A Dangerous and Cunning Woman

by Ethan Johnson

  She thought about the Sparta Meat Market. Had Mister Leotis been giving money to whoever was behind Arbor Day? He didn’t seem the least bit interested in politics or overthrowing anything. His daughter Athena was more into her hair and makeup. Still, the teaser made her wonder.

  She ordered as much food as she could without going over her free daily allotment. Minutes later, she bit into a blueberry muffin while gazing intently at a report on a corner store that had ties to a terror cell in Madagascar. The images on the screen were manipulated to give the owner glowing red eyes as he was marched in slow-motion into a courtroom.

  Diane noticed a button on her remote with a solid white heart. She pressed it and a pop-up window confirmed InTelNet was marked as a favorite selection. She nodded in agreement. She didn’t know what InTelNet was before, but she knew she wanted more of it. Lots more. She had years of catching up to do.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After four uninterrupted hours of InTelNet programming, Diane set about cleaning her rifle before she was summoned to complete her mission. She mulled over the things she had seen. She thought she had a good feel for the city and what had been going on at street level, but the network had put things into an easily understandable context. She knew there were bad people out there, not just petty criminals, but a vast shadowy organization devoted to destroying everything that made America great. They didn’t have a name, and didn’t seem to represent another country, but the InTelNet was not at a loss for theories. Any critical comments made by foreign leaders were condemned by the network as a virtual declaration of war. Diane ejected her sole cartridge and kissed it as she scowled at a man wearing a headscarf speaking in a strange language. InTelNet provided the translation after a few words. “Our bombs will rain fire upon the infidels,” he said.

  A man wearing a blue suit and a commemorative enamel pin on his lapel shook his head in disgust. He turned to the frozen image of the speaker and trembled with rage. “What have we ever done to you?”

  Diane shook her head sympathetically. She had never even heard of Morocco. If they wanted war, she thought, they should bring it on with a straight fight instead of cowardly bombings. The man on her television monitor declared a boycott on all Moroccan goods. Diane checked her rifle. It was etched with MADE IN THE USA. She smiled and nodded. Damn right, it is, she thought proudly.

  “But President Gillis, he doesn’t agree. He thinks we should reason with these animals.” The camera zoomed in tightly on the newsman’s face. Tears welled up in his eyes. Tears began to well up in Diane’s eyes too. “Let me tell you something. I lost family on Arbor Day. I lost—” He paused and looked away. “I lost my wife. She was pregnant. You know what, Mister President? Send me over there. I’ll take them all out with my bare hands. Then you can reason with their stinking dead bodies. How does that sound?”

  Diane dropped her rifle and bit her fist to suppress a sob. No, there was no reasoning with bad people. Officer Preston didn’t get that. He liked to bend the rules until she needed justice. Then he was all about rules and regulations. She shot him. She remembered the look an old man gave her through a shop window as she got justice for Gabe’s kidnapping. She knew she was right. Preston was wrong. Dead wrong.

  The dramatic footage stopped abruptly and was replaced by an advertisement for the Homeland Defense Force. TAKE BACK THE NIGHT was its slogan. The organization was recruiting civilians to help patrol the streets overnight all over the country. If Lyssa weren’t in jail, Diane would have told her to sign up. While she was between jobs she could do her part to stop Morocco from their slow-motion invasion of America.

  After the advertisement, a female anchor wearing a tight red dress and long blonde hair looked intently at the screen. “We apologize for my colleague’s prior outburst. InTelNet would like to extend our deepest apologies to Morocco. Our fact-checkers have determined the speaker in the prior footage was actually expressing his support of America and was calling on other nations to stand up to terrorists. We encourage everyone to go out and buy as many Moroccan products as possible to show our gratitude to that fine nation.”

  Diane didn’t have any idea where to buy things from Morocco. She was confused. The previous anchor was so passionate. He said Morocco was against us, and we had to show them we weren’t going to be pushed around. She wondered if the network had lost its nerve. She frowned at the monitor as she resumed cleaning her rifle. She was going to need more convincing before accepting Morocco as an ally.

