by Alex Ander
He pinched the paper, his thumb below a line item. “You saved two teens from an assassin who murdered their parents. You were later attacked by that same assassin.” Brolin confronted her. “I trust you’re doing well from that encounter?”
“Perfectly fine, sir. Thank you for asking.”
“Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” His eyes returned to the page while his thumb slid to the next bullet point. “Then, you rescued a couple of kidnapped children.” His thumb moved downward. “Then, just three weeks ago, you were involved in the safe return of two young women abducted by men who were hired by their father to kidnap the women.”
Stockwell shifted in her chair then inwardly chastised herself. Sit still. I’m sure he’s trained to identify body language ‘tells.’
“A case, I might add, that was assigned to another agent...Agent Carter Williams. His report stated that you and one of our former HRT guys,” —Hostage Rescue Team— “a Mister Jacob St. Christopher, who I’m told now works over at Homeland Security, were instrumental in ensuring a favorable outcome in that case.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Assistant Director Brolin, where’s all this heading? If this has something to do with me stepping on Carter’s,” she shook her head, “Agent Williams’ toes, I stand on everything I wrote in my incident report...time was short, and I had to move fast. My intentions were to save those girls. I wasn’t trying to undermine Agent Williams’ authority.”
“He never said you did, Agent Stockwell. And I’m not accusing you of breaking protocol.”
“Forgive me, sir, but I’m starting to feel otherwise.”
Following a few seconds of showing stoicism, Brolin flashed a thin smile. “Forgive me for making you feel uncomfortable, Agent Stockwell. I’m just,” still holding the piece of paper, he crossed arms over his chest and shook his head at the floor, “I’m just having a hard time understanding how one of my agents seems to,” he met her gaze and sent an upturned palm her way, “as you put it, earlier...seems to be in the right place at the right time,” a beat, “on so many, many occasions,” another tick, “in less than two months.”
Her body perspiring, “I’m not sure what else I can say, sir, to put your mind at ease,” she lied, her mind thinking of Higs and his role in her recent success in taking down criminals.
The AD nodded several times then eyeballed her for the better part of a half a minute. “Well,” he stood and checked his watch, “thank you for coming in, Agent Stockwell. I’m sure you’re eager to get started on your...vacation.”
Standing, Stockwell picked up on his tone and the bit of emphasis on her boss’s last word. “Thank you, sir. You should know that all of my ongoing investigations will be taken care of in my absence.”
Walking to his chair, “I trust,” he hesitated, “you know what you’re doing.”
She spied him, her ears catching that same tone again. She huffed inwardly. I hope I do, too.
Brolin sat. “Have a good vacation.”
“Thank you, sir.” Stockwell strolled out of the office and down the hall, her mind replaying the last ten minutes. What the hell was that all about? You know what that was about, Dee. Your ties to Jake and Higs are interfering with your day job.
A minute later, arriving at her own office, rubbing her forehead with two fingers, she mentally pushed aside her conversation with the AD and focused her attention on what she needed for the upcoming trip to Georgia, to a small town seemingly at the center of a string of kidnappings.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 5
Pick a Side
9:46 P.M.
IN THE SKIES ABOVE
NANTAHALA NATIONAL FOREST
NORTH CAROLINA
Having taken off from Newark Liberty International Airport, New Jersey, the Embraer Phenom 300—configured for six passengers with an aft lavatory and a small, forward beverage/snack center—cruised along at 480 miles per hour, its destination Cherokee County Airport, Georgia.
In a middle-row seat, the sunken aisleway on her left, an empty seat between her and the lavatory on her six o’clock, Stockwell glanced up from the kidnapped teenagers’ photos Higs had forwarded.
Sitting across from her, a pull-out table between them, Jacob proffered a kind smile to the flight attendant. “If you have some, that would be great, Elizabeth.”
