Clickers III (14 page)

Onyx continued. “Prior to Secret Service duty, you served in the Army out of Fort Bragg. You are trained in cryptography; you an NRA sharpshooter certificate and a black belt in four different martial arts disciplines. You speak six languages. You were trained by the best and the brightest the US Government has to offer.”

Tony was looking at Clark with newfound interest now. “I fucking
knew
you weren’t a lawn jockey.”

“Okay,” Clark said, trying to pull his hand away. “Enough of this. You’ve proved your point.”

Onyx wasn’t finished. “Your wife left you for a low level underling of the RNC, who is spearheading a secret investigation into Tyler’s death. You are their main suspect. Their relentless pursuit into Tyler’s death, and your wife’s asking for a divorce has caused you to not only go underground, but to go on a mission to eliminate those who hold to the theory that you killed Tyler. Of course, they have no idea how close to the truth they are. You really
did
kill Tyler. Oh, perhaps it was a Clicker or a Dark One who finished him off, but it was your gun that shot him. That left him vulnerable to attack. You also left him to die back there, which was in direct violation of your duties. Only your superiors don’t know that, but then neither do those who are poking into your life. They’ve arrived at this conclusion through the process of elimination. They have no physical proof, because of how badly mauled Tyler’s body was”

“You’re right,” Clark had said, meeting Onyx’s stare. “They don’t have any proof. Can I have my hand back now?”

“You boys want some alone time?” Tony grinned.

“You hope that by eliminating the dozen or so people who hold to this theory, who have kept the theory to themselves and are the driving force behind the secret investigation into Tyler’s death, that their interest in you will cease. But these people are like cockroaches. Isn’t that how you described them?”

Clark felt his heart flutter. Those had been his exact words; unspoken, never to pass from his lips, but they’d crackled through his thoughts nonetheless. Onyx had read those thoughts, had tapped into every fiber of his being just by touching him. How much more had Onyx gotten from this simple touch? He tried once more to pull free, but the big man squeezed harder, his expression unchanged.

“Goddamn it.” Clark tugged harder, grunting with the effort. “This isn’t funny, Onyx. Let me go.”

Clark hated the plaintive, almost whining tone in his voice. He gritted his teeth and yanked. Onyx released him.

“Your efforts have proved futile, though,” Onyx continued. “As Ruby revealed back at Tony’s apartment, you hope to strike a deal with President Livingston. You hope by doing so you can get to former Secretary Donald Barker, who is fueling the last remnants of the Tyler Administration. With Barker gone, their pursuit of you will cease.” Onyx paused briefly. “Only then can you feel relief.”

“Hey, Onyx!” Tony called from across the aisle. “I know you guys can read minds and shit, but how ‘bout seating the lawn jockey and I together? I want a chance to shoot the shit with the guy.”

Onyx glanced over at Ruby.

“It’s okay,” she told them. “He’s telling the truth. He knows that they will be unable to communicate on anything but a superficial level. This is all he wants. He’s curious about Mr. Arroyo, and I sense Mr. Arroyo would not mind sharing some information with Mr. Genova. As I observed back at the condo…Mr. Genova senses a kindred spirit with Mr. Arroyo.”

“You got that fucking right,” Tony said. “Anybody that would shoot the President of the United States, especially a whack-job like Jeffrey fucking Tyler, is a friend of mine.”

Onyx glanced up at Amethyst and Diamond, and then back at Ruby. Shrugging, he nodded. Within moments Clark was seated next to Tony. Ruby and Onyx were in the row behind them. Diamond and Amethyst were still deep in their trance, heads bowed close together, faces flushed and shiny with sweat. A woman clad in black suddenly appeared from the cabin and took cocktail orders. Clark noted her mannerisms, the way she addressed the Black Lodge operatives.

“Don’t buy the airline stewardess shtick.” Tony nodded toward her. “She’s one of them.”

Clark nodded. “Yep. You’ve got the gift of reading people extremely well. You could have been Secret Service.”

“Not me. I like to sleep in and you guys are up twenty-four fucking seven.”

Clark laughed.

