Psychological a novel, p.14
PSYCHOlogical: A Novel, page 14
I coughed a dry laugh. “I’m trying to figure out what’s going on, Sir. Shephard was scheduled to ship out, but never made it. That, in itself, doesn’t bother me. The fact that you received word from the DNI that he was KIA—when he was not—bothers me. That order originated from somewhere. From someone.”
“Wallace couldn’t find him, but that man was inept.”
“Did he ever give you a name?”
“I’ve seen copies of the orders, staff sergeant.”
“A moment ago, you said you hadn’t seen—”
“I said I hadn’t seen the orders as they came from the DNI,” he barked. “I’ve seen copies of the sons-of-bitches.” He folded his arms across his chest and glared. “Despite the fact that you’re detached from the military doesn’t mean that I’m not your commanding officer, Staff Sergeant Briggs. Do not question me as if I’m some lowly private first fucking class.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“The name in question is McMurphy,” he said. “There’s no McMurphy at the DNI’s Office. It doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t expect the Director of National fucking Intelligence to employ a man willing to use his God given name, would you, staff sergeant?”
“I guess not.”
“Wouldn’t be very fucking intelligent of office in charge of intelligence, would it?”
I chuckled. “No, Sir.”
His jaw tightened. “I intend to find this McMurphy prick and get my hands around his neck.”
“If he’s a ghost, how do you intend to—”
“As you’re aware, I’m computer challenged. Damned things baffle me. But. One of my drinking buddies from OCS works at the FBI’s Intelligence Branch,” he whispered. “I’m planning on meeting him for a beer and seeing if he can do a little digging for me.”
“Have you talked to him yet?”
“We meet once a week, for a beer or two,” he said. “I haven’t felt the need to discuss this particular matter with him, until now. With Trevino breathing down my neck, I’m not about to head to the FBI’s headquarters in the broad fucking daylight. I’ll meet him off-base for a beer. Hopefully, he’ll be able to shed some light on who’s at the other end of the emails.”
“You think McMurphy had Shephard killed?”
“I think he gave the order,” he responded. “Personally, I think someone in this very office is feeding the DNI information.”
I was shocked at his revelation. “Why is that, Sir?”
“I received word from 3rd Battalion, 6th Marines that Shephard was to ship out. His walking papers did not come from—or through—the DNI. They came from Camp Lejeune. For him to be killed prior to shipping out, someone in this office who knew of his orders to ship out had to advise the DNI of the same.”
“Who knew?” I asked.
“That’s the problem,” he said. “Eventually, every swinging dick in this office knew.”
“Makes it difficult to narrow down the search, Sir.”
“Amen to that, staff sergeant,” he said dryly. “Leaves us with no other option than to kill everyone and let God decide if we we’re in the right or in the wrong.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Val
I was relieved that I hadn’t seen or heard from a single civilian investigator. On a local level, it appeared the police had concluded their investigation in the deaths of Pike and Wallace. The DNI’s office wouldn’t give up so easily. With no one from that entity outwardly expressing so much as a minute level of interest, I was left to suspect Trevino had been placed in our office to do more than receive orders from the DNI.
He was secretly conducting his own investigation.
The only way Vincent and I would live to see our next birthday would be to eliminate New Dawn’s men before the DNI gave them orders to eliminate us. Saving the nation from harm was no longer my priority.
I needed to focus on saving Vincent and me from our nation.
I was relieved to see Vincent pull up the driveway and into the garage. Halfway to the kitchen, he paused and peered into the living room. “Pajamas, already?”
Sitting at the end of the couch with the evening news playing in the background, I pulled my knees tight against my chest. “I took a shower while you were at the gym. I thought wearing these would let me relax. It’s not working.”
His brows raised. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I hope so.”
He sat down at the other end of the couch. His face was painted with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said mockingly. “Maybe because we’ve murdered two people, and I know the only way we’re going to live to see our next birthday is to murder four or five more.” I covered my face with my hands. “I need this to be over.”
“I’m ready to walk away from this program—”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I lowered my hands and stared back at him with hope-filled eyes. “Are you?”
“As soon as this is over.”
I should have known. Neither of us were going to walk away until the looming threat was gone. Thinking otherwise was foolish. “I’m convinced the only way this is going to end is with us in the morgue.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he insisted. “I’m making progress toward solving this puzzle.”
We hadn’t eaten dinner yet, but if he was willing to talk about the mystery that was controlling our lives, I was willing to listen.
I turned sideways on the couch, to face him fully. “Oh, really?”
“Lt. Colonel Martin believes there’s a leak in the New Dawn office.”
My spine straightened. “What!?”
“He thinks someone in New Dawn is leaking information to the DNI.”
My throat tightened at the thought of Martin’s revelation. “Do you think he’s right in that assumption?”
“Here’s what we know,” he said. “Shephard was assigned to go to Somalia by the Marines, not the Office of the DNI. He was killed before he shipped out. The order to kill him originated somewhere. If the DNI hadn’t been informed of Shephard’s new assignment, how did they know to have him killed?”
