by Dwayne Gill
Foster smiled and nodded. “Someone told them where to find Natalie, even told them when she’d be arriving at her hotel room. But it was a set-up. You were waiting for them.”
“Who told them?” asked Cane.
“A CIA agent named Brandon Webb leaked the information to Amos,” said Foster.
“How’s Bowman involved?” asked Cane.
“The CIA guy, Webb, was close friends with him,” said Foster. “Bowman’s the one that told him to leak the intel.”
“Tell me where Amos and Kristy are,” said Cane. He stood up straight, no longer leaning back against the desk, almost as if he was daring Foster not to tell him.
“He’s keeping her at an abandoned house right outside Oglethorpe, just ten or fifteen minutes from Macon State Prison. A few miles away from the building they’re escorting Daniel to.”
Foster motioned to his desk behind him. “Would you like me to write down the address?”
He saw Cane’s expression harden. “You reach over that desk and you’re dead,” said Cane. Foster figured he knew about the panic button on his desk, a third layer of protection offered to him in case of an extreme emergency like this one. Foster wasn’t sure he could reach it from this side of the desk, but he would’ve tried. He knew he was about to lose all value to Cane once he divulged Kristy’s whereabouts.
Foster instead recited the address while Cane typed it into his phone. “There’s one more thing, and I gotta go catch my flight,” said Cane. Foster had a sinking feeling about this next request.
“Take out your phone again,” said Cane. Foster did as instructed. “Now, all I need you to do is to make an audio recording of everything you’ve done with Vinson, Amos, and the Russians. You tell the truth and spare no detail. You’ll also exonerate Hart and Barkley from any wrongdoing. If you do that, I’ll walk out of here, and you’ll never see me again.”
It was over. Foster could feel the pressure building around and inside him; he knew he faced physical death if he refused, or career and legal death if he complied. He knew what he wanted to do, which was to kill Cane and end this, but that wouldn’t happen. Faced with an unpleasant choice, of which neither result was appealing, he had to decide quickly whether living was of higher value than public humiliation and imprisonment.
“You know I can’t do that,” said Foster, and it was true. No matter how strong his will to live was, there was no way he could force the words of confession from his mouth. He was too proud.
“I’d rather watch you die anyway,” said Cane. He leaped forward with strength and speed that Foster had never seen before. Cane’s left hand covered his mouth before he could react, and he felt a stinging pain in his chest. Cane was pressing his weight against him and looking him in the eye. Harvey wanted to struggle but all his strength vanished in an instant. His arms wouldn’t move, his vision was blurring, and he felt the warmth of his own blood streaming from his chest down to his stomach. He tried to shut his eyes, but Cane slapped him hard across the face. “Look at me,” he said.
Foster was numb to the pain, but the look on Cane’s face prevented him from having a peaceful passing. Cane’s eyes displayed a primitive satisfaction; he likely didn’t want the moment to pass quickly, but Foster was slipping away. Cane spoke one last time, though it seemed like a fading echo to Foster.
“I’ll be sending lots of others to join you,” said Cane, “real soon.”
Road Rage
Wednesday, 9/13/2028, 11:00 a.m.
Macon State Prison, Georgia
Daniel waited in his cell; he knew it was getting close to time, although he had no watch to verify it by. Bob had brought him his breakfast earlier and seemed nervous, but not as distraught as the time before. He pried Bob for more information about today and even told him about the visit from the FBI agent, but Bob didn’t want to discuss it, likely fearing someone would hear them. “Just hang in there, buddy,” was all he’d said, and it was driving Daniel crazy. Was he supposed to play along and let strange men load him into a vehicle? He didn’t know what to do. A big part of him wanted to kill anyone who came to extract him, but he knew it would only work for so long. Eventually, someone would tranquilize him, as they did at Taryn’s house a year ago, even though he hadn’t resisted.
Bob came limping down the hallway accompanied by two other men. Daniel knew all three, which gave him a better feeling. Bob wasn’t smiling; he looked focused on what he was there to do. He approached the cell while the two others flanked him.
