by James Beltz
From the glow of the moon, DJ thought he saw Sam smile. “Go ahead, big guy,” Sam instructed. “I’ll let you pull first.” DJ took him up on his offer, his hand reaching for MP.
Time slowed.
He always found it amazing how this worked, his brain firing electrical impulses so fast that time seemed to take a step back from the laws of physics. He had heard that only gravity and speed affected the passage of time, but DJ was living proof that those were not the only variables. For DJ, it wasn’t the perception of time slowing; it was a physical trait unique to his brain chemistry. In this slowing of time, DJ had the chance to reason things through, look for advantages, see the best course of action to take. Right then, as he was sliding MP from his holster, he could see that despite starting his pull first, Sam was going to clear quicker than he was. DJ was going to lose this battle.
Maybe lose wasn’t the right prediction of the outcome. Sure, Sam would clear his holster first. Sure, Sam would likely pull the trigger a microsecond before DJ did. But there was still accuracy involved here. Oh, to be sure, DJ understood just how deadly his adversary could be. Still, both men weren’t aiming for the body. Both men would be going for a four-inch imaginary circle placed on each of their faces. DJ had only one option available to him to try to decrease Sam’s odds of hitting his target. He shoved himself to the left, pushing off with his right foot, providing a moving target for Sam.
Traitor Sam seemed to come to the same conclusion. Even though he would beat DJ to the trigger, there was no way to avoid being shot. Sam was fast, faster than DJ, but not quick enough to avoid dying. Sam Kenny shoved off with his own right foot, shifting sideways and in the opposite direction of DJ. Both men were going to pull the trigger while in motion. This was another factor that might work to save DJ’s life. Still, the odds were only slightly reduced. Sam was as adept at firing on the move as DJ.
DJ then turned his attention to little Cassie. Wondering how Abbi would do raising the girl without him even he didn’t manage to walk away from this. Fine, he was sure. Abbi was amazing at anything she set her mind to. The girl would be in good hands. Still, DJ had to make sure his round flew true to his target. He had to do his best to shift his body just enough to avoid the same fate himself.
DJ could see Sam’s gun tilting up while still being held low. Sam was going to shoot from the hip as well, relying on instinct and his familiarity with his weapon of choice just as DJ would. Both men were bringing their barrels into alignment. As DJ had first detected at the beginning of his pull, Sam was going to fire first. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light erupted from behind Sam, silhouetting the man, instantly illuminating the surrounding area in a dazzling white that quickly morphed to yellow, then orange, then red. At first, DJ’s rapidly firing brain thought this to be some sort of hallucination. Maybe his weird superpower, his abnormal brain chemistry, had fired so fast that it had caused some sort of aneurism, an eruption of blood vessels bursting inside his skull, causing him to see lights that weren’t there. Maybe Sam had already fired, and the projectile was ripping through his frontal lobe, sending a shockwave through his brain, making him hallucinate for a fraction of a second before he died.
Time returned to normal, and DJ’s understanding came into focus. An explosion of light, sound, and shrapnel tore into Sam from behind, rending his body into pieces as if he had been placed into a giant Margherita mixer. Shrapnel struck DJ next, crossing the distance faster than thought, peppering him with debris that lacerated his face and arms, and sending something thick and pointy to lodge in his leg. The blast pushed DJ backward, rolling him along the ground. He came to rest inches from the edge of the cliff.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position and looked at what was left of Sam. DJ sat there bleeding, dazed, unsure of what exactly had just happened. Not really caring too much anyway.
DJ was alive.
Sam Kenny was blown to pieces.
Poking out of the front of DJ’s upper leg was a piece of bone, Sam’s bone. It was a vicious reminder of the pain and anguish the traitor had done to the team. DJ yanked it out, ignoring the proper medical procedure of leaving it in and wrapping it in place. He discarded it to one side and crawled over to his rifle bag. Inside was an emergency pressure dressing. As he bound his leg to stop the bleeding, he watched the helicopters touch down.
It was finally over.
