Jennifer D. Bokal - Rocky Mountain Valor

Roman was the first to speak. “What the hell happened back there? One minute I’m talking to Comrade Three and the next some FBI agent is telling me to leave the witness alone.”

Roman’s statement was followed by a chorus of grumbles. Everyone had been just as brusquely routed from the bust.

Ian asked a question of his own. “How many lives do you think Nikolai Mateev has ruined? Nobody knows his name, and yet his actions—his drugs—have affected almost every single person in this city. Have you ever thought about that?”

“What are you getting at, brother?” Roman asked.

Ian shook his head. There was no avoiding the truth. “Jones fired us from the case,” he said.

Jaws dropped and eyes widened.

“You’re kidding, right?” Roman almost choked on the words.

“There was a computer found at the scene,” Ian began. “I took it to my car and tried to hack into the system.”

“Aw, hell no,” said Roman. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

“I don’t have time to wait for subpoenas and warrants and technicians in Quantico to analyze data.”

“What did you discover?” This question was asked by Cody.

“That Jones isn’t willing to break any rules in order to catch Mateev.”

“There are laws, Ian,” said Roman. “And if we’re breaking laws then we aren’t any better than Mateev. It’s laws that make us civilized. They make us the good guys.”

“I guess that’s just it,” said Ian. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be one of the good guys if it means that I’ll never see justice served.”

Julia McCloud was the only female operative at RMJ. From her seat next to Cody, she lifted her hand. “Can you cut the crap, sir? What are you telling us?”

“Aside from the fact that we’ve been sacked from the biggest case in RMJ history, I’m through. There’s no more we can do here. The agency is done.” The words burned Ian’s throat like acid.

Was he really going to close RMJ? It was almost as bad as when Petra left. Ian knew that then, like now, sacrifices sometimes had to be made.

“Mateev has gotten away too many times. Even if he’s caught, he won’t go to jail. He’s too powerful. He’ll slither away somehow like he always has.” Ian shook his head and gave a mirthless laugh. “I’ve become cynical, I guess.”

“A cynic?” Roman snorted. “Sounds more like you’re a quitter.”

Ian’s internal temperature spiked. Sweat collected at the nape of his neck, snaking down his back. “I’m not quitting. I just know when I’m beat. I’m—”

“Quitting,” Roman interrupted.

Ian wanted nothing more than to set him straight, to share his real plans with his operatives. But to what end? Just so they, too, would be compromised—maybe even criminally so? No. He was their leader. It was his job to protect them. This was the best way he knew how to do that.

“As far as the operatives are concerned, RMJ is closed. Katarina, I’ll need you to stay on for the next couple of weeks and help me shut down all the cases.”

Roman slapped the table, a sharp crack that rent the air. “I’ve dedicated my life to this outfit. We all have. Remember when you found me in the hospital, broken both emotionally and physically?”

“What’s your point?”

“You promised a world where justice was pursued and light was shone into the darkest corners of the human heart, or some such crap. And now you’re quitting?”

“I’m not quitting, brother.”

“From where I sit, it looks like you are.” Roman shoved his chair back and stood. “And you aren’t my brother.”

Ian stared at the kitchen table. He slid his hand into his pocket. There, he wrapped his fingers around the flash drive. He hoped that he now held the key that could unlock the last door to Mateev.

If not, Ian had just ruined his life’s work for nothing.

* * *

The interrogation room was a ten-foot-square space with barely enough room for a faux wood table and two plastic chairs. The walls were covered in cheap paneling and the air stank of stale body odor.

Before leaving Joe’s house, Petra volunteered to have her fingerprints taken. Her clothes and purse had been bagged as evidence and she was allowed to wash up. She now wore an extra large white men’s T-shirt and large gray sweatpants, along with a pair of flip-flops meant for a giant—all compliments of the Denver PD. She had also been examined by EMTs, who determined that none of her injuries were life-threatening. Then she had been invited to the police station.

The door opened and she looked up. Martinez entered the room, his bulk making the already small space seem even smaller. He squeezed into the second chair and threw a manila file on the table. Even from her seat, Petra could see the indexed title. It was her name.

Her stomach churned. She hadn’t been arrested or read her Miranda rights, so she hadn’t asked for an attorney of her own. Petra only wanted to be helpful and find out what happened to Joe—no matter the truth. Yet now she couldn’t help but wonder if her decision had been prudent.

“Sorry to keep you so long,” Martinez said. “Do you need anything? Water? Coffee? Something to eat?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“I have some more items to discuss that might help clear up what happened with Joe. First, do you recall anything more than what you already told us?”

“There are a few things that I remember, but I don’t know how much use they’ll be,” she said.

He flipped open the file and took out a pen. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of what matters and what doesn’t.”

“It’s not a memory exactly, but Joe had several video cameras around his property and even a few in the house...” Petra drew in a breath, fearful of what might have been recorded.

Martinez set his pen aside. “The surveillance system was disconnected. Nothing’s been recorded since last night.”

That was odd. Still, Petra continued, “The front gate was open. It’s controlled by an intercom and Joe always keeps it locked.”

“Did you call up to the house when you arrived?”

Petra shook her head. “We had spoken earlier. He said it was urgent and was expecting me, so I didn’t bother. That brings up something else. Someone had stopped by when we were on the phone.”

“Did he say who?”

Petra shook her head again.

“And then?”

“He didn’t answer the front door when I rang the bell.” The disorientation she had felt upon waking was gone, although not all her memories had returned. “I even called his cell phone. When that didn’t work, I went around by the pool and let myself in through the back. I can’t really remember anything after that.”

“Your fingerprints were found on the home alarm,” said Martinez.

Petra had gotten used to his statements that were really questions. “I think I set it off. The first thing I remember clearly is my hand on the alarm and a lot of beeping.”

Martinez nodded and made a note in the file. “How many times did you call Joe?”

“Twice,” she said.

“Do you recall throwing your phone into the pool?”

“Is that where it was found?” she asked.

“It was.”

“Can I have it back?”

“It’s in evidence now. And you haven’t answered my question. Do you recall throwing, or dropping, your phone in the pool?”

A blast of cold air shot from a vent in the ceiling. Petra crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to shiver. “I remember walking by the pool.” She’d been sick with a migraine and frustrated with Joe. Had she done something stupid, something she didn’t remember, then? “I think my phone was in my purse.”

“Is that a no?”