by Orion Gaudio
“So,” Turner said, “what have you got for me?”
“Well, I know you’re partial to your Glock. I’ve got two of them ready, just serviced.”
He walked over to the wall and retrieved a small duffel bag and three boxes of 9mm ammunition.
“I am.”
“What else do you need?”
“A knife.”
Lane pulled open one of the table drawers and stood aside. Turner ran his fingers over each knife. He settled on a seven-inch fixed blade fighting knife with a leather wrap on the handle. It felt good in his hand as he turned it over. He slid the edge of the blade up his arm to test the sharpness. It easily removed the hair, along with a thin layer of skin.
“Come on, James… you think I don’t keep my knives sharp?”
“Sorry, just a habit.”
The older man grumbled something and walked to a shelf on the back wall. He pulled down a box and walked back over to the table. It was full of zip ties.
“Makeshift restraints?” Turner asked.
Lane nodded.
“Thought you might need them.”
Turner grabbed a handful of them and stuffed them into the duffel bag. There was a possibility he’d capture Rollins and have to restrain him to find out where the flash drive was, so zip ties would make his life easier. He packed the knife, the two pistols, and the ammo into the bag and zipped it up.
“You need anything else?” Lane asked.
“No, I think I’m good, thanks.”
“Take care out there.”
“I will.”
Turner picked up the duffel bag and walked out of the room.
He needed to get going, but he was starting to have doubts as he walked to the parking lot. When he was in Oakland it made sense to use his combat knife to take out all the Chinese agents. A stealthy approach was necessary. Turner knew there was good chance he’d need to use his gun in D.C. Everyone was armed, but he was still skeptical. Taking Rollins out wasn’t going to be easy, especially since he knew they’d be sending someone else after him. If his hands started to shake when he went to shoot, like when he was last at the range, it could get him killed.
“Guess I’ll find out soon enough,” he said, as he walked across the parking lot toward the black Audi.
Turner got in and tossed the duffel bag on the seat next to him. He ran his fingers over the red inlay on the steering wheel that denoted he was sitting an ‘S’ model. It would be good for an extra hundred horsepower over the base model Audi A6, which could make all the difference if he got himself into a pinch where speed and acceleration were required. It looked similar enough to the base model, though, that he could still blend in with the hundreds of four-door German sedans in the capital.
He put his foot on the brake and pressed the engine start button next to the shifter. The engine came to life and he was greeted by a low gurgle from the exhaust. Turner shifted it into drive and pulled out of the parking lot.
The drive was typically between three and four hours, but it was almost the middle of the night and the roads were empty.
“Let’s see what you can do,” he said, as he merged onto the interstate.
Turner put his foot to the floor and the car flung him back in his seat. He smiled and shook his head. At least he could have a little fun on the way there… before he got down to the business of tracking down a traitor.
27
It was just after two when Turner arrived in D.C. Mentally and physically exhausted, he checked into a motel in one of the shadier parts of town. The kind of place where nobody would give him a second look when he came and went at odd hours.
Turner carried his duffel bag into the room and sat down on the bed. He unpacked it and laid everything out to remind himself of what he was working with. When he picked up a Glock, his hands were steady. Whether or not it would last was the real question… especially since he was sitting in a hotel room and wasn’t even considering firing it. The real test would come when he faced his next combat situation.
He shook his head and looked down at the stained carpet. In Oakland his hand had been steady with each thrust of his knife, no waver like with the pistol at the range. None of it made any sense. The act of killing, at least with a gun, did something to him. It wasn’t a feeling he was eager to experience again, but he knew it could happen again sooner or later... and quite possibly when he came up against Rollins. The CIA officer was not to be underestimated and Turner knew it would be nearly impossible to get the drop on him with a knife.
Turner opened one of the boxes of ammunition and removed the magazine from the Glock 9mm he’d just been holding. He methodically loaded the rounds into it, pausing for the click of it becoming secured in the magazine. Once he’d finished loading all fifteen rounds into the first magazine, he put it back into the Glock and set it aside before repeating the process a second time.
A message notification sounded from his phone. Turner took it out and saw it was from Alice. He smiled and read it.
I know you’re probably working right now, but I just wanted to tell you again that I had fun. Thanks for taking me to the botanical gardens and for letting me share my passion for wine with you.
He wrote a response and hit send.
I had a great time. I hope we can do it again very soon.
Turner stood up from the bed and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep, his mind raced with possible outcomes and he’d feel better if he scoped out the area where Rhys and Smith had been killed. There was a message from Alice waiting when he walked back over to the bed and picked up his phone.
Was that you trying to ask me on a proper date?
He shook his head and smiled.
That depends. If I were to do such a thing, what kind of response could I expect?
