D Carpenter - Infertile Grounds

Pell nodded. He had to be careful. Steve Strange sounded so sincere, friendly. They could have given him something to make him talk. Steve could have easily injected any of the many available truth serums into one of his IV lines while Pell slept and was now working him. After all, this was the Bureau – justice at any cost.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll find out once you talk to Arthur. There is one thing, though, that I think might help you out.” A sinister grin spread across his face, and he leaned closer. “I don’t like Carl. As a matter of fact, I hate the son of a bitch.”

“Welcome to the club.”

“Let me tell you a little something about our beloved SAC that you might find useful when you and Arthur talk.”

He leaned down so that his lips brushed Pell’s eager ear and started to talk in a whisper, “I know for a fact that Carl isn’t the Mr. Clean everyone thinks he is. Six weeks ago I noticed, or really, stopped to think about some things – a quirky schedule, unexplained absences, real expensive tastes – definitely living beyond his Bureau means. He’s moody by nature but it was getting worse. He kept jumping all over my shit, not as bad as what he does to you but damn close and I got sick of it. So I did a little digging.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot,” Steve said. “Carl’s no dummy. He’s hid it well but not well enough.”

“Carl’s dirty?” Pell said. The heart monitor unit up-tempoed it’s lethargic rhythm. “What’s he into?”

“I’m not entirely sure but whatever it is, it’s serious. It could just be opportunistic greed on his part but that doesn’t feel right. I think it’s probably more like someone has something on Carl and is blackmailing him. Either that or they managed to scare him.” Steve paused and glanced out into the corridor. “There’s definitely others involved but I haven’t worked out who all is part of this yet.”

“But what’s he doing?” Pell asked.

“It looks like Carl has been involved in a scheme to steal and sell military equipment.”

“Military equipment?” Pell said. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know if it makes sense or not but he is into it up to his eyeballs.”

“So what do you know?”

“They’re moving lots of arms. Some of it’s Viet Nam era crap but some of it’s not. I’m not quite sure what Carl’s exact role is yet. Maybe it’s just turning a blind eye or maybe it’s more of an active role. All I do know is that he’s involved. The prick’s arming the enemy and making money hand over fist.”

“That mother fucker,” Pell said. “And he’s always so righteous.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Pell shook his head. “Jesus Christ, why haven’t you done anything with this?”

“I just made the final connections a couple of days ago and then this Sarah Burns thing came up. I haven’t had time to pull it all together yet.”

“How long have you been with the Bureau?”

“Five years.”

“All here?”

“Yes, sir. Working for our buddy Moscovitz.”

“So gut feel, is it real? Do you have him?”

“Gut feel, you bet. But you and I know what the Bureau thinks about gut feels.”

“Worthless.”

Agent Strange smiled. “Yep, absolutely worthless.”

“So you got something better?”

“Much better.”

“Like what?”

“Proof.”

“Solid?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said. “It’s amazing the data we in the Bureau have access to and if you’ve got some decent computer skills and a college roommate who works for the NSA, all of a sudden the ephemeral details of a carefully hidden life become clear, if you know what I mean.”

Pell stared at the young agent for a long moment. He had twenty years of dealing with people who were lying, some of them good at it, others not so much but he trusted his instincts and this kid was very believable.

“So what? Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, if you’re going to get Arthur Kent here…”

Pell smiled. “Why me? Why not take it to Arthur and make a name yourself?”

“They use the Allen Jenkins case at the Academy. It’s a case study in decisions. You got screwed, Pell. Me and the other recruits talked about it over beers after that class and we all would have reacted exactly like you did. Anybody would have. Hopefully, this will give you back some of your reputation.”

Pell’s drugged eyes watered up. Everything was coming full-circle as Steve Strange pulled an envelope out from the inner pocket of his jacket, passed it over to Pell and said, “Everything you need is in here. Do yourself a favor and give this to Arthur.”

The car hit hard as it came down and bounced up again, threatening to roll over to the left. He cut the wheel in that direction. Small trees smashed into the front fender and slapped at the windows as he careened through the woods out of control. He pressed on the brakes, but the tires couldn’t get a grip on the soft forest floor.

Suddenly the trees cleared as he streaked out onto the side of a road. The car went into a skid. This time he didn’t simply plow through some young trees. As if someone steered him toward it, the car swerved and slammed head-on into a giant pine tree.

The airbag deployed and slammed Chris back into his seat as the world around him exploded with the sound of crushing metal and shattering glass. The symphony from hell overwhelmed him and he blacked out briefly. He came around to the sound of the airbag slowly deflating and the hissing and ticking of the shattered engine.

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he pushed the airbag out of his face and kicked open the jammed door. Outside, he gave himself the once over, surprised he was in one piece. Tomorrow he’d be sore, but for right now he was okay.

The front fender and grill wrapped around the huge tree, giving it a twisted metal hug. The hood was popped open and mangled. Steam poured from the shattered radiator.

The car was totaled, and worse than that, he was now on foot in the middle of the vast woods in the dark. He climbed back into the car and grabbed his backpack. After rummaging for a few minutes in the dark for his cell phone, he found it and decided that now was as good a time as any to get Carl involved.

Standing outside, he turned on the phone, hoping that it would work in this wilderness. After an interminable time, the roam light finally started flashing, and he dialed information back in Boston for the FBI.

He looked up at the star-filled swath of sky between the immense trees that lined the road and listened. Nothing. He couldn’t hear cars on a distant road, an airplane overhead or anything to insinuate that he wasn’t the only human alive on the planet. What he could see of the horizon in any direction was dark – no glow from a city or town. Sweet Jesus, this was a predicament. It was going to be a hike to get out of here.

The computerized voice gave the number for the FBI and he dialed it.

After a couple of rings, a voicemail machine answered and told him that the office was closed for the day. It was the middle of the night back home and he wasn’t going to be getting any help until the morning. He turned off the phone and sat on the trunk.

His options were limited – sit and wait to see if someone would come by, climb into the backseat and catch some sleep, or hike out. None of them sounded good right now, but one thing was for certain, he wasn’t in the mood to just sit around and wait, so he decided to hike out.

As he made a move to get going, headlights, about fifty feet away, suddenly turned on and shone brightly in his face. He froze. Someone had seen the crash and had just sat there watching him. Why hadn’t they helped him? His instincts told him to make a run for the woods, but he ignored the urge and stood there. The car wasn’t running, and after a minute, he heard doors open and close. Two shadowy figures appeared in front of the headlights. He couldn’t make out their faces but he could see that they both held shotguns.