Reckoning (An American Ghost Thriller Book 2) Page 3

  “Really?”

  “I’m here to talk to you. To see if you’re going to proceed with the mission.”

  Nathan pulled up a seat and put his feet on the desk. “You’re going to analyze what exactly it means when I put my feet here?”

  Berenger stared back at Stone. “If you wish.”

  “So what does it mean, Doc?”

  Berenger felt his throat tighten as the tension rose. “I’m thinking it probably means you’re annoyed, wanting to dominate the territory, right?”

  “You don’t have any fucking idea, do you? So, since you’ve got me here, what are your views on whether my sister should have been kidnapped from the hospital in Florida?”

  Berenger took a few moments to contemplate before he answered. He felt himself breathing quicker. “I don’t believe she was kidnapped. I believe she went voluntarily with a specially selected team.”

  “Is that what they told you? How did they get her out?”

  “No idea. Nathan, you need to start to focus. Because if you don’t focus, you and your sister will be in real danger.”

  “I gathered that, Doc,” Nathan said. “But thanks for reminding me.”

  “It’s not up to me how other elements of the operation unfold, but we are where we are. I’m not responsible for what happened to your sister, am I?”

  “I don’t know, are you?”

  Berenger forced a smile. “You know as well as I do this has nothing to do with me. I’ve been brought in to do a job. My job is to focus on the challenges you’re facing and determine if you’re ready. Because if you’re not ready, Nathan, you’ll be killed, as will your sister, at a time and place not of your choosing. Am I making myself clear?”

  Stone went quiet.

  “So it’s in your interests to push aside those feelings about your sister and convince us you have this under control.”

  Stone remained silent.

  “OK, I’ll kick things off. And I’ll start from when things went seriously wrong, just after our last encounter. We need to understand what you were thinking.”

  Nathan’s gaze wandered around the room.

  “When things went south at the facility in Scotland after you killed the senator, why did you return to the facility and do what you did?”

  “Retribution.”

  “Retribution for what?”

  “Don’t be a smart-ass. You know what. The shadow operation. They double-crossed me after the senator’s girlfriend decided to push me off a ledge up a goddamn mountain, that’s what.”

  Berenger wrote down the salient points. “Tell me more about this shadow operation in Scotland, as you allege.”

  “They sent a team of operatives. And they were good. But they were so focused on killing the senator’s girlfriend, they forgot I was back in the game. And they’d clearly been tasked to kill me too.”

  Berenger nodded as he allowed some space for Nathan to open up.

  “Am I making myself clear, Doc?”

  Berenger sighed. “I detect some palpable anger.”

  Stone stared at him.

  “Do you want to end this current operation, Nathan? Because if you do, you need to say so, and there will be consequences for your sister.”

  “I know how this shit works. I know it all too well.”

  “So do you wish to proceed with the operation?”

  “Yes, affirmative.”

  Berenger nodded and scribbled a few points about Stone’s abrasive and combative attitude. He thought Nathan’s belligerence was a major plus ahead of any operation. He was wired. Wound up so tight he was ready to go off. “Are you sleeping?”

  “Two hours a night. Usually enough.”

  “That’s not enough for most people, Nathan.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “No, Nathan . . . No, you’re not.”

  “I’m far from most people. So if I say two hours is enough, trust me, it’s enough.”

  “How do you like Canada? Does it suit you?”

  “I could just as well be in Belize. Makes no difference.”

  “Nathan, you talked about your sister. And I appreciate this is a very tough situation you’ve been put in. But what outcome are you looking for when this is all over?”

  “I want her to be returned unharmed, safe, and happy back to the facility in Florida.”

  “What if that request isn’t met?”

  “Then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  Berenger shifted in his seat. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  “What I said. You’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  Berenger sighed. “I detect a sense—correct me if I’m wrong—that you are saying to those who have your sister that if your demands for her aren’t met, there might be some retribution. Would that be a fair assessment?”

  “Not really. I said what I said. Think what you want about that. But the least—the absolute least—I expect when this is over is that my sister is unharmed, happy, and back in her hospital in Florida.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. I’m assured that if the mission is completed as required, what you’ve indicated is exactly what will happen.”

  “The problem is,” Nathan said, “how can I ever guarantee that they won’t just do this all over again whenever they want me to do a job?”

  “I’m assured that this is a one-off scenario.”

  “Why should I trust them?”

  “I believe they’re men of their word. And I accept that. The question is, do you?”

  Stone nodded. “I guess I’ll have to.”

  “That’s good,” Berenger said. “That’s progress.”

  “What else do you need to know?”

  “You were the one who sent encrypted details to Mahoney. Do you accept that?”

  “Sure.”

  Berenger put down his pen and leaned back in his seat. “And I believe he was with you, embedded in your unit in Iraq.”

  “Correct again.”

  “So you’ve been around him at close quarters. And you trusted him enough to want to send him details of the highly classified operation in Scotland.”

  Stone stared at him. He didn’t answer.

