Precipice

by J. Robert Kinney

  “I’ve got him at gunpoint in the alley one block west of Cameron.” Leaning his head toward his shoulder, Dominic took one hand off the gun to depress the radio button. In that split second, as he was distracted, Ramirez took advantage and bolted. He darted toward the street, knocking over trash cans as he ran to slow the pursuit. If he reached the main road at the end of the alley, he might manage to escape.

  BANG!

  Dominic sent a bullet ripping through the man’s left leg, tearing muscle and causing the man to fall to the ground in pain. He stumbled onto the main sidewalk, nearly upending an elderly couple out for a stroll. The woman screamed and chaos ensued as people realized a man had been shot. More and more screams filled the street.

  Dominic closed in to take charge of the situation. The man wasn’t going anywhere, but in a crowd, anything could happen. He didn’t want innocent bystanders getting hurt in the confusion.

  Dominic hurried to Ramirez’s side, ordering everyone to step away. At the sight of the gun in his hand, however, the screams from the crowd grew in intensity. The situation was spiraling faster than he could handle alone. He fumbled for his radio. “Backup needed. Corner of Brooks and Archer.”

  “Roger that. Almost there.”

  The noise of the throng, now forming a perimeter around him and the injured Ramirez, was doing a number on Dominic’s psyche. His heart raced and all appeals for a calm crowd failed miserably.

  He knelt and leaned over Victor, whose breathing had become shallow and rapid, his face a pasty white. He was losing a lot of blood. Squandering such a valuable asset would hamper their chances of finding Amadi. Dominic needed information now while the man still retained a modicum of control over the situation, however tenuous that hold may be. Ramirez was their best shot so far at solving this.

  Gently turning Vic’s head, Dominic attempted to relax him. “Listen to me, Victor. You need to calm down. Help will be here soon. I promise you, you won’t die, but you need to help us too. We need the location of your boss, Amadi.”

  Confusion filled Victor’s face. He obviously didn’t understand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbled. “No sé.”

  “Come on, Vic. We know you know. Just tell us the location of your boss and I promise, nothing more will happen to you.” A few shouts broke through the crowd. The arriving backup. Thank God.

  “Lee, get the EMTs and a stretcher over here with some first-aid equipment. Fisher, Williams, Ford…establish a perimeter. Get this crowd under control.”

  Turning back to Victor, Dominic whispered “This is your last chance. If you don’t tell us now where your boss is, this will be out of my hands and you’ll be at the mercy of someone else, like my boss, who will not be as sympathetic.”

  This wasn’t true, with Dominic as the lead agent on the case, but fear can be a powerful motivator.

  Victor’s eyes, wide and frantic, turned toward Dominic. Panic was setting in.

  “Where’s Amadi?!” Dominic barked. He was getting impatient.

  Even with the bullet wound in his leg and the blood loss, Victor Ramirez was not going into shock. He remained conscious enough to understand the situation, yet still resisted.

  Ramirez blinked a few times and struggled to sit up, braced on one arm. He winced at the pain. “I’ll tell you what I know,” he choked, “but it’s not much.” His eyes flicked side to side, checking to make sure no one else was listening, before his voice dropped to a whisper, as though terrified anyone else might hear. Dominic leaned in close to hear the rasping voice.

  “Listen…I don’t….” Victor Ramirez’s voice cut off, replaced by a small gurgle. A dazed look appeared on Victor’s face as a trickle of blood emerged from the corner of his mouth. His lips moved once more, trying to speak, and a bubble formed over his mouth before he collapsed to the sidewalk, his cheek cracking against the concrete.

  His lifeless body rolled to the side and into Dominic’s lap, revealing a neat bullet hole sliced into his upper back, effectively puncturing a lung and probably his heart as well.

  Dominic leapt to his feet, his eyes frantically scanning the crowd. That shot ruined their chance to find any information and ended this man’s life. He shouted into the radio. “ATTENTION! All agents on alert. We have a shooter. All units, right away.”

