Chapter 27 - The Worm
Sioux Falls, SD
Jane and Lisbon exited the South Dakota State Penitentiary and walked to their SUV.
"It worked!" Lisbon playfully whapped Jane's arm in relief. "You even felt like a real cop!"
"Ten years watching you four, my dear, especially Cho," Jane responded idly, thoughts far away. After getting in, "We need miles between us and this prison. Don't think he will, but Cooper could rat us out."
She sobered. "Back to Austin?"
Jane rubbed his lip. "Too predictable. East or west. Major city for anonymity."
"Think Stiles'll take the bait?"
Jane nodded. "He'll be curious, see how he can use us. His condition is a wild card. He was supposed to be dying."
Dryly, "Flawed prediction apparently." Her forehead creased. "Sure Stiles won't turn us in?"
Jane smiled thinly. "He absolutely will if it benefits him. We just make sure we're worth more as allies."
After dropping off the SUV they changed in a convenience store restroom to resume their vacationing couple pose. Then, I-90 east, destination: Chicago.
Cho's burner cell went to voice mail.
"No answer."
Lisbon glanced over. "Can wait till tonight, but what if Stiles calls him?"
"I'll send a text."
FBI, Austin, TX
Cho ignored the burner cell vibrating quietly in his pocket. A crowded FBI elevator wasn't the place to answer a call from a fugitive. He stepped off on his floor and ducked into the men's room just as a text came in. He'd missed Jane's call but read the text message before entering Abbott's office.
Cho knocked and opened the door. "Yes, Sir?"
"Enter." Abbott waved him to a seat. They looked each other over for a moment. "It was a hit by Blake," Abbott finally offered. "Don Fischer and an accomplice - CIA or ex-CIA judging by the operation." Grudgingly, "Seems Jane was right."
"Stevenson has a BOLO out on Lisbon and Jane. Can you–"
"Already cancelled. Kim and I cleared them. Your suspension is lifted, effective immediately." Cho didn't say anything. "Where are they, what's your team been doing?"
"Lisbon and Jane are checking out whether Visualize is involved. Went to talk to Jason Cooper–"
Abbott frowned in concentration, "–Convicted of some white collar crime a year or two ago?"
Cho nodded. "Jane thinks he was framed."
"Who, why?"
"Blake takeover of Visualize. Blake's using Visualize members to replace the followers you rounded up."
"Who has Bertram's drive?"
"Wylie's decrypting it."
"And Hastings?"
"Not my call. He needs to hear it from you."
Abbott nodded. Fair enough. "I'll brief Hastings. Get him a copy today. Organize a call with your team and me. I need to be in the loop."
"Yes, Sir." Cho hesitated.
Abbott looked up again. "What?"
"Jane thinks Bret Stiles survived. Wants to persuade him to ID Blake leaders."
Abbott exhaled, shook his head, then winced as his pounding headache got worse. "DNA confirmed Stiles died at Jane's house."
Cho shrugged. "Jane's usually right."
"We'll talk about it on the call. Dismissed."
Driving, I-90 to Chicago
An hour and 80 boring miles later, Lisbon asked, "Penny for 'em?"
Roused from his thoughts, Jane replied, "Thinking about how to play Stiles."
Eyes on the expressway, "I don't get how he escaped the explosion."
Jane half-turned to face her. "Two clues. First, there were two explosions – a flash-bang followed by the destructive one." She nodded, recalling that terrifying moment. "Second, Bertram, Smith and I were found in a different room though I didn't take them there."
Lisbon gave him an annoyed look. That didn't explain anything – at least not without time to think and work it out.
Reading her, Jane gave her a smug glance and continued, "McAllister knew it would be a showdown. He brought in a concussion grenade, perhaps in the hat he placed off to the side. The flash-bang knocked everyone out. His accomplice pulled Bertram, Smith and me into the other room so we'd survive. Then got McAllister outside and substituted a corpse for his body. The accomplice detonated the destructive explosion in the main room, leaving burnt lumps of flesh presumed to be McAllister and Stiles."
