Chapter 14 #3
“Make it better than you did at my first. You sounded like a real prick,” Franklin said, wincing in embarrassment for Beckett.
“You were there?!”
“No, of course not—” Franklin replied, waving away Beckett’s concerns. “The agents had a live feed running at the service.”
Hayes didn’t know exactly what it was about that statement that triggered Beckett, but before he could even blink, Beckett launched himself over the table to reach for his brother.
It was really the final straw, as Beckett had wanted to snap him in half ever since he walked into the safe house.
Franklin hastily scrambled to his feet, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid Beckett pressing him up against the wall and wrapping his hands around his throat.
“You fucker! Maman is inconsolable! Maggie thinks she fucking killed you! Do you fucking realise what you’ve done?” Beckett snarled through gritted teeth, every muscle in his body tense and ready to rip Franklin’s head off his shoulders.
“Beckett,” Hayes said, as he approached the pair carefully. Four Marshals burst into the kitchen with their guns aimed at Beckett’s head, which was too many for Hayes to take down while dodging bullets.
“Agent Thérault, step back! Now!” A Marshal who Hayes did not recognize commanded harshly.
“I know,” Franklin said to Beckett, ignoring the chaos. “I know,” he repeated, his voice high and strained because of Beckett’s pressure on his trachea. “But it was the only way I knew to make sure you’d catch on.”
Beckett must have seen sincere regret in his eyes because he eased his grip on his throat.
“I couldn’t tell you. They wouldn’t let me.
At first, they wanted me to pretend I was getting transferred out of the country, but I refused.
” Franklin looked around at the Marshals in the room, wondering if they would tell him to shut it.
Since they didn’t, he continued. “I knew if I pretended to kill myself, you’d get suspicious.
I knew you wouldn’t believe it, and I needed you to see through the bullshit. ”
“Why?” Beckett asked, releasing his brother completely and stepping back, looking puzzled.
Franklin rubbed his throat and took a deep breath of relief.
“Because I need you to kill him.”
“Who?” Beckett asked, although he already knew what Franklin was going to say.
“Matthew’s uncle,” he said, in a rush. “I need you to take him out so Matt will be safe for good.”
The Marshals had re-holstered their weapons and looked relaxed, but when they heard what Franklin wanted Beckett to do, they tensed up immediately.
“Mr. Thérault, I highly advise you stop talking right now!” One of the scarier looking Marshals gave Franklin an icy look.
Beckett looked around for Kolinsky, but he wasn’t in the room.
“Which Thérault you talking to?” Beckett asked, just to be contrary, as he counted the guns in the room and calculated three different ways to take their asses down.
“Both—and don’t even think of going for it. I have three guys posted outside. You’ll never make it past the porch,” the scary Marshal said with a large hand on his gun, which was holstered at his hip, and something about the way he moved told Beckett he was no rank amateur by any means.
“But will I have time to scream stranger-danger really loudly?” he responded with a toothy smile.
The Marshal did not entertain him with an answer.
“I think your time’s up, gentlemen,” the Marshal announced with a quick jerk of his head towards the front door. “My colleague is waiting for you in the car outside. He’ll drive you back to your car.”
“Pencil-pusher-with-a-gold-star said what?” Beckett replied, baffled by the Marshal’s claim.
“Let me make things very clear. You can either leave now, or I can shoot your ass right out of this damned house.” The Marshal stepped forward again, unholstering his gun and aiming it directly at Beckett’s head.
No wavering of any kind. He was obviously a pro at making sure people followed his orders, and if they didn’t, well, it looked as if he was okay with removing them from the gene pool.
Beckett dropped his head back and sighed in defeat, then looked at the Marshal again.
He studied him closely for clues as to his background.
He didn’t look like a Marine to him, although his stance was certainly evidence of military training.
Navy, perhaps? Unlikely, since ex-Navy guys weren’t inclined to join law enforcement.
So, what did that leave for him to choose from?
“Let me guess. You’re Green Beret,” he declared drolly, while staring down the gun barrel pointed at his head.
“Hooah!” the Marshal responded, confirming Beckett’s hunch.
“Could be worse—could be Air Force.” Hayes smirked as he shared a conspiratorial look with Beckett.
“Listen guys, just go, alright? I’m safe for now,” Franklin said, and when Beckett turned to look at him, he read fear behind that statement.
“And what, I’m just supposed to lie to our mother’s face?” Beckett asked, looking between Franklin and the team of Marshals.
