Harbinger

by S L Shelton

  “Is that the man who you took to the terminal?” Bellos asked, holding the photo up.

  Barnett turned away. Bellos snipped his thumb at the knuckle.

  It took a second for the scream to make a noise. Barnett’s mouth opened and his face turned red above the bulging veins in his neck before sound finally made its way to his throat.

  “No!” he yelled after breaking into tears. “A younger guy than that.”

  “Not Gaines,” Bellos held up the second photo. “How about this one?”

  Barnett nodded, weeping, his head lulling back and forth in distress. “Yes,” he rasped.

  Just then, the closet vault door clanked open. “Got it,” said the man with the torch.

  Bellos walked over to the vault closet and looked in. He returned a moment later with Barnett’s weapon rack log.

  Barnett dropped his head in angry defeat. Goddamn me and my clean record keeping.

  “Your log says a Glock 26, a suppressor, and a hundred rounds of hollow-point ammunition were issued on January eighteenth,” Bellos said and then showed the entry to Barnett. “Is that what you gave to Wolfe?”

  “Who?”

  “This guy,” Bellos said, pressing the picture of Wolfe up to his one good eye.

  Barnett just turned his head away.

  “He wouldn’t have gone through customs with this on him,” Bellos said. “How’d he get them into Antwerp?”

  Before Barnett could stop himself, his eyes flashed to the fluorescent orange and green ski hat hanging on the wall next to the door. Bellos turned and looked over his shoulder in the direction Barnett had glanced.

  “Who’s your bagman?” he asked and then smiled.

  Barnett shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  “The other hand,” Bellos said, causing Barnett to clench his fist in reflex.

  The two men reached for his other hand and he began flailing, swinging his head from side to side once more in hopeless defense.

  “Hey,” said the man who was going through Barnett’s desk.

  Bellos looked up and took a business card that the other man had extended to him. Bellos looked at it and then flipped it over.

  “Sky Tinibu, DRM Taxi,” Bellos said, flipping the card again. “Groceries equals hangar pick up. School bus equals terminal pick up.”

  He turned and looked at the orange and green ski cap hanging by the door. “Bring me his phone,” Bellos said.

  One of the other men tossed the phone to Bellos from across the room. He scrolled through the directory before typing a text message. Barnett struggled more as the ache from his missing fingertips crawled up his arm until his elbow throbbed from the trauma. It was almost as if the nerve endings in his severed fingers were no longer robust enough to transmit all the pain, so it was moving up to bigger and better body parts to get the message across.

  Bellos held the phone up so Barnett could see the message before it was sent: “Groceries.”

  Barnett flexed his arms up, testing the strength of the zip ties as an angry sneer formed. Bellos pressed send.

  A moment later, the chime sounded on the phone. Bellos smiled and then turned the phone for Barnett to see the reply. “Now?”

  “Fuck you,” Barnett said as he struggled more.

  Bellos began typing. “Yes, Sky…now,” he said before hitting send.

  “It won’t do you no good,” Barnett said, leaning forward as far as his restraints would let him. “It would have been a drop off and dust off… That feller could be in Egypt now for all we know. You ain’t gonna get shit.”

  “Shut him up,” Bellos said in a bored tone as he turned toward the closet.

  The other two men wrapped duct tape around Barnett’s mouth before one of the men tweaked the tip of his nose in a taunt. As the Texan struggled, one of the men taped his bloody finger stumps together and then wrapped another thick layer of tape over the exposed ends, presumably to keep him from bleeding out before they had what they wanted.

  The throbbing in his hand and wrist were the only thing keeping him conscious as the others continued to rifle through the contents of his office. His head dropped forward, and he closed his one good eye, hoping to drift into unconsciousness before he had to watch them torture Sky for information.

  Hell, Barnett thought. Sky’ll give up the info on that kid in a heartbeat, and that will be it for both of us.