"And Haffner," she added somberly. "He didn't have the tattoo, didn't deserve to be blown up." She scowled. "Who can just order up corpses and plant fake DNA records? And why do it that way?"
"Partridge and maybe a Blake coroner. Why? Because no one hunts for a dead man. The elegant solution. As for Stiles, I always thought he knew too much about Red John. McAllister had something on Stiles and didn't want to waste that asset. His man saved Stiles and planted a second body. McAllister had it planned all along."
Lisbon filled in slowly, "So with McAllister and Stiles off the radar, Bertram and Smith were left as decoys."
"Worked, didn't it?"
"Till you figured out it was McAllister anyhow." She caught the flicker of emotions cross his face. There it is again. Something to do with McAllister. And Kim.
Jane nodded and looked out the window at the endless flat terrain. A minute later he cleared his throat. "Stiles is alive and I need to figure out how to play him."
She shook her head. "He was s'posed to be terminal two years ago."
He shrugged. "We'll ask. Cooper wouldn't have let on Stiles is alive, much less involved him if Stiles wasn't reasonably healthy, recovered."
"And?"
"Need to figure out what he might want, what we have to offer. How far I can push Abbott." He sighed: Twelve years and it still wasn't over.
Lisbon tipped her head and refocused on driving. The explosion was two years ago. How can it feel like both yesterday and an eternity ago? She pondered Jane's explanation as they again fell silent. Once again she reflected how useful the Blake network was for murders and crime.
Halfway through Minnesota Cho called.
"Hey." Jane put his burner cell on speaker.
"Just got done meeting. You're cleared, BOLO canceled. My suspension's lifted."
Cautiously, "That mean he's back in command?"
"Yes. I briefed him on your efforts. Wants a conference call later to get up to speed."
After Cho's call, Jane and Lisbon stopped at the next town and bought new cell phones for the call with Abbott. (Their work phones were left in the Citroen so they couldn't be tracked.) The old burners would be used for private calls with Cho, Wylie and Rigsby.
The call with Abbott settled matters. They would wait in Chicago and, hopefully, fly to meet with Stiles. Wylie and Hastings would decrypt the thumb drive. Cho would work with Abbott's other Blake team until after the Stiles connection.
They reached Chicago by 9 p.m. and took a hotel room near Woodfield Mall.
Hotel, Schaumberg, IL
Tired from seven hours of driving, Lisbon and Jane made do with room service. She promised to show him around Chicago if they had time to kill before Stiles called. Meanwhile, it was a relief to no longer worry about the BOLO and no longer be driving around. They turned in at an early 11 p.m.
*** M-Rated ***
Lisbon and Jane lay side by side, exhausted but clean, relaxing in the welcoming embrace of the bed. She was too wound up to sleep and could tell he was also awake from his breathing. Her hand ghosted his chest, cupped his face in a caress. They hadn't been together since before the attack, before he saved Kim Fischer's life. She needed, wanted the comfort ... and pleasure, wanted to comfort and pleasure him after the terror of the attack and strain of running.
Jane tensed at her touch. After a minute he groaned and turned to her, crushing her body to his, bruising her lips in a kiss as much desperate as passionate. They disrobed, shedding clothes as much foreplay as necessity. He tenderly, expertly stroked her body, teased nipples, nipped flesh, nibbled earlobes. She quickly responded, leaning into his touch, rising to meet his caresses. Her groin was soon engorged, throbbing, wet. He barely rubbed her, pierced her with his fingers before she shuddered in pleasure and release and relief. After recovering, she moved to focus on him. He'd have none of it. He gently rebuffed her ministrations to position himself above and between her legs. He entered her slick core with a powerful thrust, set a fast pace. She soon climbed to another orgasm, tipped over the edge. Her contractions pulled him to release with a half-groan, half-shout. He rolled off onto his back and surrendered to sleep. When she regained the ability to move she nestled against his side, head on his chest with an arm and leg thrown over his body. She pulled up the covers to fend off the chill of air conditioning in summer. On the verge of sleep, she stroked his cheek then drew back in surprise. It was wet.
