Don't Order Dog (51 page)

Tom sat up in his hospital bed and glared at his brother-in-law.

“Are you insane, Alex?
Me – a terrorist
? That’s fucking ridiculous!”

“It’s not ridiculous at all
,” Alex replied as he took his hand off his holstered gun and reached into his jacket. “Here,” he said, pulling out a folded piece of paper and tossing it on the bed. “See for yourself.”

Tom picked it up and looked at Alex inquiringly.

“A copy of the confession,” Alex said, tapping on the evidence bag he was holding. “I found it pinned to your chest after I ordered my men to take you down.”

“Bullshit… I didn’t write any fucking confession note.”

“Initial analysis of the handwriting says you did.” Alex responded.

Tom started to unfold the note and then paused. “So that’s why you had your men shoot me? Because I had a note pinned to my chest?”

“No, Tom,” Alex replied, shaking his head. “You were shot because you walked out of a suspected terrorist location wearing a fucking Santa Claus costume, complete with a big bag of god-knew-what slung over your shoulder.”

Tom stared at him with a blank expression. “You’re kidding me.”

“I’ve got the Santa suit with your blood all over it sealed up in another evidence bag,” Alex replied as he pointed at the door. “Want me to go get it?”

Tom looked down at the note in his hand and shook his head.

“Read it,” Alex demanded impatiently.

Tom gave him a venomous glance before unfolding the note and starting to read. Alex watched quietly as a look of anguish grew on Tom’s face. When he was done reading, Tom slowly laid the note on the bedside table and fell back dejectedly.   

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Alex asked quietly. “You killed two of your fellow marines to save your own ass, then fabricated a very plausible lie for your superiors.”

Tom glanced around the hospital room, quietly admiring the white, minimalistic simplicity of the space. He imagined the cleaning staff carefully scrubbing every surface of the room, killing the endless onslaught of germs that infested it. The thought gave him a strange feeling of comfort.  

“You tell me,” he replied hollowly. “You’re the fucking CIA agent.” 

Alex shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. For
god’s sake, even your rejection letter spelled it out and I didn’t see it.”

Tom glanced over at him. “See what?”

“Your
illness
, Tom,” Alex replied solemnly, tapping his index finger against his temple. “When you got rejected by the CIA, something up here snapped. That’s when this all started. You didn’t just happen to walk into a bar where an anonymous man was sending letters and photos to the bartender. Those letters and photos came from
you
, didn’t they?”

Tom looked at him curiousl
y for a moment before laughing. “Fuck you, Alex.”

“You created a fictitious character, took pictures of someone wearing a
Joe’s Last Stand Saloon
t-shirt, linked his locations and actions to some random Petronus deaths, and boom… instant terrorist. I haven’t had a chance to look into it yet, but I assume you stole the Kaliningrad tip from a Homeland Security colleague in order to complete the illusion. Before you knew it, you had a story with just the right blend of legitimate field intel and complete bullshit. Then you packaged it up and sold it to the last person on earth who should have believed you – me.” Alex paused and shook his head. “You did a helluva good job convincing me it was real, Tom. Of course, I don’t have all the details yet. Like the identity of that dumb,
t-shirt wearing bastard you sent the care package to in Amsterdam, or how he managed to blow himself up in the hotel room. But I can guarantee you one thing – you’ll be the one that hangs for it, not me.”

Alex turned and began slowly paci
ng the floor.

“Two dead bodies in Amste
rdam, Tom,” he said bitterly. “And for what? To prove you were
worthy
of the CIA? That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why your elaborate little plan seemed to fall apart when I told you there was no place for you in our agency. Most people would have given up at that point, but not you. You did exactly what any obsessive psychopath would do – you brought your dead terrorist
back to life
and dangled him in front of Jack Preston and Richard Connolly.”

Alex glanced over at Tom with a crooked smile. “And who better to dangle him in front of? Those dumb sons of bitches were practically falling on top of each other to take a victory from the CIA. And what did they end up with?” he asked rhetorically, holding up two fingers. “Two more dead bodies, including one of your fellow ICE agents.”
He stopped pacing and looked coldly at Tom. “By the way, how would you describe your relationship with Agent Martin, Tom?”

Tom grabbed the steel rail that ran along the side of the bed and pulled himself upright. “Stop fucking around Alex!” he shouted angrily. “Right now the people responsible
for all this are getting further and further away, and you’re
standing here wasting time with these bullshit accusations! You want to catch
the
real
terrorists, you stupid fuck? Start with the man at the center of this!
Start with
Chip Shepherd!
”

A brief flicker of uncertainty crossed Alex’s face. “Who?” he asked, raising his hand at Tom in a gesture to calm down. “Chip
who
?”    

“Chip Shepherd,” Tom replied irritably. “
An old regular at the bar. He’s the one behind all of this – the killings, the letters… everything. He was there when I walked into the saloon this morning, but he wasn’t alone.” Tom paused and slowly rubbed his forehead, trying to coax the vague threads of memory back into focus. “There was another man – a huge, muscular guy. I think… I’m pretty sure he was the one who attacked me.”

Alex shuffled his feet uncomfortably. He knew the man Tom was describing. It was the man he and his men had pulled from the utility pole on the street in front of the saloon
– the same man who’d overpowered the officer assigned to guarding him before escaping. Now, hours later, an ever-expanding search for the man and his service van had turned up nothing. Even road blocks on Interstate 40 and 17 had failed to produce a single lead. It was as if the giant man had disappeared into the thin Flagstaff air. Of course, Alex had no intention of divulging this information to Tom. Nor did he have any intention of telling Tom, nor anyone else, about the conversation he’d had with the anonymous man on the other end of the laptop inside the saloon just moments before it was blown to hell. Such things would only complicate matters further, and additional complications were the last thing this investigation needed right now.

