by S L Shelton
“In the last two days, you’ve disarmed four, killed two, and disabled an American-made sedan…all without the benefit of being armed,” he said. “I’m almost afraid of what you could do with a weapon.”
I laughed.
He looked at me a moment longer and rose from the couch. “I’ll put a guy outside overnight,” he said as he started to look around the apartment.
“Don’t bother,” I said. “They won’t send men in next time. They’ll shoot a rocket through the window.”
He grunted his acknowledgment and continued to look around.
“Still,” he said. “I’d feel better.”
I shrugged and stood to face him. “I’m more interested in who wants me and why someone tried to kill us both after we captured Gaines.”
He looked at me for a long moment before saying anything. I could see conflict on his face.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t want to break Agency rules or protocol or anything, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that the hit in the alley and this are tied to Gaines somehow.”
“I’m not cleared to tell you anything,” he said.
I shook my head and laughed in frustration. He looked at me a bit longer, then his stance shifted. I could tell he was going to share something before he said it.
“Come in tomorrow. Let me talk to Burgess and get it cleared…proper-like,” he said. “Who knows? You might be able to help.”
I nodded my agreement.
When the tech team had finally cleared the condo and everyone had left, I went back to the bedroom and put the gun John had given me in the top drawer of my nightstand. I lay down and tossed for a while before finally sitting up in frustration.
In the dark, I reached into my nightstand and pulled the gun out. After dropping the magazine, I pulled the slide back, ejecting the round that had been chambered. Once I slapped the magazine back in, I dropped the bullet on my nightstand and then tucked the gun under my pillow. I laid my head down again, drifting off almost immediately.
Four and a half hours later, my alarm went off. When I woke, I felt refreshed, as if I had slept a full eight hours. My hand was still on the gun John had given me. I pulled it out and looked at it, turning it over to examine the detail in the morning light.
“Best sleep aid I’ve ever had,” I said as I stowed it back in my nightstand.
**
8:45 p.m. on Monday, August 2nd—Navy Brig, Norfolk, Virginia
MARK GAINES sat handcuffed to a cushioned seat in the medical wing of the Navy Brig in Norfolk. It had been his only view, other than his room, for the past four days. He wasn't sure how or why Burgess had arranged the shell game with his incarceration, but when the interrogations began, he suspected he was being shielded—at least for the time being.
Across the table were two FBI Agents—Special Agent James and Special Agent Walsh—who had been questioning him in shifts for the past three days. This evening, they were interrogating him together, taking turns firing questions and accusations.
“We aren't going to be able to help you after the doctors clear you for transport,” Walsh said. Gaines thought the man had the bearing of a military officer, concluding after the first day that Walsh had served in action somewhere prior to joining the FBI.
Gaines didn't respond.
“What? You don't want to talk to me because I'm black?” Walsh asked. “If my presence offends you, I can leave the room and you can talk to him.” Walsh jerked his thumb toward James.
Gaines just smiled at the new tactic. He had stopped talking two days ago—as soon as the FBI showed up, he knew that Homeland Security might lose their claim on him. He was determined to stay quiet until he knew who would win the custody fight. Giving too much information before that could cost him his life if the wrong agency got him.
Walsh shook his head.
“I think there's brain damage,” James said with a sneer. “Otherwise, he'd be showing some emotion about the loss of his dyke sister.”
Gaines could tell those words were meant to elicit an emotional response. He didn't bite, but the comment pinched his chest and gut nonetheless.
Still human after all, he thought.
“Or maybe he's just glad she's gone,” Walsh added. “Or maybe he had something to do with it. Maybe he hired those rednecks to kill her and her family and he was just cleaning up the connection to him.”
Gaines could feel blood rising to his head, but he quickly calmed himself. He knew they would do or say anything to get him talking again. He was certain these two knew he had been through Response to Interrogation training, more commonly called RTI, with the CIA. But the fact that they kept using these tactics showed they felt they could break it.
He decided he would frustrate them a little more to drive the point home.
“Who did you have helping you place the explosives?” James asked. “Was it the girl? If you tell us who it was, we might be able to help with reduced charges. But you have to cooperate now.”
They still don't have a name; that's good for Alisha.
Gaines leaned forward and opened his mouth as if he were about to speak. He could see the hopeful anticipation on the faces of both men. He paused for a second or two and then closed his mouth and settled back into his chair—a grin spreading across his face.
He saw anger well up in James’s face. “You motherfucker,” he growled, leaning across the table to jerk Gaines forward by the collar. Walsh grabbed his partner by the arm and restrained him.
Gaines could tell they were just as tired and stressed as he was. And though he was injured, his medication had been upped to aid the interrogation, so the throbbing in his head was manageable.
James pushed the chair over behind him and stood, pointing his meaty finger at Gaines. “I don't think you know what's going on here,” James said angrily, showing all the markers of real frustration. “What you say here determines where you go after you're cleared medically.”
The angry Agent stood there unmoving for several seconds before abruptly turning and storming to the door. He pounded until the guard opened it and let him out. When he was gone, Walsh turned his attention back to Gaines.