“You lied about being straight for 30 years,” Franklin pointed out. “Pretty sure you can manage this deal for a few weeks.”
Hayes lost the battle in his attempt not to laugh. Beckett shot him a furious look of betrayal.
“Now, Agents!” The scary Marshal barked over top of Hayes’ snickering.
With a dramatic sigh, Beckett raised both hands in a show of surrender. Surprisingly enough, he reached for Franklin and pulled his older brother into a hug and whispered something in his ear.
“You’re a fucker!” Beckett said accusingly, stepping back and pointing at Franklin. “We’ll figure it out.”
That sounded far too much like a promise for Hayes’ liking. Hayes frowned, knowing damned well that he was not going to enjoy anything that Beckett was probably already cooking up for them. He sighed inwardly.
Beckett started to turn away before suddenly turning back to slap Franklin right across the face. Hard.
“What the fuck!” Franklin howled in pained outrage.
“Agent Thérault!” The ex-Green Beret roared angrily and moved to stand in front of Franklin, ready to intervene in case Beckett tried to hit him again.
But Beckett was done.
“That was for Nickel!” Beckett glared at Franklin.
Hayes wasn’t sure if he’d intended to exact revenge for his leaving Nickel behind, or for forcing Beckett to take care of the dog. Oddly enough, he had a feeling it was probably the former, not the latter.
“Alright, come on!” Hayes pushed him towards the door. Beckett didn’t put up a fight. He let himself be moved. Hayes didn’t bother hugging or speaking to Franklin. Silently, he led the way out of the house towards the black SUV idling at the curb.
As soon as they were back in their own car, Beckett pulled out his phone.
“Gill?” Hayes guessed.
Beckett didn’t answer. He simply connected his phone to the car’s Bluetooth and waited for Gill to answer.
“Thérault,” Gill said, with a heavy sigh, like he already dreaded what was coming.
Hayes thought to himself that Gill was not alone in that.
“You absolute fucker!” Beckett yelled one of his favorite insults at the top of his lungs.
“Might I remind you—” Gill began, clearly unhappy with Beckett’s lack of respect.
“Fuck. You. I thought my brother was dead, goddammit! Dead, Gill!”
In the silence that followed, Hayes mentally braced himself to get sacked right then and there.
“Yes—I’m—” Gill took a long, steadying breath. “I’m sorry, son. Truly. I tried to convince David there had to be another way, but the FBI operates under strict rules and regulations that he could not deviate from. It was out of his hands.”
Hayes easily detected Gill’s genuine distress.
Apparently, so could Beckett because his temper dissipated immediately and he fell silent.
“David?” Hayes asked, breaking the silence.
“David Foster,” Gill specified. “FBI’s head of operations.
This whole thing is a bit of a mess at the moment.
When Franklin called, I tried to reach my primary contact in the Mounties, only to find out he’d already retired.
The only thing I could do was reach out to my contacts in the FBI.
Now the Canadians are pissed that the FBI is all over it, but there isn’t much they can do, so—”
“Wouldn’t it be more of a CIA problem? Since it’s outside of the US?” Hayes asked.
“The family operates inside the United States as well, and the FBI was already in the process of building a case against them. The FBI jumped in with both feet when I called. Your brother got swept up in it. I’m sorry.”
Beckett’s jaw was locked tight. He took several deep breaths to calm down, but it wasn’t working too well.
“What can we do?” Beckett asked. “I can’t keep lying to my entire family, Gill. Fuck, we just came out to them—”
Gill made an odd sound and then cleared his throat. “Well, congratulations on that, gentlemen.”
There were a few seconds of silence and then Gill continued.
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to be done.
From my limited understanding, the FBI found Matthew Rosario’s testimony and evidence—whatever that might be—convincing enough to act.
They are trying to build a case linking Mario Rosario to human trafficking as we speak, but it’s going to take some time to gather the necessary evidence for the grand jury indictment.
Last I heard, they were sending in an undercover agent—”
“But that could take years!” Beckett yelled, feeling appalled and angry.
Hayes didn’t blame him. FBI cases—especially ones involving undercover work—could last for several years before they made any kind of headway.
“Also—Mario? What is this? The terrible mustache mob?”
Gill wisely ignored Beckett’s inane questions. “I know—I’m sorry, son. I really am.” He sounded a lot more like himself now than he did when they’d called him the week before about Franklin’s death.
“Franklin asked us to kill Mario,” Beckett admitted, out of the blue.