  When her rifle was cleaned and oiled, she placed it in her closet and yawned. She felt a nap was in order, especially if she was going to be out in the field overnight. She returned to the living room to turn off the monitor. Smoke billowed out of a hookah lounge. “A senseless attack in broad daylight,” the female anchor said. “Enemies of our ally Morocco have lashed out at a small business owner for displaying an American flag in his shop window.”

  A gang of white men dragged a brown-skinned man from the building and threw him down on the sidewalk. As they kicked him, the anchor stepped in front of the scene and gave a disapproving frown to the camera. “It makes you wonder: where are the police? Why aren’t they protecting this man from these thugs?”

  Diane felt adrenaline surge through her veins. She wanted to rush to the scene and break it up. She had no idea where it was, and the network wasn’t giving any hints. She thought of her fellow officers. They’d be there as quickly as possible, same as always. What more could anybody ask for?

  The blonde woman turned and expressed shock as three more men joined in with the beating. “Terrorist sympathizers are just coming out of the woodwork. Again, I ask: where are the police? Does law and order mean anything anymore?”

  Diane paced back and forth, unsure what to do. She eyed her comm unit on her kitchen counter. She considered contacting central dispatch and finding out if anyone was responding. Then again, she wasn’t on active duty and it wasn’t her place to tell the police how to do their jobs. A minute later, the police arrived and stopped the mob from inflicting any more harm to the bloody man on the pavement. They arrested him and ordered the mob to disperse.

  Tara Fukiyama jumped out of a white van and pulled an officer aside. “What can you tell me about the suspect?”

  The officer backed her away from the scene with his arms outstretched. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation, except to say this man is involved in anti-American activities and our heroic citizens have put an end to his crimes once and for all.” He stared intently into the camera. “This is why we need the Homeland Defense Force more than ever.”

  Tara nodded her approval. “How can people get involved?”

  “They can come down to any recruiting station. If you don’t know where one is, just ask. Get off your butts and help keep everybody safe.”

  Tara turned and filled the frame. “You heard the man. The police can’t be everywhere all the time. Do your part. If you see something, say something. Join the HDF. Security is everybody’s responsibility.”

  Diane frowned at this and turned off her monitor. She was more confused than ever. The blonde woman said the man who got beat up was on our side. Then the police said he wasn’t. None of the people who beat him up were wearing HDF uniforms. If anything, they seemed to be responding to the reporter who said Morocco was our enemy. What was the truth? She didn’t know.

  She went to bed and laid on her mattress, trying to switch off the whirlwind of thoughts that kept her from settling down.

  Diane slept fitfully. Her dreams were a continuation of her waking thoughts, only more confusing and frustrating. Lyssa was locked in a cage inside of a burning building. A group of men wielding baseball bats and crowbars gathered around her, shouting threats and condemning her as a terrorist. In this dream, Diane rushed to her aid with a machine gun. An explosion took out the floor and she fell into a foggy abyss. She woke up in a sweat and rubbed her forehead. She breathed a sigh of relief that she had only been dreaming.

  A chime
sounded in her living room. She padded to her monitor to answer the masked man’s summons. His blank face filled the screen. “Are you prepared, Miss Pembrook?”

  No, she thought. Nothing made any sense, and she was still recovering from the sensation of falling into darkness to her presumed death. She nodded robotically. “Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “That isn’t very reassuring. Nevertheless, you have made commitments to us. I expect you to honor them.”

  Diane yawned and covered her mouth with her fist. “I’m committed. No sweat. Good to go.”

  “Bring your rifle. I anticipate it will be put to good use this evening.”

  Oh, like carrying it around town so it doesn’t just collect dust in my closet, she thought. Well, maybe tonight would be different. She nodded again. “Will do.”

  “Eat something. We will require your undivided attention when you are collected.”

