They'll Call It Treason (15 page)

January 30 at 12:50
a.m.
EST

Blowing Rock, NC

Dante stepped lightly around the cabin, trying not to wake the others. Despite the effort, planks in the old wooden floor bowed beneath his every step, with the occasional creak of protest.

Ethan and Austin had both succumbed to sleep just under an hour earlier. Dante had volunteered to stay up and wait for Gray and Kate to arrive to comfort Ethan. Pacing the floor, he tried to think of how to tell Ethan that Gray was not coming, and neither was Kate.

He hated that he had been too cowardly to tell Ethan earlier. But, it seemed best for the time. Ethan would be devastated; he needed to believe that they were on the way, and Dante planned to keep that hope alive for as long as possible.

He shuffled through the kitchen with his cup of coffee in hand, glad for the caffeine and the warmth. A truly authentic rustic getaway, the cabin held none of the modern amenities of home, including central heating and air. Only the generous fire in the living room kept the bite of the bitter night air at bay.

Dante craved more warmth than his coffee would afford him, so he walked back into the living room.  He placed his mug on one of the end tables and stood in front of the fire, arms outstretched to absorb the heat. A crackling noise caught Dante’s attention as he warmed his hands. He stopped to listen and heard it again when the fire popped, flinging a small cinder into the air.

He sighed and continued to warm his hands. Sufficiently warmed, he slouched onto the thread-bare couch and retrieved his mug. He looked around the sparsely decorated room. The log walls were bare, and the window curtains were plain; Kate had obviously never been up here.

Man, I could really go for some Netflix about now.

A crackling noise echoed outside. He cocked his head to listen. It was not the fire this time.  The faint noise of crunching gravel trailed in. Dante quietly got up and crept over to the window.  He flipped the wall switch, killing the cabin lights. Pulling aside a small corner of drapery, he peered out into the moonlit space between the cabin and woods where the driveway cut through.

He could see nothing, no person or animal, no head-lights. But the noise continued, slowly growing in volume. It was undoubtedly a car moving up the driveway.

Dante crossed the room and knocked on both bedroom doors. “Guys, we’ve got company,” he warned at a volume just above a whisper.

On his way back to the window, Dante drew his pistol from his side holster.  He held it at the ready as he stared out the small gap between curtain and glass. Within moments Ethan and Austin joined him.

“What do we have, Dante?” Ethan asked in a whisper as he pulled back the curtain of the adjacent window.

“Not sure yet. I heard a noise outside. It sounded like a car coming up the driveway.” The quiet hum of a nearby engine emerged. “Someone is out there driving blind,” he added.

“You think Gray would come in like that?” Austin asked, worried it was someone else.

“I did,” Ethan reminded him. “He would, too. He’s not necessarily sure it’s just us here. And if he’s had problems getting here, he may be even more cautious.”

Across the lawn the silhouette of a vehicle rolled into view, unhurriedly curving around the bend in its approach to the cabin. As it passed the tree line the bare light of the moon painted hues of crimson and gentle white glares across a small SUV. Dante squinted as the vehicle drew closer, trying to make out the figure behind the windshield.  All he could manage was a faint silhouette. The car itself was not at all familiar, definitely not Gray’s.

“Should we go out?” Austin asked.

“No, just wait. Let them get out first,” instructed Ethan, forcing himself to be restrained.

Is it you Kate?

The SUV came to a stop beside the Nissan. For a moment it seemed like a standoff. No one moved. No one said a word. The driver remained in the car. The gentle whistling of the wind around the cabin seemed to howl louder by the moment. They waited.

“I think I see movement,” Dante alerted them.  The car door opened.

A silhouette emerged from the vehicle. Whoever it was remained low and seemed to scan the area before walking toward the cabin with a paltry limp. Dante squinted harder, struggling to discern the figure.

“It’s Gray!” Dante announced aloud, failing to hide his surprise. He looked at Ethan, whose relieved smile mirrored his own, and then hurried to the front door. Dante turned on the light and carefully opened the front door as he had done earlier.

“Stop right there!” Gray commanded from the bottom of the steps. His voice came stern and unwavering, his pistol drawn, pointing straight at Dante.

“It’s us, Gray. Dante, Ethan, Austin, it’s all of us,” Dante assured him.

Gray lowered the gun nervously, his expression grave. In the faint light cast from inside, Dante saw a bruise and a blood-clotted cut on his friend's face. Gray looked away and then back up at Dante and let out a nervous laugh, “Had to be sure.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Austin’s the only one that hasn’t pointed a gun at me… yet,” Dante responded, a hint of levity returning to his voice. Gray laughed quietly, reserved.