  “So how do you feel about neutralizing Mark Mahoney here in Canada? A guy you’ve been in the trenches with.”

  “It is what it is.”

  Berenger nodded. “Do you feel guilt? Remorse that you’re having to do this to someone you know?”

  “I feel nothing for him.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “You know me better than anyone else, Doc. If I’m required to kill someone, that can be done. For example, I might be asked to kill you.”

  Berenger felt his stomach tighten again. He was already feeling very uncomfortable. “And how would that make you feel?”

  “I wouldn’t know until I was asked to kill you.”

  Berenger was keen to change the subject. “Nathan, let’s get back to your time at the facility in Scotland. Would you like to reflect on your time there?”

  “I thought it was a blast.”

  “In what way?”

  “You guys told me to kill someone in the basement, and I did. I had my own room. Didn’t have to share with no one. I liked that. I liked it a lot. And then being set free. That was nice too.”

  “You said you had your own room. I find that interesting.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, some others might have viewed it as solitary confinement.”

  Stone shrugged.

  “Do you know it was the Quakers that introduced the idea of solitary confinement to America for those who didn’t behave? Thinking it would give them time to find themselves and God when alone.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What I’m getting at is, solitary confinement is a punishment, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t see it like that.”

  “How do you see it?”

  “I found it liberating. I love bei
ng by myself. Yeah, it gives me time to think. Space to breathe.”

  “You didn’t have that when you were growing up, did you, Nathan?”

  Nathan grinned. “Are you getting all Freudian on me, Doc?”

  Berenger felt himself blush. “Can you answer the question? You didn’t have space when you were growing up, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. And that’s why I like it. Actually, I love it.”

  “You embrace it?”

  “Damn right. Can’t get enough of it.”

  “It drives some people out of their minds. Not you.”

  Stone shook his head.

  “Nathan, I’m done for now. I’d like to arrange another appointment shortly before the operation begins.”

  Stone got to his feet and smiled. “Don’t try and understand me, Doc. It won’t work. You’ll never understand me. Ever.”

  Berenger nodded as Nathan turned and walked out of the room. He watched from the window as Nathan got in his car, then drove away, back to Toronto.

  Berenger felt relieved that Stone was no longer in the same room. Breathing the same air. He picked up his cell phone and called Clayton Wilson. It rang twice before he answered.

  “Morning, Mark.”

  “Sir.”

  “So how’s our guy today?” Wilson asked.

  Berenger sat on the edge of the desk. “It was just a preliminary chat.”

  “And how was he?”

  “He’s extraordinary. Remarkable. And fascinating.”

  “Can he do this? Is he ready to do this?”

  “He’s more than ready. He’s so dangerous it’s unreal. He’s unfathomable. He really is something else.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. So, within the next week—would that be realistic?”

  “That’s not a problem. He’s primed, ready to go off.”

  Eight

  After the consultation, Nathan headed back to his apartment in Toronto, made himself a coffee, and flopped down on the sofa. He was pleased to get away from the psychobabble bullshit of Berenger. It was 8:59 a.m.

  Then he put on his wireless Bose headphones and switched on the huge TV to see inside Mark Mahoney’s apartment. Nathan took a couple of gulps of strong coffee. Mahoney was eating a bowl of cereal at a breakfast bar in his kitchen, watching Fox News.

  Nathan began to focus on the task at hand. He knew that Mahoney’s phones, iPad, and emails, not to mention the bugs in the apartment, would be monitored by his handler and the backup team. But he always liked to get a feel for the mood of the target.

  The more he got to know the target ahead of that person being neutralized, the more relaxed he felt. He loved seeing their movements. Their foibles. The humdrum existence. But also he wanted to know he could physically overpower them.

  Nathan watched. Mahoney put on his tie as he glanced at the news. He appeared to be in very good shape. He clearly worked out. Nathan didn’t know if Mahoney did any martial arts. He hadn’t seen any reference to that in the dossier he’d studied. He looked like he did lots of running, jogging, gym work. But he didn’t think he’d pose too much of a problem training-wise.

  Besides, Mahoney’s death would be achieved by a method that would surprise Mahoney. It could be drugging him. An accident.

  Nathan had begun to think up some scenarios. It was always smart to plan the best strategies. But in his experience, it often came down to whatever opportunity presented itself.

  He needed to get into this guy’s life, or close enough, to do what had to be done. But not be noticed.

  Which was easier said than done.

  Nathan watched the screen as Mahoney put on his black shoes. He saw the attention to detail of the clothes. The way the pants sat perfectly on the shoes. Perhaps he had a bespoke tailor. Then again maybe not.

  His mind began to conceive new scenarios.

  He adjusted the headphones. Mahoney’s cell phone was ringing.

  Mark, it’s you know who.

  Hey, you free to meet up yet?

  We can’t meet in town. I think I was being followed yesterday.

  Are you sure?

  Yeah.

  OK, where do you want to meet?

  I’ll let you know.

  But how?

  You’ll find out.

  The call ended.

