by Margaret Kay
Doc just stared at him. He didn’t speak, didn’t argue it. When he left Lassiter’s office he went to his own. It was a place that was as comfortable to him as his home. Both places felt foreign to him now. He’d gotten back from his fishing trip the previous evening and after stowing his fishing gear, he just wandered around his small condo. All he wanted to do was to go back to that cabin.
Joe Lassiter reported to Shepherd. He carefully considered what words he would use beforehand. “I recommend Doc be returned to full duty, provided he continues to have very regular sessions with me, and he is observed when in the field.” He paused and shook his head. “No benefit of the doubt shall be given to him. If any actions are suspect, he is to be immediately pulled.”
Shepherd rubbed his fingers over his pounding forehead and temples. “If you’re worried, why return him to full duty?”
“Because in this situation, I feel it would be more harmful to him to be off.”
“I usually don’t press, but you’ve got to give me more, Joe. His self-mandated three-week leave is unprecedented.”
“Sam, you need to trust me. This one is going to take some time.”
Shepherd’s eyebrows raised. His stare was unwavering.
“You know I won’t divulge the details,” Lassiter said.
They had a staring contest for another thirty seconds.
“I didn’t do my job, Sam. I thought some issues were resolved. They weren’t. He buried things that have now resurfaced and I’m not going to allow him to not resolve them this time.”
Shepherd nodded. “I trust you, Joe, you know that. I’ll need to bring Cooper in on this for that observation. Keep me informed of the progress.”
“You got it,” Joe promised. “I’ll meet with Cooper regarding this too, so he’ll know what to look for. The dynamics of Alpha Team have changed dramatically over the past few years. The members are at different points in their lives now. You may need to reassess team assignments at some point.”
Shepherd leaned over his desk. “Is that solely based on the Doc situation or are you picking this moment to bring up other team issues?”
Lassiter nodded. “Both. I’m just planting the idea for you to be aware that it may be needed at some point. Do I think you need to do anything now? No.”
Shepherd eyed him suspiciously. How could the relationship statuses of Doc’s teammates have a bearing on his team assignment? Shepherd knew Doc had been disappointed with Cooper and Madison for the relationship that developed between them, against protocol, and he initially had been pissed that Jackson hadn’t been fired for getting involved with Angel during that mission, another huge breach of protocol. He thought though, that Doc had been okay with both after the fact. He hadn’t even reacted to Garcia getting involved with Sienna.
Then his thoughts clicked in a different direction. “Joe, are Cooper and Miller still okay working together on the team?”
Lassiter nodded. “That isn’t an issue, for anyone on the team.”
“I know Jackson wants more time at home, is that part of the issue? I thought with the shifts in Ops we were accommodating him well enough.”
Lassiter’s lips tugged up into a grin. “Sam, stop fishing. You don’t have an issue yet. I’ll let you know when you do, just know I feel it’s on the horizon.”
Joe Lassiter came to his feet, indicating he was done with this conversation.
Doc’s first few days of the first week back, were quiet. He flew under the radar and avoided his teammates as much as he could. By Thursday though, he found himself sitting in a pre-Op mission briefing. He felt mentally distracted and detached.
A wealthy man was kidnapped, his bodyguards shot, ransom demands received. The man’s attorney’s contracted Shepherd Security to handle the ransom drop and recovery of the man. They’d located where he was being held and were going in to get him. Doc forced himself to pay attention to the building layout and the mission particulars, who would go in which door, how many Tangos to expect, the usual.
“The last proof of life was twelve hours ago,” Shepherd’s voice broke through Doc’s thoughts. “Let’s hope this is a rescue mission and not a recovery mission. Doc, you know what types of injuries you may be in for.”
Doc nodded.
“Okay, that’s it. Go get him,” Shepherd said.
Doc followed his teammates from the room. Cooper and Madison were both going on this one, as were Garcia and Jackson. They took the stairs to subbasement two, to the Team Room to grab their gear, assault rifles, body armor, black fatigues. He watched the others exchange joking banter as they packed up. It should have felt familiar and comforting. It didn’t. It irritated the hell out of him.
Then he followed them as they headed out to the garage and the two awaiting SUVs that Requisition Ryan would have already stocked with ammo for their mission.
Cooper stopped and turned to face Doc, blocking his path. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why do you ask?”
“You’ve been quiet. Didn’t you have a good fishing trip?”
Doc felt his lip tick into a smirk. “No, the fishing was good, just too short.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow in response to that statement. “Are you mentally checked in and ready for this mission?”
That was when Doc knew Lassiter had talked with Cooper about him. He knew Lassiter would never share any details with anyone, not even Shepherd, but Cooper had been told to watch him. That pissed him off and he knew one misstep and he’d be put on leave by Lassiter, and not to go fishing either. He stared Cooper down. “Yeah, I’m checked in and ready.”
