Wounded Falcon: Brotherhood Protectors World

by Jesse Jacobson

  “Rainhorse had help from an unknown benefactor to escape from Andrews, Agent Burk and two other agents,” Love quoted. “He then rode away with the unknown benefactor.”

  “That’s right, and within the day, Rainhorse broke that agreement,” Kelsey blurted out.

  “Can you answer my question, sir?”

  “You read a statement,” Kelsey pointed out, “You didn’t ask a question.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought the question was obvious. The question is . . .why?”

  Rice looked confused, “Why what?”

  “Rainhorse had just struck a deal with the FBI,” Love said. “All he needed to do was to ride alongside Andrews and answer questions. He would have been a free man with no strings attached. Why would he collude with Andrews to go rogue and risk violating his agreement? And why would Andrews go along with it? In addition to risking his own career in the process, losing a confidential informant was hugely embarrassing. Why would he do that?”

  “Rainhorse wanted to conduct his own independent search for Barnabas,” Kelsey said. “Andrews let him, pure and simple. He allowed a convicted, dangerous assassin, who was serving a prison sentence, to go off on his own. Rainhorse was our best intelligence and Andrews allowed him to escape.”

  “So far, I see no evidence that Andrews ‘allowed’ anything to happen,” Love argued. “Angela Burk is dead, but I did interview the other two agents who were in the back seat with Rainhorse. They reported that the unknown benefactor shot out the tire of the FBI transport and Rainhorse knocked them out cold with his elbows in the confusion. They saw no evidence of any collusion between Andrews and Rainhorse.”

  “You said it yourself, Agent Love,” Kelsey hissed. “Those men were unconscious while Rainhorse was still in our custody. They were not witness to the collusion. They only saw the aftermath. And may I remind you that Rainhorse assaulted and hospitalized both those agents.”

  Love stared at Kelsey and nodded, processing what he’d said.

  “Gentlemen, I need to get this on the table,” Love said. “I’ve been part of hundreds of investigations. I have a nose for the truth and I have an instinct that tells me when there’s a problem and when there isn’t a problem. Is Andrews covering something? Probably, yes. Is what he is covering criminal or actionable? I don’t think so. I think he’s a pretty good agent. Don’t we have bigger fish to fry than carving up Agent Jim Andrews?”

  Kelsey glared at her, clearly offended by her remark.

  “We cannot have an agent making independent decisions to release a convicted felon and then provide him unauthorized support for a clandestine operation that is out of our control. It would be inherently dangerous and it would put lives at risk. Our agency would be in complete chaos if we condoned that.”

  “I’m not implying that you should condone cowboy behavior,” Love insisted. “Gentlemen, I was a homicide investigator for ten years before the FBI recruited me. My record was perfect. Part of the reason is that I had a nose for when there was foul play and when the case was a dead end. This case feels like a dead end to me.”

  Rice scowled at Love.

  “I disagree, Agent Love. If you’re telling me that you’re incapable of moving forward, then . . .”

  “I’m not saying that, sir,” Love said.

  “Well . . . what are you saying . . . Agent Love?” Rice asked.

  “I’m wondering why the fervent pursuit of Andrews in this matter of colluding with Rainhorse. Rainhorse did the job . . .”

  “He got lucky, Agent Love,” Kelsey chimed in. “Thanks to Andrews’ collusion, a killer-for-hire who was also a convicted felon, embarked on an unauthorized manhunt without FBI resources of supervision. That’s Andrews’ fault.”

  Love sighed, “I see nothing to support the assertion he helped Rainhorse escape.”

  “Agent Love, the FBI transport deviated from its assigned route and drove right by where the unknown benefactor was waiting to shoot out their tire,” Rice preached. “Agent Andrews was driving. Why would Andrews suddenly deviate from the route, onto a secluded road, if not to rendezvous with the benefactor?”

  “I don’t know,” Love admitted. “I do have one last question that’s been bugging me.”

  “Ask away,” Rice said, “and then I really have to go to another meeting.”

