Danger Close

by S L Shelton

  “What’s your problem with Monkey Wrench?” Charlotte asked.

  “I don’t have a problem with Monkey Wrench,” he said firmly as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I just don’t think John should be throwing him into the lion pit and trusting him with our lives. He’s not trained.”

  She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Well, he’s clearly impressed John,” she said. “And you know very well he wouldn’t be doing this if the Director hadn’t okayed it.”

  “You don’t get it,” Nick sighed in frustration. “He doesn’t know what he’s getting into…and I’m afraid it’ll be too late by the time he figures it out.”

  Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You like the kid!” she accused him with a broad grin.

  “What? Hell no!” Nick said, but it was obvious to Charlotte—Nick was being protective of Wolfe.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

  Nick grabbed the last of his belongings, paused to glower at her, and abruptly walked away. “Have a good trip,” he said curtly on his way out.

  She stared at the doorway for a few seconds after she heard the front door slam closed and shook her head.

  “I wasn’t done yet, you bastard,” she yelled as she rolled out of bed to begin packing for her trip to Turkey. “And don’t think I’m gonna forget it.”

  three

  Monday, August 30th

  8:45 a.m.—Reston, Virginia, TravTech

  I walked through the secure lobby of the Special Projects Division at TravTech feeling optimistic. Unlike most people at TravTech, I usually looked forward to Mondays.

  Though I had worked for the technology company for a few years, my new section wasn’t even two months old yet. It catered exclusively to the CIA, serving in an analyst and research capacity. That was a little exciting, but it felt more like a tease, taunting me with what was on the other side of the data I received each day. I wanted to be out there gathering that data—not just perusing it after someone else did the fun part.

  I walked into the lobby of our division and came face-to-face with the Baynebridge security guard at the reception station—Officer Jakes this morning. I’d seen him a few times before. He had a yellow stain on the inside of his right index and middle fingers—Smoker, I thought, though no cigarette smell. Strictly an off-duty smoker, then. Good for you, Officer Jakes. We don't want to be attacked while you sneak up to the roof for a cig.

  The usual morning guard, Officer Brown, must have been on leave, but they didn’t consult with me concerning their schedules—Baynebridge managed the security for the section.

  “Good morning,” I said as I moved to the man-trap entry portal for the secure area.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wolfe,” he replied as I put my hand on the print reader. “I like the beard.”

  As usual, his white shirt was starched to crispness, his black suit creased in all the right places, and his tie knotted to Windsor perfection. The suit was always the same. The only thing that changed from time to time was the face that wore it.

  “Thanks,” I said with a grin. The door clacked open letting me pass through into my secure facility before I passed down the long, white-tiled hallway.

  I paused at the glass door to the server room and peered through. Inside, Storc was pounding away at his keyboard. The look of concentration on his face and the bags under his eyes suggested he hadn’t moved for a while. I knocked on the glass and he popped his head up, waving me to come in.

  I swiped my badge across the security plate and pushed in. “Hey, bud,” I said as I walked around behind him. “How was your weekend?”

  He turned his head to the side as if he just heard a noise he couldn’t place. “Weekend?” he asked, then picked up his phone and looked at the time and date. “Shit,” he muttered.

  I laughed. “Did you seriously sit here all weekend without going home?”

  He closed his eyes in concentration before abruptly shaking his head and smiling as if he remembered something. “No,” he said in relief, refocusing on his computer screen. “I had lunch with Bonbon and Jo on Saturday. So I must’ve gone home.”

  “Good,” I replied as he again began typing away on his keyboard. “But if you don’t start getting some rest, I’m going to set up an automated schedule for you to follow.”

  “Doesn’t work,” he said, holding up his phone for me to look at. On the screen was a calendar with alarm entries for various times of the day—entries such as eat, sleep, and use the bathroom.

  I shook my head. “You need a wife to nag you,” I said.

  “I’ve got you to nag me,” he replied again as he put his phone down without looking from his screen.

  “What’ll you do when I’m out on call?” I asked.

  “I’ve got Bonbon to nag me,” he replied without missing a keystroke.

  An answer for everything.

  I chuckled as I turned to leave. “Have lunch with us today,” I said.

  He looked up, a strange expression suddenly rippled across his face. “What’s up with the beard?” he asked, just noticing it.

  It wasn’t a real beard yet; it was only three days’ worth of growth. “Just a change of pace,” I lied, shrugging.

  He nodded and went back to typing.

  In truth, I knew the question from John Temple on Friday hadn't been random banter, so I had decided I'd find out exactly how long it took to grow.

  “Lunch today,” I repeated as the door closed.

  “’Kay,” he said distantly, his mind already back on the code in front of him.

  “Hey!” I heard a voice chirp in a raspy, nasal tone from the lobby door behind me. “It’s fuzzy wuzzy!”

  I turned and grinned. It was difficult to be offended by Bonbon, and even when I was, she turned around and did something to make me forget about it…usually.

  “Hey, Bon. How was your weekend?” I asked, ignoring the minor jab at my facial hair.