I hadn’t looked at it that way. I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Wallace said the order to have him killed came from the DNI’s office. Through the same channels as the standard orders.”
“So, someone at New Dawn tipped off the DNI?”
He nodded. “They had to.”
“Do you think it’s Martin?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Someone he went to Officer’s Candidate School with works at the FBI, in the Intelligence Branch. He said he’s going to see if the guy can track down where the DNI’s emails are coming from. He was sincere when he told me that. Martin’s either a hell of an actor, or he’s telling the truth.”
I shook my head. “If the DNI finds out he’s digging, you know what they’ll do.”
“Hopefully he’ll find out who’s sending the emails before DNI figures out he’s searching.”
The current consensus at the Office of the DNI had to be that the walls of New Dawn’s structure were crumbling. I wondered how much time we truly had before they pulled the plug. After the decision was made to do so, no one would be safe—including whoever was sending the emails.
“I’m convinced Trevino is nosing around,” I said. “Listening. Digging. I wonder if he’s behind the orders?”
“I wish I knew.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” I stated. “Anyone but you, that is.”
His gaze fell to the floor. “I’m not sure who to trust.”
I had no intention of instilling an ounce of trust in anyone but Vincent. He was honest and driven solely by what he believed was right and wrong.
“Me, neither,” I said.
His eyes met mine. “Martin made one comment today that bothered me a little.”
“What’s that?”
“He said it was time to kill everyone and let God decide if he’s done right or wrong.”
Goosebumps rose along my arms.
Martin was right. The time had come to kill everyone. I hoped, however, that I could convince Vincent to act before Martin did.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Vincent
Instead of being at New Dawn’s headquarters, I was in a bar with Lt. Colonel Martin. My mind should have been at ease. It wasn’t.
My sixth sense told me someone was wrong.
Martin gestured to a high-top table at the rear of the bar. “How’s that one look?”
The large round table would allow both of us to face the entrance, which was a common necessity for combat marines.
“Suits me,” I said.
“I’ll grab us a couple beers.”
I gestured toward a distant group of men with my eyes. “You want to order something to eat?”
He shook his head. “This won’t take long. Tonight’s pizza night, anyway.”
In a moment, he returned with two beers. He handed me one and sat down. After glancing over each shoulder, he looked me in the eyes.
“In one day, I’ve learned more than I care to know.”
“Enlighten me,” I said dryly.
“My FBI contact tells me in a couple of days, he’ll know who McMurphy really is. For now, I know this: R.P. McMurphy is no other than Randle Patrick McMurphy, the protagonist in Ken Kesey’s book, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”
I shook my head. “I’m not following you.”
“I feel like a damned fool. I knew the name sounded familiar, but I never put it together. R.P. ‘Mac’ McMurphy is a book character,” he explained. “He was a gambler, fighter, war veteran and master of manipulation. He gets charged with a crime and manipulates the judicial system into believing he’s crazy. He goes to a mental institution instead of prison. R.P. McMurphy was the only sane one amongst a bunch of lunatics.”
I stared back at him, uncertain of what to say.
He peered over the bottle as he sipped his beer. “Whoever is in charge of pulling our strings has an odd sense of humor.”
“The only sane one amongst a bunch of lunatics…” I said, repeating his previous comment.
He tilted the neck of his beer bottle in my direction. “You’re the best operator in New Dawn. Hell, you might be the best operator in the entire US of A. When I ask myself what sets you apart from every other special op’s marine, I come up with a list that ends with the fact that you’re manipulative and cunning in ways that can’t be taught.”
I didn’t like where the conversation was heading. “If I wasn’t, I’d have been dead after my first assignment.”
He gave an insolent nod. “In looking back at the last month or so, your little trip to jail stands out like a turd in a punch bowl, Briggs. That trip to jail forced New Dawn’s brass to shuffle a few assignments, one of which was to take the Philadelphia job from you and give it to Shephard. Him fucking up on that job got him killed. Nobody was closer to Shephard than you. You knew he’d kill the target’s wife. The intel sheet mentioned the neighbor. You knew he’d kill her, too. You were assigned to that Philadelphia mission for a reason. The reason being that Shephard had no business—”
I pushed myself away from the table. “You need to go home and get some sleep, Sir.”
His eyes thinned. “You’re the only one of New Dawn’s operators that hasn’t been diagnosed as being either a sociopath or psychopath.”
“What are you trying to say?” I snapped back.
“You’re cunning and manipulative. You’re the sane one amongst a bunch of crazies.”
“Are you accusing me—”
“There’s two people that I’m sure aren’t McMurphy,” he said. “Pike and Wallace. Beyond that, I’m not sure of anything.”
“How in the fuck do I know you’re not McMurphy?”
He glared. “Watch your tone, staff sergeant.”
“Fuck you, Sir.”
“So, I meet Martin at this bar, and I ask if he wants to grab something to eat. He said, ‘No, it’s pizza, night, remember? Oh, by the way, did you order Shephard killed?’”
