Convicted (Consequences)

trying to learn all the different names of the different agents. Most of them looked alike. That’s what made last night’s charade so believable. He didn’t really look at the men. He momentarily thought of the movie Men in Black; they had it right by naming their agents with letters. J and K were much easier to remember.
    Number Two replied, “Look at that phone. What’s the time on the feed?”
    Jackson read the bottom of the screen, “01:36:58”
    Suddenly, Number Two was typing feverishly on a nearby keyboard.
    “Is someone going to tell me what you’re thinking? Will this help find Tony?”
    Exasperation showed in Jackson’s expression; he exhaled and said, “See his phone. That isn’t an FBI issued phone. It isn’t even a smart phone.”
    Immediately, Brent recognized what Jackson was seeing. Looking at the phone in the agent’s hand upon the stilled image, he saw the same kind of phone Courtney used to use to communicate with Claire. Brent nodded, “Yes! It’s one of those throw away phones. Why would an agent have one of those? Or why would he use it?”
    “Exactly—why indeed? While we may not be able to answer why with 100% certainty, but I can, with 100% certainty, say he isn’t texting the bureau.”
    “Here it is!”
    Brent and Jackson turned toward Number Two, who exclaimed, “At exactly 01:36:59 the nearest tower received and forwarded a text message!” He continued to type, then he added, “It originated from a disposable phone, purchased at a convenience store on the east side of Boston, from the coordinates of the hotel.”
    “And it went to..?” Jackson asked.
    Number Two exhaled. “Another disposable phone, purchased at the same store, same time, with cash.”
    “Can you see the text receiver’s location?”
    “Give me a minute.”
    Brent sat back and lifted his cup again, trying to locate any remnants of coffee lingering in the depths of Styrofoam. He marveled at the FBI’s resources. Their impressive and intrusive technology gave him confidence they’d soon learn more about these fake agents. That both soothed and worried Brent. Despite the fact, he repeatedly told the story of the late night visit, each time emphasizing Tony’s surprise and agitation, they actually alluded to the possibility Tony arranged for the fake visit and his own disappearance.
    As the two agents talked, Number Two typed and typed, and Brent’s thoughts went back to last night in the suite. He recalled Tony’s declaration, saying that he didn’t believe the FBI and feared Claire had been coerced to leave the country. Brent wanted to believe his friend. He wanted to believe that the Tony of 2010 was gone; nevertheless, the fact he once existed, lingered in Brent’s thoughts.
    He knew Claire’s theory on why Tony chose her all those years ago—a lifelong vendetta having to do with their grandfathers. Regardless of the reason, in 2010 Tony risked everything—money, appearance, everything , to kidnap and have Claire Nichols. To the outsider, it didn’t make sense. Anthony Rawlings was incredibly wealthy and not bad looking. No one would believe he’d jeopardize all he’d worked to accomplish, to kidnap a woman from Atlanta, Georgia. As Brent’s thoughts came together, he felt the rush of understanding. Suddenly, the picture made sense. It was like watching cards fall just right to close an inside straight. If Tony had been willing to bet everything to take Claire—then surely he’d be willing to gamble it all—again, if he believed she needed rescued.
    Closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, Brent allowed his thoughts to volley. One minute, he worried someone dangerous had taken Tony—the someone Claire told the FBI about. The next minute, he believed Tony arranged the escape, in an effort to find Claire on his own. If that were the case, his friend and his boss—Anthony Rawlings—was now a fugitive. If that were the case, Brent couldn’t have been prouder!
    With the sleep deprived pounding behind Brent’s closed eyes, he made a decision. He wouldn’t quit, and he hadn’t been fired; however, without a doubt—he wasn’t getting paid enough to put up with this shit! He deserved a raise, and if Tony weren’t around, then damn, that was something Brent could facilitate on his own! This shit deserved more money!
     

     
    Catherine answered the door to the estate, knowing who’d be on the other side. Large iron gates greatly reduced the odds of surprise visitors. When