by Brian Shea
His girls ran to him as if they had not seen him in years. Their long hair bounced on their dainty shoulders as they closed the distance rapidly. Laney did not run. She stood behind Val awkwardly and walked in her shadow, as his wife made her way to him.
The little arms around his neck and the barrage of kisses that followed immediately lifted him away from the terribleness of the past few weeks. Laney peeked out from behind Val as the two received each other in a warm embrace. And then the most amazing sound filled Declan’s ears.
“D-a-d-d-y.” Laney’s voice percolated in the air and a tear fell from Declan’s face. For the first time in a long time, that tear was filled with joy.
50
“If I hear the word ‘hero’ one more time from the mouth of some political fat cat, using us as an image booster, I think I’m going to lose my mind,” Nick said to Izzy through his teeth. They stood in the podium’s backdrop where Director Jenkins was in the process of delivering her pride-filled speech, carrying with it all the accolades that they had heard several times before in the weeks since their showdown in Virginia. Nick’s arm was still in a brace, but the surgery had held, and the artery was now in the healing phase. Izzy was on crutches, refusing to be wheelchair bound. Her lower leg was in a cast after having been reset with the help of some pins and screws. Nick looked at her, admiring her beauty and resilience.
Declan gave a subtle nudge on his opposite side, leaned in, and whispered, “You’re staring at her again. You might as well just kiss her right here for the world to see.”
Nick looked at his friend and gave a sheepish smile as he felt the warmth permeate his cheeks. The two started to giggle like little school children after pulling off a prank. The more they tried to contain themselves, the more difficult it became. The pressure was amplified by the stage and audience that was spread out across the south lawn of the White House. Izzy flashed her eyes back toward her two male counterparts with the corrective glare of a mother to her children. The giddiness subsided. She smiled and whispered in the mock tone of a parent, “Now boys, don’t make me scold you in front of all these nice people.” Izzy redirected her attention as the Director concluded her portion of the speech and introduced the President of the United States.
President Carson Travis took the podium, and although the three had previously sat with him in private, to see him standing there now was impressive. The confidence and poise that he demonstrated gave his modest frame a commanding presence. It was his gift in the political arena and had endeared him to the American people, even when they disagreed with his policies.
This ceremony today was the first time that the White House had acknowledged the efforts and sacrifices made by Nick and his friends. The President began by describing the terrible acts committed against innocent civilians and the tireless efforts of so many. The three had signed non-disclosure agreements that redacted many of the details. Several of the facts were altered in the interest of the people. It had been a long-standing practice that the government held back pertinent information, fearing that the average American could not handle the truth. The FBI did not want the black eye for administratively suspending its agents ultimately responsible for stopping the threat. That piece had already been spun to look as though it was done as an intentional ploy to draw out Khaled. Mason’s involvement had been completely erased. It was believed that if his role had been exposed that the information would do irreversible damage to the military. More importantly, it had the potential to expose the missions of Alpha One. All involved had signed the agreement, understanding the heavy consequences if violated.
The President had made his opening remarks. He now had begun a vague description of the brave actions taken by Nick, Izzy, and Declan, who stood directly behind him. Declan heard the words but felt slightly adrift, still reeling from the betrayal of his friend.
The FBI Director, impressed by Enright’s valor, had offered him the opportunity to take on a full-time role as a consultant within the Bureau’s counter-terrorism unit. He initially resisted the idea, primarily due to the challenge of relocating Laney. But Director Jenkins assured him that his base of operations would be in Connecticut. Although there would be some travel associated with the assignment, Declan and Val agreed that it would be a great opportunity. The fog of his family’s financial stress had finally lifted, and he felt a sense of peace.
President Travis paused momentarily and stepped off to the side of the podium, turning toward the three award recipients and then continued, “It is with great honor and unmeasurable thanks that I present these three, stalwart keepers of the peace, with awards of the highest caliber. I bestow upon FBI Special Agents, Nicholas Lawrence and Isabella Martinez, the Public Safety Officer Medal of Valor. This award is the highest honor that can be given to a law enforcement agent, and is a reminder of your bravery and sacrifice shown when faced with the extreme danger of a relentless enemy.”
Cheers, like a massive wave crashing upon the shore, rose up from the grounds of the south lawn. The President again paused for effect and when the roar subsided he continued, “Declan Enright, The Presidential Medal of Freedom recognizes the selfless actions that you took in pushing back against the wolf as he beckoned at our doorstep.”
Again, the crowd erupted, but out of the thousands of onlookers, Declan only focused on the four faces that mattered to him. A gentle smile crossed his face as he saw Val and his girls standing in the front row.
After shaking the President’s hand, he turned and stooped slightly forward, allowing the ornate medal to be fastened around his neck. The President placed a firm hand on Declan’s shoulder, sending a shockwave of pain to his ribs that were still on the mend. Declan then stood erect, showing no outward sign of the throbbing in his ribcage. The white star of the medal centered on his upper chest. The background filled with applause. He gave a wink to his family as Val returned this gesture, blowing him a kiss.