“Hands behind your back,” said Bob.
Daniel knew the drill; he backed up to the slit in the cell door and had to squat down, sticking his hands out so they could secure him. The position was uncomfortable.
“Are you going, Bob?” asked Daniel, referring to the transport.
“Are you kidding? I’m driving,” he said. Daniel frowned; he didn’t want Bob along for the ride if it was to be a dangerous one, which it almost assuredly was.
They opened the cell door and Daniel came strolling out. He was surprised they opted against shackling his legs, but Bob must’ve talked them out of it, or they knew he wasn’t a threat to run, or they thought shackles were useless if he wanted out. Because of his size and brute strength, most of the officers were skeptical that standard handcuffs could hold him. Most assumed he could snap the chains. He knew he had the strength to break the chains on the cuffs eventually, but to do so would be unwise; the amount of tension and force would embed the metal links into his wrists long before the chain links broke.
They descended the stairs, slowly to accommodate Bob’s handicap, until they reached the front lobby. Daniel felt the eyes of the other correction officers on him as he walked out the front door and to the curb. A lot of them had been terrified of Daniel when he first arrived, though he only saw a few of them regularly.
An armored van waited for him, and the two men accompanying Bob ran ahead to open the rear doors. An FBI escort was parked behind his transport with two well-dressed agents leaned against it. He wondered if they had marks on their forearms.
Daniel already knew what to expect when he looked inside the van; he remembered the last ride all too well. The van was a holding cell for up to four prisoners, which gave him plenty of room horizontally, but not vertically. There was a metal bench that stretched the length of the back of the van, but it was far too short for him to lie on. His only option was to sit on the bench, and even then he had to bow his head. There was no comfortable position. He could only hope the trip wasn’t a long one.
Bob waved Daniel up into the back. He complied, and as he moved past Bob, he heard him say, “You won’t be back there long.”
◆◆◆
Calvin sat in the back of Bowman’s van with Lynks and the three military guys and waited. Hart and Barkley were in their own vehicle next to them. They’d been in position for almost thirty minutes now, all anxious about how today would play out.
Lynks determined the most likely destination would be a facility he discovered in the middle of Oglethorpe, and with the information Cane beat out of Foster, this seemed like a certainty. Kristy was being held at a building right outside of town, so it made sense that Daniel would be moved to the facility just a short drive away.
However, the drive from Macon State Prison to the facility was only about ten minutes, which left a small window to make their move. Also, because of the proximity, other marked men stationed at the nearby facility could reinforce the others. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only plan they had. They’d just have to be ready when the time came.
The transport route would take Daniel up Highway 49 all the way to Oglethorpe, but Calvin and crew waited on May Street, which was about halfway there. May Street was a long, dead-end road with no houses on it, only an abandoned factory at the end. Both vehicles were parked off the side of the street, hidden by trees, waiting for the transport to approach. They had little control of the situation; their plan was to trust Bob behind the wheel.
Calv
in had a good view of 49 through his binoculars; he found a clear enough path through the trees to see to the nearest curve in the road, likely a mile away. He watched the transport vehicle round the curve, and he shook Lynks’s shoulder.
“It’s coming!” shouted Calvin.
There was a scramble in the van with everyone trying to get ready while Bowman let Hart know what was happening.
As Calvin continued to look, he saw a black sedan following the armored van. He slid the van door open and signaled Hart. “Hey, the black sedan. You think it’s FBI?” asked Calvin.
Hart nodded. “They may not be involved, though,” said Hart. “We don’t know yet.”
As the van crept closer to the May Street turn, Calvin’s blood pressure rose. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He put his binoculars down and grabbed a pistol; Cane had a diverse weapon collection at his Perkins home, and they each carried a firearm of each version, the old and new type. He held the E45 because it packed more punch and wouldn’t malfunction.