Austin and Ethan walked out behind Dante, smiling, glad to see Gray was safe. Gray looked up as he climbed the stairs, his eyes meeting Ethan’s. He froze. Suddenly the joy in Ethan’s eyes left.  Gray dropped his head.

“Where’s Kate?” Ethan asked, worried.

Gray met Ethan’s gaze again and breathed in. When he spoke, shame drenched his voice. “They took her. I tried, Ethan, I swear,” Gray explained. “They chased us in Greensboro. We tried to get away. There was nothing I could do.”

Gray paused. “They forced me into a barrier. When the car landed I was knocked unconscious from the impact.  When I came to… she was gone.  They must have taken her. I’m sorry.”

Ethan’s heart broke. He could feel his body quake. For a moment he wondered if Gray was lying. Why was he here? Why were any of them here?  For all he knew, they could be working under orders to lure him into custody.

Suddenly Ethan slammed his fist into wooden railing and let loose a scream of rage that made Gray twitch.
No! Stop thinking like that Ethan!

“I’m sorry Ethan, I swear…”

A minute that felt like an eternity passed. Then, a tear traveling his cheek, Ethan placed a reassuring hand on Gray’s shoulder. He breathed slowly, recovering himself.

“I know, Gray,” Ethan affirmed. “Thank you for trying to protect her.  And thank you for coming.”

Ethan had wanted to blame Gray for losing Kate. He’d wanted to lash out at him with his fists, unleash a storm of fury. Instead he drew strength from his history with Gray and placed faith in the years of trust and friendship. He knew Gray had tried his best.

Not knowing where Kate was or who had taken her ripped at him. As Ethan worked through the emotions, he managed to utter his question: “Who took her?”

“I don’t know,” Gray answered, his eyes red. “They looked like FBI, but they weren’t. It was too aggressive for the Bureau. They left me for dead.”

Deep in his chest Ethan knew who had taken her, or at least who’s associates had smuggled her off; Sean Abrams. He held back the anger exploding inside his body, the hate that had built so quickly for a man he barely knew. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Abrams.” He spoke quietly, but the revulsion Ethan felt for the name was evident in his voice.

“Who?” Gray asked.

“Agent Sean Abrams,” Ethan repeated. “He’s the man who started all of this, the man who killed Jason.”

For a long moment no one spoke..

Ethan broke the silence, trying to conceal his emotions.  “Are you okay?” His voice cracked as another tear fell.

“I’ll be alright,” Gray assured him, never meeting his eyes.

Ethan placed his hands on both of Gray’s shoulders, and got in his face, almost nose to nose, so he could not avoid eye contact. “I’m sure you did all you could. Now come on in and get some rest.”

January 30 at 7:15
a.m.
EST

Blowing Rock, NC

Ethan wakened abruptly. His eyes darted wildly around the room as he sat up in bed, gasping in confusion.

He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. The frigid morning air filled his lungs, filtering in through the bare log walls. His feet felt like ice, his toes numb and distant. Slowly he reopened his eyes and let them adjust to the gentle light sifting in through the curtains.  He checked his watch. 7:15 am.

Ethan focused on recalling his dream and committing the details to memory before they fragmented and slipped away. An image resurfaced. A black-and-white image on a computer monitor; it was the security feed from the North Carolina representative’s murder nearly a year ago. Stunned curiosity sent his eyes wide.

“It can’t be,” Ethan said to himself. He had watched the video nearly a hundred times since the case had opened. He had scanned every detail, searched for any small clue, but not until now did the dots start to connect.

He replayed the scene in his head. An unknown man calls out to Representative Daniels, but the representative is in a hurry and runs off. The man turns to walk away and his face becomes visible to the camera.

Eyes petrified in place, Ethan stared out into a blank wall. Surely not. He froze the image in his mind; peering into those familiar icy eyes. It was Agent Sean Abrams.

“Abrams?” Ethan questioned as though someone else would answer back in the empty room. Could it be? Was Abrams the passerby he and Jason had dismissed? Had he been complicit in the representative’s murder?

A chill traveled down his spine at the thought.

It seemed too great a coincidence. Ethan wondered if he had simply projected Abrams into his dream as some reflection of the deep-seated ire he held against him. It was too soon to jump to conclusions.  He needed to watch the security footage to be certain.

Too keyed up to go back to sleep, Ethan slid out of bed and slipped into a plain grey t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans and tennis shoes. He rummaged through the pockets of his jeans until he produced a small memory storage device.  He eyed it for a moment with a sigh before slipping it back into his pocket.  Stepping carefully, so not to wake Dante who was sacked out on the couch, Ethan entered the living room.

