suit jacket on his gun. Agents were a hassle to dispose of.
“It’s a perfect setup.” Mr. DeGruis wrapped his hands around the arms of his chair.
Aside from the fact that Rowley didn’t trust any Fed, he was especially wary of one waltzing into his office offering him a golden egg. He didn’t like people who insisted on having academic notations accompanying their name. Weren’t feds born with a PhD in politician ass kissing?
“If I’ve got your plan correct, Mr. DeGruis, you’re going help us assassinate the president. But who says I want to kill the president?”
“I do. You’re running out of time. Ten years of political maneuvering is coming to an end and the first Bill of Undead Rights will pass. The tentative date is February fourteenth on the thirtieth anniversary of the American government opening the doors to the undead, so to speak, which is only four months and change from now.”
“Back to the details of this plan of yours, which is to make it look like Vaihan Louchian is framing the leader of the Army of the Living. Meaning me, as everyone has the misguided notion it is moi. All the while, we have it go down for the actual deed.” Rowley got the advantage the feds saw in having numerous scapegoats to pin the crime on, but that still didn’t make sense. “My question is why?” Since he would know the truth about what actually happened.
“To put it bluntly, the current administration is failing the living citizens of this great nation and sheltering the undead minority. Other than The Unabomber, who else has been able to evade the authorities this long? I have it on good authority that the CIA is planning a takedown of your outfit. If we don’t put something in motion now, frankly, there will be no one with the resources to pull this off. Homeland Security doesn’t believe it’s in the best interest of this country to give the undead the same rights and privileges that the living enjoy. I can’t imagine an undead president. Who’s to say they won’t decide that cloned humans isn’t good enough? I don’t want to be sent off to the slaughter.” Mr. DeGruis leaned back in the seat. “They could overturn the law that doesn’t permit them to create more of their kind. It’s hard to know what their motives are. Nor do we feel we should take the risk and find out.”
Green eyes razor sharp, Devin watched Mr. DeGruis. A closed folder on his desk contained the details of the plan. There were three possible venues for the hit to go down. One he and his man were considering as well.
If Mr. DeGruis couldn’t pull off “the frame,” the Military of the Living wouldn’t be their scapegoat to fall back on. When the current president was killed, zombies would be blamed. The vice president would assume command and round up all the undead.
“How does the CIA plan on taking us down?” Rowley placed his hands on the cherry wood desk, palms up.
“If I tell you how the CIA plans to pick the Army of the Living apart, what reason will you have to help me?” Mr. DeGruis tilted his shiny bald head.
He did have a point. The Army of the Living already planned on killing the president, but if they could then use Homeland Security to instill fear in Americans about the government involvement in the conspiracy, all the better. The country might clean sweep high levels of the civil service at the same time. Just because Vice President Jose Torrez’s beliefs prevented him from fully embracing the undead didn’t mean political maneuvering wouldn’t when push came to shove. Politicians were all the same, looking out for the next election.
“The information would be a gesture of good faith.” Something feds knew little about. “You’ve come to me, not the other way around.”
“Have a new up-and-comer within the ranks of your men?” The man’s lips parted, and his gold-capped tooth shone.
Ah, he saw where he was going with this. A fucking snitch in their midst.
“A man with just the right mix of personal tragedy related to zombies with a record of hate crimes against the undead.”
Rowley nodded to his right hand man Devin. “Bring the rat bastard to the back room.” Neil. He was the snitch.
Devin’s lips turned up on one side, his green gaze gleamed with agreement.
If he didn’t need to test Barton’s commitment level to seeing this through, Rowley would shoot the mole himself.
Devin vanished down the hall.
Anger worked a storm of fury inside Rowley’s chest. “Do you know how we deal with infiltrators, Mr. DeGruis?”
“I doubt you house them in a jail and feed them three square meals a day like the current administration does for the undead criminals.”
Nor did the Army of the Living give a snitch an easy death. “It doesn’t bother you that a young man’s life is going to end? A man who’s been led down this path by loyalty to God and country?”
Mr. DeGruis shrugged. “Many more will die if we don’t clean up the nation’s infestation of undead.”
“Let’s just say, I may agree to help you but before I decide, I want to know how far you are willing to take this.”
“To the end.”
Typical. Always focused on the end result and forgetting the steps in between. “And what of the beginning. How are you going to prove to me I can trust you?”
“I told you about the informant, didn’t I?” A blank gaze met his.
Did Mr. DeGruis think him too stupid to figure out he needed the mole dead? The rat would report that he saw the agent there. “You did, but the truth is I already suspected the weasel. So here is how we are going to play this. You’re going to take him out, here, in front of me and Devin.” Rowley rose, hand on the holster of his nine millimeter. “If you do that, we have a deal. Don’t, and we never had this conversation. You go on your way.”
Barton stood level with him, six-two in a dark suit.
“I’m not much for talk. I’m a man who respects persons of action and of their word. We need to know everything he’s told them, so don’t get too trigger-happy. We start with the fun stuff, torture.”
Rowley led Mr. DeGruis down the hall to the rear room, where Devin sat smoking with Neil. Meat hooks hung on rows of tracks. The converted meat-packing warehouse made for a great locale. Decades later and the building still reeked, which masked scents.
The young man darted his gaze to him. “What’s this about?”
Rowley pulled out his gun and slammed the butt against Neil’s cheekbone. Blood ran from an open gash on the side of his face. “You’re worse than they could ever be. Betraying your own kind. You think you could get the goods on me?”
“What are you talking about? I would never.” He backed away, stumbling.
“Is this the snitch?” Snot-nosed, arrogant little prick thought he could take him and his men down.
Mr. DeGruis stood next to him. “He is the one.”
Devin grabbed the struggling man, shoved him to the ground and tackled him.
“Mr. DeGruis, help the man string him up.” The little bastard didn’t have a chance.
Devin