  He looked up at Bellos, staring at his back for several seconds, willing invisible blades through his spine. When the bubbling anger gave way to the despair over his pain, he dropped his head again.

  I’m sorry, Sky, he thought. I shouldn’t have gone out to meet ’em at the door. This is on me.

  That thought drove a surge of resistance up his spine, and he flexed against his bonds again. Bellos looked over his shoulder at the sound of his struggle.

  “You’re persistent,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Bellos,” one of the other men said quietly and nodded toward the security monitor.

  Barnett renewed his struggling and began screaming out behind the tape.

  “Shut him up,” Bellos said as he moved toward the outer door of the office.

  A sharp strike to the back of the Texan’s head sent him drifting into blackness. When he came to a few minutes later, he could hear Sky, pleading.

  “I don’t know nothin’,” Sky cried out from the floor.

  “You drive for this fellow,” Bellos said calmly.

  “That’s it…I just drive,” said Sky, his words stretched and high-pitched in distress.

  Barnett began struggling again as Bellos held the picture of Gaines in front of Sky. “Did you drive him?” Bellos asked.

  Sky looked at the picture and shook his head immediately.

  “How about him?” Bellos asked, switching to the picture of Wolfe.

  “Yeah,” Sky said. “Him I remember.”

  Bellos looked over at Barnett. “We don’t need him anymore.”

  The man with the broken hand raised a silenced automatic and shot Tex in the belly twice. The scream from behind the tape was loud and angry, a squeal of fury that slowly changed into a raspy exhale.

  You motherfucker! Barnett cursed inside his head. A belly shot? Really?!

  As the painful wound slowly bled him out, he heard Bellos begin once more. “I’m only going to ask you this once, so it’s very important you remember the question—”

  I’ll see you in a few minutes, Sky. Sad to say, I think it will be in hell.

  **

  10:58 p.m.—Jordaenskaai Straat, Antwerp, Belgium

  BELLOS watched as the men from the courier service pushed the DRM Taxi down a boat ramp and into the river. Sky was barely conscious after Bellos had hacked the African immigrant’s fingers off, and he had left his mutilated hands taped to the steering wheel of his cab. He listened closely to see if he could catch any screaming from the bagman as his cab splashed through the thin ice next to the bulkhead and slipped beneath the dark water.

  “Start at Docks and do a twenty-block circle,” Bellos said to a French security man. “If you get anything on data, radio, or voice that matches the detection matrix on Wolfe, tag the location and contact me immediately.”

  The man nodded before jogging toward the van containing the surveillance equipment. Another man waited for his arrival, starting the vehicle and pulling away as soon as his partner was in.

  “Come on,” Bellos said to the remaining men. “We need to get out of sight before this draws attention.”

  The courier with the broken hand spat into the water before he turned and walked back up the concrete ramp. Red brake lights flashed briefly beneath the surface and then went dark again, the only visible indication of the cabby’s death throes.

  When the last of the couriers and security men tired of watching the bubbles escape to the top, they turned and looked expectantly at Bellos. He nodded his head toward the two Range Rovers and waited for them to move away. He fingered the phone i
n his pocket, allowing them to gain enough distance before he turned it on.

  His thumb hovered over the button to dial, silently recounting all that had transpired and the information he had gained from the two CIA employees. Satisfied he could answer any question confidently, he pressed the button.

  Harbinger answered after only one ring. “You have news?”

  “Yes, sir,” Bellos replied. “Wolfe was on the transport from Andrews. The black site operators didn’t recognize Gaines, but both confirmed Wolfe from his photo.”

  “What did you get from them?” Harbinger asked.

  “Wolfe landed, was issued a weapon and cash…no ID,” Bellos replied. “He must have had that already.”

  “Is there a trail?”

  “Yes, sir,” Bellos said, turning to check on the couriers who were now smoking and chatting quietly amongst themselves. “The bagman said he dropped Wolfe at Docks Cafe in the city. That he had specifically requested that location.”

  There was a pause as he imagined Harbinger weighing their options.

