Don't Order Dog_ 1(173)
“Because Robert Shafer died more than thirty years ago,” Alex replied. “He was killed in a car accident. Big fire… body burned badly. So badly, in fact, that the coroner wasn’t even able to determine for certain if it was him.” He paused and stared directly at the small camera. “But then, who else could it have been?”
“Good question,” the voice answered. “Unfortunately, I haven’t read enough autopsy reports on ex-NSA agents to be of much help.”
“No, I didn’t think you would be,” Alex responded. He looked again at the woman slumped on a barstool at the bar. “Miss Halston, are you okay?” he asked, taking a step towards her.
“I’d leave Miss Halston alone for now,” the voice said politely. “She’s not in a position to respond.”
“Why is that?”
“She’s been injected with a sleep agent.”
“And why would she need a sleep agent?” Alex demanded.
“As a safety precaution,” the voice replied. “I didn’t want her to accidentally detonate the explosives on her chair.”
Alex turned and looked closely at Jeri’s barstool. Taped to each of the four legs just beneath the seat was a small cylindrical canister. A wire lead ran from each of the canisters to a black box located on the floor.
“C4 explosive,” the voice continued. “There’s three ounces loaded into each of the four cylindrical housings you see taped to her chair. Do you know what happens to a human body sitting inside a tightly arranged field of explosives, Agent Murstead?”
“I have a pretty good idea,” Alex said flatly.
“It’s quite amazing, actually. The compressive energy of the charges turns liquids into gas and bones into powder. In a mere instant the body is reshaped and reconstituted into a perfectly combustible fuel source – like paper waiting for a lighted match. And then, in the next instant, every ounce of that body is consumed… literally vaporized into nothing. By the time it’s over, it’s as if they never existed in the first place.”
Alex looked again at Jeri Halston’s sleeping figure and nodded his head grimly. “So tell me, Shepherd… what turns a former NSA agent into a rogue terrorist and killer?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the voice answered. “Perhaps you should direct that question to Richard Connolly.”
Alex looked at the laptop. “Maybe I should. Of course, Director Connolly already knows he’s about to spend the rest of his short, emphysema-filled life in a minimum-security penitentiary when all this is over.”
“What a pity,” the voice replied tersely.
“So I am speaking to Robert Shafer.”
“Only if dead NSA agents can speak from the grave, Agent Murstead.”
Alex shook his head irritably. “Okay, fine. You’re not Robert Shafer. So tell me… why are we here?”
“You’re here because I’d like to ask you for a favor,” the voice answered.
“What favor is that?”
“That you suspend your investigation of this matter immediately.”
Alex grinned at the laptop. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“And why should I do that?” Alex asked.
“Because as of today, this project is finished,” the voice replied. “We have what we came for, and now we’ll be on our way.”
“Oh really?” Alex asked, pointing his rifle at Jeri. “And what about her? Did you get what you wanted from her too?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“And if I say no to your request?”
“Then good luck, Agent Murstead. Good luck sifting through the ashes of Jeri Halston. Good luck trying to find me or a single trace of evidence that can save you from the merciless desk of the Deputy Secretary of State.”
Alex watched as the screen on the laptop suddenly flickered to life. A large stopwatch display appeared, its numbers set at 00:00.
“You can’t see it,” the voice continued, “but there’s enough C4 in this place to insure that any evidence of our time here today will be permanently erased.” On the laptop screen, the stopwatch display changed to 00:06. “I’m giving you six seconds to make your exit from Joe’s Last Stand Saloon from the moment I say ‘go’. I suggest you run quickly, Agent Murstead. I also suggest not trying to be a hero.”
Alex glanced anxiously around at the dark interior of the saloon, trying to make sense of what was happening. His eyes paused on the wall where the letters and photos were hung. He stared at them sullenly before shouldering his rifle and pointing it at the laptop.