The Presence of Evil

by J. T. Patten

  In what appeared to be ongoing coverage, the display flashed news video and photos of the Devon Street area, then the detective’s police car parked at the convenience store. A surveillance camera’s footage looped twice, showing Drake in the vagrant’s disguise, pushing a cart on the street, then another from a higher angle being escorted out of the flat by police.

  Mena turned to Drake, her eyes wide and directed on the baggy pants he still wore.

  Sean, too, noticed the concern she wore on her face and the coverage. “Oh, boy,” he breathed.

  It was Drake who was the most unsettled, however, when the next violence-in-Chicago news item showed police gathered around Walter’s gray vehicle. In the corner of the screen was a photo of Walter. His hair was shorter, he wore a shirt and tie in the photo. The broadcaster was saying something, but the volume was down. Her coverage segued to an on-scene reporter at a Chicago middle school where Walter had been a distinguished benefactor of a new science lab. The news bar at the bottom of the screen referenced him coming from a prominent family, and then cut over to a number of family photos.

  “Gentlemen?” a male voice called to the rear after the clack of locks and squeak of a heavy hinged door.

  The team turned, surprised that it wasn’t Halliday.

  “And lady,” the fifty-something suited man added with no introduction. “If you will please come with me.”

  Sean took the first steps forward. “We were supposed to meet Special Agent Halliday. Is she coming down?”

  “Things have changed. I’ll need you to come with me.”

  “Like Custer to the Indians,” Drake muttered.

  Mena fell right in line, passing Havens.

  “You’re sure not worried,” Woolf said as she passed.

  The Persian analyst turned with a smile. She whispered back, “I’m not. I’m Agency, and I haven’t killed anyone today. But you’ve already heard my résumé…and backstop.”

  This is a bad idea guys, Drake admitted to his voices before they chimed in. His mouth started to click, ready to respond with deadly force, if necessary. He had no intention of being detained.

  Chapter 58

  Jay brought Tresa another cup of coffee. “I was getting another, thought you may want one, too.” He placed the blue cup embossed with a golden FBI logo on the side to the left of the stack of papers she was reviewing. “Sorry we don’t have much more on the Venezuelan kid.”

  “I’m thinking the guys who are coming up may have some insights they can share. They may be a bit skittish, though.”

  “Usually we get more notice if the Deltas are coming to Chicago. Especially if they’ve got a spook from Langley.” Jay sat down and fidgeted with a pen against his coffee cup. He gritted his teeth. “I spoke to the department SSA as he was leaving. Not many people here on a Saturday. We have to let the SAC know. I’m not going to blindside him if this turns out to be something. With everything going on in the city today, he should know there are some other resources here before he asks for them, and should know where the connections may be.”

  “Jay, you’ve been really great. Maybe we do this: let him know Earl Johnson at headquarters put this together, sending over a few of his task force liaisons. That way, we’re all covered.”

  There was a knock on the closed office door before it opened with the salt-and-pepper-haired agent announcing the party’s arrival. “Do you want me to put them in the conference room, Jay? One of the guys really smells like shit. They have a bag for his change of clothes. I can always take him to the locker room, and he can shower off. He’s kind of a mess. Are they operating here in the city?”

  Jay turned his head to Halliday. His brow dipped. “They weren’t up north, were they?”

  The agent at the door laughed.

  “What?” Jay asked. His tone short and bothered. It appeared to Halliday that Jay’s mind was churning. Maybe she hadn’t played her card right in an attempt to get closer to Orange.

  Before she could sway the conversation, the older agent raised hesitation. “I don’t know about this bunch. There’s a guy who looks like he just walked out of the hospital after getting hit by a bus.” He stepped into the room and closed the door, lowering his voice. “A Middle Eastern woman who looks like she’s going to college, and the smelly beat-up dude can hardly keep his eyes open. Probably undercover surveillance or something, but hardly anyone that had to fight their way out of a paper bag.”

