Wolf Trap (Casey Reddick Book 1)

by Charles DeMaris

  Of course, the time and a half pay didn’t hurt either. Sean was turning out to be a regular musical prodigy and saxophones weren’t cheap, at least not the one he wanted. Brendan had gone without during his childhood and he was determined to provide a better life for his son than what he had. He wasn’t coddling the boy, but the kid had a pretty good life all things considered. Tonight, would get them that much closer to the new sax.

  The game wasn’t for a couple more hours and deliveries were still coming in, so he was making the rounds from the dock area to the kitchen, laundry, locker rooms, and mechanical control rooms, and back again. After the last delivery was made, the dock area would be locked up and he would proceed into the arena to join the other officers.

  Hassan arrived at the arena and parked near the loading dock. He studied the paperwork for the delivery and the app on Jorge’s phone. Simple enough. He opened the back door of the van and loaded the boxes onto the dolly , one box being slightly different than the others, and wheeled the boxes inside. When he entered, a security guard approached him.

  “Whatcha got there?” the guard asked.

  Hassan showed him the build of lading.

  “Kitchen’s down that way,” the guard said, “Figure they’re lookin’ for that.”

  Hassan wheeled the dolly toward the kitchen and was met by the cook, who took the bill from his hand.

  “Visitor locker room,” the cook said, “still waiting on the home team food. You would have thought they’d ship it all at once.”

  “Maybe another van bringing that,” Hassan said.

  “Yeah, they do that sometimes. Makes no sense, paying for two deliveries, but it ain’t my money.”

  The cook signed the bill and handed it back to Hassan.

  “Do you have a bathroom? I should have gone on the way,” Hassan asked.

  “Yeah, down the hall, right before the mechanical room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You forget one of the boxes?” the cook asked, noticing one box still on the dolly .

  “I have another delivery. Loaded that one by mistake. Should have left it in the van.”

  “Okay.”

  Hassan went to the restroom and entered the delivery information on the phone app, then proceeded down the hall toward the mechanical room. He was early, so he would have to sit tight until close to game time when the arena would be full.

  Casey waited in the van for over an hour before someone came out and knocked on his window.

  “What took so long? I thought they needed this quickly?” he asked.

  “We’re short- handed today, had a couple trucks to load.”

  He loaded the boxes and started the drive toward the Palace. It was less than an hour until game time. The attack would happen close to the start of the game, if not after, when most of the fans would be in their seats. It was a twenty- five- minute drive to the arena, so he would have to step on it.

  Brendan looked at his watch. Not long until tip off but the loading area was still open. The cook was waiting on one more delivery and could be heard cursing the courier from the kitchen. He might as well continue his rounds until the delivery guy came and went, then he could head into the arena. He walked by the locker rooms and could hear the idle chit chat of players and coaches, by the kitchen where the cook was ranting to no one in particular, past the restroom, and on to the mechanical room.

  He wandered into the room, a vast room containing the furnaces and air conditioning equipment and controls for the HVAC and ventilation systems. He walked down one side of the room marveling at the complex equipment and thinking Sean would find this fascinating. Maybe he could bring him the next time. Reaching the end of the room, he turned around to come back up the other side and…there was someone else in here. He saw a man standing a few feet away wearing a courier company uniform and hat. What was he doing in here? He hadn’t expected to see anyone. The man had his right hand outstretched and by the time Brendan’s brain registered what he was seeing it was too late.

  Hassan located the air intake when he first got there and had the contents of the last box unpacked and ready to go. Six canisters of VX nerve gas, more than enough to inflict massive casualties once released into the ventilation system. All he had to do was wait for the right moment. He took a bottle of water from the box and took a sip. He heard a sound at the doorway and looked up to see a police officer enter the room and start walking down the far wall. Great. He was hoping this wouldn’t happen, but he was prepared. The way the cop was walking, it was clear he thought he was alone in the room. He walked all the way down the length of the room and turned to come back.

  Hassan was waiting for him when he turned. The officer turned around and saw him, and before he could react Hassan pulled the trigger three times, dropping him where he stood. He dragged the cop’s body to the edge of the room and left him by the wall, out of sight of the door to the room, and went back to wait for the game to start.

  Casey was stuck in slow- moving traffic and berating himself for not learning the city better. It might not matter anyway. The alternate roads were probably backed up as well. He was listening to the pre- game show on the radio and hoping he would be there in time. When he finally arrived at the service entrance behind the arena, the starting lineups were being announced.

  He loaded the boxes, grabbed the paperwork, and hustled into the building. The security guard at the door pointed toward the kitchen and waved him on.

  “About time,” the cook said.

  “Held me up at the other end. Made me wait while they loaded a semi.”

  “Well, you got it here. That’s all that matters.”

  “Say, I gotta pee like a racehorse. Got a bathroom?”

