The Lion's Prey

by Camden Mays

  He turned back to Liski and said, “You grabbing a cot here?”

  “No, I have a private room in one of the other buildings. I will see you tomorrow at zero eight thirty.” She grabbed her field bag and left.

  Cole’s sad expression must have been apparent as Capps walked over to check on his friend. “What’s eating you?” he asked.

  “Nothing. So much for getting in and out of here quickly. We’re going to be playing second string to her agenda.” He sighed as he started setting up his cot.

  Chapter 9

  Hogan’s Alley, Virginia

  Hannah Jacobs ran across the street with her weapon drawn, taking cover near the entrance of the drugstore. She was glad to be in tactical gear today rather than the typical business suit—dress shoes were difficult to run in. She looked down the street, seeing the sign for the Dogwood Inn Restaurant next to the Hogan’s Alley bank. Between her position and the bank was the post office where an international terrorist had reportedly just entered. She motioned for her teammate to approach from the other side by the bank and signaled for him to stay low under the windows as they converged on the post office door.

  If the reports were accurate, the terrorist was strapped with a bomb and ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for his beliefs. They had to act quickly. These scenarios with innocent bystanders were always difficult to process and factor in the risk and reward. Act too aggressively and innocent people are killed, too passively, and everyone could die.

  She motioned for her teammate to enter. He pushed through the door with Hannah following behind him, seeing half a dozen people scattered in the post office. The young FBI agent saw the target. The windbreaker on a hot July day was a dead giveaway.

  “Freeze, FBI!” he yelled and fired as the man turned in response. Hannah fired two shots in the opposite direction, nailing another man as he reached for the bomb’s trigger device.

  A jarring buzzer sounded, ending the simulation at the FBI academy’s ten-acre, realistic scenario training set, built with the help of professional Hollywood set designers. It possessed an authentic feel with typical storefronts and had a steady flow of foot traffic thanks to local actors hired to play various roles.

  “What the hell, Agent Yates. You just killed an innocent bystander. I’ve seen better from the group of NATs I just had through here.” The training officer, instructor Tom Anderson, referred to the New Agent Trainees. “Have you forgotten everything they taught you here? Special Agent Jacobs, nice shot.” The paint marks from the training gun revealed two direct hits. “I’d like to see you in my office after your sessions today. Alright, let’s reset. Get the next group lined up.”

  “Shit,” Hannah muttered to herself. She was on the second day of her one-week refresher training at the sprawling 547-acre FBI training academy. Contrary to her first experience there, the eleven-year veteran wanted to fly under the radar.

  Back when she completed the twenty-week new agent training, she had competed fiercely for top honors. While several female trainees in her class washed out, she succeeded in finishing among the top of the class but failed to win the coveted Director’s Leadership Award. It was an honor given to one new agent in each training class and was selected by the trainee’s peers and training staff. Hannah remembered how she had worked her ass off, excelling academically, near the top with firearms and physical fitness. She felt she had earned it. But subjective evaluations by male instructors held it back. Instead, the award went to none other than one of her current instructors for the week, Tom Anderson.

  ✽✽✽

  Washington, DC – Hilton Capital

  “Let me do that for you, dear.” Scott Shepherd clipped the bra strap for Katrina Nikolin as she sat on the bed in the same hotel room as each of their previous meetings. Her skin crawled, and she felt as if she would puke. His obsession with the hotel and room 915 was unsettling. She didn’t know how much more she could take.

  “It was lovely to see you again. You’re becoming my new addiction,” the congressman said, biting at her shoulder.

  “Thank you, Congressman. I enjoyed it as well.” She forced a smile, knowing her target loved it when she used his title.

  Ever since the Bear had been promoted to SVR Deputy Director of North America, he had relegated her to demeaning roles. She knew it was in retaliation for her infatuation with Grant Ramsey, and that the obese man’s insecurities couldn’t stand for it. He was recruiting and activating younger female SVR agents and demanding shameful acts from her, who had once been his most prized asset. She reached a boiling point when he forced her to hold the jar with the eyeball and watch him abuse two other women, his new recruits. When he was finished with them, he took to slapping her around and branded her arm with his cigar. That was it.

  Grant had been right, after all, she thought. He had begged for her to break away and start a new life with him. She had played along but kept her loyalties to the Bear and her country, and what was her reward? More abuse, and then discarded as a second-tier asset. She had delivered the intel that put the Bear in control. Now she loathed the man and sought to escape his tormenting grasp.

  “Oh Congressman, you didn’t finish telling me about that CIA officer that you are after. I love hearing how a powerful man such as yourself takes on corruption.” She patted his hand, wanting to gather as much information as she could without coming on too strong. Cole Cameron was her best hope at breaking free.

  “Oh sweetie, I really can’t talk about it. I’ve already shared too much,” Shepherd said regretfully.

  “Forgive me for asking, I understand. I guess I’ll wait and read about it in the news,” she said, standing to leave.

  “Well dear, let’s just say that when that wretched man gets back from Somalia or wherever his unauthorized operations are taking him, he’ll have to give an account. I have it on good authority that he is running rogue operations, so I plan to bring it before the committee.” Shepherd stood and put his robe on. He was getting worked up with resentment.

