Chap 10 Fool's Gold

Eight Weeks Ago (Three days after Angola)

Kane Tolman had been awake for three days straight, most of that time he had been driving nonstop. Sometimes he drove with a purpose, other times he was backtracking to see if he was being followed or laying down false trails. In Escape and Evasion school he learned that every second that you are captured your odds of escape plummet. The same theory also worked in reverse for escaping. Every second he was free made him harder to find. Now at the three day mark he felt that he was well beyond the scope of a quick capture and was as safe as he was ever going to get, relatively speaking anyway.

"Mr. Tolman…?" came a tentative voice from the back seat.

"My father was Mr. Tolman. Kane or Padre if you prefer…" he laughed maniacally and slapped the steering wheel.

She looked at him in terror, but then laughed so suddenly she sorted. "Tolman isn't your real name?"

He shook his head, "No. I'm sorry I screamed at you before. I had forgotten you were back there and was embarrassed by my lack of professionalism. My apologies for the subsequent silence, but I needed an hour to calm down."

"Thirteen…"

"Huh…"

"You yelled at me at 5am, now it's 6pm…"

He shook his head hard and stared at the dashboard clock on the old sedan in disbelief. "No, madam. The sun is rising in the east."

She said with extreme caution, "No sir, it's setting in the west; you'll see in a minute. You haven't slept in three days; you're beyond delirious. Please… I'm begging you- please pull over. You can mummify me in duct tape if you want, but this is lunacy. Think about it… If they caught up with you right now you are in no state to fight or flee. You're easy prey and at this point you're more likely to make a mistake than actually accomplish anything."

He looked at her in the back seat; she was curled up in the fetal position and looked as though she was in misery. "You're right. The sheer fact that I am in need of advice is proof of my delirium."

He pulled through a drive-thru first and ordered food then pulled into a mall parking lot near the rear to eat. Suddenly he jumped as he was shaken, "Kane awake up. Kane!"

He was in complete darkness and saw a blond woman next to him, he was in a car but he didn't know where he was and thought he was dreaming. He starred at her blankly, completely unaware of whom she was.

"Kane, put the car in drive, we need to move. The malls closed now and the policeman at the front has looked at us twice."

He still didn't comprehend what was going on, but started the car and drove out of the mall slowly, "Who are you?"

"Diane Webster. You broke out of Angola and sort of kidnapped me?"

He nodded dumbly, "I fell asleep. Sorry, I just had a weird dream. I dreamed that I was on the planet Mongo saving Earth from ultimate destruction at the hands of Ming the Merciless."

"I've had a few dreams of that myself. I had such a crush on Sam Jones in high school…"

"I met him once- on a mission."

"Huh? No, way. You met Sam Jones- Flash Gordon?"

"Yes, he is the founder of a company like Black Water that specializes in liberating people who have been kidnapped. Like if the CEO of Sony is kidnapped by Somali pirates; Sony pays him to go in and get them out no matter where they are…"

"Wow, that's weird. You got his number; I'd love to meet him?"

"I did, but…" he began and then laughed suddenly, "…funny lady. Well played. He and I were set to do a job in the same place and pulled a combined assault. Otherwise one of our jobs was going to be a lot more difficult if the other acted first."

"You need more sleep."

"I do?"

"Yes, you are speaking like a normal person. Normally you sound like…"

"…an English gentlemen?"

"More like Hannibal Lecter…"

"Truly? I really must work on my delivery," he said as he fell back into his normal speech pattern. Surely there must be a flea infested Hotel around the Interstate. We'll find a place to recharge our batteries."

Two Days Later

(Seven weeks, five days ago)

Somewhere in Texas

Diane sat on the rock where had asked her to and tried not to look nervous at seeing Padre retrieve a shovel from the trunk and start digging. "Kane, I've done everything you wanted. Don't do this…"

He looked at her quizzically and then the shovel and the hole he was digging and laughed, "No, this isn't for you madam." He half bowed, "You have behaved in an admirable fashion. You can't call them, but would you like to write letters to your children?"

"Oh," she blushed slightly, "I don't have any kids. Those were pictures of my niece and nephew."