  “Okay.” The screen went black. She hoped for a glimpse of Lyssa, but no more images were displayed. Diane ordered up a sandwich and fries, then took a quick pass through the shower. She slipped her bathrobe on in time to receive the food delivery. A young man looked her up and down. She pulled her bathrobe together tightly and acknowledged the delivery on his tablet. “I threw the tip on there too. Thanks.”

  The delivery agent nodded awkwardly and hurried away. Diane slammed the door and dressed herself. Moments later, the secret panel in her bedroom wall hissed and slid open. She stepped through the bright corridor into a small room containing her body armor, then realized she had forgotten her rifle. She rushed back to grab it, along with her food order, then put on her body armor quickly as the door slid shut. She took a bite of her sandwich, then a few fries. Her stress level rose as the room descended to the garage.

  The room reached the basement level and Diane swore. She hadn’t eaten enough. She wasn’t looking forward to battling hunger pangs and Matthias Booker’s goons. The door remained closed. Diane paced back and forth anxiously until the masked man’s voice filled the room from above. “Finish eating, Miss Pembrook. I requested your undivided attention.”

  Diane groaned and quickly polished off her dinner. She looked up at the ceiling and tried to find a camera to speak to. She didn’t find one but knew the masked man was watching her. She gestured to the empty tray. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  The masked man did not reply. The door slid open with a soft hiss instead. A black SUV waited in the empty garage. The rear passenger door was ajar. She grabbed her rifle and climbed into the vehicle. To her surprise, two operatives sat in the front seat in full body armor. She didn’t think she’d earned the masked man’s trust so soon but welcomed the company after being alone all day. She pulled her door shut and nodded to the operatives. One of them made a thumbs-up gesture and the SUV lurched forward. Seconds later, they were heading toward an undisclosed location. Diane gave up on asking for details. She clutched the barrel of her rifle and watched the city streak by.

  The operative on the passenger side handed a device back to Diane. “Put this on,” he ordered. She accepted the offering and inspected it. She worked out that it was a headset and microphone. She adjusted the headband and slipped it onto her head as instructed. She adjusted the microphone and earpiece.

  “Is this thing on?”

  The operative gave another thumbs-up gesture but did not respond verbally. She wondered how she was supposed to test the earpiece volume. The answer was provided by the masked man’s flat voice. “One shot, Miss Pembrook. Do not fail us.”

  Diane swallowed hard and nodded. “Understood.”

  The SUV sped up and took a sharp left. The river was to her right once it completed the turn. She tightened her grip on the rifle barrel. Booker had been spending a lot of time near the river. She assumed there had been another sighting.

  To her surprise, the SUV veered over to a ramp that took them under an elevated section of highway. Homeless people gathered in bunches at intervals and glared at the vehicle as it passed. Diane was not familiar with this part of the city. She patted her sidearm with her right hand for reassurance.

  After a few minutes, the vehicle glided to a stop. The operatives jumped out and Diane followed their lead. She slammed the door closed behind her and readied her rifle. The lead operative gestured to her to stand down. She cocked her head in bewilderment but obeyed. She slung her rifle across her back and checked her sidearm once more. The rifle was for Booker, she figured. She wanted insurance against any other threats.

  The second operative pointed to a manhole cover. The two men removed the cover and the second operative climbed into the opening quickly. The lead operative signaled to Diane to go next. She stepped carefully onto a rusty iron ladder and soon made her way to the bottom. The lead operative slid the manhole cover back into place before joining them in a large sewer tunnel. Diane shook her head at the dark tunnel. “Why are we down here?”

  The lead operative shushed her silently, then waved her onward. His steps were so confident that she assumed he had some sort of night vision setting on his helmet. She was all but blind. She followed the sound of his footsteps and was guided along from behind by the secondary operative. After a few moments, the secondary operative placed her hands on another ladder rung. She reached around in the darkness for the next rung, then the next. Light broke through the darkness as the lead operative slid another manhole cover aside. Diane scrambled upward until she reached street level once more.

  The secondary operative replaced the manhole cover after he emerged from the sewer, then the lead operative flashed hand signals to Diane and the other operative. Diane nodded when she thought she understood the commands. Left, then right, then hold.