__________
Carbon stared at his tablet. Argo and Cash looked first at the screen, then at Carbon, then back to the screen. Argo pointed at the tablet. “What was that? What happened? What did you just do?”
Carbon blinked, staring at the screen, not really sure what to say. Instead, he held up the small cylinder in his hand to show them.
Cash smiled and shook his head, but Argo still didn’t understand. “I don’t get it. What is that thing?”
It was Cash who replied. “Remember when we retrieved the data drive? It came in a booby-trapped box. There was plastic explosive lining the inside. That cylinder is the detonator. You know Carbon has a problem with discarding any piece of technology. After Sam stole the box, our little hacker here, probably thought to reuse the detonator for something else later. He still had it in his pack.”
Argo looked at the cylinder, then to Carbon. “So… you saw the backpack on Sam and took a chance the box was inside?”
Carbon nodded, shocked by what had just happened even though he was the one responsible. When he replied, his voice sounded small and far away. “When I pulled out the detonator, I saw that the LED on the bottom was on, indicating there was a signal.”
Argo turned his head, eyes focusing off into the darkness and the cliff far away. “That means you blew up the data drive, too.”
Carbon nodded. “Probably. Unless Sam stashed the drive somewhere else. But why would he do that and still keep the protective case it was stored in? So, yeah, all of that money is gone now.”
Argo began to laugh. Carbon looked at him like he had lost his mind. There didn’t seem to be anything humorous about what had happened. DJ had barely escaped with his life. Argo gripped Carbon’s shoulder and shook it slightly, leaning forward with a big grin on his face. “Soooo…. what you’re saying is, you just saved the day by… pressing a button?”
Carbon blinked. Cash started laughing too. Argo, still on his knees, sat down hard and pointed at Carbon’s nose. “DJ was right. You are a button pusher!” Argo rolled on the ground, clutching his sides, laughing hard. “Oh,” he howled. “I think I’m going to pop a stitch, but I don’t care! That is soooo funny!”
What Cash said next had Argo redouble his efforts at laughing, causing the man to wheeze into the dirt and lose his breath. “To be accurate,” Cash corrected, “Carbon is a button-pusher in silk underwear. He is, quite factually, a panty-waisted button-pusher!”
Carbon stood, glaring at them as they laughed at his expense. “I told you,” he said with his voice raised, not only in frustration but to be heard over the loud helicopters landing in the field. “They’re not panties! I need them because I tend to chafe! You’re both seriously going to laugh at a man’s medical condition?” His eyes stared laser beams at them, wanting to punch them both in their noses. Carbon turned on his heels, clutching the tablet to his chest and heading back to the entrance of the canyon and the van that waited down the road. He fired off one more shout of anger as he stomped into the underbrush. “SHUT UP! The both of you just shut your faces!” Carbon stormed into the night, the sound of laughter and helicopters behind him.
Chapter 20: The Fine Line
DJ couldn’t help but laugh. It was fun to watch two children play. One was his daughter, the other a man-child. Carbon was driving an ATV in slow circles in the field next to DJ’s cabin. One hand on the wheel, the other on little Cassie. The child was giggling uncontrollably, blowing snot bubbles out of her nose, thinking the open-air ride was the absolute greatest thing ever. DJ could hear her rolling laughter non-stop on the other side of the shallow stream. The sound was infectious, c
ausing everyone sitting on the porch to join in. He wasn’t sure what the child found so entertaining about driving in the ATV, but for Cassie, it was apparently something only a toddler could comprehend.
It had been nearly a month since this valley had been the scene of a war. Bullets had flown. Blood had been spilled. But the passage of time has a way of snuffing out the pain of struggle. Despite having lost Coonie and Bounder, DJ was happy. The rest of his friends had made it through. It could have been a lot worse; it very nearly had been.
Brett sat in his wheelchair at the end of the porch, capping off a long line of his friends and loved ones. Argo, Cash, Brett, and even Agent Ali all sat in rockers and camp chairs, watching the sun set on a Colorado summer, listening to the sounds of laughter dance through the canyon. Yes, DJ thought, it could have been a lot worse.