  Nathan took the Dodge Charger downtown and parked a block from Mahoney’s office. He waited until ten, when he saw Mahoney walking into the New York Times’s Toronto bureau, cell phone pressed to his ear. He poured himself some good, strong coffee from a flask and drank. He climbed into the back of the vehicle, popped on the headphones, and sat down and watched the monitor, which showed real-time feeds from inside the bureau.

  They now had all bases covered.

  Reporters sitting around discussing Iraq, Mosul, Syria, and a whole plethora of geopolitical topics.

  Nathan spent the rest of the day listening as the journalists talked earnestly about whether Hillary would make a comeback.

  The hours dragged, but Nathan didn’t mind that. He was good at killing time. It was in the job description. Waiting, watching—it was just the way it was.

  Nine

  It was nearly eight at night when Mahoney returned home, stopping off for a pizza after work. Locking his door, he noticed a white envelope on his mat. Picked it up. Written in black ink was his name, Mark, and Do not tell a soul. He opened it up. Inside was a folded piece of paper. It gave directions to a parking garage across town. He was to meet his contact at ten on Level C.

  Mahoney showered and changed into fresh clothes. He began to feel the first twinges of excitement. He always thought these moments were one of the best parts of being an investigative journalist. The thrill of piecing together small fragments of the story. The big picture emerging, but only after he’d painstakingly put it all together, the jigsaw only then complete.

  He felt good. He sensed the story was beginning to take shape. And hopefully this new source would give him some new avenue to pursue. He was optimistic. He’d often found that a meeting face-to-face with a source produced exciting results. Then again, maybe he’d just been lucky so far.

  After tidying up his apartment, loading the dishwasher, and watching TV, he headed down to his car that was parked outside. He entered the details into the GPS and drove off. Through the near-deserted downtown streets of Toronto. And then out to the suburbs.

  Twenty minutes later, he pulled up at a virtually deserted parking garage adjacent to a mall. He headed up to Level C and pulled into a spot.

  Mahoney switched on some Bach arias on his iPhone and the music began to fill his car. He hadn’t been told anything apart from how to reach the parking garage and which level to park on.

  He began to wonder about this new source. Usually it took months to build up trust with sources. This fit that pattern. It was a slow burn. But he sensed the meeting was going to yield something significant.

  The minutes dragged. He checked his watch numerous times. He wondered if he’d been sent on a wild-goose chase. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Forty minutes after he arrived, Mahoney spotted a Jeep in his rearview mirror. The vehicle drove slowly around the parking garage as if looking for the best space, though every spot was available. Then it reversed into the bay right beside him.

  Mahoney wound down the window and looked into the Jeep’s window. A sixtysomething man with short silver hair was staring back at him. Dark-brown eyes, clean shaven.

  “Tell me your date of birth,” the man said.

  Mahoney gave the details.

  “Your father’s middle name.”

  Mahoney told him.

  “Give me the last four numbers of the checking account your salary goes into.”

  Mahoney complied.

  The man nodded and smiled. “Very good. There needs to be trust. We’re going to take this step-by-step, like we’ve been doing. But as of now, I believe you can be trusted to know a little bit about what we, in the Canadian intelligence
community, know.”

  “Can I record what you’re saying? I need verification.”

  “All your software up-to-date on your cell phone?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The guy nodded. “Here’s what I know. The cold-blooded killing—and make no mistake, it was a cold-blooded killing—of Senator Brad Crichton was an operation sanctioned and executed by the dark state in America.”

  “Dark state? How would you define ‘dark state’ in these circumstances?”

  “An element outside the day-to-day control of the intelligence agencies but loosely aligned with them. Private money funded it.”

  “You got any further details on that?”

  “Not so fast. We haven’t even gotten to first base. So what you’ve got is the classic shadow government. Plausible deniability for those in government. But agencies like the CIA can know there’s an operation under way that aligns with what they perceive the nation’s interests to be.”

  Mahoney thought the man was using language more akin to the libertarian/isolationist wing in the US. “Which is?”

  “Politicians who know the game, understand the need for intervention, regime change . . .”

  “Globalists?”

  “Precisely. Well, this Crichton, he wasn’t buying the bullshit that the Pentagon, Washington, and corporate interests have been pushing. Permanent war, permanent regime change, complicit poodles in the media.”

  Mahoney felt compelled to speak up for his trade. “I’m no poodle. And I don’t know any poodles at the New York Times.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I’ve heard this sort of talk before from a former CIA contractor.”

  “Let’s be clear what we’re talking about. Instead of upholding the genuine national interests of America—and trust me, we Canadians don’t want to get involved in your ambitions to be the world’s policeman—it’s clear there’s a virulent strain of opinion, some call them neocons, who believe in toppling regimes that oppose American hegemony, namely Libya, Iraq, and Syria, and bombing them back to the Stone Age. But some of us within the intelligence community in Canada don’t believe it’s in our long-term interests to go along with that.”

  “Tell me about this facility in Scotland. How did you hear about it? What exactly do you know?”