A Dangerous and Cunning Woman

by Ethan Johnson

  “Yes, before he did it to me. I determined he was jeopardizing the mission and acted accordingly.”

  “You are not in a position of command.”

  Diane gave him a wan smile. “Neither is he, anymore.”

  The masked man gestured to the driver. “Return us to base.”

  “Right away, sir,” said the driver. He backed away from the scene quickly, then put the SUV into gear. Two more vehicles pulled up to take his place. “Cleanup team has arrived.”

  “Secure the documents. Sanitize the rest,” said the masked man.

  The driver relayed the commands via his comm unit. Diane watched the city pass by in a blur as the SUV shuttled her back to the Panther Division building, or so she thought. After all, she reasoned, where else could they go?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  To Diane’s dismay, the SUV did not return to the Panther Division headquarters. In fact, the neighborhood appeared to be on the rough side. People loitered at intervals, staring them down as the SUV passed by. She thought the driver was taking the long way back, when they pulled into an open garage that closed quickly behind them. Four operatives were waiting for the vehicle to stop, then they pulled Diane’s door open quickly and hustled her to a bare room lit only by a single light bulb. They stripped her of her armor at gunpoint, then sat her down in a chair. Straps were quickly applied to her wrists and ankles. The operatives backed out of the room and slammed the door. She heard a bolt slide into place and a padlock snap shut.

  She struggled with her bonds until it became painfully clear they were too tight to pull free from. She concentrated on slowing her breathing and not letting anxiety over the unknown get the better of her. She didn’t know how much time had elapsed when the padlock was noisily removed, and the bolt thrown aside. The masked man entered the room and stood before Diane. He tipped his head as he cupped his gloved hand under her chin. She had the urge to spit at him, but she opted to play it cool and see what his intentions were, despite being kept as his prisoner.

  “This is Facility Epsilon Five,” he said calmly.

  “Looks terrible,” she said.

  “It serves its purpose. We use it for information retrieval and disposal.”

  Diane squinted up at him. “Information disposal? I don’t get it.”

  The masked man clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth slowly as he spoke. An operative jabbed her arm with a syringe and injected her with something light blue. “It’s quite simple, Agent Pembrook. The asset provides requested information, then the asset is disposed of.”

  Diane gritted her teeth at her sore arm and tugged at her bonds. “What information do you think you’re going to retrieve from me?”

  “You terminated Agent Jackson without authorization or justification. We must assume you are a hostile agent, and in so assuming, we intend to learn who you’re working for, and how we might take appropriate counter-measures.”

  “I told you. He was jeopardizing the mission.”

  The masked man paused and seemed to consider her words before resuming his questioning. “Precisely how did he jeopardize the mission? Putting aside questions of chain of command.”

  “Booker was long gone. He had goons nearby. The jerk we found with the documents I told you to grab lied to us and got one of us killed. If my armor wasn’t bulletproof, I would have been dead too. Some vital asset I would have been then, huh? Jackson wanted to waste time dragging that lying loser in for questioning. We could have, and probably would have been gunned down if we did. And for what? The documents were lighter and better.”

  “Did you examine the documents personally?”

  “No, but if he was messing with them, they had to be important, right?”

  “Our forensic teams have determined that he had several sporting events to bet on. Nothing of any interest to our investigation and pursuit of Mr. Booker.”

  Diane shook her head in disbelief. “That’s bull.” The masked man gestured to the door, and an operative handed him a plastic bag containing the documents. He held it up to her face and tipped his head. Diane scanned through the front page and saw rows and columns of numbers she didn’t understand. “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  The masked man removed the documents from her sight. “That is of no concern to us. Terminating a fellow officer purely over a petty disagreement is. The decision has been made to decommission you as an active security asset, effective immediately.”

  Diane tensed up. “Wait. You’re making a terrible mistake. If you want Booker, I can get him. I just need one shot. Just one.”

  The masked man shook his head and walked toward the door. “We are finished here.”