  He scrutinized the area. The bullet’s trajectory came from the west, straight with a slight downward angle. The shooter must be either in one of two structures across the street, or a member of the surrounding multitude. No other location provided a clear angle to make that shot.

  Dominic’s instincts kicked in and he shouted instructions to the backup officers. “Lee, forget the stretcher…no need for it now. Go with Fisher, you take that building across the street. Ford and Williams…search the crowd. Lloyd, take pictures of everyone you can. And Faye and Bulloch, you two take the other building. Go!”

  As his agents took off, Dominic bent down over Victor’s body. The bullet hole was small and neat, with minimal external damage. No residue stippling around the wound or on Victor’s clothes, but the amount of blood suggested extensive, internal tissue damage. He guessed it came from a high-powered handgun.

  The lack of exit wound in the body likely indicated a hollow-point bullet. Such ammunition would blossom outward and expand on impact, causing extensive damage, but limiting penetration through the body. Hollow points are the bullet of choice for law enforcement to limit the risk of a bullet exiting a body and hitting an innocent bystander.

  Blood pooled on the pavement beneath Victor. Rolling the body onto its back, Dominic flinched as he saw the blank, unfocused eyes staring back at him. He felt a sudden revulsion in the pit of his stomach and lurched away. Stumbling toward the alley, he quickly and messily deposited his lunch in a nearby garbage can. He’d labored in this particular line of work for a few years, but mostly as an office-based analyst. This was the first time he’d seen a man die, much less expire in his arms.

  The world swam, and Dominic placed his hand against the wall to keep from tumbling to the ground. Veterans of the agency told him this might happen with his first—it did with almost every agent. But he always believed he was stronger than that.

  He shook his head and fought valiantly to focus his vision and clear his head, but to no avail. The world spun faster and faster and he struggled to stay on his feet. Then he stopped fighting and slowly skidded down the wall. He closed his eyes and pressed his head to his knees to avoid passing out. The rest of the agents would be searching for the shooter for a few more minutes. He had time to recover before they returned. And he needed every second he could get.

  ***

  The flickering glow from the television was the only light in the room, yet the sole occupant was not watching. Some ball game aired, but his mind was too far away to notice. They were closing in on the final stages of their plan and he could hardly wait for his grand entrance into the world. As he gazed out the window at the horizon, his men were tying up any final loose ends.

  Over the last two weeks, they’d methodically eliminated any threats to their plots. Those that weren’t paid off or threatened into silence were hunted and executed. It was an effective solution. Only one “problem” was left. The son of a former benefactor. A visit from Lynch had flushed out the pathetic mouse and he was on the run, but the cat was closing in.

  They’d tracked him to an old friend, who proved wordy with bamboo shoved beneath his nails. But the old-timer had withstood the pain enough to feed false information. By the time their mistake was realized, the man had expired, sacrificing himself to protect his friend. The blunder frustrated him.

  He still had a few heavies out looking for the man, but ultimately it wouldn’t make any difference. A mouse stuck hiding in his hole is just as useless as a dead one in a trap. In the world of cats and mice, the distinction between dead or hiding won’t stop the cat from taking over the kingdom.

  The last pitfalls now were those pesky agents from SISA. One of the
ir cars had parked outside headquarters a couple times. His source assured him, however, the agency still didn’t have a clue. By the time they learned enough to act, it’d be too late. If they ever got that far. Poor incompetent souls.

  If he wanted, he could eliminate them, but he didn’t want to go that far. Killing a federal agent would bring down the full might of the government on them. He wasn’t willing to risk such a high-profile murder. Not yet, anyway.

  Confident to the point of cockiness, he struggled to resist the temptation to broadcast his plans to the world, daring his adversaries to stop him. But he’d seen enough Bond flicks to know the cardinal rule of villainy: don’t spill the beans on your master plan before you execute it. Every villain made that same mistake and every time, the hero made them pay for it.

