(Disclaimers go to Prologue, please.)
CHAPTER 10:
Jack ran across the room, out into the hall and entered the men's room where Martin was last seen. The room was empty.
"I watched Agent Fitzgerald walk into the men's room. No one else has gone in or out of that room the whole time I've been on guard. Those were express orders from the director."
"And he never came back out?" Danny couldn't help the sharp tone to his voice. How the hell had Martin disappeared out of the FBI Headquarters?
"Danny, look at this."
Jack pointed to a hole in the wall in the stall next to the exterior wall. The grate that had previously covered it was lying on the floor. Next to it was Martin's badge.
Jack squatted down and poked his head in the opening.
"It's an emergency slide. Actually it's used to vent air from construction jobs but in a pinch, it can be used to slide down to escape. He had Martin go out this way. I bet he had a work truck down there and presto, he's away."
"We've been having work done." The agent who had been guarding the corridor door spoke up. "Actually, maintenance is always doing something. So nobody thinks anything of it. Everyone on the facility crew here has clearance and any contractors have to have background screens before they're allowed onsite."
"Yeah, but once that's done, nobody would think anything of a truck coming in and working would they?" Danny couldn't believe it; how could they have been so stupid?
FBI Headquarters: Director's Office
"Bomb dogs went through the room and found nothing. We've check all the main hazard areas, boilers, maintenance shafts everything. We've got dogs detailed to all the floors but nothing came through any entrance that wasn't checked. The roof and all ventilation shafts are secure. There's no bomb here. It was a ruse to get Fitzgerald to leave."
"Yeah, and it worked." Jack turned away from the Director of the FBI.
"This Sayers knew that Martin would put the safety of everyone in the room – the building for that matter before his own. That's why he sent the text message. He knew Martin would come to him." Vivian sighed.
"All right, isn't this the second time Sayers has used a fake bomb as a ruse to get Martin where he wanted him?" Danny spoke up quickly. His mind had been turning over his conversation with Martin about how Sayers had a plan for every move they made to ensure he got Martin right where he wanted him. Without waiting for anyone's answer he continued.
"Listen, Brian Schuford went into that warehouse claiming he had a bomb that he was going to blow up, only there wasn't any bomb."
"Exactly, it was to make certain Martin got down to the warehouse because Sayers knew we were assigned his Missing Persons case." Elena spoke up taking the thread from Danny.
"Right and when he had Martin down at the warehouse he shot him in the chest. I did some checking up on David Mears, the prisoner that was falsely transferred for Antwon James, Martin said he was killed at Shawangunk in a riot. When the guards opened fire they were supposed to have rubber bullets, only problem is that whoever shot Mears was firing live ammo, one shot straight to his heart. He died instantly." Sam had been shocked when she learned that piece of information.
"Right, and, Jack, didn't you say that Noah Shook was strangled in the motel he was hiding out in, just like how Martin was attacked in his apartment." The words poured from Danny's mouth as fast as his mind formed them. They were onto something he knew it.
"It's almost as if everything is a mirror image of something else." Vivian stopped for a moment and thought, "No, more like a distortion of the real image."
"Exactly, Viv," Danny spoke up again. "Look, Sayers' parents committed suicide so he kills Martin's parents. Then he attacks Martin in his apartment to shake him up or warn him or toy with him, whatever and then he kills Shook in the same manner as he attacked Martin. We've got twos of everything."
"Yeah, two bombs, two shots to the chest, two strangling, two sets of dead parents, so what's his plan with Martin and where?"
"Oh, my God," Everyone turned to look at Sam. "I know how he's going to kill Martin, and I know where."
Fitzgerald Residence:
"It ends right here, Fitzgerald. I win." Sayers grinned maniacally as he waved the gun in Martin's face.
"How do you figure that you've won?" Martin stared Sayers in the eyes. With his hands zip tied behind him he had little thought of grabbing the gun but he knew the longer he kept Sayers talking the more chance he had to find a way out.
He reminded himself that this was his choice to be here right now. He could have gone back and warned the guard but he wasn't sure how far off the track Sayers really was. If Martin had gone back to warn the others, would that have caused Sayers to set off the bomb? Martin wasn't sure there even was a bomb but he wasn't taking any chances either. This man had already killed his parents and three other people to get to him; he wasn't going to give him any more opportunities to harm anyone else.
He'd been surprised and even found himself admiring the ingenuity Sayers displayed in devising that escape. When he got to the men's room there was an out of order sign on the stall closest to the exterior wall. Figuring that was where he was supposed to look Martin had pushed open the stall door, seen the grate resting on the floor and peered inside. When he saw the vinyl coated flexible tunnel that would allow him to slide down to the ground he knew what was going to happen next. The little note pinned inside wasn't necessary but it drove the point home.