Declan stood there looking out at his family and thought how close he had come to losing everything. The Translator had that happen to him, destroying the fabric of who he had been. Declan pondered if the roles were reversed. What would he do if he’d experienced the tragic loss of any of his daughters? He had no answer for that question.
The three award recipients stood shoulder to shoulder and faced the crowd. They were now forever connected by their shared combat experience. A bond that could never be broken. His former team was completely decimated, but as he looked to his left at his new friends, the pain of this realization was eased slightly.
“I can’t believe that you’re leaving.” Izzy didn’t try to hide the heavy sadness in her voice.
“You know that the only reason I came here was to support my mother after my dad passed, but my role has changed. She now requires the full-time care of a live-in facility. The arrangements for her have been made. She will be in an excellent nursing home out there. It specializes in those suffering from dementia. I feel that I will still be honoring my father’s dying request and that will give me some peace of mind.” Nick had said this flatly, trying not to expose his feelings. Before Izzy could argue, Nick quickly added, “I also left some unfinished business out in Texas. It’s complicated. Something I’ve never talked to you about. I will someday. When the debt is settled.”
Nick and Izzy had somehow avoided talking about what happened that night in the hotel room. Recovering from their injuries and suffering through long, tedious hours of debriefings had occupied most of their time. Then, they had to prepare for the award ceremony with the President, something not taken lightly. Now that it was all over, and the dust had settled, the two were forced to address the elephant in the room.
“You have unfinished business out West, but what about here?” Izzy was obviously questioning his feelings about her.
“You could come with me. The Director has given us our pick of assignments. You’d be a huge asset out there.”
“My family ties are here. You know that. I can’t just up and le
ave them.” It was clear in both voice and body language that Izzy was becoming frustrated.
“You could create some new family ties,” Nick muttered.
Izzy stared at the man standing before her. The person that she had come to respect above all others. She heard his words and was completely caught off guard by them. “I can’t take that leap yet.” She saw the pain in Nick’s eyes and immediately continued, “Why don’t we give it a little time and see what happens after you get settled in Austin.”
“Sure. Sounds like a plan.” Nick tried to sound optimistic and upbeat.
The two embraced awkwardly, taking care to avoid each other’s injuries. Izzy’s soft hair fell across his shoulder, carrying with it the familiar scent of coconut. With a gentle hand under her chin, Nick slowly turned Izzy’s head up to take one last look into those beautiful dark eyes. Unable to resist, he pulled her closer and passionately pressed his lips against hers. The kiss felt so natural and comfortable. Nick worried he would lose the courage to leave and pulled away faster than he wanted to. Although this last moment together wasn’t long, Nick knew that he would never forget it. He hoped Izzy felt the same way.
Neither said a word as they separated.
Pursuit of Justice
A Nick Lawrence Novel
This book is dedicated to the taken. To those children swallowed by the beast that is human trafficking. Keep your strength and stay in the fight. Know that there are good people out there looking for you and hunting those responsible.
Check out an organization that is on the front lines trying to shut down human traffickers:
https://www.deliverfund.org
1
It was the sound that woke her. The rumble of the truck’s tires as they slowly veered off the roadway and into the breakdown lane. The stagnant air was ripe. She assumed it must be night or early morning. Her exposed leg was pressed up against the cool metallic wall of the box truck. It had been hot earlier. Almost burning her skin.
She could hear the muffled voices of the two men in the cab of the truck. Why are we stopping? The last time it was bad. This time could be worse. They had taken an interest in her. She knew the interest from men like this was never good.
Death has a unique smell. Mouse was not unaccustomed to it, but in the enclosed space of the truck, it sickened her. He’d been dead for over a day. The humidity didn’t allow for his blood-soaked shirt to dry. Mouse could feel the moistness of it dampen hers. She managed to shift the weight of the lifeless man off her but could not completely separate from him. Too many people. Too little space. His bowels had released. That smell had intertwined with the others who had turned the 6x14 foot living space into a toilet on wheels. Mouse had urinated in her pants too many times to count, but they were beginning to dry now that dehydration had set in. She’d hoped that the smell of her urine-soaked clothing would deter the two men in the front from their intentions.
The last time the truck pulled off the road they had already been riding for a while, but time was an elusive thing under the circumstances. The door had swung open. It was still dark, but Mouse had been able to see a hint of light in the background, though she was unable to determine if the sun was rising or setting. Everyone stirred when the truck door opened. Any hope that the long journey was over quickly dissipated. The fat man with a scar over his left eye had grabbed Mouse’s leg and began pulling her toward the opening. The thin man stood beside his fat friend, his long greasy hair slicked back with sweat. His eyes were wild. Mouse feared him most. The thin man started to unzip his faded, dirt-covered jeans. The old man realized what was happening. He tried to protect her. He had smacked the hand of the fat man. A mistake.
The thin man withdrew a large knife from a worn leather sheath that hung from his sagging pants. The sound of the knife plunging in and out of the old man was a sound Mouse never wanted to hear again. Pop and thud. Pop and thud. The old man never screamed. He whimpered softly in sync with the plunge of the blade. Each sound softer than its predecessor until the old man slumped over and onto Mouse. The thin man smiled and zipped his pants. His primal needs had been satiated. The fat man retreated and closed the door. Darkness again. A few of the others sobbed quietly at what they had just witnessed. Mouse did not.
