Justice Ch. 05: And Justice For All

"How is this even possible?" Ross asked.

"I wish I could answer that, Ross," Regis said. "Let me fill you all in on something. For some time, I've heard rumors of someone like this showing up out of nowhere, then disappearing. Nothing official, mind you, but I've heard enough to catch my attention. For years, I wrote them off as wild-eyed conspiracies, ghost stories or old wives tales. Now, with this photo and video, I don't know what to think."

"Can you think of any way to possibly track this man down?" Ross asked.

"As a matter of fact, I can," Regis said. "About a year ago, the State of Texas opened a new historical site -- the Jones Adobe. It's an old adobe house out in the middle of nowhere that dates back to the 1840s. The first picture I showed you is displayed there, along with parts of his wife's journal. It turns out the woman who helped make that happen is a lawyer named Danni Jones. She's married to a descendant of Elijah Jones and lives in Texas with their two children."

"Interesting," Roisin said. "Would it be possible to read that journal you spoke of?"

"Sure," Regis said. "Since the state made that old house a landmark, the journal was published by the family at the insistence of the state historical society. You can get your own copy on Amazon if you want. There's something else you should know about Mrs. Jones."

"What's that?" Ross asked.

"She's the attorney who played a major role in taking Acme Enterprises down two years ago," Regis said.

"I see," Ross said, his interest piqued. "Well, then, it seems to me that an interview with this Mrs. Jones would be in order. Wouldn't you agree, Regis?"

"I would," Regis said. "But I am curious about something."

"What's that?" Ross asked.

"What is your interest in Acme, anyway?" Regis asked.

"We have reason to believe Acme played a role in the development of the compound used against John last year," Roisin said. Regis nodded his head.

"I see," Regis said.

"Roisin, I'd like for the four of you to pay a visit to this Mrs. Jones in Texas," Ross said. "Straight away. We need to get to the bottom this."

"Yes, sir," she said. Ross turned back to Regis.

"Thank you, Regis," he said.

"You're welcome, Ross," the one-eyed man said in response. "Keep me in the loop, Roisin."

"Of course," she said before the connection ended.

...

Derek arrived home and wasn't surprised to see that Cynthia hadn't arrived. He washed up and made dinner for himself, a mutton curry recipe his mother had shown him some years before. He was halfway through his meal when he heard the door open. Looking up, he saw Cynthia walking into the house, dragging her luggage behind her. He turned back to his dinner.

"I'm home," she announced. "Oh my, that smells good. I'm famished." She came toward him, her arms spread wide to hug him. He put his hand up and stopped her. She looked at him, surprised.

"You reek," he said. She recoiled at that.

"I showered earlier," she said.

"I can still smell them on you," he said in a cold, hard voice. She stepped back and looked at him, surprised. She tried to change the subject.

"That curry smells wonderful. Is there enough left for me?"

"I only made enough for myself," he said. "You weren't home and I've gotten rather used to cooking for one lately. But you can have the rest of mine. I've lost my appetite."

"Let me just put my things away first," she said, grabbing her luggage. He watched her make her way to the master bedroom and knew she would be back in less than a minute. She was, and she didn't look amused.

"Why is the bedroom door locked?" she asked.

"Because you no longer sleep there," he said. "I've put your things in the second bedroom. That's where you'll stay from now on."

"What? Why?" she asked.

"Simple," he said. "I've never bedded a whore in my entire life and I'm not about to start now." She recoiled at that.

"Whore? Is that how you see me now?" she asked.

"You fuck other men for money," he said. "Isn't that the textbook definition of whore? The only real difference between you and the slags on the street is your clientele. There's no telling what's swimming around inside you right now and I'm not taking any chances."

"I'll have you know all of the executives are clean, and we're required to be tested on a regular basis. I can even show you my most recent test results if that will make you happy," she said, indignant that her husband would think of her as a common tart on the street.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" he asked. "You DO know there are some things that don't show up on those tests for weeks or months, don't you? And I know from the video you sent me that none of those executives used any protection whatsoever."

"You watched that?" she asked.

"I did. And I almost threw up. What the hell were you thinking sending that to me?" he asked.

"Jan said I should send it so you'd know that I'm being properly tended to," she said softly. "She said all husbands enjoy seeing their wives get screwed by other men. She assured me you would enjoy it."

