Wounded Falcon: Brotherhood Protectors World

by Jesse Jacobson

  Typically, when an agent broke protocol it was to take a shortcut, to hide lazy investigative work, or, in more serious cases, to hide criminal behavior. Andrews exhibited none of that.

  As a homicide detective in Seattle she’d developed a keen sense for sniffing out slime balls, and Jim Andrews was nothing of the sort. He was plainspoken, charming . . . and downright hot.

  It begged the question; why would Director Rice and James Kelsey be so interested in nailing Jim Andrews to the cross? Even if Andrews stretched the boundaries of protocol, there were dozens, if not hundreds, of agents who were guilty of the same . . . if not worse.

  Why Andrews?

  Agent Love deplaned from the Federal jet. A shiny black Chevy Suburban, was waiting to pick her up. A driver stood outside waiting for her. He verified who she was and took her bags, then opened the door for her.

  It was only when she climbed in that she realized someone was already inside, waiting on her.

  “I hope you had a pleasant trip, Agent Love,” said FBI Director Randall Rice. He was sitting in the seat of the extended Suburban, with his back to the driver, facing Agent Love.

  “Jesus! You scared me,” Love responded. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  He smiled. It was a creepy smile, she thought, reminding her that it was the first time she’d ever been alone with the man. As much as she didn’t care for James Kelsey, she wished he were here now.

  “I’m sorry,” Rice said. “Please make yourself comfortable. We have to make a stop on the way back to the office.”

  Agent Love pulled the seat buckle around her and snapped it into place. As she was doing so, she felt the director’s eyes on her. She couldn’t tell if he was ogling her or simply studying her, trying to figure her out.

  “I’m buckled,” Love said, forcing a smile.

  Rice returned the smile, reaching behind him, tapping on the glass. The vehicle began to move. The windows rolled up automatically and the door locks engaged. The tint on the windows made it nearly as hard to see out as it was to see in. She felt pinned in.

  “I understand you got to see our boy in action, Agent Love,” Rice began. “Hostage situation, I’m told?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Love confirmed.

  “And it seems Agent Andrews saved the day once again,” Rice added. “What did you think?”

  “In all honesty, Director Rice, Agent Andrews was very impressive,” Love said. “The way he handled the suspect . . . it was nothing short of magnificent.”

  “Uh huh. I see,” he said. His tone reflected disappointment. “Tell me about your interview.”

  “I just completed my report on the plane,” Love replied. “It’s been sent to your electronic file.”

  “You’re here now. I’d prefer to hear it directly from you. We have fifteen minutes.”

  “All right then,” Love replied. She took Director Rice through everything she saw, glancing occasionally at the report on her tablet and then expounding on what she’d written.

  Rice listened studiously to Agent Love detailing her account of the interview. Rice seemed to be absorbing the information, processing it, calculating it. Love noticed the creepiness of the man seemed to fade as she detailed her findings. She felt like Rice was reflecting more disappointment and perhaps, disdain. She sensed a strong feeling he didn’t approve of her report in the slightest.

  At the end, Love concluded with, “And then he warned me if I found Rainhorse, to not piss him off.”

  “So, Andrews was agitated? He became aggressive. He threatened you?”

  “No, it was nothing like that. It was not a threat. He said it almost jokingly.”

  Rice let out a breath and paused to reflect on what he’d heard.

  “You told me a lot about his performance. Tell me your impression of the man,” Rice asked, after Love finished.

  She sighed softly and took a moment to collect her thoughts, “If I’m being honest, he came across as a competent and effective Special Agent . . . if a bit of a cowboy. He was being evasive at the end. That ruffled my feathers a bit.”

  Rice snapped his fingers, “There. That is what I’ve been saying. He’s a cowboy, a lone warrior, not a team guy at all. Even today, as simple as the operation was, he couldn’t follow protocol. He had to go in on his own and save the day before the SWAT team could get there. He wanted to play hero.”

  “Hmmm,” Love said. She realized Rice was latching onto any sliver of information in the report that could be deemed negative and then trying to inflate the negative value. He was missing the broader picture she was trying to communicate.

