Color of Blood(47)

“On the contrary, Cunningham,” Massey said, “we think you could help us a great deal. Your reputation is one of a dogged, intrepid—if somewhat prickly—investigator. We’ve got permission from the inspector general to have you attached temporarily to our unit. Your job is to do whatever it takes to find this little shit. We’ll give you two months; if at the end of eight weeks you’re no closer to finding him, then we’ll repost you to the IG’s office. We will of course be sending other teams out to look for him; mostly new agents in training.”

Dennis looked at Marty, but he already knew what his boss’ response was going to be. Sure enough, Marty gave him one of those you-called-it-upon-yourself-you-stupid-shit looks.

“Fine,” Dennis said. “It’s about as unorthodox a use of the OIG as I’m familiar with, but sure, I’m a good soldier. I’ll do what I’m told. Just two questions.”

“Shoot,” Massey said.

“Number one: Who do I report to?”

“Me,” Massey said.

“Two: What do I do when I find Garder—because you know I’m going to find him, don’t you?”

Massey smiled. “You’ll get a single phone number, and you will call it if and when you’ve found him. Just observe him remotely and point our team in the right direction; we’ll take care of the rest. If it looks like he’s in danger of fleeing, you can apprehend him and hold him until help arrives. We can get an extraction team to you within an hour in most major metropolitan areas of the world.”

“So I can’t just shoot him?”

“No,” Massey said. “Shoot to wound as a last resort only.”

“I was just kidding,” Dennis said.

“Ha, ha,” Massey said.

***

“I tried to help you,” Marty said back in his office. “I warned you to stay away from them, and you just kept going. Now you work for them. You may be a bright, intuitive investigator, Dennis, but you have a knack lately of finding trouble where none existed beforehand. I’m trying to cut you some slack about what happened to your wife, but it’s getting tiresome.”

Dennis sat slumped in a chair with his neck bent so far back that he looked straight up at the ceiling. He felt very strange, since he knew all along that he was toying with Massey. Why did I do it? What did I think was going to happen? Given the circumstances, Marty was indeed looking out for me, he thought. Now that I think about it, yes, I was egging Massey on. Why did I do it?

“I feel sorry for you,” Marty said, sighing. “I really do. This is not going to end nicely. You’re not cut out for those folks.”

“So why did you let them grab me?” Dennis asked.

“They made a request directly to the IG, Dennis. I tried to explain your circumstances: that you were an excellent investigator with an unorthodox style and had just returned to work after your wife’s passing. I said you were not suited to this Special Ops-type of work.”

“And what did the IG say?” Dennis asked, his voice squeaky from his bent windpipe as he continued to stare up at the ceiling.

“He said: ‘If it’s that important, then you’ve got him, but only for eight weeks.’”

“Mmm.”

“Let me ask you a tough question,” Marty said. “Sit up and look at me, for God’s sake.”

Dennis sat up.

“Now would be a good time to think about an early retirement. I mean it. You’ve got your time in; you don’t need this shit. Staying around now will only add a few bucks to your pension. You could do some consulting and make a fortune.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I am. Take the plunge early. Get out. Go hang around a beach in Florida or Greece. Play golf. Leave all this shit behind.”

“I can’t do that, Marty. I don’t do anything else but this stuff. Sitting around after Martha died just about killed me.”

Marty sighed. “For the record, that was my last attempt to save your sorry ass. And try to remember, Dennis—I know this is difficult for you—but given your family background, you wouldn’t even be allowed into the Agency these days. You would be screened out. Just remember that; you have a lot to lose.”

Dennis felt a strange sensation swarm over his skin, akin to vertigo. It was the same feeling he felt when Dr. Forrester tried to bring up the same subject.

After a few moments, his normal breathing returned, and he stood up.

“And I’m going to find that little prick.”





Chapter 21


Daniel had a way of sipping tea that Judy found comical. Not only did her partner continue to drink tea when many Aussies had moved on to coffee, but he insisted on steeping his teabags for exactly three minutes. He then added just the right amount of regular milk that turned the drink an almond-brown color and finished up with two sugar packets that he stirred for fifteen seconds. When he was finished with his preparation, he held the cup in both hands—always with two hands—anchored his elbows on the table, and leaned forward to drink.

“So,” he said, “why do you think they picked on you? What’s the bloody point in frightening you and your parents? Please don’t misunderstand, Jude, but you and I know that your piece in the money laundering investigation was perfunctory. You weren’t leading the team, nor did you contribute any more than I did, or William—or Des for that matter. Doesn’t really add up to me.” He took a long, loud sip of tea.