  He recognized an all-too-familiar impulsiveness welling up deep within, but understood the need for careful, intricate execution, especially one so long in development. This interminable waiting phase was the most difficult, but he reminded himself, as he watched the countryside change with the sun tracking across the heavens, it would all be worth it.

  The rhythmic stylings and vocal strains of Aretha Franklin broke the silence. One of the greatest modern inventions, in his opinion, was that of the customizable ringtone. Though the song choice was unusual in this line of work, his men long ago discovered he didn’t take kindly to mocking. He made sure of that. Franklin’s voice soothed and relaxed him, so he stuck with it. He hesitated to answer, not wanting to break her rhythm, but he finally did after several long seconds. “Yes?”

  The voice on the other end sounded frantic. “Sir, I know you told me not to bother you, but I felt this was too important not to say something.” The peaceful moment was broken.

  “Lynch, focus. What is it?” His voice remained calm and emotionless.

  “We’re having some problems with the logistics next weekend. The town anniversary committee has clamped down on security.”

  They planned to execute during the big anniversary celebration for the city. Its celebration was drawing widespread attention. Even the President, who grew up just down the road, had publicly wished the town well earlier in the week. “So? Didn’t we embed a man on the inside there?”

  “Yes, but he’s demanding more money. Says it will be more difficult to accomplish the task than he anticipated.”

  “Do you have the money to afford his raise?” He possessed minimal patience for men like this. They needed hand-holding every minute of the day. The only reason he tolerated Lynch is that despite his obvious shortcomings, he did possess some advantages, not the least of which included an intrinsic gullibility and a skill set that involved acts of persuasion. For these, he was willing to endure a little coddling. It was worth not having to get his own hands dirty.

  “What? Me? No…?” The confusion in Lynch’s voice was perceptible over the phone.

  “Then find some way to change his mind.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  This man was an idiot. “Mr. Lynch. Do you remember why I hired you? Because it certainly was not for your intelligence.” The lone sound now was the faint white noise common in cell phones. He sighed. “It was for your unique ‘ability’ to persuade.”

  “Yes sir.” The voice on the line trembled.

  “Now I want you to go ‘persuade’ this man to change his mind. Use any means you deem necessary.” With that, he dropped the phone to his side and clapped it shut, forgoing the courtesy of a farewell.

  He resumed his gaze out the window, envisioning the different view he would enjoy in a few days’ time. That view would be coming through the golden lenses of wealth and fame.

  Chapter 22

  “What happened out there, Randal? What were you thinking?” Dominic returned to the office to find an unhappy Jacob Sloan. “You weren’t supposed to kill our best lead.”

  “I didn’t kill him, sir.” Dominic still felt woozy. He’d seen a few dead bodies during his time with SISA, but this was the first time he watched the life drained out of a living soul, the light disappearing from their eyes. Seeing death so real and raw was different. It was a lot to handle. “He was killed by someone who didn’t want him captured alive.”

  “Same difference!” Sloan was furious and swore like a sailor with a stubbed toe. “Did you at least catch the person who did it?”

  “No, sir,” he mumbled. “I sent agents into the crowd and surrounding buildings to search, but whoever did it disappeared too quickly. We got photos of everyone at the scene and Shannon’s in the process of obtaining footage from nearby security cams though, so we might get lucky.”

  “Well, did you manage to get anything out of him before he bit it?”

  “Not really,” Dominic admitted. “He was about to tell me something when he was shot.”

  “Come on Randal! Nothing? Nothing at all?”

  “He acted confused when I asked about Amadi, but he didn’t say much of anything.”

  “Maybe he never dealt directly with Amadi and went through a middleman of sorts. Who knows?” Sloan stood by the window, brow furrowed and arms crossed across his chest. He scanned the streets eleven stories down, as if hoping to spot something useful below. “What about Krieger? Where is he?”

  “Hospital, sir. When he confronted Ramirez in the club, an altercation broke out between the two of them and a couple of Ramirez’s friends. They got in a couple punches, so Krieger needed to get stitched up. He’s supposed to report in when the doctors finish sewing him back together.”

