by P A Duncan
He was the rational one, Mai had often said when she relied on her intuition. Alexei had an irrational thought some psychic remnant remained, one her heightened perception would see, and she would know the truth.
“Is that where it happened?” she asked.
“Don’t.”
“Is it?”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Is that where?” she repeated, a hint of anger creeping in.
He nodded, unsure if she saw him, but she walked into the bedroom, out of sight. The beam of the flashlight moved about. What had happened here didn’t matter to him. He’d used Karen Wolfe to survive. He should have taken no pleasure from it, but he had, not the same as what he had with Mai, which was pleasure and intensity and often torment.
She walked to him, surprising him with a kiss. “I didn’t do this to hurt you,” she said. “I needed to see nothing was here.”
“Nothing was here.” He waited, putting time between that and what he said next. “I love you.”
“I’m aware. Let’s get the fuck out of here and never come back.”
He stood alone in the bungalow, focused only on the fact once again Mai hadn’t reciprocated his words.
Alexei drove back to Kansas City. As the distance increased between the Suburban and the dregs of Patriot City, something lifted from him.
9
An Easy Gig
Calvary Locus
Killeen, Texas
John Carroll didn’t appear at the Kansas City gun show, and Mai and Alexei’s travels brought them to Calvary Locus, where a chain-link fence surrounded Caleb Isaac’s last stand. Texas scrub had grown over the foundations after the FBI had hauled the debris away. People had left remembrances on the fence: sun-faded plastic flower arrangements, hand-lettered signs whose ink hadn’t outlasted the weather.
No one was around, but the anniversary of the ATF raid was not far away. Outside the fence sat a small camper with a sign that read, “New Calvary Locus.” No one answered Alexei’s knock.
He and Mai walked along the fence for a while. A nearby utility pole sported a bumper sticker, and Mai went to study it.
“Is Your Church ATF-Approved?” it read.
Like the one stuck to her cork board. Had John Carroll nailed it to the pole or sold it to someone who had? The colors were undimmed by the sun and weather. Either way, its placement was recent. Mai’s fingers brushed the bumper sticker. The perfect place for a pilgrimage, and he wasn’t here.
After re-checking to assure no one was around, Alexei jimmied the padlock on the fence’s gate and drove to where the FBI compound had stood. No trace of it remained, and Alexei tucked the Suburban inside a cluster of oak trees. They camped, taking turns standing in the cold wind to study Calvary Locus through binoculars. Perhaps a dozen people came to the site, not all at once, and none stayed long. Some left flowers. Some knelt by the fence and prayed. No one went inside the camper.
After a few days of this, Mai turned to Alexei and said, “He’s not coming, and I’m tired of using the bushes for a bathroom.”
“You should have specced one in this giant SUV,” Alexei replied, smiling at her.
“It’s now on the list of upgrades. Let’s get a hotel room.”
They were almost to Killeen when Mai spoke again, “I know this approach to finding him is old school, and I know we have people watching the places he’s likely to show, but I have this feeling we’re arriving places after he’s left or we’re leaving before he arrives.”
Alexei had suspected that as well but stayed silent.
Kingman, Arizona
After long showers and a decent night’s sleep, Mai and Alexei headed west toward Arizona, via Oklahoma City. On the way, Mai picked exits at random or near a town she’d heard Carroll mention. They’d leave the interstate and prowl the parking lots of motels and fast food joints in search of Carroll’s truck. They drove straight through Kingman to Vegas. Alexei tried to get Mai to stop at the Hoover Dam, to take a break and play tourist, but she drove on.
In Las Vegas, she rented a car for herself, and they back-tracked to Kingman. Mai could contact the Duvals, and Alexei could prowl Kingman looking for either Carroll or Elijah. Again, their first stop was to check in with the operatives watching the Duvals.
“This is an easy gig,” the one off-duty said when they met at a diner. “Duval goes to work, comes home. The other subject hasn’t shown. However, my partner and I compared notes, and on a couple of occasions, Duval has left his house at odd hours.”
“Odd hours?” Mai asked.
“As in not to go to work. He’s gone sometimes an hour or more. His old lady doesn’t like it. She’s got a voice that carries. I followed him once.”
“And left the house uncovered?” Mai asked.
“It was a calculated risk. He met someone in a pickup—not the one you’re interested in. Heavily tinted windows. I couldn’t see the driver. Mud smeared on the license plates. I took pictures, though.”
The operative handed them over, and Mai and Alexei looked through them. About the only thing useful was the make, model, and color of the truck. Another one for them to watch for on their travels.
In their own hotel room, Alexei dozed with the television on for white noise. Mai was on the satellite mobile phone with Analysis as they probed police reports and arrest records, even speeding tickets issued from New York to Arizona. On the laptop, Mai lurked in online chat rooms until the wee hours when Alexei felt her slip into bed. The next morning, Alexei let her sleep when he went to get coffee. Mid-morning he kissed her awake. Though she responded and they made love, her lack of intensity meant her mind was elsewhere.