Bob slowed the van enough to make the ninety-degree turn, but barely. The tires squealed, and the van rocked back and forth, but it remained upright as it fishtailed onto May Street. Calvin could see activity in the front seat; the other officer must be drilling Bob with questions. The van sped toward them and stopped a few feet parallel to their position with the FBI car right behind. The car passed the van and came to a stop in front, blocking its way forward.
◆◆◆
Hart motioned for the ones in Bowman’s van to stay put and climbed out of his vehicle. The FBI escorts got out, guns drawn, standing behind their respective car doors. Bob had his hands up inside the van, along with his passenger, and the two slowly exited. Hart was cautious as he imagined the two FBI agents were having a tough time staggering responsibility at the moment. However, Hart was close enough for one of the agents to recognize him.
“Hart? That you?” It was an agent named Samuel Mather. He’d been with the FBI for six years and had a bright future. Hart had a hard time believing he’d be a part of something sinister enough to derail his career and put his life in danger. He was also aware Mather seemed to fit the stereotype of the marked men, though. The men that went missing were usually ones people least expected.
“Yeah, Sam, it’s me,” said Hart. The other agent looked in Hart’s direction for a second but quickly turned his attention back to Bob and the other officer. At least one of them had to keep control of the situation.
“Let him explain,” said Bob, hands still raised but using his head to point at Hart.
“Explain what?” said the other corrections officer. “This is crazy! What the hell is going on here?”
The other agent seemed to relax, but he kept his gun pointed at Bob, who was now standing at the bumper of the van, leaning against it.
“What is this, Hart?” asked Agent Mather.
Hart approached. He knew this would sound crazy.
“There are people that want the prisoner in that van dead,” said Hart. “In fact, we’re all in danger.”
“I’ve heard nothing about this,” said Mather. “Who told you this?”
Hart hesitated, and while he was trying to think of his next answer, he heard another vehicle turn the corner of 49 and May Street, and it came bolting quickly toward them. The driver of the van was much better at drifting than Bob; it didn’t skip a beat making the turn. Bob saw what was happening and tried to limp back to the driver’s-side door while the second agent ducked behind his door. Hart grabbed Samuel and pulled him back toward his car, trying to get them both to cover.
◆◆◆
Calvin held his gun but didn’t know what to do. When the enemy van came to a stop, he counted six filing out, not including the driver and someone riding shotgun. The men wore black ski masks and were dressed in civilian clothing, and he had no doubt they bore the markings. The men emerged with Eguns drawn and wasted no time.
The first person shot was the driver of the transport van, Bob, as he was climbing in through the driver’s-side door. The second officer leaned against the opposite side of the van. The marked men shot the FBI escort crouching behind the passenger door next as they exchanged fire. The agent managed to hit one of the shooters but crumpled out of sight after being shot by multiple gunmen.
Bowman yelled, “Get down!” to Calvin and Lynks in the back of the van, opened his door, got out, and took cover behind it. Bowman’s three companions climbed out of the back and disappeared from Calvin’s view.
“You got it ready, Lynks?” asked Calvin.
Lynks looked frustrated. “I’m working on it. It’s not functioning.”
Calvin refused to sit and cower. He exited the back and peeked around the side; one of Bowman’s men was down near the front of Hart’s car and was rocking back and forth in obvious pain. Calvin wanted to help him but knew it wouldn’t be smart. The other corrections officer was now on their side of the action but was also in bad shape. Bowman and crew must’ve dragged him over.
They’d driven back the marked men’s attack, forcing them to move behind the cover of their own van. Bowman and his two men were at a wide angle, past the rear right bumper of the armored van, while Hart, Barkley, and the second FBI agent were flanking on the other bumper. Lynks was crouched at the back of the van, still fumbling with something.
