Sealed In Lies (5 page)

As he lay there willing the pain to subside, he looked around the dingy little apartment. The dingy walls were a faded blue and water damage had caused more paint to fleck off onto the floor than stay where it was intended. The industrial carpet was worn and stained. It was hard to tell what its original color had been it was so blotched with spots of coffee, wine, and God only knew what else. He remembered he had to bribe the property owner just to get a few extra locks installed on the door and the windows.

It was cheap and for now it was secure. He had one small room that served as a living room/ kitchenette with appliances so small Jack wondered why the owner had even installed them. It also had a bedroom and a bath. He had leased the apartment two years ago, just in case he needed it as a hidey-hole. The only furniture he had in the place was a mattress on the floor of the living room and a small table and chairs in the kitchenette. He had chosen to put his mattress in the living room in case he had to act quickly. The bedroom had a window and Jack had installed a fire safety ladder onto that windowsill in case he ever needed a quick exit. He didn’t want to depend on the old rusted fire escape.

He had stocked the bathroom with a first aid kit, some towels, and a travel essentials kit that had a razor, soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush. The only clothing he had was what he was able to pack into his duffel bag the night he left Colombia. He had a few t-shirts, two pairs of jeans, some camouflage pants and tennis shoes. He was going to need more than that if he planned to go underground for a while.

He watched as a cockroach, the size of his thumb, scuttled across the floor. Jack blew out a breath. “Good luck finding anything to eat here, Buddy. The cupboards are bare.”

His own growling stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten anything himself in the past 48 hours. The last thing he had eaten was breakfast the morning of the party. Rolling slightly on his side, he reached for the duffel bag. If memory served him correctly, there were one or two power bars in the side pocket. They were probably old and stale but they would give him some temporary energy. He unzipped the side pocket and felt inside. Luck was with him because there were three power bars lying at the bottom of the pocket. He pulled one out unwrapped it and chewed thoughtfully.

The memory of that night came back with stark clarity. The security team he had trained under the disguise of Raul Ramirez, burst into Carlos’s office. Apparently his rouse fooled them. During the chaos, his team truly believed that the man on the floor had stabbed Raul and then shot Carlos. In his immense pain, Jack/Raul convinced them that he was able to shoot and kill the man, but not before he had already killed Carlos. They were impressed that Raul was tough enough to shoot the man dead, in spite of his wounded leg.

Jack shifted on the mattress and remembered how he had pulled at the shirtfront of Tomas Reiss, his second in command, and ordered him to clean up the room and deal with the bodies. “This must remain confidential, Amigo. If the local authorities hear of this, they will question all that goes on here and we certainly can’t have that. I will handle everything once I get this leg stitched up. You need to call Juan, Carlos’s father, but no one else. You tell the others that if word of this leaks to the press or the local police, I will personally kill them myself.”

“
Okay, Raul. You know best, but my friend that leg wound is bad. It needs attention. What are you going to do about that?”

Jack had thought about that already. He knew of a village doctor that Carlos had sometimes used when he had needed to keep things quiet. “Get Dr. Valdez. Tell him to come up here immediately. He will do what needs to be done. Help me get upstairs and then you can make your calls.” Jack had lost a lot of blood. Tomas’s face had begun to blur. He grasped the smaller man’s shoulder, thanked him, and passed out.

When he awoke hours later, he was in his huge four-poster bed with a heavy bandage wrapped around his leg. He wasn’t sure how long he was out because it was now daylight outside. He looked at the clock and it was 5:30 in the morning.

He sat up slowly, anticipating he would be dizzy from blood loss. He was right. The room tilted as he sat up and he dropped his head between his legs to keep everything from going black. After a few minutes, his head cleared and he tried to stand. A searing pain shot up the wounded leg and he gasped out loud. Cursing he moved more slowly. Jack eased into a pair of black cargo pants, pulled on a black t-shirt, slipped his feet into some deck shoes, and grabbed his bag. His slow pace made sneaking out through the back of the house difficult. The early hour worked to his advantage as most of the household was still asleep. He used the car that was designated to Raul and had driven straight to the airport. He had not relaxed until he reached the United States and had dead bolted the lock on this D.C. apartment door.

The knife wound in his leg bled again due to the over exertion of the trip. He now felt nauseous and weak from loss of blood. The bandage that the doctor in Colombia had put on was now dried and caked with blood. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but at the time it seemed like a good idea. Note to self, he thought, stabbing yourself in the leg is not a good move. Fortunately, however, he was able to get his evidence back to the states, but how long would it be before people came looking for him, and who would that be? He was in trouble on a couple of fronts.

He needed to analyze the data and figure out who this Emperor character was and how he planned to kill Michael Hardy, but once he had the information whom could he give it to? Once the truth of what happened in Carlos’s study was discovered and word got back to the U. S. Jack would be a wanted man. He was not stupid enough to think the CIA was going to listen to what he had to say once they found out he had killed his own Deputy Director.

Jack felt the urgency of his situation closing in on him. Carlos’s men were slow but they were not stupid. Now that he had disappeared, they would look more closely at what happened and it wouldn’t take long before they figured out the truth. Carlos had some ex-FBI people on his staff and they would put two and two together in no time.

He would have to move soon, but for the next day or so he needed to analyze some more of his data and rest. He needed to figure out who The Emperor was. That was crucial to stopping the assassination attempt on Michael Hardy’s life.

Ignoring the throbbing in his leg, Jack put his hands behind his head. He lay on the dingy mattress staring at the ceiling trying to make some sense, any sense, out of what had just happened over the last 48 hours. What the hell was Kent Larson doing in Colombia? Why had he blown Raul’s cover? Did any of this have anything to do with the Emperor? Jack replayed the scene in his head.