  “Yeah, down the hall toward the mechanical room. What is it with you drivers showing up having to pee? Can’t stop on the way?”

  Casey thanked him and headed down the hall, leaving the dolly by the restroom door and continuing toward the mechanical room. Before entering the room, he removed his pistol from his holster and screwed on the suppressor. He was quiet as he came through the door. According to the schematic, the intake would be to the right. His eyes scanned the room and took in the dead cop at the far wall, and then a man wearing the same uniform he was wearing crouched near the air intake with six canisters lined up on the floor. He had one canister in his hand and was preparing to open it.

  “Don’t make another move,” Casey said.

  Hassan made another move, dropping the canister and spinning around with his weapon drawn and squeezing off a round. Casey anticipated this and dropped to a knee as the round whizzed over his head. He had his own weapon drawn and put two rounds into the center of Hassan’s chest.

  It all happened so fast he hardly had time to assess the situation. He had stopped the attack, and with only seconds to spare from the looks of it. He pulled his phone out and entered the delivery information and then fired off a quick email to Jenny that the attack was stopped and he was exiting the premises.

  He walked over to the dead police officer a few feet away and felt an overwhelming sadness. If he had gotten here earlier, that cop might be alive. It looked like the attacker had ambushed him. The cop’s gun was still in its holster. That’s when he had an idea. There was nothing he could do to save the officer, but he wondered what the speculation would be when the bodies were discovered and it was determined that the cop’s gun had not been fired.

  Casey looked at both bodies. The terrorist was wearing gloves. Those would come in handy. After donning the gloves, he propped Brendan’s body up against the wall in a sitting position, removed the unfired gun from the holster, and put it in the officer’s hand. Then he walked across the room and found a metal chair, positioning it ten feet in front of Brendan’s body. With an effort, he propped the dead terrorist up in the chair and went back to the officer’s body. He looked at the cop’s weapon and was relieved to see that it was also a 9mm. That wouldn’t confuse the scene too much.

 
He took the suppressor from his weapon and attached it to Brendan’s pistol and holding the cop’s hand on the weapon, raised his arm, took careful aim, and used the dead man’s index finger to squeeze the trigger, putting two more rounds into Hassan. Then he propped Officer Stewart against the wall and placed his right arm at his side with the pistol still in his grip, removed the suppressor, and laid the terrorist’s body on the floor, putting the chair back where he found it. He left the gas canisters where they were, making sure that none of them were opened, and examined the scene. To a casual observer, it would appear that the terrorist had shot the officer who had returned fire and killed the terrorist before succumbing to his own wounds. It wouldn’t take long to find the gas canisters and put two and two together. Not perfect, but it just might do. As he was about to leave the room, he realized the terrorist had been shot four times and only two rounds were fired from the officer’s gun. He quickly retrieved the weapon, removed two bullets, and placed it back in the officer’s hand. That should pass at least a cursory investigation.

  Casey holstered his weapon, retrieved the dolly from outside the restroom, and exited the building. The guard, seeing that there were no more deliveries scheduled, began locking the dock doors. Maybe he should tell that cop that all was locked up and he could go into the arena for the rest of the game. Where was the cop anyway? How long had it been since he’d seen him? Guy probably went inside already. As he was closing one of the dock doors, he saw Casey driving away through the lot, but the other delivery van was still there. That was strange, but not that strange. He had seen drivers take naps waiting for another dispatch. Maybe that’s what he was doing, but he should probably check with the cook.

  He finished locking up and went by the kitchen.

  “One of the delivery guys is still here,” he said to the cook, “You seen him?”

  “Which one?”

  “I just saw the black guy leave, so the other one.”

  “Arab lookin’ guy? He was here couple hours ago. Asked where the bathroom was.”

  “I’ll check there. Maybe he’s sick or something.”

  He checked the restroom, empty. Probably napping in his van. The van was parked out of the way, so he wouldn’t worry about it right now. Maybe if he was still there when the game ended, he’d check on him then. Time to head in and watch some of the game.

  19

  Doug Prescott and his wife were having dinner at their favorite place, the Hunting Creek steakhouse in Alexandria, VA. They had come more often in recent days since he was no longer working at the CIA. His head was still spinning from that one. Clearly the FBI dropped the ball, but the new president had little patience with failure and Doug was the readily- available scapegoat. The intel came to him first, so it was his responsibility. She said all the right sympathetic words, but he knew Amy was happy with the development. He had a new job lined up at a local financial services firm. The money was good and he would be out of the spy business. Amy wanted him out for years. It wasn’t the danger. He hadn’t been in the field in years, but she wanted a husband with a more predictable schedule who could be relied on to be home at certain times and not miss important events.