*** End of M-Rated ***
Lisbon awoke, opening her eyes to black. The bed was empty and cold beside her. Looking toward the balcony doors she made out a silhouette against the faint city glow. She pulled her sleep jersey on and padded over, the summer night air comfortable. Her shoulder brushed his as she leaned against the railing. He stiffened at her touch.
Softly, "Hey. 'Eventually' is now."
He swallowed and shook his head, but didn't speak. It felt awkward for the first time since they were together.
After a moment, "Ten years of Red John didn't destroy us. Masks and hiding will. You can't ignore zoning out in a firefight." Intensely, "We need to talk, resolve this – whatever it is."
He glanced toward her, features indistinct in the dark, then quickly looked away. He subtly shrank from her.
"What's going on, Patrick?"
She barely heard his whispered, "I'm afraid." Only silence followed.
Quiet but determined. "Then I'll talk. Stanching Kim's bleeding triggered something. I know you're not good with blood. But it's more than that, more than remembering your family's murder."
He sighed.
"I never asked about McAllister. Thought – hoped - you put it behind you. ... But it all hooks together, doesn't it?" He licked his lips and swallowed nervously. She continued. "It took me a while. I know McAllister was–" her voiced hitched, "strangled. He was also gut shot. And that's the connection. The blood. The smell. Kim, McAllister, and your family." He moved to go inside, but she caught his arm and gently held him in place, put her other arm around him.
"Patrick, you have to talk about this or it'll poison us. I won't let that happen."
He sighed, wrapping his arms around his chest, holding himself together. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't."
"Try me."
Slowly, almost inaudibly, "I shot McAllister in the chapel. Mocked him when he begged for mercy." Incredulous, "After killing all those people he thought he deserved mercy." He shook his head. "I hesitated and he thought I'd spare him, claimed I was a 'good man.' He was wrong." She winced. "I was savoring it." He looked at Lisbon, face now barely visible as the sky lightened.
Impassively,"Go on."
"A woman, disciple, attacked me and McAllister got away. I chased him till he collapsed. He couldn't run any more, couldn't fight. I straddled the son of a bitch. He was bleeding, smelled like blood and crap and fear. I forced him to admit what he did, asked if he was sorry he killed my wife and daughter. And he was. And if he was afraid to die." Tears streaked unnoticed down his face.
"And I squeezed as hard as I could until the bastard was dead." His knuckles were white as he gripped the railing.
She rubbed his back. Coldly, "He got what he deserved."
"He got what he deserved," he echoed harshly. He turned to face her with eyes of shame and self-loathing. His mouth opened once, twice before he could force out the whisper, "And I reveled in it. Enjoyed killing him." His face crumpled, lips trembling. "I became what I hate." He shuddered. He was the worm in Lisbon's rose, defiled and defiling.
Lisbon rubbed his back until he stilled. She ruthlessly shunted emotion aside for cold logic. "Years ago you said you'd cut him open and watch him die slowly, like he did with your wife and child. –Did you? Cut him over and over to cause pain and prolong it?"
He shook his head. "I strangled him. Felt him die," nauseated by the memory.
"Do you dream about it, take joy? Relive the happy memory?"
He shook his head.
"Want to do it again? Kill for pleasure?"
Jane jerked away, on the verge of vomiting. She let him flee. Panting, he laved his face and cupped his hand to drink, disrupt the emotion. She stood in the bathroom doorway till he straightened and faced her.
Fiercely, "You killed the man who butchered your wife and child, who killed dozens for pleasure. A sadist who tortured and threatened you – us – for ten years. Someone who'd keep killing till he was dead." Slowly, "Taking satisfaction, even pleasure in ending – that, doesn't make you a monster. It makes you human." Jane blinked in disbelief. "If pleasure that Red John's dead is wrong, then I'm wrong too. So's Cho. And Rigsby. And Van Pelt."
Hesitantly, "You – you don't hate me for what I did? How I felt?"
She whispered, "God help me, no I don't. I love you."
He slumped as tension drained from him. They held each other long minutes, each supporting the other.
Now they could get past this.