  The lead operative headed right. Diane began to follow him. The secondary operative grabbed her shoulder and signaled to follow him instead. She understood that the Special Neighborhood Operations Force, or whatever they called themselves, was a super-secret organization, but it seemed to be to a fault. She didn’t understand how she was supposed to accomplish anything if nobody was going to give verbal instructions.

  “Prepare for intercept,” the masked man said quietly. Diane readied her rifle. This was it. Any second now, Matthias Booker would be in her sights and terminated with a single pull of her trigger. She was pushed behind a stack of wooden crates outside of a brick building that was labeled as MB Logistics. She peeked around the side, expecting to see Booker. Instead, a patrol cruiser pulled up and Cade Goodwin jumped out.

  Diane nearly cried out at the sight of him. The operative didn’t flinch. He gestured to Diane to stay low. She obeyed but kept Goodwin in view. He waved his arms around wildly and his lackeys got out of a second cruiser. They lumbered over to the front door of the building and drew their guns. Goodwin took a few steps back and drew his gun. He pumped his fist once, and they pulled the front door open. The crates shook as the front of the building erupted in a ball of flame.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Diane flattened herself out on the ground immediately following the blast. She got up on one knee and peered around the crates in time to see Goodwin crawl to safety behind the lead cruiser. She saw Hendricks shouting into his comm unit. He normally worked the day shift. She wondered why he was out this late on active duty.

  Those thoughts vanished as gunfire pealed from inside the building. Goodwin’s lackeys, already on fire from the explosion, were riddled with bullets until their smoldering corpses laid still on the ground. Hendricks dove from his cruiser and army-crawled toward Goodwin.

  Four men dressed in black emerged from the side of the building. One of them jammed a fresh magazine into a light machine gun, like the one that struck Diane. He sent a spray of bullets in Goodwin’s general direction. Goodwin squeezed off a shot and struck one of the bricks on the front of the building.

  Diane raised her rifle, unsure of what to do. She had clear orders, but now the mission had gone sideways. The secondary operative pressed his palm downward on the barrel of her r
ifle and signaled to follow him instead. Diane nodded and duck-walked behind him toward the back of the building. They found the lead operative there, carefully removing a tripwire. Once he gave the all-clear, the secondary operative pulled the door open just wide enough to slip inside. Diane followed quickly behind him.

  Diane crouched behind another stack of crates beside the operative. He reached over and tapped her earpiece twice. His head bobbed slightly as his voice whispered in her ear. “Secure. Nod to acknowledge.”

  Diane nodded. The operative gave a thumbs-up. He waved her onward. They duck-walked behind a collection of crates. Diane couldn’t see the room in its entirety, only selected glimpses. She didn’t see Booker. She did see two men arming light machine guns and flashing hand-signals of their own to each other. She tightened her grip on her rifle. One shot for Booker. She couldn’t get distracted by secondary targets.

  Gunfire continued to pop outside of the building. Diane wasn’t sure who was shooting, she was only certain Goodwin was hitting everything except the hostiles. With any luck, she thought darkly, he’d hit something flammable and blow himself up. That would show Kenner he picked the wrong officer to throw his support behind.

  Then again, she fumed, he’d probably just find someone else to puff up, like Hendricks.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook off her dark thoughts. She had a target to kill. If not for Kenner, then for the masked man. Definitely for Lyssa, wherever she was.

  “Flashbang on three,” whispered the operative. Diane nodded and watched him prepare the device. He gave a silent countdown with his left hand. Three. Two. Diane looked away. She felt him press close to her as she ducked low behind a crate. An electronic whine followed by a loud boom filled the room. The men shouted and fired indiscriminately around the room. Diane peeked around the crate and saw one of the men shielding his eyes and hollering to his partner. In an instant, a bullet struck his head and he dropped to the floor. Another pop, and Diane felt the operative tug at her shoulder. She turned and saw him give her the okay to stand. She obeyed and saw the lead operative giving the all-clear in the center of the room.