Incursion: The Rift - Part Twelve

Tim had only seen his ex-wife's second husband on television, when he was meticulously groomed for the camera by CNN professionals whose job it was to make him look good. He had always taken some comfort in the belief that no one could look that composed and dashing all the time. Vincent Lockyer shattered that conviction. When he stepped into the front entryway, after a long day at work and a flight home, he looked no different than he had during his broadcasts covering the last White House scandal. His silk tie was straight, not a raven-black hair was out of place on his head, and his tailored Brioni suit was wrinkle-free.

His expression remained steady even when Joyce introduced Jeffrey, whom Tim presumed Vincent had never heard of, and himself, whom he most definitely had.

"Joyce's ex," he acknowledged with a tight smile and an excessively firm handshake. "Jeffrey," he nodded as he shook his hand. He had to have noticed the bandaged ear and bloody collar, but he didn't mention it.

"Joyce tells me there's something you'd like to discuss," Vincent said, motioning them toward the living room. "I hope this won't take too long. As you can appreciate I've just flown in from Washington and I've had a long day."

"It won't take long," Jeffrey responded, matching Vincent's tone of disdain. "But I'm sure it will be worth your while."

"I hope you're not trying to sell me anything," Vincent chuckled.

They returned to the living room and almost to the same seats they had occupied with Joyce. Tim was back on the uncomfortable wooden chair and Jeffrey was back on the sofa. Vincent took a plush armchair near the fireplace. Tim looked up and saw Joyce hovering by the doorway. She looked pale and she didn't join them.

"We're being hunted by government agents," Jeffrey began, never one for beating around the bush.

Vincent's expression didn't waver. He simply leaned back in his chair and put one leg over the other. "And what makes you think that?"

"The fact they blew off half my ear may have something to do with it," Jeffrey responded sharply.

"Look, if you too are in trouble with the law -"

"Ever heard of William Trask?"

Vincent's brow furrowed slightly. Either he recognized the name or he just wasn't used to being interrupted. He paused for a moment, and then told Jeffrey to continue. Jeffrey related the whole story, both Tim's part being followed by the black Lincoln Navigator with diplomatic plates, and the shoot out at Prospect Hill Park.

Vincent said nothing for a moment, then asked, "Are you certain one of the shooters was Trask?"

Jeffrey smirked. "Yeah. We spent enough time together in the Bureau. It was Trask all right."

Vincent again remained silent, this time for a longer moment. Jeffrey shifted in his seat, no doubt getting antsy. Tim wondered what Jeffrey would do if Lockyer refused to help them. Jeffrey wasn't used to being at someone else's mercy.

Finally Vincent continued. "Assuming I believe you," he began slowly, and Tim could see Jeffrey tense as if ready to pounce, "what exactly do you expect me to do?"

"Your job," Jeffrey shot back. "You're an investigative journalist. Investigate. Call your CIA buddies. Talk to your pals in the Bureau and the NSA. Do what you did to Senator Elmwood when she got caught with her panties down."

Vincent smiled ever so slightly, perhaps because Jeffrey's crude expression amused him, or perhaps because exposing Elmwood's impropriety had been a giant feather in his journalistic cap.

"All right," Vincent finally said. "I'll see what I can do."

Jeffrey gave Tim a look that said he never had any doubt he'd get what he wanted, but it faded somewhat at Vincent's next words.

"I'm not making any promises. If Trask is involved..." His voice trailed off.

Jeffrey nodded.

"What?" Tim asked, looking from one man to the other. "What's the big deal with Trask?"

Jeffrey and Vincent exchanged a look Tim couldn't decipher, and he had that all too familiar odd-man-out feeling. "Answer me!" he said firmly, almost shouting, half-rising out of his chair.

It was an impotent gesture. What was he supposed to do if they refused to elaborate? Go home and wait for this Trask person and his pals to show up? He wouldn't even make it that far.

Jeffrey, Tim was sure, realized his brother was powerless and said nothing. Fortunately Vincent didn't make that connection.

"Trask used to work for the FBI," Vincent began. "He started out as an analyst, but quickly moved up to a field position where he established a reputation for getting results. His superiors were quite impressed, until they caught on to how he was getting those results. There were allegations of fraud, bribery, and coercion. If he couldn't buy the information he wanted, he'd beat it out of someone. Rumor has it he became quite a skilled torturer."

That wasn't at all what Tim wanted to hear. Mute, he slowly lowered himself back onto the butt-numbing chair.

Jeffrey, Tim was sure, found this amusing. Up until Vincent's last sentence, his narrative fit Tim's brother to a T and he wondered, with a taste of bile at the back of his throat, if the last sentence didn't fit too. A glance at Jeffrey, in time to see the smirk flicker across his face, did nothing to reassure him.

The spacious room suddenly felt claustrophobic and hot.

"He left the Bureau," Vincent continued, and Tim needed to remind himself that he was not speaking about Jeffrey. "A short time later the NSA took him in. It seems they had less of an issue with his methods than the Bureau did. After that I'm not sure what happened. He may still be working for them, or he may have gone freelance."

Tim swallowed hard. "How ... how do you know all this?"

"I have contacts," Vincent said. Tim expected him to explain but he didn't.

Jeffrey stood up. "How long will it take you to track this down?"

Vincent stared at him for a moment and then shrugged. "It's impossible to say."

Again, Tim expected him to say more, but Jeffrey simply nodded. "Then we'll be in touch," Jeffrey said. He started for the door and Tim sprang to his feet to follow.

Vincent showed them to the front door. There were no pleasant good-nights. At some point during the discussion Joyce had slipped away, to some other part of the house, and didn't re-appear. That was just as well; Tim didn't want to speak to her or even see her again ... ever.

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