  Diane fought with her bonds. Her wrists started to bleed. The metal door clanged shut and the bolt was thrown once more, followed by the snap of the padlock. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized the finality of her predicament. “Please,” she whimpered. “I can do this.” Her head tipped forward as she came to grips with her defeat and ultimate demise.

  Without warning, a plastic bag was pulled down over her head and cinched off with a strap. She shook her head violently as she struggled to breathe. With each passing second, she felt herself move a step closer to death. She turned her head from side to side to catch a glimpse of her killer. The room was dimly lit beyond the glow of the bulb that swayed over her head. She thought she saw an operative wearing black body armor, but she wasn’t certain. She was going lightheaded and her breaths became increasingly shallow. She felt the icy grip of death rising from her feet, through her calves, then into her thighs on its way to her brain.

  She took another breath and the room went black. She felt her heart stop beating.

  She sat bolt upright in her bedroom. She tossed a decorative pillow aside and clutched handfuls of her bedding. She was wearing her uniform shirt and trousers. Her shoes and socks laid on the floor where she had kicked them.

  She felt her wrists. They were clammy but otherwise unharmed. She tossed the bedding aside and ran to the bathroom. She flicked on the lights and examined herself in the mirror. Her forehead was beaded with sweat and her hair stuck out in all directions.

  She splashed water on her face and pressed her fingers to her eyelids. She refused to accept everything she had just experienced as a bad dream. She’d had nightmares before. She’d even had dreams of nearly dying, except when she nearly crashed down to the pavement after being pushed off a skyscraper or was about to be riddled with bullets, she woke up in time to avoid the tragic ending. This time was different. She had died, she was sure of it. She was also sure the Special Neighborhood Operations of Whatever Whatever had indeed severed all ties with her.

  She blinked up at the mirror. How could she be sure? Was it as simple as stopping by Room 305 and asking if her name was still on the guest list? She wiped her face with a fluffy hand towel and padded into the living room. A blue light flashed on her television. She frowned at it and plucked the remote control from a side table. The monitor glowed, and a series of surveillance photos flashed on the screen. Diane dropped the remote as she realized what she was seeing: Matthias Booker jumping into a speedboat after Diane and her fellow operatives arrived at his hideout. Another series of photos showed Agent Jackson tossing something small and electronic aside as they approached the building.

  The screen went black and the photos were replaced by three words in white: JUST ONE SHOT.

  Diane hurried to the bathroom and raised the toilet lid in time to vomit profusely.

  Diane spent the afternoon in her bed. She was on doctor’s orders to get bed rest, and unless the masked man and his cronies had serious intel on Booker, she couldn’t do much more than wait impatiently for something to break in her favor. She watched a couple episodes of Fortune and Destiny, but they were too old and too complex for her to enjoy properly. Watching the show made her miss Lyssa. She checked her messages again to see if Lyssa had responded to any of her prior contact attempts. Her inbox remaine
d empty.

  The sunlight began to fade through the curtains. Night would come soon, Diane noted. She glanced at her closet and considered checking out the dining options downstairs. She got out of bed and went to her desk in the living room to flip through the amenities binder. There was a steakhouse on the second floor called Tracy’s Mark. A ribeye with a smoking brand enticed her from the center of the advertisement. A glass of red wine beside it closed the sale. Diane returned to her bedroom and flipped through her closet for something decent to wear.

  Nothing she owned seemed to fit the dress code she imagined the place would require. The ad didn’t specify anything, but in her limited experience she thought formal dress was her only option. She frowned over her options and picked out a black dress and matching heels. She bought it for funerals, having been compelled to attend a fair number since joining the force. She set the heels on her bed and padded into the bathroom, where she applied a bit of makeup. She figured people like Hendricks would be laughing at her, not being accustomed to seeing her gussied up. She returned to her bedroom and grabbed a black clutch. She pulled on her heels and checked her hair in an accent mirror. She felt passable enough for in-house dining.

