The Nick Lawrence Series

by Brian Shea

  “I apologize. My appearance is not one that you are familiar with. Allow me to reintroduce myself.” He moved slowly, removing the latex nose and wig. A moment later he had wiped the foundation from his skin revealing a darker complexion. “Better?” The Translator was stoic. No inflection in his voice.

  Declan said nothing. He was not willing to indulge this madman with any sort of banter. Confident that the Translator had won, he resigned himself to death. He had accepted its inevitability long ago and would not give this man any additional gratitude in hearing him plead for his life. His eye caught a glimpse of Richards, whose body was sprawled across the floor apparently dead.

  “Your friend is not with us. Actually, none of them are.” Khaled let this news wash over the Golden Man, Enright. “The blast was more effective than I anticipated. I had been looking forward to more of a fight, but unlike your American action movies, the reality of combat is far different. But you know that better than most. Just like the way they portray you soldiers as liberating heroes.” For the first time, a flash of anger crossed Khaled’s normally serene facial features.

  Declan closed his eyes, using this time to silently say goodbye to Val and his girls. He allowed each of their beautiful faces to come to him. Seeing them in his mind gave him a sense of peace that was coupled with the sad resignation that he would not hold them again. He quietly hummed Laney her song one last time.

  “I see that this conversation will be one-way since you seem committed to your silence. Very well. I would have assumed that you were filled with questions, but since you are not I will not waste my time.” Khaled paused only for a moment before continuing, “I will tell you this. I have one more trip to make when I leave here. Your wife and three beautiful daughters will be returning from Georgia soon. You won’t be there to greet them, but I will.”

  Declan’s natural urge to strangle the man before him took hold at a subconscious level. His sinewy muscles tightened, pulling hard against the ties that restrained him. The plastic edges cut into his flesh, causing him to bleed.

  “I want you to know that they will suffer the same fate that you shared with my beautiful Sonia. Your house will burn and collapse on top of them. My only regret is that you will not be there to helplessly watch as it happens. That was to be the real punishment, but your new friends at the FBI put a stop to that back in your driveway.” Khaled let out a slow exhale and then smiled. “What do you think they would do to you if they ever figured out that you had robbed that armored truck? It’s too bad that I didn’t get to watch that situation play out, but they are dead now, so I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  “Who gives a shit anyway if you are planning on killing me?” Declan engaged him now realizing that he must stall in the hopes of finding some way to overcome this man and save his family.

  “Now you talk? Good. It felt strange to get to this point without some type of dialogue. You and I have been through so much together.” Khaled smiled again.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Declan was not sure where this was going but knew the importance of buying additional time.

  “What drove you to rob that bank truck?” Khaled said this in a way that sounded sincere.

  “Why should I tell you anything?” Anger at the surface of every syllable.

  “Well for starters, it will give you more time. Time to try to find a way out of your current predicament. Which you will soon find a futile endeavor, but one that you will no doubt explore.” Khaled spoke as if he were a professor mediating a class debate.

  Declan realized that the Translator was as intelligent as he was ruthless. “Okay, I’ll play your game. And I have some questions for you too.”

  “I assumed that you would. But first answer mine.” Khaled rested a silenced handgun on his lap. “We don’t have all day. The blast that rendered your group useless a few minutes ago will be bringing in the local authorities and I prefer not to be here when that happens. Although, I have something set to give me a head start.”

  “I hit bottom after being fired from my job. I did it to support my family. That’s the long and short of it.”

  “Why did you get fired?” Khaled asked in a tone that seemed to mock the question.

  “I shot someone, and the chief didn’t like it,” Declan said vacantly.

  “Jamal Anderson,” Khaled said the name of the young man Declan shot.

  “Yes.”

  “What if I told you a secret about Mr. Anderson?” Khaled seemed almost giddy at this. And saw the confusion on Declan’s face.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Are you saying that you had something to do with that? Why the hell would anybody agree to a suicide by cop?” Declan strained to grasp this strange innuendo.

  “It was quite simple. I found a young drug addict who was panhandling outside a convenience store. After engaging him in a simple conversation over a cigarette he told me about his hard life. He told me about his infant child and how the boy was being raised by his grandmother after child services had taken away his parental rights. It’s funny how much people will tell you when you are willing to listen. I am well connected and locating the address of where his child was being raised took no time.” Khaled surveyed Declan as he absorbed this information. “Leverage. He believed that I had his grandmother and infant son. I can be very persuasive. I gave him the gun and took his cell phone. He was instructed to create a disturbance that would draw police and to wait for you. I knew where you were on that night and that you would undoubtedly respond to play the hero. I told him to talk to you and that you would try to talk him down. He was instructed to point the gun at you and your fellow officers or his child would be dead.”

  “You’re a sick man. You went through all this for me? Why not just kill me and get it over with?” Declan seethed.

  “That would have been too simple. If I wanted to kill you then it would have happened. I needed you to feel what I felt. I needed you to have everything stripped away. I wanted to be the final piece of straw that broke you.” Khaled’s voice was steady as he relayed his intent.

