Suicide Bomb

by Bobby Nash

  Darrell Grizzle hated working weekends.

  There were about a million and one things he would much rather have been doing on a Sunday morning. Still, there were bills to pay and since he had grown accustomed to living indoors it fell to him to earn the bread that kept a leaky roof over his head. The rent was due. So was the car payment. If he did not send them money soon, VISA was probably going to send someone to break his kneecaps.

  On top of all of that, his allergic to a W2 form girlfriend had just dropped the bomb on him the night before that she was pregnant.

  So, like millions of other Americans, he got up early on a Sunday morning, ate a bowl of stale cereal, brushed his teeth, showered, dressed, hopped in his car with the shitty gas mileage and just twenty more payments before he could call it his, and took the long, lonely drive to a job he abhorred.

  When did this become my life? he wondered, not for the first time.

  The only upside to working on a Sunday was that things were generally quiet around the office and he could get some real work done. Patting the old satchel bag he had carried since high school, he felt better knowing that his future was secured beneath the faded leather straps that barely kept the satchel closed.

  Since childhood, he had loved to write. He was even good at it, or so all of his teachers and friends told him. But no matter how good he was, finding anyone in the industry willing to look at his work was another matter. He had completed five screenplays and was currently working on something new.

  Every week he sent off a new query letter.

  Every week he received a new rejection letter.

  “Perseverance wins the day,” his father had always told him. Granted dear old Dad was a master at doling out these little pearls of wisdom, but practicing what he preached was another matter entirely.

  It had been five years since he had last seen his dad in person. He usually received a phone call on Christmas and his birthday, if the elder Grizzle was sober enough to remember. Sometimes he didn’t remember until the New Year had begun and would call. As always, he would apologize and promise that things were looking up for him. There was always a new job opportunity just about to open up or a big deal just about to come down the pipeline. And there was always a new woman who would be the one to help him turn his life around. It never failed to amaze Darrell that his father expected a woman he met in a bar to help him stop drinking.

  He wondered how the old man would handle the news that he was about to become a grandfather and almost wished he could be there to tell him in person just to see the look on dear old dad's face. He imagined it would be priceless.

  “Hi there.”

  So deep in his thoughts was he that he had not heard anyone come in. In fact, if she had not spoken, it was quite possible he would not have even noticed her, which would have been a shame. She was quite the little hottie, he noted. Even dressed as conservatively as she was, Darrell could tell instantly that these were not the kind of clothes that she felt at home in. She was young, probably in her mid to late twenties, he guessed. And athletic from the firm legs clearly visible beneath her tight skirt.

  The security guard was on his feet in a shot. He was clearly embarrassment, his cheeks flushing because he had been caught reading on the job instead of watching the front door. Although, come to think of it, he could have sworn he had locked the front entrance. On the weekend it was standard practice to keep the building locked. If anyone wanted to come inside the guard on duty would have to buzz them in from the security desk.

  All these baby thoughts, I must have forgotten, he thought. It seemed a reasonable conclusion.

  She smiled at him. “It'll be our little secret,” she said with a wink as she passed.

  “Thanks,” Grizzle said, clearly relieved. Everything appeared to be in order and he noted that she had her ID badge clipped to her belt so she was cleared to be in the building.

  Once she was in the elevator, the guard went over and made sure the front doors were locked. Once he was sure everything was secure once more, he returned to his desk and resumed his position, feet propped up and the screenwriting book open on his lap. If the cutie with the nice ass wasn't going to tell on him there was no need in him trying to look busy. He would hear the elevator when it came back down and would make a show of being hard at it when she came back down.

  Try as he might, though, Darrell could not concentrate on the book. He could not get the image of the girl out of his mind. Perhaps he and his father were rather a bit alike in this area. The elder Grizzle was a babe magnet. Darrell could never understand what it was about his old man that made hot, horny women half his age flock to him, but whatever it was, the old man had it in spades. And although he was not quite the player his dad was, he wasn't half bad when it came to pleasing the opposite sex himself. Not that he would brag, of course.

  Humility aside, that did not mean it could not be written down in screenplay format for all the world to enjoy.

  He wondered for a moment what his girlfriend, the one person around who he could not get to actually read one of his scripts, would think if she knew just how much he and his dick got around when she wasn’t looking.

  Before he could dwell on the matter further, a trilling beep interrupted his thoughts. It was not until the second ring that he realized that the ringing sound was the phone. In all his time working the weekend shift, he could count on one hand the number of times the phone had actually rang at the security desk when he was on duty.

  Perhaps, his overactive male brain wondered, the little cutie that came in earlier is bored and to alleviate that boredom had decided to take full advantage of the solitude and have her way with the handsome security guard.

  As outlandish as it sounded, that was the first thought that went through Darrell Grizzle's mind and it did not seem absurd in the least.

  On the third ring he answered.

  “Security,” he said into the receiver, adopting a suave action movie hero demeanor.

