Max Collins - Skin Game

The deceit had gone so deep that a fed-up Otto had finally come to believe that White had gone rogue. There didn’t seem to be any other viable explanation, and Agent White’s perfidy had now broadened in scope to include Otto Gottlieb as well.

Otto pounded the steering wheel. He’d gotten so caught up in trying to save his ass, he’d forgotten to cover it... and now he was about to be hung out to dry. Sooner or later the truth, whatever that was, about White’s clandestine activities would come out... and who was going to be there to take the blame?

Otto.

Shit.

There had to be someone he could talk to, someone he could go to... but who? White was well insulated. Otto knew that his partner had friends in Congress, if not higher. His own predicament was simple — could he trust anyone in the NSA?

The answer, of course, was no; not his peers, not his superiors... no one.

Otto considered other agencies at the federal level, but who? The FBI? Probably not. CIA? Ditto. Though he knew people in both, he had no idea who might be tied to White. The state authorities were out of the question, as well — White had the governor in his pocket, and God knew who else.

Only Detective Clemente had stood up to White, and Otto wondered if a local cop could accomplish anything more with White than providing a source of minor irritation. Still, it seemed like the most viable of the not wonderful options available.

The problem was, what would he say to Clemente? What proof did he have that White had gone rogue?

Taking a deep breath, Otto sat back, listened to the mournful cry of the foghorn, and tried to build his case. White had used that transgenic, X5-494, to chase down other transgenics. That had seemed like a bad idea to Otto to begin with, but White overruled him, and in the end they lost 494 as well.

When that operation went south, Otto had been forced to help in its cover-up, and he had no remaining proof that White had used 494. The few other agents who’d been there, who might corroborate his story, all seemed firmly in White’s pocket.

Of course, they probably thought the same thing about him...

White had bred both trust and distrust among his own team all along. Though the agents all appeared to be loyal, to Otto’s eye that loyalty seemed more aimed at White than at the NSA, and he didn’t feel comfortable trying to win over any of the others to his side. Odds were, even if he mentioned his suspicions to one of them, that agent would turn around and tell White.

The fiasco at Jam Pony and the deliberate obstruction of Detective Clemente’s homicide investigation had only intensified Otto’s suspicions. And the conversation with White this evening had been the final straw.

Otto had been driving White home at the end of the day, his boss pissed off because once again Washington had ordered White’s NSA unit not to get involved with the siege at Terminal City. When White received that word, he’d gone ballistic; but by the time he got in the car with Otto, White had simmered down to mere anger. Driving as fast as he could without looking obvious, Otto sped toward White’s house, anxious to get the man out of his car.

“They don’t trust me, Otto,” White said, turning his gaze out the passenger window at the houses they passed.

“I’m sure they do, sir. They just have a plan for Terminal City that doesn’t include us.”

“The transgenics are our job,” White said, his voice rising. “We should be allowed to do our job.”

Otto didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing; he was well-practiced at providing eloquent silences.

“They’re going to screw it up, and she’s going to get away.”

“‘She,’ sir?”

“452 — the one they call Max. She’s the key, Otto. They all band around her. Kill the head and the body will fall.”

“Maybe that’s the plan.”

“What?” White seemed surprised Otto had contributed a thought.

“The plan — to capture her, and bring the alliance of transgenics down. If she is the leader.”

“She’s more than the leader, Otto. And if she’s captured...”

“Sir?”

White turned from the houses to look at Otto. Glancing over, Otto caught his boss’s gaze and recognized the fiery glow that always preceded one of White’s odd choices.

“You should go on vacation, Otto. Take the next week off, starting tomorrow.”

“I’ve used my vacation for the year, sir.”

“I’ll clear it with Washington.”

“But, sir—”

White’s gaze turned hot. “Do what I tell you, Otto. You’re not cleared for what’s going to go down here.”

“Like at Jam Pony, sir?” Though no overt sarcasm tinged the words, Otto instantly regretted saying them.

Rubbing a hand over his face, White was clearly attempting to hold in his temper. When he spoke, his voice sounded icy and robotic. “Yes, like Jam Pony. Drop me off, go home, don’t come to the office for a week. Do you understand?”

Otto looked over at his boss and saw the face of a madman. Worried that White’s next step might be a bullet to the back of his head, Otto said, “Week’s vacation sounds good, sir.”

Five minutes later, Otto had dropped White in his driveway and sped away. He’d driven aimlessly for a couple of hours before winding up here, at Discovery Park. Now he wondered if he dared go home. And if he didn’t go home, where could he go?

Suddenly, Otto Gottlieb realized he was a man without a country. He needed to tell someone something. He just didn’t know who to talk to or what the hell he would say that wouldn’t make him sound like a lunatic.

Clemente suddenly seemed like too small a fish to do battle with a shark like White. Then Otto thought of the one thing that White seemed to hate as much as the transgenics: Eyes Only!

Otto needed to get to Eyes Only. They’d tried to track the hacker down for months, and though they’d narrowly missed him once, that was the only time they’d gotten even a sniff of the guy. Now that he needed help immediately, Otto wondered how exactly one contacted an underground cyber journalist. Smoke signals, maybe?

Maybe he should just let White do whatever it was he was going to do at Terminal City and stay out of it. They were only transgenics, after all...

Only transgenics.

The phrase chilled Otto. He remembered seeing historical videos where one racist after another had used the same defense to cover his own stupidity and rage. “They’re only Negroes.” “They’re only Jews.” “They’re only Mexicans.”

And now words had formed in his own brain: They’re only transgenics.

Otto stared out at the sound and thought about his life, why he’d chosen government service in the first place, and as he made up his mind about what he would do, he heard himself saying, “With liberty and justice for all.”

And as he thought that for the first time in his adult life, he actually knew what those words meant.

He put the gun that had been in his lap back in its shoulder holster and drove home, with a reason to live.

Original Cindy missed Max.

Things seemed to be slipping back into numbing regularity at Jam Pony. Where the bike messengers were concerned, Normal was pretty much back to normal — which was to say, obnoxiously pushing them on and putting them down — and neither he nor anyone else seemed to want to talk at all about what had happened here just five days ago.

It was as if not talking about it made the hostage crisis never have happened — though the shellshocked look in everyone’s eyes said otherwise.