After lunch at a different diner, they left in separate vehicles. Mai drove to where Carroll had a mailbox. To her dismay, the box had no window, and she couldn’t determine if he’d received her letter. Mai thought about impersonating Sharon Duval to collect the box’s contents, but the staff might know Sharon.
Mai’s next stop was the public library, where she browsed the science fiction section. Among the Star Trek novelizations were no recent check-outs. Same for the gun and military sections, as well as the government/political science section. Mai went to the front desk and posed as Carroll’s sister, explaining the Army had transferred him overseas, and she wanted to settle any library fines. A check indicated Carroll’s Kingman library card hadn’t been used in over a year.
In the hour she spent watching the hardware store where Duval worked, he came out for smoke breaks four times, alone.
That left browbeating a pregnant woman as her last option.
10
Possible Futures
Mai walked toward the double-wide trailer and heard a little girl crying, pleading not to take a nap. Sharon Duval indeed had a carrying voice.
“Get in your fucking room or else!”
Mai waited for silence before she knocked on the door.
“Oh,” Sharon said, after opening the door. “Hi.”
“Hi, Sharon. Is this a bad time?” Mai asked, dropping into the brogue she hadn’t used in a while.
“With the brat in a mood, no time’s good. You looking for Jay?”
“Yes. We had a bit of a disagreement. I want to patch it up.”
“He keeps calling here to get me to check his mailbox for a letter from you. He’s totally wigged out you haven’t written.”
“I did write, a couple of weeks ago.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check his mail lately.” She winced and laid a hand on her rounded belly.
“Are you all right?” Mai asked.
“This one kicks like a fucking soccer player.”
“When was Jay here?”
“The last time I saw him was after you left, but I think he comes in and out of town ‘cause he calls Lamar at all fucking hours, and Lamar meets him. Why didn’t you write him sooner?”
“I had some things to work out.”
“Whatever happened with you two must have been bad. A
fter he got back and found you’d gone, he and Lamar went to this gun range they use sometimes. Jay was so upset, he shot his targets and everyone else’s. He and Lamar got kicked out.”
“Did Jay tell you what happened?”
“Not really. Oh, that creepy guy Jay hangs out with sometimes came here, and him and Jay had this fight before they left. I mean, like, rolling around on the ground fight. Did you and Jay fight over sleeping together? I mean, Lamar and me figured you guys did when you got a motel room, but when Lamar teased him, Jay got pissed.”
“No, I thought that guy was creepy, too. Do you know when Jay might be back or where he is now?”
“No. I mean, if he’s telling Lamar, Lamar’s not telling me. The whole calling in the middle of the fucking night, I’m tired of it.”
Mai didn’t know how the overburdened woman might react to what she said next, but it was worth a try. “Sharon, I’m trying to stop Jay from doing something that could get him and anyone he knows in big trouble. If you know something about it, tell me.”
Sharon’s eyes swept the area around the trailer. “Come inside,” she said. “Let me make sure the kid’s asleep.”
Mai stood in the cluttered living area, adrenaline making her hands shake. Sharon Duval knew something. Mai filled the time by clearing the sofa of toys, and when Sharon reappeared, they sat facing each other.
“Why do you think Jay is up to something?” Sharon asked.
“He feels he has to punish the government for Killeen.”
“Yeah, him and Lamar have talked about it a lot. A few months ago, I was putting Ashley to bed, but I heard them talking…” She chewed her lower lip and whispered. “I think it’s a bomb.”
Mai hid her disappointment. She knew that.
“When I came out of Ashley’s room,” Sharon continued, “I came in here, but I could still hear them in the kitchen. Lamar asked Jay, ‘How would you arrange them?’ and Jay said, ‘Here’s what Jerry showed me.’ I went into the kitchen after a few minutes, and Jay had soup cans lined up on the table, like a capital J but backwards. Jay said, ‘This way will direct the energy.’”
Mai swallowed in a dry throat. “Did they talk about what they wanted to blow up?”
“No, but, the soup cans? Could they have been, like, those big fuel tanks you see at airports or refineries?”
More like plastic barrels full of ANFO, Mai thought. “Maybe,” she said. “They said nothing about where?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Think harder, Sharon.”
The woman recoiled and shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You’ll go to the police.”
“I won’t. I don’t want Jay to do something stupid.”
“I don’t want Lamar in trouble either. I want my kids to have a father, and—”
The phone interrupted her, and Sharon rose to answer. “Hello? Oh, hi. Yeah. At work. The usual time.” Sharon looked at Mai and mouthed, “It’s Jay.”
Mai motioned for her to hand over the phone and went to her.
“Jay,” Sharon said, “you really need to talk to someone who’s here.” She gave Mai the phone.
Mai found herself anticipating hearing his voice. “Jay, lad?”
“Siobhan? Are you in Kingman?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Looking for you.”
“Oh, God, Siobhan, it’s too dangerous for you in Kingman. You…you didn’t write back.”
“I did. It’s waiting for you. I’m waiting for you.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Worried about you.”
“Did you go back to Boston? Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I told them I needed a break, and they bought it.”
“Go back to Boston. Now. I’ll…I’ll contact you in a couple of months. Will…will you wait for me?”
“Jay, where are you?”