Cooper nodded. He turned around and exited into the parking garage. Doc followed. They transferred to the company LearJet and changed into their fatigues en route. There would be two vehicles waiting at the airfield for them to drive to the mission site, an abandoned warehouse in a mostly vacant industrial area of Detroit.
It was dusk as the plane descended. Doc did a final check of his medical supplies. He knew exactly where everything was and that he had everything he would need. It was just a habit to do one more check before they began a mission, just like his teammates had their own habits. Cooper meditated, Garcia zoned out to classic rock, Madison did what she called chair yoga, contorting her body in a variety of uncomfortable looking stretches, and Jackson stared at a picture of Angel and Sammy while blasting country music through his headphones.
After a bumpy touchdown at Coleman A. Young International Airport in Detroit, the team deplaned in a private hangar out of view from any curious onlookers. They transferred their gear quickly into the two black-tinted windowed SUVs. Cooper drove one of the vehicles, Jackson the other. Doc rode with Jackson and Garcia on purpose. He didn’t want to be under Cooper’s scrutiny.
The two SUVs drove near the abandoned automobile plant, where they identified that their victim, Dax Winchester, was being held. From a block north of the building, the team viewed the large metal structure that loomed like a haunted skeleton in the darkness across what had been the parking lot area. It now had more tall grass growing than the field to the south of the building. Graffiti decorated the building. Most of the windows were broken. This entire area was eerily quiet, abandoned, urban blight at its worst.
Cooper lowered his binoculars. “It’s quiet. Intel says four Tangos. Not sure where they are, but they’re not walking the perimeter. Control, do you have thermal imaging for us?”
“Negative, the metal building is blocking all heat signatures within,” BT’s voice came.
Cooper’s eyes swept over the others. “Okay, we do this the old-fashioned way. We’ll all go in together through the north entrance.” His breath left puffs of steam in the frigid air. He nodded to Jackson. “As soon as we’re inside, find a high point and give us some cover.”
Jackson nodded, sniper rifle in hand.
“Garcia and Madison, you’ll break and go west. Doc and I will veer east. Clear each room, cover each other and don’t take any unnecessary risks
. If the Tangos are armed, drop them. They’ve already shown they won’t hesitate to fire, and we don’t want to give them any opportunities.”
The five of them made their way to the building moving stealthily through the night, night vision goggles in place. They slipped into the building silently and broke off into their assigned teams. The interior was dark. It was a cloudy evening so not even the moon or stars shone through the few windows.
Cooper and Doc wove themselves deeper within the metal labyrinth. The factory floor had been gutted long ago, but the interior offices had cubicles, desks, and file cabinets. One room led to another in the icy darkness. There were coat closets, conference rooms, and break rooms to search. It was slow going.
On the other side of the factory, Madison and Garcia zigzagged their way through what had been stockrooms, with empty shelving in rows that rose up to the ceiling. They found nothing after over an hour of searching.
“Coop, we’ve cleared this level. We’re making our way back to the middle of the plant, to the west stairwell,” Garcia reported.
“Roger that, Razor. Go up, we’ll go down. Our area is clear as well,” Cooper replied. “Jax, you got anything?”
From high on a catwalk over the middle of the factory floor, Jackson replied. “Negative, Coop. There isn’t anything moving but you and a couple of field mice trying to stay warm. Jesus, is it cold in here!”
Cooper’s lips tipped into a grin. He removed his NVGs and his eyes focused on Doc. “Don’t tell me fishing is better than this and you didn’t miss this shit?” His voice whispered.
Doc gave him a sarcastic smirk. “Yeah, clearing an abandoned factory in subzero temps is better than a lake and my fishing gear.”
Coop chuckled softly. He repositioned his NVGs and nodded towards the stairwell on the other side of the wide hallway. They crept down the metal staircase. They cleared the rooms they came to before turning the corner and getting a halo of light from up ahead. They removed their NVGs and let their eyes adapt.
“We have a lighting source ahead,” Cooper transmitted. “We’re moving in slowly.”
“Roger that,” BT at HQ acknowledged.
Doc followed Cooper, his new FERFRANS SOAR gripped tightly in both his hands. He was still pissed his tried-and-true weapons had been ‘donated’ to General Halima’s forces. All in all, the FERFRANS was a good assault rifle, accurate, reliable, and comfortable in his hands. The paperwork to replace his gear hadn’t been too much of a hassle and Shepherd had pretty much given him carte blanche to order whatever he wanted. It wasn’t every day one of them lost all their gear the way he had.
The light grew brighter as they approached. From around the next corner, they heard a radio playing obnoxious rap music, male voices, and laughter, amateurs. They inched closer to the corner. Cooper looked Doc in the eyes, shifted his eyes right towards the corner, down, then back to Doc. His lips mouthed the words, three, two, one, go.
Then he thrust himself around the corner into the open. Doc followed, dropping to a knee beside Cooper. Two men were seated at a table. They reached for their weapons. They didn’t reach them in time. Four silenced rounds, two each from Doc and Cooper’s weapons stopped the men dead.