"Ah, I wondered why it took you so long to give up the location of your contact. Here I was thinking you an unfit mother." Padre dug for several minutes without apparent luck. He retraced his steps and started again. This time after he was around a foot down there was a 'thump' and he grin broadly. He hurriedly uncovered the rest of his prize, "I'll need a hand with this."

She walked over and saw a military weapons crate and bent over to help him.

"Bend your knees… don't lift with your back…" She did as he asked and was flabbergasted at the weight of the crate.

"What's in here- lead?"

"No, Ms. Webster, it isn't lead. The content of this little crate has caused more deaths than anything else on Earth." They lugged it to the trunk of the car and added it to the stockpile of weapons within. He pried it open with a crowbar and pulled the lid off.

Her mouth hung open and finally she managed to speak, "Is that what I think it is?!"

"Yes."

"Can I touch it?" she asked timidly.

He cocked a grin and nodded.

One Week Later

(Seven Weeks ago)

Boston, MA

Pamela Landy was still with the CIA, but her status there was tenuous to say the least. The only reason she hadn't been fired was the government's new policies towards whistle-blowers and the current administration saw her as a patriot even though the CIA saw her as a villain. She had been promoted and was in charge of oversight for the CIA. That was a fancy title for the person in charge of Internal Affairs. The few bridges that weren't burned by the whole Treadstone mess were now closed due to her new job.

She knew that the Director of the CIA was chomping at the bit to fire her and was searching for cause. What she was more surprised by was her ability to still draw breath. She guessed that she had screamed loud enough so that they were petrified to kill her.

She had gotten several job offers outside the CIA, but knew they were fake. They wanted her to quit, but she knew being there might be the only reason she was still alive. As long as she was in the spot-light she was safe.

That is what she had told herself for the last nine months; that is until she came home tonight. All of her 'markers' were in place, but she knew against people like Bourne such precautions wouldn't matter.

She knew there was someone in her living room before she had even set foot in it. "Just do it…" she finally snapped.

"Step in here, turn the lamp on, and sit down." She played along and the hobo looking hermit she saw sitting in her armchair was the last thing she expected. The only thing that made her take him seriously was the silenced pistol pointed at her.

She tried to steel her voice but failed, "M-Mark?"

"Ah, he left a message on your recorder. He is working a double; he'll be here for breakfast. He sounded young, your son? I didn't think anyone used those old answering machines anymore."

She nodded, more at the fact that he was telling the truth, "Step-son… It's just us. I got sick of other people listening to my messages."

"Oh, they are still listening…"

"I know, but the bastards aren't going to take me without a fight. So… …what now?"

"Now you are going to tell me everything you know…"

"Well we are going to be here a while; tea?"

He laughed sharply, "No madam. Dinner perhaps? I know you are considering every avenue of escape, but I would caution you to behave. I was in the Program and won't hesitate to kill you, but I don't wish to harm you otherwise."

She eyed him for a long time and he raised an eyebrow. "You're telling the truth, or you're the best liar I've ever seen and that is saying something."

He motioned her to the kitchen. "Why is that dear?"

"I started as polygraph examiner and worked my way up through that department."

"Ah, a very useful skill."

She looked miffed, "You don't know anything about me do you?"

"I've been out of the loop awhile. Perhaps it would be best to start from today and work backwards…"

"You were in Treadstone? So, you know Bourne, Parson, and Conklin?"

He laughed, "You left the S off as a test of my authenticity. Yes, I know dear, sweet, naive Nicolette quite well. Alexander's passing was hard to take. Bourne not so well."

"Conklin was a crook."

"No. Whatever he took he paid for with his own blood. You never knew the man I take it. He would've liked you… you're a straight shooter like he was. None the less…"

He rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands and she saw his nail bed and laughed. "I'm sorry. The beard, the hair, the ratty clothes… but you have a fresh manicure and a twenty thousand dollar Rolex? That's a riot."

"It's just a simple guise madam. There are three types of people that never get looked at in the face: uniformed police officers, bums, and widows. I would look silly in a veil and law enforcement uniforms vary by county. The beard also cancels out facial recognition software."