  “Good. I’ll want to debrief him as soon as he returns. Send him in, when you see him. Also, when Faye returns, ask her to look at that video. Maybe Lady Luck was with us this time.”

  Nodding in agreement Dominic left Sloan’s office to return to his own. About twenty minutes later, Shannon arrived, security video in hand. “Oh good, you’re back,” he called out to her. “Sloan wants you to take a look at the video as soon as you can. See if you can identify the shooter.”

  “No need to. I already did when I picked it up.” Shannon flipped her hair back, putting her hand on her hip. Her eyes twinkled and a confident grin that told Dominic she knew something. “We’ve got our man.”

  “Really?” Relief washed over him. It couldn’t bring back Ramirez, but now his mistake wouldn’t end in a total loss.

  “Well, technically our ‘man’ is a woman, but yes. She was in the crowd, just barely in view of the camera, but we got her.”

  “A female shooter? Did you catch a glimpse of her face?”

  “It’s a partial, but it’s enough. Forensics is running it through facial recognition software trying to find a match from the National Security Database. Her expertise with that gun reflected high-level training, so I’m betting she’s either got a criminal record or a prior security clearance. Unless she’s so deep undercover even the Feds don’t know about it, the program shouldn’t take more than a few hours before it spits out a name.”

  “Fantastic. Make sure you let Sloan know. Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna sit by myself in the dark here to think.” Dominic waved his hand toward his door and put his head in his arms. Shannon turned to leave, but stopped in the doorway.

  “You know,” Shannon began. “Ramirez wasn’t your fault.” Dominic didn’t move or make a sound, so she continued. “You couldn’t have done anything to save him.”

  “If I had gotten to him faster, or done a better job protecting the scene…But I didn’t and a man is dead. He was our key to reaching Amadi and stopping the next death. And it’s my fault we lost him.” Lifting his head, he leaned back in his chair. The light from the window exposed his red-rimmed eyes, glistening with tears. “I just want to re-write this day, do it all over.”

  “I know you do. But that’s the difference between fantasy and the real world. In real life, we don’t get to decide how the story goes.” Shannon approached Dominic. She rested her hand on his shoulder as she continued, “He chose to mingle with the wrong cro
wd. He knew the risks. It’s not your fault. Besides, we’ve got our lead back. We’ll get this woman, bring her down too…”

  “I guess…” Dominic pretended to shuffle through some papers, hinting that he wanted to be left alone.

  ***

  Shannon refused to take the bait. She moved to the other side of his desk and lowered herself in the chair by the door, eyeing Dominic closely. She sighed and shook her head, wanting to help her partner and friend, but unsure what to say. She hadn’t spoken to anyone about Brendan in a long while. Maybe now was the time.

  She too suffered pangs of guilt after that night. Over time, that guilt turned to thoughts of revenge, and finally to vengeance. Maybe if someone had sat her down and talked to her, those feelings of blame would have never taken hold and germinated within her. Maybe they wouldn’t have grown into unhealthy weeds, choking out the rest of her life for so long. Even long after the anger subsided, the damaging scars inside her remained.

  Dominic wasn’t dealing with the loss of anyone close to him, but the feelings of culpability were the same. He felt responsible for a man’s death, a man that died in his arms. He needed to hear her story. “Dominic, did I ever tell you how I came to work here?”

  Dominic stopped what he was doing and looked up. “No. You always deflected the question. Why?”

  “Well,” she hesitated, unsure where to begin. “Two years ago, I was engaged to this man named Brendan Malone…” This was the first time that she’d tell the full story, and as she continued, the emotions flowed out. Anger and tears surged through her. For the next fifteen minutes, Dominic sat still, enraptured, but by the time she got to the box of wedding materials and described how reading her vows caused her to undergo an inner change, his face had wrinkled.

  “May I interrupt?” he began cautiously

  Shannon paused, grateful for a chance to catch her breath. “Yes, of course.”