  “Why do you despise him so much?” Katrina asked.

  “Honey, that man barked up the wrong tree. He tried to humiliate me in public, and no one gets away with that. He is not the hero everyone has made him out to be, and I am going to hold him accountable.”

  Shepherd’s plump face was turning red. Katrina briefly thought that he might be having a heart attack.

  “But first,” he continued with the floodgates opened, “I need to take care of that little bitch of a reporter.”

  “Oh, the one I saw on the news that had the recording of your staff members?” Katrina played along.

  “Yes!” Shepherd snapped in response, causing Katrina to jump. “Sorry for yelling, dear, it’s just so frustrating and truly a threat to my career.”

  “She deserves whatever you have planned for her, my love. You are too important of a man for this country to lose over some silly incident.” The vixen fed his ego one spoonful at a time.

  “Maybe there is something you can do,” Shepherd said, thinking he had an ally.

  ✽✽✽

  Quantico, Virginia – FBI Training Academy

  Hannah braced herself for the awkward moments ahead as she knocked on the instructor’s door. She and Tom Anderson had trained together at the academy, and he had beat her out of the award she had fought hard for, but that was not the awkward part. It was that they had had a flirtatious relationship during the twenty-week program. They teased and playfully competed for over four months. Anderson had pushed for more, but Hannah resisted and kept her eye on the goal of graduating. They had promised to stay in touch as he was assigned to Denver and Hannah to DC, but it never happened.

  “Hannah, come in.”

  “Hi, Tom.”

  “I can’t believe I had to ask you to come to my office for you to come and see me.”

  “Well, it has been a while,” Hannah said, still standing, hoping it would be short.

  “Have a seat.” Anderson pointed. “God, you l
ook great.”

  Oh brother, she said to herself while pulling out the chair. “Thanks.”

  “I saw the news, of course, and then you got the Meritorious Achievement medal. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  “And I think we both know who should have won Director’s Leadership Award back in NAT. Don’t we?”

  “No argument here. How long have you been here training?” Hannah asked.

  “Just got here about three months ago.”

  “Oh.” Hannah was tired from a full day of training, and while Tom was handsome and charming, she was with Cole. It was as if he read her mind.

  “Well anyway, I’ve got a group of NATs I’m working with, and I wondered if you would stop by the classroom and greet the students, share your experience in helping capture the AIJB suspects, and, if you’re open to it, tell them about the attack at the house. I think it could really inspire them.”

  “Sure, why not. Just get me out of whatever session I’ll be scheduled for then. No problem.”

  “So did you and the CIA guy get together?” Anderson asked.

  She laughed. “Cole Cameron’s his name. Sorry, everyone says that. You know, ‘the CIA guy.’ But yes, we started dating.”

  “Hmm, that’s too bad. I was hoping to see if we could pick up that old spark we had during training. You know, now that I’m here in DC and you’re here in DC.”

  “Bad timing, I guess,” Hannah said. She appreciated and was flattered by the attention. Before Cole, she would have been entirely open to exploring how far that crush she had on Tom Anderson would go.

  “I guess so. That’s too bad. I always thought we would have made a great team.”

  Hannah wanted to cut it off before it went any further, so she stood to leave. “I don’t think so, Tom.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you never were good at playing second fiddle,” Hannah said as she opened the door. “And I like the first chair.”

  “Hey, I’ve grown up since then,” he said as she walked out the door.

  The next afternoon, the jesting continued at different intervals when their paths crossed. Then, at the firing range, as Hannah pinged targets with her Glock 23, Anderson called for the line to hold their fire and walked up behind her. He caught her right arm and wrapped his left arm around her, placing his hand over hers that cupped the bottom of the hand grip. She felt his breath on her neck.

  “You’re dropping your elbow too low,” he nearly whispered.

  “Bullshit,” she said. He stayed in that position.

  “Try it now,” he said. “I think you’ll find that with the right position and a smooth touch, you’ll get what you really want.”

  Shit. “Tom, step away.”

  He listened to her and backed away, yelling for the line to resume firing. She finished firing off her rounds. She was conflicted over Anderson’s actions. Back when they were in training together, she would have played along, and there was still an attraction there for sure. But she was with Cole.

  Later that evening as she tried to shut the world off, her mind raced through possibilities, and she wanted to hear from Cole. She needed him, or at least his voice. She was not the jealous type, but she did want to know about the lipstick. Dammit. Her mind rambled on.

  The next morning, she fought to keep focused during a boring ethics lecture in a classroom when she was presented with a note asking her to join Anderson’s room full of NATs. She entered through the back door of the theater-style lecture room, and Tom Anderson introduced her to the trainees.

  Hannah spoke for a few minutes about her experience in training, how Tom had beat her for the award, the New York City explosion, the takedown of Hasim Rajar and other AIJB terrorists in Los Angeles, and the regrettable loss of Agent Jason Albright. She chose not to speak of the incident at Cole’s home. She felt that he would have wanted that kept private. She thanked the class for their attention and prepared to leave, but Anderson asked her to stay for questions.