  She didn’t have a reservation, but she believed her badge would allow her to snag a table. She didn’t plan to stay long and had enough money to leave a generous tip to smooth over any inconvenience. One last check of her teeth and she was out the door.

  When she arrived on the second floor, she had only to follow the scent of prime aged steaks to find herself outside a pair of frosted glass doors with dull metal handles. The letters TM were etched into the glass, which Diane liked. A gentleman in a suit noticed her and stepped away from his companions to pull one of the doors open for her. He checked her out as she passed with an appreciative nod.

  Two women at the reservations stand looked up from a tablet and cut short their conversation of what tables were coming available to seat a large party. “Hello, last name please?”

  Diane cleared her throat. “Pembrook.”

  The second woman tapped at the tablet and frowned. The first one looked up. “For what time?”

  “I don’t have a reservation.”

  The first hostess smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, we’re booked full on to closing.”

  Diane fished her ID out of her clutch and passed it to the hostesses. “Panther Division.”

  The first hostess looked at the ID and shook her head. “I’m sorry, we’re still booked. We don’t offer priority seating here.” She glanced around the room furtively and leaned over. “Yoshi’s on three should be able to accommodate you.”

  Diane stuffed her ID back into her clutch and gave the hostess a tight smile. “I’m not hungry after all. Good night.” She turned on her heel and left the restaurant in a huff. She didn’t want to be accommodated. She wanted to be taken care of, like at the Cotillion. She remembered Sapphire getting everything she asked for with a snap of her fingers. She blamed her funeral dress. If she could dress like Alexa—and have her money, she thought bitterly—doors would fly open at the mere sight of her.

  Her clutch vibrated as she stomped through the hallway toward the elevators. She brought her emergency comm device despite being on medical leave. She glanced at the screen and frowned at the ID stamp: PANTHER INTAKE.

  She accepted the incoming contact, and the screen glowed with Lyssa’s red and tear-streaked face. Diane nearly dropped the comm unit at the sight of her. “Diane? It’s me.”

  “Lyssa? I can see that. What’s wrong? Why are you calling from Panther?”

  “I need you to come down here and get me out. They’re talking about doing things to me. Terrible things. Save me, or I’ll die.”

  “What? What do you mean, terrible things? Get you out of where?”

  Sergeant Parcells appeared on the screen. “There, she got her one minute. Sorry to bother you with this degenerate, but the law’s the law.”

  “Parcells? Put Lyssa back on.”

  “There’s no Lyssa here. This piece of work is called Dorcas, if you can believe that. What kind of name is Dorcas? Who’s her parents, Frick and Frack?”

  Diane stiffened with righteous indignation. “It’s a beautiful name, and I’m on my way down there.”

  Parcells shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat, Pembrook. Not sure why this piece of garbage has you all worked up. The fellas will handle her. I’m putting her way in the back, so they don’t get any interruptions.”

  Diane terminated the connection and jammed the comm unit in her clutch. She pressed the call button for the elevator impatiently, then opted for the stairs. She awkwardly made her way down to the ground floor and walked gingerly to the concierge desk. Kernan was manning the terminal. He looked Diane up and down and smiled. “Miss Pembrook. How may I be of service?”

  “I need a car, like, right now.”

  Kernan tapped away at his workstation. “At once. I’ll have one out front for you in just a minute.”

  Diane left without thanking him. She stepped out of the lobby into the cool evening air. She hopped around impatiently until a gleaming black car glided up beside her. A black-suited man jumped out of the driver’s side and jogged around to open her door. Diane got in and gripped her clutch with both hands. Once the driver was back onboard, she issued a single command with a flash of her ID: “Panther.”

  “Yes, officer. Right away.” He put the car into gear and the sudden acceleration made her sink into her seat. She resisted the urge to chew her fingernails as she waited to be shuttled to headquarters.

  Five agonizing minutes later, Diane burst into the Panther Division headquarters. Lyssa was handcuffed to a steel ring in a sparse waiting area. She wiped her cheeks at the sight of Diane, only to spill fresh tears when Diane shuffled over to her and put her arm around her neck.