She nodded slowly, "So, from the top…"

Two weeks Later

(Five weeks ago)

Minnesota-

the middle of one of 10,000 lakes…

TICK…TICK…TICK…

Marcus DeWallace stared at the four dollar wall clock he had purchased from Wal-Mart as it ticked by every second as loudly as a metronome. The steady TICK…TICK…TICK… invaded his dreams and haunted his mind. He lit a cigarette with shaking hands: his fourth in ten minutes, and exhaled through his nose. The smoke pouring from his nostrils had not caused his blood shot eyes, nor the bags under them but it certainly didn't help.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

He looked at the Glock pistol on the table for the hundredth. He couldn't kill himself; he had tried for years. He wasn't too afraid or scared; they had done something to him. For some reason he couldn't. He couldn't remember why, maybe they had hypnotized him.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

He was completely naked, sitting on the edge of the prehistoric sofa, and couldn't remember how long he'd been there. He knew he was hungry, freezing, and parched, but had no desire to alleviate his basic human needs.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

It was late October and the lake had frozen early this year. He had purchased a house boat and removed the moorings and taken it to the middle of a small lake to isolate himself from the rest of mankind. He had no desire for human interactions, nor did feel that he deserved any. He smelled burning flesh and looked down seeing that the cigarette had burned down to his fingers which bore the signs of countless burns from the cancer sticks; he no longer felt it when they burned him.

TICK…TICK…TICK…

With an inhuman burst of speed he grabbed the clock off the littered coffee table and tore the batteries out. Immediately the screams came to him and he tried to light another smoke with his trembling hands. The screams were always there: the teenage girl he forced to swallow pills, the woman he held down in the tub and cut her wrists, the man he had burned alive in the car… there were countless more and all of them were vengeful spirits clamoring for his soul as recompense.

SCREAMING…

He blinked as the flashbacks ended and smelled the burning flesh again. He heard someone speak out loud and before he could register the words his gun was in his hand and pointed at their source. "My heavens you haven't changed a bit! However do you do it? I just have to know your secret." Kane Tolman was standing but a few feet from him, Marcus hadn't heard his entry due to his flashback. "Your reflexes seem to be no worse for wear…"

"What are you doing here Padre?" Marcus grated, his voice so dry it sounded like two tombstones rubbing together.

"I'm getting the band back together… I also owe you a debt."

"You don't owe me squat…" he said without lowering the gun.

Padre slowly pulled a purple Crown Royal bag from his coat pocket and tossed it to him, "Oh, that…" It was heavy and Marcus tested the weight, "This is too heavy. What's the extra for?" he asked suspiciously.

"I paid you at the rate from five years ago. Compound interest is the most powerful force in the universe. It would be customary for you to offer me a warm beverage, but allow me…" Padre started rooting around in the cabinets for coffee.

"I'm out of tea," he bit acerbically.

"Well word does travel though the ether doesn't it…"

"I can't believe you let that trifling puta get the best of you…"

"Now, now… Manners my dear boy. I know you are unacquainted, but I assure you she is a lady of the finest caliber."

Marcus huffed in disgust, "Whatever. I would cut her open- down the middle, and gut her like a fish if she did that to me…"

"But she didn't, so you will do nothing of the sort. Whatever restitution I want from her is mine to take- not yours."

"Whatever." Marcus tossed the gun down on the table as Padre grabbed some cargo pants from the filthy floor and tossed them to him. "What's a matter Padre; prison make you bashful?" he said as he pulled them on.

"No, but we have our reputations to uphold. How it would look if we were to be walked in on. I would hate for someone to think they caught us 'In flagrante delicto'."

DeWallace mocked in a haughty British accent, "Oh, the scandal Mortimer! The Wilshire Club might revoke our charters; where ever would we partake in cricket?"

Padre had failed to notice that almost his entire body was covered in tattoos; it was something Treadstone forbade. Marcus saw him staring and blurted, "What? I'm not Jewish…" As if needing proof, he held up his left hand which had a tattoo of rosary wrapped around his wrist and a crucifix on his palm.