Turner repacked the duffel bag and headed to his car. A message from Alice popped up on his phone.
Hypothetically, if you were to ask me on a proper date… I would definitely say yes.
He wrote a response and hit send.
So, Alice, I was wondering if you’d like to go on a real date with me? I was thinking maybe we could have dinner, talk about life, maybe go for a walk. Something like that.
Turner set his phone on the passenger seat and started the Audi. As much as he was enjoying his flirtatious conversation with her, he had work to do… and the sooner he got it done, the sooner he could be back in Altoona.
He drove to the other side of D.C. to where Rhys and Smith had been parked when they’d met their fate. Turner put the car into park and shut off the engine. The street was quiet, the car had been towed away, and the broken glass had already been cleaned off the road—there was no evidence left of the horrible crime that had been committed mere hours before.
Headlights appeared as a car turned the corner and drove by him. Turner waited until the taillights had faded and got out of his car. He walked over to where he assumed their car had been parked and bent down. A few glass fragments were stuck in the weeds growing where the asphalt met the concrete sidewalk.
He stood up and walked down the sidewalk. There was a large warehouse with lights on. Odd for that time of morning, but he didn’t think much of it because he was in a large city. Turner headed back toward his car and stopped dead in his tracks. A glint of light from the streetlights hitting something metallic had caught his attention. He took a step back and saw it again, just off the edge of the sidewalk in the dirt. He bent down and picked up a spent shell casing.
Turner walked back to his car, got in, and turned on the dome light. He rolled the casing between his fingers.
The only marking on it was ‘9mm’ that had been stamped into the metal. Not much of clue to go on, but it was something. The police had obviously missed it during their investigation and he’d figure out a way to use it to his advantage.
Satisfied that he wasn’t going to find anything else of use there, Turner started the car and drove towar
d the address of the apartment where Rollins lived. The trip across the city gave him enough time to think about what to do next.
Howard had insisted that he bring to justice the person responsible for shooting Rhys and Smith. His only clue was the weapon and the location. Not much to go on. There was a decent chance that Rollins was involved, however, so Turner decided to start there.
His preliminary plan was to track down Rollins, subdue him, retrieve the flash drive, and then find out if he was the one who killed his fellow agents. A tall order, but someone had to pay for their deaths.
Turner parked his car just down the street from the apartment and shut off the engine. The windows were dark, so he reclined his seat and shut his eyes. He needed some sleep. Turner set the alarm on his phone for seven. There was a message from Alice, but he put his phone down and decided to read it in the morning.
28
Every so often, a car would drive by and Turner would stir. It became more frequent as the first rays of morning light started to find their way through the trees that lined the road where he’d parked.
He took the bottle of hydrocodone out of his pocket, popped one into his mouth and swallowed it. The pain in his chest slowly started to fade as he sat there.
Turner eventually gave up on trying to sleep. He read the message from Alice.
That sounds great. I’m up for anything. Let me know when is good for you. I’m free the next couple of nights and it would be nice to see you sooner rather than later. I’m heading to bed, talk to you tomorrow.
Tuner decided to wait. He didn’t want to wake her up with a meaningless text, not to mention… Turner had no idea how long he’d be in D.C.
Turner moved the seat back to its original position and opened his VPN.
Merlin
Found spent 9mm casing at sight of shooting. No sign of anyone around. Currently at the apartment of target.
Gyr
Primary objective is recovery of the flash drive.
He closed the app once it became clear they weren’t going to send him any additional guidance in regard to his mission. Howard had said he was to find the killer, but Turner realized it was probably a secondary objective. A cold reality of their line of work. He understood why, even if he didn’t agree with it.
The sun continued to rise as he watched the front of the apartment building. Rollins hadn’t set foot outside the building and Turner had started to get antsy. Stakeout surveillance had never been something he enjoyed about the job. Tailing a target, by foot or in a car, was significantly more interesting even though it presented innumerable challenges.
As he sat there, Turner thought about his mission. The true nature of what the flash drive contained had still eluded him other than the name of the file… Chimera. He had considered asking Howard the night before for an explanation, but he knew there was no point. Howard was playing it close to his vest and it was above his own pay grade. The only thing his boss had told Turner was that it had the capability to threaten life as they knew it. A scary prospect. He knew he couldn’t fail a second time. Turner still felt the first failure hadn’t been his fault… NIA had arranged for him to work with Rollins, who had turned on him. If he had been on top of his game, he might have seen it coming, but he’d been distracted by everything going on inside his own mind. It was a mistake Turner knew he couldn’t make a second time. He’d gotten lucky. A few inches the other way and the bullet would have hit his lung or heart.
