Chapter Twenty Three

Seacrest was running down a long hallway. She ran, not knowing from what. It was pitch-black and went on and on. She looked for a door but saw only her reflection.

I see myself…but, there’s no light to see by!

Solid black walls transformed themselves outside and into a maze of tall, sturdy, bushes. A soft voice she knew whispered her name. It was Carter. His eyes were cold and they looked right through her.

“Carter?”

“I myself am heaven and hell.”

He’s hunting me!! I can’t move. I can’t move!!

In desperation, she reached up with both arms, closed her eyes, and prayed to something greater than herself. For once, Seacrest didn’t need proof God existed. Faith was just as good. Maybe even better.

***

“Wake up, honey; you’re having a bad dream.”

“Carter, are you really heaven and hell?”

“Huh?”

“I’m home!!!”

“That must have been some dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was back-”

“No, Jill, it was a nightmare, and the fact is, you never have them. I wonder if your dream was the result of a residual effect - you know, like a flashback.”

“Maybe it’s the drug and maybe it’s something else. What do those isochronal tones do, Carter?”

“Binaural beats can cause very lucid dreaming. And in extreme cases…”

“What? What happens in extreme cases?”

“Sometimes it has been known to change eye color. Or cause seizures. But they also clear chakras, Jill!” He laughed.

“Uh huh.”

“Well, I wish we had the time to stay in bed and talk, but we’re supposed to be in Fischetti’s office at nine, sharp.”

“What time is it now?”

Carter flashed his watch and smiled. “It’s time to get moving, that’s what time it is.”

“I think I’ll skip the meeting. I have a lot of catching up to do in the lab.”

“That’s fine. I can handle Fischetti alone.”

“Are you certain? You blew your top last night, you know. I mean, for you, that is.”

“A small show of testosterone was all that was needed, my dear; he’ll be putty in my hands from now on.”

Seacrest tumbled into a gray dress and matching jacket and took a quick gaze at her reflection in their standup mirror. She felt herself being pulled into it.

This is exactly how I feel when the subway leaves the station; as it races by, it pulls a rushing, sucking wind behind it that forces me, against my will, toward the edge of the platform.

Jill gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. She told herself to stop being silly, grabbed her coat and briefcase and met Carter at the front door. His face clearly indicated that he was mystified by how much time women take to get ready in the morning.

See? The whole idea is just silly!

She said nothing more about the dream. Now was exactly the wrong time to get into it again. Instead, she stopped short halfway out the door, tugged on Carter’s lapels, and allowed her lips to brush against his. This was her reality.

She hugged him tight. “I love you, Carter.”

He raised his eyebrows and said, “I missed this.”

She saw once again that no matter how smart he was at figuring out criminals, when it came to women, he was a dope. “Promise me you’ll use your Carter ‘calm and cool’ today.”

“I promise I’ll handle the situation tactfully. Let’s go.”

***

Deputy Director Fischetti was up before dawn hoping to get a jump on the day. He didn’t want to be interrupted by Carter before nine, so he left a post-it on Liz’s computer asking her to hold all his calls when she came in. He settled himself in his chair and reached into a drawer for a burner cell.

Dialing the Meese Corporation’s main number in Langley, he silently rehearsed the speech he’d memorized while tossing and turning in bed all night. This was an intricate game of chess, and it called for a very daring move.

Fischetti introduced himself to the receptionist and asked to speak to the C.E.O., Tony Berringer. “It’s an urgent matter. Put me through right away, please.”

The call was transferred to Berringer’s assistant. “Mr. Berringer has just arrived, sir. One moment, please.”

The man’s voice was curt. “Berringer.”

Fischetti decided to make a strong offensive move and put a little respect into that voice. “Good morning, Mr. Berringer. I’m Deputy Director William Fischetti, with the New York City division of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d like a moment of your time, if you don’t mind. It’s a matter of some importance.”

Berringer hesitated. “Of course, Mr. Fischetti. I’m happy to help you any way I can. What’s on your mind?”

Fischetti heard a rustling noise.

I wonder what he’s fumbling with...

“I wanted to thank you for allowing Ms. Kerrington to share Mr. Montgomery’s personnel record with our agent. It might just give us that big break we’ve been hoping for.”

Fischetti held his breath and waited.

“What? Excuse me? She shared what with your agent?”

