"Wait, what?"
Mark dragged his brother behind his desk and pushed him down under it. He could hear boots coming up the stairs.
"Quiet, they're coming. No matter what you hear, don't make a sound." He said and letting go of Thomas he quickly pulled his official ID out and hung it around his neck and tucked it under his shirt. He didn't want to lose it, if he should have to change. Then he walked around the desk towards the door to his office, which flew open as someone kicked it in.
"What is the meaning of this!" Mark said, looking outraged. "I didn't call for the police!"
"Are you Thomas Levin?" The first man into the room asked. The second stopped just inside the doorway, scanning the room.
"Of course I am!" Mark said loudly, "Now, explain yourself! I have a lot of work to do today, and I don't have time for these kinds of interruptions!"
"You sure that's him, Boss?" The second man asked, "He doesn't look exactly like the picture."
"What? Do you want to see my license?" Mark snarked at the guy, "Who the hell else would be in my office, on a Saturday? And I was just down at the station last week! What picture are you even talking about?"
The guy got flustered and shut up, but the guy in front, the 'boss' had now let his weapon drop.
"Come with us, Mr. Levin."
"This is preposterous!" Mark said. "I'm not going anywhere!"
"You're coming with us," he said and grabbing something off of his belt he whipped it around and hit Mark in the side of the head with some sort of expanding metal rod.
Mark stumbled to the side away from it. It stung a little, but he knew most humans would be laid low by a hit to the head like that, so he stumbled and started to fall.
The boss stepped forward and grabbed his right arm, while the other man grabbed his left and turning around they quickly hustled him out of the building, dragging him down the hallway.
"All of the other offices are empty," one of the men said coming back up to them.
"Good. What about the labs?" the Boss asked him.
"They're behind a security door, like our man told us."
"Good luck getting in there," Mark said, faking a groan.
"It's your company, you can open the doors," the Boss said from Mark's right, where he still had him by the arm. Mark was 'stumbling' along now, instead of making them drag him.
"Of course I can," Mark said, "but the people who watch the cameras will call the police when they see all of you. If you were the police, you'd know that! So who are you?"
Mark got a smack to the back of the head, "None of your business. We're not going into the processing labs; we're going into the research labs. No one works there on the weekends, no one will see us!"
Mark shook his head, "Those labs are sealed on the weekends. I can't even get inside!"
"Liar!" The Boss said and smacked Mark on the back of the head again.
"You'll see," Mark said and started to wonder about these guys. They seemed professional enough, but their intelligence seemed to be rather lacking.
The hauled him up in front of what he assumed was the entrance to the research area.
"Open the door!" The Boss said and pointed his pistol at Mark.
Mark shrugged, put his hand on the glass scanner, like he'd seen his brother do at the other labs, and then looked at the camera that did the recognition.
"Access denied," a voice said from the ceiling, and the terminal by the door simply said 'Levin - access denied.'
"Should we blow it, Boss?" One of the men asked.
"Well, that would be stupid," Mark said and ducked as the 'Boss' tried to hit him again.
"Look, right now you've got what? Kidnapping? And no one even knows you're here. You set off a bomb in here, and you'll set off all of the fire alarms, contamination alarms, you'll have the police, the fire department, and they'll all call it terrorism and call in the FBI and the National Guard.
"You'll be in jail before the twelve o'clock news."
"He's got a point, Boss," number two said as the boss swore.
"Damn, I'd been hoping for that bonus. Well, at least we got him, let's go boys!" The boss said and one of them pulled out a bag and put it over Mark's head and this time they really did just drag him out of the building.
The tossed him in the van, none too gently, and then all piled inside and drove off.
2: Undisclosed Location
They went through his pockets, looking for his phone apparently. They tossed his wallet, keys, and even his spare change into a bag from the sound of it. Mark was surprised that they didn't look through his wallet. Then again, he kept his license tucked in the back, so unless they pulled out the cards in it, they wouldn't realize they had the wrong guy.