  “Right,” Halliday interjected seeing an opening. “These guys are techies. Total dorks. I think the one guy may be a raging alcoholic, but he’s good at tracing and tracking. Why don’t I go get them settled in and say we link up in an hour, unless you need to go home. I know it’s getting late. I can ring you if there’s anything that comes up. I mean, it’s not like the city’s going to go up in smoke tomorrow.”

  The agent at the door commented, “Yeah, I can get them into the conference room and take stinky downstairs on my way out. We’ve got a St. Paddy’s Day party to go to tonight. Told my wife I’d be home about two hours ago.”

  “Okay, Eric. You have a good weekend.” Jay leaned back on his chair, taking a loud slurp of his coffee. “Hot.” He winced. Jay reached across to the files, slapping them in a rhythm on the table. Halliday watched his eyes. They were locked on the royal-blue folder, but he was seeing well past anything that was inside. That was the problem with running into a seasoned agent who had succeeded by trusting his instincts. It was apparent something wasn’t passing Jay’s smell test. He just hadn’t caught a scent on the trail yet. Her cover story could get real thin real fast.

  Chapter 59

  “Go get your boss,” Dexter Woolf demanded of the Lawndale Legends hovering about while the Modarris inspected the compounds and the large blue plastic vat. Dexter wiped his brow with unease.

  In moments Two-bags strutted over, his entourage in tow. “What’chu want now, mister teacher?”

  “I need you all to clear out. I have to assemble the detonator.”

  “Bullshit, not a chance. This is too high stakes. You a shady mo’fucker, an’ I ain’t e’en trustin’ you.” Two-bags folded his arms, outstretching his belly in contempt.

  “If I’ve got all these distractions around me, it could cause a slipup. Do you want to run this neighborhood, or blow it up with you included?”

  “I ain’t getting all blowed up,” said a lieutenant by Two-bags’s side.

  “I ain’t gettin’ all blowed up, neither, Two-bags,” another insisted.

  “Aight, we all clear out. But I’m keepin’ two of those dumb muthafuckas back there just outside. And I’m tellin’ them to put caps in your ass if you even pop your head out the door. I ain’t seen no money yet, and I ain’t gotten my goods yet from no one, so I’m trustin’ our business. But I ain’t havin’ to trust you.”

  “Fine,” Dexter appeased. “And please have one of your men find me a big stick or a broom handle before you go. Once I have this all mixed and wired, we can get it on the busses. I’m putting together two vats. Come back in an hour. We’ll load this up before midnight and then get the rest of the chemicals and supplies over to your theater so you can get things ready for tomorrow night for your assault. We’ll get working on that after the kids are on their way.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Osama.” Two-bags outstretched his hand for a fist bump.

  Not wanting to show disrespect or suspicion, Dexter obliged in what he assumed would be the first and last fist bump of his life.

  Chapter 60

  Sean Havens watched Tresa Halliday hurry past the open conference room, stop, and back up.

  “This place is a maze,” she said to Mena and Sean in small-talk but stayed in the doorway. “Did they take Drake downstairs?”

  “Yeah, about five minutes ago. Something wrong?”

  Tresa pulled fingers through her long brown-and-blond skunk-striped hair. Mov
ing hands to hips and looking left and right down the empty halls, she looked perplexed.

  Mena stood and outstretched her hand. “Hi. We haven’t met. I’m Mena Shabpareh. White House Situation Room. Persia House. Central Intelligence Agency.”

  Tresa didn’t move from her position but took Mena’s hand, giving it a hard shake. “Cool.” She turned to Havens, not giving Mena any additional attention. Halliday didn’t do girls club. “I need to move you guys but can’t let them take Drake back up here.”

  “Can you get me down to the locker area? I can run in, get Drake, and we can go wherever.” Sean turned to Mena, trying to judge her body language. This was all getting too weird. “Halliday, what gives?”

  “I may have overplayed my hand. I’m not exactly loved, and this place is hard to read. I think the guy I’m working with here suspects something’s up. I’m counterintelligence, so that doesn’t make sense to him why I’ve got a CIA chick and two Deltas with me and no protocol communications going to the boss.”