Stepping into the kitchen, he welcomed the heat of the waning fire as he waved a silent good morning to Austin. Each footstep elicited a creak from the old wooden floors. A sudden impulse came over him to tell Austin about his dream, but he decided against it. He needed to ground himself first.

“There’s a pot of coffee on the counter,” Austin whispered, nodding to the clear pot near the sink. His eyes appeared alert despite staying up half the night to keep watch. Must be good strong coffee, Ethan figured.

“Thanks,” Ethan responded as he picked up the pot and poured a cup, sniffing the earthy aroma. “I’ll keep watch now, Austin.  You get some sleep.”

“Aye,” Austin answered without complaint in what was left of his Scottish accent, and left the kitchen to take a nap on the unoccupied couch.

Ethan took a sip of coffee, letting its warmth roll through him. He needed to get his head straight before getting into the old security feeds. As cold as it was, he wanted the fresh air and solitude of outdoors.  He plucked his jacket off the coat rack by the main door and threw it over his shoulders. Quietly he opened the door and walked out onto the porch, careful not to let the door slam behind him.

A chilling rush of mountain wind greeted him, stinging his cheeks as it whipped by. Bracing himself against the cold, he zipped up his jacket and stepped up to the railing.  He leaned against the sturdy wood, watching his breath rise like white smoke in the crisp air.

He peered out across the open lawn to the towering evergreens and naked oaks and maples that formed the perimeter, taking a sip of coffee. Everything was so stark, so barren.  Ethan thought that his life felt a lot like winter: gloomy, cold and bleak.

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a single white snowflake. It floated lightly through the open air, caught by a gust of wind and then set free again to fall to the ground and disappear. Then another tiny flake and another fell from the sky. Soon hundreds of snowflakes gently fell all around the cabin, noiselessly touching the ground. Gradually the world began to frost white.

Even in the seemingly desolate and lifelessness of winter, here was something beautiful. Ethan placed his cup on the railing and stepped down the porch stairs to savor the white flakes. Closing his eyes, he let the delicate chilly flakes fall on his face and neck, melting to nothing as they touched his skin. He sighed and the traces of a smile crossed his lips as another chill wind swirled the snow around him.

Hope, Ethan. There is always hope
, he could imagine Jason telling him. Jason had always been the more positive of the duo.

Ethan had lost sight of that hope. He had become mired in the horrifying reality of his situation, had allowed himself to dwell persistently on the negative. He could not let go of hope, not if he wanted to see Kate again.  Not if he wanted to see justice carried out. There was always hope.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Ethan hiked back up the stairs, loaded his arms with firewood and walked back into the cabin. He laid the wood delicately into a small bin beside the chimney, checking to make sure he did not disturb Austin and Dante. He took two of the logs and laid on the dying fire. With a piece of kindling he gently nursed the flames back to life, letting the heat radiate up and through him.

Satisfied with the fire, he retrieved his cup from outside and went back to the kitchen to refill it. Warmth gradually returned to his toes. He sighed as the last remnants of cold were expelled.

If only Kate were here. If only I could be sure she was safe. I don’t even know where she is.

The ever-present chain of thoughts beset him as he sat at the small wooden table. He took in a deep breath and exhaled.

How do I prove my innocence? I ran from the FBI, I stole a car, I shot an agent. What do I have to show I was framed?

Then he remembered the dream.

Ethan bailed from his seat and jogged into the living room past Austin’s now snoring body. He snatched up Austin’s computer bag and jogged back into the kitchen, the floor creaking loudly with each step. Austin and Dante stirred on the couches, muttering indistinct noises and yawning.

Dante sat up and looked around blankly like the reanimated dead. “Good morning,” he croaked, addressing the room at large, then voiced another massive yawn.

Ethan was oblivious to the greeting. He opened the laptop computer on the kitchen table, pressed the power button, and waited impatiently for the computer to boot.

Ethan grunted in irritation as a login prompt came up on the screen. He turned and looked at Austin, who still lay sleeping on the couch.  He was loath to wake him up so soon. 

“What is it?” asked Dante.

“I need Austin’s login and password.  I don’t suppose you know it do you?” Ethan replied in a whisper.

Still half-asleep Dante stared blankly for a moment.  “Like he'd tell me. Austin!  Hey!” Ethan put a finger to his lips and made a swiping gesture across his neck in a vain attempt to shut him up. But Dante was already roughly shaking Austin from his short nap.

“Austin!  Hey!  What’s your login, dude?”

Austin suddenly came to; he squinted his eyes, blinking away the scant fifteen minutes of sleep he had been allowed. “Huh?” he squawked as he jumped to his feet, abruptly on high alert. “What is it?”

“I need your login,” Ethan explained sheepishly.

“Huh?”