A door behind the dead men opened. A man exited the bathroom, carelessly wielding his Remington R-15 Predator rifle. It took a costly second for him to realize what was in front of him. Four rounds hit him, center mass, again two from each man’s weapon. The rifle clanked to the cement floor as he hit it, face down.
Cooper and Doc moved in close. They moved the weapons from near the dead men at the table and they kicked the rifle from near the dead man on the floor. Then the stench hit them.
“Jesus, not sure what that boy ate as his last meal, but that’s rank,” Doc remarked.
“What the fuck are you guys doing out there?” A voice demanded from behind the door to their left. It opened. A man, as wide as he was tall filled the opening. He reached for the handgun shoved in the front of his low-slung blue jeans.
“Leave it,” Cooper ordered.
The man didn’t listen. He didn’t get the gun from its tight restraint before Cooper dropped him as well. He fell beside the space heater that glowed orange warming the area to a balmy sixty degrees.
Cooper moved near him, kicked him onto his back and disarmed him. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be a threat. No life remained. “Four Tangos neutralized,” he broadcast.
“Did you find the target yet?” BT asked.
“Negative,” Doc replied. “We’re still searching.” He was sure the man would be close by. He stepped over the dead man and into the room, into the noticeably warmer room that had a sofa, lights, and a television. Two doors were on the far wall.
He opened the first one, throwing it open with his left hand, his right aiming his CZ-97 .45 ACP into the empty closet. He moved to the second door. It was locked. By this time, Cooper was beside him. He went back to fat-boy on the floor and unclipped the keyring from his belt. He tried four keys before the one that unlocked the door slid into the keyhole. He unlocked it and threw the door wide.
Within, on a futon in the dark room was their target, Dax Winchester, self-made billionaire. He wasn’t bound or gagged. He started at the sudden appearance of his rescuers, but quickly recovered and came to his feet.
“Mr. Winchester, are you okay?” Cooper asked.
He nodded. “Took you long enough. Three fucking days I’ve been in this shit-hole with these lowlife thugs!”
“Do you have any medical needs,” Doc asked.
“Just malnutrition. The bastards only gave me junk food.”
“Target acquired,” Cooper broadcast. “He’s unharmed.”
“You’re welcome,” Doc said to their victim sarcastically.
“We’ll escort you out,” Cooper said. “The four men guarding you are dead, and we have to go past them. Did you see anyone else?”
“I don’t give a shit the four homeboys are dead. Those fucking gang-bangers were wasting the air we breathe. None of them were smart enough to orchestrate my kidnapping. Please tell me you know who was behind it?”
Cooper and Doc exchanged glances. “We’ll work that one out after we’ve got you to safety,” Cooper said. “Razor, Xena, be advised we are bringing our victim out. Meet us at the east stairwell. Jax, hold position.”
“Roger, Coop,” Garcia replied. “Third level west is clear. We are headed in that direction now.”
“Roger, Coop,” Jackson echoed.
No other threats were on site. After Garcia and Madison met up with Doc and Cooper, escorting their victim, and it was assured all was quiet, Jackson came down from his perch. The five of them surrounded Winchester and walked him across the grassy parking lot, back towards their SUVs.
“HQ notify LEOs we have four fatalities in the southeast corner of basement level one.”
“Don’t you have a coat for me? It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“There will be blankets in the car,” Doc said.
“Better have a hell of a heater,” Winchester said in disgust. “What kind of rescue is this?”
“Look, asshole!” Doc sneered, his face leaning into their victim’s personal space. “These men left their families to come rescue you, risking their own personal safety. The least you could do is be grateful.”
“I’m sure you’re being paid very well, if I know my attorneys. Besides, this is your job, isn’t it?”
Doc raised a fist, ready to deck this piece of shit.
“Whoa!” Jackson said, grabbing Doc’s arm. He pulled him away, turning Doc so his back was to their victim. “I want to teach him a lesson on appreciation too, but this isn’t you, Doc.”
Cooper came in close. “What the fuck? Stifle that!” He exclaimed in a hushed tone.
Doc looked back. Garcia and Madison were leading their smart-mouthed, ungrateful, arrogant victim to their SUVs. His eyes locked with Cooper’s. “I wasn’t going to punch him. I wanted to. But I wouldn’t have.�
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Cooper smirked and shook his head. “Whatever is going on with you, you need to resolve it. Get your head on straight. You’ll be up with Lassiter as soon as we get back.”
Then Cooper walked away. It was a punch to Doc’s gut. He’d been accused of being grumpy in the past. Okay, he’d been accused of a lot worse personality traits than grumpiness, but he’d never been called out by Cooper for it. Not like this.
When they arrived at HQ just after three-hundred hours. Doc went straight to Lassiter’s office. He’d never been one to dodge his responsibilities. This was no different. He’d fucked up and now it was time to face the music. Lassiter. And explain his actions.