  “You don’t agree, Agent Love?” Rice asked.

  “I’m sorry sir, no,” she replied. “I don’t think Agent Andrews likes the spotlight at all. I think he genuinely believed that the SWAT team would spook the suspect into firing and the plan he executed was the best possible solution. Frankly, having seen it, I would agree.”

  “It sounds like you admire the man, Agent Love,” Rice said in a tone that made her feel as though it were a veiled threat. He flashed her a smile. The creepiness had returned. It was a smile that made her uncomfortable.

  “I do, in many ways. He’s sharp, but also very humble . . . but . . . there are things he’s hiding. I’m convinced of it.”

  “He’s a liar, isn’t he?”

  “I wouldn’t describe him that way. He’s highly guarded. I do believe he nuanced his narrative to avoid complete answers to my questions, but he’s a veteran FBI agent. He’s used to extracting information, not giving it. It’s part of any interrogator’s job to nuance language to extract more information.”

  “But his job as an agent is to answer the questions from the Office of Professional Responsibility fully and truthfully. I mean, you’d agree with that, wouldn’t you . . . Agent Love?”

  “Of course, I would agree with that, sir,” Love affirmed.

  “Pardon me if I am misunderstanding, but from your report, I’m not getting the feeling that you do agree with that, Agent Love.”

  “My apologies, sir. Yes, I do agree with that.”

  “So, you agree that he’s not giving you the whole story?” Rice questioned.

  “I do.”

  “And you are committed to uncovering the whole story, I hope.”

  “Of course, I am.”

  “Good. I brought you in because Andrews is a very savvy agent. If anyone knows how to cover his tracks, it’s him. You understand?”

  “Yes, I do. He’s a smart one, that Jim Andrews, I’ll give him that, but so am I.”

  “Do you think he colluded with Rainhorse to allow him to escape?”

  “I don’t know yet, Director Rice, but I promise you, I’ll find out the truth.”

  Rice smiled, again making her uneasy once again, “That’s my girl.”

  He reached out to give her a playful tap on the knee, but Love pulled her knees away. The smile left his face.

  Agent Love bit her lip, “Sir, with all due respect, I have a degree in Criminal Justice from Penn State and I was a decorated homicide detective in Seattle for ten years. I’m also a competent agent in your bureau. I would prefer to not be referred to as anybody’s ‘girl.’”

  There was an awkward pause as Rice stared at Love. She didn’t know if she angered him or if he simply didn’t know how to respond.

  “Of course,” Director Rice said, finally. “I don’t know what I was thinking. My apologies, Agent Love.”

  “Director Rice, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Love asked.

  “Of course not, ask away.”

  “You seem to have a great deal of contempt for Rainhorse,” she noted.

  “And why wouldn’t I?” Rice asked. “The man is a killer-for-hire. He worked for Barnabas Quince for years. He is a murderer, inherently untrustworthy.”

  “Andrews told me that it was actually your idea to free Rainhorse to serve as a subject-matter-expert to help capture Quince. Is that true?”

  Rice paused,
wondering where Love was going with this, “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Why, then, would you consider freeing such a contemptable man?” she posed, “one who is so . . . what did you say—a murderer? Inherently untrustworthy?”

  The smiled faded from Rice’s face and his brow furrowed.

  “It was a time of . . . desperation, Agent Love,” Rice replied. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “It just seems so oddly inconsistent,” Love noted.

  He was just about to reply when the SUV stopped.

  “Why are we stopping?” she asked.

  The side door opened and Agent Love looked out. The vehicle was parked in front of the White House.

  “I have a meeting with the President,” Rice boasted. “I’ll speak to you later, Agent Love. The car will take you back to the office.”

  “Yes sir,” Love replied.

  “Oh, and Agent Love, bring in the Vanderbilt woman for questioning. Andrews may not crack and tell us where Rainhorse is, but Lindsay Vanderbilt will.”