“This plane and its crew,” Tony continued. “They’re Black Lodge, too.”

“You got it,” Clark confirmed.

“Bunch of goddamn spooks,” Tony muttered. “You buying any of this shit?”

“You’ve seen for yourself what they can do. Don’t you believe it?”

Tony shrugged. “Chick read our minds. So did the big guy. I’ll give them that. But this waking up old squid-headed gods bullshit and

all that crap about me being one of seven special people? I don’t buy that at all.”

“I don’t think you’re special either,” Clark said, winking.

Tony grinned. “I like you, lawn jockey. Think I’ll let you live.”

Clark returned the grin and nodded. “I appreciate that.”

When the drinks were served, Clark settled back in his seat with a Gin and Tonic. Tony was drinking a glass of Knob Creek on the rocks. Normally, Clark wouldn’t touch alcohol during a mission this critical, but one drink wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he needed to chill out. Clear his mind. The chitchat with Tony would be beneficial.

“So, seriously—all that other shit you said about them is real, then? The occult stuff and all of that?”

“Apparently so.”

“You never really believed it though?”

“Not entirely. I’d heard rumors, of course. Believe me, there are plenty of legitimate government agencies and organizations that experiment with similar ideas and concepts—all at taxpayer expense, I might add. The FBI has specialists dedicated to occult crimes—witchcraft, demonology. Things like that. The CIA has looked into everything from remote viewing to pyrokinesis. Supposedly, Black Lodge originally started out the same way. They were part of the US government once—just another top secret alphabet soup organization. Founded during the first World War. But, like any good conspiracy theory, there are those who say that’s a cover story. They believe the organization is much, much older—stretching all the way back to Biblical times.”

“What do
you
believe?”

Clark paused, took a sip of his drink, and then sighed. “I don’t know what I believe. I used to believe in this country. After Tyler… well, obviously I don’t anymore. Same applies to these guys. Can they really do all the things people say they can? Who knows? All I know is that they definitely don’t work for our government—or any government. They seem to answer to a higher power. And they seem to operate with impunity, too. I definitely wouldn’t want to get on their bad side.”

“Well, it’s a good thing they like me, then. Remember—I’m special.”

The two laughed and sipped their drinks. The plane dipped, buffeted by slight turbulence, and then straight-ened out again. The ice cubes rattled in Clark’s glass. For a moment, he thought he saw something flash outside the plane’s window, as if all of the stars had blurred, but when Clark turned to look, he could see nothing amiss.

Tony stared at him. “What are you looking at? I got a booger hanging out of my nose or something?”

“No,” Clark explained. “I thought I saw something outside the window. Guess it was nothing.”

“So how long you been a Secret Service agent?” Tony asked.

“Almost thirty years.”

“You don’t look that old.”

“I age well.”

Tony nodded, took a sip of his drink. “I knew a guy back home, in my old life, that reminds me of you. Tommy Banalli. Guy’s old enough to be my fucking father and he doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

“I’ve used my youthful appearance to my advantage many times,” Clark said. He could sense Ruby and Onyx behind them. Up front, Diamond and Amethyst had come out of their trance. Both were awake now, and speaking to one another in low tones. It was no use trying to overhear their conversation. The minute he slipped into some resemblance of surveillance, Ruby would know. Likewise, any kind of subtle communication he passed on to Tony and vice versa would be picked up on. Everything he’d heard about Black Lodge was right.

“Maybe we should watch what we say,” Clark suggested.

“Fuck that. These spooks already know we’re going to talk about them, so let’s fucking talk about them some more.” Tony’s tone of voice was jovial, conversational, with a real touch of
I-don’t-give-a-shit
to it. Clark admired that. “How’d you know who they were when they captured you?”

“I’d heard the rumors,” Clark said, the truth spilling out of him. He took a sip of his own drink. “You work Secret Service detail or any other alphabet government agency, you’ll hear stories about Black Lodge. I had a hunch.”

“And you were really staking my place out?”

“Yep.”

“You fixing to bop me upside the head to get to Livingston?”

“I was.”