“You might think that's funny, but he gets to go back to the hotel and catch a nap,” Walsh said, implying a false threat of sleep deprivation for Gaines. “We can keep you up as long as we want. Why don't you just tell us what really happened, and then you can go back to your bed in the clinic.”
Mark leaned forward again, but Walsh didn't take the bait this time.
You're a quick study, aren't you? Gaines thought and then he smiled at Walsh. He actually felt bad for the man, who clearly had no idea how much shit was stacking up behind him.
“Nothing I say will see the light of day,” Gaines said plainly, eliciting a hopeful expression from Walsh. “And to be honest, anything that I tell you would put you and your partner in danger.”
Walsh laughed. “We're big boys,” he said through a trailing chuckle. “Why don't you let us decide if what you have to say is dangerous?”
“There's a fight going on above your pay grade,” Gaines continued. “And you have to ask yourself…hell, maybe you already have. Why is Homeland Security fighting so hard to get me moved to a black site?”
Walsh sat back in his chair, his smile fading. “It could have something to do with the fact that you assassinated eight high-profile media personalities with explosives.”
Gaines could tell Walsh didn't believe that despite the confidence in his voice.
“You saw the evidence,” Gaines said sympathetically. “I haven't.”
“So you didn't kill any of those people?” Walsh asked incredulously. “Then it's just a coincidence that every city you passed through happened to be targets of terrorism.”
Gaines shook his head. “Not a coincidence at all,” he replied plainly. “But I'm assuming you're having a hard time making the timeline work, which is why you think I had someone helping me.”
Walsh reflected
on that for a moment. Gaines could see the exhaustion on his face and could tell that Walsh had no idea that Gaines had just turned the interrogation around on him.
“We know you had someone helping you because there was no way you could have done Denver and Chicago,” Walsh said.
Chicago!? Thanks for the INTEL.
“Albuquerque would have been tight, but possible,” Walsh continued.
“None of them were possible,” Gaines replied. “But I'm sure the documented evidence doesn't line up with the facts, and you already know that. Otherwise you wouldn't be pumping me for details on phantom accomplices.”
“The girl wasn't a phantom,” Walsh said plainly. “And I guess you didn't kill those three guys in Colorado Springs either.”
“Oh, I killed those guys,” Gaines replied matter-of-factly. “And I'm ready to do my time for that. But I don't know what girl you're talking about—unless you mean the federal officer who came in and tried to stop the CIA from taking me.”
How do you react to that? Mark wondered.
A flash of surprise swept across Walsh's face before placid calm replaced it.
“At least I'm assuming she was a federal officer of some sort. But I didn't catch her name,” Mark lied.
He had just successfully sown a seed of doubt about the CIA claims and the purpose for Homeland Security's attempt to gain custody of him.
“But until we know for sure where I'm landing, I'm not sharing anything…and you should thank me,” he continued. “If what I have in my head is big enough to cause the deaths of eight media personalities, the manufacture of evidence, and a battle between Justice and Homeland over my custody; how much sleep do you think they'd lose over a dead FBI Agent or two?”
Gaines could see his comments were having an effect. He glanced down and noticed Walsh rubbing his thumb over the wedding ring on his finger. The story was plausible enough for Walsh to consider his family.
Good.
Gaines looked at the recorder in front of him and nodded toward it almost imperceptibly. Walsh regarded him for a moment and then reached out and turned it off. He then stood and stretched, discretely hitting the button on the video recorder.
Gaines moved his head, indicating he wanted Walsh closer. The big Agent hesitated a moment and then moved over toward Gaines, bending to hear what Gaines had to say.
“Every one of those media personalities had something in common with the people who are fighting over me right now,” Gaines said in a whisper. Walsh hovered a little longer, waiting for an elaboration. “The same money that was used to kill them also paid them all.”
Walsh stood back, blinking at the disclosure. He went back around the table, flipping on the video camera as he went, and then turning the recorder back on. He sat slowly, his face still puzzling over what Gaines had said before picking up his pen. It hovered over his notes for a second before he set it purposefully back on the table, deciding not to write what he had just heard.
Good boy, Gaines thought.
“You can keep up the silent treatment only so long,” Walsh said, adopting some sort of fiction for the recording devices. “Eventually you'll have to say something, if for no other reason than to avoid the death penalty.”
Gaines smiled and nodded at Walsh. The look on the Agent's face was still one of confusion. It was clear he didn't know how to proceed.
“When DOJ has me and my lawyer shows up, I'll be happy to make my statement,” he said tauntingly. “Until then, you've heard the last you'll hear from me. I suggest you and your partner stop wasting your time.”
“We get paid the same either way,” Walsh said defiantly.
“True, but the survivor benefits are what I'd be worried about,” Gaines said, a mild grin spreading across his face.
A flush of red appeared on the dark skin of Walsh's cheeks. He slowly closed his notebook, turned off the recorder and the video camera. Before he knocked on the door to leave, he turned and looked at Gaines.
“I hope you know what you're doing,” Walsh said with pity in his voice.
A serious look swept across Gaines’s face. “I didn't before they killed my sister,” he said in a bitter voice. “But I know exactly what I'm doing now.”
