Sigma Division

Chapter 21

Spicer had opened his second beer but he wasn’t drinking. His heart wasn’t in it and he was past dulling his senses. He was on the couch next to Esther and the TV was the only source of lighting in the room. It seemed like the only thing that was playing were infomercials. It was that late.

He stared at the tip of his shoes, his feet up on the coffee table at her insistence. He was lost in thought, possibly overwhelmed by everything that was happening, and she picked up on it. She turned sideways and propped her head on her elbow against the back of the couch.

“It’s gonna be all right, Gene. I don’t think there’s anything worth that amount of anxiety.”

“There is,” he said.

“Look, this guy’s gonna call back. You’ll get him on the record and then you can blow the lid off whatever the government’s hiding. All they’ll be able to do afterwards is vigorously deny everything.”

“It’s not all they can do.”

“Sure it is. I’ve read stuff where in some cases they fabricate a story to corroborate their lies. Sometimes they send people away to prison, Guantanamo, but with the truth on your side they can’t touch you.”

He took a deep breath and lifted his head to face her. “I used to kill people for the government.”

She stared at him, agape. “What?”

“I used to be proud of it too. I got rid of national security threats, I destabilized regimes. I like to think that because of what I did I avoided wars.”

She stood up and walked behind the couch. He realized she was putting a physical barrier between them. He couldn’t fault her. At least, she wasn’t running away or trying to call someone.

Esther closed her eyes for long seconds before speaking again. “Why… why did you stop?”

“I didn’t believe in it anymore. When they have you kill a geeky scientist who happens to be a quiet family man, it’s hard to believe that there wasn’t any other option.”

She backed up ten feet to the kitchen table where she sat down.

“You’re not scared of me, are you?” he asked quietly.

“I’ve had less stressful moments, Gene.”

“I’m scared enough for the both of us, believe me.”

“Why?”

He stood up but kept his distance, anything so he wouldn’t appear menacing.

“I’ve killed people who were less a threat than me. Don’t think they’ll give two shits about taking me out.”

The phone started ringing. It was the burner phone.

Spicer looked at her to see what her reaction was but she remained seated at the table. She didn’t make a run for it. That was a good start.

He got the phone from the couch and answered. “Hello?”

Esther stood up and came within earshot. As far as he was concerned, she had earned the right to know what was going on so he let her listen in.

“You the fella who sent the e-mail?”

Spicer perked up at the southern accent. “Your voice, I know your voice. We’ve met, haven’t we?”

“If you are who I think you are, yes. You want to know what kind of deal you made with the devil?”

“Yes.”

“Then we have to meet. What I have to say is too valuable to say over open lines.”

“How soon can you be in Miami?”

The man hesitated and said, “Nine tomorrow night.”

Hesitation was good. That meant the man was thinking and not simply answering what Spicer wanted him to.

“Okay, meet me at the Salvador Sea Hotel, the outdoor bar. Order a blue drink, I’ll do the same.”

“This better not be a setup.”

“I can say the same about you.”

The line went dead and Spicer hung up.

Esther frowned. “Why Miami?”

“Because I know that city like the underside of my dick. Something goes bad, I can disappear in three and a half minutes.”

“The city will be crawling with cops.”

“Why?” he asked.

“That’s where Regis Ford will be holed up for election night.”

That gave him pause. Then he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, I’m familiar with the place.”

“I hope you won’t disappear without saying goodbye.”

He looked at her and she seemed to have digested the information about him being a former hitman. He liked that she had an open mind.

“I’ll grab some sleep and leave early in the morning for the drive to Miami. You mind if I spend the night here? I’ll use the couch.”

She nodded.

There was a sound.

Kilmer bolted upright in his bed and scanned his room. He rubbed his eyes and waited. There, it happened again! It was a muted creaking sound. It was too gentle to be coming from outside, too gentle to be natural.

Or had working for the CIA for almost 40 years made him paranoid? Then again, knowing what he knew, everybody had a reason to be paranoid.

He got up and tiptoed through the dark house, trying to identify the noise. His first instinct was to get a weapon but the closest one was in the drawer in his study. He went downstairs and as he passed by the foyer he saw a shadow through the frosted glass of the front door.

He froze.

Had he been younger, he would have gotten into a fighting stance. He could have dived for a makeshift weapon — a coat hanger from the closet would have worked. But he was too old for this.

He was still considering what to do when the doorbell rang.

Maybe he had overreacted? Perhaps the noise had been someone’s car breaking down in front of his home and now they were looking for help. With a sigh of relief, he went to answer the door.

He found a young man on the porch. He looked tired and even high on weed.

“Mr. Kilmer?”

That’s when the old man realized the kid was holding a pizza box. His eyes widened, his jaw dropped.

“God, no…”

He slammed the door and hurried back toward the stairs. “Martha, call the police!”

Only he didn’t have time to say the entire sentence before realizing an intruder was already inside the house. Before the bullets entered his brain.