Her black, collar-length hair and matching dark eyes contrasting with the bright, provocative countenance she was sending back to her male passenger, the flight attendant laid both hands on his right shoulder. “I’ll see what I can find for you, dear.”
“Thank you.” Jacob returned to reading the same information Stockwell had on her phone.
Elizabeth lingered a second longer before giving him a tender pat and sauntering toward the front of the aircraft, her hips swaying slightly.
Her lips taut, Stockwell launched a visual dagger toward the other woman then spied her cell. “Have you seen these girls, Jake? They’re almost identical in appearance...well, basic features, anyway. White. Skinny. Light-colored hair.” She dragged a forefinger across the screen a couple times. “Light-colored eyes.”
He nodded. “Yes, I,” his screen displayed an incoming number, “I saw that, too.” He gestured toward his cell. “Higs is calling.”
“He’s calling me, too.”
Jacob connected the call. “What’s up, Higs?”
“If my calculations are correct, Mr. St. Christopher, you and Ms. Stockwell should still be in the air. Is that true?”
“Your calculations are spot on, Mr. Higginbottom.”
Her mobile pressed against the side of her face, Stockwell eyed Jacob. “Can you hear me, Higs?”
“Indeed, Ms. Stockwell. Your voice is as clear and pleasing to the ear as always.”
She smiled.
Half grinning, Jacob shook his head at his blushing woman.
“Not knowing who else might be within earshot, I felt it best to keep this conversation as private as possible; therefore, I established a secure conference call with you both, so you would not be required to broadcast this conversation via speakerphone.”
“Ms. Stockwell, I’m delighted you were able to reorganize your schedule and acquire leave for this assignment.”
Recalling her earlier meeting with AD Brolin, she crossed her legs under the table and sighed. “Yeah. Well, that makes one of us, I guess. Any new developments on the missing girls?”
Observing an about-face in his partner’s demeanor, Jacob cocked his head at her.
Higs: “Is everything all right, Ms. Stockwell?”
She squirmed in her seat. “Not really. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Higs was silent.
Jacob sat still.
Stockwell spied him.
He lifted his eyebrows.
She shrugged. “What?”
“What’s wrong?”
Following a few seconds of her scrunching up her face at him, she let out another sigh. “My boss is breathing down my neck about how lucky I’ve been as of late. You know,” she rolled a finger toward Jacob, “all the Innocents we’ve helped in the last two months?”
He nodded. “I was afraid this was going to catch up to you.”
“Yeah. Me too.” She took a drink from a water bottle and replaced the cap. “AD Brolin is seeing the connection between my vacations and the bad guys we’ve been putting behind bars.” Stockwell shook her head. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up,” she regarded Jacob, “working with you guys, I mean.”
A knot forming in Jacob’s chest, he rubbed his breastbone. “What can we do to help?”
“I’m not sure if you can. I think,” she wavered while peering out the window to her right, “I think I just need to pick a side,” a long moment, “the FBI...or you two.”
Jacob’s internal knot grew tighter, as he thought of her not by his side, not working these missions with him.
Higs: “I’m most troubled by this
news, Ms. Stockwell.”
“You and me, both, Higs...you and me, both.” She sat straight in her chair. “Let’s just concentrate on getting this Chrissy girl—maybe even all these girls—back to their families. That’s what’s important right now. My work problems aren’t going anywhere. They’ll be waiting for me when I get back. So. Any new developments, Higs?”
“No. I’m afraid not; however, that was not the purpose of my call. I simply wanted to inform you that a motor vehicle will be waiting for you when you land. As per your request, Mr. St. Christopher, the transport is a large sport utility vehicle with plenty of room for your luggage.”
Hearing the word ‘luggage,’ Jacob envisioned the black cases in the rear cargo area of the plane, all filled with weapons, ammunition, and tactical gear. The best kind of luggage there is.
“I’ve also taken the liberty of updating your phones with the GPS coordinates of your destination...as well as detailed maps of the area encompassing one hundred square miles around the town at which you will be commencing your investigation.”