  “Is there any indication he is still in the city?” Harbinger asked.

  Bellos smiled, having anticipated that question. “Not yet, but I already have two men circling the area with detection equipment and frequency scanners.”

  “Good,” Harbinger replied as if in passing. “I’ll prep a team. They’ll be ready to depart if you find anything.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bellos replied, satisfied he had performed well.

  “Do not move to take Wolfe with those fucking security guards,” Harbinger said, his barrel-deep voice containing a growl-like quality. “That target is too high a priority to risk in the hands of French cowboys.”

  “Understood,” Bellos replied. “I’ll notify you as soon as we find something and then wait for your orders.”

  “Give me hourly updates.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The call ended without another word, but Bellos was smiling when he returned to the Rovers.

  “Back to the garage,” Bellos said as he got into the front passenger seat and closed the door. “We’ll wait and see if the surveillance team picks up anything.”

  “Are we going back to the hangar to sanitize?” one of the couriers in the backseat asked, his French accent only slightly masking the whine.

  Bellos turned in his seat and glared at the man, doing his best to emulate Harbinger in expression and tone. “Take two men and burn it,” he replied and then faced forward. “Make sure you stay clear of the security cameras.”

  The courier got out and went to the other Rover. As soon as they had made room for the returning men, both vehicles set off in different directions…one toward the staging location in a vacant auto repair garage and the other toward the airport. Several minutes into the journey, Bellos realized he hadn’t turned off the power to his phone and pulled it out of his pocket to remedy the oversight.

  **

  6:45 p.m. EST—Langley, Virginia, CIA Headquarters

  NICK HORIATIS slammed the phone down, drawing looks from the analysts.

  “Son of a bitch!” he yelled his face flushing red.

  “I told you,” Ruth muttered. “Storc will only give you what Scott tells him to.”

  “He works for us,” Nick said, glaring at Ruth. The other analysts quickly found their work more interesting, averting their gaze away from Nick.

  “He works for TravTech and Scott,” Ruth said, firming the angle of her jaw. She was showing more and more backbone in response to Nick’s outbursts. Despite his best efforts to adapt to this admin environment, his hot Greek temper was still getting the best of him—and working around the clock didn’t help.

  “Who pays his fucking paycheck?” Nick asked, an angry twitch tugging at the corner of his eyebrow.

  He reached up and wiped it with back of his hand as if to scare away the subcutaneous disturbance.

  “TravTech pays his check, and honestly, it’s a good thing that it’s as compartmentalized as it is,” Ruth responded, turning back to her own work. “With all the paranoia floating around here, Scott is safer if TravTech doesn’t respond to direct queries.”

  Nick hated it when she was right…but she was. He screwed his cheek up and squinted, turning his whole face into one giant sneer before shaking his head.

  “Send Scott a message and have him talk to Storc,” Ruth added.

  Nick ignored her suggestion and walked briskly out of the analysts’ cubicles, headed for the elevators. By the time he’d reached the top floor, he had calmed himself enough to speak to Director Burgess without being insubordinate.

  The elevator doors parted and he looked up. Penny Rhodes was just coming out of the director’s office and broke into a jog to catch the elevator as Nick stepped off. Nick glared at her as she went by, evoking a concerned look from Rhodes.

  “Horiatis,” she said in greeting.

  He grunted in reply as they passed.

  “Is there a problem between us?” she asked at his back.

  He ignored her and continued to walk toward the director’s office.

  “Hey,” she said, pursuing him down the hall before grabbing his elbow.

  He turned angrily, jerking his arm out of her grasp.

  “The only problem between us is not enough distance,” he said through his teeth.

  “I don’t know what you think you know about me that’s caused this tension, but I’m not going anywhere,” she said with a placid smile. “So whatever it is, either you need to get over it or at least tell me what the hell it is.”

