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“Mr. Covington, follow me, please.”
After sailing quickly through security, we approach the glass enclosed reception window and my companion offers a single nod. The receptionist hands me a visitor’s badge and I wrap the cord around my neck. My nerves are buzzing as we pass the round gold seal of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the framed picture of the president, and the various most-wanted posters that I feel I’ve passed a few too many times in my life.
“Special Agent Bass is waiting for you inside,” the man tells me.
They’ve arranged for us to meet in the same conference room that we used last year when I first returned. Fuck, it seems like it was yesterday that I sat in this very room waiting for my mother to arrive. My mind flashes back and I suddenly feel shaky.
The suits had left me in there for hours. The ticking of the clock was my only solace. One suit finally came back in and told me my mother was in the building. I asked where she was, then was informed that she was talking to one of the Special Agents in the waiting room. I tried not to lose my shit as I tore out of that f**king place. I wanted to be there when they told my mother. I knew it would be a shock to her that I was really alive—that I wasn’t actually gunned down that night while on my way to an awards ceremony. I ran through the hall and stopped on my heels when I saw Special Agent Bass talking to my mother. I was relieved when I saw the agent was a woman. Why, I’m not sure, but somehow I felt there would be more sympathy from a woman explaining the circumstances to her than a man. They were sitting in the corner of the room. My mother was crying so I knew she had been told and her tears made me instantly regret ever agreeing to the whole set-up in the first place. She looked like an emotional wreck and the remorse I felt for the choice I made to leave, to not stay and turn this over to the FBI, weighed heavier than ever on me. But once the ball started rolling there was stopping it. Thank f**k Caleb had taken things into his own hands and contacted the FBI shortly after I left.
When my mother looked up, her mouth fell open, and I could see she was shaky, unsure. She stood up but didn’t step forward and I walked over to assure her I was real. Once I was standing in front of her, she blinked and then sighed before throwing her arms around me. It overwhelmed me and I’ll never forget holding on to her for the longest time.
She was always my biggest supporter. To her I could do no wrong—I was her golden boy, the son that looked just like his father, the man she had also loved unconditionally. Our brief but emotional reunion was interrupted when the Special Agent Bass ushered us back to this room.
“Sir, are you okay?” The suited man standing next to me is giving me an odd look since I’m standing frozen before the conference room door.
So I shake off the memories, nod, and turn the knob to open the door. The escort closes the door behind me. Special Agent Bass is sitting at the end of the table looking through a pile of papers. Two men sit on either side of her. The one to the left is older than I am and the one to the right appears about my age. They all rise when I enter.
“Ben, I hope this wasn’t too short notice. But I really wanted you to meet Special Agent Gallant and Detective Keyes.”
After a round of handshakes, Agent Bass sits back down and folds her hands. The older man’s smile is polite and anything but genuine as he shuffles his papers around once we’re all seated.
“These two men have been working on the cartel case for over four years. They have some questions for you that I wasn’t able to answer.” Her eyes dart to the older man, the detective, and he clears his throat.
“Mr. Covington, I just want to be blunt. We recovered the flash drive you gave to Caleb Holt and found nothing but a list of names and phone numbers that appears to be taken from a telephone directory.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I told Agent Bass I didn’t have time to decipher the information.”
“Yes, we’re aware of that. But we have had the time. In fact we’ve spent an enormous amount of time doing just that only to come to the conclusion that the data means nothing.”
There is a long pause as everyone stares at me. “Wait, you don’t think I still have information do you?”
The younger agent clears his throat. “We believe there is information still out there that can help us convict Medina and Blanco. Right now if we proceed with the trial my best guess is they would end up convicted of smuggling. We have the 50-kilogram shipment that we intercepted the night Josh Hart was caught after he attacked Dahlia London and that’s it.”
“They ordered more than 100 murders. How can that be all you have?” I ask.
“We have houses purchased to store cocaine that are empty. That’s what we have.”
“Fuck!” I yell. “I had it all detailed in the story . . . the routes, the houses, the people, the money trail.”
“We know but without the data that supported the story we are at a standstill,” Agent Bass informs me.
I shake my head. “I gave it all to Caleb. I told you that. I didn’t even keep a backup on my computer. I didn’t want anything left behind.”
“That’s not entirely true, now, is it?” By this point the detective practically seethes in anger.
“Phil, Ben has been through a lot. I think he’s given us everything he has.” Agent Bass defends me to the detective.
Our silence takes over the room as I struggle to compose myself and he does the same.
Thirty minutes and a dozen of more of the same questions later, I’m walking out the door and being escorted back into the black SUV. As we drive back to my fleabag motel, we pass Beck’s.