That was the part Fischetti always liked best. “You know, the history on Clayton Artemus Montgomery. He was a former employee of yours. Now he’s using an alias and living right here in good old New York City. He’s a person of interest in an investigation going by the name of Arthur Moreland. We wanted to double-check the reports of his death after he resigned including his office records. Turns out you had him listed as officially dead, too. My agent was able to confirm everything Ms. Kerrington told her. Thanks. We owe you on this one.”

“Why did you need to see his record, though, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“We came across his obituary photo that matched his face to our person of interest. We’ve already checked with the coroner’s office in Langley; there is no death certificate on record. Since the obituary mentioned he worked for Meese, I sent out an agent to confirm that your employee records listed him as deceased. I wanted visual confirmation, not verbal, and Ms. Kerrington was kind enough to show her his file.

“I’m sure you understand I can’t divulge anything more than that at this time, but we’re confident that he is still somewhere in New York, and we’ll have him in custody soon enough. Have a nice day.”

***

Berringer thanked Fischetti, hung up and kicked the gym bag next to his desk.

Damn that moron in Personnel! I’ll hang her for this!!

He launched himself out of his chair and walked as quickly and quietly as he could to the elevator.

So, the F.B.I. is looking for a man who used to work for us. This fire has to be put out before it gets leaked to the press.

Berringer ignored everyone in the elevator as he rode up to the tenth floor in a panic. He strode up to the big corner office on the north side of the building and barked, “Is he in?”

Shocked at the look on his face, the administrative assistant simply nodded. Berringer walked past her. “Hold his calls.”

The door slammed shut, startling Greg James, the S.V.P. of Human Resources. “Well, I don’t need a second cup of coffee now. Thanks.”

Berringer’s veins were standing out on his head and neck. “Whose idea was it to allow Kerrington to speak with an F.B.I. agent?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The deputy director of the fucking New York branch of the F.B.I. called me just now to thank me for sharing our personnel records on Clayton Artemus Montgomery. He sent an agent here to confirm that he worked for Meese and that our records list him as dead. They also know his resignation date and the reported date of death. He says the coroner has no death certificate, Greg. Then he tells me that the bastard is alive, somewhere in New York, using an alias! He thinks one of two things: either we did something to Monty and faked those records, or he faked his own death because of something that happened to him here. Which is it?”

Berringer rapped his knuckles on Greg’s desk and began to pace. “Why is a dead man who used to work here walking around and possibly holding a grudge against us?”

“Hold on, Tony. What’s the problem? All he wanted to do is confirm that the man’s alive and used to work here. He’s looking for Montgomery for God’s sake, not us. The man must have done something and gotten himself caught. So the guy is alive and in New York. What do we have to worry about? Besides, it’s been years since he came anywhere near here. Whatever Monty knows is old news by now.”

“Just what does he know that’s so incriminating?”

Berringer stopped pacing. “Jesus! No wonder you wound up in H.R.! Do you realize that this psycho might turn up here and blow the place sky high for some imagined injustice to Dr. Blake and his wife?”

“Listen. You’re going to offer Kerrington a package today and transfer her to our office in Kansas. You will inform her that she should be fired and prosecuted for divulging the information contained in a personnel record, as she well knows, but that we will forgive and forget if she signs a nondisclosure agreement and honors it. Tell her she’s placed us in a very bad legal position with the deceased’s family, and say nothing else. I want her gone yesterday.”

“Maybe they know Montgomery had a falling out with the approval board and want to know more about his work life, that’s all, so let them investigate! Christ, all they did was turn down a project. No one forced Blake to kill herself. No one here killed his wife, either! You’re acting like we did something wrong when we know we didn’t! Maybe he was having an affair with Blake and it went sideways. There’s your reason for his faked death.”

That was something Berringer hadn’t thought of before now. “Anything is possible, I suppose. But I want to know every single detail of his work life here with the JASONS and with Blake. Dig up what you can on the wife and financial situation. I also want to know where Montgomery’s hiding. He’s using the name Arthur Moreland now.”

“Look, he was fishing, Tony. Why would the F.B.I. share that kind of information with you unless he wanted to see how you’d react? You didn’t react, of course...did you?”

“Of course not, but we’re involved now whether we like it or not. The publicity alone will be a killer, and I don’t plan on leaving this job in disgrace. Why couldn’t Montgomery just stay dead, damn it?

