Gone(63)

You’re in shock, Jessy said.

Yeah, maybe. Probably.

You’re not thinking straight.

He left and watched as the Kemps arrived at last. The rescuers continued to swarm around the family. Rondeau counted eight cops, all state troopers except for Deputy King. No FBI. He moved towards them and someone stepped in front of him.

“Easy,” said Agent McDonough. “We’re going to do this by book. We’re going to give the family any treatment they need, first, then we’ll debrief.” He took Rondeau by the arm.

“Please get out of my way,” Rondeau said, glancing at McDonough’s arm on his. He had questions which couldn’t wait. King was with the rescuers, and Rondeau needed to know whether they’d found Millard down there.

“Stand down, Detective.”

McDonough was expressionless. Only his eyes seemed alive. The rain drove at an angle, the helicopter blades split the air whop whop whop whop. Emergency lights flashed on the roofs of the trooper vehicles forming the media barricade, throwing colors against the dusky landscape.

“Where’s my brother-in-law?” Rondeau asked.

McDonough watched the rescue party, just twenty yards away. People began to cheer them, to applaud and whistle. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Rondeau felt despair, then anger. He leaned close to McDonough, his voice a growl. “Anything happens to him, I’ll hold you responsible.”

McDonough slowly swiveled his head. His eyes were stony. “Exactly how could I be responsible for your mess?”

Rondeau was shaking as he said into McDonough’s ear, “I know what this is.”

“You’re crazy. Do you understand that? I don’t know how they put up with you. If it were up to me, you’d be long gone.”

Rondeau’s anger came to the boil. His hands formed fists. He’d beaten and clawed his way out. He’d gotten free only to find himself in another type of prison — made of lies and deceit. He moved his lips, his voice low, “I know what you are. Hurt my brother-in-law, and I’ll kill you.”

Some other agents had drawn closer. As McDonough stepped away, he pointed.

Two large federal agents seized Rondeau.





CHAPTER FORTY / Off the Deep End

Peter felt the elation of the rescue deflate, like air from a tire. He watched Rondeau and McDonough’s argument with growing trepidation. He could see their angry faces, spit flying, but the words were lost to the thunder of the helicopter.

He stepped in front of the family, an instinctive reaction. The other rescuers did the same, forming a human shield, closing in around them.

Agent Eldridge bolted from the pack and closed the distance. He reached Rondeau, got in front of him and hollered in his face as agents dragged Rondeau backwards. Rondeau was bright red. His hands flailed in the air for a moment, then he slipped their grip.

He was fast for an older guy.

One of the agents jumped him, and Rondeau flipped the agent around in mid-air. Another stepped in, made a tentative grab, and Rondeau put him on the ground, too. Rondeau stepped towards Eldridge, who pulled his gun. Beyond it all, Peter saw members of the press, who’d broken loose, running towards the scene.

The agents surrounded Rondeau and took aim with Eldridge, ordering him to get to the ground. For a moment Rondeau just stood there, feet spread, hands ready, a murderous look in his eyes.

Finally, Rondeau got to his knees and put his hands on his head. Detective Stokes rushed in. He skidded on his heels over the wet ground and fell on his ass. He sprang right back up, looking frantic, pleading with Rondeau.

“Jesus,” Hutchinson Kemp said, standing just behind Peter. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” Peter said. He watched the scene with the family. The cameramen flicked on their video lights, the reporters gaped. Everyone else looked mortified.

*

They slammed Rondeau into the back of an SUV, hands cuffed behind his back. He threw his head back against the seat. “Fuck!”

He bounced his head off the cushion a few more times. The flames were still there, licking the edges of his vision. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Calm down. You’re going to have a heart attack.

The usual presence in his head. His dead sister, her endless commentary.

Still drugs in your system. Confusing you.

Rondeau shook it off. He leaned forward and peered out the windshield. This was ending badly. How had it gotten like this? He’d screwed up, royally. He should have kept his cool. He shouldn’t even have gone off with Stokes alone. Stokes could have turned right around and spewed everything to McDonough. He knows. Hell, the fix was already in and they were spinning their lies. He’d escaped before they could pump him full of more drugs, or do something even worse.

It didn’t matter what you knew, he thought. Didn’t matter what you’d seen with your own eyes, or knew in your heart — they could fabricate stories out of whole cloth. Wasn’t that how it had gone down in the District? Wasn’t that the shit old Ninth Street pulled when they wanted to crucify someone? If they wanted you guilty, you were guilty.

Meanwhile, everyone else saw those “Special Agent” identifications and turned obsequious. They kowtowed to the so-called authority of the feds. By now, Sheriff Oesch would be subverted, along with Captain Bouchard of the state police, the lieutenants and sergeants — everyone would get in line. That was how it went. Whistleblowers walked a lonely, narrow road.