**
2:00 a.m. on Wednesday, August 4th—New York, New York
HEINRICH BRAUN was on his way down the stairs at Spryte Industries Headquarters when his phone rang.
“Braun,” he answered.
“I’m still holding on your other order,” came Harbinger’s deep voice.
“Go secure,” he said and then hit the encryption function on his phone.
“I understand the abduction of Wolfe didn’t go as planned,” Harbinger said, his voice now having a muffled, digitized quality to it.
“I’m still trying to sort out what happened,” Braun replied. “I don’t think Richards is up to the task.”
“That’s rather obvious,” Harbinger grunted. “Are you ready for me to send a team in?”
“Just set up surveillance,” Braun replied. “This incident is bound to have put him under closer scrutiny by the Agency. We are still trying to get Gaines transferred to Homeland control and I don’t want to do anything to endanger that.”
“Aren’t you concerned about INTEL collected at the time of his capture?” Harbinger asked.
Braun thought for a moment. He was nervous about that, but the priority was still Gaines. Wolfe appeared to be the weak link on the capture team. The failed abduction attempt, though, could raise more questions about the connection to Homeland Security.
“Surveillance for now,” Braun replied, though the loose end left him feeling uneasy.
“Understood,” Harbinger replied.
“These distractions come at a most inopportune moment,” Braun said.
“It’s not a concern,” Harbinger replied, reading Braun's apprehension for the other operation that was going on—the recovery of the misplaced nuclear devices that the Serbs still had. “My team in Europe is ready to move as soon as the Serbs stop playing tag with the CIA. So far, their efforts have only been mildly successful. If they don’t get the devices in place soon, I will join them and help pick up the pace. In either case, I have enough resources to take Wolfe as soon as I get the go ahead.”
“That’s good to know,” Braun said, relaxing a bit. “But don’t forget, we’ll need a team ready when Gaines is moved. Even if it’s into DHS custody.”
“Understood,” Harbinger replied. “I’ll send a tech team to Virginia to begin watching Wolfe.”
“I know I don’t have to tell you this, but if the Agency is watching him, discretion will be very important,” Braun said.
“No,” Harbinger replied coldly. “You didn’t have to mention that.”
“On the other hand,” Braun said, ignoring the attitude. “If an opportunity presents itself, we wouldn’t want to waste it.”
There was a short pause on the other end of the line. “I’ll do what I can,” Harbinger replied.
“Excellent,” Braun replied, knowing that usually meant success wasn’t far away.
“Anything else?” Harbinger asked.
“No,” Braun replied. “Updates as changes occur,”
“Yes, sir,” he replied and then ended the call from his end.
Braun tucked his phone into his pocket and continued down the stairs. When he reached the garage level, his driver pulled up and Braun climbed wearily into the backseat.
“Home, Brian,” Braun said.
“Yes, sir,” his driver replied, sounding equally tired.
“And after you drop me off, go home and rest,” Braun said. “I won’t need you until noon—unless something comes up.”
“Thank you, sir,” his driver replied.
Though something always comes up, Braun thought as his exhaustion threatened to drag him into sleep right there in the car.
How did you thwart the abduction, young Mr. Wolfe? Braun continued in his sleep-deprived mind. It’s a pity we can’t
ask the Baynebridge men.
He sighed as his burning eyes closed for a moment.
I’ll have to ask you myself once we have you, he thought, and then chuckled aloud at the imagery that flashed behind his eyes.
**
9:35 a.m. on Wednesday, August 4th—CIA Headquarters, Langley Virginia
JOHN TEMPLE took a deep breath before he knocked on Director Burgess’s door. He knew why he had been called in.
Burgess looked up while on the phone and waved John in.
“Yes, sir,” Burgess said into the phone, letting John know it was someone big on the other end.
“It’s our number one priority, sir,” Burgess continued, then hung up the phone.
“The nukes,” John stated plainly, reading the Director’s mood upon hanging up.
“Yeah,” Burgess muttered. “If we don’t get hold of them soon, State wants to bring Russia and Israel in on the search.”
John shook his head. “That would be bad news,” he said plainly. “Russia has already hurt us on tracking. If we give them INTEL on the Op, we may just be muddying the water.”
Burgess stared blankly at the top of his desk for a moment, his mind obviously working on the problem. “Then we need to find them fast,” he said finally.
John nodded. He was already feeling responsible for the delay. He knew the Director wasn’t placing blame, but he felt the weight of the missing devices as if he had lost them himself.
“Is that why you called me up?” John asked, already knowing the answer.
“No,” Burgess said as he reached into his drawer and pulled out a file folder. “I looked at your request concerning Scott.”
John took a deep breath before speaking his mind. “Before you make a decision, I just want to point out that he has basically solo completed two Ops in the past two months with no training,” he said cautiously. “That’s why I want to bring him on…put him in my section.”
Burgess narrowed his eyes and stared at John for a few seconds. He set the folder on his desk and leaned forward to examine the contents, slowly flipping through the pages one at a time before sitting back and rubbing his eyes.