Turner knew that Rollins had obviously intended to kill him, which could work to his advantage. There was also the problem of Rollins potentially knowing NIA was still after him. If he was as good at his job as Turner gave him credit for, it was likely the CIA officer would realize they wouldn’t give up so easily on retrieving the flash drive.
If Turner were in Rollins’ shoes, he’d be ready to get rid of the flash drive as soon as possible… it was a ticking time bomb for anyone who possessed it. Turner racked his brain for how he could use that to his advantage.
There was also a chance Rollins had passed the flash drive off the previous night, but Turner knew he couldn’t worry about that—he needed to get to Rollins as soon as possible.
The front door of the apartment building opened. Turner snapped his mind back to reality and watched as Rollins walked out of the building and got into his car. He started the engine of the Audi and waited until Rollins had pulled away to follow him.
They crossed the Potomac River a few minutes later and Turner realized where Rollins was heading. He glanced out the window as Rollins pulled off the road and headed toward CIA Headquarters—a place he couldn’t follow.
It did mean, however, that Rollins would likely be there for the rest of the day, so Turner headed back to the apartment. He knew the CIA officer wasn’t going to take the flash drive into a secure government installation, so if he still had it there was a good chance it would be hidden somewhere in his apartment.
Turner arrived back at the apartment a short while later and parked his car just down the street. He took out his phone and got ready to send a message back to NIA. It was more to inform them of his intentions than anything else… and let them know where he would be in case anything happened.
Merlin
Target has entered secure facility. I have returned to residence to assess and search for package.
A response showed up a few seconds later.
Gyr
Proceed with caution.
That was a given considering what happened to Rhys and Smith. Turner already planned on keeping his guard up until he’d dealt with Rollins. The man had already proven his capability to do the unexpected and Turner wasn’t going to let that happen a second time.
There was a lockpick set in the glove compartment of the car, so he took it out and slid it into his pocket. It was a skill he’d refined over the years that had been invaluable and would allow him to get into the apartment quickly enough that a neighbor wouldn’t take notice of him. That was his plan, at least. Turner grabbed his bag and got out of the car. The front door of the apartment building was unlocked, to his surprise. He took the stairs to the second floor and walked to the end of the hall where the apartment was located.
Turner dropped his duffel bag on the floor in the hall, took the lockpick set out of his pocket, and set to work opening the door. It took him a less than thirty seconds before the lock clicked and the door swung open. He picked up his bag, stepped inside the apartment, and closed the door behind himself.
It was a small open-plan space. Beyond the living room and kitchen was a hallway leading to the rest of the apartment. Turner glanced around. Contemporary furniture and modern art on the walls. The place was immaculate and looked almost staged to the point where he wondered if Rollins actually lived in the apartment. He walked down the hall and into the bedroom.
Every pillow on the bed was perfectly placed and sheets were taut. He set his bag down on the bed and started his search of the room. The drawer of the bedside table yielding nothing but a few throat lozenges, an empty pad of paper, and a pen.
Turner stopped and looked around the room. He put himself into the shoes of Rollins.
“Alright, where would I hide a flash drive if this were my apartment?”
It was such a small thing that could be hidden almost anywhere. Turner looked at the closet door. As good a place to hide something as anywhere. He opened the door and stepped in. Suits hung on one side, shirts on the other. There was a rack of shoes against the back wall.
Turner head a noise behind him. He turned just in time to see something coming at his head and then everything went black.
29
Turner blinked a few times. Everything was still blurry. He tried to move, but his ankles and wrists were bound. He eyes started to refocus. Turner was on the floor next to the bed. Rollins was sitting down with his hands resting on the handle of a baseball bat.
“Welcome back. I wasn’t sure you’d make it back to the land of the living.”
Rollins shook his head.
“That’s no way to talk to someone.”
Turner saw his duffel bag sitting on the floor a few feet away, the top open. He realized Rollins had used the zip ties he brought to restrain him.
“I was surprised to see you. I guess I didn’t do a very good job killing you the first time.”
“You’re a terrible shot.”
Rollins laughed and shook his head. He lifted the barrel of the baseball bat and pushed it against the still-healing bullet wound. Turner raised his hands and brushed away the bat.
“That’s what I thought,” Rollins said.
“What do you want from me?”
Rollins shook his head.
“That’s not the question.”
Turner had become aware that Rollins was deriving pleasure out of tormenting him.
“Fine. Why am I still alive?”
“There you go. I need you alive… for now.”
“Why?”
“That’s for me to know.”
Turner shook his head. He was growing weary of their conversation. The zip ties had been pulled tight, but he needed to figure out a way to escape. Rollins wanted him alive for some reason, but Turner knew that could change at any moment.
“Who are you working for?” Turner asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I mean… you’re going to kill me anyway… so what’s the harm in telling me.”
“That would suck all the fun out of this,” Rollins said.