  “I was reviewing the reports from the aftermath,” she began. “There are multiple entries focusing on Andrews’ failure to perform.”

  She picked up her own note book and flipped a page and read from it, “Allowing Rainhorse to escape; his inability to recapture Rainhorse; lack of progress as Special-Agent-in-Charge to discover Barnabas’ whereabouts, and finally, at the end, disobeying a direct order from you, Director Rice, to hunt down Rainhorse with, and I quote, ‘extreme prejudice.’”

  Rice leaned forward, “That last part, how did you know that?”

  Love held up a report, “It’s in the file you gave me.”

  Rice glared at Kelsey, who was unable to hide a shocked expression.

  “Give me that report,” Kelsey demanded, holding out his hand. “It was not supposed to be included in the file. It’s irrelevant to this case.”

  “It seems very relevant to me,” Love argued.

  “It’s classified,” Rice snapped. “It is irrelevant.”

  Love handed Kelsey the report, “Be that as it may, I’ve seen the report. Andrews was guilty of complete insubordination. He failed to obey a direct order.”

  “You’re right about that,” Rice agreed.

  “So . . . why didn’t you fire him, then and there?” she asked.

  Rice paused. Love saw him blinking as if his brain was trying to access data.

  Kelsey jumped in, “Because the media declared Andrews a hero for saving Seattle from nuclear disaster. It was all a crock, of course. Rainhorse did all the work, but it was Andrews who became the media darling.”

  “That’s right,” Rice agreed. “We couldn’t fire the agent that was giving our department such positive press.”

  Love looked at both Rice and Kelsey curiously. She wasn’t buying their story and she was certain her facial expression reflected it.

  After another fifteen seconds of awkward silence, Kelsey stood, “I think you’re getting off target here, Agent Love. We need you to focus on finding Rainhorse and collecting evidence to prosecute Andrews for collusion and misconduct.”

  “You mean, collecting evidence to . . . get to the truth?” Love responded.

  Kelsey glared at Agent Love, “Yes, of course.”

  “I mean, you aren’t suggesting that I approach this investigation with an agenda, are you?”

  “No, of course not,” Kelsey insisted. “I’m a bit insulted you felt the need to even ask that question.”

  “Only a bit?” Love asked.

  Rice stood as well, “Agent Love, I hope you are not taking your eye off the ball here. We brought you into this case because of your reputation as a ferocious investigator. You are an up-and-comer in this organization. You’re talented and young enough to rise through the ranks. The sky is the limit for you. Don’t blow this case. We need Andrews brought down. Do you understand?”

  Agent Love looked at the FBI Director, “Completely.”

  Chapter 7

  Agent Julie Love bolted out of the conference room and headed straight to the elevator. By the time the elevator doors opened, she was steaming. She knew that both Jim Andrews and Lindsay Vanderbilt were covering something up, but that wasn’t what made her so angry. She sensed that her own bosses, Director Rice and Chief of Staff Kelsey, were also withholding information from her—information she needed to do an effective job.

  She knew when the higher-ups were pushing an agenda. She’d experienced it many times as a homicide detective in Seattle. Every time there was a murder and a prolonged investigation, there was public outcry. The media pressured the DA’s office for answers and the DA pressured her for an arrest. The implication was simple—find someone . . . anyone, t
o pin the crime on. This situation felt similar, with an exception. For reasons yet unknown, Rice and Kelsey wanted Andrews to go down, and go down hard. They brought her in, thinking they could control her, manipulate her into advancing their agenda.

  They were mistaken—badly mistaken.

  She thought about Andrews as the elevator descended to the first floor. The whole vendetta against the special agent felt wrong. From everything she could tell Andrews was a damn good agent. The Vanderbilt woman’s testimony did not make her feel otherwise, even when she grilled the young woman hard—harder than normal even.

  Andrews was unconventional and certainly had no issue with bending the rules to make something happen, but she’d seen nothing to make her believe he ever did anything that wasn’t in the best interests of solving his case.

