Sins of the Past
"You had better not open that door." - George MacDonald
Chapter Two
Shoot Your Messengers
Location: The Bullfrog Pub, Augusta, Maine.
Date: May 1st.
Time: Late Evening.
The years had been kind to his one-time friend; where his own body had only felt the burn of cheap whiskey and abandonment, Bannon was still as fit as his early years of training. His white-blonde hair and ice blue eyes had the ladies throwing themselves at him, especially after hearing his southern drawl leave his lips. However, there was a heaviness to him now, especially around the eyes, and he could tell that was a new development. Dredging up old demons could do that to a man, even one of Bannon's caliber.
"Does the good doctor know you're here?" His voice barely audible over the sounds of frats boys and pool balls smacking together.
He shook his head as he took the seat across from him. "I would like to keep him out of this if possible. No need to worry him if we can avoid it. Interpol took care of our problem almost fifteen years ago, what makes you so sure it's come back?"
"Five people connected with our problem have been found in small towns, starting down in Northern Florida up to Central Pennsylvania, each shot in between the eyes with a .32 long colt and left in a public place." He took a drag from his cigarette and pulled out a manila envelope. "The last one was Fritz."
Donovan ordered a whiskey and coke before continuing. "Before I was pulled from the case, Fritz sang to anyone that would listen and was tossed to the West Coast to keep him safe. Someone pulled him back into his old life and he was killed for it. Every death seems to be headed this way. I didn't want to believe it, but here we are."
"Central Pennsylvania is a long ways from here, Donovan," Race stated matter-of-factually. "And what makes you think he was set free? The Russians hated him even more than we did, they wouldn't just let him out of their sight. Besides, the would have said something."
"Given the current state of things, do you honestly think they would have told us if they lost him?" He barely thanked the barkeep before he let the brown liquid burn its way down his throat and into his empty stomach. "I wanted to believe it was nothing more than a series of coincidences, but when I saw Fritz, I couldn't ignore it any longer. That's when I looked into exactly what hole our old bosses threw him into and what I found made me sick to my stomach."
He pulled out a series of pictures, taken in rapid succession, showcasing. Sticking out like a sore thumb among the downtrodden and ragged older men was a physically fit ginger with an almost permanent cocky grin on his face, a face that the younger man knew all too well. There was just one thing missing, or, rather not missing.
"Where's his missing ring finger?"
The guy still had it.
"How that managed to get past our government is beyond me," he answered, bitterly. "Then again, it was always believed that he had people on the inside. What I want to know is-"
Race cut him off, seething over the realization. "Niall. Dammit, it's his brother Niall! They played us! Is he at least still in their custody?"
Donovan took a long swig of his drink before shaking his head. "Word is he's dead. Of course, that was after the murders started. The perfect cover."
There was no love lost between the brothers and both men knew it. It was even suspected that it was Niall that convinced Fritz to turn his employer in; the easiest way for the younger brother to inherit all his brother had built without committing fratricide and turning his men against him. So, with all of this animosity between them, why would Niall take his brother's place in one of the worst prisons in the world, knowing that he would be sitting in hellish conditions while waiting to die? What could he possibly get out of it?
Unless he didn't plan on being in the prison for very long?
"I don't think you should keep the good doctor in the dark for too long," the detective hissed, finishing his drink before signaling for another. "If he was able to have his brother murdered in a place like that, after all he did to keep him safe, you're a sitting duck."
"We've faced worse."
"Have you?" Donovan was no longer hiding his bitterness at the situation. "We lost some of our top agents to this bastard! George McCall made it through the troubles in Northern Ireland, dodging death threats from the likes of the IRA like a child dodges a ball in gym class and he was the first to go down. They never found Chisholm's body, his mother dropped dead of a heart failure at the news. Both of us lost our families to this case! At least you got your little girl back, I haven't seen Kevin since middle school."
"It was more than this case that kept your family away," Race snapped back, pointing at the man's drink as it was placed in front of him. "We all let this case get to us, but some of us were strong enough to take our lives back. I may have lost Estella, but I never let Jessie out of my life."
"She's as good as dead if we treat this like a series of unfortunate coincidences!"
"Not if we don't find him first."
–
Location: The New Quest Mansion, Rockport, Maine.
Date: May 2nd.
Time: Early Afternoon.
A little over a year had passed since Dr. Zin's Robot Spies reduced the once great Quest Compound to nothing more than charred rubble, leaving only the decommissioned lighthouse in tact. Eight years of his life had been spent there, building a life for not only himself, but the family that he had come to love as much as he did his own daughter. Jonny had came out of his shell during their training in the dojo Benton had specially made for them, and after his rough early life on the streets of Bangalore, this had been the first real home that Hadji had ever knew. Jessie's scientific mind flourished under the tutelage of the man he considered more than just his employer, but his best friend and in one evening, it was almost taken from him.
It took five months of working almost around the clock before construction was complete. Gone was the coastal New England mansion, and in its place rose a much more grand structure. Two sets of stairs lead to a rounded porch, perfect for summer nights and lemonades, watching the crashing waves and distant storms. The left wing lead towards their living quarters; eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, as well as a family room perfect for relaxing together, or hosting close friends and family. On the right, offices and training facilities larger and much more high tech than their predecessors; everything they'd ever need and with even more security to keep it from going down again.
He hoped it was more than enough for what was coming.
He didn't come home until after midnight. Had the hushed calls and sudden need to meet with an old colleague at a bar over an hour away didn't tip him off that something was going on with his old friend, his late night and irritable mood this morning sealed it. This wasn't like him, but Benton wasn't one to push someone into opening up; when Race Bannon was ready, he would come to him. Until then, he would just have to wait it out.
His son, however, didn't have his father's patience.
"What's eating at you?" Tact was never Jonathan Benton Quest's strong suit. "You've been in a bad mood for days and you came home nice and late last night."
"This isn't a box you want opened, kid."
"Come on, Race," Jonny bugged, elbowing his mentor. "Whatever it is, we can handle it. I mean, it can't be any worse than we've handled these past few years."
To his credit, Race just let out a sigh. "Kid, you have no idea."
He sighs, before motioned for the two of them to follow him into the kitchen, where he poured himself his third cup of coffee for the day, barely blowing on it as he let the bitterness and heat burn its way down his throat. Two sets of worried eyes met his as he started to explain who Donovan was and why he spent the whole night tossing and turning, chomping at the bits to go and grab Jessie, who was spending much needed time with his ex-wife on a dig deep in the jungles of Peru. To their credit, the father and son were silent, taking in all the information as Race tried desperately not to come off as unhinged.
"He killed so many good people," he voice was almost a whisper, as the usually stoic man looked at his feet like a scolded child. "It ended my marriage, it took everything from a lot of us."
"Not everything, my friend," Benton reminded him gently. "You still have Jessie, as well as us. And if he is back and trying to come after you, we'll handle it as we always do."
"Riordan will pay, if it's the last thing I do."
