As Tim pulled into the visitors' parking lot, he wondered not for the first time whether the years he spent in the Rangers would ever truly be a part of his past. They seemed always to dog him in the present, no matter how often he tried to put them out of his mind. How many times had he been lent to the Staties or some FBI bozos who needed a sniper as part of a security detail? He couldn't possibly be the only vet available who could reasonably use a scope to kill a man if needed.
He spotted the redhead next to a blue Toyota. She had already taken off her blazer, which he spotted on a hanger in the backseat, and she was trading her black heels for a pair of slip-ons with rubber soles. He parked beside her and watched as she stashed the heels in a shoe box. Without the sleeves, he could some small, badly done tattoos scattered across her wrists and forearms.
"Howdy, Deputy. I appreciate your being prompt."
Tim stepped out of the car, irritated by her flippancy. "Happy to oblige, ma'am, now would you be able to tell me what the shit is going on?"
She held her hand out and he took it. "I'm Kathryn. You can call me Kat, Kate, Katie... anything but Kathy, really. I work for someone who works for someone who your boss can't say no to, and that means you are stuck with me for the weekend. I hope you didn't have any big plans." She hadn't spoken enough in the office for Tim to realize just how quickly and clearly the words tumbled out of her mouth. That meant she wasn't from Kentucky, surely, and he found himself wondering where the soft twang he detected might have originated from. The exclusion of a last name also piqued Tim's interest, but he decided now was not the time to pursue that particular line of inquiry.
"Well, I don't have any fancy dress clothes in my go bag, so I hope we're not attending a wedding," he said.
Kathryn smiled. "We're headed out toward Bowling Green. You can follow me down and we'll talk more when we get there. You won't need your tux, but a nice tie wouldn't hurt." She winked at him and got back in her car.
The drive was dull. He wondered, if they were supposed to be working together, why they needed two vehicles. Wouldn't it have saved time and energy for her to brief him in the car, rather than wasting nearly three hours of dead time? He felt his frustration building, his hands tightening on the steering wheel at the unnecessary complexity and secrecy and uncertainty. He had to mindfully bring himself back to the moment, breathe through his nose, and focus intently on the Toyota in front of him on the highway. It turned out they weren't really headed to Bowling Green, though he supposed it was the nearest big name on a map, which just bolstered his suspicion that she was not from Kentucky.
The motel they stopped at was next to a Wendy's on Rt. 231. Calling it shabby would have been a compliment of the highest order.
He parked next to her once again and jumped out to stretch his legs. She walked up to a door and let herself in while Tim stood behind her with his bag slung over his shoulder. "Don't you think it's a little early in the relationship for us to be bunking together?"
She looked over her shoulder at him. "While I prefer the ground floor, I figured you might be more comfortable higher up."
Tim gave the motel a once over, "It's only three stories..."
She handed him a key card, "And I got you the penthouse. Room 306. Drop your stuff and then come back down. We'll walk through everything." He turned to go, "Do you have any strong feelings about pizza toppings?"
"No fruit, no veg," he said without turning back.
#
When Tim knocked, Kathryn opened the door abruptly, as if he'd kept her waiting.
Her room was much the same as his; a double bed flanked by two nightstands, with a coffee maker on one and an alarm clock on the other, a TV on the bureau and a small table with two chairs on the opposite side of the room under a window. There was a distinctive lived-in feeling to the room, though, despite the fact that it smelled fresh and clean, so he assumed she'd been staying there a while. Tim also noticed a caddy of cleaning supplies on the bureau next to the television. "Did you kidnap the maid?"
She followed his eyes. "Those are mine," she said, and when he raised his eyebrows, she clarified, "I find that my budgetary restrictions don't allow for accommodations that meet my standards of cleanliness, so I generally bring some supplies with me."
"Is that a vacuum?" he asked, pointing to the corner.
"Deputy Gutterson, if you insist on playing 20 Questions, we are going to be here for a very, very long time. As it stands, I have just over a day to catch you up and make sure you can do what you've been brought here for. While I'm sure your sarcastic and inquisitive nature is quite charming at the office holiday party, I really find no use for it in this instance."
Tim smiled, nodded, "Yes, ma'am."
Kathryn folded herself into one of the chairs at the table, and he followed suit, setting himself up across from her and scanning the pages scattered across the table. For someone who brought her own Lysol to a motor inn, she certainly seemed fine with a little disorganization. Picturing this mess on his own desk back at the Marshals office made him sweat.
"Deputy Gutterson," she started, as she began shuffling papers together into slightly neater stacks, "this weekend, you will be assisting me with a meeting that is the culmination of 8 years of undercover work. I expect you will be professional and discreet. You are not to disclose any of the information we discuss regarding this case with anyone you work with at the Lexington Marshals office, as the extent of my work is beyond their purview. Do you have any questions?" She stopped shuffling and looked up at him.
"Eight years? Did you start when you were twel-"
She smacked her stack of paperwork down on the table, "Again, Deputy Marshal, if you cannot or will not take this seriously, I'd ask that you let me know now. I don't have the time, and neither do you, for childish antics that delay your ability to understand the full scope of what you and I are doing here." She leveled her gaze at him, looking about ready to jump across the table.