  “Oh my god, baby, you have to get me out of here.”

  Diane pulled away and sat beside Lyssa. “What happened?”

  Parcells waved Diane over to his desk. “Pembrook. Over here, hon.”

  Diane looked at him, then at Lyssa. She gave Lyssa an apologetic shrug. “I’ll handle this. This is un-fricking-believable.”

  Lyssa wiped her cheek and nodded. Diane stomped over to the booking desk. Parcells tossed a clipboard to her and gave her a knowing smirk. “Here’s the poop, Pembrook.”

  Diane picked up the clipboard and skimmed through the report. Assault. Battery. Property damage. Malice aforethought. Something that looked like Per Diem, but she wasn’t sure.

  “Who ran her in?”

  Parcells gestured to a smiling officer who stepped out of Kenner’s office. Lieutenant Kenner slapped his back and gave him a few words of encouragement before giving a vacuous nod to Diane and disappearing in his office once more. “My man, Gunslinger,” Parcells said.

  Diane fumbled the clipboard. She looked at the bottom of the form, and sure enough, there was Goodwin’s name in the ARRESTING OFFICER field. “Goodwin? What kind of crap is this?”

  He gave her a slimy grin. “The sort of crap I’d expect to get from your gay lover, and I wasn’t disappointed. Actually, I kinda was, because I thought you’d make it a threesome.” He looked Diane up and down and whistled. “Looks like you were thinking it too. You didn’t have to get dressed up on my account. Lipstick on a pig, and all that. Like I’d bang either of you with the lights on.”

  Diane slapped the clipboard down on the desk. “You have no right. This is harassment.”

  Goodwin raised his hands defensively. “Hey, whoa, where’s this coming from? You’re one of us, aren’t you? Sworn to uphold law and order in our fine city? Well, that’s what I did. I was minding my own business, checking for parking violations when this cow just starts pounding on me for no reason.”

  Lyssa stood up and was yanked backward by her cuff when she tried to rush to Diane’s side. “That’s a lie!”

  “Shhhh, grown-ups are talking, sweetheart. Okay, just one. Anyway, I know how emotional you
people get, what with the amped up hormones… testosterone, I think? Well, I tried to talk her down. I said, ‘Go home and sleep it off, lady, you’re drunk,’ and she socked me right in the eye.” He turned and pointed to his cheek. Diane didn’t see anything wrong with it. “She broke my favorite sunglasses. I could have been blinded.”

  “This is bullcrap. Fine, I’ll bail her out. How much?”

  Parcells tapped away at his terminal. “Says here, $300,000.”

  Diane felt her stomach bottom out. She figured she could single-handedly take out the entire top ten most wanted list and the reward wouldn’t be anywhere close to that. She brightened up. “Wait, isn’t it 5 percent of that?”

  “Yes, if you’re in for petty-ante stuff like attempted murder,” Parcells said. “This is assault and battery on a police officer. That means no discounts, and this bird’s looking at 10 years, minimum.”

  Diane felt herself going faint. She shook it off and tried to remain resolute for Lyssa’s sake. Sapphire, she thought. Maybe Sapphire could pull some strings, and make some money appear. She’d owe everything she had for the next fifty years to pay her back, she thought grimly, but getting Lyssa out of solitary was worth any amount of slavery.

  “Fine. This isn’t over. I need to talk to some people.”

  Lyssa bounced in her seat anxiously. “Don’t leave me here.”

  Goodwin hiked up his trousers with a grin. “She’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of her.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Diane paced back and forth outside of the Panther Division building. A swarm of thoughts buzzed in her head. She wanted to kill Goodwin. She wanted to bail out Lyssa. She wanted to kill as many criminals on as many most-wanted lists as it took to free Lyssa. She recalled her time in solitary and squeezed her eyes shut at the thought of Lyssa languishing in there. Her eyes snapped open and rage surged through her at the thought of Goodwin or anyone else having their way with poor, defenseless Lyssa.