  A blast of electronic noise filled his ear, making him shout as he recoiled from the offensive sound.

  “This is not a fucking fax machine!” he shouted into the receiver before slamming the phone back into its cradle.

  He rubbed his aching ear with his knuckles.

  “Goddammit,” he whispered as the ringing in his ears began to subside.

  The phone rang again.

  Carefully, Sean once more picked up the phone, but did not put it directly against his ear as he did earlier. There was no shrill sound of a modem kicking in coming through this time. He finally moved the phone closer.

  “Security desk,” he said.

  The voice on the other end of the phone sounded like something out of a bad movie, disguised like the morning radio shows did when they had on someone who did not want to be identified as they talked trash about their family and friends. The filter made it sound like a twelve-year old girl on the line.

  “Hello, Mr. Grizzle,” the tiny electronic voice said.

  “How do you...” Darrell started, but the voice continued as if he had not spoken.

  “I have a little job for you,” the eerie tone said.

  “What are you...”

  Again, he was interrupted, this time by another electronic twitter. It was the same sound he had heard before, but more subtle this time around. He felt a fog move over his brain that felt like a sudden dimming of the lights. Although he could not explain why, Darrell Grizzle simply stood and listened to the voice on the other end of the phone.

  “Do I have your attention now, Darrell?” The Controller’s altered voice asked.

  “Yes. Of... of course.”

  “Good. Now listen to me very carefully,” the voice said, satisfied that he had the young man’s full attention.

  “You have an intruder.”

  ###

  The elevator opened onto the eighth floor.

  Darrell Grizzle stepped into the corridor. His right hand resting on the service pistol at his hip, the
security guard moved slowly down the hallway, checking each door by jiggling the handle to make sure it was indeed locked. At each door he met resistance and moved on to the next door.

  There was intensity to the security guard’s demeanor that had not been there before. He still felt the dense fog on his brain that made him want to close his eyes and take a nap, but beyond that there was another voice, like something out of a nightmare, telling him that there was an intruder in the building and that he must act quickly.

  He paused in front of the office at the end of the hall. The placard read Pearce Analysis. All he knew about the business was the name. He had seen it listed on the building directory in the lobby numerous times, but never had he been inside the office and he had no idea what type of work they did there or what they analyzed.

  A quick check of the door revealed that it was unlocked. If he was at all surprised by this discovery, he gave no outward sign other than a simple flick of his thumb as he released the clasp holding his gun in the holster.

  Officer Grizzle slipped the gun from its cradle slowly as he quietly pushed opened the door and eased inside. His eyes darted from one end of the office to the next, looking for… something. The part of his brain that assumed it was logical to deduce that the cutie that had come in earlier worked in this office. That would naturally preclude she would have a key for the office, which would explain why the outer door was unlocked.

  However, that was not the part of his brain that was doing the thinking.

  The room was pretty much what one would expect from a busy, functional office. As one would expect to see in an office of this size, cubicles ran the length of the office to the left. To the right were offices with actual walls and doors that clearly took up most of the floor. The other doors were either permanently locked or were personal office doors. Pearce was bigger than Sean would have assumed, if he had ever actually given any thought to the type of businesses that were housed in the building.

  The gun remained in his hand and rested gently at his side as he navigated through the office. He moved carefully, taking slow, measured, even steps as if this were not the first time he had undertaken a grid search in this manner, which was actually true. The only time he had ever heard the word grid search was on some old TV show he watched the other day.

  And there she was.

  He heard her moving about before he actually saw her. She was in an office at the far end of the suite, shuffling through a stack of papers that were open on the desk. She had removed the gray jacket, which was now lying across the desk.

  The security guard eased around the door until he was standing just inside the room.

  She still hadn’t noticed his arrival.

  Silently, he watched as she searched the desk, rifling through the desk draws and flipping through file folders. From the way she kept looking about, he knew that this was definitely not her office. She was looking for something and was having a hard time finding it. Obviously, everything was not going according to plan because she looked nervous, constantly lifting her eyes to check out the door.

  That's when she noticed him.

  The woman looked up, startled that someone had been able to sneak up on her unannounced. Her body language confirmed what he had already suspected. She was definitely not where she belonged. With a sharp intake of air, she stood up straight, a sheaf of loose papers falling to the floor.

  “Oh, God!” She stammered, a hand going to her chest, covering her heart. “You scared the shit out of me!”

  It was a nice, quick recovery. Expertly played, but Darrell Grizzle wasn’t buying it.

  The security guard said nothing. He simply stood three steps away, holding the gun so tightly at his side that his knuckles were white. Gone was the crooked smile the woman had seen him sport downstairs.

  “Is...” she gulped. “Is there something I can help you with?” she asked as her eyes focused on the gun in his hand. Her voice was steady with only a hint of apprehension.

  He did not respond.

  “You don't talk much, do you?”

  He said nothing as he took a step toward the desk.

  “Look. I have to finish up this work by...”

  Suddenly, a smile creased the security guard's face, but it was not a kind smile.

