The other one, though—he was a puzzle.
He was big—really big. Bigger than Mario, even. His head had been shaved close with no marks around it to tell if he shaved it for the sake of the look or if he did it because he had already lost all of his hair anyway. He was in his mid thirties, maybe, and had dark, curly hair around his wrists that stuck out of his cuffs. His suit was also tailored but extremely neat. He even removed the jacket, folded it neatly, and laid it across the back of the chair before he seated himself and looked into my eyes.
His eyes looked familiar, but I was sure I had never met him before.
He smiled, and there was nothing the least bit friendly about the look. He reached his hand out toward me as he spoke.
“Mister Arden, my name is Agent Trent, and this is Agent Johnson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Most adults, when offered a hand in greeting, reflexively hold out their right hand without question. Without a doubt, this was the response Trent was expecting. It was a calculated and cold move, given the current state of my bound wrists. If I had been the kind of guy who immediately responded in the most polite of ways, I would have fallen for the move and been noisily reminded of the chains attaching my arms to the chair.
I wasn’t that kind of guy, though, so I didn’t move. Trent narrowed his eyes the tiniest amount but recovered within a second. Completely relaxed again, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly as I raised a brow.
I was instantly glad I had managed to get some actual sleep. If I hadn’t, I might have missed his ploy and therefore misjudged him. With my mind back in the game, my perception was strong. I recognized immediately that he was definitely my opponent.
He wasn’t going to be a quick win, though, whatever the game was going to be. Regardless, he’d already made a mistake. The most interesting part of the short exchange was the obvious lack of research Trent had done. He was expecting me to act in a certain way, but he was wrong, and his initial mind-fuck was wasted on me. If he had done his research, he would have gone with another approach, like an officer’s uniform and a salute.
I probably would have responded to that.
Instead, I continued to eye him carefully. I made sure my expression was emotionless as I glanced from his outstretched hand to my bound right wrist and then up to his eyes. I raised my eyebrow again and waited.
“Ah, yes,” Trent said, “I suppose we’ll have to stick with a hello.”
He dropped his hand and tapped twice on the table as he settled in his seat. There wasn’t any reason for the tap, I was sure of that. If there had been any kind of “code” between the two men, Johnson obviously didn’t know about it. He glanced toward the sound, but his expression didn’t change. He was having too much trouble keeping up the façade for his expression to remain the same if he was being given orders of some kind.
What reason then?
To make me paranoid.
I was positive that I was right, and I felt my back stiffen a little as my body and mind went into a heightened state of alert. I had no idea what these two were about, but Trent was a definite threat.
“Time for things to change a little around here, Mister Arden.”
Nothing about this could possibly be in my best interest, so I braced myself and waited.
Chapter 5—Unavoidable Agreement
I wasn’t sure if I was waiting for a bullet or not, but I was a little surprised when Trent, the guy with the crazy smile, reached into his briefcase and pulled out a bunch of papers. I was not surprised by the FBI seals on both the papers and the envelopes inside the briefcase.
I was definitely on edge as he displayed the papers out on the table. Even if his first trap hadn’t managed to catch me, I was quite sure Trent wasn’t someone I could just ignore. I had the feeling talking my way out of this one wasn’t going to work either, and shooting my way out of it wasn’t an option.
Currently.
“Let’s see what we have here…” Trent let his voice trail off, cleared his throat, and then indicated a list of—appropriately enough—bullet points on the page. “Possession of unregistered firearms, public endangerment, unlawful discharge of firearms, inciting panic, and of course, the really good one—terrorism.”
I was taken aback but tried not to show it. That charge hadn’t been on the list of charges Moretti and Michael Beard had discussed when they came to see me.
“That last one is the one I find most interesting, seeing as it is a matter of federal law, not just the state of Illinois. I had to pull a couple of strings to get that officially on the list. It was even more difficult getting the timing exactly right. I had to wait until your boss and his tricky lawyer thought they had everything under control. I suppose they wanted to leave your little display under vandalism or something. Anything to appease your boss, hmm?”
I remained completely still.
“At this point, your lawyer won’t see the new charge until after we’re done here. He’ll spend half the day getting it removed, but it won’t matter—I’m already here.” Trent shuffled some papers around in the briefcase. “Did I miss anything?”
“There’s also a woman from your neighborhood who wants to press attempted murder charges against you on behalf of Glenda, her Yorkshire Terrier,” Johnson added. “I honestly don’t think the judge plans to honor that one, though.”
“Fuck the bitch,” Trent said with a smile. “Get it? Bitch? The dog is a girl.”
Johnson laughed, right on cue.
“Anyway,” Trent continued, “with the terrorism charge in place, it opened the doors up wide for me to move in and check you out like I’ve never been able to before, and I have to admit it is a bit of a pleasure for me. You know—seeing you in chains.”
He waved his hand toward me and kept up the obnoxious grin.
“I know a lot about you, Mister Arden,” Trent said, “or should I call you Evan?”
I didn’t respond. This kind of game was best played with as little talk as possible.
“Lieutenant, possibly? No, not that. You really aren’t one anymore, are you?”
I remained silent and motionless.
“So tell me something,” he said. “Were you always a murderer, and that’s why you became a sniper in the first place, or did you learn it from the insurgents? I don’t see how you were in their hands for all that time without turning traitor, personally.”
My flesh went cold and my throat seized up.
I knew exactly what the asshole was doing, but that didn’t stop the blood in my veins from running cold, nor did it stop me from forming fists out of my hands and creating mental images of pummeling Trent into the cold cement floor.
He wasn’t the first to suggest it. In fact, the CIA had spent a good week questioning me when I returned from the Middle East. I answered their questions over and over again, finally losing my shit altogether. They had their suspicions about another Marine who had been rescued—one that had given up information and ultimately gave away my unit’s position—and wanted to pull me into it as well. Yes, Al Qaeda members tried to get me to turn. They tried every fucking tactic they could dream up, but I never gave in.