“I can’t—”
“Jay, you know you can trust me. Tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you.”
“Siobhan, I can’t stay on the phone. They’ll trace the call. I have to keep moving so they can’t keep up with the chip in me.”
“What are—”
“That’s what the meth helped me remember. The Army put a chip in me before the Gulf. In case I got captured or caught behind the lines, but I know the truth. It’s so they can find me and kill me before I can talk. Siobhan, I have to go.”
“Jay, I need to see you.”
“Wait for me, please, but stay out of Kingman. I think that’s where Prophet’s headed. Tell Sharon I’ll call Lamar later. Siobhan, I… Goodbye,” he said and hung up.
“Damn,” Mai said, handing Sharon the phone. Mai fished a notebook from her jacket and began to write. “This is the number for my hotel and my room number. Jay said he’d call Lamar later. Please tell Jay to call me. Convince Lamar what Jay wants to do is insane. If I can’t find Jay and stop him, the police might get to him first, and you and Lamar could be in trouble.”
The woman clutched her stomach. “What kind of trouble?”
“That you had prior knowledge of a criminal act and didn’t notify the authorities. They’ll say you were part of a conspiracy.”
“But… No, it’s just guy talk.”
“You could go to the authorities yourself.”
“No! They’ll take Lamar away from me.”
“If Jay does what he’s planned, the government will come after everyone who knows him. They’ll tear apart your home looking for evidence. They’ll take your children. They’ll walk over you both to get to Jay, but not if you go to them first.”
Sharon gave a nervous laugh. “You sound like Jay.”
“Do you understand?’
“I don’t want to lose my husband,” Sharon said.
Mindful some pregnant women didn’t like to be touched, Mai put a hand on the baby mound, felt the kick, and found herself almost overwhelmed by a memory of the same sensation.
“This is Lamar’s future,” she said. “Remind him of that.”
Mai went back out into the Arizona afternoon.
11
In Kind
After prowling Kingman, Alexei decided it was a decent enough hour to go to the bar where Carroll had taken Mai to meet Elijah. Two men in camouflage were the only other customers, their casual postures telling Alexei they were regulars. They nodded in greeting but looked him over with the wariness reserved for a stranger. Alexei went to the other end of the bar. No one would be at his back, and he could see the entrance.
The bartender, a man with a weathered face and squinting eyes, approached. “What can I get you?”
Alexei again dropped his accent. “Coors. Bottle. No glass.”
The bartender set the cold bottle on a Budweiser coaster in front of Alexei. “Three dollars.”
Alexei put a fifty on the bar. “Run a tab. Get yourself something, and the two fellows over there, too.”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed even more, but he took the fifty. He drew a Miller Light for himself and gave uncapped Coors to the two men, who toasted Alexei with their bottles.
Glass in hand, the bartender returned to Alexei’s end of the bar and leaned on it. “Pretty generous for a stranger,” he said.
“I’m passing through, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be sociable.”
“Where you headed?”
“West. A consulting job in Cali, specialized stuff.”
“What line of work you in?”
“Security.”
The bartender nodded with understanding.
“A couple of my buds live in this area, though,” Alexei said. “Lamar Duval and John Carroll. Know them?”
“Yeah. Haven’t seen them around for a few weeks. Carroll travels for his business. Duval has a wife.” The bartender raised an eyebrow.
“Tell me about it. Mine’s in Vegas. Give her some cash and put her in a casino with free cocktails, and she’s outta my hair.”
The
bartender laughed and drank some beer as he studied Alexei. “Do I know you?” the bartender asked.
“Nope. Never been in here before.”
The scrutiny continued, but Alexei didn’t shy from it.
“I was hoping another bud of mine was around,” Alexei said. “He and I were at Patriot City together.” Alexei smiled and added, “Well, he is Patriot City.”
The bartender straightened, his eyes widening. His recovery was quick, though. “Don’t know nothing about that place.”
“I must have been mistaken.”
“Yeah.”
The bartender took his beer to the other side of the bar and spoke in whispers to the two men. The bartender dug through a pile of papers he took from beneath the bar and handed a sheet to the two men. They studied the paper, looked at Alexei, and looked at the paper again. One man rose and headed for the payphones.
Alexei smiled, checked his watch, drank beer, and waited.
Twenty minutes later, the bar’s door opened and silhouetted Elijah. Alexei put his left hand inside his coat and on his gun. Elijah sat a few stools away and waved the bartender off.
“I didn’t want to see you alive,” Elijah said to Alexei.
“I’m pretty hard to kill.”
Elijah pointed to Alexei’s face. “Is that some sort of disguise?”
Alexei stroked his trimmed beard. “No, seeing as I dropped your name and took a chance you’d come here. My luck still holds.”
“Not for long. Why are you here, Sergei? But that’s not your name.”
“It’ll do. I’m here to see you.”
“Not for spiritual guidance, because I know you’re not a true convert. Who do you work for?” Elijah asked.
“I’m an independent consultant.”
“The cunt, too?”
“She’s a Fed. You know that. Damned good shooting for a woman, don’t you think? No one from Patriot City will fuck with her again.”