Tim licked his lips, disappointed in her seriousness and surprised by anger. Tim had always used his sarcasm to cope with the deadly nature of his vocation as a sniper. Just as he was about to open his mouth, there was a knock on the door and Kathryn tore her eyes away from him to stalk over to it.
Tim watched closely as she took $40 out of a wallet on the bureau with her right hand, and pulled a handgun from a holster with her left. She cocked the hammer and held the gun up to the door as she opened it carefully.
He heard a man's voice announce the arrival of their pizza, but still the gun stayed pointed at the door, even as she smiled brightly, handed over the cash, and took their dinner. "Keep the change," she said, and closed the door, finally lowering her weapon and replacing the hammer with care before holstering it with one hand.
"Afraid they'd forgotten to include extra cheese?" he asked, nodding toward the holster.
"Have you not found that a healthy dose of paranoia pays off in your line of work?" She handed him a pizza box. He was earnestly surprised to see that they each had their own. "I kept it simple; half cheese, half pep. Hope that works for you. Now, if you're ready to be serious, I'd be happy to start walking you through what we'll be doing this weekend." She placed her pizza box on the windowsill, flipped it open, and grabbed a slice before tapping it back closed. He followed her lead, opting for pepperoni. Looking across at her meal, he was no longer interested in knowing anything about her. There was broccoli on her slice.
#
Two hours later, half the pizza was gone and Tim had a somewhat clearer idea of what he being asked to do, though he still wasn't sure why he was being asked to do it. The file she'd handed him provided details on three particularly ill-tempered men and one timid-looking librarian who seemed not to belong with them, as far as he could tell. It gave details of the area he would be in, specs on the rifle he would be provided with. She had offered to answer questions as he perused to the folder, but he decided deliberately to wait until the end. He closed the folder slowly, which drew her attention back from the notes she was writing in a small notebook.
"Why me?" he asked, genuinely curious.
Kathryn leveled him with a serious gaze, weighing her answer. "When we decided using a sniper was the most prudent option, I was helpfully provided with files on six available in the tri-state area. I thought you were best suited for the job."
"Why?"
"You know a lot of snipers wind up trigger happy? They'll pull even when they don't need to. And of course, there's always the trainees who get out there and can't pull when it's necessary. I looked through every shot you ever took, and the ones you didn't. I never found an instance where I thought you were either too eager or too reluctant to do what needed to be done. I need someone who won't hesitate, but also someone who is patient enough to wait."
"And why, exactly, would I need to wait? It seems pretty clear to me the great state of Kentucky, and the world at large, would be no worse off without at least three of these gentleman sucking up valuable oxygen." She smile in agreement.
Kathryn opened the file back up and leaned back in her chair. "I told you, I've been working my way through this case for eight years. Last week, I received word that my position may have been compromised by some shit-kicker CI, but we don't know that for sure, yet," she leaned forward again, pointing at the photo on top of the file. "If my dual interests have in fact been revealed, this man, Serge Solkov will get on a plane to a non-extradition country and we will never see him again. These two," she pointed at the other ill-tempered individuals, "are middle-management. If I'm compromised, we need them alive in order for my colleagues to trace them back to other higher ups in their organization. And this one," she pointed to the mousy, pale librarian with a boyish face, "as much as I'd like to murder him with my own teeth, he isn't worth the ammunition.
"The reason I chose you over the other files on my desk is because I need someone who will wait, who will follow orders, and who won't hesitate once that order is given, no matter what it is. If my information is bad and I'm not compromised, you are to stand down. If my cover is blown, and I signal you, you are to kill Solkov, but leave the others alive." She leaned back again, watching him, waiting for his response.
"And what happens to you, then?" he asked, genuinely curious how she thought this would all shake out if he shot one villain just to leave the others alone.
"That is not part of your directive." The stared at one another for a moment, as he weighed the implications of hers statement.
Tim stood up, adjusting his trousers, and mulled over this information. He turned to her, finally, and asked, "Who do you work for?"
Kathryn shook her head. "It doesn't matter. That's the job, and that's it." She stood then as well, walking past Tim to the bureau and picking up a bottle of scotch he hadn't noticed from behind her cleaning caddy. She grabbed two paper cups from next to the coffee maker and gave them each a healthy pour before extending one toward him.
"No bourbon? Or beer?" he asked, eyeing the bottle in her hands incredulously.
"I drink scotch or I drink gin, and it's not warm enough for gin."
Tim took the cup from her, sipped it, and coughed. "Jesus. That's... uh, earthy." He coughed again.
Kathryn smiled and sipped her drink leisurely. "That's about enough for tonight, I think, Deputy. Feel free to take the pizza back up with you. I'll contact you tomorrow morning. I want to take you to the meeting spot, so you can familiarize yourself."
Tim finished his liquor with some amount of difficulty, grabbed the pizza box, and headed for the door. "Goodnight, Deputy Gutterson," she said, as he opened the door.
"Ma'am," he said, and he heard her lock up quickly behind him.