“For your computer. I need to check some videos, but I can’t get on your computer without your login,” Ethan continued to explain.

“Youtubing on the run, huh?” Dante quipped.

Austin stretched his arms. “Alright. Something up?”

“Maybe,” said Ethan, as the two walked into the kitchen. “That’s what I’m about to find out.”

Austin sat down to type in his ID. Soon the familiar desktop design filled the screen.

“It’s all yours.” Austin turned the laptop around facing Ethan.

Ethan took the mini-USB from his pocket and shoved it into the computer. Moments later a box popped up on the screen and then another as Ethan clicked away, navigating folders and files until he found the video file he was looking for.

Promptly a media player launched, and they were watching a black and white video feed showing a dark alleyway.  A lone well-dressed figure stood at the upper right corner of the street waving at someone.

No, that’s the wrong video.  I need the other angle.

He was about to change the video when the murderer came into view. Ethan was mentally transported to the encounter with the shooter in Georgia, and the glimpse of a tattoo that had seemed so familiar to him. Why had he not thought to check earlier? He focused on the man walking up the street, anticipating the moment he had watched a hundred times before. As the man passed under a street lamp, a sliver of light revealed the man’s bare neck just below the line of the figure's hood.  Ethan paused the frame. There it was, the same tattoo.

There was no doubt in his mind that they matched. He had run the tattoo through every database he could find and not once had he hit a match. It could not be a coincidence.

Could the suspect in North Carolina be the shooter in Georgia?

Ethan balked at the revelation; maybe the cases were connected after all. But what about Abrams and his dream?

Was his mind playing tricks on him, or was his dream simply a memory? Had it connected the dots for him in his subconscious?

Austin stood behind Ethan as he watched. “What are you watching those for?”

“I couldn’t figure it out earlier, but the shooter in Georgia…” he paused a second, “I think he is the same man who killed Representative Daniels in North Carolina last year, and I think Abrams may have been involved. They may even be connected to the others cases Jason and I were following.”

Austin stepped back, raising an eyebrow at the idea. “You really think so?”

“This tattoo,” Ethan continued, pointing to the mark on the man’s neck frozen on the screen. Austin leaned in to see the mark. “That’s the same tattoo that the assassin in Georgia had.”

“I bet it’s not as cool as mine,” Dante joked from the couch, his eyes closed again, feigning sleep.  Austin and Ethan continued to ignore him.

Austin’s interest was piqued. “Is there any way to show he was in Georgia, at the scene?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. The floor he used was cordoned off for renovations and he was wearing worker coveralls. They planned well. He may have been filmed on one of the lower floors or the stairwells. But it’s a long shot considering how well he avoided the cameras in North Carolina and D.C.”

“Sugar? Do we not have any sugar?” Dante had finally rolled off the couch and wandered into the kitchen to pour himself some coffee. He shut the cabinet and moved to the refrigerator. “And no milk, what do you know.”

“D.C.?” Austin asked, not easily distracted.

“The Gregory Teague case, a journalist. There were several cases we were working on that we believed to somehow be connected. But we could never substantiate that.” Ethan sighed. “Until now maybe. The tattoo may prove the murders are connected, but it doesn’t identify the killer and it certainly doesn’t prove I wasn’t cooperating with him.  It doesn’t seem to help us much now, at least not yet.”

Dante was listening now, grimacing as he sipped on the black coffee. Ethan continued, “But I think I may have something else.”

He minimized the video and scanned a few more filenames. “I think this is it,” he said as he clicked another video file. Ethan hit the play button, and the feed came to life. Silently the representative walked down the street away from the camera.

“What are we looking for?” Austin asked as he watched over Ethan’s shoulder. Dante remained quiet, realizing that maybe now was not the time for jokes.

“I’ll know when I see it, just hold on.” Ethan said, reluctant to explain his dream. He watched as the second man appeared in the video, breaking into a trot to catch up with the representative about ten feet ahead. Ethan moved closer to the screen and focused intently on the man, the mouse pointer hovering over the pause button.

Finally the man turned back down the street, facing the camera. Ethan paused the video, his eyes fixed on the familiar face. It
was
Abrams.

“You alright, Ethan?” Dante asked, seeing the color drain from Ethan’s face. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

He pointed at Abrams on the computer screen without turning to face Dante or Austin, his voice certain, “That’s Agent Abrams.”

“Whoa, what?” Austin asked, confused.

“The guy who shot you in Georgia?” asked Dante. “Are you sure?”

“I’m damn positive,” Ethan said without hesitating. “That’s Abrams.”

Ethan did not taken his eyes off the computer.  The image on the screen made him seethe with anger. Abrams had been involved all along, practically within Ethan’s grasp, had he but known it.