HAUNTED SONA
CHAPTER 17
With the phone poised to his ear, Richard Sullins frowned. That was Agent Lang's voice on the other line.
Correction: That was a recording of her voice. Three times he'd called, and three times he'd gotten her voicemail.
No answer yet? Oh, my! Well, I guess I'm either away from the phone or on another call. At the beep, you know what to do!
Sullins smirked as he hung up the phone. Cutesy message, wasn't it? Kinda surprising, since Felicia Lang always seemed to be an all-work-and-no-play type of gal. He supposed there could be another facet of her he hadn't seen before.
Which made him wonder…what other little secrets was the dear Ms. Lang hiding?
He caught sight of that overgrown boy scout, Wheeler, passing by his office. Sullins shot out of his chair but, once out the door, was as laidback as could be.
"Any calls from Lang?" he inquired.
Wheeler responded in his usual helpful way. He reminded Sullins of Superman's geeky and dull alter ego, Clark Kent.
"Sir, she went home for the day. Wasn't feeling well."
"Hmmm. That's right. I just remembered something I needed tell her, but when I tried to call her, she's not picking up."
Wheeler looked confused. He consulted his watch. "That's odd. She should've been home a while ago."
"She's probably just letting her calls go to voicemail."
"Probably. She needs to get some rest."
"Oh, absolutely. She might've just gone straight to bed."
"Anything I can do for you?"
"Oh—oh, no, no, that's fine. It's not that important. I'll catch her in the morning."
"Sure thing, sir. Let me know if you need anything."
Sullins smoothed out the moment with a wink and a grin. Then he headed back into his office. He waited long enough to give Wheeler a chance to get back to his own desk.
And then he slipped out of the office and in the direction of the elevator. He'd "catch" Lang, all right. The only thing that bothered him was why he hadn't caught the sneaky bitch sooner. Fishing his keys from his pocket, he walked to his car in the parking garage, his gait leisurely.
He could have summoned the phone records, but really, he didn't have to. His instincts had told her the migraine story was total BS, but he hadn't acted on it because he hadn't been 100 sure. Besides, bringing up the records would have sent up a red flag to all the wrong people.
Namely, anybody in the FBI itself.
Sullins swerved his car down a ramp, out of the garage, and onto the street. So Mr. Burrows had called, eh? That had to be it. And he'd spoken to dear Officer Lang. Given her a fascinating bit of info. Dick Sullins stopped at a red light and hit up the directory on his cell.
Why had she done it, he wondered? Well, she must have been loyal to him. Why anybody would be loyal to that uptight, half crazed bastard was a mystery to him. Maybe Mahone had been shagging his underling agent? That could've been it, too. Guy was divorced; she was unattached. What happens in bed has been known to ruin many a good agent. Felicia Lang wasn't immune. And Mahone, besides being what some women would consider attractive, was supposedly brilliant as well, though Sullins honestly didn't see it.
All he saw was a loose canon who'd evidently kissed all the right asses in the bureau. A guy who, by all rights, should've been much further up the food chain than both Lang and Wheeler, but things being what they were, he'd been elevated far above what he deserved. Mahone should have been answering to Richard Sullins; now THAT would have made sense.
Sullins glanced into the rearview mirror. It still stung, that day Mahone had gotten all testy with him, basically telling him his job was more important than Sullins'. So full of himself, that one. Give a man a little power and prestige, and it goes straight to his head. He was still seething, recalling when he'd seen Mahone that first time on the news, announcing the investigation. That should have been him in that position. He was the real star in the FBI, not that anyone gave him enough credit.
But that was all right. That was fine. Mahone was being taken down now. Hell, he'd already been taken down. It served the higher-ups right, too. What an embarrassment he'd become to them. They had to be crapping all over themselves when Michael Scofield shared that little Mahone tidbit right on national television. Dick grinned and chortled to himself with satisfaction.
And the pleasure of taking Mahone down would be all his. That would be a real feather in his cap. Long overdue, too, he had to say.
"Looks like it's going down. Tonight, tomorrow—we have to proceed as if it's tonight," he said into the phone, laughing. "Yes, I know—he is amazing, that Scofield! He's a regular Houdini...Oh, well, one of Mahone's agents is on her way to Panama…Yeah, Lang…not to worry…I'll take care of her myself." Snapping closed the cell, he tossed it into the SUV's console.
Relaxing on his way to the airport, he thought about Panama. And all that great fishing! Hopefully, he'd get the chance to check it out.
He patted the revolver in its holster. Just had to get a few pesky little things out of the way first.
Bellick's voice sounded small as it broke the silence. "That's all real, ain't it?"
Michael checked his expression and Alex's. Knowing those two, he could just imagine what was going on in their heads. But what was he supposed to do? Pretend it wasn't all there, laid out before them? That it was an illusion?
"It's gotta be real," he admitted.
"Damn! How much you think that is, Scofield? What it's worth, I mean?"
"And where did it come from?" Alex added.
Michael sighed. It looked like something out of an old Errol Flynn movie: old wooden chests, three of them, had to be over two hundred years old, overflowing with gold coins. Scattered on the floor was jewelry. From that distance he spotted rubies, diamonds and emeralds, all there among the gold.
"How much you think it's worth?" Mahone repeated Bellick's question.
That made Michael nervous. They were just so curious, those two. Curious…and greedy.
