Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (24 page)

She told Marla to follow her, and she raced up the stairs.
 
As soon as she got to her office, she sat behind her computer.
 
There were seven other people doing random jobs on other computers, and they all stopped as soon as she entered the room.
 
It wasn’t often that Liz seemed so rushed.
 
She put on a headset and pushed one of many buttons on a keypad next to her computer.

“Higgins?...
 
Where is Matt?...
 
He left?
 
Where did he go?...
 
Goddamit.
 
Lock down the compound.
 
When he gets back I want to speak with him immediately.”

She clicked the same button to end the transmission and returned the headset to its holder.

“Well,” Marla asked, “where is he?”

“Higgins doesn’t know,” Liz replied shortly, “but I have a pretty good idea.”
 
She turned to one of her assistants and ordered, “Locate Matt’s cell phone and car with GPS.”
 
She pecked away, furiously, at her keyboard.

After a few minutes the assistant said, “We have him.
 
Both are in the same location.
 
They’re on the corner of 26
^th
street and Main.
 
It’s a bar called The Flow.
 
Do you want me to phone the establishment?”

Elizabeth sighed and thought for a moment.
 
“No.
 
Leave him alone.
 
I’ve been told that this isn’t an emergency.
 
He probably wouldn’t be much good to us anyway.”

***

“Another drink?” the bartender yelled over the deep bass techno thump.

Matt looked up.
 
He was already feeling the effects of the previous two.
 
“Sure.
 
Why not?
 
Actually, give me two.”

He threw some cash down on the bar and rapidly drained the two shots in front of him.
 
His world was starting to lose its vicious edge.
 
Life was a little easier to accept when he didn’t have to think about it with a clear mind.
 
Though alcohol had a way of making the drinker focus on problems, the problems didn’t make as much sense.
 
They were almost fantasy but still troubling.
 
Then, there was a hand on his shoulder.

“Want to dance?” a twenty-something man asked him.

“No,” Matt answered.
 
“I’m not really in a dancing mood.”

The man considered this and responded, “Okay.
 
Then, do you want to fuck?”

Matt laughed.
 
“You get right to the point, don’t you?”

The man nodded.
 
“You’re here for some reason.
 
I think I’m here for the same reason.
 
May as well get right to the point.”

Matt stood up from the bar, wobbly.
 
“I like your directness.
 
That sounds like fun.”

“I hope so,” the other agreed.
 
He put a bill with Benjamin Franklin’s head on it on the counter.
 
The bartender gave him a key, and then he and Matt headed off to the other end of the dance floor.
 
They walked into a hallway that was marked in bold, red lettering, “Private.”
 
There were several doors that lined the walls.
 
They found the room that matched the number on their key and went inside.

***

As soon as Jeremiah hung up on Elizabeth, he dialed a number that he believed would lead him to answers.
 
After a few rings a man answered, “Hawthorne.”

“Tell me why I’m angry,” Jeremiah began.

“I heard.
 
I’m sorry,” the man said, obviously recognizing to whom he spoke.

“Not yet, you aren’t.
 
I pay you ridiculous amounts of money to keep up on things.
 
There are only so many ways to come up with C-4, and, among other things, you’re supposed to watch those channels very carefully.”

The other’s voice was shaky.
 
“Sir, I knew that it had been purchased, but I had no way of guessing who bought it or why.”

Jeremiah laughed.
 
“You’re telling me that, as the director of the Central Intelligence Agency, you cannot figure out who is buying up the C-4 in the world?
 
I think you can.
 
I think you’re not trying hard enough.
 
Perhaps, I made a mistake in putting you into that position.
 
I wonder if someone else would have served me better.”

“Sir,” Hawthorne continued, regaining his composure, “your enemies apparently have very impressive ways of hiding their actions.”

“Tom, how are your wife and son doing?”

“Leave them out of this.”

Jeremiah chuckled menacingly.
 
“Do not presume to tell me what I will and will not do.
 
Your son is enjoying his second year at Harvard, is he not?”

“You know he is.”
 
Hawthorne’s voice grew shaky once more.

“He’s a good boy, isn’t he?”

“Yes he is.”

“I’ll be frank,” said the demon.
 
“I think you’re playing both sides against each other to find the highest bidder.
 
And I don’t like it.”

“You’re accusing me of betraying you?”

“I’m accusing you of turning a blind eye.
 
Your son’s safety is important to me, and I want it to be equally important to you.
 
Do the job I’ve paid you to do.”
 
With that, Jeremiah snapped his cell phone shut.

