able to handle that. I need to know that some long held resentment isn’t going to come rear its ugly head and destroy my mission. Because, if that’s the case, you can walk out the door right now and go back to fining people who litter on the beach.”
“Is that what you think my job is?” I asked, almost instinctively. “Look, I’m a grown up. I can keep my emotions in check. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Good,” Merriman said. “Because, if anything we know about the Archer is true, being found out would be no less than a death sentence for the both of you.” Merriman leaned forward. “Now, I understand you’ve been to St. Thomas several times.”
“My grandfather took me there as a graduation gift after both seventh and eighth grade,” I confirmed to the man.
“Fine,” he said. “But Al Davidson has never been there. In fact, he’s never been out of the continental United States. Neither has Margo. You’ll both have to be fish out of water, so to speak. The gala is in three days, which means you have the next thirty six hours to learn everything there is to know about the people you’re supposed to be.” Merriman stood up, winking at the both of us. “I suggest you get cracking.”
Chapter 7
“And you can’t tell me how long you’ll be gone either?” my grandfather asked, eyeing me from across a booth at Rocco’s. The man had the same wizened look on his face that it held when I got caught spray painting graffiti on one of the school buses during junior year and told him I was just holding the can for a friend.
This wasn’t the same as back then, though. I wasn’t some snot-nosed kid trying to get away with something I should have never done in the first place. I was a grown-up, a police officer with a job to do, and unfortunately, my grandfather couldn’t be part of it, regardless of how much he might have wanted to be.
“Sorry, Old Man,” I said, taking a swig of beer. “This one is just between me and the higher ups.”
“I can appreciate that,” my grandfather answered, nodding firmly. “I had a couple of cop friends back in the day.” He winked at me. “Had a couple of fed fri
ends too.”
My eyebrows instinctively knitted together. Did my grandfather somehow know this had something to do with the feds? If so, how? I never got the chance to ask, because he continued talking.
“I know you’ve been working hard lately, son,” he said. “And I know that your job is important to you and to the whole damn town, for that matter. I just hope you know that other stuff is important too.”
“Alright,” I said, pushing away a basket of fries I had been picking on for the last fifteen minutes. “I know you well enough to know that you didn’t say that for nothing. So, instead of me prodding you about it for the next five minutes, how about you just tell me what you mean?”
“You signed on to be a cop, Dilly,” he started. “A homicide detective. Your wife signed on to marry a homicide detective. I’ve known a lot of them in my life, Son. I know what the job entails. Jetting off to Lord knows where and staying there for Lord knows how long isn’t part of it.”
“This is a special case, Old Man,” I said patiently. “As I’ve said, I can’t tell you about it.”
“And that’s fine,” he said. “I respect the job enough not to press you on that, but I don’t want you to look at what’s about to happen and think you’re seeing the way your life is supposed to be.”
“I know the way my life is supposed to be, Grandpa,” I answered.
“I would hope so, because it’s a damn good one,” the old man replied, shuffling uncomfortably on his side of the booth. “I just want you to know there’s a difference between the kind of man who can come home every night and the kind of man who can’t. You see, Dilly, you’re the type of man who sees a problem and then does everything in his power to solve it.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Of course not,” he shot back. “It’s a great thing. It’s one of the things about you that I’m most proud of.”
“Then I’m not sure what the problem is,” I admitted.
“The problem is that I don’t want you to get confused,” my grandfather answered. “You’re a good man, a good husband, and a good cop. It has to be in that order, though. Leaving Rebecca to chase this thing down, whatever it is, is noble. I’m sure it’ll help more people than I’ll ever have the pleasure of meeting in my life if you do it right. But it can’t become your new normal.”
“No one ever said anything about changing normal, Grandpa,” I responded, sure to keep my tone respectful, even if it was firming up a bit.
“No one has said anything about anything,” he answered. “That’s the problem. You’ve got a lot of stuff going on, and I don’t get to know about most of it.”
“This is one thing,” I said. “One thing out of the hundreds of things that happen to me everyday. You know I would tell you if I could.”
“Just like you would tell me if you and Rebecca were having trouble getting pregnant?” he asked, daring me with a pair of raised, ancient eyebrows.
My jaw tightened. “You’ve been talking to Rebecca?”
“Don’t be upset with her,” my grandfather said. “I could tell something was wrong, and I kept asking her until she admitted it. She didn’t want to talk about it, but I was worried. I thought maybe you guys were going through a rough spot.”
“We’re fine,” I said quickly. “I mean, it is rough, but we’re fine.”
“That’s good to know,” the old man said, sitting back against his seat a bit more. “I’m just confused about why you didn’t think you could bring this to me. Did you think I was going to judge you? Did you think I was going to react poorly?”