  “Uh... what's going on here?” the cutie asked as she took a step back from the desk.

  He raised the gun and pointed it at her.

  “What are you...”

  The loud crack of the gun's discharge echoing in the small office drowned out any words she tried to say to talk her way out of the situation.

  Drenched in blood, her lifeless body bounced off the bookshelf behind the desk and fell to the floor with a heavy thud.

  Blood pooled around Sarah Smith’s lifeless body, soaking deeply into the plush carpet. Had she been alive to see it, no doubt she would have commented that the large stain rivaled the one she had seen in the lobby on her way in earlier.

  For long moments the office was still.

  No one moved. No one spoke.

  Officer Grizzle let the gun fall to his side once again as if it were suddenly too heavy to hold aloft. He no longer held a white knuckled grip on it and the service revolver slipped from his fingers and dropped to the carpeted floor with a dull thud. Not that it mattered. The woman was dead. She no longer posed a threat.

  As if he were sleep walking, Darrell Grizzle moved to the large windows that lined the outer wall. The office had an impressive view of the I-95 freeway in the distance and the parking lot for the employees who worked in the building. There were a few sparse trees planted in small round mounds of dirt as part of the city’s laughable attempt to appear environmentally conscious.

  Darrell, still uncharacteristically silent, stared through his reflection in the window. He did not readily recognize the face that stared back at him.

  He felt his jaw twitch.

  Then he launched himself at the window.

  The reinforced glass cracked under the impact, but did not break. It remained sufficiently in place. He staggered back, dazed by the impact, but otherwise uninjured. He set his jaw and took another run at the window, this time shouting with undulating rage as he did so. With this impact the window spider webbed as his face made contact, sending cracks flowering out in odd directions away from the point of impact.

  Tiny shards of glass bit into his skin.

  He ignored the pain.

  Officer Grizzle stepped back on uneven legs, a trickle of blood running down the right side of his face from the cuts on his forehead. He spit the blood away from his mouth and eyed the window again. His face contorted in rage and he took another run at the cracked window.

  The third time was almost the charm.

  He hit the window and felt it give, but somehow the safety glass miraculously held firm.

  He refused to surrender.

  Or, rather, he was not allowed to surrender.

  The voice cutting through the fog was clear on what he was expected to do.

  With renewed purpose, Grizzle gurgled out a wet, bloody growl as he stared at the broken window that dared to defy him.

  For Darrell Grizzle the fourth time was the charm as the window shattered under the weight of his body against its cracked frame.

  At that point gravity took over and did the rest.

  Glass rained from the eighth floor, scattering across the pavement of the empty parking lot. Darrell Grizzle followed a split second behind. He did not scream, could not utter so much as a curse as the ground rushed up at him in slow motion.

  I wonder what the old man will have to say about this? Darrell thought a split second before the thunder crack exploded in his brain as his head struck the pavement and a wave of red washed over everything and he was gone.

  Twenty-one

  Washington DC

  Sunday

  President Montgomery tossed the half-eaten piece of toast back on his plate.

  After the first hour of talks with Secret
ary Conrad and his advisors, the President called his aide and had him once again place a breakfast order for the group and that they would take it in the Oval Office while they worked. He had a feeling that they were going to be busy for quite some time, maybe even the entire day, and he needed to eat something now because he had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t have much of an appetite later. In fact, he was starting to lose it already.

  He pushed the plate away. Mrs. Nellis’ skill in the kitchen was unmatched, but nothing seemed to taste just right this morning.

  “Okay, gentlemen, let’s start from the beginning,” he said as he leaned back in his deep-cushioned chair and looked at the lead Secret Service Agent. “Agent McHenry?”

  “Very well, Mr. President” Agent James McHenry said as he began rustling together a stack of papers that were scattered across the small coffee table that sat between two couches for more informal meetings. Despite the President’s discomfiture with the Secret Service agent, he had to admit that the man had done his homework and knew his facts. McHenry was nothing, if not professional.

  “Twenty-five years ago, sir,” McHenry began. “You oversaw a Senate sub-committee that had direct authority over a special project that was code named Operation: Blood Shot. Is that correct?”

  “That’s correct,” the President said. “The project began under the auspices of the Central Intelligence Agency, but once the CIA director started asking for additional capital far above his initial projected budget, a committee was set up to oversee the project and I drew the chair assignment.”

  “You did not request this committee posting, then?”

  “That’s not how it works, son,” the President explained. “A committee handles a specific duty as opposed to the day to day general duties of Congress. Committee membership allows members to develop specialized knowledge of the matters under their jurisdiction. They have a small amount of power, so the committees monitor on-going governmental operations, looking for issues suitable for legislative review, gather and evaluate information, and recommend courses of action to their parent body. The short version is oversight. I was nominated by someone in my party, I don’t recall who, and accepted the seat at the head of the table while another congressman from across the aisle served as my second. As with everything, gentlemen, there are checks and balances.”