Carnival Of Mayhem Part 7

"He's a traitor to his country, and if I had my way he would face a firing squad tomorrow."

"Come on."

Smythe's expression was dead serious, and unfortunately, Aaron couldn't argue with him. If anybody were caught stealing secrets from the Spears, that person would be executed on the spot. There wouldn't even be a discussion.

Smythe tried to slap the gun out of Aaron's hand. The strike was fast, but Ethel had trained Aaron well. He maintained a solid grip on the gun. With his free hand, he used a brutal wrist lock to drive Smythe's face into the dashboard.

"Don't try that again," Aaron said calmly, "or I'll break your arm."

Smythe leaned back and held his bleeding nose.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"Like I told you," Aaron said. "I'm a soldier."

"In what army?"

"A secret one. I have another question. Why are you investigating Woods personally? Why didn't you just report him to the military police? You're a doctor, not a detective."

"I knew the police wouldn't believe me unless I had solid evidence."

"But you're a highly decorated officer. They should listen to you."

Smythe narrowed his eyes. "It sounds like you know a lot about me."

"I do." Aaron nodded. "Answer the question."

Smythe looked at the restaurant, and Aaron risked a glance in that direction. Woods was leaving with the steel briefcase in hand. He had been paid, which meant the delivery had satisfied Marina. This was very good news.

"f.u.c.king Judas," Smythe muttered.

"Forget about him," Aaron said. "You're about to explain to me why you came here alone instead of going to the police."

Smythe just held his b.l.o.o.d.y nose.

Marina came out of the restaurant, carrying her laptop. She wore a bright red dress that was too short and revealing for the cold weather. Matching red pumps gave her an exaggerated walk. She had dressed the part of the beautiful temptress.

Aaron opened the door and waved to get her attention. She came over with a curious expression on her face. When she saw Smythe, her eyes widened.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Our friend here was performing surveillance," Aaron said. "He saw everything."

Marina sat in the back seat directly behind Smythe, where he couldn't reach her easily.

"Don't try anything cute," she said, "I have a knife, and I know how to cut a man's throat."

Smythe slouched in his seat. "How much did you pay Woods? What's the price of honor these days?"

"Seventy grand."

"Is that all?" He lowered his head. "Cheaper than I imagined."

"He barely haggled," Marina said.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"I didn't have to."

"But you would've. Wh.o.r.e."

"Don't tell me you never did anything repulsive in the line of duty," she said. "You can stuff that superior att.i.tude up your a.s.s."

He looked out the window. After a brief silence he said, "What do you want with me? Are you going to kill me? Get it over with."

Marina turned to Aaron with a questioning expression, and he realized they were at a crossroads. Smythe didn't know anything that could threaten the Gray Spear Society, so it was still safe to let him go. He could describe Aaron and Marina to the police, but that was no concern.

If Aaron wanted to recruit Smythe instead, he needed to call Ethel. Her involvement would raise the stakes greatly because she was fanatical about protecting the secrecy of the organization. Once the recruitment process began in earnest, it could only end two ways. Either Smythe would meet her approval and join, or he would die.

Aaron had a simple but profoundly important decision to make. Should he call Ethel or not?

"I have a few more questions," he said. "Your answers may determine whether you survive the night, so pay attention. Why didn't you tell the military police about Woods?"

Smythe clenched his jaw.

"I'm waiting." Aaron raised his gun for emphasis.

"Because I have a reputation." Smythe sounded bitter.

"What kind of reputation?"

"Is this an interrogation or psychotherapy?"

"Give me an answer!" Aaron said.

"Why not?" Smythe shrugged. "I'm a very uncompromising officer. I go to extremes to meet my objectives. I've been called overzealous and heartless. These are not good words for a medical man, but I'm not going to change my spots just because I don't fit the Hollywood stereotype of an effeminate doctor. My rightful place is on the battlefield, where crucial decisions must be made quickly and where death is always near."

Aaron understood Smythe's position too well. As a Chicago police officer, before joining the Spears, Aaron had received the same criticism and worse. Marina nodded sympathetically.

"And that's why I didn't talk to the police," Smythe said. "They would've accused me of crying wolf, but I knew Woods was dirty and I was right."

Aaron nodded. "So you took the initiative. You made the fight your own because n.o.body else would."

"You got it."

"I understand." Marina said.

"No," Smythe said, "you can't possibly."

"Let me try. You keep your guns loaded and your knives sharp, even when there is no enemy to kill. You know a war is being waged somewhere, but you don't know where. Every day you feel like you're doing the wrong job with the wrong people, but you don't know who the right people are. Correct?"

He turned his head to glance back at her. "Yes. How did you know? Who are you?"

"We are the right people fighting the right war." She jabbed her fingernails into his neck and he pa.s.sed out.

Chapter Six.

Timothy Smythe woke up in the back seat of a sedan. It wasn't his own. Handcuffs held his wrists together, and a short chain connected them to another pair of cuffs on his ankles. He usually kept a knife strapped to his wrist, but when he stuck his hand in his sleeve, he found it missing. He was a prisoner.