“Thanks, Higs.”
“Since each of you has already put in a full day, you have two rooms waiting for you at a nearby bed-and-breakfast once you land. Directions have been emailed to you both. Godspeed and safe travels. Please do get in touch with me as soon as you have something to report on the missing teens.”
Stockwell spotted Elizabeth coming down the aisle. “We will, Higs. Thank you.”
Jacob and Stockwell tapped the ‘end’ button on their phones.
“Here you are, sir.” The attendant placed a gentle hand on Jacob’s shoulder while setting his drink on the table. “I found a couple packets of dark hot cocoa and,” her broad smile curled upward even more, “whipped up something special for you.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I’m—” he turned his head toward her and had to lean away to keep his mouth from colliding with hers. “I’m sure...”
Setting her jaw, Stockwell gripped her phone a little harder.
“...I’ll love it. Thanks.”
“And,” Elizabeth’s other hand went to his bicep, “since we’ll be landing shortly, I poured it in a to-go cup, so you can take it with you.”
“That’s great.”
“If there’s anything else I can get you,” she glimpsed Stockwell, and the light in the employee’s smile dimmed before shining brightly again when she came back to Jacob, “just let me know.”
He hefted his beverage a bit. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, Liz. You’re a real,” bit— batting her eyes, Stockwell faked a smile. “You’re a real peach.”
The women exchanged nonverbal unpleasantries.
The flight attendant departed.
Stockwell leaned left and watched the five-five, slim and curvy mid-twenties woman make her way to the beverage/snack center. Sitting straight, she poked her chin at Jacob. “You do realize she was flirting with you, don’t you?”
He looked up at her, his brows arched. “Say what?”
“Oh, don’t give me that schoolboy look. You couldn’t see she had her paws all over you?”
Jacob glanced over his shoulder and gave the woman the once-over—dark blue, above-the-knee skirt suit, tan nylons over shapely legs, three-inch dark blue pumps.
“If you hadn’t jerked your head away in time, she would’ve made out with you.”
He came back to his woman. “She was getting me my hot chocolate. I thought that was simply good customer service.”
“Oh, she wants to service you, all right.”
A barely perceptible grin spread over his face. “Why...is that jealousy I’m detecting in your voice, Miss Stockwell?”
Her cheeks puffing outward, she huffed. “That chick’s a half a foot shorter than me and skinny as a rail. I could,” she balled her hands in front of her chest, “knock her out in three punches.” She mimed those punches. “Two jabs to the nose and a left cross to the chin, and the only thing she’d be kissing would be...”
Jacob rocked forward and pushed her arms down.
“...the canvas.”
“As much as I’d love to see how that would play out in a boxing ring,” he gave Elizabeth a quick peek and faced Stockwell, “how about you focus on this mission,” he took her hands in his, “and not trying to get yourself thrown in jail for assault and battery?”
She tipped her head and squinted beyond his shoulder at the woman busying herself with clean-up duties.
“And besides...” he pulled.
Her arms going straight out, she had no choice but to sprawl over the table.
“...while she may be attractive,” Jacob flipped his head backward, “that girl,” then planted a long kiss on Stockwell’s lips before retreating an inch, “is nowhere near your level of hotness.”
The FBI agent beamed, “Thank you,” kissed him back, then tilted her head to see the younger female again. “But still...I’d just love to...”
Feeling her making fists again, he chuckled. “Let’s just...settle in for the landing, okay slugger?”
*******
9:49 P.M.
STATEN ISLAND
ONE MINUTE AFTER HIGS ENDED
THE CALL WITH HIS PEOPLE
Sitting in his executive chair, his left elbow on an armrest, Higs stroked his chin while hearing Stockwell’s words in his mind. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up...working with you guys, I mean. I think...I think I just need to pick a side...the FBI or you two.
