For an instant, Hunter debated what to do, as though if he declined to look at the phone, the whole nightmare would simply go away. Garcia, on the other hand, lost no time at all, stepping forward like a hungry kid who had just been offered a candy bar.
Hunter allowed his partner to read whatever was displayed on Kennedy’s cellphone screen before finally walking across his office to where they were.
‘I’m confused,’ Garcia said, his eye narrowing first at Kennedy then at Hunter.
Kennedy aimed his phone at Hunter, who paused about a foot away and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, his eyes at last settling on the small screen. It showed a rectangular piece of white paper, resting on a crispy white pillowcase. The words on it seemed to have been written in blood. Hunter read them slowly.
‘You should’ve taken me out inside that plane when I gave you the chance, old friend. That chance is well and truly gone. Now it’s my turn. Get ready, Grasshopper, because we’re going to play a game.’
‘Am I wrong?’ Kennedy asked. ‘About this note being meant for you?’
Hunter shook his head. ‘No, you’re not wrong.’ This time his voice sounded labored.
‘I am made of questions right now,’ Garcia said, confusion all over his face like a second skin.
‘And I’m sure Robert will answer them all for you as soon as I’m gone,’ Kennedy said as he quickly checked his watch. ‘Which will be very soon.’ He addressed Hunter again. ‘You know Lucien a lot better than I do, Robert, but I’ve been dealing with psychopaths my entire career and to me, this . . .’ He nodded at his cellphone. ‘. . . doesn’t sound like an invitation . . . and if it is, it’s not the type one can simply choose to decline. Lucien won’t let you do that.’
Hunter said nothing because he knew Kennedy was right. That note wasn’t an invitation, it was an ultimatum wrapped around a challenge.
Kennedy checked the time once again. ‘I have to get back to DC. I’m sure things are already boiling just about everywhere over there, but I’ll be in touch by the afternoon.’
‘I’m not heading an FBI manhunt task force, Adrian.’ Hunter was resolute.
Kennedy paused by the door and looked back at both detectives. Before he exited the office, all he did was give them both an ever so subtle acknowledgement nod. What he never told either Hunter or Garcia was that, in his mind, it didn’t matter if Hunter wanted to go after Lucien or not, because the one thing Kennedy was very sure of was that Lucien would be coming after Hunter.
Eight
As soon as the door closed behind Kennedy, Garcia faced Hunter.
‘You and I,’ he said, his index finger bouncing between the two of them. ‘We’ve got to talk.’
Hunter accepted it with a head gesture before taking a seat behind his desk.
Garcia stood.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’m all ears here. Who the hell is Lucien Folter?’ He lifted his right hand. ‘And please, don’t give me that “evil in human form” crap.’
Hunter sat back on his chair, rested his elbows on its armrests and laced his fingers in front of his chin. He knew that he had no easy way out of this. ‘I’m guessing that you’d like the long version.’
‘I’ve got all day,’ Garcia replied.
Hunter took a moment, as if he needed to choose the right words to describe who Lucien really was. He began his explanation with a shrug.
‘Lucien Folter is one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. He’s self-disciplined, determined, focused, resourceful, very skilled, an absolute master when it comes to psychological manipulation and deception, and to top it all off, Adrian wasn’t lying – Lucien really is pure evil.’
Garcia still looked unimpressed. ‘You’ve ever met?’ he asked. ‘When was that?’
Hunter hesitated for a split second. ‘When I was sixteen years old.’
The unimpressed look on Garcia’s face fast turned into complete surprise. ‘What? Sixteen?’
Hunter nodded. ‘On my first day at Stanford University. We were both assigned to the same dorm. Lucien was my roommate.’
Garcia’s jaw almost hit the floor. ‘I think I better sit down for this.’ He leaned against his desk.
‘Just like myself,’ Hunter continued, ‘Lucien was also a psychology major.’
From the vacant look in Hunter’s eyes, Garcia could tell that his memory had taken him back to his college days. Garcia waited.
‘We hit it off straight away,’ Hunter said. ‘Which was something I wasn’t expecting.’
‘What do you mean?’
Another shrugged. ‘He was friendly.’
Garcia frowned. ‘And that surprised you?’
‘In part, yes.’
‘Why?’
‘As I’ve said,’ Hunter explained, ‘I was sixteen when I started college, which meant that I was at least a couple of years younger than everyone around me. As a kid, I had never been the physically active type. I wasn’t into sports, or exercising, or anything like that. I was skinny and awkward, and I dressed very differently from most Stanford students at the time.’
‘Different how?’
‘We were very poor,’ Hunter replied, without sounding apologetic. ‘Most of my clothes had come from second-hand shops. A lot of it didn’t really fit me well, but it was all we could afford.’ He smiled. ‘I used to wear torn jeans when torn jeans weren’t a fashion statement. Lumberjack shirts before grunge rock made them popular.’ His eyebrows lifted at Garcia. ‘So, I was younger than most, comically skinny, geeky and wearing mainly ill-fitting and torn clothes.’ Hunter gave his partner an extra second to grasp the mental image. ‘Are you starting to get the picture now? I was a bully magnet, Carlos.’
From Hunter’s look and physique alone, Garcia would’ve never guessed that he had been a scrawny kid. He looked more like he had been the captain of the wrestling team or the university boxing champion.
‘At the time,’ Hunter carried on. ‘Lucien was nineteen, he loved sports and he worked out at least five times a week. He was the perfect picture of a jock-type who would have a field day with someone who looked like me.’ Hunter chuckled as he recalled. ‘I remember entering my dorm room for the first time all those years ago, carrying a box of books and a bag with all my clothes. Lucien was on the floor, doing push-ups.’
‘That’s so sad,’ Garcia commented.
‘As soon as I saw him,’ Hunter said, ‘I readied myself for what I was certain was coming my way.’ He shook his head. ‘But it never happened. Lucien didn’t say anything about how skinny I was, or how scruffy my clothes were, or even about how nerdy I looked. No sarcastic comment of any kind. No digs, no jokes . . . nothing. He actually helped me with my things.’
‘I never knew that you were bullied when you were a kid,’ Garcia said.
‘Hard to escape it when you looked the way I did,’ Hunter replied. ‘I was so used to it that I actually thought that Lucien was just saving it all for later, you know? Being nice at first . . . gaining my trust, but in time I would get it all – the pranks, the jokes, the physical abuse, the humiliation . . . you name it.’