  There was the usual assortment of questions from recruits, and then, of course, someone asked about the incident at the house.

  “I’d prefer not to discuss the incident at the home out of respect for Officer Cole Cameron and his daughter.”

  A few minutes later, she fielded another attempt. “As I said earlier, I will not speak of that incident, and I ask that you respect that.”

  “Are you and Officer Cameron still dating?” a female trainee asked. “If not, can I get his number?”

  The class laughed.

  “OK, we’re getting off track here.” Anderson corralled the group and thanked Hannah for sharing. The classroom appreciated the real-life experience and gave her roaring applause.

  That evening as she ate in the cafeteria, Tom Anderson slid into the seat next to her. “Tom, I don’t want to do this game,” she said, putting her hand up.

  “No, I get it. I’m sorry, I was out of line on the range yesterday. I got caught up thinking about what we had when we trained together and wished that we would have seen that through. I actually thought you might not come to the lecture today, but I’m glad you did. The class really appreciated it.”

  “Good. If you’ll excuse me.” Hannah lifted her tray and stood to leave.

  “Hannah,” Anderson said, grabbing her arm to stop her. “I’m sorry, really. And if it works out with Cole, I’m happy for you. But if it doesn’t, I’d like to be your first call.”

  Hannah didn’t respond. She just moved on. Cole, you better get your ass back here, she thought to herself as she fought all sorts of emotions.

  Chapter 10

  Mogadishu, Somalia

  Ricky parked the beat-up minivan on a narrow street a few blocks from the suspected house hosting Jawahir, near Lido Beach. The Somalian guide’s smiling face and mild temperament endeared him to the team. Over the last few days, the team had bounced across the city tracking down suspected AIJB spots, hunting for the terrorist.

  “And this family is just going to let us use their house?” Cole asked for clarification.

  “Yes, yes.” The thin Somalian smiled. “It is a friend of my cousin’s wife.”

  “Oh, I see. Then I guess they’re obligated,” Robinson joked as they opened the van door.

  “Base, this is Wildcat One, we’re on foot,” Cole said over the comm.

  “Copy that, One, I’ve got your position pegged on the GPS,” Wang responded.

  The team reached the door, and Ricky greeted the woman that answered in Somali. They went back and forth for a couple minutes, with a lot of ahhs interjected. Capps was getting antsy. “We’re sittin’ ducks out here, Ricky,” he said.

  Finally, she welcomed them in. “Please, you may go to the rooftop,” Ricky shared. “She says it is OK.”

  “You stay down and keep an eye on her. Don’t let her out of your sight,” Cole instructed.

  The team got situated on the rooftop terrace, and Cole looked over the four-foot wall to the house with the target while Capps and Robinson scanned the perimeter.

  “Base, this is Wildcat One, we have a visual on the house and are in position.”

  “Copy.”

  Robinson set up a remote camera on the wall and focused it in on the house. “Base, this is Wildcat Three. The camera is in position.”

  “Copy that. We’re getting the sat feed set up. Will let you know when we’re live,” Wang said over the comm.

  “You going to order a drone strike if we get visual on Jawahir?” Robinson asked.

  Cole looked over the terrace wall again. “I don’t think so. Too many women and children around.”

  As they sat behind the terrace wall, Capps pulled out an MRE and began munching. Robinson looked over at the large man and shook her head. “We just ate at the mess hall before leaving.”

  “Hey, it takes a lot to keep fueling all this muscle,” Capps said. “Besides, the food wasn’t that good today.”

  “And that’s better?”

 
; “Not really.”

  “Base, any word on the shipment?” Cole asked.

  “Negative, no new developments. Still sitting at the docks,” Wang shared.

  “What are they waiting for?” Cole asked his two colleagues on the roof.

  “Well, this is Mogadishu. Maybe gathering transport to get it to Yemen is proving more difficult than they planned,” Robinson reasoned.

  “This is going to be another long-ass day,” Cole moaned.

  “At least it’s not that humid. I mean, for a city situated so near the equator, it’s a relatively dry climate here,” Robinson said.

  “OK, little miss sunshine.”

  “Would you look at that,” Capps said, pointing a few streets over to a skinny Somalian carrying a large shark draped over his shoulders. “That shark is as big as he is. Wonder how much he’ll get for it at the market.”

  Cole thought of life in the city. Mogadishu was a dense city with about two and a half million people. While things were improving, there was still great poverty. A few years earlier, over ten thousand Yemenis filled the Lido Beach refugee center. Now Somalians were in Yemen looking for relief. It was disturbing to Cole to see how torn apart a country and people could become. He felt fortunate to be an American, thought of life after the agency, and pondered if there were ways that he could contribute to easing the suffering other than shedding the blood of the oppressors.

  “Wildcat One, this is base,” Wang’s voice came over.

  “This is One. Go ahead, base.”

  “We have the sat feed up and running. I suggest we get a second one set up . . .” Wang’s transmission was broken, and a split second later the rooftop team heard the intense thunderous explosion from eight kilometers away.

  “Shit! Darryl, what was that?” Cole said, looking back toward the direction of the blast.

  “That came from the compound, Cole!”