Becoming Quinn

dead. He could not deny the truth. It was his fault.

Oddly, the thing that really should have upset him — that he’d killed someone — barely bothered him at all. It was something that needed to be done, that’s all. Revenge, yes, and a little bit of self-defense, but also simply a necessary act. And one, he realized, he would not have hesitated doing again if the situation had been replayed.

Jake began returning to the here and now just about when several cars pulled up in front of the cabin. Half a dozen men piled into the main room, while several others remained outside, watching the woods.

He had no idea what time it was, but it was still dark.

Durrie and one of the men went downstairs for almost half an hour. When they came back up, the man gave the others instructions that included collecting the bodies of Larson and the woman, and cleaning out and scrubbing down the basement and the main part of the cabin.

“Come on,” Durrie said to Jake.

“Where?”

“Debrief.”

Jake had no energy left to fight anything, so he allowed himself to be led out to one of the cars and driven away.

The debrief turned out to last three days. The location appeared to be a remote portion of a military base. Jake didn’t know for sure, because at some point during the trip there he had fallen asleep, not waking again until after they’d arrived.

The questioning was never harsh, but it was always thorough. The first day, it was conducted by a man and woman. On the second and third days, his interrogator was a different man who came in alone. He was older than the other two, maybe in his forties, and was short with a bald head.

“You can call me Peter,” he’d said the first time they met, but he gave no other information.

Peter’s questions seemed to be focused on the same areas that had drawn Durrie’s interest back at the cabin: how Jake had made his connections in the Goodman Ranch Road murder, what made him think the way he had, what his conclusions had been. The only other area that Peter seemed interested in was the events in the woods with Larson.

On the fourth day, Jake’s door opened and the man and woman from the first day were back. When they came in this time they didn’t sit.

“A car will be here in a few minutes to take you to the airport,” the woman said. “You’ll be given a free ticket to wherever you would like to go.”

“We strongly suggest that you don’t return to Phoenix anytime soon,” the man said.

“My stuff’s in Phoenix,” Jake told him.

“Actually, it’s not,” the woman said. “Currently it’s all in storage. After you’re settled, call this number and everything will be shipped to you.” She handed him a card.

The man clasped his hands. “Mr. Oliver, you possess knowledge of certain events that I’m sure you understand must remain secret. This is a national security issue, and one we expect you to honor.”

Jake had already become aware that everything Durrie told him back at the cabin was true. That what he’d stumbled upon on Goodman Ranch Road was not connected to gangs or drugs or anything like that. He could box all that up in his mind and forget it, but there was one thing he couldn’t let go of. “Berit Davies was killed. She was a good officer, and my friend. She doesn’t deserve to be forgotten.”

The woman took a deep breath. “We understand that this is a concern of yours.”

“A major concern,” Jake corrected her.

She forced a smile. “A major concern. But I hope you can also see that we can’t let news of what actually happened get out.”

“You mean that one of your assassins took it upon himself to murder her?”

Both the man and the woman looked suddenly uncomfortable.

“Technically,” the man said, “he wasn’t our assassin.”

Jake could barely stifle a disbelieving laugh. “So you’re just going to cover it up?”

“Welcome to the real world, Mr. Oliver,” the man said. “The way things actually work. The people out there…” He moved his hand around, indicating the world beyond the walls. “They don’t want to know anything about it. They want their lives just the way they have them now. If they knew how the world really operated, there would be a hell of a lot more chaos. Our job is to prevent that, to keep the civilians in their happy places, ignorant and content to be so.”

“But you can’t just make what happened to Berit disappear. She has friends, and probably family. I’m not going to let her be forgotten.”

“And she won’t be,” the woman said quickly. “Officially, she just transferred temporarily into an FBI program in need of undercover agents that fit her description. She will die in the line of duty, Mr. Oliver. She will be awarded posthumous citations. The Phoenix Police Department will give her a funeral befitting a fallen officer. There will be a scholarship fund set up at the high school she attended, to be awarded to female graduates interested in law enforcement. She will not be forgotten. In fact, she will be well remembered. You have my word.”

After several moments of silence, Jake finally nodded. But he wouldn’t blindly accept their words. He would wait and see, and if they failed to deliver on any of the promises, he would break his silence.

“This is for you,” the man said as he reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope.

Jake took it. “What’s this?”

“For the past week you have been working as a consultant for a Colorado firm. This is compensation for your time.”

Jake opened the envelope and looked inside. There was a cashier’s check in the amount of twenty thousand dollars.

“We should go now,” the woman said. “Please, this way.”

They led Jake out of the building and over to a dark sedan sitting at the curb. The man opened the back door. “Go to the Vargas Rental Car booth when you get to the airport. Ask for Ms. Bryant. When she comes, just tell her who you are and where you want to go, and she’ll take care of it. Best of luck.”

Jake climbed in. As soon as the door was closed behind him, the car pulled away from the curb.

“I take it they treated you well?”

Jake turned at the sound of the familiar voice, and looked at the driver. Durrie was looking at him in the rearview mirror.

Jake stared at him for a moment, then turned his gaze out the window, not responding.

For ten minutes, neither man said anything. Finally unable to contain himself any longer, Jake leaned forward. “Were you ever going to tell me about Berit?”

“I was.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I can’t prove it, but I can tell you now if you’d like.”

Jake fell silent once more, then said, “Tell me.”

Durrie did.

* * *

After Durrie finished the story, Jake thought about all the things he could have done to keep Berit alive. But it was a futile exercise. Eventually, he forced himself to think about where he might go to take his mind off the pain Berit’s memory caused him.

The coast, he thought. He’d start in San Diego, buy a cheap car, then drive north, stopping whenever he wanted. The check he’d been given, combined with what he already had in the bank, would last awhile.

Nearly an hour and a half passed from the moment they’d left the base to when Durrie pulled into what turned out to be a small, regional airport in western Nebraska. He stopped the sedan at the curb in front of the single building that served as the terminal, then turned in his seat and looked at Jake.

Without preamble, he spouted off a series of numbers. “Did you get that?” he asked when he was done.