He had walked into the room and had spotted Larson in the chair opposite Carlos’ desk. At first glance they had seemed amiable, almost friendly. Yes, Jack thought, they had seemed friendly, almost as if they had met before and done business together. What would Kent Larson, a Deputy Director with the CIA, want with a scumbag like Carlos Cortez?

Jack closed his eyes. The scene of what happened next played before his eyes like a DVD on a television screen. He had seen Larson go for his gun, hadn’t he? He knew Carlos was reaching for the secret gun that was kept under his desk. As soon as Larson had called him Jack, Carlos had reacted and Jack knew he was going to kill him. Jack had reacted instinctively and shot Carlos in the head, but when he turned to face Larson, he had seen a gun, hadn’t he? He was sure he had. He had instinctively felt threatened and had reacted as his mentor had trained him to do, shoot first, and ask questions later. Now that mentor was dead.

“
Oh, God,” Jack groaned aloud. “What have I done?” He sat up and put his head in his hands. His head hurt almost as much as his leg. He would have to find the underlying cause of this, but that was not going to be easy.

There were just too many questions and not enough answers. One thing Jack did know for sure was that he was in deep shit, deeper than ever before. He killed a prominent member of the CIA for reasons that were apparent only to him, and the Agency was never going to let him get by with that. He wasn’t even sure there was anyone left in the agency that he could trust. He truly had nowhere to turn. He was going to have to stay hidden until he could get some answers.

Jack slid his legs slowly off the mattress and getting on his left knee, pushed himself slowly into a standing position. First, he was going to have to clean the wound on his leg and change the bandage. That would probably take about all the energy he had left. Then he needed a plan.

Jack limped slowly to the bathroom. A wave of nausea struck him as the pain intensified in his leg. He fought it back and sat down hard on the toilet seat. He ran warm water in the sink and grabbed a towel off the rack. He soaked half of the towel in the warm water and rang it out. Looking at his leg he winced. This was going to hurt. He began to unwind the dirty bandage. The closer he got to the wound the bloodier the bandages were. The wad of gauze that was placed directly over the wound was stuck fast. He took a deep breath and tugged gently at the edges of the bandage. With some prodding it gave way but the stitched wound began to ooze again. He tossed the bloody bandage in the trash and pressed the damp warm towel to his leg.

Getting it as clean as he could, he placed the towel on the floor and took a bottle of antiseptic out of the first aid kit. Wincing in anticipation he poured the antiseptic on the red and angry flesh. He grabbed the sink and cried out. Even though the wound was stitched up it still burned. Putting a red-hot poker on it would be more comfortable. Breathing hard, he slathered the wound with antibiotic ointment and applied a fresh bandage. He was going to have to take it easy on this leg for a few days in order to prevent the wound from bleeding again. He just hoped time would allow for that.

Jack limped back to the bed and eased himself down. He needed some sleep. The adrenaline high he experienced getting out of Colombia had worn off and he was exhausted. Sleep was what he needed now. Lying back on the mattress, he laid one arm across his forehead and rested the other one on his chest. Closing his eyes he said a silent prayer that he would be able to get to the bottom of this mess.

Chapter 6

Caroline was so glad to be home. It was late and she was exhausted. She must have danced with every man in that ballroom. No sooner did she stop with one, another one was cutting in. It was a happy evening until she saw the look on Warren’s face just as they were getting ready to leave. He was furious. She could always see it in the way his brow would furrow and his eyes would become blue steel. On the way home she had racked her brain, trying to think of what she could possibly have done to displease him. She tried so hard to be the perfect wife. She had spoken to all who had spoken to her. She had smiled at all the right times, said all the right things, and danced with everyone who had asked. That must be it, she suddenly realized. He was jealous. She was so busy paying attention to everyone else that she had neglected him.

She limped into the bedroom, lit by the soft shaded lamps on the bedside tables. The staff always made sure her bed was turned down so she could just fall into it when she was ready. She looked longingly at the soft beige sheets and the matching down comforter. She hoped that she would be able to undress and climb into bed. She had a monstrous headache from all the champagne and her feet were killing her. Her only prayer was that Warren was as tired as she was. She really couldn’t face one of his jealousy fits tonight.

One thing about her husband always confused her; he was the most handsome man in the room and by far the most powerful, so where did his jealousy of her arise? He could have any woman in the room he wanted and she knew he often did, she was no fool about that, but she was never free to be herself with anyone, man or woman. She must be totally devoted to him. When she wasn’t, there was always hell to pay.

She sincerely hoped she wouldn’t have to face Warrant tonight. Maybe he had drunk too much and would go on to bed. She breathed a small prayer of deliverance, but it wasn’t answered. It never was.

The hard knock on her bedroom door came while she was taking off her jewelry. She had not even had time to take off her gown. She made it to the wall safe with her necklace and earrings in hand when he strode up to her and swung her around to face him. The pearl necklace and matching earrings flew out of her hand and smacked the adjacent wall so hard the strand broke and the individual pearls scattered about the room. She recoiled from his cold hard anger. Fear began to inch its way into her belly. She knew his moods and this was a bad one.

“
Warren, could you please let go, you’re hurting my arm,” she said, trying to keep her tone calm and even.

“
Good,” he snarled. “You Slut. You looked like a two-dollar whore out there dancing with all those men, smiling and twitching your little ass at them. You had the entire male population in that room in heat.” She could smell the alcohol on his breath but she knew he wasn’t drunk. He didn’t have to be.

“
I think it’s funny, Caroline, how you had all the time in the world for every other man at that party, yet you could only spare two dances with me. How is that supposed to make me look? You made a fool of me, Caroline and I won’t tolerate that.” Still gripping her arm, he dragged her over to the bed and threw her down on it.