“So we should immediately drop all charges against you and start looking for an old drunk named Chip Shepherd, is that what you’re saying?” Alex asked sarcastically.

Tom nodded. “We were sitting at the bar, talking,” he replied flatly. “And that’s when I figured it out.”

Alex looked at him curiously. “What?”

“He mentioned that the terrorist had already killed his last target, but there was no way he could have known that from the letters.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Jesus Christ, am I the only one that read the fucking letters?” Tom replied, shaking his head in frustration. “Yes, I’m sure. The terrorist referred to his victims by the name of some stupid toys
,
and in his last letter he said he still had one more to collect.”

Alex’s stern look suddenly eased into a sarcastic grin. “You mean the
Brainy Buddies
?” He laughed and again started pacing the small room. 

“Yeah, that’s right
,” Tom said cautiously. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“A terrorist who collects toys, Tom. That strikes me as very funny. Especially those particular toys. Do you know how many times my girls have pleaded with me to get them one of the
Brainy Buddies
for Christmas?”

“It’s a fucking
code word, Alex. He wasn’t actually collecting the damn toys.”

Alex reached into his pocket. “Oh, but our terrorist
was
collecting them,” he said as he pulled out a photo and tossed it on the bed. “We found them in his Santa bag. Congratulations, Tom… you managed to get all four.”

Tom picked up the photo and studied it carefully. The photo showed four small stuffed an
imals packaged in new, brightly-colored boxes lying on a sidewalk next to a red Santa bag, a large evidence tag tied to each. He shook his head in disbelief.

“This can’t be happening.”

“Of course it’s happening,” Alex replied matter-of-factly. “You
made it
happen.” He stared at Tom with a detached look of disgust. “This whole situation is just Afghanistan all over again, isn’t it? You’ll do whatever it takes to get what you want, regardless of who has to die for it.”

He limped closer to the bed.

“You have two options, Tom. You can either accept the pile of evidence against you, admit to conceiving an imaginary terrorist, and face a list of felonies that include falsifying evidence, misleading federal agents and two counts of voluntary manslaughter for your fallen marines. Or, you can deny everything, pursue this ridiculous fantasy story of
corporate terrorists
who miraculously evade capture when they’re not killing international scientists, and spend the rest of your miserable life in the psych ward at Belmont. Either way your life is over. Either way you’re going to be locked up for good.”

Tom looked at his brother-in-law with a lethal stare. “That would be the perfect ending for you, wouldn’t it Alex? Cover up the real evidenc
e, save your ass with a simple ‘lone madman’ story, and get rid of your annoying brother-in-law – all in one single step. Talk about keeping up appearances. I can’t imagine a better Christmas gift for Captain fucking America than a storybook ending like that.” He shook his head and stared dejectedly at the floor. “Congratulations, brother. You’ve managed to fuck this investigation as badly as anyone possibly could and still find a way to come out on top. You’ve had it all wrong from the start…
except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” Alex asked indifferently, turning
his back on Tom as he continued to pace the floor.

“I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Alex paused in surprise as a thin plastic tube suddenly dropped over his head. Before he realized what was happening, the tube was drawn tightly around his neck, pulling him violently backwards. An instant later he fell hard against the steel railing of the bed.

“What the
fu
–”

The words were suddenly choked from Alex’s throat as Tom tightened the IV tube around his neck with crushing force. Alex gasped for breath as a sudden surge of panic rose within him. He swung frantically back at Tom with his good arm, but it was useless. With his back pinned against the railing, he growled in fury as Tom grabbed his arm and tied it tightly to the bed rail with his
second IV tube.

“That should do it,” Tom muttered as he leaned over and playfully slapped Alex on the face. He then reached down and took the handgun from his holster.

“Wha… what the fuck are you doing?” Alex gasped between breaths.

“Shut up
,” Tom said flatly as he pulled Alex’s head back and secured the tube around his neck to the bed rail. He then lowered the railing on the opposite side of the bed and slowly lowered his feet to the ground. Alex listened as Tom tried to put his weight on his wounded leg and groaned in agony. A moment later, Tom hopped around the bed on his good leg and stopped in front of Alex.

“Do you honestly think you can escape?” Alex asked, looking at him with astonishment.

“What other choice do I have?” Tom replied, waving Alex’s handgun angrily. “You’ve made it clear what’ll happen if I stay. My only chance out of this fucking nightmare is to find Chip, and I sure as hell can’t count on any of you fuckers to do it.” He leaned forward and shoved his hand into Alex’s pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take that confession note with me.” 

“You’re out of your mind, Tom. Just think about what you’re doing.”

Tom grabbed the evidence bag containing the note from Alex’s pocket and then gently pressed the barrel of the gun against his forehead.

“Tell me the truth, Alex. Do you really think I did this, or was this just the easiest answer?”

Alex looked at Tom with a thin smile. “You see, that’s why you never would’ve made a good agent, Tom. You never learned that the truth
is
the easiest answer.”

Tom studied his brother-in-law’s face before slowly nodding his head. “Well, no matter what happens to me, I’ll at least take some comfort in knowing this little predicament isn’t going to help your career. Good luck explaining how a wounded terrorist managed to tie you up and take your gun.”

“You’re insane, Tom.”