  “You try to hide behind the death of your daughter. You’ve destroyed your precious Sonia’s memory. She wouldn’t recognize the man who used to be her father.” Declan could tell that his words hit the mark as he watched the Translator lean forward. The muscles in his jawline rippled as he clenched.

  “Never speak her name again,” Khaled said through gritted teeth.

  Declan was silent, taking in the fine line that he was walking with the Translator. He decided to change the topic and try to buy a little more time in hopes that the cavalry would arrive. And maybe they would not fall victim to whatever trap was set. “How did you stay ahead of us this whole time? If you are going to kill me, it can’t hurt to tell.”

  Sirens could be heard in the distance, but the Translator seemed unfazed. He cocked his head and mockingly put his hand to his ear as if trying to hear. “I told you that I have something in place for them. It’s an interesting device. Triggered only at a specific decibel. One-hundred twenty decibels to be exact. That of a fire engine.” As if on cue, a loud explosion rocked the house.

  “I am on borrowed time now, so I will make this brief. In response to your question and not that it matters, but I had some insider help.” Khaled smirked and cocked his head toward the body of Mason Richards.

  “Richards?” Declan was the last man standing of his elite former unit Alpha One and was now learning that his commander was working with a terrorist. The news was devastating. Nick was right, but it was too late.

  “We were close, and he knew that the death of my Sonia had sent me off the deep end. He wanted to console me because he felt responsible.”

  “He felt bad for you, so he helped you kill innocent Americans? I am not buying it.” Declan’s skepticism was evident in his tenor.

  “Money. It all comes down to money. Your former commander had earned quite a bit in special operations technologies and his company had grown exp
onentially during the early stages of the war. But your country has a short memory. Contracts died off and Richards quickly found himself struggling to stay afloat. He had become desperate. And desperate men make bad decisions. You of all people can attest to that.”

  “I don’t see it. He’s no terrorist,” Declan announced, but it fell flat and seemed more a statement made to convince himself.

  “No. He believed that he was a true patriot. He allowed me to operate in your country to boost the war effort. Fresh blood will remind the people of what’s at stake. His words, not mine.”

  “He let you come after us? After our children?” Declan felt the rage of this betrayal pour out of him.

  “No. He never agreed to that. That took some additional persuasion. And once in, I had to ensure that he would not back out. I sent him proof of life in exchange for each device that Richards, the Technician, created.”

  “Proof of life?” Declan questioned, trying to follow the Translator.

  “His oldest daughter, Mandy,” the Translator said, sighing softly before he continued, “The proof came in different forms. Sometimes a call or video. Other times it was in body parts. But each time, Richards came through with my demands.”

  “Where is she now?” Declan questioned intensely.

  “Dead,” Khaled said with no remorse. He then continued, “I had planned on sharing that news with Richards, but it did not work out that way.”

  “Well, I guess we are done here,” Declan faced his death with an eerie calm.

  Khaled raised the gun and pointed it at the Golden Man’s head. Declan slowly inhaled, controlling his heart rate. In a moment, it would all be over. He closed his eyes, allowing darkness to take its hold.

  The sound of the gunshot was devastating. The heat of the warm blood that splashed over Declan’s face was shocking. It took him a moment to realize that it was not his blood. His eyes opened in a squint as they fought to keep the blood out.

  Slumped in the chair in front of him was the Translator. His face no longer recognizable. Declan did his best to scan the room for the shooter. He saw the movement. Richards still sprawled on the floor was now gripping a revolver.

  “Moose, you’re alive?” Declan said in shock.

  “Not for long. I’m sorry.” With those simple words, Mason “Moose” Richards turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.

  Declan stared at the scene before him. His mind reeled. Trying to process everything was a daunting task. One without a definitive end. This moment of deep reflection was interrupted by the loud crash of the front door and the sound of a tactical team clearing the house.

  49

  “You look like shit.” Declan said this to Nick who was in a hospital bed recovering from his second surgery to repair the damage to his right arm.

  “Thanks. You look like a bucket of roses yourself,” Nick retorted softly, barely audible over the hiss of his nasal cannula.

  Declan had a concussion and several broken ribs but had staved off any serious injuries from the blast. The doctor told him that he only needed to stay overnight for observation.

  “I just checked on Izzy. She seems good. The break to her ankle was bad and tore a lot of ligaments,” Declan said, relaying the update. “She’s one tough lady. I don’t know how she mustered the strength to get over to you. I hope you know that she is the reason that you are sitting here today.”

  “I know.” Nick felt a strange need to say more but couldn’t find the words or the strength to expand on that.

  The room returned to the hum of the lifesaving machines that filled the space around Nick. The two men who had shared so much over the last two weeks now found little to talk about with the threat gone. Nick grabbed his small wax cup and chewed some of the ice chips that the nurse had left. He still couldn’t eat solid food yet and was being nourished by IV, but the ice chips helped.

  “Any news on your arm?” Declan hesitated, fearing that the answer might not be good.