That was yesterday, or what felt like yesterday. This time would be different. There was no kind-hearted old man to save her. She would have to fend for herself. Her father had long ago prepared her for this journey, for the potential gauntlet she’d face. And he’d prepared her well. The men in the cab of the truck would underestimate her. Her small size had earned her the nickname. But she knew that Big things come in small packages.
Mouse could hear the two outside. The harshness of their voices muffled by the heavy doors. Then laughter. An unsettling sound. It did little to belie their true intention. Focus. Visualize what you need to do. Commit to the action needed. Then act. Her father’s simple words replayed in her head as they had a thousand times before. She had proven the value of their meaning and this would be yet another test.
The padlock attached to the latch stirred. In the darkness, she edged closer to the door. The grunts of the others as she crawled over them seemed louder in the silence. There were men, women and children of all ages huddled together in the truck’s dark interior. They were unknowingly sold into servitude with the promise of reaching America. Each of her cabin mates destined for different services. There were whispers among the imprisoned that the younger women and children would undoubtedly end up in the sex trade. The older men and women would be put to work in sweatshops or as day laborers. The desperation of their circumstance seemed to drain their will to fight back. Not Mouse. It fueled a fire inside her.
She reached her destination, feeling the cool metal of the double doors. Mouse rolled silently onto her back. Her head rested against the back of one of the others. It would give her added leverage when the time came. Mouse’s feet rose high and the soles of her worn sneakers now rested lightly against the door. Commit to the action needed.
The clank of the hinge told her that the time had come. The tension in the doors released and they swung wide. The darkness of the sky seemed bright against the pitch of the box truck’s interior. Act.
Mouse shot her feet outward, striking at the two men. Her back arched on impact as they found their intended targets, one foot connecting with each man’s throat. Big things CAN come in size 5 shoes. A gurgling cough erupted from the fat man. The thin man was quiet. As Mouse sat up she understood why. His eyes were wild but not like the day before. This was fear. A palpable terror on the man’s bony face. His hands clasped tightly around his throat. A horrible wheezing sound expelled from his crushed windpipe as he staggered backward. The thin man fell and rolled into the shallow ditch that ran alongside the road. His body continued to writhe in agony, twisting to avoid the end that was fast approaching.
The fat man was not down. He was recovering from the initial blow, but his hands were no longer held near his throat. His body hunched over and his palms were on his knees. Mouse had planned for the possibility that the fight wouldn’t be over with one action.
Earlier, she had taken the tattered leather belt from the old man and now it was wrapped tightly around her right hand. Even in death, he would protect her one last time. The oversized belt buckle was exposed across her knuckles. The image embossed in the steel depicted a cowboy on a bronco. Apropos in the desert landscape of this standoff.
Mouse slipped out and onto the roadway. Her legs momentarily unsteady, adjusting as she stood for the first time after the long confinement. The fat man did not notice her. He was loud, spitting and cursing. She swung upward, hard. Again, she found her target. The trachea. This time with the added devastation of the buckle. The blow sent his head straight up. Bewildered, the fat man tried to account for this new injection of pain. His hands were back at his throat. Remember, Mouse, no matter how big your enemy, the throat is weak. Her dad’s words. Wise and true.
The fat ma
n dropped to his knees. The jagged scar above his eye seemed more menacing in his current state. Fearful that he would recover and overpower her, Mouse moved quickly, timing her next assault.
The belt hung loosely in her hand as she shot behind the fat man. His hands lowered as he went to all fours, trying to find her like a dog chasing his tail. She wrapped the leather strap around his throat. Mouse quickly slid the open end through the buckle and pulled it taut. A make-shift choke collar. Mouse was airborne. Her knees landed squarely in the fat man’s back, toppling him face-first into the asphalt. Mouse now stood with the heels of her small feet rooted in his shoulders. She leaned back hard like a water skier in the wake of a speedboat.
The fat man flailed his arms, but the lack of oxygen weakened their movement. Mouse counted in her head. Six…seven…eight. She felt the fat man’s chest sink. His arms no longer reached for her. Eight seconds without oxygen reaching the brain and a person will sleep. Mouse was not content with sleep. She couldn’t afford to have this man come for her later. Survival was an ugly business. Under the circumstances, it was fortunate that Mouse learned this sad fact early on in her short fifteen years of life.
She pulled hard until her grip could no longer hold the leather of the belt that was now slick with her sweat. Mouse released, letting the strap fall from her hand. Nothing. No movement from the fat man. As morning’s light began to cast its eerie glow, she stared at the fat man’s chest. No rise. No fall. It was done. She rummaged through the pockets of both men, taking a wad of cash from each. The sheathed knife that had been used to take the life of the old man now hung from the belt on her hipline. The same belt used to finish off the fat man. Mouse’s slim waist was comparable to the old man’s, making it a perfect fit.