Everyone here had decided to help DJ and Abbi restore the cabin from the many bullet holes that pockmarked the building. Agent Ali took some much-needed time off and vowed to replace the shattered front door. DJ had given the man the keys to enter on that eventful night, but the agent had decided that entering the building in the quickest way possible was the way to go, using his body as a battering ram. DJ, of course, could not have cared less. What was a broken door in the grand scheme of things? Nevertheless, Agent Ali was insistent on fixing the thing he broke.
He asked if DJ minded if he stayed here for a while. The last place he wanted to be right then was Washington. The CIA was in disarray The President had fired the director and appointed a new one. Countless investigations were underway, scrutinizing the entire agency; answers being demanded on a great many things. Until all of that shook out, Ali was content to spend some of his accrued time off at DJ’s ranch.
Brett was recovering quickly. The man was tough. No matter what the guy went through, he always seemed to bounce back. As soon as he was fully recovered, he had been promised a spot for an experimental treatment to restore the use of his legs. DJ had thought the promise made by Deputy Director Hartley was considered null and void after all of this, but once Brett had learned of the procedure, he wasn’t going to be denied. There were quite a few people in D.C. who owed Brett favors. The President of the United States was one of them. DJ was unsure of what markers Brett had called in, but Brett was enrolled in the program and couldn’t wait for his turn to go under the knife and fix his legs. The poor man had never truly come to terms with being confined to that chair, and this promise of being able to walk again had caused his countenance to improve.
Speaking of Deputy Director Hartley, the woman had vanished into thin air like a magic trick. Agents from the Justice Department had arrived at her house only to find she had escaped moments before. A cold glass of lemonade, the ice still in the glass, was sitting on a table on the back patio. She couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes. She had somehow been tipped off and fled. There was a massive hunt for her, but to date, no information on her whereabouts had been discovered.
Even more curious, the data drive hadn’t been inside the debris field that was Sam Kenny. Carbon had not blown it to pieces as first suspected. They did discover a clue, however. It looked like a key to a bus terminal locker. Once cleaned up from the blast, it had an identifying marker. The back part where you turned the key was covered in yellow plastic. On it was stenciled with what looked to be a crashing wave and the number 23. DJ was sure someone was at this very moment on a treasure hunt to solve the mystery, but if they had discovered anything, no one was talking. DJ hoped they would never find it. That much money was nothing but trouble. That much money always involved bloodshed and innocent people caught in the middle.
Abbi rounded the corner with a pitcher of iced tea and a stack of plastic cups. She paused to watch Carbon and Cassie for a minute, admiring the scene across the creek. DJ looked at his wife with deep admiration and love. She was quite a woman. Abbi was warm, vibrant, intelligent, and could love like there was no tomorrow. If it were not for her bold play in going directly to Tim Neville with their problem, they might not all be here. Their wounds might have been deeper. Not only had she saved the day, but she had managed to get their old jobs back. As soon as Brett was at full strength, they were to head back to the base near Jasper, Texas. They had all been reinstated into the FBI, their records cleared, and Brett was to reprise his role of Special Agent in Charge.
As if Argo could read DJ’s mind, he asked Brett about taking over the position. “So, Brett, how does one step in to replace a leader of a field office who hasn’t been promoted, nor have they done anything to get in trouble? How do you establish yourself with the people who are new and have never met you without making waves, making the transition as smooth as possible? After all, this isn’t your typical FBI Field Office we’re talking about.”
Brett shrugged and seemed to think about it. “It’s tricky. You try to present yourself in such a way so you don’t hack off the people who liked the old boss, but you still have to firmly establish that you’re the person in charge. It’s a balancing act. If you don’t get it right, you won’t get the best productivity out of your people until they’ve formed some sort of relationship with you. Still, in the end, these people are all professionals. They’ll fall in line, no matter what.”
Argo wasn’t agreeing. “I say rip the bandage off and get it over with.”