  “The doc said that the last surgery enabled me to keep it. Although, the recovery process won’t be easy.” Nick looked over to his right side where the pressurized brace wrapped his arm. It was suspended by cables, elevating it slightly during the recovery. His fingertips were the only part of this appendage that was visible. A clip was attached to his pointer finger monitoring his pulse.

  “I was afraid to ask, but that is great news. You’ve got a long road ahead of you, but I have seen how tough you are and know that you will overcome that hurdle.” Declan put his hand on Nick’s uninjured shoulder and looked at him with complete sincerity as he spoke. “I’m proud to know you, Nick.”

  “Thank you for that. The feeling is mutual. I’m so sorry for the losses you suffered.” The plurality of the statement referred to both Alex and Mason. Even though Declan had learned of Richards’s involvement, the loss of his former commander had taken its toll.

  Declan gave a slow nod, understanding Nick’s message. “As much as it pains me that Mason is dead, I think the bigger loss was in his betrayal. You were right, and I couldn’t see it. Sorry for being so blinded by my loyalty.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. As soon as I met the man, my suspicions dropped too.” Nick paused recalling something. “Do you remember when he brought us to his basement and his miniature computer lab?” Nick asked rhetorically and continued, “I had a déjà vu moment when I saw the large table but couldn’t place it. Nelson told me that it was Richards who sent the recordings and that the videos were made in the basement. The other members seen in The Seven’s video releases had been mannequins. And since their faces were covered nobody noticed.”

  “It’s still surreal to think that my former commander, a true patriot, would wage attacks against innocent civilians just to further his business.” Declan said this slowly, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “I think The Seven is real and that Mason somehow became their patsy. But it sounds like the links to any other members of their network died with Richards and the Translator. I guess that it’s someone else’s problem now,” Nick said, wincing in pain as he made a slight adjustment in the bed.

  The news had been running wild with the story since it was released to the media. The Office of the President released a statement to the American people vowing transparency in the investigation. The name and picture of Khaled Abdullah, the Translator, had been released. The viewing audiences had been reassured that he was now dead and the direct threat from the group known as The Seven had been thwarted. No specific details had been released about the circumstances surrounding Khaled’s death. The information regarding Mason Richards’s involvement had been redacted in the interest of national security.

  Endless waves of press conferences were held to quell any fear of additional attacks. The President requested that people return to their daily lives and lifted the nationwide lockdown. The aftershocks were still being felt across the country, and conspiracy theorists were popping up everywhere to inject their distrust of the government. Declan listened with half an ear to the broadcast in the background. He knew that it would take a very long time for the country to return to its norm.

  “So, you two went back to hero status in your boss’s eyes?” Declan referred to Nelson’s sudden change of heart regarding their involvement in the case.

  “Looks that way. The Bureau spun the administrative leave, stating that it was a ploy used to lull the terrorist into a false sense of security.” Nick was in awe of the political games played by people who had long ago forgotten what it was like on the ground floor. “So much for transparency.” Both men laughed out loud until their pain caused them to settle.

  Declan was being discharged from the hospital in a few hours. The FBI had their private jet on standby, ready to get him back to his family. Val and the girls were now safely back in Connecticut. Whitney Rodgers remained with his family until Declan could return.

  “Thank you for letting me be a part of this. I owe you. More importantly, my family ow
es you. If there’s ever anything that I can do for you or Izzy, never hesitate to ask.” Declan stood slowly under the discomfort in his ribcage.

  “There is one thing,” Nick said quietly as his eyes flickered, fighting the exhaustion rapidly setting in.

  Declan leaned on the railing of Nick’s bed for momentary support. “Anything. Name it.”

  “The bank,” Nick said in a whisper.

  Declan said nothing, but he worried that his face had subconsciously betrayed him. He was caught off guard by Nick’s statement. He controlled his breathing and looked directly into the eyes of his new friend, wondering where this conversation was going.

  “Nelson asked for an update when we talked. He was going to assign it to another agent since I am incapacitated, but I explained the dead ends on all the potential leads. He agreed to keep me on it, suspending the case. It will not be reopened. After a reasonable amount of time, I will close it permanently. I guess I have more pull than I did before. I put my newly deemed hero status to work.” Nick shifted slightly toward Declan causing the metallic frame to creak. “Take care of your family my friend.”

  Those last words hung in the air, like the humidity of an afternoon summer rain, and Declan realized their deeper meaning. He nodded, showing both understanding and respect for what this agent, this friend, had done for him. Declan turned and walked into the pale light of the hospital corridor. Nick allowed sleep to take him.

  Declan stepped out of the jet and walked down the steep staircase to the tarmac. He moved gingerly, favoring his injured ribs that had not responded well to the bounce of his recent landing. Declan’s eyes scanned the expanse of the runway until he saw what he was looking for.

  Val stood by a large SUV that had been donated by the FBI to replace the one damaged by the fire. They had been more than generous in compensating Declan for his service, paying him enough to cover two years of his former salary in contractor fees. That, coupled with his “earnings” from the bank job, would enable his family some long-overdue stability.