***
The tip of Gordon’s cigarette had worn down to the nub. His office had transformed itself into a smoky bar, complete with empty beer bottles and cans. A bottle of vodka lay on its side, slowly rolling back and forth in an ominous cadence on Gordon’s desk.
With the cigarette threatening to burn his skin, he finally snuffed it out in the massive pile of ashes that had gathered in the ashtray and left the nub to lie with its brothers in the growing graveyard Gordon had created.
Gordon watched the fading smoke waft into the air, clouding the room with a darkness and stench that soaked into the walls and floor and himself. Gordon placed his hands on the arms of his chair. Everything in the office was his, but for some reason it felt foreign, and anything that wasn’t familiar to him these days was burnt to the ground.
The smell of smoke and ash had spread beyond his office walls to the world outside. Every square mile his men gave up to the United States military was one more square mile of scorched earth he left its victors. If Gordon couldn’t control it, then he burned it.
There was a knock on the door, and Jake’s figure appeared through the cloudy haze. “I think Sydney’s stalling.”
Gordon reached for the open pack of cigarettes on his desk and pulled out the last one with the ends of his lips. “Of course he is. He knows once he’s done, I’m going to kill him.” He tilted his head to the side as his lighter torched the fag, and he took another long drag, letting the fire smolder in his throat and lungs. “But he also knows he’s the only one besides Todd Penn who can put that information together.”
“So you’re just going to let him play us like that?”
“What the fuck did you say to me?”
Gordon pushed himself off his ass and walked around the desk to where Jake stood and blew a puff of smoke straight into his face. Jake didn’t flinch, and Gordon didn’t expect him to. There wasn’t any doubt that Jake could kill Gordon if he wanted to. Fighting had never been his strong suit. Words were his gift. That was why he’d always surrounded himself with men like Jake and Dean. They were the blunt instruments with which he wielded his authority, and in turn he kept the instruments well tuned and content. And for the same reason Gordon wouldn’t kill Sydney, Jake wouldn’t kill Gordon. Because Jake knew that when the United States military came knocking, Gordon would be his only way out.
“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to make him believe that,” Jake answered, attempting to alter his tone but with the inclination of not trying very hard.
“That’s your job. Not mine.” Gordon returned to his seat and propped his feet up on his desk. Jake left to leave Gordon alone to continue his bonfire of carcinogens and shut the door behind him on his way out.
The laptop remained closed and at the corner of his desk, and Gordon had the sudden urge to fling it across the room. But he couldn’t. That computer was the one link to the outside world that offered him an escape route, and with Dean reporting to him that the military was beginning their final push toward Topeka, he just hoped that call would come sooner rather than later.