  Bonny Little was an odd sight in a corporate environment. She was a tattooed, heavily pierced spark plug of a girl with multicolored hair. She normally wore the most thrift-store-styled attire she could find—as long as there was some black and pink in it somewhere. She didn’t disappoint today.

  “Boring,” she said with an expression of mock disappointment—and then a smile popped on her face as she scruffed my cheek with her fingers. “Oh! Except for Friday night. I took Jo to meet some of my friends at the Cave.”

  The Cave—an aptly named steampunk club in DC.

  Bonbon had convinced some of us to join her there on several occasions. Storc and I always felt out of place in the dark with the vampires and Victorian-inspired goths.

  “What’s with the Taliban disguise?” she asked, referring to my whiskers.

  “Change of pace,” I replied. “I wanted to see how long it would take to grow out.”

  She nodded and fell in beside me as we walked down the hall together.

  “Where did you, Jo, and Storc eat on Saturday?” I asked.

  She turned her head and shot me a queer look. “That was last week,” she said.

  I shook my head. “That means he sat at his station all weekend without moving,” I said with an exasperated breath. “He thought he went home and met you two for lunch this weekend.”

  Bonny shook her head and peeled back the way we had come. “Later,” she said as she retreated to the server room door, flicking her badge across the control panel once she arrived.

  As I neared my office, I heard her down the hall. “Get up and go get something to eat,” she snapped crossly before the door closed, preventing me from hearing Storc’s innocent protests.

  I chuckled as I walked through my outer office. “Morning, Jo,” I said as I walked past the desk of my office manager and analyst, Jo Ann Zook.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wolfe,” she replied cheerfully and louder than was required for me to hear it.

  I stopped abruptly and glared at her questioningly. She looked like my
Jo and sounded like my Jo, but my Jo would never greet me like that. I usually barely got a grunt from her in the morning.

  “Are you alright?” I asked pensively.

  She nodded toward my office.

  I went in through the open door and saw an attractive woman sitting on the couch in the small meeting space of my inner office.

  “Hello,” I said, walking toward her, my hand extended to shake. “I’m Scott Wolfe.”

  I noted as she stood that she had a carriage similar to agents I had met at Langley: confident and taut—as if prepared for action.

  “Mary Browning,” she replied, offering me a warm smile in return. “I’m from—”

  “Contract Administration,” I said, finishing her sentence for her—firm handshake as well; not your typical administrative executive type, but then again, she was with the CIA, so anything was possible. “Yes. It’s nice to finally meet you…did I miss a meeting request?”

  “No,” she said. I gestured her to sit. “We had a couple of contract changes sent over the weekend, and I knew I’d be in the area, so I thought I’d just hand carry it. I wanted the chance to meet you as well.”

  I sat in the chair opposite her and dropped my canvas shoulder bag on the floor next to me. “What sort of contract change?” I asked just as my other voice chimed in.

  Careful, it whispered.

  About what? I thought in reply.

  “It seems that one of the agency groups you’ve been working with wants to bring you into some more sensitive material. We had to adjust the contract parameters and security clearance levels for your people,” she said as she crossed her legs seductively and smoothed her skirt to her knee. “Nothing major.”

  Ah! This must be related to the clearance for my training.

  “Which group?” I asked, trying to see how much information she would give me.

  “I'm afraid that until the interviews are complete, I can't even tell you that much.”

  “I see. So do I have to schedule interviews for you with my people?” I asked before standing again, suddenly remembering I have a coffee machine…I should be polite. “Can I offer you a coffee?”

  She held her hand up and shook her head. “No, thank you. I only need to do a quick verification on a couple of details; I could start with your assistant.”

  I scooped the coffee into the hopper and then looked back at Ms. Browning. “You mean Jo?” I asked as I packed the coffee grounds. Odd…she’s been doing analyst work. Why would you call her my assistant?

  “It would only take a little time,” she explained. “The interview is all that’s left.”

  “I see,” I replied before flipping the machine on and rejoining her in the seating area. “When would you want to do that?”

  She shrugged. “I could do it now if she isn’t busy,” she replied with a mild grin.

  What’s that for?

  I turned my head toward the outer office. “Jo? Can you come in here for a second?”

  She appeared in the doorway, seeming a bit nervous.

  “Are you working on anything time sensitive at the moment?” I asked

  She shook her head.

  I looked back at Mary Browning. “How long do you think it’ll take?”

  “An hour—maybe,” she replied with a disarming smile.

  “Jo, are you okay with doing your clearance interview now?” I asked, turning back to her. Her face had turned pale. I wished I could have told her not to worry about the interview—it would have no bearing on her job. But knowing Jo, she was terrified she would say or do the wrong thing and end up getting fired.

  “I’m available,” she replied slowly, wetting her lips.

  “Okay, then. Why don’t you take Ms. Browning down to the conference room,” I said to Jo as I rose, winking at her, trying to ease her fear of the interview.

  “Thank you,” Browning said with a gracious smile. “I’ll be as little of a disturbance as possible.”

  As they disappeared down the hallway, I returned to the coffee machine to wait for my espresso. I wondered if the new clearance levels would lead to any field work for me. Despite the nice new office and the big bump in pay, I had to admit I was starting to get antsy sitting behind my desk every day.