That musty underground hiding place had also helped to tarnish the treasure. It didn't matter; after a good cleaning in the right solutions, the coins and jewels would sparkle as bright as all the stars in the Panama sky.
"A few millions," he replied reluctantly. "At least."
Bellick whistled. "A few million! And if anybody asks, it's all ours!"
Michael glanced at Mahone. He was smiling, most likely seeing dollar signs before his eyes.
So much for those two turning over a new leaf.
"We're not here to cart off a treasure," he scolded them. "We can't let anything distract us right now. Besides, whoever that belongs to—they might not be far."
"Yeah. Or maybe they died three hundred years ago." Bellick shrugged. "Pirates. They made it all the way here to Panama. Didn't they?"
"Did they?"
"Hell I know. I watch ESPN, not History Channel. I'm askin' you."
"Well, pirates were all over the oceans, so—so, yeah."
"YES! Then it's settled!" Alex said excitedly. "Unless Blackbeard comes back from the dead—which around here, hell, anything's possible, but anyway—I say we take our cut."
"Stopping to greedily line our pockets is going to slow us down. I have to get out of here. Uh—we have to get out of here."
"Mike, you got a problem with having a little mad money on you?" Bellick pointed out. "Look, I don't know about you, but I'm out of a job. I need a little something to tide me over till something else comes along."
"Me, too. I've joined the ranks of the unemployed, myself," Mahone said. "I—I don't want much. Just a couple hundred thousand or so."
"Yeah, that should do it for me, too," Bellick agreed. Then he appealed to Michael. "You wanna start a new life with Sara, keep her safe from those bastards, well…dead pirates aren't exactly gonna call the cops on you. Don't you wanna stop running, man?"
Weary, Michael rubbed his neck. He couldn't very well argue with that reasoning.
"The thing is, those things are part of history."
"Hey, Mike, you, me and Bellick could use some of that history," Mahone protested. "More than the some museum."
Michael hesitated. "Well…I guess. But only what we can carry."
"Great!" Bellick dove in first. "I already have an idea about what I want to do with this."
"We can't take forever doing this."
"We won't. It doesn't take long to swipe some old coins and necklaces."
"I really feel badly about this," Michael lamented.
It didn't take long for Alex to stuff his pockets with gold. And he looked like a poorly dressed, sweaty mobster with all that gold around his neck.
"Aw, you feel badly about what?" he teased. "Stealing from pirates? How do you think they got all this? From selling Girl Scout cookies? I DO watch the History Channel. These guys raped and pillaged whole villages. They deserve to get ripped off."
"Trust me, the pirates won't miss it," Bellick said. "And neither will the museums. They got enough old shit in them as it is."
Michael delayed, in no hurry to pilfer the mysterious treasure. Eventually he gave in, moving forward to begin scooping up handfuls of coins and other items, slipping bejeweled necklaces over his head.
How would he go about selling the ancient trinkets? Where would he find buyers for them? There'd be time to figure that all out later on, he decided. For now, he had to admit that Bellick was right. Some money would buy safety, both for him and Sara.
If he could reach her in time.
"You know, what I'd like wouldn't even cost that much," he gave voice to his thoughts.
Alex smiled. "What're you thinking about getting?"
"A house, for starters. It doesn't have to be very big, either. With a backyard for a dog and a garden. And for a playground set for kids." Michael returned his smile but then looked away.
And a matching set of wedding rings. And an SUV to carry the whole family. The home would be in a sleepy little town, maybe with a view of some mountains. He would be happy in a house like that, as long as he shared it with Sara. He and Sara, they'd make that place a home.
"That's all I want," he murmured.
"Sounds nice. I'd like to put in my order for the same thing," Brad said.
"I did have all that," Alex said. Interestingly, there was no bitterness there at all. "I'd like to think I can buy it all back. But, just the same, I'm not going to hold my breath."
"You don't know. Maybe it'll happen for you. I hope it does." Brad offered Mahone a smile and, Michael suspected, his friendship. "You could send them some money, your wife and your boy. She'll need that to raise him. I'm gonna do that, send my mother some money. Ma depended on the crap pay I made at Fox River. Maybe it was crap, but it paid the bills. I'm sending her money so she won't have to wonder how she'll make ends meet."
Michael scratched his head. He didn't want to care about this man; he told himself that Brad Bellick was no good. He was no good when he first met him and he was no good now. Or was it possible for someone even like him to change? Michael couldn't help himself, smiling back at him.
"I'm—I'm sure your mother will appreciate that," he stammered. "I hope she'll be okay."
"I hope so, too. She's got a heart condition. She's already had a heart attack a couple years ago. She can't be making herself sick over money. As for me, I'm gonna try to start over. I wanna do something good, just don't know what right now. I'm done with being a CO, though, that's over. No offense, but I never want to see the inside of a damn prison ever again."
"No offense? None taken." Alex chuckled, offering a pat on Brad's shoulder and, just maybe, his friendship.
Suddenly Brad stopped, his hands holding up rings he'd been inspecting. He squinted at something over at the other end of the room and his face went pale.
Michael narrowed his eyes at him. "What is it?"
"We need to get out of here."
"What? Why?"
"We need to get out of here now."
The items slipped from his hands, falling to the dust on the ground. From behind some rocks Michael could see movement and shadows, and they could hear something that sounded like the buzzing of insects.