  The elevator door dinged and Love emerged, heading toward the front entrance. She saw Lindsay Vanderbilt and Summer Rose Red Feather sitting in the lobby. They had not left the building yet.

  “I thought you’d two be heading back to the airport by now,” she said, approaching the two women.

  “The meeting ended earlier than expected,” Lindsay said. “We’re waiting on a car.”

  “I see. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, thank you. The car should be along any minute.”

  “Okay then, have a safe flight back,” Love said. She walked away. Ten steps outside the building entrance she heard her name being called out over the sounds of the street traffic.

  “Agent Love!”

  Love turned to see Summer Rose Red Feather approaching her. Ms. Red Feather was a beautiful African-American woman, not much older than Lindsay.

  “What can I help you with, Ms. Red Feather?”

  “Something’s been bugging me,” Summer Rose said. “I didn’t say anything because it didn’t come up in the meeting.”

  “What is it?”

  “The whole investigation into Jim Andrews . . . Does it have anything to do with . . .”

  “With what?”

  “With Wounded Falcon?”

  “Wounded Falcon?” Love repeated.

  “You don’t have to play coy with me, Agent Love,” Summer Rose said. “It was I who brought Director Rice the thumb drive regarding Wounded Falcon. That information on the thumb drive secured Rainhorse’s release and got Agent Andrews rehired.”

  “What do you mean, rehired?” Love asked. “Andrews was never fired.”

  “Yes, he was,” Summer Rose said. “I saw him in the hall right after it happened.”

  “Why was he fired?”

  Summer Rose shrugged, “I don’t know. All I know is, at the last minute I made reinstating Jim Andrews as a condition of turning over the information on Wounded Falcon.”

  “Ms. Red Feather, I don’t know what Wounded Falcon is,” Love said. “Can you enlighten me?”

  Summer Rose looked shocked, “I don’t know what it is either. Rainhorse gave me the thumb drive. It was encrypted information. He made me promise not to open and read it. He said to just mention the name to Rice and tell him that the drive contained information regarding Wounded Falcon. When Rice heard that, he agreed to my terms in exchange for the thumb drive and my silence. I’m sorry, I thought since you were heading this investigation, you’d know all about it. I didn’t violate national security just now, did I?”

  Love was shocked at the revelation herself, but masked it well and recovered quickly, “No, of course not. I’m the lead investigator on the case. I have access to all pertinent information. The investigation into Agent Andrews’ conduct has nothing to do with a clandestine operation.”

  “Okay, then, thank you. For a minute I was worried that I’d spoken out of school.”

  “No, everything is fine. Thank you for coming. Have a safe flight home.”

  Love barely made it to her car before calling the airline, “I need to change my ticket,” she said. “I’m not going to Montana. I’m going to Houston.”

  She headed straight to the airport, parked, retrieved her ticket at the counter, went through security and made it to the gate. She checked her watch. She still had twenty minutes before it was time to board the aircraft.

  She fished her laptop from her leather case, powered it up, entered her FBI credentials and secured password, and accessed the FBI file server. She looked for a file called Wounded Falcon with no success. It simply didn’t exist. At the very least she expected to see a pop-up warning her that she didn’t have proper clearance to view the file—but . . . nothing.

  She opened a web browser and Googled “Wounded Falcon,” and found nothing relevant.

  What was Wounded Falcon and what did it have to do with Andrews? According to Ms. Red Feather, Andrews was fired, then reinstated at the mere mention of the name.

  Director Rice lied to her face. She’d asked him why they didn’t just fire Andrews for insubordination, and he claimed they didn’t fire him because of the publicity surrounding the Barnabas Quince case.

  But the truth was, Rice did fire him and was forced to hire him back because of Wounded Falcon, whatever the hell that was.

  And now they wanted him gone.

  She needed to know about Wounded Falcon. Ms. Red Feather said the man who gave her the thumb drive was the professional assassin, Rainhorse, and he was MIA. He had the answers she needed. She had to find him.