"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT CALLING FOR HELP. I'M MONITORING THE ROOM NOISE. CLIMB IN, BRING THE NOTE, ENJOY THE RIDE"
Angry but determined no one else would be harmed, Martin complied. The ride had been quick, uncomfortable, and more than slightly terrifying and when he reached the bottom he was unceremoniously dumped into a construction dumpster filled with cardboard boxes. After catching his breath for a moment, he tried to disentangle himself from the vinyl tubing and the boxes when above the noise he heard a low voice give an order and felt the pressure of a gun muzzle at his spine. Stopping completely he waited while the objects entangling him were moved away and then he felt a sharp pain as the gun handle connected sharply with his skull sending him into oblivion.
He didn't remember anything until Sayers stopped the truck and roughly shook him to consciousness demanding the access code. After demanding the code he had warned Martin that if the code was wrong and it did anything other than open the gate and disarm the alarms he would shoot him in the stomach so he would slowly and painfully die and, while Martin was suffering, Sayers would lay in wait and kill as many of his would be rescuers that came to his assistance. Reluctantly Martin complied, gave the code and quickly and quietly Sayers drove up the drive and dragged Martin inside the home of his late parents.
"The great Fitzgerald name will go out with a sputter. It'll look like your parents killed themselves in humiliation over your drug addiction. They'll be labeled as cowards, cowards who raised an addict."
"You mean they'll be labeled as cowards because your parents were labeled as cowards?" Martin spoke the words evenly and in a low tone.
"Shut up! Shut up! My parents were great people, good people! They loved me! Your parents didn't love you!"
"You're right; your parents did love you. They were probably good parents to you. However, I don't know how great they were."
"How dare you! They were great! If you hadn't killed them…it's your fault! And what's your great claim – huh? You're a druggie, an addict, made daddy proud didn't you!"
Sayers practically spit the words in Martin's face. Martin stood his ground even though his head throbbed, and he felt like the floor was pitching beneath him. He kept his eyes focused on Sayers as the other man paced back and forth waving the gun around, his eyes darting from Martin to the floor, from the floor to the gun in his hand and back at Martin again.
Martin barely had time to brace himself as he saw Sayers' intent. Even though he had a brief moment to prepare himself it didn't soften the blow as the gun impacted with his jaw. He'd been able to roll a bit with it, but it still knocked him hard against the wall. He staggered a bit unable to use his hands to brace himself. Leaning momentarily against the wall he struggled to clear his head and stop the roaring that had begun in his ears earlier and know was thundering throughout his skull.
Martin tasted the blood in his mouth and his eyes glimpsed a faint smear of it on the wall that he was leaning against. Gathering his strength he steadied himself and stood up again and turned to face Sayers.
"The difference between us, Sayers, is that I gave up trying to impress my father a long time ago. Your parents have been dead a long time and you're still trying to impress them. You're trying to impress a mother and father who are responsible for the death of at least one person, abused their positions, lied, cheated, allowed money to be their guiding force and enabled corruption rather than disabling it as they had sworn to do and then chose the cowardly path after they were discovered and killed themselves.
Do you really think they were thinking of you when they drove their car in front of that train? Do you think they were thinking of how much they loved you, how much you meant to them? Huh? Or were they thinking about escaping the mess they had created.
That's it, isn't it? I'm right. They left you to face the mess they created. They didn't love you. They ran out on you. They made this hell and then, when it was falling down around them, they ran out and left you to face it. You've lived with the mess they created, the shame, and what did that make you? You're a murderer. You call them great, loving parents well, I guess you're honoring them by the example they set. You've become a murderer just like they were!" Despite the blurring of his vision and the continued hammering in his head Martin found himself yelling at Sayers.
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I'm ending this now. There's letters here, right here." Sayers patted his jacket pocket. "After I kill you, I'm going to leave them right beside your body. It'll look like you killed yourself from the shame. You left the ceremony for your father, too ashamed to stand up there and accept the award for his work because you knew how unworthy you are, and you knew that it was because of you that he was dead. So, you left, came here and started tearing the place apart," to illustrate his words Sayers swept his arm across the desk causing everything on it to crash and fall to the floor.
"Then, you found these," Triumphantly Sayers pulled out the folded, wrinkled sheets of paper. "These are written on your daddy's letterhead, letters to you telling you how ashamed he was, how he couldn't forgive you for disgracing the family, his only child, his only son. Your actions had caused him and your mother too much pain, they weren't able to live with what you've done and they were going to end it. So you found these notes, realized they killed themselves and so you took a gun to your head and pulled the trigger like this."
Sayers stepped up to Martin and just as he was about to raise the gun to Martin's head and pull the trigger he felt the pressure of a gun barrel to his back and Jack's voice whispered in his ear.
"Drop it."
For a moment it looked as if Sayers was going to go through with his intent as he kept his gun trained on Martin, then his gaze flicked to the side and he dropped his arm slightly. Danny materialized at his side and wrenched the gun from him and rapidly cuffed him. Glancing briefly at Martin Danny led Sayers from the room.