  “I’ll visit her in Montana,” Love offered. “I’ll leave tomorrow.”

  “No, bring her in. I’d like to be in that meeting myself.”

  “That’s not necessary, sir. I’m fully capable of . . .”

  “It has nothing to do with your capabilities, Agent Love. It has everything to do with my interest in this case. Tell Ms. Vanderbilt it’s an informal meeting. Assure her she’s in no trouble. Make it sound very routine. I want her as relaxed as possible when she arrives. Watch out for her attorney, though. She’s quite the ball buster, that one.”

  “You know Lindsay Vanderbilt’s attorney?”

  “I do . . . and she knows me.”

  Chapter 4

  Four days later

  Lindsay Vanderbilt arrived at 935 Pennsylvania Ave NW, in Washington DC, the headquarters for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. With her was her attorney and close friend, Summer Rose Red Feather.

  A black Federal Chevy Tahoe at Dulles Airport made the twenty-seven-mile trip. The van pulled to a stop in front of the building. Lindsay heard the window rolling down.

  “We’re here,” the driver said.

  “I need a couple of minutes, please,” Lindsay replied.

  The driver nodded and the sound of the window rolling up could be heard.

  “Any last thoughts before we go in?” asked Lindsay.

  Summer Rose shook her head, “Just to reiterate what we’ve talked about. You are not under investigation. They told me the questioning is ‘routine.’ You have agreed to be here as a courtesy. You’re not under subpoena. Jim Andrews is under investigation, not you.”

  “I know that,” Lindsay replied. “I just don’t want to say anything that would get Jim in trouble, not after everything he’s done for us.”

  “Lindsay, you don’t even know why he is being investigated,” Summer Rose challenged. “The FBI is not saying. You cannot nuance your testimony to try to make him look better. For all you know, what you think might help him, may only make matters worse. The only thing you can do is truthfully answer their questions.”

  “I just hope I don’t get Jim in trouble. He’s been a good friend to us.”

  “I know Agent Andrews is our friend, and I have no idea what business he’s gotten mixed up in, but there’s nothing you can do right now except answer their questions.”

  Lindsay sighed and nodded, “I know.”

  “It’s time,” Summer Rose said. “Are you ready?”

  Lindsay sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, “Okay. I guess I’m ready.”

  Summer Rose and Lindsay entered the building and checked in at the desk. A perky, forty-ish year-old receptionist with white-from-a-bottle hair and dark-framed glasses greeted them.

  Summer Rose glanced at the woman’s name badge. It read, Eleanor.

  “Eleanor, I am Summer Rose Red Feather and this is my client, Lindsay Vanderbilt. We’re here for an interview . . .”

  “Yes, Director Rice has been expecting you,” Eleanor interrupted, smiling.

  “Director Rice?” Summer Rose repeated. “The Director of the FBI himself will be present during the interview?”

  The receptionist looked at her screen again, “According to the meeting schedule, he is conducting the interview along with his Chief of Staff and another agent, Julie Love, assigned to the case. I’ll need to copy your ID’s for your guest badges.”

  Summer Rose and Lindsay handed Eleanor their ID’s.

  “I’ll be just a few minutes,” Eleanor said. “The interview is taking place on the top floor. The floor has restricted access. You’ll need the agent to escort you. He won’t be long. Have a seat in the waiting area. Would you like coffee, tea or water?”

  Lindsay shook her head, no.

  “No thank you,” Summer Rose said.

  Once seated, Lindsay checked around to see if anyone was within earshot. There wasn’t.

  “What the hell, Summer Rose? Director Randall Rice will be asking me questions? Isn’t it odd for the FBI Director to take a personal interest in a ‘routine’ questioning?”

  “Very odd,” Summer Rose admitted. “I’m wondering if this may be . . . personal.”

  “Personal?” Lindsay repeated. “What did I do to him?”

  “Not personal toward you, but toward me.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean, Director Rice tried to fire Jim Andrews years ago,” Summer Rose replied. “I was actually involved at the time.”

