Andrew Peterson: Forced to Kill

“You really don’t know?”

Nathan sighed. “I warned you.” He pulled his Predator and jammed the tip into Montez’s cheek. He applied a gradual increasing pressure, forcing Montez to hold perfectly still or risk a lengthy incision. A rivulet of blood oozed from the small cut. “A few more pounds of pressure and the blade goes through to your cheekbone. I’d really hate to see your face ruined… like mine.”

Montez said nothing.

“Well?”

“I only learned the truth tonight. I thought I was working for Dalton, but he was only a middleman.”

“A middleman? For whom?”

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Try me.”

“The CIA.”

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true.”

“So I’m supposed to believe you were working for the United States government?”

“Believe what you want.”

“Why would the CIA need a worm like you involved with a clean coal negotiation in Hungary? That’s horse crap. You’re lying.”

“The clean coal thing was only a front.”

“For what?”

“Counterterrorism. Holding and transfer of enemy combatants. Rendition.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve been interrogating prisoners.”

Nathan felt his blood pressure rise. “I don’t believe you.”

“I can prove it. The thumb drive in your pocket? Dalton confessed to everything.”

“You tortured him. Of course he confessed .”

“He held out for quite a while, made a heroic stand.”

Nathan let the knife sink a fraction of an inch into Montez’s cheek. “Spare me your sick musings. You were going to dump Dalton in the ocean. Alive. Like you did to Kramer. You could’ve killed Kramer first. Why drown him like that?”

“I’d put up with Kramer for years. He was a small, cruel man who lorded every ounce of power he had over those around him.”

“Sounds like you . So you’re claiming Dalton works for the CIA?”

“He did. As a contractor. He owned a small, private company called Ironclad Management.”

“And Kramer’s shell company, Energy Solutions?”

“Was hired by Ironclad. A subcontractor.”

“Which dealt directly with you.”

“Yes. Kramer brought me the interrogation subjects. Terrorists. Captured by your military or CIA, then taken to a safe house in Hungary for safekeeping until it was time for their interrogations on Tobago. The clean coal venture allowed us to use Hungary as a depot. Everything was done with private jets. That’s where I came in. Kramer simply handled the arrivals and disposals.”

“Then what did Dalton do?”

“It’s all on the thumb drive.”

Nathan pushed the knife. “I’m asking you. ”

“I already told you. Dalton was a middleman, reporting to a United States Senator. A member of the mighty Committee on Domestic Terrorism.”

Nathan literally felt his heart pound. His father would never be party to this.

He moved his Predator to Montez’s right eye. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“Which Senator?” He drove the knife’s tip into the lower eyelid and felt the blade pierce skin. “ Which one? ”

“Alan Kallstrom.”

Nathan pulled the steel back, letting himself breathe again, then felt shame. Sudden and deep. How could he have suspected his own father? Familiar hatred began boiling. Hatred for being manipulated. For being paranoid. Hatred of his own nature. What have I become that I would suspect my own father of working with this animal?

“McBride.…” Montez said slowly. “You’re Senator Stone McBride’s son? And you thought I was referring to him ?” He smiled. “Close to your father, are you?”

Nathan’s voice took on a sudden calmness. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Mr. Montez.”

Montez looked around in mock curiosity. “We seem to be alone.”

“We are alone, just the three of us.” He waited, allowing his meaning to sink in. Montez had seen the other . Many times.

Montez’s expression changed to fear, and he began speaking rapidly. “If you torture or kill me, Dalton’s confession in your pocket will be distributed to every major news network. Your country will be mired in scandal for decades. World opinion of America will plummet to an all-time low.”

“Like I care.”

“What about your precious patriotism? You told me many times you’d never betray your country, no matter what I did to you.”

“A lot can change over the years,” he lied.

“I don’t believe you. I heard what you said to the police officer. You still fancy yourself as an honorable man.”

“Believe what you want. You can contemplate it while screaming in agony.”

“You won’t kill me. You won’t risk it.”

“You’re right, I won’t kill you… right away.”

“I’m not afraid of you, McBride.”

He leaned forward. “You will be.” He let that soak in for a few seconds. “You’re forgetting how well I know you. You told me many times you didn’t trust anyone but yourself. I’m betting this is the only copy.”

“One week ago, your government tried to kill me and sweep my operation under the rug. I’ve been preparing for this betrayal for years.”

Nathan smiled. “It’s much worse than that.”

Montez squinted, looked confused.

“My government wants you alive.”

Montez’s entire body tensed.

“That’s right. Alive and kicking. Once the CIA’s finished with you, you’ll be in diapers, drooling in a mental ward and listening to elevator music.”

Montez’s face changed, took on resolve. “I enjoyed seeing you suffer, McBride. Do you remember when you broke down and cried like a little boy?”

“I warned you what would happen if you went off-topic.” Nathan grabbed him by the ponytail and forced his head back against the seat. Starting at the top of Montez’s right temple, he drew his Predator down his cheek and stopped at his chin. The incision began oozing blood.

Montez hissed in protest, but held still.

“Did you enjoy that?”

“It changes nothing.”

“Oh, I disagree. I’m already feeling better. Shall we make it a matched set?”

Montez said nothing.

“It’s a little cramped in here. Let’s step outside where we have more room to work.” He sheathed the knife, grabbed Montez by the collar, and yanked him across the seat. “I should’ve brought rubber gloves. Lord only knows what diseases you’ve got.” He hauled the man clear of the cruiser and dragged him over the curb toward the riprap-lined harbor channel.

He heard it then, the distant thumping of a helicopter’s main rotor tearing through the air. He looked toward Lindbergh Field. How much time did he have? Two minutes? Less?

To his surprise, he didn’t care.

“You tortured me in front of women and children. What kind of a sick fuck does that?”

“You should know.”

“We’re nothing alike.”

“I should’ve let my man bullwhip you to death. Twenty or thirty more lashes would’ve done the trick.”

“You had a nice head of hair, Monty. Until now.” With his left hand, he snapped the rubber band securing Montez’s ponytail and grabbed a handful of hair just above his brows. With his right hand, he positioned his Predator on the left side of Montez’s forehead and forced the knife across, cutting a deep channel, five inches long. Montez moaned as blood began oozing down his face.

“Professional question,” he growled in Montez’s ear. “Have you ever scalped anyone?”

Headlights appeared. From the left.

Nathan looked up as a sedan bore down on him.