  When my coffee was ready, I took it and my shoulder bag to my desk before starting up my system. My mind was already on the data as I slipped my finger across the fingerprint reader and waited for it to finish booting.

  John Temple had included me in the forensic search for the missing nuclear devices that the Bosnian Serb arms dealers had stolen from Gori in 2008. Though two of the warheads had been recovered in the Czech Republic upon the successful rescue of the hostages in May, there were two more floating around loose, and I was helping the CIA locate them. I was seriously thrilled John had given me the project last month—and now I could barely contain myself, knowing I was getting closer to discovering their location. But I still wished I was out there looking for them instead of just building data models.

  While I sipped my coffee, waiting for the data to spool, the phone rang.

  “Scott Wolfe,” I answered, seeing it was a CIA prefix.

  “Good morning, Scott,” came John Temple’s voice. “How was your weekend?”

  “Good… How about yours?”

  “I just got back into town this morning,” he said. “It was busy.”

  “Business or pleasure?” I asked, hoping to hear an exciting story—pathetically attempting to gain some excitement vicariously through him.

  “What is this pleasure of which you speak?” he asked with a chuckle.

  Nope, not this morning, I realized. Just pleasantries.

  “That ten or fifteen minutes a week your head doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode,” I replied with amusement, trying to cover my disappointment.

  “Never heard of it,” he muttered. “Hey! I’ve got a new project for you to work on.”

  “You want me to stop work on the device trace?” I asked.

  “It’s related,” he replied. “We’ve tagged a new asset, and I want you to do an analysis on his movements.”

  A new asset! Cool! I wonder who did the tagging.

  “Okay, send it over,” I said. “I’ll pull Jo in on it as well…as soon as her clearance interview is done.”

  “Clearance interview?” John asked.

  “Yeah. Mary Browning from contract administration is doing it right now,” I replied. “She was here when I showed up this morning.”

  “Scott,” John said with a nervous urgency to his tone. “Did you check her ID?”

  “She was checked in through security,” I replied, and then a cold chill ran down my back. Baynebridge Security.

  I got up and ran for the conference room, feeling a sudden flood of adrenaline dumped into my bloodstream. The door was locked, and the glass was shaded to the ceiling. I could hear John yelling after me from the speaker in my office as I kicked in the conference room door.

  When I entered, Mary Browning had Jo by her neck, holding her face to the table.

  “Off of her!” I yelled as I barreled across the room. Browning reached under her blazer and produced a small pistol with a silencer on it. When I was half into the room, I jumped up, lashing out with my foot in a hard, crisp kick. My toe cracked solidly against her wrist, sending the gun clattering across the floor.

  As soon as my feet touched the ground, I spun around for a strike, but her fist whizzed past my face forcing me to pull back just in the nick of time to avoid a broken nose.

  I didn’t wait for her to regain her balance—as she was still overextended from her attempted punch—I struck down hard across her chest with my forearm while simultaneously kicking the back of her legs.

  Thump! She fell backward, slamming to the floor, freeing Jo, who scurried to the corner. Browning rolled to the side and leapt to her feet, putting the conference table between the two of us.

  “You’re right agile for a bureaucrat,” I snarked at her, sudde
nly feeling as if my mind and body were working together again.

  Get her gun, whispered my inner voice.

  When I reached for the gun on the floor, she bolted through the door; I could hear her high heels echoing down the hallway. I picked up the gun and then ran after her, yelling, “Mary, you forgot your gun!”

  I came into the hall just in time to see her push through the lobby door

  Shoot her! My schizophrenic hitchhiker commanded in a deep rumble.

  But down the hall, I saw Storc’s NOC assistant, Mahesh, was laying in the hallway, struggling to turn over, his nose gushing blood—I resisted the urge to squeeze the trigger despite my other voice's insistence—I wasn't yet the casual killer and didn't relish the idea of becoming one. Besides, I was more interested in information—she couldn't provide that if she were dead.

  “What the hell was that!” Mahesh screeched as I rushed past him, hitting the alarm button on the wall outside the server room. A loud digital clanging suddenly filled the air and the lobby door slammed shut.

  When I reached the door and shoved, it wouldn’t budge.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed. The alarm was apparently configured to lock down the department—I hadn’t been aware of that.

  I turned back to the glass separating the secure section from the rest of tech support, firing Browning’s silenced weapon at the floor just beyond the glass. Two shots were all I needed to splinter it enough to smash through with my shoulder. Screams rang out from the tech cube farm on the other side as I shattered the glass and ran through the broken window toward the staircase.

  Pausing on the landing long enough to hear her footsteps running down the stairs, I set off to follow her, saving valuable time by hopping the rail every few steps.

  I heard the outside door open as I hit the first floor landing. After running around the corner I slammed my shoulder into the exit door throwing it open to the outside.

  As I burst into the sunlight, the brick around me began exploding in chips and dust—someone was firing at me with a silenced automatic weapon. My mind was suddenly filled with the image of my hand, extended in front of me, squeezing the trigger at the fake Mary Browning.