Four

We learn more about Oscar

            Oscar Redding knew he was the good guy. He had to keep telling himself that, even though all the signs pointed to the awful truth that in this war there were no good guys and bad guys, no right and wrong, there was only an objective. But none the less Oscar could only bring himself to do the things he had to do if he kept telling himself this. It had been two years since that first interview, how naive he’d been. He thought that all this changing the world business would be saving people, killing bad guys and so on. He now realized it was much less glorious than that. Information gathering was the official name for his job, but really it was just whatever they told him to do. It usually involved using his now very particular skill set. The lives he ended, he hadn’t the faintest clue of what they’d done, all he knew was that they were in possession of information that his employers wanted, and they would have to go. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, he wasn’t allowed to differentiate. ‘They all die the same’ one of his first handlers had reminded him. Even after those two years since that first encounter Oscar still felt the need to run his hand over his shaved head. It felt peculiar under his now worn hands, and as he removed them he embraced the cooling wind flowing over his head. He had been sent to the States, Washington D.C. to be precise. He was never told much about his orders, just snippets of information as he went along, he knew what he needed to know when he needed to know it. Walking down the outdoor steps to a large plateau with a huge obelisk in the foreground, Oscar walked to stand beneath it. He waited patiently until his phone rang and he answered,

‘Yes?’

‘The bench to your five O’clock. Brown knee length coat, bowler hat.’ Oscar put down the phone and walked to the bench, sitting next to the man in the brown coat but looking elsewhere entirely.

‘You’re him?’ The man said. He had a thick American accent, though Oscar was no good at identifying the state. He spoke as if questioning what he already knew.

‘Yes’

‘I thought you’d be taller’ Oscar said nothing ‘You know why you’re here?’

‘One of ours is missing, he knows something important’

‘He knows everything’ Oscar went to look at the man but caught himself. In these meets he could never be too careful. ‘This man...’ the man tapped a briefcase sitting between the two, ‘FBI. He’s worked there for 15 years. He won’t know where our guy is, we can’t find anyone who does, but he has enough access to find out who does’.

‘How much do we know? Is he even here, what about Rendition?’, Oscar knew how notoriously difficult it was to regain assets after they’d been taken to middle-eastern countries, they inevitably fell completely off the grid.

‘No, no Rendition. Lifting him from France they wouldn’t have had the flights, but more importantly they wouldn’t give this guy to anyone else. He’s in country, that’s for sure, but only the boys at the very top will have any idea where’.

‘So, what am I allowed to do to find out? This is the land of the free after all...’, this time the man looked straight at Oscar,

‘Anything’. He said it as if it were obvious, and should’ve been assumed. Then he got up and walked away leaving his briefcase behind. After another two minutes sitting alone Oscar picked up the briefcase and walked off. Anything? He thought. This guy must be important.

 

                It took Oscar three days to work out the routine of the FBI man. George Taylor, married with two kids. He had the perfect American life. He had been shot while on the force, which got him a call up to the Bureau. His job now mostly involved paperwork. He dealt in secrets there was no doubt, but the risk he dealt with was minimal. This was clearly why Oscar’s employers were able to find him. What made him interesting was that he had briefly worked with a man named Herb Reinhardt �" probably a fake name in reality. This man was now known to be high up the food chain and was by all accounts believed to be the mastermind of the lift along with his CIA counterpart who was as of now unidentified. However the Station hadn’t been able to find any location for old Herb, so that’s where George and Oscar came in.  In the morning George left his house around 9:15, no later than 9:30. He always arrived in work where he had to check in around 10. This meant Oscar couldn’t grab him before work as his presence would be missed. After work however he would have more time. George sometimes left as late as 10 or 11. This meant that on a day when he left at his normal time (around 6 or 7) Oscar would have about five hours before his wife would alert anyone, by which time, Oscar hoped, he’d have done everything he needed to do. So it came that Oscar waited on a Thursday evening outside George’s building in a less than noticeable Toyota. Then he caught George driving out in his Chrysler and heading home. Oscar drove in ahead of him and took every turning he knew George would make. On the quietest alley he swerved the car and stopped in front of George. He almost immediately got out of the car without George noticing. He then watched from the shadows as George approached his vehicle.

‘Buddy, are you ok?’, then as swiftly as always Oscar ran up behind him and stabbed his neck with a syringe. It took only a couple of seconds for George’s body to go limp at which point Oscar, with some difficulty and a notable absence of elegance, shoved his body into the back of the car. In a matter of moments he had driven to his safe house and manoeuvred the body into the bare kitchen, placing it on a chair, tying it up and sitting opposite. Oscar then took a moment to put on his mask, in which time he noted how helpless the man looked, his rounded belly slightly sticking out from under his shirt. His stained tie looking like it had been done in a rush, and another large coffee stain down one side of his blazer. For a moment Oscar felt bad �" a genuine pity ran over him. This is no soldier he thought, just a normal guy. Chucking a bucket of water over the man, Oscar waited a moment as he sputtered awake.

‘George Taylor’, the man took some time looking around the room then back at Oscar,

‘George Taylor’, repeating himself more strongly this time. George replied,

‘Listen I don’t know what the f**k you think you’re doing but I’m a f*****g federal agent and you will’ Oscar cut him off with an almost effortless raising of his hand

‘I know exactly who you are Mr. Taylor and that’s why I’m here.’ The man looked back with a sort of helpless anger, ‘If you cooperate and do what I say I shall not hurt you, your wife Nancy, or your children Edward and Charlie, do you understand?’, George was obviously shaken by the name-dropping, as indeed they all were, but seemed to feel he still had a semblance of control over the situation.

‘If you even dare...’

‘Try to concentrate Mr Taylor! Do you understand?’, the sudden shout caught him by surprise. He looked at Oscar for a minute then answered as requested.

‘Yes.’

‘Good’. Oscar hoped this threat would be enough to force cooperation. ‘You worked with a man named Herbert Reinhardt in June 1992 correct?’ George squinted then nodded,

‘I need you to tell me how I can find him’, the man looked down for a second

‘I don’t know where he...’ Oscar slammed his hand on the side of the kitchen

‘Are you not understanding the severity of this situation George?! I thought I made it clear...’ with this Oscar took out his phone and started dialling,

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m telling them to kill your son’, George then screamed out ‘No wait!’, Oscar looked back at him, awaiting the next bit ‘I don’t know where he is, but we contact him by asking for the Wireman. The number is on my phone’, Oscar kneeled down next to George and looked him in the eye

‘What’s the key response George?’

‘It’s 4306’,

‘Don’t lie to me George. It’s not a distress response is it?’

‘No! No I swear, I swear’. And with that Oscar was satisfied.

‘Thank you, you’ve been very helpful’. Then he put him back to sleep. This time though, he wouldn’t wake up.