Jack stepped forward and steadied Martin by grabbing him by the arm.
"You're a mess, here, sit down. I'll find something to undo these ties." Guiding Martin to a nearby chair he pulled open one of the desk draws, finding a pair of scissors inside he snipped the tie wraps. Martin immediately began flexing his hands and alternately rubbing his wrists to ease the ache and restore proper circulation. Jack disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a handful of ice cubes wrapped in a towel. Handing that to Martin to put on his bloody and battered jaw, Jack pulled out his cell phone to summon an EMS squad.
Sam appeared and grabbed the ice filled towel from Martin and held it to the back of his head instead. She could see a small trail of blood down the back of his neck and gently placed the ice where she could feel the swelling.
"How did you guys find me?" Martin was grateful that Sam was steadying him on one side as Jack sat across from him on the little table and steadied him from the front. Martin wasn't sure he wouldn't tip over completely if they weren't there to help him.
"After we figured out the bomb threat was nothing more than a ruse to get you out of the building, Danny realized that there had been duplicates of just about everything that Sayers had done."
"Including shooting Antwon James in the head and leaving him outside your apartment building." Sam kept the ice on Martin's head as he turned slightly to look at her. "We realized that that was the only action that hadn't been duplicated. You hadn't been shot in the head and your parents' home would be the alternative to your apartment. He telegraphed his plan to us when he killed James."
"You were right, we didn't have to figure out what Sayers was up to, we just had to wait for him to tell us."
"Only one problem with your theory," Martin said quietly as he felt himself succumbing to the beckoning darkness.
"What's that?"
"Brian Schuford was shot in the head by the SWAT sharpshooter."
Jack and Sam looked at each other in shock. They had counted the bomb at the warehouse with Schuford but not the method of his death. Neither wanted to dwell on the what ifs. They had been right, that was what mattered. Jack looked at Martin who was swaying a bit and watched as his eyes rolled back in his head. Catching his agent he eased him back to the couch for the paramedics to take care of. As he heard the sirens announcing the arrival of the medical personnel he shook his head and looked down at his unconscious agent.
"You're welcome."
Two days later:
Martin stood silently by the plaques his parents had chosen for their memorials. He didn't know how long he stood there. He wasn't aware of time passing or the headache that was reemerging as the morning's aspirin was wearing off. After a while he became aware of a tremendous fatigue and he moved to a stone bench that was nearby and sat down.
He didn't register the approach of the other person until he was standing right next to him. Even then Martin didn't move. Jack looked down at Martin for a minute before sitting down beside him. For the next couple of minutes the two men sat quietly until Martin broke the silence.
"I'm not sure if I'm angry or sad, if I'm to feel guilty for their deaths or what." Martin stopped and started to shake his head but then remembered how that would feel and caught himself.
"I have decided on a couple of things. My father was who he was. Maybe things were as they were supposed to be in the end with us not talking…I don't know. I do know that I like who I am right now. It's taken me a long time to stop resenting his interference and I had reached a point in the last couple of years where I no longer tried to impress him. We tried to be close after I got injured but the truth is…I didn't want to anymore.
Maybe too much water can run under the bridge so that you reach a point where you just don't want to try anymore. I know that I didn't want to try anymore. When he came up to the city to visit, I'd go and visit but, if I'm honest with myself, I really didn't try that hard because I just wasn't willing to let down my own walls that protect me and give him another chance to hurt me.
Maybe that's the cowardly way of doing it…I don't know, I do know that it helped me to start enjoying being me. I regret our last argument not because I did anything wrong, I didn't. It may sound sanctimonious, Jack, but he misjudged me my whole life and he's the one who made the mistake that day we met for lunch in New York. Our last conversation was a fight and I know in my head and in my heart that I'm not to blame for that."
"You're right, Martin. That argument wasn't your fault and you may never know if your father could have gotten over finding out about your addiction or not…" Jack gave a small smile as Martin turned and looked at him for the first time since he'd arrived. "Yeah, I knew before all that garbage came spilling out of Sayers mouth. I am an FBI agent after all."
That earned Jack a small smirk from Martin. Jack figured that was the best he was probably going to get for now but it was a step in the right direction.
"I'll tell you this, Martin, and then I'll leave you alone. Your father was wrong. You are not an embarrassment, you piss me off from time to time, but I'm proud you're on the team, and I trust you with my life. Your father was wrong."
With that Jack stood up, rested his hand briefly on Martin's shoulder and squeezed once before he slowly walked away.
Martin sat there for a long while thinking over the past couple of weeks and even over the last couple of years in his life. Eventually he stood up, wiped the tears from his eyes, and walked to stand by the memorials that signified his parents' final resting place. He rested his hand momentarily on each of the plaques engraved with his parents' names and turned and walked away.
For the first time in almost a month he felt free. As he stepped outside, he turned his face to the fading light in the sky, took a deep breath and smelled the coming of spring.
The End
Laurel
March 2007