He just laid there on the floor as they drove. He was surprised that they hadn't tied him up at all, but when he reached for the bag over his head, he got a light kick from one of them and was told to 'leave it.' Other than that, they didn't talk at all.
Best as he could tell, they got on the highway, which probably meant the expressway this far out. All in all, it was pretty boring, so Mark closed his eyes and took a nap.
"Hey! Wake up!" Someone said and nudged him.
Mark was awake instantly, and noticed that they were moving slowly, then they stopped and someone got out of the van.
"How can you sleep at a time like this?" The same voice asked.
Mark ignored the voice and sat up. No one pushed him back down and he heard the sound of a garage door opening, then the van moved forward for a few seconds, and then stopped again.
Mark heard the garage door closing as the doors to the van opened and the others started to get out. Someone grabbed his arm and helped him out as well.
"So, this is the illustrious Mr. Levin," he heard a new voice say. "Were you able to get any samples from his lab?"
"No, it was locked down for the weekend, and even he was unable to open the lock," the voice of the one they'd identified as their boss said.
"Well, we have him, that's all that matters," the new voice said.
"And you would be?" Mark asked, from under his hood.
"Oh, don't worry, Thomas, we'll have a lot of time to get better acquainted soon enough."
Mark pulled his arms down, breaking the grip of the one man holding him, as he ripped the hood off of his face with the other.
"How about now?" he said while looking around. All of the 'swat' team members were no longer wearing the ski masks they'd been wearing earlier and he got a good look at all of their faces as they all turned to look at him in shock.
"You idiots!" The man who had obviously hired them said. Mark noted that he was tall and dark, possibly Hispanic, and looked to be in his late twenties. "That's not Levin!"
"Oh, I'm Levin alright!" Mark growled staring the man down, "I'm Mark Levin. Thomas's brother who works for the FBI. And you are all under arrest!"
They all went for their guns, which was what Mark expected. The problem was, they'd all left their nice semi-auto AR-15 rifles and shotguns in the van, and it took them an instant to realize that.
The 'Boss' of the team still had his pistol however, and he pulled it and started shooting almost immediately as Mark grabbed one of the other team members and pulled them between himself and the boss
From the way the guy was jerking, Mark got the impression that the body armor they were wearing was just a prop. He threw the now twitching body at the boss, knocking him down, then snatched grabbed the guy next to him by the neck and threw him at the two running for the van.
The new guy, had a gun out now as well, and he shot Mark twice, causing Mark to swear rather loudly. Mark dove for the van himself then, as the new guy fired several more shots, but none of them hit Mark.
By the time Mark got one of the rifles, two of the original five were also trying to get in. Mark butt-stroked one in the face hard enough that it shattered the stock on the AR-15. The other one he shot in the chest, then dropped that rifle as it jammed and picked
up a second one.
The one he had shot was down, screaming on the ground. The one he'd butt-stroked was unconscious, another one was down, apparently dead from being shot in the back, and the one who had been the 'boss' had a single bullet wound to the head, the body of the guy Mark had thrown at him was still on top of him, probably dead as well.
He heard the sound of a car door slam, followed by a starting engine. Jumping back out of the van and into the garage he saw a large while impala, which reversed and backed through the closed garage door.
Running after it, Mark brought the AR-15 he was holding up, and fired several shots into the windshield and side windows before it too jammed as he ran after the car.
As soon as the impala was back out into the street, the driver looked forward, and Mark could see the look of shock on his face when he saw Mark charging the car. He put the car in gear and slammed down hard on the accelerator, heading straight for Mark, apparently hoping to run him over.
Tossing the jammed gun to the side, Mark jumped onto the hood and grabbed on to the windshield wipers and the end of the hood.
