Charles Henderson - Terminal Impact

Before he put the key in his lock, he looked up at the inside top edge of the doorjamb, where he had pressed a little piece of Scotch Magic mending tape. It had broken.

Then he lay flat on the hallway and looked through the narrow space under his door, and used one of the pieces of mail to feel for any sort of wire or triggering device. Nothing else out of place, he slipped his key in the lock and gently turned it, standing at the side of the door.

With his back to the wall, next to the entry, he turned the knob and gave a push.

“No bombs,” he said to himself as he went inside, clutching the stack of mail in his hand. He looked at the side table next to the door. Nothing out of place there, so he set down the letters and magazines.

For several minutes, he stood at the entrance and studied every inch of his apartment. Nothing moved. Nothing visibly taken.

“Why would anybody come in here except to steal my shit?” he asked himself.

Still he didn’t move. Old habits kicked in. He studied everything more carefully, and thought.

In bad places, Hacksaw knew survival depended on paying attention to the little things, like the tiny piece of tape he had stuck on the top of the door and doorjamb where no one would notice it, but it would tell him if someone had been inside. No one just opens a door when you’re not home without doing something, usually bad.

“What the fuck were they after?” he asked himself, and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Cory Webster’s number.

“Webster,” the voice answered.

“Habu,” Hacksaw said. “You see those two CIA boys?”

“Yeah. Why?” he said.

“Ask them both if they had any reasons to have someone snoop my apartment,” Gillespie said. “And before you ask, study their faces. When you ask, watch how they react and tell me.”

“Roger,” Habu said. Then turned to the two agents. “Yo, Chris. Speedy.”

Both men gave Webster blank looks.

“What?” Gray said, as Hacksaw listened to them.

“Would you have any reason to have people snooping in Walter’s apartment?” Webster asked, watching their reactions.

Both men raised their eyebrows, showing expressions of genuine surprise. Then frowns appeared.

“What’s going on?” Chris Gray asked, stepping close to Habu. “That Hacksaw on the horn?”

“Yeah,” Webster said.

Gray took the phone.

“Walter, what’s up?” he asked.

“I’m standing inside my door,” he said. “Someone opened up my apartment, obviously to come inside, but I can’t figure out why. Nothing missing. Nothing out of place.”

“Maintenance maybe?” Gray suggested.

“They leave a note on the door, and I always know beforehand,” Hacksaw said. “If it wasn’t you guys, checking out my shit, which wouldn’t piss me off at all, you’re welcome anytime, then it was some ass-wipe up to no good.”

“If they didn’t take anything, then what?” Gray said. And thought a moment. “How about leaving something?”

“I’ll check around,” Hacksaw said.

“Let me know,” Gray said, and clicked off the phone.

Walter Gillespie walked to the refrigerator and got a beer. Then he went to his silverware drawer and got the bottle opener. As he looked down at the array of knives, forks, spoons, and other utensils, a small black object in the back of the drawer, jammed behind the knife, fork, spoon, and other crap organizer, caught his eye.

“What the fuck’s that?” he said, gulping a swallow of Amstel and taking hold of the thing. When he got it out, he recognized what it was. “A thumb drive? Why would anyone put a thumb drive in my silverware drawer?”

He set down the beer bottle and pulled out the silverware divider. Beneath it he found a copy of one-five’s top secret operation plan. The one that Cesare Alosi had secretly made.

“Who the fuck?” Gillespie said, and it didn’t take long for him to line up his prime candidates for the villainy. “Alosi and Blevins, those motherfuckers.”

“What the fuck do I do?” he then asked himself as he considered the possibilities, and the impossibility of him explaining his innocence.

Just then, his phone rang. Chris Gray.

“Anything?” the CIA agent asked as soon as Hacksaw pushed the green button.

“A little misplaced humor by my boss and his scumbag,” Gillespie answered.

“Alosi and Blevins,” Gray said.

“Yeah,” Hacksaw said.

“Like what?” Gray asked.

“A dead rat in my silverware drawer,” Gillespie said.

“They break in for that?” Gray said, not believing it.

Gillespie waited, thinking, wanting to tell him the truth but knowing that the first thing to happen would be him investigated for possible spying, possible treason, definitely violating the National Security Act. Would anyone believe that he had really found the op plan and thumb drive, obviously with more damning evidence on it? More likely his frame-job accusers had their play backed up with more bullshit.

“Hang on a second,” Gillespie said. “I got some asshole rattling my door.”

He put the phone down, went to the door, and said to no one, “Oh, no, pal. He’s got the room down the hall.”

It gave him a moment more to think. “Do I trust Gray with the truth? He is a fellow Marine. So is Ray-Dean shit-for-brains.” Then he thought about what would happen to people like Jack Valentine and his Marines if he said nothing. How in the hell had Ray-Dean or Alosi or both of the sons of bitches gotten their hands on the top secret plan in the first place? More importantly, what all had they done with it? Who else got copies from them?

“Look, dude,” he said to Gray. “I’m real scared. You seem like a stand-up Marine. Speedy, too. I’m going to come clean with you.”

“Dead rat in the silverware was creative, but I wasn’t buying it,” Gray said.

“Really? I thought it was pretty believable,” Hacksaw said, a little bit hurt that his goofy excuse didn’t wash.

“Alosi and Blevins are killers, not high school sophomores,” Gray said.

“Right,” Hacksaw said. “They wouldn’t do stupid shit like that. They’d set me up to get killed. Or put in prison the rest of my life.”

“Exactly,” Gray said. “What’d they do?”

“Rat in the silverware drawer turns out to be a copy of the top secret one-five op plan and a thumb drive that has no telling what kind of bullshit on it,” Gillespie said, and it felt awfully good to say it. “You need to warn Black Bart immediately. No telling who those assholes shared it with.”

“You sure it’s Alosi that done it?” Gray asked.

“Who else?” Hacksaw asked. “That slimy waste of skin has wanted my ass from day one. Victor Malone thinks my shit don’t stink, so Cesare has his hands tied. This is exactly the kind of crap he pulls to cut off people’s nuts, unless he has them murdered.”

“Like the Marine in Wisconsin?” Gray said.

“Exactly that one,” Hacksaw answered.

Gray looked at Speedy Espinoza, who stood next to him, listening to the call. “You need to get Black Bart and his counterintelligence people here right now.”

Then back on the phone to Hacksaw. “Listen, Walter. I need to make a call to an FBI investigator and send her to your place. Get everything verified.”

“That would be Liberty Cruz,” Hacksaw said.

Chris Gray hesitated, clearly disturbed. “What would you know about her? What does Alosi know?”

“Alosi knows jack shit,” Gillespie said. “I gotta come clean on some more shit, Chris.”

“It’s getting pretty deep at this point, Hacksaw,” Gray said, a little anger getting into his voice.

“What I say to you can’t go beyond you. Me and my boys’ lives depend on it,” Gillespie said.