Zero Option

32

Dave parked the rental car on the street a block from his hotel and walked in through the front plaza area, looking for signs of surveillance or unmarked government cars. Then he realized they might just park in the underground garage and wait inside. Like in his room. He went up to the front desk and asked for the night manager.

A prosperous-looking young man came out of a back offfice, wiping his chin with a handkerchief as if he’d been interrupted at dinner. Dave identified himself as a federal agent, presented his DCIS credentials, and asked if a Mr. Sparks from the DCIS had gained access to one of the hotel’s rooms that afternoon. The manager blinked and said that yes, he had. Dave thanked him and walked away before the manager could ask any questions. He headed for the mezzanine lounge bar.

He took a table, ordered a Tanqueray martini, and then asked for a table phone. He called his room number and let it ring. After ten rings, the phone was picked up. “Ray,” Stafford said. “I’m in the mezzanine bar.

Lemme buy you a drink.”

There was a brief sigh, and then the phone was hung up. A few minutes later, Sparks walked into the lounge, with two of the local DCIS agents behind him. Sparks motioned for them to take a nearby table, and then he sat down across from Stafford. When he saw the backup men, Stafford slipped his left hand beneath the table, doing it in such a way that they would see him do it. His useless right arm remained on the table.

“Haven’t lost your touch, Dave,” Sparks said. Stafford managed to lift the index finger of his right hand and point to his own drink while raising an eyebrow, but Sparks shook his head. He gave Stafford a searching look before asking the burning question. “What the hell have you got yourself into now?”

Stafford kept his left hand under the table and stirred the ice in his drink with a finger. He tried to keep it casual, but his right hand still trembled when he lifted it. He smiled. “You guys here to pick me up, Ray?”

“You bet your ass we are. Washington is suddenly very interested in what you are doing and why, and, oh by the way, you’re to knock it off, as of yesterday, if not sooner.”

Stafford leaned forward, the smile gone. “I’ve been shanghaied once today, or rather, last night. I’m not going to be taken anywhere by anybody for a while, not tonight, not anytime soon.” “Really,” Sparks said as he returned Stafford’s stare and casually unbuttoned his suit jacket, allowing the butt of a government-issue 9mm a little breathing room. Stafford saw the other two follow suit as they moved their chairs to, face in his direction.

“Yeah, really,” Stafford said. “What, you proposing to have a gunfight in the lounge of one of Atlanta’s most expensive hotels?”

“Takes guns on both sides to have a gunfight, Dave,” Sparks said. “I don’t recall issuing you a weapon. You’re not armed.”

“That something you know, Ray? This is Georgia: They sell guns at the church socials down here.”

“You’re bluffing, goddamn it. Now give this shit up. We don’t want to get civilians into a deal here.”

“Your call, Ray. Or you could relax for a few minutes, go into the receive mode, maybe learn something you need to know. Don’t you think as regional supervisor you ought to know where I’ve been lately? Hell, Ray, don’t you even want to know? Just a little? You used to be an investigator, remember?”

Sparks flushed, his lips tightening. But then he sat back and rebuttoned his jacket. He gave a little shake of his head, and the backup men relaxed, although they did not change the position of their chairs.

“Okay, so talk.” Sparks said.

Stafford took him back through it, right from day one at the airport and all the subsequent events relating to the cylinder. Sparks listened patiently, having heard a lot of this before, until Stafford got to the part about the MP sweep on his motel in Oxford.

“They did what?”

“Hell, Ray, I figured you’d sent them. You were sure as hell interested in knowing precisely where I was, as I recall.”

“Fucking-A, I was. But that was for my information.” He paused, seeing, the look on Stafford’s face. “Okay,” he admitted. “I was gonna come get you, but not because of the fucking Army.”

“It gets better,” Stafford said, and then described the events of early Sunday morning.

“They picked you up? Arrested you? The Amzy? Did you show them ID?”

“Hell yes, but they knew who I was and they obviously had orders in place to pick me up. Now let me tell you where they took me.” “Wait a minute,” Sparks said. “I think I want that drink now.”

Dave signaled a waitress with his head. While they waited, Sparks got up and went over to his two cohorts. After a minute of earnest discussion, they got up, although they seemed reluctant to leave. Sparks was insistent, and they left the lounge. When his scotch arrived, Sparks took a substantial hit and then indicated for Stafford to continue. His expression grew angrier when Stafford told him about the bunker, and then the lie-detector test. He drained his drink when Stafford finished.

“This is fucking outrageous,” Sparks declared. “Just fucking outrageous.

The Army has no damned jurisdiction.”

“That’s not what’s important here, Ray,” Stafford said. “Yeah, what they did is outrageous. But they wouldn’t have done it unless they were panicsville. They’ve lost a weapon. But they’re stuck — they can’t tell anyone.”

“But why the hell did they just let you go, then? You obviously know about it. ‘Have you seen it?’ and ‘Do you have it?’ Unless you think you beat the flutter?”