The guy driving started weaving the car violently back and forth, trying to dislodge Mark, who wasn't having a lot of success in holding on, ripping off first one wiper, and then the other. The next time he went hard to the left, Mark started sliding off to the hood of the car to the right, and the driver then locked up the brakes, throwing Mark to the ground.
Kicking off his shoes and undoing his belt, Mark shifted as he dove at the car, the driver now trying to speed off. Smashing his head and upper body through the passenger window, Mark dug his claws into the seat and the dashboard and started to pull his body into the car.
The driver looked over at him and rather than seeing Mark, he saw a bloody, snarling, mountain lion instead. He slammed the gas peddle back down to the floor, and turned the wheel back hard to the left as Mark's claws started to shred the interior as Mark continued to pull himself all the way into the car. Mark had just dragged a paw across the steering wheel, trying to grab it with his claws when the man driving looked up and screamed. Mark saw it at that instant too; a telephone pole.
Mark tried to push back out of the car as the guy driving hit the brakes, but he was too late and the car hit the pole dead center, burying it in the hood almost up to the windshield. The airbag on Mark's side deployed, and while it kept him from getting injured any more than he already was, it still hurt.
But Mark's claws had cut in deep enough into the steering wheel that the driver's side airbag exploded in a burst of shredded material, hot gases, and metal particles, doing nothing to stop the driver, who wasn't wearing a seatbelt, from going through the windshield of the impala.
Growling, Mark extracted himself, carefully, and then shifted back to human, hissing in pain as his cuts and broken bones continued to heal. His shredded shirt was still on him; his official ID and badge were still hanging around his neck, and his pants he could see were about a hundred yards back, with his sneakers.
Pulling off the shirt he walked around to the other side of the car to look at the driver. He was still alive, but Mark didn't think he was going to be that was for very much longer.
"What ... what ... are you?" the man gasped, eyes wide in either shock or fear. There was too much blood now for Mark to smell which.
"Pissed, that's what," Mark growled. "Now, listen up. You're dying. You've obviously done a lot of nasty and bad shit in your life, well guess what? Fess up now and tell me who hired you, what you were after, and what this is all about, and I'll put in a good word for you with the judge. Maybe you'll get lucky and he won't send your ass to hell."
"Chupa Meu Pau," he gasped at Mark.
Mark shrugged, "Have it your way," and he started limping back to his pants. He could hear the sounds of police sirens drawing near as he retrieved his pants and quickly put them and his sneakers back on. By the time he got back to the wrecked car he'd used his shredded shirt to soak up a little blood from the now dead perp that he artfully applied to his own body, then put the remains of the shirt back on so he looked like he had been in a wreck.
That was the problem with being a lycanthrope; you always looked way too healthy after being in any kind of a fight or accident.
"Hands up!" The officer called out, approaching Mark carefully, while calling for backup on his radio.
"FBI!" Mark called out holding his ID above his head. "Call the local office, Agent Mark Levin. Tell them I have two crime scenes to secure here!"
Mark watched as the officer stopped, looked at him, and then carefully repeated what Mark had told him. A moment later he re-holstered his pistol.
"Agent Levin, there are a lot of people looking for you."
Mark nodded, "No doubt. Where are we, anyways?"
"Welcome to the glorious six-nine in the heart of Canarsie!" the officer sighed and shook his head. "Trust me; this isn't even the worst call I've had today."
"Let's go check on the other perps," Mark said and started to walk, slowly and making sure to limp as well.
"What about him?" The officer asked pointing to the body half out of the windshield.
"He's dead. But some of the others were still alive, I'd like to try and keep them that way."
"Hop in, I'll drive you," the officer said as another police car pulled up and stopped by the wreck, light's flashing.
"Tell them not to touch anything," Mark grumbled and got into the car.
"Sure thing, Agent Levin," The officer said and then backed them up down the narrow road until the reached the busted open garage. A number of people were starting to mill around, but when the police car screeched to a stop in front of the smashed door, all of them scattered or pulled back.
