— he had been thinking about starting him as a courier somewhere, with the possibility that he’d work his way into a frontline ops position. But the kid’s eye for detail was extraordinary. And that meant one thing to Durrie.
Cleaner.
To do the job Durrie did took a special mindset and the ability to see everything. Though he wasn’t sure if Oliver had the mindset yet, the former cop certainly had the missing-nothing foundation required. He also had the smarts to make intuitive leaps that others wouldn’t even consider.
Still, there was a lot more work to do if that was going to happen.
26
Over the next two days, Durrie had Oliver run through everything again, this time concentrating on tangential items, such as the makes and colors of the cars parked outside the barn the day Jake found the matchbook, and the descriptions of the lobby decor of the Lawrence Hotel when he’d gone there. His memory wasn’t one hundred percent perfect, but damn close.
One subject Durrie avoided was Berit Davies. Oliver only casually mentioned her a few times, playing down her role in the events. It was obvious he was trying to shield her from any harm that might come if her true involvement were revealed. Of course Oliver didn’t realize, thanks to Larson, it was too late for that.
At some point, the issue would have to be dealt with, and the truth would come out. If this was going to be a successful recruitment, then there could be no secrets. Not that kind of secret anyway.
On the fourth day, it was time to change things up.
Jake had just finished his breakfast when the door opened. Per the procedure they’d developed, he immediately rose, went over to his bed, and sat down. For the last day and a half, Durrie had not required Jake to chain himself to anything. Jake had taken this as a good sign, a building of trust he could use to his advantage when the time came.
This morning, though, Durrie was once more carrying the set of shackles in addition to the ever-present stun gun. He tossed the restraints onto the bed.
“Pick them up.”
Wondering what he had done to cause the return of the extra security measures, Jake nonetheless started to put them on without complaint.
“No,” Durrie told him. “I said pick them up, not put them on.”
Surprised, Jake removed the cuff he’d started to put around his wrist.
“Follow me,” Durrie said, then walked out the door.
This was new. Until that moment, Jake had not left the room. He passed through the doorway into a dimly lit hallway. There were five doors other than the one he’d come out of. Two were on the same side of the hall his room was on, two were on the other, and the final door was at the far end of the hallway, closing it off.
“How about a shower?” Durrie asked.
“Uh, sure.” A shower sounded great.
“This way.” Durrie walked to one of the doors on the opposite wall, and opened it. “This stays open, and I’ll be right out here.” He raised the modified taser. “I’m pretty sure if this thing hits you in water, it won’t be a good thing.”
“Then I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me, okay?” Jake said as the walked through the doorway.
The bathroom was utilitarian: a shower stall in the far corner, a toilet, and a stainless steel sink coming out of the wall. There was no mirror. There were also no windows, reinforcing Jake’s growing belief that his cell was underground. On the edge of the sink, he noticed a tube of toothpaste.
“Sorry, no toothbrush or floss,” Durrie said, apparently following his gaze. “Your finger will have to do.”
With a shrug, Jake ran some toothpaste through his mouth, then climbed into the shower. The water felt wonderful as it rinsed away the sweat and stink that had been clinging to his skin for days. He washed his body and his hair twice, then let the water soak him.
“That’s enough,” Durrie said, after what must have been ten minutes.
Reluctantly, Jake turned the shower off and stepped out of the stall.
Durrie tossed Jake a towel. Where he’d found it, Jake didn’t know.
“There are clean clothes out here on the floor.”
Jake dried off, then found the clothes and dressed.
“Cuffs,” Durrie said.
Jake knew it was coming, but he’d been hoping Durrie had forgotten. He put them on. “What now?”
“Down here.” Durrie led him to another door, opened it, and let Jake enter first.
The room was about the same size as Jake’s cell, but there was no bed or toilet. The only piece of furniture was a single chair sitting near the middle of the room. It faced a wall covered with maps and photographs.
“Sit,” Durrie said.
“What are we doing here?”
“Sit and you’ll find out.”
With little other choice, Jake did.
Durrie moved over to the wall.
“Six months ago, someone began selling secret information he had no right to sell. This leak compromised several operations being conducted by the people I’ve been working for. Many good people lost their lives, and important work was interrupted. It took four months to pin down the source.” He pointed at one of the photos. “This man. Nicholas Owens.” He looked back at Jake. “It was determined by those running the organization that Mr. Owens had to be removed. That’s the operation you and your partner came upon that night on Goodman Ranch Road.”
“The body in the barn was this Owens guy?” Jake asked.
“No. Mr. Owens’s body is…elsewhere. The body in the barn was one of his associates. Someone who wrongly thought he could save Mr. Owens.”
Jake frowned. “You’re trying to tell me this was governmental action?”
“I’m not
Durrie then began an extremely detailed account of what had happened at the barn. He talked about the planning, the makeup of the team, the other preparations, and the operation itself. His description was not a glowing report of an efficient mission. Instead, he laid out all the flaws, explained where everything went wrong, and described the less-than-perfect job carried out by the actual gunman.
Jake couldn’t help getting caught up in it. It was like an event from one of the spy thrillers he’d read as a teenager. Yet despite how crazy it seemed, it also sounded surprisingly plausible. In fact, there was nothing in Durrie’s description that contradicted the evidence Jake had uncovered.
“So your job was to…get rid of the body?” Jake asked, not quite sure he had that part right.
“Yes. It’s my specialty.”
“Your
“I do.”
“Right. Okay, sure. Whatever you say. Why would anyone even choose to do that? It sounds…”
“What? Interesting?”
Jake was going to say morbid, but, though he wouldn’t admit it, it did sound a little interesting. Creepy and skin-crawling, but interesting. “So that’s it? You take the body and run?”
“That’s not it. If I do my job correctly, the scene of an operation disappears or is not seen for what it really is.”
“You mean the crime scene,” Jake said.
“No,” Durrie said. “I mean the scene of an operation.”
“You’re killing people. That sounds like a crime to me.”