He retrieved his cell phone from a jacket pocket and stared at a distant wall. “Perhaps, I can arrange it so that,” he pecked out a number and touched the device to his cheek, “you don’t have to pick a side, Ms. Stock—”
The call connected.
“Alfred Higginbottom for Mr. Peter Whittaker, please.”
On the other end of the line, the woman from the White House balked.
“Given the late hour, I can appreciate your reticence to disturb the Chief of Staff; however, if you would be so kind as to forward my name to Mr. Whittaker, I’m certain he will want to speak with me.” A beat. “Yes. I’ll hold. Thank you, ma’am.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 6
I Can’t Go Back
10:05 P.M.
Holding a tray of donuts and baked goods, Miranda slunk down a back hall of the compound’s main house, her footfalls carrying her toward the voices coming from a corner room.
Deep voice: “I want snipers on the roofs here, here...and here.”
A pot of coffee in one hand and a folded towel between her other hand and the bottom of the hot container, Chrissy walked beside her friend.
Approaching the room, Miranda slowed.
Deep voice: “Once the shooting begins...”
Chrissy: “What are we—”
Miranda lifted a hand. “Sh.”
“...the people will come pouring out of the doors. At that time, after a five-count, I want the snipers to open fire on them. Then...”
Miranda sidestepped right to peek through the twelve-inch crack between the door and the jamb. She saw Hendricks and six other men standing around a table in the darkened room, a gooseneck table lamp shining down on a large sheet of paper.
“...teams one and two will catch them in a crossfire. Teams three and four will then breach the building at these access points,” Hendricks pointed at the paper, “here and here...and plant charges at the load bearing beams we’ve already talked about. Once that’s completed...”
Miranda swayed to get a better look inside the room.
“...those teams will need to haul as—” looking up and spotting one of his men motioning, Hendricks turned his head in the same direction.
Miranda locked eyes with Hendricks. Her skin breaking out in a cold sweat, she averted her gaze then glimpsed her friend. The two slipped into the room. “I—we were...we were told you might be hungry. We were told to bring you,” she raised the plate of goodies a little higher, “the
se.”
Hendricks rolled up the paper, slid a rubber band over one end, and tucked the three-foot tube into a tall cabinet housing rifles, magazines, and ammunition before locking the cabinet, facing the newcomers, and gesturing. “Put it over there.”
The girls placed the refreshments on a side table and made a beeline for the open door.
All the men, except Hendricks, swarmed around the food.
“Wait.”
The men spied their boss, saw him staring at the teens, and went back to filling their hands.
“I said wait.”
Miranda and Chrissy stopped, their bodies going rigid.
Hendricks strolled toward them.
The girls exchanged nervous glances and turned around.
He stopped a foot away from Chrissy, gave her an exaggerated once-over, and brushed her cheek with the back of his right hand.
She flinched, turned her head an inch, and looked down.
He smiled at her. “I’d like to see you.”
She closed her eyes.
“Tonight.” He spied his watch. “Come to my room in an hour.” He glanced at her dirtied clothing. “That should give you time to get cleaned up...and put on something nicer.”
The sixteen-year-old stood frozen to the floor, her knees growing weak.
Hendricks laid his palm on her hip. “Go. I’ll see you in,” he held up an index finger, “one hour.”
Miranda pulled on Chrissy’s arm, and the teens hurried out of the room.
After watching them leave, he spun on his heels and marched toward the huddled men. “You,” he let out a vulgar term, “had best left something for me.”
*******
FORTY MINUTES LATER...
Miranda knocked on the door to her housemate’s bedroom. “Chrissy? You okay in there? It’s almost time.” She put her left ear to the door and waited a beat. “I’m coming in.” She pushed open the barrier and stuck her head inside the room.
Sitting on the floor, her back to the wall across from the door, her knees to her chest, a whimpering Chrissy handled a stiletto knife in her right hand while eyeballing her left wrist. She shook her head and blubbered out her words. “I can’t...I can’t go back there. I...”