  He felt lost. The new job would be good, and perhaps spending more time with Amy would have its benefits, but at the CIA he had a purpose. He served his country. Now he would be helping people manage their money better. Sure, there was a purpose in that, but it wasn’t the same. He had given the last twenty- five years of his life in the service of his country and now he was out. Maybe he should have acted on that intel himself, there was no taking that back now. Letting the FBI handle it seemed like the thing to do, and it was what was expected of the agencies now. The new president wanted cooperation between agencies and he did not want spies operating on American soil.

  “Earth to Doug,” Amy said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where are you? Certainly not here. Relax and enjoy your steak.”

  “Steak’s fine, just got a lot on my mind.”

  “It wasn't your fault. You did what was expected of you.”

  “And all those people are dead. I spoke with him that night and he assured me they would take care of it. Nothing was done.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault. You need to move on. It’s not your job anymore.”

  “Still bugs me. I feel like there was something I could have done.”

  “Can we just enjoy a nice dinner for now?”

  “Sorry. Nothing I can do about it anyway.”

  He took another bite of his steak and glanced past his wife to a table near the bar. There was a man there who looked familiar. That man was at Starbucks that morning, he was sure of it. Coincidence? In his line of work…check that…his former line of work, you learned not to believe in coincidences. Was he being followed? What was the point? He was out. No need to follow an ex- CIA director around. Still, it didn’t feel right.

  “Be right back hon, gotta use the bathroom,” he said.

  He went in a stall, sat down, and pulled out his phone. He had copied the email from that private intel group to his phone. At the time he wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but something told him he might want that contact later. The address it came from was probably a dummy, or one that routed through so many servers and other addresses before getting back to the sender, so trying to trace it would be pointless. He sent an email to that address, hoping someone would read it and get back to him, and exited the restroom to rejoin his wife.

  Jenny read the email from Casey and breathed a sigh of relief. This was more like it. They saw the intel on the threat and stopped it. She looked across the room at Ahmed and Miriam, hard at work. Those two were a godsend, but they were going to work themselves to death if she couldn’t get some more help. With Casey coming back, that would help, but if she had to send him back out…What was this? Another email. Someone had emailed the dummy yahoo account and it had been redirected. Doug Prescott, the former CIA director.

  Hey Sis,

  Are we still on for tomorrow? I’ve been looking forward to seeing you and the kids. We have so much to catch up on. I can swing by as soon as I find someone to look after the dogs.

  She was walking over to check in with Ahmed when her phone rang. It was Casey on his secure line.

  “Hello, got your message.”

  “It was a close call. He almost had the lid off one of the canisters. I had to kill him.”

  “Good job. You saved a lot of lives.”

  “Well, actually Officer Stewart saved all those lives.”

  “Who’s Officer Stewart?”

  “Sad story. The terrorist killed him before I got there. I came in and the cop was dead on the floor and the terrorist was opening a canister. I startled him and he turned around and fired at me. I got him and set it up to look like the cop shot him. Hopefully he gets the credit and nobody knows I was there.”

  “That was quick thinking. You think they’ll buy it?”

  “I hope so. Depends on how thorough they are with the forensics. It pissed me off seeing him die like that. Maybe he’ll go out a hero. That’s the only reason I did it. He never drew his weapon, but I used it to put a couple rounds in the terrorist. Hopefully it’s enough to keep them from wondering who shot the bad guy. We don’t really need that.”

  “Casey, how many rounds did you put in the terrorist?” Avi asked.

  “Two.”

  “And you used the cop’s gun to put two more?”

  “Yeah, but I removed two more bullets from the mag. If they’re counting bullets…”

  “Okay, gotcha. Nice thinking. If they do a thorough investigation, they might catch a couple things, but that should keep any speculation away from you. The officer going out a hero might be a small comfort to the family.”

  “That’s what I was hoping, and that they wouldn’t look too closely into the other delivery driver, the darker one.”

  “Once they figure out the nature of the attack that was stopped, you might not matte
r.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll just keep heading south and see you guys in about four hours…”

  “Maybe not,” Jenny said, “Head over to the airport and catch the first non- stop to DC.”

  “What’s going on there?”

  “Got a vague email from Doug Prescott. Might be worth looking into.”

  “Have a chat with him and take him someplace safe?”

  “That’s the idea. I’m sending you his address and phone number.”

  “Be careful,” Avi said, “Remember what I’ve taught you about avoiding surveillance. Time to see if you’ve learned anything.”

  Casey hung up the phone and drove toward the airport.

  “Do you think he’s ready for this sort of thing?” Jenny asked.

  “Nobody is ever completely ready, my dear. Most of what I learned was in the field. He’s a bright kid and we’ve seen how well he thinks on his feet.”

  “I’m just worried about him. If we had someone more experienced…”

  “You do, but I’m too old for this, and too recognizable.”

  “You’re not that recognizable, just around scientists.”

  “I’m not so young and nimble anymore.”

  “You’re not fooling me. I’ve seen you in action.”

  “My memory seems a bit hazy there.”

  “Yeah…I guess it would be.”