Clark glanced at Tony and met his gaze. The ex-wiseguy had a hard edge; his gaze never wavered, his eyes never left their mark as he tried to stare Clark down. Clark stared back, not really giving a shit anymore. After a moment, Tony shrugged, still not dropping his stare. “I gotta admit…if it weren’t for these fucks, and you’d come busting in there, I’d have scragged your ass.”

“I know.” Clark kept his gaze on Tony, reading his posture, his

body language, the way he carried himself. He’d learned much from Scott’s dossier, and he’d learned even more in the week of observing Tony from afar. Sitting next to the man, face to face, gave him the whole picture. Tony Genova was a man he needed on his side. Yes, he would have killed Tony had he not given him what he wanted and had Black Lodge not intervened. A lot had changed since then.

“You know, I got to hand it to you,” Tony said, sipping his drink. “This is the first time I’ve had the rug pulled out from under me like this. These fucking spooks, they’re something else. I thought they were my FBI handlers.”

“That’s what I thought,” Clark said. He told Tony an abbreviated version of how he’d staked Tony’s condominium unit, watching his movements. Tony nodded, taking it all in.

“But they got one on you, too,” Tony said quietly. “Right?”

“Yes, they did.” And he was ashamed to admit, it was the first time somebody had gotten one over him, too.

“Did you really kill all those RNC people like that Onyx guy says?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“About eight.”

“They know it’s you?”

“Not yet,” Clark said, thinking about the RNC underlings and their relentless investigation. “A few of them might suspect. Donald Barker has to suspect something.”

“What the fuck happened to that guy anyway?”

“He’s in a secret government detention center,” Clark said. “Possibly Guantanamo Bay.”

“With the terrorists?”

“Yep.”

“Aren’t they supposed to be shutting that place down?”

Clark shrugged.

Tony shook his head. “And you thought you could use me as a bargaining chip to get Livingston to spring him or something, so you could kill him?”

“Yep.”

“How were you going to do that?”

“I have two speed dial buttons programmed in my cell. One of them goes to another cell phone that powers a shoe box full of C-4 in a closet of one of Livingston’s loved ones back in Taneytown, Maryland.” Clark took a sip of his drink, regarded Tony. “You know what I mean?”

Tony nodded. According to Scott’s dossier, getting to somebody through their family was something Tony had done more than once. “Yeah, I hear you. I’ve traveled that road myself.”

“Another number programmed in that phone went to a demonstration,” Clark continued. “To demonstrate I meant what I said. Livingston would have ordered Barker moved immediately.”

“Where to?”

Clark was about to tell him, but paused. The Black Lodge agents were seated calmly, purposefully, seeming not to pay attention. Clark knew they were listening to every word of their conversation and then some, but it didn’t matter. Black Lodge had no interest in his business with former Secretary Donald Barker. Neither did Tony, for that matter. Clark knew the hitman was asking out of idle curiosity.

“I was going to have Barker transferred to a Federal prison in Kansas,” he said. “Maximum security. It would look good on the surface. I have connections there. My connections would have ensured Barker had a terrible accident within twenty four hours of arriving.”

“So you wouldn’t have laid your hands on him personally?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

“But you want to.”

“I do. Very much so.”

Tony regarded Clark with a look that seemed to say:
can’t you have the sonofabitch delivered to you personally?

Clark smiled back. “I know what you’re thinking. I can’t just have Barker delivered to an undisclosed location without somebody finding out about it. I’d like to accomplish this without ending up in prison.”

“You and I have a lot in common,” Tony said, knocking back his drink.

“Do we?”

“Absolutely.”

“How so?”

“You killing all those RNC fucks, that’s something I’d do if I were in a similar situation. Your plan to get to Barker…shit, I’ve pulled similar jobs. I’ve done others for the Marano Family.”

“That’s where we differ,” Clark said. “If what I’ve heard is correct—and I have to assume it is—Marano was a thug who dealt in drugs, prostitution and gambling. He killed people who got in his way.”

“Yeah, and the government you worked for dealt in the same shit,” Tony said. “Just on a different level.”