Fear No Evil

Chapter 2

Catherine Hingham screamed in agony, fighting against her restraints, then yelled at him, “You cannot do this! This is the United States of America and I’m a sworn officer of the Central—”

Butler broke her ring finger, then waited for her to stop screaming and crying.

“You have eight fingers left, Catherine,” Butler said calmly. “I will break them all and if you still do not tell me what I want to know, I will have your five-year-old daughter brought here and I will begin breaking her tiny fingers one by one until you confess.”

The CIA officer stared at him in disgust and horror. “Emily has cerebral palsy.”

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t. It’s... monstrous.”

“It is,” he said and sighed again. “And yet, because there is so much at stake, Catherine, I will break your little girl’s fingers. But only if you make it necessary.”

The CIA officer continued to stare at him for several moments. He gazed back at her evenly until her lower lip trembled and she hung her head.

“The costs,” Hingham whispered hoarsely. “You have no idea what a child like Em...” She could not go on and broke down sobbing.

“The heart wins again,” Butler said. He pushed the pile of blank pages in front of her. “Start writing. The Maldives. The numbered accounts. Their connections. All of it.”

After a few moments, Catherine Hingham calmed enough to raise her head. “I need witness protection.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Butler said and held out the pen to her. “Now write.”

The CIA officer reached out with both handcuffed hands shaking. She took the pen. “Please,” she said. “My family doesn’t deserve what will happen if—”

“Write,” he said firmly. “And I’ll see what I can do.”

The CIA officer reluctantly began to scribble names, addresses, account numbers, and more. When she’d moved to a second page, Butler had seen enough to be satisfied.

He walked behind the CIA officer and nodded to a small camera mounted high in the corner of the room.

A gravelly male voice came through the tiny earbud Butler wore in his left ear. “Mmmm. Well done. When you have what we need, end the interview and file your report, please.”

Butler nodded again before moving in front of Catherine Hingham. She set her pen down and pushed the pages across the table at him.

“That’s it,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Everything I know.”

“Unlikely,” Butler said, using the nail of his index finger to lift up the first sheet so he could scan the information she’d provided on page two. “But this looks useful enough for now. It will give us leverage. Was that so hard, Catherine?”

She relaxed a little and said, “Okay, then, I’ve given you what you wanted. Now I need a doctor to fix my hand. I need witness protection.”

With his fingernail, Butler scooted the confession pages to the far right of the table. “You’re a smart woman, Catherine. Well educated. Yale, if I remember. You should know your history better. We don’t protect traitors in the United States of America. From Benedict Arnold on, they’ve all had to pay the price. And now, so will you.”

The CIA officer looked confused and then terrified when Butler took a step back and drew a stubby pistol with a sound suppressor from his shoulder holster.

“No, please, my kids are—” she managed before he took aim and shot her between the eyes.