“Listen, Greg, there are things you don’t know about. You absolutely cannot mention the JASONS to anyone at all under any circumstances, do you understand? Not even to our own investigator.

“The JASONS are a myth to anyone outside Meese and the D.O.D. If their existence becomes known, the White House is going to use our carcasses for charcoal at their next barbeque. No one will ever find out about the JASONS, and you and I will never be seen again. Get it?”

Greg turned white and gulped. “Got it.”

“I need to know what Montgomery’s game is.” Berringer stalked out of Greg James’ office, slamming the glass door so hard that Greg winced.

***

Carter kept both hands folded and resting in his lap. He wasn’t about to blow his career in a fit of pique over a petty dictator’s decision to play both sides against the middle. He no longer trusted the man, but he’d play it cool, just as Seacrest suggested.

“Good morning, Agent Carter.”

Fischetti paused to take a large sip of coffee. “These meetings whip up hate for everything and everybody. That much is evident from what we pulled off of Red’s cell phone. These con men invariably turn up when the economy is bad and people are looking for a scapegoat. This isn’t news, Carter; it’s been going on since the beginning of time. Unfortunately, it always will, people being what they are.”

Carter almost bought it. Almost. Fischetti was a good chess player, but Carter was better. “I see. But Agent Deeprose made a visit to a corporation in Virginia - one that I didn’t even know existed, so it would seem there’s more to the story than that.”

“Her visit to Meese may very well turn out to be nothing, Agent Carter, a tempest in a teapot. She discovered a photo of Moreland in an obituary written for a man named Montgomery who worked there, so I thought we’d jab them with a needle and see if anyone hollered Ow.”

“I understand, sir, but I was told that the reason she went looking for Intel on Meese was because of an anonymous tip you received. Wouldn’t that tell us that the tipster thinks Meese is involved with the killings? How can we ignore Deeprose finding out Moreland worked there as Montgomery or that his wife was murdered shortly before he resigned and then supposedly died.”

“We’re looking at all avenues of possibilities, Agent. Meese and Montgomery, a.k.a. Moreland, are a new focus of our investigation, but unless we can connect the Collective’s meetings to the drug dosing and organized assassinations, the only motivation we have so far are thrill kills or hate crimes. Call them whatever you want.”

Carter nodded.

“On another topic, your friend Red either intentionally gave us the wrong address or was fed the wrong Intel. I want to know whose side he’s on.”

Based on Carter’s conversations with Red, he had a hard time believing the young man wasn’t being completely honest with them. It was more likely he was fed the wrong information. He nodded again. “Sir, getting back to – what’s his real name? Montgomery? I thought he left New York to travel internationally. Do you have any new Intel in that regard?”

“Not yet.” Fischetti shrugged.

“The tip you received didn’t mention anything concerning his whereabouts, sir?”

“No. I don’t know who this tipster is. Maybe it’s some crackpot or someone with an ax to grind.”

“Did he mention anything about himself or his personal history? Did you get a look at him?”

“I could give a description to a sketch artist, but I doubt it would do any good. If he’s the real thing, you’ll never find a match; he hasn’t survived this long because he’s stupid. He’s probably had his face changed and his finger prints burned off, at the very least.”

Carter knew when he was being stonewalled and was beginning to feel very frustrated. He was deeply disappointed in the deputy director for treating him like a first-year rookie and for playing a shady game of his own.

It was unlikely the tipster would leave out any major details that would corroborate his story. He also doubted the tipster was a crackpot; he knew too much. No, the mystery man was the real McCoy, and they both knew it.

Fischetti tossed him a bone. “Agent Deeprose is in her office completing a report on her interview with Meese if you’d care to look it over.”

Carter took that as a not-so-subtle hint that the meeting was over. “Of course, sir.”

On his way out, it struck Carter that Senator Pressman had suddenly become a distant object in the rearview mirror.

***

Eliza took a long swig out of the bottle she bought on their way back to Clara’s. “Scored the bag and ditched the ride too! Well, ladies, it’s been real.”

Alison was worried. “Oh, no! You don’t walk away from us that easily, Eliza. It was too easy. There’s always a catch when it’s too easy. What about that phone call? You still haven’t told us anything about it. I think we’re being watched.”