  “You took Scott off post, and it nearly got him killed,” Nick said. “I don’t know who turned you, but between you and Bailey fucking us over, I’m about ready to summarily execute anyone who—”

  “I took Scott out for beer and pizza,” she snapped in a raspy whisper. “I felt sorry for him being stuck on post alone on Christmas Eve. And in case you didn’t notice, he went off on his own and showed back up the next morning with no explanation.”

  She doesn’t know Scott rescued Mark Gaines after he ditched her… Interesting.

  “You were an instructor entrusted with the safety of a student,” he said. “Whatever your reasons for betraying that responsibility, you exposed him to—” He stopped mid-sentence and shook his head. “You know what? You know what you did. Just stay the fuck away from me.”

  “He wasn’t a student,” she said in a calmer tone. “He could have taught half the—”

  “He was there as a student,” Nick snapped. “You were an instructor, and Langley had him registered as a student…and that’s all you needed to know.”

  “Fuck you,” she muttered, turning her back on him and marching toward the elevator.

  He smiled in satisfaction at having ruffled her as he turned and resumed his journey toward the director’s office. It wasn’t until he knocked too aggressively on the outer office door that he realized he was worked up again.

  The director’s assistant, Clair, jerked her head up at the jarring noise.

  “Sorry,” Nick muttered.

  Clair smiled thinly before buzzing the director over the intercom. “Nick Horiatis to see you, sir,” she said.

  “Yep, I’m in,” he replied.

  Nick walked by Clair, trying hard not to look like a schoolboy called in to see the principal—in his mind, he failed.

  “How’s it going down there, Nick?” Director Burgess asked as Nick entered.

  “Rough, sir,” Nick replied. “I’m not cut out to handle analysts and programmers. You need to get me back in the field.”

  “Wish I could,” Burgess said, leaning back in his broad leather chair. “Believe me, I’ve had enough complaints work their way up the chain that I’d have you back out there in a hot minute if I could.”

  “Complaints?” Nick asked. “From the analysts?”

  Burgess smiled and nodded. “They aren’t used to being micromanaged.”

  “They weren’t getting results,” Nick said quietly, though w
ith confidence in his position.

  “I know this isn’t your bag,” Burgess said, leaning forward and smiling softly, letting his eyes slip up in crinkles at the corners to convey sincerity.

  Nick smiled inwardly, recognizing the tactic. He played along.

  “I don’t know how John did it,” Nick said.

  “He picked a good team and let them do what they do,” Burgess replied, holding his fatherly expression. “You should trust that.”

  “I can’t even get the TravTech people to give me what they have,” Nick said after breathing out some frustration. “I’m not cut out for this.”

  “The TravTech people belong to Scott,” Burgess replied with an ironic grin. “We knew we weren’t getting an agency puppet when we brought him into the fold. He is what he is.”

  “Maybe I need to go kick his ass a little so he gets with the program,” Nick said, resentful.

  Burgess shook his head. “That’s not going to work for two reasons,” he said, leaning back. “One, he doesn’t need it. He’s on his own for the first time. He needs his confidence more than he needed training.” Burgess cocked his head to the side. “And two, from what I understand, you can’t kick his ass anymore.”

  A chuckle burst from Nick before he could stop it. He nodded. “It’s true,” he said. “Now I’ll never be able to rein him in.”

  “Don’t,” Burgess said firmly. “Nothing we can do will make him work harder than he already is. He’ll be running this place in twenty years.”

  “If he lives that long,” Nick muttered.

  Burgess nodded grimly in agreement. “It is what it is…just like the analysts and TravTech. Accept it.”

  Nick breathed in deeply before slowly breathing out through his nose and nodding. “Yes, sir.”

  “Use John’s office,” Burgess said after squinting at Nick for a moment. “It’s on a different floor for a reason.”

  Nick nodded after a beat of hesitation.

  “And let Penny Rhodes deal with the analysts directly,” Burgess added. “She’s got a better temperament for it.”

  Nick looked up with brow furrowed, mouth open, about to protest. Burgess held his hand up, stopping it.