  “So basically, you kinda screwed up and have us in the middle of it. Maybe not even thinking about the fact that Drake and I are on security cameras here now, which was stupid on our part.” Sean stood. “Look, this isn’t exactly what we had discussed.” He looked at his watch. “We don’t have time to be room shuffling. We need to get Drake some food and rest, and need to figure our next steps. We’re wasting time.

  “More importantly, the field office here should be informed of everything at this point that we know about the suspects and links. I don’t want to be the subject of scrutiny here, but there’s a potential attack on the city that appears imminent at this point. I’d be less worried about hiding us in broom closets than telling whoever can help pitch in what they need to know.”

  Halliday nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. I’ll get back to Jay. Let’s go get Drake, though, and get out of here. I stay at a hotel every now and then not too far from here in Greektown. I’ll use my credit card, get a couple adjoining rooms. He can rest, we can talk and plan.”

  “Sounds good, Special Agent Halliday,” Mena confirmed. “We look forward to working with you and your team. This Jay, may I know his full name and level?”

  Tresa gave her a hard look, but with a smile. “Just Tresa, Mena. You’re trying too hard. You’re in Chicago now.” Halliday grabbed a remaining bag off the floor. “I’ll get this. All on the same team.” She winked.

  Havens winked at her. “Don’t you go trying too hard either, Halliday. I came to you because my hometown needed help. Not so you can snuggle with our outfit and roll us up after we save the free world as we know it,” he said, overdramatizing their role, and outstretched his hand. “I’ll take my own bags, thank you.” Sean buzzed his lips, displaying his impatience. “I sure do love interagency task forces. Hamstrung already just finding a goddamned conference room.”

  Tresa dropped the bag on the floor and spun to the door. “Well, then I guess I won’t need to share with you the Chicago office’s gang findings.”

  Mena sped up and walked out with Halliday.

  Chapter 61

  The men’s locker room could have been set in an upscale New York gym or even one of the snooty private golf clubs. Mahogany wood trim, shiny stainless-steel fixtures, and contemporary styling.

  Drake peered around the walls of the locker room, feeling as fresh and revived as he could despite muscle aches, a bullet impact, some light abrasions, bruises, and old war wounds that persisted in discomfort.

  Let’s go, Drake. We need to bug out. Halliday is going to fuck you over. This is a trap. Havens should have known. He sold you out. Mena is just as you expected, a plant to watch your moves and take you out.

  Drake squeezed his eyes shut trying to push the voice from his thoughts and senses. The Man from Orange was trying to hear if the voices he heard talking to one another in the private shower stalls were still talking to each other. While he couldn’t see who was talking, it sounded like a couple young agents who had finished working out at the building’s gym were planning their evening’s social activities.

  If there was one thing that Drake knew about men working the mission, they had trust in each other. And trust in their secured environment. Due to that level of trust, Drake hoped that they had left their weapons, IDs, and perhaps other items of use to Woolf unlocked.

  Sure enough, there were weapons stashed on the top locker shelves. Drake grabbed a pair of green tactical pants from one locker. A quick check of the inner waistband size tag indicated a larger waist and slightly longer inseam, but with side adjustment straps, he could make it work. He checked their boots, but his own distinct Vasque Juxts were too perfect to dump, unlike his earlier pair of shoes for cover that nearly fell off in the skirmishes.

  Woolf raced to put on the new clothes, stuffed a weapon in the nylon holster, and the other in his lower back. Both weapons were Glock 17s. He snatched the two 9mm standard capacity magazines. That gave him seventeen rounds each. Judging by the grip, sightings, and green receiver, the two dudes in the shower were SWAT. He liked these better than the FBI’s formerly issued modified Springfield military 1911 .45 ACP. The Glock would give him no problems if he could put the rounds in the right place.