"She did, did she? Well, she's an idiot. I didn't enjoy it. It was all I could do to keep from destroying my computer," he said. "Tell me something. Why are you home after all this time? Really?"

"My period is starting up, and," she began before he interrupted her.

"And of course, we can't have the good executives of Acme UK screwing their whore while she's menstruating, can we?" he asked bitterly. "Get out of my sight. You make me sick to my stomach."

"Derek, please," she began.

"GO!" he shouted, pointing to the bedroom doors. Sobbing, she flew back to the second bedroom and slammed the door. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, opened it and sat down in his recliner to watch some television. That went well, he thought. Not...

Cynthia took a shower in the second bathroom and came back into the front room, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She made herself a cup of tea and came into the front room, where she sat on the couch.

"What are you watching?" she asked.

"I don't know. Nothing, really. Why?"

"Can we talk?" she asked. "Without you calling me names or yelling at me?" He turned at looked at her before answering.

"I suppose," he said. "Depends on what you have to say."

"I've missed you so much," she said.

"I can tell, from all the cards, letters, emails and phone calls," he said sarcastically.

"I'm sorry about that. I was under strict orders not to contact you very much," she said.

"And if they ordered you to jump off the top of a very high building, would you do that as well?" he asked.

"You don't understand. They kept me going morning, noon, and night. I really didn't have any choice in the matter," she said.

"Yes, you did," he told her. "There was nothing that said you had to join that team. You knew what it was all about, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said quietly.

"So why did you do it?" he asked.

"Money. Excitement. The chance for us to get ahead for once in our lives," she said. "You have no idea how exciting it was meeting so many important people, knowing that I'm making a direct contribution to the advancement of the company's interests."

"Even at the cost of our own?" he asked. "We talked about starting a family, remember?"

"Yes, I do," she said.

"Well, you can pretty much forget that now," he said.

"Are you going to... divorce me?" she asked sadly.

"Graeme made it very clear to me that would not be a wise move," he said. "So no, I won't be seeing a solicitor for the time being."

"Thank you for that," she said. "I do love you, you know."

"Don't thank me. If it were up to me, you'd already be gone," he said. "But we are finished nevertheless. I've been told not to seek a divorce. But there's nothing that says I have to accept what you are doing. And there's nothing that says I have to be more than civil to you. You are welcome to stay here if you must. But that's it. When do you plan to leave next?"

"I'll be here for about four days, then I'm leaving again. I've been told we're going to Paris, Rome and other places. I'll be gone for about a month."

"A month. Do me a favor and leave your rings when you go. I'll not have you sully them any more than you already have," he said.

"And that's it, then? We're through? Just like that?" she asked as tears started falling down her face.

"Just like that," he said, turning his attention back to the television.

...

The next day, Derek prepared to jump in the cab of his lorry but was stopped when Jason Bruce came running out of the dispatcher's office.

"Derek, hold up," he said. "There's a big mucky-muck in Dan's office. Says he needs to see you straight away." Derek had a pretty good idea who it was and thought about jumping in the lorry anyway. He thought better of it, and closed the door, following Jason into the office. Sure enough, Graeme Barton was in the office with Dan.

"Dan, give us a few minutes alone, please," Graeme said.

"Sure," Dan said before walking out, giving Derek a strange look. Derek entered the office and sat in the chair Graeme indicated. He closed the door and turned to Derek.

"I received a disturbing phone call from a very distraught young woman," Graeme began when he sat down. "I thought we had an understanding."

"I've kept my end, Mr. Barton," Derek said. "I haven't seen a solicitor and I haven't filed or threatened divorce."

"Cynthia tells me you called her a whore. Refused to let her touch you, kicked her out of your marital bed, forced her to sleep in the second bedroom and basically compared her to a slag," Graeme said.

"If the shoe fits, Mr. Barton," Derek said. Graeme slammed an open hand down on Dan's desk, his face red with anger. Derek looked up at him, his anger rising.

"Dammit, Derek. Your wife is crucial to our operation," Graeme said. "Cynthia is your wife! She deserves to be treated right."

"You're right, Mr. Barton. She's my WIFE, at least on paper. But she's not my woman anymore. She's yours. I don't share. I was never given any consideration in this. You recruited her. She accepted the position. With no input from me," Derek said. "You say she deserves to be treated right, but what about me? What about our marriage? Do you honestly expect me to just accept what you're doing to her?"