After sailing quickly through security, we approach the glass enclosed reception window and my companion offers a single nod. The receptionist hands me a visitor’s badge and I wrap the cord around my neck. My nerves are buzzing as we pass the round gold seal of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the framed picture of the president, and the various most-wanted posters that I feel I’ve passed a few too many times in my life.
“Special Agent Bass is waiting for you inside,” the man tells me.
They’ve arranged for us to meet in the same conference room that we used last year when I first returned. Fuck, it seems like it was yesterday that I sat in this very room waiting for my mother to arrive. My mind flashes back and I suddenly feel shaky.
The suits had left me in there for hours. The ticking of the clock was my only solace. One suit finally came back in and told me my mother was in the building. I asked where she was, then was informed that she was talking to one of the Special Agents in the waiting room. I tried not to lose my shit as I tore out of that f**king place. I wanted to be there when they told my mother. I knew it would be a shock to her that I was really alive—that I wasn’t actually gunned down that night while on my way to an awards ceremony. I ran through the hall and stopped on my heels when I saw Special Agent Bass talking to my mother. I was relieved when I saw the agent was a woman. Why, I’m not sure, but somehow I felt there would be more sympathy from a woman explaining the circumstances to her than a man. They were sitting in the corner of the room. My mother was crying so I knew she had been told and her tears made me instantly regret ever agreeing to the whole set-up in the first place. She looked like an emotional wreck and the remorse I felt for the choice I made to leave, to not stay and turn this over to the FBI, weighed heavier than ever on me. But once the ball started rolling there was stopping it. Thank f**k Caleb had taken things into his own hands and contacted the FBI shortly after I left.
When my mother looked up, her mouth fell open, and I could see she was shaky, unsure. She stood up but didn’t step forward and I walked over to assure her I was real. Once I was standing in front of her, she blinked and then sighed before throwing her arms around me. It overwhelmed me and I’ll never forget holding on to her for the longest time.
She was always my biggest supporter. To her I could do no wrong—I was her golden boy, the son that looked just like his father, the man she had also loved unconditionally. Our brief but emotional reunion was interrupted when the Special Agent Bass ushered us back to this room.
“Sir, are you okay?” The suited man standing next to me is giving me an odd look since I’m standing frozen before the conference room door.
So I shake off the memories, nod, and turn the knob to open the door. The escort closes the door behind me. Special Agent Bass is sitting at the end of the table looking through a pile of papers. Two men sit on either side of her. The one to the left is older than I am and the one to the right appears about my age. They all rise when I enter.
“Ben, I hope this wasn’t too short notice. But I really wanted you to meet Special Agent Gallant and Detective Keyes.”
After a round of handshakes, Agent Bass sits back down and folds her hands. The older man’s smile is polite and anything but genuine as he shuffles his papers around once we’re all seated.
“These two men have been working on the cartel case for over four years. They have some questions for you that I wasn’t able to answer.” Her eyes dart to the older man, the detective, and he clears his throat.
“Mr. Covington, I just want to be blunt. We recovered the flash drive you gave to Caleb Holt and found nothing but a list of names and phone numbers that appears to be taken from a telephone directory.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I told Agent Bass I didn’t have time to decipher the information.”
“Yes, we’re aware of that. But we have had the time. In fact we’ve spent an enormous amount of time doing just that only to come to the conclusion that the data means nothing.”
There is a long pause as everyone stares at me. “Wait, you don’t think I still have information do you?”
The younger agent clears his throat. “We believe there is information still out there that can help us convict Medina and Blanco. Right now if we proceed with the trial my best guess is they would end up convicted of smuggling. We have the 50-kilogram shipment that we intercepted the night Josh Hart was caught after he attacked Dahlia London and that’s it.”
“They ordered more than 100 murders. How can that be all you have?” I ask.
“We have houses purchased to store cocaine that are empty. That’s what we have.”
“Fuck!” I yell. “I had it all detailed in the story . . . the routes, the houses, the people, the money trail.”
“We know but without the data that supported the story we are at a standstill,” Agent Bass informs me.
I shake my head. “I gave it all to Caleb. I told you that. I didn’t even keep a backup on my computer. I didn’t want anything left behind.”
“That’s not entirely true, now, is it?” By this point the detective practically seethes in anger.
“Phil, Ben has been through a lot. I think he’s given us everything he has.” Agent Bass defends me to the detective.
Our silence takes over the room as I struggle to compose myself and he does the same.
Thirty minutes and a dozen of more of the same questions later, I’m walking out the door and being escorted back into the black SUV. As we drive back to my fleabag motel, we pass Beck’s.
