Greg Rucka - Patriot acts

Alena surprised me by speaking up, saying, "I am sorry for the loss of your daughter, Mr. Trent."

Trent's mouth worked slightly, as if he was searching for his teeth with his tongue.

"Was it your bullet?" he demanded. "Is that what you're trying to say to me, it was your bullet that killed her?"

"We didn't kill Natalie," I said.

"Yes, you did." It was a growl. "You didn't shoot her, but you sure as hell did kill her."

"You're wrong," I said. "And if you think that I had the power to make Natalie do anything she didn't want to do, you're deluding yourself. She went her own way, and she always did. She walked away from you and Sentinel. If she had wanted to, she would have walked away from me, too."

"But she didn't." Trent glared at me. "She chose you over me, and you let her die."

I should have let it pass. He was her father, and it was his grief, and if anyone was entitled to rage at the injustice of it all, it was Elliot Trent.

"No," I said. "You don't get to accuse us of that, me of that. You've got your guilt because you think you drove her away, you lost her, you're welcome to it. You earned it. You don't like me, fine, you never have. You hate me-fine, maybe I've earned that, too. But I don't own Natalie's death, and neither does Alena, and if that's what you've been waiting eight months or three years or all your goddamn life to say, then we're done here."

I turned my back on him, started out into the hall. After a fraction, I heard Alena moving to follow me.

"Don't you leave," Trent said.

I didn't stop.

His voice was hoarse, and pained with the strain of the volume he put upon it. "Dammit, Atticus, don't leave!"

Panno had appeared in the hallway to my left, coming out of the kitchen. He'd removed his jacket, and I saw that his T-shirt was actually a muscle shirt, missing its sleeves. There was light from the archway, and it spilled out, and I could make out a tattoo on his upper arm, a Chinese dragon in faded color. He had a bowl of his dinner in one hand, was eating a spoonful of it with the other. He didn't look like he was going to try to stop us.

"You don't blame me for that," I said, without looking back at Trent. "You don't blame Alena, and you don't blame me."

Behind me, I heard the creak of a chair, the sound of him taking a seat.

"No," he said, and he sounded as tired as I'd felt this same morning. "No, all right. That's fair."

I turned, and Alena and I moved back into the sitting room. Trent tracked us as we came back, then indicated the love seat. Alena took it, and I followed.

"It's hard to remember that she was precious to people other than me," Elliot Trent said. "And it's difficult to accept that she was precious to people I dislike as much as the two of you."

"Just had to throw that in there, didn't you?" I said.

"I'm not going to pretend." He pointed at Alena with his right index finger, as if trying to stab her in the heart. "She's a murdering bitch, and you're her partner now, or so they say. Even if you weren't, I know what you did for her, I've learned that much, at least. She's a killer, no matter how she tries to change her stripes, and now you're one, too. Two of The Ten, sitting side by side in front of me. If you think I like that, it's you who's delusional, not me."

Beside me, Alena didn't move. She wasn't looking at him, instead focused on the view out the bay windows. The room felt like it was growing darker, despite the lamps that burned on the wall and in the corner.

"You've gone to a lot of time and a lot of trouble to speak with us, Mr. Trent," Alena said. "Perhaps you'd like to come to your point?"

"In a moment. Given the time and the trouble I've taken, I'm allowed an indulgence or two. I've been waiting for this for almost three years."

"Panno said it was eight months," I said.

"This has been eight months, since the only thing I had left to go on was Drama's 'Mr. Collins' bullshit."

"And before then, Elliot?"

"Why did you come back?" he demanded, and it was as hostile as anything he had said to us before. "You and Drama, you were gone. No one would have ever found you. You could have stayed hidden until your sins finally found your address, you could have died from old age before anybody knew you were still even alive. Why did you come back, Atticus?"

"I had something to do."

"And is it done, now? Have you done it? While you were killing Matthew Bowles in Montana and wrapping the Lynch PD's pants around their fucking ankles, have you managed to do what you set out to do?"

"Not yet."

"Because you don't know how. Do you? You're missing that one little piece you need, and you haven't the first idea where to find it."

I stared at him, trying not to hope that he had what Bowles had died without sharing.

"We want the same thing," Elliot Trent said. "We want the son of a bitch who murdered my daughter dead."

Panno returned, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, carrying a bottle of Budweiser in the other. He took the chair at the desk, turning it so he could watch the three of us while we spoke. Outside, night had dropped the curtain, and when there was silence in the room, all of us could hear the sound of the waves on the beach.

"Explain him," I said to Trent after Panno had settled himself.

"John's the son of a friend," he said. "He's going to help you out."

"We don't want his help."

"You're getting it whether you want it or not. I don't care how good she is, how good you think you are, you're going to need his help. He's got connections, he's my man on this, and the trouble you're in at the moment, you need both those things."

"Just give me the name," I said. "I'll handle the rest."

He laughed at me. "Simple as that, huh?"

"Simple as that."

"No." Trent shook his head. "You think if it was that simple, I'd need you? I'd need her? You don't have the first idea who you're going after."

"He's in the White House."

Trent reacted to that, mildly surprised. Panno gave a slight shake of his head.

"And that doesn't scare you?" Trent asked. "That doesn't make you pause? What if I told you it was the President of the United States, Kodiak? What if that was the name I gave to you? Would you still be so full of yourself, so damn stupid, you'd take that on?"

"Is it?" I asked.

He laughed again, in spite of the pain it caused him. "No, we're not going to work like that. I don't want favors from you. The last thing I want is you doing me a favor. I'm hiring you and your girlfriend there for this. I'm paying you. What's the rate?"

Now it was my turn to shake my head. "Elliot-"

"Dammit, what's the rate?"

"It depends on the target," Alena interposed softly. "If we're talking about the President of the United States, you don't have that kind of money. Nobody does."

"It doesn't go that high."

"I'm somewhat relieved," I said.

"Don't worry," Trent said. "What I've got for you will still shrink your balls to acorns."

"So give me the name."

"How much?" Trent asked. He directed it at Alena.

"As I said, more information is required before that can even be discussed."

"I want to do this right. The way it's supposed to be done. What happens now? We've made contact, what happens next? You vet me, right?"

Alena hesitated, glancing to me as if to check for my permission to continue. I didn't move my eyes from Trent.

"Yes," she said. "The next step would be to verify that you are sincere. And that you are not setting us up."

"You do that how? General surveillance? Background check?"

"That and more. But in this case it is unnecessary. You have already demonstrated your sincerity."

"Have I?"

"You once protected the President of the United States, Mr. Trent. No man who has done that job would even dream of joking about trying to assassinate him. It would be inconceivable to even suggest such a thing. Simply joking about the solicitation of such an act is a federal offense. Yet here we are, and you are ex-Secret Service, and you are talking about this to us here, now, in front of a witness. You are more than sincere, Mr. Trent. You may be insane."