  Drake pocketed the agent’s neck strap credentials and badges, and stuffed his own rancid clothes in the trash. He grabbed the extra raid jacket Havens had given him, tucked it under his arm and walked out the door. How and where Havens snagged raid jackets before showing up to the field office was a mystery but not beyond Sean’s prowess, especially if he had landed up at Fort Sheridan where the Bureau did some training.

  The special agent escort was waiting near the elevator bank, having a heated discussion on the phone as Woolf stepped out. The agent gave a quick double-take then turned away, lowering his voice and raising his finger up to signify the universal hold one minute. It was evident to Woolf that it was a domestic issue by the tone, words, and apologies. Typical. Mission men and women blew commitments all the time. Not having his own family was the best thing Drake ever did, he thought. He would have destroyed that, too.

  Drake raised his voice to the agent. “I’m just going to grab something from the car in the visitor lot. I’ll be right back.”

  The agent turned and waved then went back to assuage the wife that he would still be back in plenty of time and able to stop at Mariano’s along the way to pick up green cupcakes, only the chocolate ones, and the green cupcake cookies that were white but had the green icing, and swing by Red Box so the kids would have a movie and his wife could finish drying her nails, which he helped her realize would not be overly green with the goddamned white shirt underneath a Kelly-green vest and black tights.

  The elevator opened and out poured Havens, Halliday, and Shabpareh.

  “Is he still in the locker room?” Tresa asked.

  The agent shook his head no and pointed outward.

  Halliday shrugged and lifted her hands for more clarification. “Where?”

  Havens gimped to the locker room and did a quick about-face as soon as he heard “My pants were right here. Someone’s messing with us.”

  The SWAT men were laughing, but in the next five minutes, it wouldn’t be so funny. Havens knew what was happening. Drake Woolf was not exactly a team player and no doubt never received an interagency challenge coin in his life.

  Drake exited the FBI Field Office, his mobile device map orienting him around the area, which was still in the same vicinity that he had been for the later part of the day. Still, he needed to find a place where no one would notice him, ask questions, or generally give two shits, while not being a hostile environment either as he thought about next steps. The Lagunitas Brewing Company was two blocks away. Preferable at this point, yet not an option. He expanded the map view and found gold.

  Drake turned on Damen Avenue, walking with rapid purpose, and headed to the Jesse Brown VA Hospital. Sean Havens was
good at diplomacy, thinking things out, and coming up with plans. But the fact of the matter was, Drake had targets and locations. That’s what he was paid for. Time was ticking, and sitting in a chair around a table wasn’t killing bad guys any faster, the voices had convinced him.

  With a free hand, Drake reapplied the Molar Mic. “Ocean. Neptune here. Need you to message me the targeting map I asked for. Start where the most converged signals are coming from.”

  “Hey, Neptune.” Mojo yawned, the fatigue fully setting in. “Yeah.” He yawned again. “Knew the quiet wouldn’t last long. Ocean 6 is here. He got me pizza. You’re on speaker.”

  “Hey, boss.”

  “Lad, how you holding up? Did you link up with your friend?”

  “Yeah, he found us just over an hour ago when he landed.”

  “No. I didn’t make myself clear. Your other friend who paid me a visit and dialed you up.”

  “Ah, no. We had his device up for a bit then lost it. Ocean, did you get any other hits?”

  “Yeah, he sent a message through an encrypted account. There were a lot of relays, but in the end, it was accessed in Tehran. They were taking responsibility for taking out the Hezbollah assets.”

  Sebastian added, “Mate, there’s something afoot. General Soleimani had a more direct message relayed to the JSOC commanding general. He claims that Iran has nothing to do with what is going on and has sent men from their own special mission unit to help take out the threat, which corroborates the surveillance traffic we pulled electronically.”

  “So are they bullshitting, or did I just wipe out the rescue party? Can’t say they announced themselves too well.”

  Drake walked up to the VA hospital that was devoid of any activity. He took a casual seat outside on a bench and continued his conversation.

  “Reports we’re getting on the high side indicate other Iranians have been taken out too. Is this your handiwork?”