Station Breaker

47 Insider

Vaughn isn't even his name. I realize this as I hand the girl at the rental car desk his driver's license and credit card. Both the ID and the black AmEx say Sean Flagler.

I almost don't feel like the worst person in the world for leaving him and his cronies bleeding out in the middle of the desert. Almost.

Yeah, it was a matter of survival, but hell, I still feel awful. I was minutes away from a broken neck no matter what I said, yet I can't just get rid of this guilt. Maybe that's why guys like him are good at his job and guys like me aren't.

Hell. I never thought I would have killed anybody a day ago. Now I may have killed three because I felt justified.

Is that what he thought? Did the assholes helping push me out of the helicopter think they were doing their duty and protecting America?

Were they? I wanted to believe he was on my side. Then he lied about the Moscow phone call — or at least I think he lied. And things escalated from there.

Fuck him. I didn't ask to get thrown out of the helicopter and tortured. Maybe he was just following orders for someone else and had no idea what was really going on, but it doesn't matter. They wanted me to think they were going to kill me. I'm pretty sure that in the state of Texas what I did was not only legal — it was encouraged.

"Would you like insurance on the vehicle?" asks the girl.

"Yeah, sure. Max it out."

She goes back to her keyboard and starts typing away. I figure I've got another hour or so before Vaughn/Flagler's card is no longer good and trying to use it will result in the Texas Rangers showing up.

I chose Eazy-Kar, because of their immaculate spelling and the fact that their cars are several years old and not likely to have any tracking transponders inside of them.

"Thank you, Mr. Flagler," the girl says sweetly as she hands me my keys.

I drive my nondescript Toyota Camry across the street to a Walmart to get groceries while Vaughn's card is still good.

In the hardware section I pick up some random tools with no idea if I'll need any of them. Better safe than sorry.

After I load up my car in the parking lot, I swap license plates with another Camry so I can get a little off the grid. I'll need to do this again when I'm further away to keep covering my tracks.

Although I landed the helicopter in an empty lot on the far side of a shopping mall, and none of the passing cars seemed to be all that interested, I can only count on that lasting for so long.

Vaughn's people have to know something is up and an abandoned Black Hawk helicopter sitting in the middle of El Paso isn't very discreet.

My only hope is that the lines of communication between his quasi-legal Black Site operation and the local authorities aren't exactly streamlined.

Before leaving here for good, I stop at an Arby's drive-thru, load up on sandwiches, then take the 10 east towards Austin.

While I bite into soothing mouthfuls of roast beef, I consider my predicament. I'm in a classic, nowhere-to-go-nobody-to-trust situation.

Considering the last US government employee I dealt with tried to break my spine presumably on the orders of his Russian masters, I'm a little distrustful of going to the cops.

Vaughn may be out of commission, but I don't know if he was acting alone. Capricorn said a highly-placed intelligence official was working with the Russians. Vaughn seemed more like the operations guy working with somebody sitting in an office in DC.

That means that there could be more people out there like him. I really can't trust anyone.

And I can't stay on the run forever. If Capricorn never reaches out to me again, I'm screwed. I need another option.

Who do I trust?

Lots of people.

Who can help me?

None of them.

My parents would just tell me to turn myself in and try to convince me that the government has my best interests in mind. I can imagine what it would be like trying to explain to my father what just happened with the helicopter drop-falls.

"Did you maybe fall out and misunderstand what happened? Could they have been trying to help you?"

I love my parents, but they're a no-go.

I just don't know any powerful, influential people. My boss, Vin Amin, the CEO of iCosmos is connected, but I can only guess what kind of clusterfuck he's trying to deal with right now. He probably wants me dead more than anybody else.

So Vin is a no-go.

That leaves nobody.

I'm screwed.

Stop that, David. Focus.

Who would want to help you? Who is connected to this?

Peterson and Bennet's families probably hate me. They think I murdered them.

If only I could tell them…

Wait, Bennet's son, Tyler, is a US Senator. He and his husband have a home in Austin. I remember Bennet talking about spending Christmas there with his grandkids.

I've met Tyler a couple times. Nice enough guy. He's got a bit of a libertarian streak and not the type I think would go for the black ops bullshit that Vaughn was pulling. At least I don't think he would. He once did a forty-eight hour filibuster against the overreach of government surveillance.

If I could reach out to him, maybe he could help me sort things out… yeah, if only I could explain to him what was really going on.

I have to give it a shot. The worst that could happen is that we have a very awkward and short conversation. Well, that and the spooks track my phone call and blow me up with an airborne drone before I hang up. But other than that…

I buy a burner phone at a gas station using cash I stole from the men on the helicopter. I avoid using Vaughn's credit card so it can't trace back to the number.

After a few more miles, I pull over to a truck stop and take the phone out of the package. Too nervous to sit still, I step outside the car and onto a sidewalk away from the road.

Thankfully, as a government representative, Tyler Bennet's office number is pretty easy to find.

An older woman answers, "Senator Bennet's office. How may I direct your call?"

I really didn't have a plan for this situation. "Uh, hello? I would like to speak with the Senator."

"I'm sorry, he's not taking any calls right now. Would you like to leave a message for one of his assistants?"

Think of a lie, David. "Yeah… Well, I'm calling from iCosmos. We found a note from his father addressed to Tyler."

There's a long pause. "Hold on one second."

A moment later Tyler answers the phone, "This better not be a joke."

"It's not, Senator. This is David Dixon."

His voice explodes in my ear. "Alright, asshole! You got a lot of fucking nerve calling me!"

"Tyler, it's me! Remember when…"

"Even if it was you, you're the last person I'd ever want to talk to!"

"Wait… I can explain!" I protest.

"Next time you call this number I'm having the call traced, you fucking murderer!"

Oh, Christ. "I didn't… wait… don't hang up!"

Click.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

My one goddamn lifeline in all this just threatened to call the cops on me.

I collapse on the curb, my head in my hands. For the first time I begin to feel suicidal.

There is no end to this nightmare.

I should have let Vaughn push me out.

I should have burned up in the atmosphere.

It should have been me that died and not Peterson and Bennet.

I'm so lost in my thoughts it takes me a while to realize the phone is ringing in my hand.

It could be Vaughn, all patched up, or one of his cronies…

I don't care. Come get me. I'll tell you anything.

"Yeah…" I say weakly.

"David, it's Tyler," his voice is calm and not the tornado of rage that he was a minute ago. "There's not much time to explain. You need to get another phone and call me at the number I'm about to give you. They're listening to everything."

"I didn't kill your father," I say, my voice distant.

"I know that, David." He takes a long breath. "I did."