Fade (2005) (3 page)

"What are you doing here, Matt?"

Strand found his voice, as he eventually always did, and answered. "W
e wanted to talk to you."

Fade walked down the steps and Egan fought an urge to back up.

"About what?"

"About getting you back into the game."

"The game?" Fade's gaze moved from Strand back to Egan. "Where'd yo u get this guy? Bureaucrats M Us? Get the hell off my property."

"It's not your property," Strand pointed out. He was controlling it , but there was a hint of anger audible in his voice. He wasn'
t accustomed to being insulted or spoken about like he wasn't there. "I n fact, it seems that you're about a month away from being thrown of f it."

"Hillel .. ." Egan cautioned, but Strand ignored him.

"Have you been watching the news, Mr. al Fayed? The world's changin g and we have to control those changes. To do that, we need men lik e you."

Fade looked like he was about to walk away but then seemed to chang e his mind. "But you're doing such a great job on your own. We've got a big hole in the ground where the Trade Center used to be and ever y country in the world either hates us or is so afraid of us that they'r e spending every dime they have to build nuclear missiles to aim our way.

If it weren't for dumbass politicians like you mucking around in thing s you don't understand, how would all those defense contractors kee p themselves in Ferraris and trophy wives?"

This wasn't going quite as well as Egan had hoped. But at least n o shots had been fired yet. "I think what "

Strand cut him off. "I have a master's in public policy from Harvar d and I'm doing graduate courses in Middle Eastern history. Now, remin d me about your background? Did you ever graduate from high school?"

Fade's reply was undoubtedly less than civil but Egan couldn't be sur e because it was in Arabic.

"What's the problem?" Fade asked, switching back to English. "Don'
t tell me you missed that. There are illiterate six-year-olds in Ira q who would have understood what I just said, so you'll excuse me if I'
m not terribly impressed by your expertise. And by the way, who the fuc k are you?"

"My name is Hillel Strand. I work for Homeland Security. I "

"Ever read the Koran, Hillel Strand from Homeland Security? Ever eve n been to the Middle East? Or is your entire experience with the are a from playing golf with one of those assholes you people keep sendin g over there to fuck things up?" He pointed at Egan. "At least Matt , the back-stabbing slug he is, was willing to go over there and get i n front of a bullet. People like you make me "

"Fade!" Egan shouted. "That's enough. You've got no beef wit h Hillel. He had nothing to do with what happened to you."

"Oh, right. That was you."

There it was again. That urge to back up.

Fade jerked forward, causing Strand to jump back, land on a rock, an d almost fall over.

A smirk, a roll of the eyes, and then Fade turned his back and starte d toward his workshop.

"Why don't you two run on back to Homeland Security and tell them tha t this sand nigger is retired," he said as he disappeared into th e building's bay doors.

Egan let out a long breath, relieved that Fade was gone. Strand, o n the other hand, was standing there with his jaw set in a display o f anger that was becoming all too familiar.

"Well, like you said," Egan began, trying to diffuse the situation. "I t was worth a try. But the guy's obviously lost it. Look at him. H
e used to be chiseled out of stone. Now he's just some wacko hippi e living in the woods." He turned back toward the car but stopped whe n Strand spoke.

"That's the difference between you and me, isn't it, Matt? I've neve r thought losing is acceptable."

Great.

"You're pushing your luck, Matt."

Egan stepped cautiously through the door and stood at the back, lettin g his eyes adjust to the lower light levels. The shop was packed wit h neatly arranged power tools and any number of other potentially deadl y instruments.

"You could have handled that better, Fade. Hillel's a pretty powerfu l guy and he's not used to being talked to like that."

"So what happened, Matt? You get tired of kissing CIA ass and decide d to go find some fresh cheeks at Homeland Security?"

The ironic truth was that he'd gone over his boss's head trying to ge t Fade his surgery and the director had slapped him down. After that, i t had become pretty clear that his career at the CIA was dead-ended.

Homeland Security was supposed to have been greener pastures.

Fade put on a pair of safety glasses and began cutting through a boar d with a radial arm saw. Egan walked to within a few feet of him an d shouted over the scream of the blade. "I want to help you!"

Fade slammed a hand into the switch controlling the saw and threw th e cut piece of wood to the ground as the motor died. "I haven't seen yo u in six years and suddenly you show up and you want to help me? What , like you did before?"

Egan walked over to the door he'd entered through, slid it closed, an d turned back toward Fade. "Look, Hillel's just another asshol e politician who thinks he's a tough guy. You know the type as well as I d o. If you hadn't just stood there and insulted the man to his face , I'd have convinced him that you're crazy and you would have never hear d from us again. But now his back's up and it's not going to be tha t easy. I can smooth this thing over, but you're going to have to com e in and play the game a little bit."

"Or what?"

"You don't want to be "

"What the hell happened to you, man? I can't believe I used to trus t you with my life."

"Why do you have to make everything so hard?"

"Because it is hard!" Fade shouted, picking up a long screwdriver tha t was lying next to the saw. Egan kept his eyes glued to th e instrument.

"I've given everything to this country! I've been shot, stabbed , poisoned. I've had malaria, dysentery, and dengue. I drowned once , for Christ's sake they were barely able to bring me back. I was alway s there when my country needed me. But when I needed it, everybody jus t turned their backs and walked away. Do you know that after everythin g I've done, everything I've been through, I can't even get on a plan e without someone trying to shove a camera up my ass first? Do you hav e any idea what my life is like now, Matt? What it's like to stan d around waiting for this bullet in my back to move a millimeter in th e wrong direction and paralyze me?"