  And in the interim, she needed to speak to Andrews again.

  Chapter 8

  Agent Jim Andrews stopped at Starbucks, bought a latte and a bagel, and arrived at his office early. He read and responded to emails, and reviewed his daily report one last time before sending it off. He’d worked on the report evening before. Even though Richard McKay was captured without a shot fired, he knew the powers-that-be would be going through the report with a fine-toothed-comb.

  He’d spent hours reviewing and nuancing the language to anticipate the questions his superiors may have and address them in advance in his report. He thought about Agent Julie Love’s comment about him being a cowboy. It wasn’t the first time he heard that comment, and he doubted it would be the last.

  Love herself, was an interesting woman, he thought. She seemed to both appreciate his work and condemn him for violating procedure, all at the same time.

  There were times he caught her looking at him, looking right through him. On at least one occasion he felt like she was actually flirting with him. He’d look up from his plate and see her staring at him with an unconscious smile and a glint in her eye.

  He had to admit, he found Julie Love to be an attractive woman. She was exactly his type: smart, athletic, talkative, good at her job and had a smoking-hot body. She was no shrinking violet either, that was for sure. She had a way of being funny, charming and intimidating at the same time. He could almost hear the wheels in her head turning, trying to decide if he was full of crap or not. She was a strong, independent woman. He liked that about her.

  She took her job seriously. The feeling she was flirting with him evaporated instantly when he was not giving her the answers she expected. She turned stone serious in a hurry, and he had no doubt the woman would take him down without a second thought if he gave her reason to.

  It was just as well, he thought. Rice and Kelsey had assigned Love to skewer his ass, there was no mistaking it. He didn’t need the sexual tension. Agent Julie Love was the enemy.

  When he was finally satisfied with the report, he wrote an introductory email, attached the report, and sent it to the appropriate persons, including Chief of Staff James Kelsey, who he knew was getting copies of all reports from him. Andrews also believed that the report would be instantly forwarded to Director Rice.

  Satisfied he could do no more, he stood to leave the office. He had an interview lined up with Jamal Davis’ private sector supervisor, Ray Bloom, in the early afternoon. He’d pulled files on Bloom’s company, Jet Space, as well as on Bloom himself. He intended to read the files on the plane to Houston, the city where Davis lived and where
Jet Space was located.

  He checked his watch, slipped on his jacket, grabbed his briefcase and slipped out the door. He stepped off the elevator and headed to the front door. He could see the black Chevy Tahoe he ordered to take him to the airport, waiting. A stepped outside and greeted the driver, who opened the door for him.

  “Agent Andrews,” a female voice called from behind.

  Andrews turned toward the sound of the voice. Standing just a few feet away was Summer Rose Red Feather, the attorney for Rainhorse, and close friend of Lindsay Vanderbilt. She had a concerned look on her face.

  “Ms. Red Feather, what are you doing here?”

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m so sorry to have dropped in on you without calling. I was hoping I could steal a few minutes of your time.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Red Feather,” Andrews replied. “I’m heading to the airport. I’m going to Houston on business and I’m running a little late.”

  Summer Rose’s frown deepened, “It’s important.”

  Andrews saw the urgency lined on her face. Summer Rose was more than competent at her job. He’d met her several times, but only remembered her as confident and self-assured. For Summer Rose Red Feather to look this concern, it indeed had to be important.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Andrews said. “The airport is about twenty minutes from here. Why don’t you get in the car? We can talk on the way.”

  “My car is here,” she replied.

  “That’s ok. Afterward, I’ll have the driver bring you back.”

  “That sounds fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Once inside the back of the Tahoe, the driver pulled away from the curb.

  “Do you have one of those divider windows you can raise to give us some privacy?” Summer Rose asked.

  “Sure,” Andrews said, hitting the button and raising the window. “There. No one can hear us now. What is on your mind?”

  “Lindsay Vanderbilt and I were called into Washington DC to meet with an investigator,” she said. “Were you aware of that?”