"I think we were all Catholic; I always found that curious… Oh well, that is a story for another day. I have but one…" He pulled up his sleeve and showed him a tattoo he made himself in prison. It was a clock with large dots instead of numbers and it had no hands on the face.

Marcus nodded, "No hands… it means 'until the end of time'- a Life Sentence. Boy you got that one right Padre. Look at what they make us give." Kane handed him a cup of coffee. "Now tell me why you're here Kane, or I'm going to pick up that gun and start shooting."

"You made a commitment to the cause and you will keep it Marcus."

"Fuck you."

"Well, that was to the point. The time is drawing nigh, now do you want to be in or out?"

"What would I be doing?"

"Well, first things first: You'll be doing a lot of fishing…"

He glared at Padre for a long moment, "One condition."

Kane was silent for a moment and then said with firm resolve, "For your assistance: anything…"

"When this is over, I want you to kill me. Will you do that?"

Kane looked at him with such profound sadness that it couldn't be faked, "If you still wish it. Yes, Marcus I will see to you."

Marcus quickly dressed and grabbed his gear. As they left the houseboat he sang in perfect pitch, "She took me to her castle and I just couldn't believe my eyes; she had so many devices everything that money could buy. She said sign your name on the dotted line…"

(Three Weeks Ago)

Reston, VA

Eric Byer always bought whatever he was going to eat whenever he was actually going to consume it. On the upside he couldn't be poisoned or drugged, on the downside it created a pattern that he always purchased groceries after work. He varied the stores he shopped at, but it was a pattern none the less.

It was Halloween and the mothers were going crazy buying candy; the place was a madhouse. When he left he felt a slight tug on his jacket and turned and grabbed the hand quickly.

"Hey, buddy… How 'bout some change?"

Byer looked at the bum, He was wearing thrift store clothes, had a long unkempt beard and ponytail, and women's leopard print Prada sunglasses that were obliviously stolen. He shoved the man away. He checked for his wallet out of habit, "You make change; you don't ask for it!" Byer snapped as he quickly went to his car.

"Oh, don't worry… change is coming Mr. Byer…" Padre muttered as he glared at Byers back.

It wasn't until the next morning, when Byer was walking out the door to go to work, that he put his hand in his jacket pocket and felt something in it. He pulled out the half a roll of coins and looked at it stupidly. He thought it had been a roll of lifesavers at first. He opened it and poured the US dimes out on the table. He shook his head- perplexed. He used quarters for the toll booths… Why did he have dimes?

He looked at three of them and then started flipping them all over, face up. They were all from 1946. He quickly split them into piles of 5 coins- 6 piles. 30 coins… They were silver dimes… Thirty silvers…

He remembered the bum and suddenly grabbed the roll the coins came in and scrawled inside it was a simple message- 'you forgot these…' He grabbed the table and flipped it over in a rage. "FUCK!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. He whipped out his gun, fought the urge to fire it until it was empty, and instead rubbed the cold slide across his cheek.

30 silver coins was the price Judas had received for selling out Jesus…

(Three Days Ago)

Perth Australia

As Marcus opened the door to the University class room and descended the steps of the amphitheater type venue, all one hundred pairs of eyes were suddenly on him. He looked to the front of the class and saw his target, Marta Shearing, and then his eyes fell on the other woman who was standing next to her, gawking- Nicky Parsons! He had never met her, but had seen her file. Padre was supposed to be hunting her in Virginia. He double timed it down the steps and saw Shearing yank the fire alarm before they bolted through the door at the back of the room.

Students started filling the rows and he yelled, "POLICE! MOVE!" as he swam through the students. He hit the door at full speed and it was as if he hit a brick wall; the door didn't budge. He kicked the door- nothing.

He whipped his head around and saw the sea of students filing out. He then turned back to the door and looked around frantically. He saw that the area above the door was glass. He whipped out the Glock he had misappropriated from a local law enforcement officer and fired three rounds through the window, which caused a stampede amongst the students. He grabbed a rubber mat the instructors stood on and flung it over the door, covering the broken glass. He made a stunning series of jumps off items near the door, namely the desk and propelled himself through the now open cavity. His vault was stunning but he failed to 'stick' the landing and landed hard on his rear.