"It's part of the job, Derek," Graeme said. "We all have to make sacrifices for the good of the whole."

"Spare me, Mr. Barton," Derek said. "You take her to God-only-knows where, have her screw God-only knows how many men, refuse to let her contact me, then drop her off at my doorstep when she goes on the fucking rag and expect me to nursemaid her just so you can do it again. And you expect me to be happy about it. Not bloody likely."

"I understand you're upset, Derek, I really do," Graeme said. "But it's vital she have a loving and accepting home where she can get rested. She needs your support. And so does the company. I'll do what I can to make sure she stays in touch with you and I'll see what we can do about her schedule. But you need to do your part as well."

"Don't expect me to let her in my bed as long as you're using her," Derek said. "I've got five years left on my term. I won't be renewing my contract, and I will divorce her when my time is up."

"Is that your final word on the subject?" Graeme asked.

"It is," Derek said.

"Very well," Graeme said. "Just so you know. I expect you to be on your best behavior with Cynthia from now on. No more names. No more disrespect. If I have to address it again, I won't be so understanding." Derek stood up and looked down at Graeme.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Barton, I have a tight schedule," Derek said.

"Go on, Derek," Graeme said, nodding his head. He watched the black man walk out of the building and go to his vehicle. Then he pulled out his mobile and made a call.

...

The day after that confrontation, John, Houston, Roisin and Mike pulled into the driveway that led to the Jones house in Texas. They got out of the car and heard four rapid gunshots. Walking around the side of the two-story ranch house, they saw a man with a rifle.

The man placed the butt of the rifle on his thigh and worked the lever four times, firing four shots in rapid succession. They saw four cans fly off the top of the posts where they had been sitting. The man twirled the rifle at his side as he ejected the last shell and looked at his handiwork.

"Damn," Roisin said. The man heard her and turned to face them.

"Can I he'p you folks?" he asked, his rifle in one hand. John approached him first.

"Are you Amos Jones?" he asked.

"I'm Amos Jones," the man said. "And who might you folks be?"

"Special Agent John Smith," John said, holding his credentials. "This is Agent Smith, Roisin Callahan and Mike McGregor, British Security Service."

"Alpha Sector," Amos said, looking at the credentials John held. "Can't say I ever heard of you."

"That's a good thing," John said with a smile.

"And you two are British Security Services?" Amos asked, looking at Roisin and Mike.

"Yes, we are," Roisin said.

"Uh huh," Amos said. "Well, this here's Texas, not Britain. A bit outta your jurisdiction, isn't it?"

"They're part of a joint task force working in collaboration with the U.S. Government," John said. "Is your wife Danni Jones?"

"Yes, she's my wife," Amos said. "Why? Are we in some kinda trouble?"

"No, not at all," John said. "We'd just like to talk to you and your wife for a few minutes about something that came up. Would that be alright?" Amos eyed them all for a few moments before answering.

"I reckon so," he finally said. "Come on inside. Getting a bit warm out here anyway." He motioned for them to go in the house.

"I don't believe I've ever seen anyone shoot like that," Mike said. Amos laughed.

"I reckon not," he said.

"If you don't mind my asking, what kind of a rifle is that, anyway?" Mike asked.

"Winchester. Model 1892 44-40. With a modified lever," Amos said. "A gift from my grandfather."

"You're grandfather?" Mike asked. "Did he teach you to shoot like that?"

"Yup," Amos said. "Maybe one day, I'll get to hand it down to my grandson. That's the way it is in these parts." Amos opened the door and motioned for them to go inside. Roisin was struck by how much Amos looked like the man they saw in Sheffield. He took his hat off and hung it on a hook by the door, then placed the rifle in a gun cabinet, locking it afterward.

"Danni, we got visitors," Amos shouted. They all saw the pregnant woman coming out of the kitchen.

"Special Agent John Smith," John said. "This is Agent Smith, Roisin Callahan and Mike McGregor, British Security Services."

"MI5 or 6?" Danni asked.

"Does it really matter?" Roisin asked, surprised that a Texas housewife might actually know the difference.