Two more cars joined them as Mark made his way back inside. The guy he'd shot was trying to crawl away, holding a hand over the wound to stop the bleeding. The one he'd butt-stroked was still unconscious. The rest appeared dead.
"Better call an ambulance," Mark said looking around.
"What happened here?" A police officer wearing sergeant stripes asked coming up to Mark.
"They turned on each other," Mark said looking around. "Anyone got a phone I can borrow? I need to call my office."
"Who's in charge here?"
Mark held up his ID, "Mark Levin, FBI, Interpol. Now, a phone?"
The Sergeant shrugged and passed Mark a cell phone, "Here, use mine."
"Thanks," Mark said and taking the phone he dialed the Washington office.
"Agent O'Brien," Denise said, answering.
"Hi, it's Mark. The police are here and it's all over but the shouting. We've got a couple of dead bodies and a couple that are going to the hospital. I'm going to need someone to come down here and take over the crime scenes."
"Yeah, we got the report from the New York office; they've got a team en route to your location, the local police called it in. How secure is this phone?"
"Not very, belongs to the local PD," Mark said. "I'm not sure that any of this is really in our bailiwick anyway. I just got in the middle of an attempted kidnapping of my brother."
"Well, that still makes it an FBI case, Mark."
"Yeah, but not our division."
"Any idea why they wanted your brother?"
"The one guy, who I think knew, is now dead. Anyway, let me call the family and let them know I'm okay. I think I see the local FBI guys pulling up now," Mark said as a number of black SUV's pulled up outside of the garage.
"Okay, bye, Mark."
Mark hung up and looked around the garage, there were police giving first aid to the guy he'd shot, the one he'd hit in the face, as well as the one who had been shot in the back. So apparently that one wasn't dead, at least not yet.
Mark dialed his own number then as a group in FBI blazers got out of the SUV's and headed over to him.
"Hello?" He heard Helena's voice.
"Hi, Hon. It's me, I'm okay. The police and the local FBI are here. How's everybody?"
; "Well, your brother is looking rather shocked, there are police here now, and I gather at your brother's house and his office as well. You mother is okay and I'll tell everyone you're okay."
"Thanks, Hon. Give everyone my love and I'll call back as soon as I can. Hopefully from someplace more private. Bye!"
"Bye, Mark!"
He heard Helena tell everyone he was okay as he hung up the phone and passed it back to the sergeant that had loaned it to him.
"Agent Levin?" the man leading the group of FBI agents asked, coming forward.
"Yup, that would be me." Mark said and shook hands. "You wouldn't happen to have an extra jacket or something I could wear, would you?"
"Sure, I'm Agent Bill Frey," the agent he was shaking hands with said and turned to the guy next to him, "George, get Mark here one of the windbreakers out of the back."
George nodded and went back to the SUV's.
"So, what are we looking at here?" Bill asked Mark.
Mark motioned with his head and led Bill away from the Sergeant and the other officers, who took the hint as four other FBI agents came in and started to take over the scene.
"Failed kidnapping attempt. They were after my brother, and I was lucky enough to be there when they showed up. We look enough alike, so I took his place. When they got here and found out they grabbed the wrong guy, it got nasty and the guns came out.
"The dead guy in the car is the one who hired them. The dead guy there," Mark pointed to the boss, "was the guy in charge of the kidnap team. They all acted pretty professional, but there are a few things that don't really add up."
"Do you need a doctor?"
Mark shook his head, "Most of this blood isn't mine."
"So, just who is your brother?"
"A very rich and successful owner of the biggest biotech company out on the island," Mark said. "And I'm not sure that this was just a grab for a rich man's ransom. This might be industrial espionage as well."
Bill nodded, "I'll keep your name and your brother's name out of it. We'll say it was a drug deal gone bad, lord knows we have enough of those around here, and that an undercover FBI agent was involved."
Loose Ends (The Hammer Commission Book 3) Page 2