He rolled to his feet and sprinted to the end of the hall- right or left? He figured he was less than sixty seconds behind them. Left had fewer students, so he took the path of least resistance. He pumped his legs as fast as he could and tried to ignore the rattling in his chest. He followed the exit signs and exited the building just as a shot was fired and he dove to the ground just as he realized the shot wasn't directed at him. He heard Nicky scream in shock and then saw the gun hand sticking out of another car.

He sprinted to the parking lot as the cars sped off. He ran to a car that was running and had a young couple standing next to it talking. He faked like he was getting into the car next to theirs and then he dove in and had the car moving before they could protest.

The parking lot was filling with students rapidly, all eager to avoid class. He kept his hand on the horn and his foot to the floor, praying that the poor fools moved out of the way in time. He followed the cars, but it took him awhile to catch up. He watched as Nicky fired shot after shot at the car and then saw the other driver fire a single bullet and hit her center mass.

Shearing sped up and cut off a semi and he was far enough back to turn down the ramp as the other driver made the ramp- bringing them neck and neck. The other driver rammed him in a mock effort to clear space thinking he was an ordinary motorist. Marcus rammed him back hard. Both men locked eyes in recognition and both pulled away from the other and then rammed each other hard in unison. They fired an exchange of volleys, shattering windows and windscreens.

He steered away as if he were going to slam into him again, he got the result he wanted as the man yanked the wheel and swerved to ram him harder. Marcus stood on his brakes and then stomped on the accelerator as he hit the rear quarter panel which spun the other car ninety degrees and T-boned the car.

The man leaned out and started unloading into Marcus's windscreen, but he had already thrown open the car door and leaned out and under the door- precariously close to the road and the squealing tires. He fired three rounds into his opponents tire; it blew apart and the rim started showering him with sparks. He yanked himself back inside the car, stood on the brake again and cranked the wheel so that the cars were facing opposite directions. He hammered the gas and sped away as he heard the sirens for the first time.

He quickly assessed the condition of his car and knew it was mechanically sound, but stood out physically. He looked for the car the women were in and it was useless, they were long gone.

(Two Days Ago)

San Diego

Marcus DeWallace was fresh off the plane and was very jet lagged. He started to pull out his lock-picking tools, but then out of impulse he turned the knob: the apartment door was unlocked. He slowly opened it and found it unchained as well.

Quickly and quietly he searched the apartment and found no-one home. He popped out his burner cell phone and dialed the only number that mattered, "Goens isn't here. It looks like he packed a bag. According to the postmarks on his mail he has only been gone a day or two, tops."

The stern female voice on the other end said, "Understood. Bootstrap wasn't in his padded cell either. Byer may be recruiting too."

"Why?"

"Addition by subtraction we think. He knows we will be looking to field a team and is gobbling up our likely allies. Goens is a huge loss. Search the place and I'll forward your next assignment in ether," there was a click and the line died.

He searched the house and found little of interest. He took a picture of Allen and Ashley Goens off the fridge. He laughed looking at her, "I hope you own a gun Allen…"

He turned to leave when he heard a 'pop' sound not unlike the tamper-proof seal on a beverage as it was opened. He looked around for a cell phone or laptop, then it did it again and he realized it was coming from the surround sound. He turned on the TV and saw that the game system had been left on. He heard the pop again and saw a pop-up window proclaim, 'Goensgyrl' has logged on. He looked down, saw the pink PS3 controller, leaned back on the sofa, and then he laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

He walked to her room and searched it. He collected a stack of used concert tickets, her diary, a yearbook, and looked at her wardrobe. "So, Ashley… What kinds of things do we like?"

*** I spent all day writing this and I hope you enjoyed it. I usually, as a reader, don't like 'bad guy' chapters but there is so much going on it's unavoidable and this will most likely be the only one. I know there's a lot going on, but the crowd will clear out pretty fast. For those that feel gypped out of a good guy chapter, don't fret- I have a fluffy one in the hopper and will most likely post it on Friday.