Cash looked at him. “What do you mean by that?”
Argo began talking with his hands as he tried to explain. “You know, you just go in there, put on your boss's voice, bark out a few orders, don’t smile at anyone. Let everyone know you’re the new sheriff in town. Just rip the bandage off. Get all the hurt feelings out of the way right in the beginning. As you said, they’re professionals. They’ll fall in line behind whoever’s been appointed over them, whether they like the change or not. So, establish your authority right off the bat. Get it over with. Don’t mess around.”
DJ laughed. “Remind me to quit if they ever put you in charge.”
DJ turned to see Carbon heading back toward them, crossing the stream and driving far faster with Cassie than DJ was comfortable with. He stood and prepared to issue a rebuke for the man’s recklessness but stopped. Carbon had a look on his face that said something was wrong. It was a look DJ had seen far too often.
Carbon stopped barely twelve inches from the porch, nearly ramming right into it. Holding up his cellphone, he said, “We have a hit.”
DJ dropped down off the porch. “A hit on what?”
Carbon held the phone out to show the contents on the screen and DJ had to squint to see the surface in the sun. Carbon didn’t wait for DJ to figure it out. He plowed forward with an explanation. “Hartley! I have her. I know where she is right now!”
Argo was first to speak. “So, you have your own algorithm thingy running in the background trying to find her,” he asked?
Carbon nodded. “Instead of using facial recognition to spot her if she walked in front of a camera somewhere, I started putting out feelers with some black market people I know. The kind that specializes in rock-solid identifications. I passed her photo around and offered a substantial bounty if anyone came across her trying to buy a new life. By the way, DJ, I hope we have some petty cash still lying around for emergency issues because this is going to be expensive.”
DJ took a deep breath. “How much?”
Carbon offered a sheepish grin. “Um, well, see, these people have reputations to uphold. To get them to compromise that reputation costs money.”
DJ took a step closer. “I asked you how much.” DJ sucked in when he heard the amount, ready to tell the man to come up with the money himself. It wasn’t the amount that irked DJ so much. Covering it would be easy. It was the fact the kid ran behind their back and made a deal without asking for approval.
Before DJ could reprimand the hacker, Argo spoke up. “You don’t seriously want to go after her, do you? Just hand off the intel to Justice. Let them deal with her.”
Brett held up a hand to ge
t everyone’s attention. “We can’t do that. We have to do this ourselves, and I can give you two very good reasons why. First, doesn’t it seem odd that our intelligence agency hasn’t caught a whiff of her yet? We supposedly have every intel agency and resource devoting serious assets to find her, but no one has come up with anything. Not a hint. And Carbon finds her just by asking questions and throwing a little money around? I don’t think so. I think she still has friends out there covering for her. Maybe she had dirt on them, or they see her as some kind of hero. I don’t know which, but I do know someone is intentionally looking the other way. No, if she’s to answer for everything that’s happened, it has to be us to do it.”
Abbi was next. “That’s one reason. What’s the second?”
Brett looked at them all, a determined look on his face. “We were betrayed by her. She used us as expendable pawns on her bloody chessboard. She lied to us. She treated us like the enemy and got a few of us killed in the process. I’m not one for vengeance, but in this case…” Brett let the sentence hang for the others to digest.
Cash spoke next, leveling a question at Carbon. “Where are we headed? Should I pack for a warm climate or cold?”
Carbon looked around the group, but no one was offering any objections. They were simply waiting for Carbon’s answer. “Spain,” he said. “My contact met her in a house there to hand off the documents. She’s outside a town called Conil de la Frontera.”
Everyone looked at DJ for approval. He wasn’t sure why. It seemed like they had made up their minds already. Plus, DJ knew himself. This chapter of his life would never be closed until Hartley was either being questioned at Gitmo, or dead. Preferably, the latter.
DJ looked around the group and nodded. “There’s a fine line between justice and revenge. We’ve crossed it so often, why should today be any different?”
Chapter 21: Poof