“I thought you’d be disappointed,” I admitted, blinking hard as I looked down at my basket of half eaten fries. “I know how much you want me to have a kid, and I want to give that to you before…”
“It’s too late,” Grandpa said, finishing my sentence. “I understand that, and I appreciate it, but wanting something doesn’t mean neglecting the things I already have. If you’re going through something, Dilly, I want to know about it. It’s my job. It’s why I’m here.”
“Maybe I just didn’t want you to think I was a failure,” I said, still unable to meet his eyes.
“I could never think that,” he replied. “You’ve done more, been through more, helped more, than I could have in ten lifetimes. I don’t anyone less of a failure than you.” He took a deep breath. “Did I ever tell you how long it took us to have your mother?”
“You didn’t,” I said, looking back up at him finally.
“It was a tough go,” he said. “We almost gave up, and Lord knows, if we’d have had as many fertility doctors shouting percentages at us as you kids do now, we probably would have. We didn’t though. We had faith. We persisted, and we got your mom out of it.” He smiled. “And then we got you. Soon, you’ll have someone of your own. You just gotta have faith.”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell my grandfather how much I appreciated him. It was for a million different reasons, of course. He had always been there for me, even when I wasn’t there for myself. Still, I was feeling it especially strongly today.
The words would never come, though. My phone rang, showcasing the words ‘Blocked Number’ on my screen. I answered it, my eyes narrowing.
“Storm,” a quasi familiar voice said. “We need to talk.”
“Merriman?” I asked, recognizing Natasha’s boss’ voice. “I’m having dinner with my grandfather.”
“Well, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to cut that short,” the man said. “Because we’ve got trouble. Big trouble.”
Chapter 8
“How the hell did this happen?” I asked, waking the room in circles as I looked from Merriman to Natasha and back again. The man described what happened to me twice already, but I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around it. These were the professionals. Merriman and Natasha both spent a lot of time telling me that I was playing in the big leagues now. So how could they have let something like this come to pass?
“Sometimes there are leaks,” Natasha said, her arms crossed over her chest and her left shoe, a white high heel, dangling off her stretched foot. “That’s the way the world works.”
“Don’t tell me how the world works,” I answered, a spike of anger rising in my chest. “So, let me get this straight. Your intel is telling you that The Archer and his people are aware that Al Davidson was picked up by the police.”
“Yes,” Merriman answered, shaking his head. “We have our ear to the ground in certain circles. As you can imagine, you and Natasha aren’t the only people working on this case. From what we can gather, though the Archer and his people still don’t have a visual on Al Davidson, they do know that he was picked up by the Collier County Police Department on distribution charges. What they don’t know, at least for the moment, is that we’re involved.”
“That’ll change pretty quickly,” I answered. “Davidson is going to be held without bail. My guess is that the Archer will know something is going on just from that.”
“It’s more than that,” Merriman responded. “Not only is he not getting bail, he’s not getting a hearing.”
“What?” I asked, running a hand through my hair. “Is that even legal?”
“It is with the charges we’re about to throw at him,” Merriman said.
“And what charges are those?” I asked.
“That’s classified,” he answered quickly enough that I knew he expected the question. “What’s not classified is the reason behind the ‘no hearing’ situation in the first place. It’s quite simple, actually. We don’t want Davidson making anymore public appearances. There’s too big of a chance that, given everything that’s happened, the Archer will send someone to scope out the situation. That person would undoubtedly get a visual on Davidson, and since you’re not him, the entire mission would have to be scrubbed.”
“Wait. You intend on continuing with the mission?” I balked, my pacing coming to an immediate and swift half. “How is that even p
ossible? Now that the Archer knows Davidson has been compromised, how on earth are you going to be able to convince him to trust me? What’s more, he’ll be looking deeply into things. Arrests are a matter of public record. So are mug shots for that matter. Davidson’s face is probably plastered all over the internet.”
“It was,” Merriman said. “Until recently. You see, the Archer takes a hands-off approach to his recruiting. He can afford to do that because his right hand man, someone named Tex Longley, does all of that for him. Tex was killed a week and a half ago though, and as far as we can tell, the Archer’s new people haven’t yet been able to get through the man’s cyber securities to access his files.”
“You don’t need to access private files to get online, Merriman,” I answered.
“You’re right. You don’t,” he said. “Which is why all online traces of Al Davidson have been altered.”
“Altered?” I asked, my jaw tensing. “Altered how?”
Merriman sighed, standing as he turned the computer screen toward me. On the face of it sat a picture of a mug shot. The name under the picture read ‘Al Davidson’, but the picture definitively showcased my face.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, my throat tightening.
“This is the job,” Natasha said flatly.
“How did you get my face in that?” I asked instinctively before realizing the answer.
“Photoshop is a hell of a thing,” Merriman said. “You’ll find that all records of Davidson online are now accompanied with your picture, while all visual records of Dillon Storm-the cop who arrested Davidson- have been replaced by one of our own agents.”
“He’s not quite as handsome as you, but he has his charms,” Natasha added.