There were three other people in the car, and he knew the man and woman in the front seats. They had held him at gunpoint in the parking lot of the Honey Spoon Restaurant. They had also ransacked the laboratory and bought military secrets. Smythe swore that one day they would pay for their crimes.

Smythe didn't recognize the third person, who sat beside him. She was a black woman in a gray business suit. Her black hair was shot with gray. She sat up very straight, and she seemed to be in great shape for a woman who was well into middle-age.

"You're awake," she said. "Good. I will make the introductions. You've already met Aaron and Marina a couple of times. I'm their boss, Ethel."

Her dark, emotionless eyes disturbed Smythe. There was something very wrong with those eyes. Instead of pupils, she had holes in s.p.a.ce, and it seemed like she could see right through his skin.

"Are you feeling OK?" she asked. "Do you have a headache? I hope Marina didn't give you too much venom. I need you alert."

"I'm fine," he said. "A little groggy. Did you say venom?"

"Yes, but don't worry. It is completely safe in moderate doses."

He looked out the window. It was still night and he wondered how long he had slept. They were pa.s.sing vast corn fields lit by a bright moon. "Where are you taking me?"

"A place where we can be alone," Ethel said. "We'll be there soon, but there is enough time for you to answer some questions." She opened a folder on her lap and turned on the dome light.

He looked over at the folder.

"Let's see." She began turning pages. "Three tours of duty with extensive combat experience, and you're a decorated war hero. Plus you have impeccable medical credentials. You were a resident at the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. Very impressive."

He could see that she had a copy of his military record, including some confidential reports. Some of the material was clearly marked "SECRET."

"Where did you get that?"

"We have friends in Was.h.i.+ngton," she said. "I always do my homework before interviewing a candidate."

"This is an interview?"

She nodded. "My organization can use a man with your exceptional talents."

"You don't seriously think I'd work for you." He stared at her.

"You don't know who we are."

"You're criminals or worse. My answer will always be 'no.'"

She shrugged. "When we first looked at your file, we wondered how you managed to screw up your career so badly. The US Army Medical Research Inst.i.tute is far from the fast promotion path. And you're still a captain after nine years of exemplary service."

"Maybe I like being a captain," Smythe said.

"It took a little digging, but we discovered the truth. I'm sure you remember the small town of Quryah in southern Afghanistan. You commanded a field hospital there."

He tensed as ugly memories emerged from the dark crevices of his mind. The phrase "field hospital" was a generous description of a tiny outpost that had used boiling river water to sterilize surgical instruments. Supplies had run so short at times that he had resorted to tearing apart clothes for suture thread.

"Then something very unpleasant happened," Ethel said. "As a result, you were demoted from major to captain, sent away, and given a dead-end a.s.signment. I'm sure your superiors were hoping you'd quit. I have the reports, of course, but I want to hear your side of the story."

He took a deep breath. How had she acquired files that were supposed to remain buried in the bowels of the Pentagon forever? Everybody involved had been ordered to forget the incident. That level of secrecy didn't even have an official name.

"I can't talk about it," Smythe said.

She handed him copies of the reports that technically didn't exist. All the gruesome details were laid out in precise, military terms, and the account didn't make him look good. He decided there was no harm in defending his actions. She already knew everything.

"It was a Sunday," he said. "A squad of Army Rangers brought in four prisoners, all badly injured. They were the enemy, but I still treated their wounds and saved their lives."

Her continuous stare made him anxious. She blinked a lot more than normal.

He continued, "At the time, a group that called itself the Freedom Clan was roaming the countryside. They claimed to be a militia unit, but they were really just bandits. They looted and burned isolated mountain villages. They always left American flags behind so we would get blamed. The prisoners were part of this group. The Rangers interrogated them, of course. We needed to know where the Freedom Clan would strike next. The prisoners were leathery old mountain fighters, and making them talk was a challenge, so extreme interrogation methods were used."

"Torture," Ethel said.

"We didn't have the option of being nice," Smythe said. "Stopping the Freedom Clan was a top priority for military, political, and ethical reasons."

"What was your part in it?"

"The prisoners hadn't recovered from their wounds. They had barely stopped bleeding. My job was to keep them alive during the interrogation."

He tried not to remember, but the horrific images were burned into his brain. He recalled a small room with walls made of dried mud. A man was tied to a steel bed frame. On the dirt floor below him, there was a vile mix of urine, blood, and s.h.i.+t. The man was so weak he could barely talk, but he could still scream...

"You did a little more than that," Ethel said. "Am I right?"

Smythe turned away from her. "The interrogation was taking too long. We were running out of time, and half of the prisoners had already died. So, I used my knowledge of human anatomy to suggest techniques. One minute I was a doctor, and the next I was an expert torturer. It was a blatant violation of my Hippocratic Oath. I'll carry that guilt for the rest of my life."

"I understand. I was an emergency room nurse once. Before that I was a battlefield medic."

He looked back at her. "But you never tortured anybody." He raised his eyebrows. "Right?"

The darkness in her eyes chilled him. "Wrong. I'm highly skilled at 'extreme interrogation methods.' You might even say I'm a master at it."

For the first time since waking up, Smythe felt real fear. Getting killed didn't scare him since he had faced that possibility many times before. He realized this woman might do worse than just murder him.