  “You? Since when were you involved with the FBI terminating Jim Andrews? How come I didn’t know about this?”

  “It involved Rainhorse, and he’s my client,” Summer Rose said. “It was privileged information. The important thing for you to know is, FBI Director Randall Rice may have reason to dislike Jim Andrews and I’m certain he doesn’t like me.”

  “Jesus, Summer Rose, thanks for the warning,” Lindsay scoffed.

  “How was I supposed to know he’d be here?”

  “Whatever. I just want this to be over.”

  Summer Rose ignored the remark, “I want to discuss one more thing. When you were contacted about the interview and told me about it, I called the investigator who contacted you to make the meeting arrangements.”

  “Okay . . . so?”

  “The investigator’s name is Agent Julie Love,” Summer Rose continued. “I did some research on her. She is an up-and-comer in the FBI. She is smart, crafty, and famous for tripping people up with her style of questioning. She is also very cocky, but for good reasons.”

  “What reasons?”

  “Prior to her being recruited by the FBI, she was a decorated homicide detective in Seattle. Her record for extracting information and obtaining confessions was incredible. This lady knows what the hell she’s doing. She is cagey, Lindsay.”

  “Summer Rose, should I be worried?” Lindsay asked.

  “No,” Summer Rose replied. “Again, you are not being investigated. This changes nothing about your interview. Remember what we discussed. Don’t volunteer any information. Keep your answers short and concise. Don’t elaborate. If you can answer a question with a simple yes or no, do it and close your mouth. Got it?”

  Lindsay nodded, “Yeah, I’ve got it.”

  “And above all, do . . . not . . . lie,” Summer Rose urged. “Even a simple lie could drag you deep into a mess you don’t want any part of. Look, I think someone is coming for us, now.”

  A serious looking agent in his mid-thirties approached. He didn’t smile or greet them. He merely identified himself as Agent Sandusky and confirmed he was speaking to Lindsay Vanderbilt and her attorney. He handed them back their original ID and their guest passes. Lindsay and Summer Rose clipped them on their shirt pockets and followed the agent to the elevator.

  Lindsay caught Agent Sandusky looking at her as the elevator rose. The look was one of contempt. When they reached the top floor, the elevator opened. Another agent stood just outside th
e elevator; his hands clasped together at his waistline. Sandusky did not move, only spoke in his deadpan voice.

  “Follow this agent,” was all he said.

  The agent who was waiting did not introduce himself. He merely turned and said, “This way please.”

  Lindsay and Summer Rose followed the agent down a brightly-lit corridor. Through the glass window, they saw FBI Director Randall Rice sitting at the head of a long mahogany table. Two people were sitting with him; one man; one woman.

  The agent leading Summer Rose and Lindsay, pecked on the conference room door but did not wait for a response. He opened the door but did not enter. He motioned for them to enter the room.

  Summer Rose entered the room first, followed by Lindsay. The agent who escorted them into the room closed the door and left. The two people who were sitting with Rice stood. Rice, himself, did not. He merely looked up and spoke.

  “Ah, Rose,” he said. “I heard you would be joining Ms. Vanderbilt and I’m somewhat surprised. This is an informal interview. No attorney was necessary.”

  “I go by Summer Rose now,” she replied, “but you can call me Ms. Red Feather.”

  Rice chuckled, “As you wish.”

  “And we both know, Director Rice, that any time a high-profile person like my client is called to fly into Washington DC to meet the Director of the FBI, the interview will not be as informal as the name would imply.”

  Rice shrugged, “Touché. I’d like you both to meet two of my colleagues. The woman to my right is Special Agent Julie Love. She is from the Office of Professional Responsibility, which investigates allegations of misconduct against FBI personnel. The man on my left is my Chief-of-Staff, James Kelsey.”

  Kelsey and Agent Love nodded. Lindsay started to extend her hand but thought better of it.

  “Please have a seat,” Rice continued. “Would you like coffee, tea or water?”

  “No, thank you,” Summer Rose replied. “Where is Agent Andrews, anyway? I half expected to see him here.”