Free Deadly Waters by Theodore Judson

Erin. “I should tell you now, they won’t believe you.”
    “How could you get involved in anything like this, Erin?”
    “Revenge,” said Mondragon.
    “For what?”
    “For everything they did to me, to Al Harris, to you, to everybody that has been ground under or left out,” said Mondragon. “Look, Jack, when the Darrin Bentons are running the world, what could we do that would be morally wrong? Have you read a newspaper lately? Kids are killing kids. The adults running this country are better armed and no less wrongheaded.”
    “By modern standards, maybe you’re right to be so angry at this county,” said Taylor. “Not by what I have in my heart. My dad fought for this country, for Christ sake. My uncle Pat is buried over in France. Why do you think I want to destroy America?”
    “If that’s the way you feel,” said Mondragon, “then I’m sorry I breached the subject with you.”
    They merged with the four lanes of traffic as they entered the outskirts of town. Taylor happened to look out the passenger window at the same time as a beat-up Subaru hatchback pulled even with the SUV. In the driver’s seat of the little car was a young man in dreadlocks who had metal objects hanging from his pierced ears and nostrils. He noticed Taylor staring at him and in response stuck out his tongue at the older man, revealing yet another piece of metal, this one a silver stud that had a five pointed star made of turquoise on its exposed end. A young woman in the driver’s seat laughed at her friend’s actions and gave Taylor a universally recognized gesture with her middle finger as she and her companion sped past Erin’s oversized vehicle.
    “Most of those old Japanese beaters have two cycle engines,” said Mondragon. “Add oil every couple thousand miles, and the damn things run forever. That’s why the counterculture types love Subarus from the Seventies--no money needed for maintenance.”
    Taylor’s heart, the heart carrying the code that told him right and wrong, sank when he looked at the young couple. Their thoughtless, vulgar response to him had greater effect than the hundreds of words that Mondragon had used to seduce him.
    “My son,” whispered Taylor.
    “What’s that?” said Mondragon.
    “That kid looked like my son,” said Taylor. “Not in his natural features; Jerry is much tall, thinner. I mean to say this one has the same things in his head my boy does. He treats me the same way, too.”
    John Taylor paused. He would later reflect that Mondragon had waited for him to speak again, showing that Erin must have been confident of what Taylor would say next.
    “Contempt,” he said, letting it hang in air between them. “Contempt,” he repeated a second later, “that’s everything he feels for me, for the company, for my lifetime of work.”
    He looked straight ahead at the road while he spoke.
    “And my role?” he asked, wishing he were somewhere else and so drunk he could not remember he knew Erin Mondragon, or that he had a son. “I won’t kill anyone; I’ll tell you that at the beginning.”
    “No, of course not,” said Mondragon. He nearly patted Taylor on the shoulder. He thought better of it at the last moment and drew back his hand. “The operation will be nothing like that. You’ll see. Everyone will be given ample warning. No one will get hurt. You’ll be doing some Russian acting. Just like in the plays.”
    “This Russian I will pretend to be...?” said Taylor.
    “Vladimir Petrovski,” said Mondragon. “A very bad fellow. Former spy. He betrayed his own people. Lives in America now, back east somewhere. Not that it matters. This means everything to me, Jack. Having you with us, I mean.”
    That evening at dinner Mondragon was in a giddy mood and uncharacteristically drank too much wine. “John’s with us all the way!” he told Ed Harris and Colonel Method and clapped his hands together as though applauding himself. “Everything is falling into