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Washington, D.C.
FBI Headquarters
FBI Director Mike Carpenter entered his supervisor’s office. Bennie Dunlap was sixty-five and a few weeks from retiring. His age was outlined by the deep wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth. His blue eyes sparkled as vivid as any teenager, which made him look as though youth was somehow trapped inside his weary body. With Parkinson’s slowly claiming him, it was painful to listen to his shaky voice.
Bennie stood from behind his desk and offered his shaking hand to Carpenter. Carpenter shook it firmly.
It pained Carpenter to see the man he had worked with for twenty years succumbing to this devastating disease.
“Good to see you, Mike,” Bennie said. “Sit down. How have you been?”
“Fine, Bennie. And you?”
Bennie’s eyes weighed with sadness. “Time has caught up with me, I’m afraid. And Parkinson’s hasn’t done me any favors, either.”
“I’m sorry.”
Bennie shook a fist in the air. “I’m not seeking sympathy. Life is what it is. You take what’s dealt to you. You can’t argue with the dealer. He won’t reshuffle the deck and deal again. The cards fall as is.”
“I know.”
“I announced my retirement, as you’re aware. I will also be recommending you to fill my position.”
Carpenter smiled. “I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be. For a director like you that loves working the field with an investigation team, this desk might be equivalent to a prison cell. Or death row.”
“I said that I’m flattered, but I didn’t say I’d take the job.”
Bennie smiled. “That’s more the answer I expected from you.”
“The confines of an office job makes me uneasy. I’d grow restless.”
“I give you another ten years and you’ll see this office more of a place to settle in. Prison or not, some days I’m thankful to sit in a plush chair. You’re still young, but time catches up with everyone eventually.”
Bennie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glanced at Carpenter, and then looked at the files on his desk.
“I take it your retirement isn’t the only reason you called me here,” Carpenter said.
Bennie nodded.
“What’s going on?” Carpenter asked. “Does this have to do with Matthews’ escape?”
“It is a concern, but it’s not what you’re here to discuss.”
“Then what?”
Bennie’s eyes pierced into Carpenter’s. “I noticed early on, after TransGenCorp was shut down, that you pursued Lucas’ clone like a vigorous, hungry bloodhound. You were determined to find this man and suddenly, within the past few months, you just don’t seem that enthused about bringing him in. Care to explain that?”
Carpenter shifted in his chair. “I was becoming so obsessed with finding him that other cases weren’t getting their proper attention, so I backed off to focus on new cases. That’s all.”
“I see,” Bennie said softly. “Has his trail run cold?”
“Somewhat.”
“No clue where he is?”
“Am I under investigation?” Carpenter asked in a joking manner.
“No, Mike. I’m just trying to find out how close you ever were to finding him.”
“I was close several times. Why? Do you know where he is?”
“No. But it’s time we close his file for good.” Bennie patted the manila file folder on his desk.
Carpenter frowned. “After all this time, just close it?”
“Unless you see a reason to keep chasing what seems to be nothing more than a ghost now.”
“I’ll accept either. If you wish to close the case, I won’t give it another thought. And if you want me to find him, I will get a new team on the case immediately.”
“Consider it closed.”
“Very well,” Carpenter said with a slight shrug.
Carpenter felt a sense of relief that his assignment to pursue and capture Lucian was over. At least Carpenter didn’t have to wrestle with his conscious over letting Lucian stay with Kat or not taking him into custody after Slayton was taken prisoner. But inwardly he continued the moral dilemma of not seeing Lucian brought to justice for the senate murders. With the case closed he had a valid reason to let it go.
“Now, let’s discuss something else about this job.”
“What is that?”
Bennie stood and walked to a coffee pot near the office sink. “Coffee?”
“Black, please.”
Bennie poured two cups. Without looking back, he said, “Secrets, Mike.”
Bennie turned and handed a Styrofoam cup to Carpenter. Bennie’s eyes narrowed.
“Secrets?” Carpenter replied, taking the cup.
“The art of our duties as investigators. Secrets.”
Carpenter studied him with a slight frown, not certain where the conversation was headed.
“Our jobs cover a vast array of duties,” Bennie said. “And often, the job requires us to maintain secrets related to our investigations. You have them.”
“I’m sure everyone does, in one way or the other.”
Bennie smiled and nodded. He gave a shaky wink. “I have them, too.”
“Not quite certain what you’re getting at? Is there something you wish me to confess or offer? Ask me a question straight out and I’ll give you the answer.”
Bennie looked more amused. “You misunderstand. It’s not what you know, but rather, what I know.”
“Please clue me in. Does it have to do with the clone’s case?”
“Very much so.”
“If the case is closed, why are we even discussing this?”
“It’s time you knew the whole truth.”
“That being?”
Bennie pressed the intercom button on his desk phone. “Anna, please send him in.”
The office door opened. A man wearing an Armani suit and hat entered and closed the door behind him. He removed his hat and smiled at Carpenter. It took only a moment for the recognition factor to set in. Carpenter’s eyes widened.
