As he opened the door of the mobile home, his phone began to ring again, and once more he let the call go to voice mail. He knew Peter had to be more than just concerned at this point. First, Oliver had missed his flight to Houston, and second, the man he’d hired to clean up after Oliver was MIA.
Peter was a smart man, though. At some point in the last few hours, he had undoubtedly dispatched a team to Phoenix to find out what was going on. Eventually, that team would check out the mobile home.
He checked the computer security log, and could see that he was the only one to come within a mile of the trailer all day. He removed a small hard drive from his kit bag and connected it to the computer, then ran a program that would erase all records from twelve hours before to twelve hours after that point, effectively erasing his and Oliver’s presence.
While that processed, he went over to the detention cell. He flipped the switch that would turn on the interior light, then opened the eye-level panel. He suddenly jerked back. Standing just on the other side, his eyes only inches way, was Oliver.
“Let me out!” Oliver demanded, his voice coming over the intercom speaker on the wall next to the door.
“Please step back,” Durrie said.
“Why? So you can come in here and kill me?”
“Step back, and sit on the bed.”
“Go to hell.”
Durrie frowned at him. “I’d rather not resort to anything extreme, so it would be better if you sat.”
“Look, I don’t care about what happened on Goodman Ranch Road. Nobody would listen to me even if I did. Just let me go, and I’ll keep quiet.”
“Mr. Oliver. Move to the bed.”
“I only told my supervisors about the other two. I never told them about you. I never showed them your picture.”
“Sit!” he ordered.
“Please. Just let me go.”
Durrie reached over and slid the eye slot shut. He didn’t have time to deal with this.
The light switch wasn’t the only control next to the door. There was a panel with dials and buttons that accessed a menu displayed on a small digital screen.
The choices ran the gamut from mild to lethal. He made his selection then slid the eye slot open again.
At first, Oliver looked as defiant as before, but soon he began to lose his sense of balance. It was only another moment before he collapsed on the floor.
Durrie made the call two hours later from the parking lot of a truck stop near the New Mexico border. He wasn’t worried about his location being traced. The call was being automatically routed through several relays designed to confuse any such attempt.
On the second ring, a woman picked up.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak to Peter,” Durrie said, forgoing normal procedures.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have anyone—”
“Tell him it’s Durrie.”
She paused. “One moment.”
The delay lasted only ten seconds.
“What the hell is going on?” Peter asked as he came on the line. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day! Oliver never showed for his plane. You were following him, right? What happened?”
“He’s with me.”
The pause was long. “What do you mean, he’s with you?”
“He’s with me.”
“Are you telling me you’re taking care of the problem?”
“I’m telling you the problem was never Oliver. It was Larson. Killing Oliver would have been a mistake. He can be useful.”
“Useful? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I believe he could be an asset, Peter.”
“An asset?”
“I’ll know in a few weeks. I’ll contact you then.”
“What? Hold on! I agree that this was an…unfortunate termination, but, if you’ll remember correctly, Oliver was deemed a potential risk.”
“And I’m telling you he’s potentially the opposite. I’ll know in a few weeks. If it turns out I’m wrong, the original order will be carried out. But if I’m right, then you and I can talk about what happens then.”
“Are you deliberately trying to throw your career away?” Peter asked.
“I’m not throwing anything away. I’m cultivating an asset.” Durrie paused. “A free pass for three weeks, that’s what I’m asking. No one comes after us. No one bothers us. I’ve done nothing but good work for you, Peter. I’m not trying to screw you or my career.”
“Jesus, Durrie. You can’t be serious. What can you possibly see in this cop — this ex-cop — that’s worth the risk?”
“The same things you saw that made you decide to get rid of him. I don’t like seeing potential wasted.”
“You’re way off the mark this time, my friend.”
“Free pass or not? Either way, I’m not changing my mind.”
Peter said nothing for several seconds. “Three weeks. If I don’t hear from you by then, consider both of your lives sacrificed.”
Durrie hung up, not bothering to say goodbye.
25
The cabin was fifty miles from the closest town, tucked into the woods in the Rocky Mountains of central Colorado. It was another safe house, though this one belonged to an organization Durrie had done work for several years earlier that had no ties to the Office. In the recent months, the organization had scaled back its Stateside operations, so Durrie had been confident the building would be unused.
He was right.
By the look of things, no one had been there in more than a year.
The cabin wasn’t as well-equipped as the mobile home south of Phoenix, but it did have a well-made holding cell in the basement, and that was all that really mattered at the moment.
On three separate occasions during the drive there, Durrie had given Oliver BetaSomnol boosters to keep him asleep. It was more drug than he’d really wanted to administer, but he’d had little choice.
Now that he had Oliver in the cell, the drug was no longer necessary. He could do nothing, however, but provide aspirin for the headache Oliver experienced from the withdrawal. A full thirty-six hours passed before the former police officer’s symptoms had lessened enough so that Durrie could move forward.
Using the threat of his stun gun, he had Oliver chain himself to the chair in his room before he carried his own in and sat down.
“You’re one very lucky son of a bitch,” the man said as he took a seat.
Jake almost laughed. “You might have to explain that to me.”
“What do you think I mean?” the man asked.
“I have no idea.”
The man considered him for a moment. “You can do better than that.”
“Why don’t you just tell me, if you think I should know,” Jake said. “Or not. I don’t really care.” Though his headache was gone, he’d never felt so drained in his life, and a verbal game was the last thing he cared about.
The man was silent for a moment, then said, “You don’t see it now, but if it wasn’t for me, your funeral would already be over.”
“Easy to say, hard to prove, but what the hell? Thanks.”
“You think you’re funny sometimes, don’t you? You don’t have to answer. I can tell. You should also know that doesn’t cut it with me. Feel free to tell your jokes, but don’t expect me to laugh.”
“I’ll remember that,” Jake said.
The man stared at him for nearly a minute, then said, “You are going to thank me someday, but not just for saving your life. For changing it completely.”