“Don’t be paranoid, Alison. I know you think it was too easy, but maybe that’s just because you’re used to being hit when you’re down. And watched, too. Your creepy father’s dead. Let it go, already!”

Alison looked like she’d been hit in the face. “You shut your mouth! He loved me. He just didn’t want me to turn out like my mother, that’s all. Now be quiet. Clara can hear us from the bathroom.”

“So?”

“So I don’t want her to hear what we’re saying, Eliza. She’s not like me and you; she’s clean and perfect.”

“Why is Clara so important, Alison? You know she’s using you, don’t you?”

“She is not! She needs us. There’s a girl out there planning to kill her, and I can’t stand by and do nothing. She’s using me? I like that! What have you ever done but use people for your own ends?

“Look Eliza, I know you couldn’t care less about Michael, although if it wasn’t for him, the Silver Man’s people might have already murdered you. I know exactly how you feel about me; you think I’m weak, and you hate me for it. But I know something about you, too, Eliza. I know why you really helped us steal that bag – you want it for yourself, and I’m pretty sure you won’t stop with taking the drug just to feel invincible. You’re a killer yourself, Eliza, and you want that drug so you can go out on a toot and kill anyone in your way, you sick bitch.”

Eliza looked at Alison with something akin to respect. “Look who has a spine after all! That may be a problem for me, Allie, so don’t push your luck.”

“And one more point before we move on. I don’t want to have this conversation again, so pay attention. Clara is important to me because she’s my family, now. She genuinely cares about me. She could have avoided this whole thing by telling the police who threatened her life and then going back home to her uncle upstate. But she didn’t. She stayed, for me. And God help us, for you.”

Eliza smirked. “And if I take the bag and leave? What can you do about it?”

“You won’t take it. You know Michael, and you got into his car voluntarily. You threw him to the cops to keep yourself out of trouble, and at that point you weren’t even in any trouble! But now you’ve got an illegal street drug. One anonymous call from me, and you’ll be right where Michael is, answering a lot of questions about the vial they found in the car that maybe, just maybe, belonged to you all along. I may be damaged, Eliza, but you have no heart at all. You were born without one.”

“And for that I am truly grateful. But let’s talk about Michael. Why aren’t you trying to help him out of jail?”

“Let me explain in no uncertain terms what makes you and Michael alike, Eliza. Maybe you’ll learn something about yourself. You are both born killers. It’s in your D.N.A., and no one can ever change it. Your brain is wired up all wrong. You’re turned on by power and control. You have no sense of right or wrong. You think if stealing is an impulse it’s natural and what’s natural is O.K. to do. But nothing about you is natural! You were the kids that killed insects with a magnifying glasses and then moved on to drowning cats. That’s who Michael is, and that’s who you are.”

“All right, Alison, if you’re gonna choose this moment to grow the hell up, then here’s a news flash - I have to make a kill, and it’s an order. An order, Alison, not a choice!”

“Is that was what the call was about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, why do you think it was from the Silver Man, and why do you think you’re going to have to do your kill after all?”

“You were right about the Silver Man’s people, Allie. We’re being watched. We broke the rules and it can only end one way. Until then, I’m gonna live it up as long as I can, and I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way, including you and Clara.”

Clara emerged from the bathroom. “Did I miss anything?”

“Eliza’s thinking about dumping us to go on a toot and kill anyone who gets in her way. Isn’t that right, Eliza?”

“Shut up, Alison. Here’s the deal; if I don’t get another call, I’m on board with you.” Eliza pulled her leather jacket off the back of her chair. “I’m out to get some air.”

***

When Eliza left, the two girls sat down to talk.

“We have to think up a way to scare that girl away from you without resorting to violence.”

Clara perked up. “I’ve been thinking about that. I know a guy who used to have a serious crush on Abby. He’s a nighttime security guard at a local micro-brewery. I’ll invite Abby there for a little party and get him to open the door for us while he’s on duty. Then, with him there as a witness and protector, we’ll confront her and tell her that the cops are looking for her in connection with the Collective murders. He can help control her if she loses it, and if she does, he’ll call the cops on her, himself. What do you think?”

“It sounds fairly simple. Abby has nothing on you. You never even heard of the Collective before we came along. But will she accept your invitation?”

“Nope. That’s why we’re going to deliver an invitation in person.”