"I suppose not," Danni said. "Smith? Are you two married?" Danni asked, looking at John and Houston. They looked at each other and Danni could tell they were. "Isn't that a bit unusual? If not a direct violation of federal guidelines?"

"Special circumstances," Houston said.

"I see," she said. "Well, I just finished up a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade. Would you folks like some?"

"My Danni makes the best fresh-squeezed lemonade this side of the Pecos," Amos said. "Kids and I can't get enough of it."

"As long as it's cold," Roisin said, wiping rivulets of sweat working their way down her face. She couldn't believe people actually lived in this heat. Amos laughed.

"Welcome to Texas, ma'am," he said with a sideways smile. "Have a seat, please." They sat down, but not before Mike spied a partial pack of cigarettes on the fireplace mantel. "JOP" was marked on the white packet. He held it up for the others to see.

"Do you smoke, Mr. Jones?" he asked.

"Now and then," Amos said. "Is that an issue?"

"No, not really. I've just never seen this brand before," Mike said.

"My grandfather rolled those himself," Amos said. "So, what can we do for you folks?" he asked after Danni came back with a tray of glasses. Houston pulled a photo from a folder and handed it to Amos.

"What can you tell us about this man?" she asked. Amos looked at the picture and showed it to Danni. John and Houston observed them carefully. They could see the unspoken communication that took place between the couple as they looked at the picture -- the tiny flickers of expression that a subject betrays in the instant after seeing something was key to telling a lie from the truth, or recognition from clueless.

It was flashing red lights to John's instincts that both of the people before him had not the slightest trace of any discernible reaction. Their coolness spoke volumes of their strength of character. He was getting vibes, BIG vibes; not bad, but big. Roisin and Mike detected the same thing as they watched the couple.

"Where was this taken?" Amos finally asked.

"Sheffield," Roisin said. "It's a city in northern England," she added when he looked up at her.

"Northern England," Amos repeated. "Well, right off, I'd say this fella could use a new hat. Wouldn't you agree, dear?"

"I would say so," Danni said. That didn't seem to sit too well with their guests.

"Mr. Jones," John said. "We already know who this man is. Or rather, was." Amos and Danni looked up, startled. "We know that he's really Elijah Jones, formerly of the 8th Regiment of Indiana Cavalry. He's the same man in that photograph right over there," he added, pointing to the black and white framed photo on one corner table -- a copy of the photo used at the old adobe house.

"Well, I admit the resemblance is uncanny," Amos said. "But you seriously don't expect me to believe a man who was shot dead in 1864 by Confederate soldiers is walking around northern England drinking beer, do you? I've heard some doozies before but that one takes the cake."

"Mr. Jones, that photo has been examined by experts in two countries," Roisin said. "We also have this man on audio."

"You have the voice of a dead man on audio?" Amos said. "Really, now I've heard it all. Maybe you guys ought to start a television show or something."

"Mr. Jones, please, let me remind you that failure to cooperate with federal investigators could see you charged with a crime," John said. Amos looked at Danni, who nodded her head slightly. "We heard this man talk about dealing with Acme once before."

"About two years ago, an Acme compound in Albania was attacked," Mike said. "Before he died, the lone survivor of that attack described a man very similar to the one in this photo. He also described a younger man, firing a rifle very much like you were when we pulled up."

"Shortly after that incident, Acme sold off most of its overseas holdings," John said. "But not before agreeing to a very large settlement with you, Mrs. Jones, and one Mike Bradley."

"Everything about those transactions was legal and above board," Danni said.

"We know," John said. "We just find it interesting that this man referenced Acme, given your history with them."

"So, what do you want from us?" Amos said.

"We want to know what this man is doing in northern England, and why is he interested in Acme," Roisin said.

"Then perhaps you should ask me directly, to mah face, instead of hassling mah grandkids," a disembodied voice said from above them. Startled, they all looked up to see where the voice came from. As they looked, the room darkened and the temperature dropped several degrees. Shadows began to move and finally coalesced in the room directly in front of John and Houston.

They looked up into the face of a larger-than-life western character, his eyes glowing as if on fire. The eyes seemed to cool down and before them stood Eli. John stood up.

"Elijah Jones, I presume," he said. The man nodded his head slowly, never taking his eyes off John. Houston, Roisin and Mike sat transfixed, not sure what to make of this development.