***

It was hours later when Matt finally got home.
 
When he got to the gate, the guard who greeted him told him that Elizabeth needed to speak with him urgently.
 
He’d seen her name on his missed calls.
 
He had also seen Higgins’s and Marla’s names.
 
What had been so important?
 
Was someone hurt?
 
He immediately returned her call.
 
She seemed none too happy to be hearing from him so late.
 
She explained the situation, and he knew that he’d fallen down on the job.
 
It was fortunate that Elizabeth’s fears didn’t come true, but he thought he could hear a tone of disappointment in her voice.
 
It didn’t help that he was still pretty drunk, and he hurt all over.

“I’m so sorry, Liz,” he slurred.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, seeming to return to her loving, forgiving nature.
 
“What’s important is that everyone’s safe.
 
Well, here anyway.
 
Jeremiah assured me of that much.”

“I’m driving up to the mansion now.
 
I’ll be upstairs after I get something to eat.”

“I’ll meet you in the mess hall.
 
You sound like you need someone to talk to.”

Matt thought about it.
 
“I do need something, but I think what I need you to do is just be there.
 
I would like it very much if you joined me.”

Her voice took on a southern accent that she thought she had lost after years of being around this mansion.
 
“Well, I do declare, Mr. Hartley...It’s a date!”

“Good.
 
Then, we can watch a movie or something.”

Her southern accent still going strong, she replied, “Mr. Hartley, if I didn’t know better, I would say you are trying to win my heart.”

“We’re not watching another damned chick flick.”

She lost the accent.
 
“Okay, okay,” she conceded, chuckling.
 
“I suppose you’re paid up on those.
 
But no Kung-Fu movies either.
 
We’ll compromise with a comedy; we desperately need a laugh.”

“I agree,” he said.
 
“I’ll see you in a few.”

“Bye.”

He hit “end” on the cell phone and pulled his small, red convertible into the garage next to his motorcycle.
 
He got out and grunted in pain.
 
His head was throbbing from the alcohol, and his back, thighs, and ass ached from his masochistic marathon at The Flow.
 
He knew the first place he should go when he got into the mansion was the basement, which not only held the security center, but it also had around-the-clock medical support with nurses.
 
One nurse, Cameron, was Matt’s favorite—a fit brunet, fresh out of college.
 
Cameron was still working nights from having to balance school with the generous income Jeremiah rewarded to those who were competent and discreet.
 
Matt was pretty sure Cameron wasn’t gay; he might have even mentioned something about a girlfriend at some point, but Matt had enough liquid courage in him at the moment to test his luck.
 
Shaking his head, he decided he’d punished himself enough for one evening and that Liz might not forgive him another indiscretion.
 
He probably didn’t need an aspirin that badly anyway.

When he got into the dining room, there were very few people in it, which was convenient because he was in no mood to talk to any of his subordinates.
 
He saw Elizabeth sitting at the “family table,” as Jeremiah had dubbed it, and it appeared as though she was enthralled in whatever she was reading.

Matt sat down and asked, “What’ve you got there?”

She peered over the stapled pages and replied triumphantly, “Jeremiah’s phone record.”

That made him pause.
 
He looked at her, trying to decipher what kind of mischief she was up to.
 
“Why?”

“I want to find out who else is on our side,” she answered defensively.

Matt put up his hands.
 
“Fine.
 
I don’t care.
 
I was just curious.”

She puffed up her bottom lip, smiled, and went back to reading.
 
Matt only rolled his eyes and looked away.
 
Where was the maître d’?
 
As if in answer to his wishes, Martin walked through the door and headed their direction.

“May I help you?” he inquired, directing the question to both Matt and Liz.

“Nothing for me,” Liz replied, not taking her eyes off the documents.

“And you, sir?” Martin inquired.

“Uh, I need something heavy.
 
How about chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes.”

“Anything to drink?”

Matt wanted to ease the tension in his head.
 
“Yeah, I’ll have a beer.”

Elizabeth looked up and scowled at him.

“Or not,” Matt said, defeated.
 
“Water, please.”

“Very good,” Martin replied and jotted down the order in his book.

“Actually,” Elizabeth added, “could you just have that delivered to my room?”

“Of course,” Martin affirmed.
 
He stood there for a moment to make sure there was nothing else to add, and then he left toward the kitchen.

Elizabeth stood up.
 
“Let’s watch the movie in my room.
 
Yours is a mess.”

Matt scoffed, “How would you know?
 
You haven’t been in my room in a couple of days.
 
Maybe I cleaned it up.”