“You?!” Val snapped. “He thinks you’re the one that ordered Shephard killed?”
“That, and he thinks I’m McMurphy. He said there are only two people that he knows for sure that aren’t this McMurphy character, and that’s Wallace and Pike. He said in the next few days, his contact at FBI will know for sure who McMurphy really is.”
“Oh really?” She pulled open the refrigerator and peered inside. “But, if he’s already accusing you, he’s made up his mind. You’re going to need to be extremely careful around him.”
“I’m not going to have to worry about that. I’m done with that son-of-a-bitch after tonight.” I poured a cup of coffee and turned toward the kitchen table. “We need to be on the offensive instead of the defensive. If we continue at this pace, we’re going to end up like Wallace and Pike.”
She closed the refrigerator and sat down across from me. “The offensive?”
“We’ve got five issues,” I said. “McMurphy—who sees to it that the DNI Office’s orders are executed, someone at New Dawn who might be leaking information, anyone at New Dawn that might follow McMurphy’s orders, Martin, and the Director of National Intelligence himself—who will have us hunted down if we walk away from the program.”
“You’re right,” she said. “As soon as they think we’re not team players, they’ll do to us what they did to Shephard.”
I gestured toward the security monitor on the kitchen countertop. “If anyone comes around here, we’ll know it.”
“Think about how we’ve eliminated some of our targets. Staged car wrecks. Drug overdoses. Accidents. Muggings. Burglaries. Allergic reactions. They could do any number of things to us and no one would see it as anything other than life taking its course.” She lowered her head. “I’m so nervous I can’t even function. I think it’s time we make some changes.”
“I need some time to think,” I said. “I don’t want to act based on impulse. It’s highly possible that they’re not going to do anything until someone else tries to leave the program. We might be safe for a long, long time.”
“I can’t even comprehend what you’re saying. I need to get something to eat before I collapse,” she replied. “I’m starving. Did you eat?”
I lifted my coffee cup. “I’m going to stick with caffeine. I don’t have much of an appetite. I’ll gladly cook if—”
“I’ll just run and grab something.” She stood. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry?”
“No, thank you.”
“Sushi?”
“Sushi does sound good,” I replied. “I’ll just go with you.”
“You stay here,” she insisted. “Someone out there doesn’t trust you. Nobody’s after me. At least not yet. I’ll get the sushi and be back in no time. Then, we’ll make a plan to get our lives back.”
“Be careful.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said with a smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Val
With the morning newspaper clutched in one hand, I pounded frantically on the bathroom door with my other. “Vincent! You need to see this!”
If the morning news wasn’t enough to persuade him that we weren’t going to be safe for a long, long time, I had no idea what it was going to take to convince him. We needed to act quickly. I held proof of what would happen if we chose not to.
I quickly reread the newspaper article.
QUANTICO LIEUTENANT COLONEL MURDERED
PRINCE WILLIAM COUNTY, Virginia, November 17 (AP) – A Marine Corps Base Quantico officer was murdered in what investigators believe began as a robbery.
According to Captain Marcus Task with Prince William County Sheriff’s Office, details are sketchy regarding the murder of Lieutenant Colonel Randall W. Martin, which is believed to have happened in the marine officer’s home Friday evening.
This is the second non-combat related marine stationed at Quantico’s base to have lost his life in the last week. According to Captain Task, the deaths are not believed to be linked.
Captain Task asks that anyone who may have seen suspicious activity in the 2400 block of Five Fathom Circle in Woodbridge, Virginia on Friday evening to contact the Sheriff’s office.
As of this writing, Marine Corps Base Quantico has no comment regarding either of the deaths.
The bathroom door swung open. With his nether region wrapped in a towel, Vincent stood in the doorway, naked from the waist up.
I tore my gaze from his chiseled wet torso and looked him in the eyes. “Martin was…Somebody...” I cleared my mind of its poorly-timed inappropriate thoughts. “Martin’s dead.”
“What happened?” he asked, no differently than if I had spilled a cup of coffee on the kitchen floor.
“He was murdered.” I handed him the newspaper. “Here.”
While he read the article, I dropped my line of sight to a four-inch scar just above his waist. The jagged wound looked to have been poorly cared for. I wondered if it was combat related.
He lowered the paper to his side. “Holy shit.”
I looked up. “What are we going to do?”
He cinched his towel a little tighter with his free hand. There were many things I should have been contemplating, none of which was dropping his towel to the floor and finding out what additional super-strengths he had. Nevertheless, I couldn’t seem to rip my mind away from thoughts of doing so.
“Now that Martin’s gone.” He handed me the newspaper. “All we’ll need to do is get rid of the new guy. He’s a civilian from the D.C. office. If I clean his hotel room of anything Quantico related, they’ll never link him to the other murders.”
“What about Taggert, Payne, and Wilson?” I asked.
“They’re not a risk.”
“According to you,” I said. “I’m of the opinion that we can’t trust—”
