Chapter 27 #2
He traversed the steps and eased open the screen door, wondering if this was going to blow up in his face, literally and figuratively. He’d hardly put it past this guy to have his front door booby trapped with C4. Could be the exact reason why Haserford didn’t come outside.
Noah stretched the screen door wide. When it didn’t explode, him along with it, he stepped inside.
The stale air in the house accompanied the dust that had collected in the corners. Threadbare furniture in the living room and pizza boxes on the coffee table. Wallpaper that was likely put up a generation ago, and carpet just after—now it was all faded.
“It ain’t much, but it’s home.”
Noah followed the voice into the kitchen, which he found tidy, even if it was as dated as the rest of the house. “Nice place.”
“You’re thinking it’s some kind of cover, or a double blind.
” Haserford had a distended belly, over which he had buttoned a blue denim shirt.
Jeans with oil stains, boots, and a comb-over.
His eyes had dark shadows, and his skin was clammy.
“But I hate to disappoint you, this is it.” He laid the shotgun on the tile counter.
“You think I came in here to judge where you live?”
“No, you want information.” Haserford huffed.
“You probably treated a lot of patients at the CIA and talked to a lot of people during your time there. I’m not interested in any of them, except my parents.”
Haserford shifted, the movement barely visible.
Noah should’ve lifted his gun, but he left by his side.
If finding out what happened to them cost him his life, he’d rather go like that than any other way.
He’d survived war, multiple deployments, missions he could never discuss.
Dying in a rundown house in North Carolina hadn’t been part of the plan—ever—but he was okay with it if he got the answers he wanted before he went.
His one regret? Leaving Marina outside to deal with the aftermath.
Yeah, that told him a lot about how he felt. But now wasn’t the time to get sidetracked.
Kind of like he shouldn’t get sidetracked trying to figure out if this was some kind of poor-investments thing. Or a case of Haserford leaving his finances with no margin for when life happened, and then it had.
“You wanna know about the Rourkes?”
Noah nodded, trying not to think about how much was riding on the answers he got here.
“Whoever told you where to find me…” Haserford shook his head.
Noah wasn’t drinking anything if this guy asked him to stay for tea.
“The Rourkes disappeared a long time ago.” His gaze drifted, and he seemed far away. “Sometimes the past is best left there.”
“They worked for the CIA?” It had never been confirmed, not officially. “Were they agents, or contractors, or what?”
“So you really know nothin’.”
Noah shrugged. “Help me out.”
Haserford almost smiled. “Careful what you wish for.” He took a breath, then said, “They were agents. They were some of the best a long time ago. And like a lot of things, present reality is a harsh truth up against the memory of what used to be.”
“I’m not leaving without an answer.”
“You think I’m pining for better days? You think I hate this life, and I want to go back to work?”
Noah gritted his teeth.
“Because I don’t. People like the Rourkes think they can do whatever they want.
They think they can control nations, and destroy lives, whenever they want.
Take money from the CIA and use it for their own gain.
Meanwhile, those of us who follow the rules and obey the law get stiffed.
I got so sick of listening to their problems. Finally, I realized the CIA is a farce.
Bunch of people who do whatever they want, pretending they’re noble.
Take ’em to court and they’d be tried and convicted. ”
“You have evidence to back up what you’re saying?” Noah stuck his thumbs in his pockets because that brought his hand close to his gun. He could squeeze off a shot before Haserford fired.
Kessler, who he’d turned over to the CIA for questioning months ago, had been stealing resources and using it for his own criminal empire. His parents had helped him and Caleb take them down—why would they do that if they were the same as him?
“Of course, I don’t have evidence. Why do you think I’m still alive?” Haserford crossed to the fridge and pulled out a beer, leaving the shotgun on the counter—now out of reach. “I know what I know, and I’ve got no recourse.”
“Where can I find my parents?”
“How should I know?”
“I’m supposed to accept they were part of some corrupt system? Seems more like you fell on hard times and it made you jaded. Now you’ll ruin the reputation of my parents just because it makes you feel better.”
Haserford slammed the cap of the beer onto the edge of the counter and used his hand to pop the top. “That’s rich.”
“I came here in good faith.”
“Even richer.”
“So the CIA sent me here for nothing?”
“The CIA sent you?”
“Thomas Kraus told me all about you,” Noah said.
Haserford barked a laugh. “Probably figured you’d kill me and I’d kill you. End of two problems.” He lifted the beer. “Welcome to the club.”
“Where are my parents?”
“I’m guessing Kraus didn’t tell you about the Lazarus Protocol.”
Noah said, “What does that have to do with my parents?”