“No. It’s impossible,” Carpenter said. “Senator Godfrey? You’re alive?”
***
Lydia drove her motorcycle at 80 mph. The wind whipped around her helmet, making a slight whistling sound. Her mind raced almost as fast as her bike carried her.
Lydia thought of Lucas with a great deal of remorse. Fear bit at her soul. She had come close to killing him. Her warning wasn’t a bluff or an idle threat. She would have pulled the trigger, killed him, and only now, in the afterthought of the moment, did she realize the true loss and regret she’d have suffered had she given in to that impulse.
Her ability to remain rational continued to shrink while her lust to kill increased. Her mind was becoming exactly what Idris had genetically programmed it to become. Her fate was inevitable. The route she took was one way. She wouldn’t return to who she was or where she had lived. She’d never see Lucas again. She couldn’t.
She headed for New Mexico, where Matthews had escaped from prison, but she knew Matthews was probably states away by now.
A man with his intelligence and determination had probably used a well thought out plan once he was on the outside. Matthews wasn’t one to take unnecessary, foolish risks. She figured he had no plans to be discovered, which made her task of finding him all the more difficult.
She needed help and funds to find Matthews.
Lydia gunned the Nighthawk, watching the speed odometer flirt with the 100 mph mark, and smiling, she remembered someone else that hated Matthews with as much passion as she did.
Boyd Grayson.
***
Lucas drove the SUV to the far side of The Waterhole Bar and Grill’s parking lot. The building resembled a rustic ranch house like in the days of the Old West. The glass doors had painted swinging doors on the outside. A coiled cowboy rope was nailed to the wall. A neon sign flashing, “Yee-haw!” scrolled across a side window.
Black silhouettes of cowboys and sexy cowgirls were fastened to the fencepost railing along the deck.
Lucas frowned, shook his head, and then he gave Joe a strange side-glance. “You actually went in there?”
Joe’s face flushed red. “Sorry to say it, but yes.”
“You’d have a hard time getting me to go inside.”
“It was already dark when I arrived. Besides, there aren’t many choices out here, bro.”
“Surely there’s something better than this.”
Joe shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t plan to search anymore places like this out. I’ll get my whisky from a liquor store from now on, if I ever decide to drink it again.”
The tranquil pinkish purple sky loomed in the west. The sun was an hour or so from setting, and a couple dozen vehicles were parked in the gravel lot. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
Lucas turned off the engine. “When you were here last night, what do you remember? Were there a lot of cars or trucks?”
Joe closed his eyes. “It was already dark when I arrived. Let’s see. A couple of pickup trucks, a half dozen or more motorcycles, and several big rigs.”
“So it wasn’t busy?”
“As busy as a ghost town might be. You have to understand, there isn’t a lot of traffic out this way. I’d guess the majority of patrons are those already familiar with this area, but again, I never frequented the place.”
“So you wouldn’t know who was out of place?”
Joe shook his head. “No, but I really don’t think the people who placed the rattlers in my house followed us home.”
“I don’t either.”
Two bikers drove into the lot and parked near the front doors. The riders wore leather jackets with a gang emblem sewn across the backs of their jackets.
“How was the bar’s atmosphere last night. Anyone give you a hard time or stare at you?”
“Not that I recall. Most were busy talking and drinking. A few were dancing to the live band. No one started any trouble.”
A white Dodge Ram pickup roared through the parking lot, swerved sharply, and slung gravel into the air as the driver slammed the brakes and skidded to a stop. Two men stepped out of the truck, both laughing, and each wearing sand-colored fatigues, which immediately caught Lucas’ attention.
“Those two look a bit out of place,” Lucas said.
“I agree.”
“Did you see anyone wearing outfits like that last night?” Lucas asked.
Joe watched the two men as they walked to the doors, then he shook his head. “No. Most wore flannel shirts or leather jackets with blue jeans.”
“They look like possible service men.”
Lucas opened the truck door and stepped out.
“What are you doing?” Joe asked.
“Shouldn’t we at least look around?”
“They might recognize me. There’s the slight chance they think I’m dead.”
Lucas nodded. “You’re right. You stay here. I’ll look around.”
“Be careful.”
“It won’t take too long.”
Lucas shut the truck door and headed across the parking lot. He walked to the rear of the pickup and glanced into the truck bed. Two snake tong sticks lay near a wooden crate. It didn’t take any deductive reasoning to conclude that these men had captured the rattlesnakes and placed them inside Joe’s house, but whom did they work for?
The tag on the truck was registered to an individual and not a government official tag, which made it even harder to make a connection to the people over them. Lucas memorized the tag number, and instead of entering the bar and confronting the men, he thought it best to leave without being seen. He had no idea how many people they were dealing with, either. Besides, he’d know the truck should he see it again.
Lucas hurried back to the SUV and climbed inside. He took a notepad out of the dash compartment and wrote down the tag number before starting the engine.
“You found something?” Joe asked.