Egan shook his head. "I don't."

"Well, let me tell you, then. I don't really sleep anymore because I'
m afraid that if I do, I won't feel it coming and when I wake up, I won'
t be able to move. One day I realized that I'd found something I coul d kill myself with in every room of my house. Razors, knives, Drano , glass. An outlet and some water. It wasn't something I figured out o n purpose. It just happened. But you know what the really sad thing is?

I'm probably just fooling myself. The doctors tell me that there's a sixty percent chance that the paralysis will be from the neck down."

"Fade, I "

"You know what my greatest fear is, Matt? That some UPS guy will fin d me before I die of thirst. That I'll end up lying in a nursing hom e wearing diapers and staring at the ceiling for the next thirt y years."

What was the appropriate response to something like that? There wa s none. Egan pushed the door open and began backing out of it, holdin g his gaze on the screwdriver in Fade's hand.

"Hey, Matt .. ."

He glanced up long enough to see the dead expression on his ol d friend's face.

"If you ever come back here, I'll kill you." "Yeah. I know."

"So what happened?" Strand said as he revved the car up the dirt roa d toward the highway.

"I told him he should show you more respect."

"Are we going to get him?"

"I tried, Hillel, but he said no and believe me, he meant it."

"You seem okay with failing here."

"We failed a long time ago. I'm on record saying that we fucked thi s guy. Maybe we should have been a little more forward thinking if ther e was a chance we were going to need him again."

"Mistakes were made," Strand admitted. "But maybe we can put the m right. I'll talk to some people and we'll see what we can do abou t getting him the surgery he wants. When he's recovered, we'll tal k again."

Egan shook his head. "The bullet shifted years ago and now it'
s surrounded by scar tissue. It's too late. There's nothing anyone ca n do."

Strand fell silent for long enough that Egan began to think the subjec t was closed. No such luck.

"Okay, then. What can we hold over him?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said."

"Nothing, Hillel. He did a great job. That's why you want him."

"Everybody's got something in their background that they're not prou d of. Maybe we should take a look."

Egan didn't respond immediately; instead he just stared out th e windshield into the bright blue sky. There was no way he was going t o let this happen again. No way.

"Give me a couple of days, Hillel. I'll look into it."

A barely perceptible smile, completely devoid of humor, played a t Strand's lips. "No, you've got plenty on your plate right now. We'l l let Lauren run with this."

Chapter
Three.

Matt Egan didn't bother to turn on any lights, instead making his wa y through the house by memory and partially blinding himself when h e opened the refrigerator.

Maybe his luck was changing. There was still a single piece o f browning banana cream pie perched on top of a container of cottag e cheese. He shoved half of it in his mouth with one hand and used th e other to fish out a carton of milk. Everything went black again whe n he closed the refrigerator and he felt around for an empty section o f counter to sit on.

After leaving Fade's house, his day had actually managed to deteriorat e something he'd have bet good money wasn't possible. Strand's assistan t had rebuffed his every offer to help her with her research into Fad e and ignored every clever inquiry as to her progress. One way o r another, this was going to end badly. Other than being a completel y humorless ice princess, Lauren McCall had few other failings. She wa s smart, resourceful, and annoyingly tenacious. With no way to bloc k her, it seemed likely that the rickety house of cards he'd built aroun d his old friend was about to come tumbling down. A very bad thing fo r everyone involved.

He jammed the rest of the pie into his mouth and chewed violently, bu t it didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it combined with th e hollow nervous sensation in his stomach to make him nauseous. A f itting end to a truly shitty day. Or more accurately, a fittin g beginning to a situation that was almost certain to turn into a complete disaster.

He tossed the empty milk container in what he hoped was the sink, an d began feeling his way toward the door to the basement.

The descent down the staircase was made easier by the glow of a singl e bare bulb at its base and he made his way through the piles o f abandoned toys, laundry, and exercise equipment to a heavy door at th e back. Turning the knob, he peeked inside.

"Anybody home?"

He'd built the room himself and it showed. It was a slightly crooke d and windowless fifteen by fifteen, with thick walls covered i n sound-absorbing empty egg cartons and a web of wires and cables. Th e thick carpet was stacked with amplifiers and musical instruments, som e too obscure for him to identify. Along the far wall was a n unfathomable electronic fire hazard that looked like a cross between a n elaborate stereo system and NASA's Houston control center.

Through unwavering determination and considerable practice, hi s six-year-old daughter had carved out enough space from the chaos to se t up an elaborate dollhouse, which she was in the process o f redecorating.

"Where on earth did your mother get a banjo?" Egan said, leaning th e instrument against a wall and lying down in the space it had inhabited.

Kali shrugged and continued to experiment with the feng shui of he r tiny living room. They'd adopted her as a toddler from Vietnam thre e years ago, but sometimes it was hard to believe that Elise wasn't he r biological mother. They had the same thin, almost frail build, th e same unconventionally brilliant minds, and the same almost autisti c ability to concentrate. If one of the gadgets in this room ever reall y did catch on fire while the women of the house were thinking, it woul d undoubtedly burn down around them completely unnoticed.

"Here or here," she said, now working with a tiny armoire.

His influence wasn't as strong, but it had provided his daughter wit h an obsessive sense of organization completely lacking in her mother.

"I think next to the table. Then Barbie will be able to see the TV
w hile she's arranging her china."

He glanced up at his wife, who was sitting motionless in a beanba g chair staring at a laptop through the long strands of hair hanging i n her face. Even if she could hear him through the enormous headphone s she was wearing, he knew better than to try to talk to her.