“I doubt it. The flutter tech was a Bureau man. They don’t hire amateurs.”

“A Bureau man?” Sparks looked around the lounge carefully. It wasn’t crowded, given it was a Sunday night.

“You’re telling me the Army and the Bureau are working together? That is seriously disturbing news. And it might explain why I’m getting sudden heat from DCIS Washington to get your ass back on the reservation.”

“The whole fucking thing is disturbing, Ray. Especially if whoever has the weapon is trying to sell it. Think about one of the wacko militia groups armed with a cylinder of blood boiler.”

“Blood boiler? Jesus H. Christ. Where’d you pick up a term like that?”

“During my little seance with the high pooh-bah in the bunker; whoever he was. I’m telling you, Ray, this thing is real. And I don’t know who the hell to tell..Especially if the Army won’t even admit it’s missing.”

“What were you planning to do?”

“First tell me where we stand, Ray. You and me. Where’d your two buddies go?”

Ray nodded and rattled the ice in his drink. He put down his glass. ‘ “We came down here to take you back to Smyrna. I have orders from Colonel Parson’s boss, Mr. Whittaker, to get you under government control, as he put it. But that’s before I’d heard this Army shit.”

“Whittaker? He replaced Bernstein, right? SES-Two type?”

“That’s right. Senior Executive Service. Political appointee. Came over from the Justice Department. Still wired directly into the Justice Department. Connected. Seriously connected. He’s starting to talk bent-cop talk. I don’t bring you in, I’ve gotta explain why, and not necessarily to my friends.”

“Where’s the colonel on this one?”

“In the dark, like the rest of us.”

Stafford nodded. “Okay, I can see that. Let me propose something: You tell them I never came back to the hotel. You don’t know where the hell I am. Then request the electronic net be activated — you know, I use my government gas credit card or my government phone, Visa card, whatever, the system alerts. I’ll use those cards so you can quote/unquote track me. You give me one day. I’ve got to go to Graniteville, warn those people there’s a shit storm brewing. They trusted me, and now I can’t protect them.”

“Why can’t you just call them?”

“Because I want to see that girl again.

I want to question her myself. I’ve got to know if this is real or if it’s bullshit. The first time, Gwen Warren wouldn’t let me. This time, she might, after I tell her what might be coming down.”

“And then?”

“And then I come back to Atlanta. This is Sunday night. I go up there tomorrow. I come back into town— what, Tuesday? Or wherever you want me to go.”

Sparks gave him an appraising look. Stafford leaned forward. “Ray, think about it. I haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve stumbled into something that could be fucking huge. A missing chemical weapon. It’s probably right here in Atlanta, Georgia. The Army is breaking all the rules, detaining some of their own people illegally, sending CW emergency teams into the city at night, detaining federal agents. I don’t care if the whole government gets into the cover-up — this is going to come out. You want to be on the side of the angels when it does, Ray.”

“There’s nobody up in D.C. who’d consider you to be one of the angels, Dave.”

“If I’m trying to find this thing while everybody else is trying to cover up the fact that it’s even missing, anybody who’s my ally is going to dodge a bullet. You don’t have to get out front, Ray. Let me do that — I’m already expendable. You be my agent in place, within the system. I think it’s this Carson guy who has it, or knows where it is.

Give me a day to warn the people up in Graniteville, then let me come back here and work this bitch.”

Sparks ran his fingers through his hair while he thought about it. “What I still can’t figure,” he said, “is why he Army let you go.”

“Maybe it’s because someone wants me to find the fucking thing. If they can’t admit that it’s lost, then they can’t really mount much more of an operation to recover it than they have. That would explain the session in the bunker. Why treat me to a scary-monster Kabuki drama if they just wanted to put me in a box? Plus, they don’t know what I know about Carson.”

“From a psychic.”

Stafford hesitated. “Yes, that’s true. But Ray, that thing I saw on the monitor was identical to the kid’s drawing. How else can you explain such a thing?”

“I do not fucking know,” Sparks said. “I do not fucking know. And I don’t like all these wheels within wheels here.”, “You mean you know your government too damned well. Will those two guys keep their mouths shut about tonight? The fact that you and I had a meet?”

“Yeah. They will, unless it means their jobs. You’re asking a hell of a lot, Dave.”

“But you know I’m right, Ray. Give me thirty-six hours. Then I’ll come back to town, and we can meet offline somewhere and work the Carson angle. All I need is thirty-six hours. I may be a loose cannon, but I’m not a bent cop. Besides, what the hell can happen in thirty-six hours?”

Sparks snorted. “With you in the game? Shit!” He looked across the table at Stafford for a long moment. Then he sighed. “Fuck me,” he said. “If this isn’t a Dave Stafford special, I don’t know what it is.”

Dave got up. “I’m going upstairs, and I’m going to try to get some sleep. Look at it this way, Ray: If this is all bullshit, you can cut me loose. It’s not like anyone in DCIS would blame you.”

Sparks shook his head and signaled the waiter for another one as Stafford left the lounge.