Calvin had an idea; if he could reach the transport van, he could get to Daniel. It might be their only chance. He knew if he ran directly at the passenger door he would be clear of any gunfire. Before he could talk himself out of it, he sprinted forward to save his friend, yelling, “Cover me!” to anyone that would listen. He heard several voices entreating him to stop, Lynks’s being the most distinguishable, but he kept his legs moving. The passenger door was open, which he hadn’t considered beforehand. Actually, both van doors were open; Bob had entered through the driver’s side as they shot him. Calvin could see through both doors, straight to the enemy van on the other side, but it was too late to adjust, so he kept his momentum and leaped onto the passenger seat, then rolled quickly to fall on the floor. The door leading to the back area was already open.
Bullets whizzed nearby, behind him, and he crawled forward. They know I’m in here, he thought.
“Calvin?” He knew Daniel was in the van, but hearing his voice was surreal. He looked up, but before he made eye contact, he noticed Bob lying on the floor in front of the cage.
“He opened the way to the back, but he died before he could unlock the cage,” said Daniel. Calvin could hear the pain behind his words. Daniel must’ve liked Bob.
Calvin smiled at Daniel, and despite witnessing his friend die, Daniel returned it.
“Let’s get you out of here, big guy,” said Calvin. He saw the set of keys lying in front of Bob’s right hand and knelt down to retrieve them.
“Watch out! Driver door!” yelled Daniel.
Calvin fell to his backside and gripped his pistol with both hands. He saw a man with a ski mask climbing into the van from the driver’s side, but he was unbalanced. Calvin shot four times, and though the first one missed, at least one of the subsequent three shots hit their target, because the man grunted and fell back out.
Calvin grabbed the keys, slid over to Daniel’s cage, and after trying a few different ones, unlocked it. He stepped back and waited for his friend to emerge, but Daniel turned around and showed him his cuffs. “Will you?” he asked. Calvin found the correct key and unlocked them. Daniel shook his wrists and rolled his shoulders, then stepped forward, and the two embraced.
“I’m so glad to see you, big fella,” said Calvin. Daniel moved Calvin to the side and knelt beside Bob.
“He was a good man,” said Daniel. “They’re gonna pay for this.”
The gunshots seemed to get closer and were coming from more dangerous angles. Two of them ricocheted into the back of the van and they both flinched.
“What do we do?” asked Calvin. The plan wasn’t going quite the way he thought, and they didn’t hav
e time to wait.
Daniel said, “Give me that gun.”
Calvin knew Daniel wasn’t great with a gun, but he was better than him, so he handed it over. As Daniel stepped forward, the phase of the plan Calvin was hoping for finally happened. All the shooting from the enemy van stopped, and the armored van died, along with the interior lights.
“EMP!” said Calvin. “Lynks finally got it to work.” Daniel looked confused. “I’ll explain later, but that gun you’re holding, it’s an Egun, so it’s dead now.”
Daniel raised it up and saw that the green light was no longer glowing.
“Nothing electronic will work anywhere close to here,” said Calvin. “Including the bad guys’ guns. I don’t hear them firing anymore.”
“Why’d you bring a gun that wouldn’t work?” asked Daniel.
“I had an old-style gun, but I left it in the van,” said Calvin. Daniel gave him a look. “Hey, man, I’m not a predator by nature. I panicked. People were shooting at me.”
Daniel threw down the gun and walked over to Bob. Calvin assumed he was looking for something to use as a weapon.
“I’ll help,” said Calvin. “Let me look around.” He moved to the back of the van and opened a trunk that contained first-aid items only. “Nothing in here. Let me see.”
He looked up to see what Daniel was doing, but there was no sign of him. Worried, he sprinted to the front and finally saw him walking casually toward the enemy van.
He was holding a leg. Bob’s prosthetic leg.
“Oh, well. I guess you found something,” Calvin muttered to himself.
◆◆◆
Daniel knew the men would overreact out of desperation when they noticed him exit the van, and sure enough, three of them caught sight of him and sprinted forward. He saw three marked men on the ground, presumably dead, and gunfire continued from Calvin’s side. Now that the marked men’s weapons weren’t functioning, they knew they were sitting ducks, so seeing Daniel gave them one last hope to complete their mission. He’d been hiding the leg behind his back, waiting for the right time to reveal his game-changer.