“Not much, but enough to narrow down who gifted you with the rattlers.”
“Those men?”
“Saw two snake tongs in the truck bed and judging by their clothing, I don’t think they’re herpetologists.”
Joe smiled. “Probably not.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Lucas said, dropping the SUV into reverse and backing up.
“Hey!”
Lucas slammed the brakes. Gravels crunched beneath the sudden stop. In his side view mirror, one of the men in fatigues sprinted toward the SUV.
“I’m talking to you!” the man shouted, tapping the side window.
Lucas lowered the glass. “Yes?”
“You take something out of my truck?” the man asked.
“No. Why?”
“I saw you messing around my truck bed, then you ran off and looks like you’re in an awful hurry to leave.”
Lucas smiled. “You’re mistaken.”
The man grabbed the door handle and yanked open the door. “I don’t think I am.”
Normally, Lucas dismissed hostile approaches in a cordial manner, except when he felt Lydia or a friend was being threatened. Seeing the man’s hostile approach and believing Joe’s life might be in danger, he didn’t hesitate to immediately stand his ground. But, had he time to really think his actions through, he’d probably blame his quick reaction more in response to all the conflict and disruption that was unfolding in his personal life.
Lucas stepped out of the truck and pressed his gun to the man’s throat. After releasing the safety, he said, “I said that you’re mistaken.”
The man raised his hands and swallowed hard. “S-s-sorry. Easy now. I did overreact. Again, I’m sorry.”
“Now that I have your attention,” Lucas said. “Why do you have snake collecting gear in your truck?”
“It’s a hobby my friend and I have.”
“A hobby?” Lucas asked, easing back the gun.
The man nodded. Sweat beaded along his brow. He was more nervous than Lucas expected the man to be.
“Yeah. Snakes, tarantulas, scorpions. We collect them. Sometimes we sell them to other pet enthusiasts.”
“How about rattlesnakes? You ever sell any of those?” Lucas asked.
“Yes. Sold ten of them about a week ago.”
“To whom?”
The man looked confused but volunteered information anyway. “Don’t know who he was exactly. He paid us really good though. Five hundred dollars for less than a couple hours work.”
Lucas clicked on the safety and lowered the gun. “What did he look like?”
The man took a quick step back. His hands shook.
“We never met him in person. His instructions were for us to leave the snakes near a camp’s hiking trail. The money was hidden in an envelope that was tucked inside a sign post.”
“If you never met him, how’d he hire you to catch the rattlers?”
He shrugged. “He called me out of the blue.”
“It’s that easy to find someone in your type of business?”
“We also raise rats and mice for pet shops. He might have gotten our number from one of them. Besides, the money he offered was too good to turn down. We thought someone was playing us for fools, too, but the money was where he said it would be.”
“And if it hadn’t been?”
“I guess we’d have let the snakes go. Why do you want to know?”
“Because whoever you sold them to attempted to use them to kill my friend.”
The man stooped and peered into the truck. Seeing Joe in the passenger seat, he said, “Seriously? How?”
Joe explained the snakes and Misty’s death. The man stood with an astonished expression on his face. He looked nauseous.
“Hey, guys. Look, I’m truly sorry. I wouldn’t have sold them to him had I known he’d do something like that. Honest.”
Lucas studied the man for a moment. The fatigues were actually heavy duty hunting pants with thicker material to prevent briars and cacti needles from pricking the skin. He didn’t have a handgun holster. “Okay, but you’re sure you don’t know anything else about him so we can find him?”
“I told you all I know. Here’s our card.”
The card displayed: Calvin’s Herps, Spiders, & Supplies.
“I take it that you’re Calvin?”
“Yes.”
“Have a nice day, Calvin.” Lucas slammed the truck door and started the SUV. “We’ll be going, but I suggest that you turn down any future jobs from this man.”
“No problem there.”
“Thanks for the card. I’m certain the sheriff will want to talk to you.”
“We had nothing to do with her death.”
“Maybe not directly. Just tell them what you told us.”
Lucas backed the truck up.
Joe glanced at Lucas. “Do you really believe he’s innocent of Misty’s death?”
“Unfortunately, I do. Don’t you?”
“I didn’t feel any real callousness from him.”
“Well, had he been an operative that wanted to kill you, he’d have attempted to take my gun and not spilled his guts so easily.”
“He did offer too much information pretty quick.”
“I know.”
“Night is coming. I wonder what my brothers are planning.”
“I’m sure we’ll know soon enough.”
Lucas drove out of the parking lot and onto the highway. He thought about Lydia and wondered where she was and if she missed him. It would be the first night without her in a long time, and he dreaded when he’d have to go to bed. He’d probably get little sleep because his mind would run so many scenarios, so many pain-filled moments of anguish and wishing he could change her mind. He’d also battle his regret of keeping secrets he wished he had not. But Lydia was about to be the least of his problems.
Barreling down the highway, approaching them at a high rate of speed was a tan camo Jeep with two armed men. Their mission was to take Joe and get the skull—no matter what.